26 November 2008

All downhill from here. It hurts, ya know?

Once upon a time, long ago, and far away, I was eloquent. Articulate. I had friends, and friends had me.

I had a son who was everything to me and the years during which I lost him stripped away everything from me-hope, faith and of course, love.

"What do you want to be when you grow up Bianca?" Asked the one person in flesh I knew with all my heart loved me completely.

"A granny!" I declared, and my one true love whom I called Sam after the book he read to me to make me stop being contrary (Green Eggs and Ham "Would I could I, Sam I Am?"), replied with all the solemn wisdom of a boy two or three years older than me.

"You have to be a mummy first, I think, you can't be a granny unless you are a mummy first."

I was of course horrified at the thought of my one and only cherished dream tied to a period of lurching about in trailing wrappings, having just watched the Boris Karloff version of "The Mummy". Almost as horrified as Sam I Am was when I told him in a fit of three or four year old love that when I grew up I was going to marry him.

Alas, Sam I Am lived primarily in southern Wales. Grew up there, all the while romancing me with The Beatles, Diana Ross and the Supremes, Credence Clearwater Revival, The Beach Boys, and later Jethro Tull and Led Zeplin. Sam I Am has the greatest taste in books and music.

("Those were the days/my friends/we thought they'd never end/we'd sing and dance/forever and a day...")

I thought he would show up one day and stay forever, no more leaving, no more good-byes 'til next time. No more jet aeroplanes and laughing rows over pronunciations of aluminum and aeroplane-"Dear God Sunnie, you're British, how can you not speak King's English?? Now, say it after me-Al - lu - min - i - um..."



All the while knowing in my heart that Sam I Am was not the man God ordained for me at the dawn of time, but oh please God, can't you change your mind?? I trusted Sam like I've never in this or any life trusted anyone.

Mr. Do-The-Right-Thing, which explains his childhood horror at the thought of marrying someone God meant for someone else, and never ever to know that decency endeared him all the more to me.

Ah, temptation, and Sam I Am dedicated songs to me over my local radio using up his precious hard earned pounds, then would go silent for weeks, then pop up out of no-where to tell me he just had a feeling I needed him, which I did.

"Mr Postman, wait and see if you've a letter, a letter for me" I waited for the postcards and the blue airmail envelopes, the messages from Sam I Am when he gave in; I never stopped listening to the radio on the chance that Sam had given in and stood patiently feeding coins into the phone box gulping mouth.

Fourteen and smart enough to ask me for the phone number and call sign of my favourite radio station (KEZY Anaheim!), then call so that I and anyone else listening would know that a boy in southern Wales, GB, cared enough about ME to ring the station. My first and last name unusual enough that when he called (and his calls were timed to ensure the largest audience to our local pop station) there could be no doubt who was the intended-it made my day, my night, my week, my life.

We would have children who would love me because he loved me, would respect me because he did, would honour me because he did, who would believe in me because he did-he would be my partner and we would raise a strong, united family.

He changed his mind, went to college over there instead of over here. My step-mother stole my college fund, and I joined the Coast Guard.

Angry, I married a total jerk I met while on active duty; Sam I Am graduated from college and went on to med school.

I divorced the jerk and tried to get on with my life; Sam I Am finished his residency, became a surgeon.

I met the guy God ordained for me at the dawn of time-oddly enough also from Wales, and headed for med school, Sam I Am stayed out of the way while I lost the man God ordained for me at the dawn of time; I married another jerk whom I divorced in September 1998, then came back saying "I can't go all my life waiting to catch you between husbands!"

Back and forth, off and on, we long distance (and all too rarely up close and semi-personal) tried again. For several years. Finally he asked me to decide (like I hadn't already!), and I said "Yes, Please!"

He said he'd try to talk to Fox, we'd be a family, he'd be a good step-father to Fox, and we would all live happily ever after.

For the first time in nearly ten years I let myself hope and believe, maybe a little. I kept it to myself, mostly, telling a few people at work, but keeping out of the blogs because frankly I just had a feeling that writing about it in online would jinx it.

Silly me.

Sam I Am's cold feet got so cold he has frostbite.

Fox still hates me, and I forgot to thaw the little turkey breast I got because ya know, Thursday 27th November 2008 is just another day.

Like 25th December will be.

Like the rest of my life will be.

I've known since October 28th, the day I was supposed to pick Sam I Am up at the airport.

Keeping it out of the blogs didn't protect it one damn bit.

25 November 2008

I. Am. Not. Doing. Well.

Today it was once again proved to me by my co-workers that I should just STFU.

We lost two 'team members' yesterday and our work load is increased tremendously. Everyone is in a spin that would make the Taz proud, and they finally managed to totally, completely, fully piss me off.

I became very very quiet. I intend to stay that way. In part to preserve my job (at least through this wretched -welcome to my world all you fellow New Working Poor-economic downturn) and in part to preserve what very little is left of my sanity.

However, I have this DEEP need to exact some kind of revenge-a sure sign to any one left who cares enough to know me that I am really in danger of walking away from this bunch of loonies.

I could rant on incoherently, but to what avail, ergo what's the point? I am so everlastingly and utterly burned out on my opinion/judgement/feedback/information being sought only to have it totally ignored, worse, derided and contradicted.

And three days later when I'm proved right told I should have been more assertive, or told, well, "uh, I needed to hear it from someone else."

So when today the child who thinks he is smarter than everyone (and was recently caught ignoring our boss in favour of the wonky Accounting 'team') deigned to ask me a question in an email, I answered, and oh yeah, hit 'reply to all' and that he shouldn't believe me but check my facts. I added a smile, do I get points?

Wonder if my badge will work in the morning.

Nothing got logged, nothing was done the way we should have done it including all of the stuff that should go into the shredder but went into the trash because I was being a prima dona according to the resident PITA and they didn't used to have to do all that...

Yeah, I do wonder if my badge will work in the morning, and I hate myself that I care and am tempted (but not enough to get in the car and go back there to clean up after all the real prima donas) to get in the car and go back there to clean up after all the real prima donas.

Oh God I miss my son, I miss having a real life, and I am pretty pissed that those little shites got me again-I should have just gritted my teeth and put up with their stupidity because I'm right and they know it and the real reason they were such PITAs today is that they know they were wrong.

I hate that I care, did I say that already?

The rebellion started last night when:

One of the two caught doing stupid stuff decided that she would contradict my instructions to one of the temps, and then compounded this error by going around me to her partner in crime, who jumped on the bandwagon and when our mutual boss didn't catch on (because he is too busy putting out the fires caused by the caught two and their partners in crime who were walked out the door yesterday morning) and thus gave tacit approval to their antics, the rest of the 'team' joined in.

Well, I wonder if my badge will work in the morning.

22 November 2008

When does something become the last straw? How many last straws does a body have?

I've been so busy at work that I've not been online for a week, and when I got home this afternoon I decided I would boot up and check out the news.

Bad choice. I should have listened to the little voice in my head that said "Nah, not today. Google something fun; window shop the new fashioned way. Do anything but go to the news sites..."


How does a person keep reading the news when the first headline that comes up regards a teen killing himself on webcam?

The young Floridian, a college student, posted that he'd taken a drug overdose. He trained the camera on his bed then laid down and slowly died on webcam.

Viewers were posting IM messages deriding him as a fake, or that he'd not ingested enough of the antidepressant found later in his body.

Many people watched for many hours as a young man slowly died on webcam.

Finally, after several posts that he wasn't moving-breathing, one of the viewers contacted the kid's Internet provider and asked them to contact the police.

Who came, broke down the door to the kid's room, and determined he was dead. They turned off the camera, and later the vid and comments were pulled from the website that had hosted his suicide.


So, how many last straws does any one of us have in them before doing something like this?

How many?

02 November 2008

Whenever did Absorbine Jr manufacturers decide to put the ointment into a plastic bottle??

I've not bought it in a few years but recently realized I needed to start stocking a reliable multi-purpose antiseptic again and so yesterday tucked a carton into my hand basket. When I got home and opened the carton I was surprised to see the container is plastic.

Then I flipped the damn thing over to find the Triangle Seven-loaded with bisphenol-swell. The stuff is useless if the critics are to be believed.


If you clicked the link and read the article, you can see the critics of the product are impressive-Yalies don't like the stuff, and that's good enough for me! Check out the citations, this is not your pop-science wiki, but a very well written report on the chemical by reputable (and peer reviewed) sources.

Jeez I am so glad I bought a ton of glass bottles for my grandson-hope his mum continued to use the glass after I moved up here! Everything I've read says the worst effects come from exposure during early development.

So, back to the store goes the Absorbine Jr. I'm going to have to find something else-more than likely I shall now (instead of later) have to become a home chemist as regards medicinals. I was kinda hoping to hold off on that, I've only just now learned to make my own 'beauty' supplies.

And I'm going to have to be careful about what I buy and use for disaster prep-glad I was never much into canned goods as a suitable stock-up material.

Gods, how very damn depressing all of this is becoming; natural and man made disasters on increasing and people all over the world are so tense it seems to be it won't take much to set them off. See what turning away from an agrarian society does?

If ever there was a time for pulling the wagons into a circle, now surely feels like Time!