Five

Seven years ago, I met someone online.

Six years ago, we started our relationship.

Five years ago, we sealed our relationship with marriage.

Forgive me if the following is rambling, but I’m just going to write what is in my heart.

Dear Husband,

We did it. We survived five years of marriage. Despite the doubts voiced by many a person about our relationship, we made it to a landmark anniversary (considering the divorce rate, five years IS a landmark). We overcame many obstacles in our life together, which caused some friction between us, but never caused us to hate each other. In fact, I think it made us stronger.

I know I haven’t been the easiest person to live with, but you managed to survive all of my evil ways, and have snapped me out of more than one bad mood and/or evil habit. In return, I have nagged you to not work so hard and bluntly reminded you that you need to relax. It works for us. I hope it will always work for us. I think it will.

You were wondering why I pulled down the old photos of us. I did that because I wanted to dredge up some photos to post on here, and because I wanted to relive the earlier days of our relationship. The photo boxes contained all the cards we exchanged while we were dating, and they brought a smile to my face. The hardships we faced because you lived 100 miles away from me, the fact that your parents disliked me (and still do, for that matter) and tried to keep us apart…it did nothing to quell our feelings for each other.

When we got married, I was joyous, although I was eight months pregnant and feeling like a pack mule. I think our wedding really reflected what our married life would be: simple, flowing along, with an occasional minor bump (the bump usually being lack of money). I knew that those tiny bumps wouldn't diminish our love at all.

Then a month later, when we welcomed the boy child into the world, my love for you grew even more. You had given me a beautiful gift, and you stuck by me through the pain and trauma that was caused by delivering said gift. I think we did an awesome job, though. Our kid rules, even if he is an angry smartass…sort of like me. Like you said, your genes are recessive. Ah well. Maybe our hypothetical next baby will be more like you, in looks and personality.

When we were living with my parents and scrambling for money, you did your best to make sure we were provided for. When you realized that nothing was going to come of these dead end jobs that both you and I had, you applied for grad school and got in. Though I was sad to leave my family, you have taken us on a major adventure in our married life: the adventure of being independent and responsible. Oh, and the adventure of actually LEAVING California to live in an awesome city 2500 miles away. Sure, it was hard to give up my family and friends, but you forced me to experience new things and new sights.

I know this past year with me has been difficult for you, but I can never express how much I love you for sticking by me through my “issues”. You never belittled me, you never told me to get over it, you never did anything that would push me over the edge. Instead, you made sure I got help. You held me up when I was down. You did whatever you could to make me feel better. It made a difference. Trust me. Even when I was acting crazy, having your calm presence around helped. Thank you.

I’m hoping that these five years of marriage are only the beginning of a long and loving partnership together. I can’t think of a better way to spend my life.

Love,
Wife

Now for your enjoyment: pictures!

The night we got engaged.

Awwwwww.

More awwwww.

One of my favorite pictures of us. Dunno what happened to the bottom of it, though.

San Francisco, right before we got married.

Wedding kiss. Note the stylish outfits.

Our family.

Post Holiday Slump And Other Things

As the title suggests, I'm in that funk that a lot of people get into after the big holiday. Christmas was nice, but sort of sad and lonely for me, even though my hubs and son were here. I made a ton of food, which was enjoyed by my husband and myself. The boy child doesn't really like pasta salad (hi, vegetables), but he ate it anyways. He really wanted that dessert, I guess. He got a modest amount of presents and was quite happy with what he received. The best part was seeing his face on Christmas morning when I told him that Santa had come by to drink the milk and eat the brownies he had left out, and oh, he left a note for you, too. The boy sort of gasped and was in awe of the silver handwriting scrawled on a piece of paper. Definitely the best part of Christmas for me.

I didn't get a chance to go to Midnight Mass (ugly weather combined with a really sore foot), but I watched the live feed on television from Holy Name Cathedral. It was beautiful, and the Archbishop's message really spoke to my heart. To put it bluntly, I was crying because I really felt that it was time to accept the gift of Jesus into my life. Then I woke up Christmas morning still wrestling with the same stupid doubts and whatnot. I wish I could retain that feeling of complete peace, but it doesn't like to stick around. I could go on forever and ever about my lack of faith and being envious of people who are abundantly blessed with spirituality, but I'd just be repeating myself for the millionth time.

Other Stuff

On the Lap Band front, things aren't going so well. What else is new, right? I went to the hospital on the 17th to meet with the sleep study doctor, got directed to go down the hallway to meet him, got lost, was late, yelled at people who directed me, then finally found the place. The doctor was cool, and I have to see him in February to go over my CPAP results (the machine has an SD card that I take in with all my info on it).

On the 18th, I had three appointments in a row (I think I mentioned this earlier) at the hospital for more tests. The first was to see the gastroenterologist because of issues with my digestion. I get there at 7:45 (appointment was at 8), sign in, and wait. And wait. Then I hear the receptionist call the first patient to see him, but instead of seeing the doctor, the receptionist tells the patient that the doctor is out of town, his father had died, and all appointments had been cancelled. WHAT. THE. FUCK? Okay, I can understand family emergency and coming up suddenly, but I still think that there would have been a window of opportunity to call up the patients and tell them that the appointments were off. In this case, even more so, since I heard the receptionist say that his father had been ill for a few weeks and they knew he was going to pass. I was PISSED, and the receptionist knew it. So I'm supposed to go back on the 8th, with no appointment, which is perfectly fine, according to the receptionist. However, I don't trust this crap anymore, so I'm going to call the Thursday before and see what's up.

The other two appointments (to test my lungs and to have an ultrasound of my heart done) went well, and I was done fairly quickly. In between appointments, I ate breakfast and lunch at the cafeteria. The food wasn't too bad, but I do have to question the fact that they were serving fried catfish and any manner of unhealthy dishes. I did visit the chapel, and noticed that the wrought iron grill work over the windows had all the Stations of the Cross worked into it. From a distance, it looks like a lot of fancy loops and swirls. It's not until you look closely that you see the intricate and subtle work. I'm going to have to take a picture of it the next time I'm there.

Now it is time for me to get off of here and go nap. I had a major bout of acid reflux early this morning that kept me awake because I felt like I was going to hurl stomach acid all over. Gross.

Happy Effin' Holidays

I’ve been feeling sort of “blah” lately. I don’t know if it is the Christmas season, I’m not feeling great, or it’s just that general rut that I always run in. Some of it might be due to the terribly sad news I heard on Friday, but I’m not going to get into that on here because it is not my story to talk about, although I feel awful for all people involved.

For the past week or so, I’ve been trying to live my life healthier. I’ve failed more times than I’ve succeeded, and I think I’m sinking back into that “who gives a rip?” mentality. I don’t want to be in that place again. I don’t NEED to be in that place again. I’ve tried so very hard to eat better, exercise more, and maintain a cheerful attitude about it. The exercise was coming along nicely, but like clockwork, my foot has decided to give me all kinds of trouble. It hurts when I get up in the morning, it hurts if I sit too long and then get up, it hurts all the bloody time. It hinders my mood and my motivation to exercise. It defeats my good attitude about food. I’ve tried to ignore it and just soldier on, but it is painful as hell.

Then there are my food issues. I sometimes wonder if I can hack it with the Lab Band surgery, given my food hang-ups. Yesterday, the Boy and I made peanut butter cookies with chocolate kisses in the middle. I ate WAY more than I should have, and subsequently felt major guilt about it. This led me down that old familiar path of not caring about food. I suppose I could just NOT bake, but it is the season for baking, and cooking usually puts me in a jollier mood. I just have to deal with the fact that I can’t and shouldn’t eat much of it, which is hard to do when you have little willpower. The worst part is that I don’t even subconsciously want the food. It’s just there, so I eat it.

Then there is my mood. It has been getting worse and worse over the past couple of weeks. I thought it was PMS, but this feels far different. I go from okay to happy to sad to angry to despondent to anti-social all in the span of one week. I put on my façade of being normal, but underneath, all I feel are seething emotions. Right now I feel sad, angry, and disconnected from everything. I don’t even know if what I’m typing makes any sense, and quite frankly, I don’t care.

I’m not sure where I’m going with this post. I just thought writing down some of this BS would help me a bit. All it has done is make me feel worse.

I keep thinking about the dream I had this morning. I’ve been really good about trying to stay awake during the hours my son is in school, but this morning, I took a nap. I dreamed of my grandmother again. I was back in my hometown. I don’t remember much, but I think I was at my aunt’s old apartment, and I was alone in her kitchen because my aunt and my mom went somewhere. I saw my grandmother, but knew that wasn’t possible because she was dead. DEAD. What the hell? But she held out her arms and I hugged her, but I knew she was dead, even though she felt real. I was laughing and crying in my dream, knowing that this could not be, and I know she was trying to tell me something important, but I couldn’t make sense of it. Then she sort of just faded away, but I knew she was still there. There are other parts of the dream jumbled up, places and different parts of my life mixed together, but I can’t figure that out. I felt safe though, and happy, and I was crying when the alarm woke me. Maybe I’m just homesick again, which is weird, given the issues I have when I do go back to California.

I’m having issues with my faith again. Some of it has to do with what I found out on Friday, some of it has to do with my own logic, but most of it is just this general feeling of apathy towards what I thought I believed. I’m thinking of hitting up Midnight Mass if I can find a place holding it so I can snap out of this crap. Why Midnight Mass? Why not? I was raised Catholic, and feel comfortable going there, although I’ll look like ass because I slop around in sweats 24/7. If there is God though, I doubt he gives two shits about what I look like when attending a religious function.

I’m getting bored with writing (whee laziness), so I’m bugging out before this blog entry gets too long. If you stuck around this long, please have yourself a Merry Christmas/Happy Hanukkah/Merry Kwanzaa/Happy Islamic New Year/Happy Holidays. Take your pick. I’m trying to be politically correct here.

Realizations And Randomness

Realization -Having a CPAP machine to help me breathe at night makes me see how bad off I am, healthwise. I may have a low risk of high cholesterol and diabetes, but that doesn’t mean I’m the picture of health. Knowing that I have to use this machine to breathe better while I sleep is scary and makes me realize how dire my weight situation is.

Randomness -I saw the dietitian on Friday. A nice distraction, considering the day. She’s funny, cool, and we share the bond of not being accepted really by certain in laws. She thinks I’m a wonderful candidate for the surgery, if they’d only get their asses moving on it.

Realization -I’m lazy. That just hit me right now. If I’m not slacking off with my son, I’m on here, doing jack shit to improve my life or expand my mind. I’m supposed to be making a plan for school next year. Haven’t done it. I’m supposed to be exercising more. I barely started today. I’m supposed to make a doctor’s appointment. I haven’t called. It’s like I get in this rut of lethargy and can’t get out. I’m drowning in apathy!

Randomness -Throwing snowballs with a bunch of preschoolers and their parents is fun. We built a ghetto little snowman as well, but he had no eyes or anything. Then my son kicked him over. Good job, kid.

Realization -My psychologist and I were talking like we do almost every Saturday, when she brought up the question as to what I will do now that I’ve given up spending as a sport and eating because I’m bored. I wasn’t sure, except to say I’d be writing a lot and I’d (eventually) be working on school work. As I was in my room today, I took a look at the corner near my closet and saw my poor electric guitar sitting there, all forlorn. It struck me that I shouldn't be letting it go to waste like that, especially after the money my husband shelled out for it. I haven’t touched it since we moved into this place nor learned anything beyond a few chords. I think I’d suck at playing, I can’t afford lessons, and I heard a rumour that you shouldn’t teach yourself because if you start off playing badly, it will stick. However, since I’m not going to be on tour with Depeche Mode anytime soon, I don’t think it will hurt. So I am going to force myself to learn to play and to tune it properly.

Randomness -Old fashioned hard Christmas candy is awesome. I’ve eaten a ton of it since buying it last month, and I’m sure my teeth hate me. Oh well, I need to get rid of it before surgery.

Realization -Today I felt like the anxiety and panic were coming back. Not in full blown mode, mind you, but those weird twinges I had right before the doctor upped my meds again. It might come to that, it might not. The point is, I realized that I do need to find a hobby or something to keep my mind engaged.

Randomness -I’m plotting tons of baking this month, unless my slothfulness takes over and I never do it. I might have to beat it down.

Is done!

One

One year ago, I waited for the inevitable.

One year ago, for the first time ever, I cursed the fact that my husband got into school 2500 miles away from home.

One year ago, I spent three hours on the phone with a friend who was kind enough to keep my mind occupied and my composure sound for my son.

One year ago, I got a call late in the afternoon. It was the end.

One year ago, I went numb for an entire afternoon and evening, not remembering much, except snapping out of it late that night to drink tequila and cry.

One year ago, I started planning a trip back to California for all the wrong reasons.

One year ago, my grandmother died, and the guilt from not being there at the end, not saying goodbye, and not treating her with respect when she was alive began to eat at me. It was not assuaged until I started seeing a psychologist, but I still don’t think I’ve fully given up that guilt.

Sometimes I feel like I have no right to mourn her as much as I am. What exactly did I contribute to her life, especially when she was older? What exactly did I do to prove myself a good and loving granddaughter? I certainly can’t think of anything. Sure, I gave her the first great-grandchild, but did she get to see him as much as she should? Probably not.

I had a dream about her last week, early Friday morning. She was here in Chicago, but she was ill and in bed. Even in my dream, I could feel myself losing patience with her. I woke up and silently cried, knowing that my conscience was telling me yet again how I had failed at being a granddaughter.

I have so much more I want to write about her, but thinking about it right now is giving me a sick feeling. It’s taken me almost an hour to write just this bit because I’ve had to get up and pace around, or stop because the tears started falling. Maybe in a couple of days, I can write about the flashbacks I’ve been having to holidays past with her and my grandfather. It can’t be done today. I can’t bear it.

Belated Thanksgiving Randomness

Unless you live in another country or under a rock or something, you know that last week involved Thanksgiving Day in the United States. For me, it turned into Thanksgiving Week. We had actual people over! Guests! Good God, that’s unprecedented! I cooked a lot, drank a lot, laughed a lot (especially on Friday night), and generally had a good time. It was on Thanksgiving Day though, that I was….well, THANKFUL that we had people over.

Many of you know that last year I lost my grandmother. It was hard, to say the least. I did not get to say goodbye to her, I was not able to tell her I was sorry for past wrongs, my son did not get to see her, etc. She didn’t die on Thanksgiving Day, but she had a massive heart attack and lapsed into a coma, which ultimately led to other complications and death.

Last year, I had finished cooking Thanksgiving dinner for my family. I went to the restroom and heard the phone ring and my husband answering and talking for a few minutes. I thought nothing of it, washed my hands, came back, and sat down to eat. I don’t remember who told me the news of my grandmother, whether it was my husband or my mom on the telephone about twenty minutes later, it’s all a big blur. I couldn’t finish my dinner. I think I cried a lot. I don’t remember. I just know that my heart was aching and I was in emotional pain. Now that I’m thinking about it, I can feel all those emotions coming back to me. It still hurts.

That is why it was vital that this year we had people over. I did not want to dwell on what had happened all day long. I wanted to be happy for my family. Luckily, two of my husband’s friends accepted our invitation to come over and hang out from Wednesday until yesterday (which is why I’m barely writing this now). I had an awesome time, and except for a brief spell of tears on Thanksgiving Day while the guys were out playing ball, I managed to hold it together. We watched crappy movies, went shopping (LATE) on Black Friday, ate way too much, and generally had a good time. I don’t know if they read my blog, but thank you, Skye and Watt, for coming over. Both of you were thanking me for cooking dinner and letting you stay here, but you guys did more good for me than I can ever repay or express.

In other news, I failed at NaNoWriMo. I just got bored after 25,000 words and called it a day. Maybe I’ll try again next year. Either that, or I’ll participate in NaBloWriMo (National Blog Writing Month) next October. Writing one blog post a day seems easier than a novel.

After having my hissy fit last week about the incompetence of the Lap Band Clinic, I begrudgingly gave in and made the appointments. I have all three on December 18th. Then I’m going to march over to that damned nurse person, tell her they are completed, and try, YET AGAIN, to get medical clearance. Maybe things will be less messed up, I don’t know. I still have an appointment with the dietitian on Friday, and I’m still waiting to see when the next classes are. Maybe I'll find out 48 hours before the class instead of 24. We can only hope.

Lap Band V: The (Possibly) Final Frustration

I’m not in the greatest of moods right now. Not two hours ago, I got home from the Lap Band affiliated doctor who clears you for surgery. It was not good news. I’m sure to the doctor and to the nurses who were fucking around and not doing jack shit, this was nothing. To me, it is disheartening. I have to make three appointments: two to study my heart (echo cardiogram and something else that I forgot and am too lazy to go get the paper to look up), and one to see a gastroenterologist. The first two, while unexpected, are understandable. They have to make sure that my heart is able to take the strain. The latter, not so much. The reason I have to see a gastroenterologist is embarrassing, and pointless, I might add. I’ve had the problem for all the years I was fat, it went away when I lost weight, and it came back when I gained weight. I attributed it to the fact that I was fat, that fried food does not agree with me (pan fried food as well), and that I’d have it until I lost weight again. Nope. The doctor wants to make sure it isn’t something more fun, like polyps or tears or whatever.

I’m frustrated. I’m damned frustrated, and near giving up on this whole thing. It is not just the appointments. It is the lack of help that I’m getting from this so called support system at the clinic. Why am *I* expected to make the appointments for these tests and referrals when the doctor is the one who wanted them? And I distinctly remember him saying to the nurse, “Make these appointments.” Why was *I* expected to keep up with the pre-op class schedule, when I didn’t even know we were supposed to join the Yahoo group online to find out WHEN they were? I asked today, while I was there, when the next classes were. I figured maybe, just MAYBE the nurse could have told me something. Nope. She was vague, saying it could the first week or it could be the second week of December, and was I a member of the Yahoo group? I am, I said. I was informed to keep watching that group for updates. I desperately wanted to ask her if she was going to give us more than a day’s notice next time or just spring it on us like an hour before the class. I didn’t. I should have.

I haven’t called to make the appointments yet. I started to while waiting in the lobby of the hospital for my husband to come and pick me up, but after sitting on hold for ten minutes, I just hung up. Right now, I don’t know if I want to go through with making those appointments. I don’t know if I want to go through this anymore. My mind is telling me to just say, “Fuck it all” and be fat and die in ten years. I’m starting to listen to that refrain. It is hard as hell to try and get something done to fix yourself and having all these hoops to jump through just to achieve that goal.

Could I lose weight the old fashioned way? Possibly, but every time I’ve started to, my body goes into rebellious mode and taunts me to eat, eat, eat, and forget about exercise. Or, curse Murphy’s Law, I injure myself somehow, and fall off the bandwagon. Or I eat and exercise and lose nothing, which frustrates me to the point of giving up.

This is why I wanted the lap band. Knowing that I’d have it in me, knowing that I have what amounts to an actual physical conscience chiding me every time I fuck up, knowing that I’d never be able to eat huge portions again. That’s why I wanted it. All I would have to do is look at the scar from where they put it in or feel the port where they inject the saline solution. That would be enough to stop any eating folly, to check myself while exercising so I wouldn’t overdo it and hurt something, to override the morbid thoughts. I’d like to say my family is enough to do all those things, but they aren’t. No offense to them in any way, but they can’t be there for me 24/7, watching my every move. With this, I would be held accountable for all that I did and did not do.

Fuck it, I guess.