that's hot

It's forty million degrees Celsius here again today, and it looks like it's going to stay here FOREVER.

Trainlines even buckled in the heat on Tuesday. They buckled! In the heat! How fucking AWESOME is THAT??

The rest of the city is all "OMFGNOOOOOOOOOOOO", but I'm kind of loving it.

And I really don't know why because, essentially, surviving a heatwave such as this involves a whole lot of staying inside and not doing much of anything, which is an activity guaranteed to drive me crazy.

But! Here we both are again, holed up at home with no plans for the beach and only minor plans to get to the pool later today. Daniel's came out earlier like a game show host in need of a stylist, all Ta Da hands and crying out "I'm DRESSED!", and proceeded to show himself off to his greatest advantage by turning around in circles and making sure I copped an absolute eye full of his glory.

He's in daycare today. His usual day is Monday but we had a national holiday here so the centre gave (and by "gave" you KNOW I mean "will bill me for, as well as bill me for his usual Monday which he wasn't even THERE for") us today to make up for it. It's almost 1pm here and I'm here giving the running dialogue, so you can see how keen we both are to get this whole Childcare thing underway.

He doesn't want to go, I don't want him to go, so I have no idea why he's going, other than the old "respite" chestnut. He probably needs time away from me more than I do him, because of the two of us, I'm the more likely to get cranky when he doesn't nap. Which he doesn't do AT ALL (welcome to being THREE!) anymore. Which makes me sound like I'm whining about him when actually, I really DO love his company 24/7.

Which is why we're still here and why I'm thinking the playcafe before I drop him off sounds like an excellent idea.

So that's the plan, formulated in the here and now: playcafe, daycare, pool. Yeah.

pathetically human

I've barely heard from him in a week, which, I think, is very telling.

Oh, he responds if I text him - with four or five letter responses even - but I text him. He's not contacted me since last Thursday night.

My hopeful self: he's busy at work!

My realistic self: he's been busy before and texted or called most days.

hs: he's using four or five letter words!

rs: he's being polite. He actually thinks you're a loser

hs: he's replying!

rs: but he's not contacting you either.

Then there's the (so! Much! Greater!) part of me that SO wants to NOT contact him, then that self gets reminded of the last time I gave space where I thought it was warranted. That idea meant the last two months happened, and those last two months with him have sucked, which is why we've ended up here, so I text him again despite cringing and feeling like an idiot for doing so.

I can't sleep, I can't eat, I feel sick all the time.

I hate this.

So I texted him one last time this morning.

"Goodbye".

Which is (OH RATHER) dramatic and "hello, I'm fifteen!" but is also reflective of being awake at 2am, and 3am, and 4am AGAIN because this sucks so much.

I poured out my heart and I don't know where he wants to go with this, the direction of which is pretty fucking obvious anyway (please see; one week, barely heard from), so how dumb would it be to ask him "where do you want to go with this?" because, DUH, you know?

So I cut to the chase.

I've never dealt with a broken heart while raising a three year old. For anyone wondering, it's a lot harder than dealing with one while while childless.

Even I'VE never heard me carrying on like this and being and feeling so fucking fragile and vulnerable over love. I feel so dumb discussing love in relation to me because...well I guess it never APPLIES to me.

I've long practiced that I'm FINE with Not Loving, that I'm finer still with being Not Loved.

Which is a relic from my (tragic) childhood, I believe, and I guess I've stayed "above" this need for love because it hurt so much to NOT be loved.

So I should be grateful for this heartache because this whole experience kind of proves that I AM human, and that I AM much like everybody else.

I can't promise it's not going to shut me down even more firmly and determinedly though, because heartache is so aptly named. A broken heart, even more so.

On the one hand, I took a risk, which is a good, brave and courageous thing to do.

On the other, it blew up in my face, which makes being brave and courageous feel like a really dumb thing to be.

grousing

So Monday came and went and before it came the ongoing panic about the probability of my death occuring sometime after 8am Monday morning. It went so far as calling Gail, who happens to be Guidos' secretary, who also happens to be a friend of mine, who has no idea I'm sleeping with her boss, which is why he no longer wishes to deal with any legals for me, legals like, ooh, the guardianship paperwork for me that got me into this whole Sleeping With My Lawyer shit in the first place.

ANYWAY

I called her at work while mid Will Die!! freakout last Thursday, and impressed upon her the privilege it is to be able to speak to a friend about a professional manner because I do NOT want to put her in an uncomfortable position bla bla bla, BUT, could she please do SOMETHING or make a note SOMEWHERE so that, in the event, my son does NOT go to my asshole brother (the dickhead currently listed as Daniel's guardian but who has made NO effort whatsoever in any way shape or form to be in his life despite agreeing to BE in his life so that, in the event, it would be a seamless transition from one house to the other, AND been a total fuckhead to me during a very, very sad time of my life) and instead DOES go to YB, who happens to be Daniel's favorite child care worker who loves him very very much?

But she said she had to talk to Guido, so I was all "Oh, okay. FINE", because by then it was only HOURS since I'd poured my heart out to him and, GAH.

Then I think I hung up and cried or something equally as constructive.

Then Sunday night I sent her another desperate email so that SOMEONE knew I sang All My Loving to Daniel every night at bedtime while I was alive, could SOMEONE continue to do so after my death? Then I wrote a card for YB and gave her Gail's number to call because Gail has all the details and is all lawyer-y and such, and then I made other notes to pack in my overnight bag about who to call and who Daniel was to go to and, what? I was about to DIE, y'all. DON'T JUDGE.

BUT

I didn't die so how red faced do I feel now? Try this much [-------infinity-------]

I was meant to stay overnight and organised things with YB for Daniel to stay with her (forever, if circumstances required) as such, but actually got to go home yesterday, not even three hours after leaving the operating theatre, and only two after I regained consciousness. I was over an hour IN theatre, which is kind of a long time, so that and the massive swelling suggests to me that the plates were pretty much embedded with my skull.

and half my readership just fainted.

Daniel came home with me last night, and was most miffed to not be visiting the YB compound.

And I'm mostly okay. In the midst of the usual post anaesthetic downer so kind of emotionally, how shall I say it? Fucked? Yeah, that about describes it. I feel like if I didn't have Daniel, I'd throw myself off a cliff because everything seems so hopeless. I'm restless, I can't eat or sleep, I don't want to be alone and yet am so, so very alone, which is why I wish to throw myself off a cliff.

This is the part of surgery I hate even more than the whole Fear Of Dying thing. That lasts until I don't die, The Downer lasts for AGES. Weeks, MONTHS even.

(as an aside, the Fear Of Dying thing is a CONSTANT, regardless of any pending operating theatre time, but is less terrifying now that I've at least verbally and via email made note of my dying wishes ie my brother = XXX + skull + crossbones. YB's house FOREVAH)

(another aside is that I don't wish to keep Daniel from his rightful guardian ie his father, forever. I believe though, that it shouldn't be something as technically simple as my death to allow that man complete access to a child that doesn't know him, doesn't love him, and has had nothing to do with him AT ALL for the last six months, and minimal interaction with him for the years before that. The intention of all the wishes and whatnots in my will is so that Daniel's father will need to work some before he's handed the virtual keys to Daniel's life and living arrangements)

Physically though, things went well, especially seeings as how that dying thing didn't pan out.

However, my idiot surgeon (best in the world by reputation, and YET) fucked it AGAIN, and did a soft tissue graft to my LEFT cheek after I specifically said, "uh, no, RIGHT cheek only" only minutes before I met him again in the surgical suite, at which time HE said "and we're doing a graft to this cheek (indicates right) and THIS cheek (indicates left)". Despite clarifying the details with him then, I really wanted to avoid ANOTHER incident where I wake up to something I didn't quite expect, so confirmed with his nurse "RIGHT cheek only, right?" as we were literally sitting outside the theatre, and she was all, "check on that, I remember the notes at the consult. Right cheek only, yes", then AGAIN, if I recollect correctly but don't quote me, thanks to the sleepy drugs, to someone INSIDE the OR. Kirsten? Dr Sleepy Drugs? WHO KNOWS?

And YET

Here I am with a tissue graft in my LEFT JAWLINE, when I already am not over in amorata about my jawline, and NO ONE even mentioned a graft to my JAWLINE.

Especially not ME, which is what he told his Personal Assistant when she passed on the question to him when I called his rooms yesterday to ask "LEFT JAWLINE WTF?!1!??".

He told her "she asked for it immediately prior to surgery".

Seriously.

Five (seventeen?) operations with this guy and EVERY SINGLE ONE I've woken up to a little "surprise".

I look like Minnie Driver on the left side of my face, and the right side is so painfully swollen it looks like if it swelled anymore, my head would explode like an overinflated balloon. The swelling is already subsiding though, as this morning when I woke up, I couldn't quite close my mouth on the right side, and now I can.

and as for Daniel, he's in childcare again today, and because all involved were so bitterly disappointed about the whole Going Home With YB, her husband, her son, AND her three Japanese boarders going arse up, he's going home with her tonight for a play and some dinner, so I'll be going to get him at around 7.30.

I reckon we'll organise a sleepover for him too for another day, if I ever have a good reason to want the night off, which AS IF?

Meanwhile, I'm puttering around at home wanting to throw myself off a cliff about THAT too.

bring popcorn

Last night's No Poo Supplies shopping expedition resulted in, one jar of coconut oil, size HUGE, and one bottle of peppermint essential oil, size more reasonable than those eensy winsy ones you normally find.

I asked Shop Owner which oil to get, and he said almond because bla bla bla, also CHEAP. Then I went with the coconut oil because I already eat it (is so yum, also v. v. good for you), and I figured if it does ick to my hair, I can at least carry on ingesting it.

All that is moot though, as today I'm going for a water wash AGAIN, (mostly because I am tired (more later)( and LAZY) but anyway, ANOTHER water wash?? Be still my crazy, hippy heart)

It'll be three days since a "clean" (because I KNOW you're all SO interested in my hair gunge) and it still looks...okay, I guess, despite the grungy state it got into on Tuesday (which reached OMGX100000 proportions, thankyou wicked hot temperatures + beach), and the expected regrunge it should have got but *gasp* didn't while out walking in the windy and heat yesterday. It'll probably look like yuck by tonight, but whatever. I'm not doing anything today that requires decent hair.

What I'm doing today: Well, today's big thrill is the mechanics', and as my car has been making a godawful squeally noise from BOTH rear wheels since the last service and tune which was like, a YEAR ago, I'm gonna be up for about a million dollars. Also, one (1) timing belt. Value, another million dollars.

I need to marry well by the end of the DAY, is what I'm saying.

Then I've got TWO doctors' appointments, one after the other, opposite ends of town (SO FUN), one for my mental health issues, AHEM, and the other to see my surgeon to see if it's an overnight stay on Monday (probable, but still, needs clarification)(wait, have I even MENTIONED the MORE surgery thing?) and to ask if he can jab some fat into that HUGE wrinkle in my top lip that was created by the repeated MASSIVE SWELLING following each previous surgery while he's wielding the fat jabbing needle in the dent you can't see in my face. ALSO, maybe some more in my cheekbones? Because hebus crayfish, my crazygood new cheekbones have all but disappeared since all the beautiful, beautiful swelling went down. ALSO! Ear pinning? Pros and cons?

So, he's gonna be all sizing me up as the new Michael Jackson but I DON'T CARE. Questions! Need answering!

Assuming I haven't mentioned anything about any surgery, let me elaborate: That random screw in my mouth? Is an infection risk and needs to be removed, stat, except the stat-est we could organise it what with the inconvenience of Christmas and the New Year etc, was the middle of January, and so here we are, looking down the barrel of my seventh or eighth or my fifteen I have no idea I lost count after FIVE surgery since March 2007. I'll be out of action for the next few weeks because while it's only ("only"? HA) a few plates and their associated screws being removed, they're titanium ie my skull would have grown over them by now, so when we're talking "removed" we're not talking having at the screws with a phillips head and flicking the plates off. Then because I'm there anyway, and because the defect ion the right side of my face is still apparent, a soft tissue graft has also been scheduled to balance it up a little more, which is what all that waffle was up there about jamming some more fat in my cheekbones and lip wrinkle was all about.

I'm SO not looking forward to it, any of it, the whole lot of it. Not just the surgery (because jesus, so much surgery) but the recovery too, which last time had me out of sorts and feeling SO DEPRESSED for almost two months. Granted, one day you wake up and wonder what the HAIL all that wanting to throw yourself off a cliff was all about, but while you're in the midst of a post anaesthetic downer, it all feels so real, so I'm actually feel quite panicky about that part of it already wah pity me etc.

Every cloud has a silver lining though, and I did score a supercool duffle bag with wheels WHEELS! for the occasion because FINALLY after seven (or eight or twenty billion) operations one after the other, I got that maybe I DO need a new bag because maybe this WON'T be my last trip into hospital. What then, is the bet that I never, ever need a wickedcool overnight bag AGAIN?

UNLESS, OF COURSE, I ACHIEVE MARRIED WELL BY END OF DAY STATUS, THEN THAT RICH MOFO CAN TAKE ME OVERNIGHT TO PLACES oops capslock like the BAHAMAS every frickin WEEKEND so help me, in which case, this wickedcool dufflebag (with wheels) was a very wise investment.

So that's my day. Full of capslocks, exclamation points and oh so not exciting.

I'd rather be at the beach.

Now, why was I tired? God, where to begin. Long (LONG) story short, the lawyer and I had words, good words this time, as opposed to the SHIT it's been for the last couple of weeks, and I got to say all those things you rehearse in your head over and over but never actually say because you're too scared to, probably because you're putting your heart out there and what if it gets stomped on?

Pointy being, we've been seeing each other for...well, we've been seeing each other for almost two years now, and have been seeing each other naked for around eighteen months or so. It's an easy relationship that hasn't been going anywhere, but given the drama constantly parading through my life, I've not had any emotional wah wahs' left TO develop a relationship with ANYONE - and anyway, can you imagine meeting someone then having to cancel a date because you need to get up early to be inseminated with someone else's sperm?

So it's been easy and fun and we saw each once a week or so, but we're not in each others' lives AT ALL.

Late November, conveniently as I was going through my last IVF cycle and failure, Guido (which is so close to NOT being a pseudonym) was laid low with a heap of work that needed to be done before the offices closed for three weeks over the holidays. So while we usually either spoke or texted each day, it became short and stilted and consisting of two letter replies like "ok", or "ta" or "no".

I wasn't as chatty because I wasn't up to anything much, and after considering his lack of interest, I figured his very valid reason for space was The Busy, so while I missed him like crazy, the break in communication didn't suggest to me that things between us were struggling.

It was circumstance, I thought, and the holidays, which is a time you spend with family, not someone you're screwing because it's convenient.

Then maybe we'd been apart for too long, because then it all turned to shit. He'd been an asshole and I'd listened to his rants and offered some reason m because truth is, he sounded so off that I worried that he was losing his fucking mind. But even if he WAS losing it, it wasn't MY responsibility to either save him or bear the brunt of his angst. Eventually and surprisingly, considering just how MUCH of an ass he was that last ten days, it was the distance that got me and I ended it with him (via text, because I'm THAT classy) two weeks ago.

NOW. Fast forward to the reason I was SO tired yesterday.

He came over Wednesday night and apparently the crisis in his life has either blown over or he's past the Acute Anger At EVERYONE As A Coping Mechanism phase, and we had a nice night, and I don't know how or why I started saying stuff, because had I known I was going to say stuff I WOULD have rehearsed it and no doubt been more eloquent than the garden gnome I was apparently channeling.

I told him the last few weeks have totally sucked and the last two months have been difficult. Too difficult. Things had to change. I didn't want more of the same shit we'd most recently had, and that I wanted more of the good we'd previously shared. I wanted a chance to care for him and about him, to be something good in his life (him: you ARE a good thing in my life) and to make his life better (him: you DO make my life better).

The worst that could happen was we'd break up, which was happening right now anyway, so I asked him to take the chance and let me love him bla bla BLA.

God, it was just like in the (cheesey) movies.

He stayed, which he's never done, and we slept together, which we've also never done. His arms were wrapped around me the entire time and if I moved, he held on to me even tighter even though he was obviously asleep because he was snoring SO LOUDLY.

I don't know if it's over now. I suspect it is, because at least as bad as I am at intimacy, but thank GOD I finally said SOMETHING because I've been cool and not got involved with him all this time because we're both too damaged or some shit to take risks on things like love and matters of the heart, and I've been too proud to admit to even myself that I love him, but I do. I've loved him forever and I'm NOT the sort of idiot who says things like "I feel like I've been waiting for him my entire life" but I feel like I have.

Over the years I've watched him from the distance. Not in a stalkerish way, geesh, but in an Our Lives Touch way. I remember being at a family dinner and sitting directly opposite him and his then fiance and wishing so much it was me beside him. I remember the milestones in his life, like the wedding band going on his left hand, and the birth of his son, and I remember seeing that same significant gold band disappear, and I remember how I've felt each time.

So the last thing I asked him was to let me know, to please not break my heart by simply shifting back into our recent distant state, but to let me know what he wants to do with us.

So there it is and that's why I was so tired, and why when I put Daniel to bed last night and, as is the norm, lay down with him while he settled, I fell asleep and woke up at 9am this morning. That's like, ELEVEN HOURS sleep, MINIMUM CAPSLOCKCAPSLOCKCAPSLOCK

I remember saying to him, "no more reading, mama's tired" then ...*BOOM* hit by the sleepstick, and when I DID wake up, I was all "wuh, where? huh?" as I tried to remember what I did last night because the last thing I remembered was putting Daniel to bed, so OBVIOUSLY I was RHOHYPNOLLED and then I remembered, oh yeah, I did NOTHING, went NOWHERE, read NOTHING (which, as a New Years Resolution aside, is going well) because I FELL ASLEEP.

and on that cheery note, must go water my hair and scrub the child clean too. I do wonder though, when the showers we share are going to become disturbing memories in Daniel's future. Please advise.

poo-less

I was in the shower last night, having my usual Deep And Meaningful thoughts, ones like, "I reckon I'm going to go all out and use olive oil to cleanse and once I finish this last shipment of Avon Advanced Repar Glycolic Acid bla bla's from Ebay, I'm gonna use lemon juice as a toner. I'm going do it for a month and then report back to a) my face and b) the internet".

Stay tuned.

Other freaky things I'm doing include not using shampoo

the internet: how GROSS!

Except it's not.

I've been using a bicarb soda mix in water ever couple of days, and rinsing with a dilute apple cider vinegar mix and the entire WORLD should give it a go because it REALLY WORKS.

Slowly too, I'm able to use the mixture less often. And when my hair gets dirty, it's not slimy greasy hair dirty, it's just from going to the beach and training and such. It's a different kind of dirty.

A clean dirty.

It's CLIRTY!

Which is entirely less gross than greasy hair dirty.

I got the idea here from Miss Grace's Disgrace late last year (when apparently ALL my good thinking occurs) which led me to here which lead me to here, which led me to I reckon it's been about two months since I've shampooed my hair OR Daniel's and my goodness, it shows. In a good way. A veddy, veddy good way. My hair is softer and shinier, and my soul LOVES this kind of hippy shit.

Other experiments include sea salt washing, white vinegar clarifying, lemon juice rinses, and sea salt washing followed by a nettle and chamomile tea rinse.

So it's kind of fun too because I'm now at the point where I do things like suspiciously eye off the can of tomatoes in my cupboard and think things like "I wonder what YOU'D be like, you saucy little minx, all pureed and massaged into my hair, followed by a dilute lemon juice mix and left to air dry?".

Not that I've gone that far yet, but I KNOW I will sometime (at least relatively) soon.

But not now. Now I need to go to the dentist and WON'T THAT BE FUN?

new year, new life

So one of my New Year's resolutions is to reply to more of your comments. It's right on the top of the list ahead of Practice Typing and Read More Books, if by "Read More", I mean, "Read. At All.".

Ten years ago, I used to inhale books at a rate of, on average, six books every two weeks. I'd borrow eight from the library conveniently located down the street from here. On average one or two would be placed aside after a page or two, and the remaining six or seven would be read at every available minute. I was the dork extracting a novel from my purpose bought, pre fashionable oversized bag when the line at the post office exceeded three people ahead of me. I was the nerd in the corner seat of the sofa enjoying whatever delights the words on the page held for me while the rest of the world LIVED whatever delights the world held for them. I'd sit up late at night and, if the book had me DREAMING its plot, I'd wake early to read it too.

Occasionally I'd search my favorite authors on the shelves, but mostly I liked to browse the soft cover section. It was uncatalogued and sorted simply into genres. The romance over there, the thrillers here, that kind of thing, so I rarely had a selection of "like" books in my library bag, and my brain ws nourished with all sorts of literary genius and assorted trashy crap and it was AWESOME.

And then some crisis occurred with one of the major health funds in the state, and that health fund began streaming their clients to our workplace, and I began working up to eighty hours a week, and my lifelong reading habit went *kaboom*, and being your standard creature of habit, my new habit was formed and honed and that one was the one where I don't read AT ALL.

Then the internet occured and its reading style fits with my lack of consistency style and for years now I've been jumping from page to page and absorbing all kinds of knowledge that can mostly NOT be applied to my life but my god, the WEALTH of information out there. So. In. Love With That!!

But I miss the quietness of reading a book. I miss the ritual. I miss knowing who my favorite authors are, and I miss that part of myself because reading once defined at least a part of who I am.

So I resolve to read for ten minutes a day. That's all, and it's now January 5, and there's a book on my table that STILL hasn't been opened.

But it's ONLY January 5 and we've been pretty busy having fun as opposed to READING about having fun, so it's not yet a failure in the resolution stakes.

The Practice Typing thing goes without saying because I've been banging on about how I can't type for years. I bought a Mavis Beacon thingy a while back and thank GOD, finally loaded it and actually started DOING it late last year. Then that fucking bitch threw in NUMBERS and w. t. F, Mavis? I don't want to be all flashing over the keyboard vis a vis numbers. TOO HARD. So I've been circling the program since numbers became a part of my daily practice and haven't been practicing at all.

Again, not great. Not really a new year's resolution though, as I began doing this last year so it's not a total fail yet.

So the comments, replying too, resolution is where it's at. I want to be more connected, and I want YOU to feel more connected with me.

I've been drifting through life lately, and I know it's all Time And Shit that will make the real difference, but so will being proactive about not being such a freakin' lump of The Depressed, and a good - no, a GREAT place to start with being proactive about THAT is to be a part of life, and not apart from it.

(did you like that play on words? Literary genius, right there. Also, probably a direct quote from somewhere because NO WAY is something THAT obvious, original. ANYWAY)

Thing is, interestingly (OR NOT) enough, this entry is brought to you courtesy of Haloscan, who has been loading a big ol' page of Fuck All each time I try to open comments.

Weird, Universe, and kind of a little scary because apparently my dark mood is SO powerful, it's influencing the internet.

*da dum*