Saturday, February 28, 2009

inventory

I have insurance so in terms of monetary value, most items are replaceable. Insurance, though, will never replace nonna's earrings. Nonno gave them to me after she died, and no shit, she was probably wearing them when they fled Russia. They were THAT old, and THAT representative of a family I barely know.

There was also a pair of diamond earrings. Quite sizey, very lovely, and I'd had them since I was fifteen.

There were other pieces taken too, not much, and not an old collection of memory laden stuff because THAT was all taken back in 2001. Coming home after that burglary was trippy, if only for the emptied freezer and the not yet melted ice cream tipped onto the kitchen floor, so yes, much nicer this time around with no visible sign that the intruder had only JUST left.

This time, only a couple of simple gold rings went missing. There were, two, no, three pearl necklaces (AHEM): two freshwater and one seed pearl, The seed pearls were a twisted chocker and was a gift from an Italian Professor I met while there in 1993. That necklace always made me think of him, he was a lovely old man, and a real gentleman. We were on a bus tour of Spain and my father had recently died, so having this stately old man keep check on me for a week or so was very reassuring.

There were also two nose studs which, ick, you know? I mean, would YOU ever wear a secondhand nose stud? One WAS 18ct, though, with a one point diamond in it, so maybe it IS hockable? (aside, I'm such a delicate petal all I can wear in my nose is stainless fucking steel. SO CLASSY)

There were quite a few pairs of costume earrings, and several flashy costumey rings, because I like LOOKING at The Flash, but rarely ever wear anything other than the simple gold hoops I'm wearing now.

That's why a bracelet, two bangles, and diamond ring I used to wear (before The Delicate took over and gave me Ring Related Dermatitis [something to do with the nickel, I'm told]) got taken too. That had been made specifically for me, using the insurance payout from the last theft to make a single significant representative of all that had been taken. The worst loss in THAT break-in was the two religious icons I'd worn my entire life. Each one had been a gift from each grandparent in Italy, and I'd worn them so long the jump rings had thinned, so I'd taken them off so as not to lose them before I got them repaired. The diamond ring just gone then, was worth a lot, but STOOD for so much more than its own monetary value.

There was cash too, three hundred and thirty dollars, which was only in the house because of my birthday. The bastard(s) even took Daniel's piggy bank with - at last count on the first of the month - one hundred and seventeen two dollar coins in it.

And there's a pair of shoes missing. I don't even know which they are because I only know they're gone because of the blank space staring at me from the wardrobe, so no great emotional loss there as obviously I didn't love them, but still. MY SHOES?

Daniel's baby photos had been sorted through, not for documentation, I think, but as collateral damage while looking for looking for money or jewelry. But even if NOTHING had been taken AT ALL, having my CHILD'S documented life SEEN and TOUCHED and looked at by some asshole disgusts me more than I can ever explain. I'd rather have graphically pornographic shots of me leaked to the internet than have that fucker look at photos of a) my child and b) the first time my child and I MET.

I terms of Things Tossed Aside, I guess I was lucky though, as it appears the next stop on the wardrobe shelf was where the jewelry was, so there was no need to trash my house completely to get some score. That didn't stop them from rifling through the wardrobe at all though, and the the drawers were sifted through too, which ickickICK.

From there, it looks like the airquotes office space endairquotes was the next port of call, and then the living room and out of the door.

They were polite enough to close the front door, and even pulled the wooden door shut before ensuring the security door caught on the latch, so thanks at least for that, you scuzzy, thieving, piece of shit, asshole(s).

There are several cd's missing from the "office" cupboard, and the money was taken from the shelves above my desk, and there were things moved around on my desk, and stuff on the floor from in the cupboard. More drawers were messed up in the front room, and oddly, the thief had pushed the drawers back in, at least partway, which is why I didn't notice anything until I opened the drawers again AFTER that moment of "FUCK!" had hit me. It looks like there might be some dvds missing, though god help me in trying to ID which ones. That drawer HAD been left open, and the dvds were in a mess. I just assumed it had been Daniel sorting through them that morning. Maybe it was. I have no idea what the heck I'd be looking to replace anyway, if anything IS missing.

And there's stuff I don't want to check out yet.

Like, the box my camera came in was pulled out of the cupboard. I'm not ready to look IN the box though, to see if it's still there. Not yet.

I KNOW there was stuff taken from the bureau drawers, but at this point all I KNOW is missing is this ugly choker monstrosity THING that was crammed in the box, and I'm GLAD that's gone.

At the end of the day, THINGS being taken is nothing, mean nothing.

Insurance will replacement them, and even the sadness at losing items that tell the story of your life eventually fades.

This is my third break in, and the second theft.

The first two took time to feel I hadn't been violated. Having it happen again, in the home I share with my child, and having it happen in broad daylight is kind of harsh.

Having someone rob me of the notion that our home is OUR home, and only those we invite in can ever GET it, THAT'S what's hard to deal with.

I'm supposed to keep my boy safe, and while you KNOW nothing is absolute, and that shitheads have no timetable, you DO imagine you'll BE safe during the day.

And frankly, I need to go thought the whole claims process (ie the process where you're treated like a fraud even as you submit a claim of LESS value than your ACTUAL loss) like I need a hole in the head.

Thursday, February 26, 2009

yesterday

We came home at around 3, and I futzed around getting ready to go to the beach. Aside from my front door being unlocked (which might have been a glaring Sign for most people, but which served only to remind me that I am Old and also Senile), I didn't notice anything weird. I mean, I EXPECT mess at home - or, as I like to refer to it, "agility training" - because duh, I live with a three year old. The only time it's NOT messy around here is when he's either asleep or not here. (actually, it's CLUTTER, not mess, but in a small space like this, even organised clutter [which ours is not] disguises itself as mess).

ANYWAY

Point being, rockstars could party here while we're out and I'd have no clue.

And besides, the thieving scuzzball(s) had come in through the bedroom window, and as I'd begun sorting through some of Daniel's old clothes that morning, I didn't notice their contribution to the piles of crap until after I'd walked right INTO the room.

Then...

*blink*

I saw the open boxes of Daniel's baby photos sitting next to the boxes of baby clothes.

The facts were like "DO YOU GET IT NOW??" and I was all "Get what?".

Somewhere in there I figured that Daniel is way too short to take those boxes from the top of the wardrobe, and I had absolutely ZERO memories of taking them down myself so....*blank space STILL went here*

The other shit hanging out the wardrobe made no sense either.

and the facts waited

and waited

and then.

Fuck!

FUCK!!

All the other things ADDITIONAL to photo boxes and regurgitating wardrobes suddenly made sense too. Drawers not quite shut, papers a little froofed, nail files and pedeggs left on the floor. They were SIGNS, people, that I MISSED for a full THIRTY MINUTES.

Then I did a fancy little Michael Jackson swivel and headed back to my desk and eyeballed the shelving and sure enough, cleaned out. I don't usually keep that amount of spondoolies sitting around at home, but I also don't usually have a BIRTHDAY the day before some fuckhead rips me off.

and thanks a bunch for THAT, Universe.

Then I had to LOOK UP the damn police phone number because we've got this dumb rule here that you DON'T call 000 unless it's an emergency. So, if you're being STABBED, then call 000. If you'd like the cops to show up eventually, you call whatever the fuck the number is because I've already forgotten it again.

The police eventually (like, TWO and a HALF hours later) came and went, the Crime scene guy came a half hour after them, and he dusted and left, and it was 7pm by the time they all left.

And for a short trip inside my home, whoever it was actually scored rather well.

Then we went for a walk, Daniel fell asleep, and I jumped every. single. time I heard a noise.

Then we went to the video shop across the road and I gasbagged to the guy behind the counter for AGES (also ate two [TWO] Magnum Egos) because I was okay (ish), but given the option of being skeeved about going home and not being skeeved about not going home, I went with Option The Second.

Sunday, February 22, 2009

back to me

Well, that was as downer, but I'm feeling a lot better now.

Yesterday morning involved an actual real Rocking On The Floor experience, which if ever there was a medically sound indication of actually and really Losing Your Shit, that would be it, and that's when I came here and cried "SOS!", and seconds later there were Real Live People caring and my god, I canNOT tell you how much that helped, suffice to say, it helped A LOT.

So thank you. Thank you so very much.

Friday night, in a seemingly unrelated segue, my dumbass stroller had ANOTHER flat tyre like, the very same night we'd collected it from the repairer ie Strep.

He escapes into his own delusions of Poor Me way. too. regularly, yes, but he's proving to be a total kickass when it comes to fixing tangible problems like fucked up stroller tyres, which he's had to do four (FOUR) times this past week or so.

Translation: good thing I texted him a week prior to the Stroller Saga, because THAT text opened the channels of communication (Again!) and when he said "let's catch up!", I said "Sure! And by the way, I got a flat last night...", and then he beat his chest with his fists and promised to fix it.

Win win, really.

That happened three more times because for whatever reason, my dumbass stroller keeps getting leaks in its dumbass right sided inner tube whatsit it's man slash cyclist thing I have no idea wtf.

The second to last time, he took the fucking thing for a COMPLETE overhaul, because jaysus, three times already?! So Thursday, Strep grabbed the stroller from our house, and on Friday we went to his house to collect what appeared to be a brand new stroller. Clean, shiny and oiled, with new wheels and new tyres that had even been blacked. Long, low whistles ensued, then we stayed a while, and Daniel about lost his mind because giant beanbag + his father = So! Much! Fun!, then he (Daniel, not Strep) fell asleep in the car on the way home, and I transferred him to the stroller and took it for a test drive.

Which went well until I got a puncture on the LEFT side (srsly, wtf?) an entire HALF HOUR from home. I was on the phone with a friend at the time and the conversation went something like this:

me: "bla bla bla"

tyre: "kerpthlrrrrrrrrrr".

me: "OHMYGODMOTHERFUCKER".

Mark was all "I'll come get you!" and I was all "fuck that shit, man. I'm stripping the tyre OFF and we're going home on the RIM".

Which no matter how you word it and for whatever reason, sounds unreasonably porny.

Which is a slice of my mind you probably didn't want to know about BUT WHATEVER.

I walked home with my phone plastered to one ear and cuss words like you wouldn't believe being delivered through the airwaves, and the moulded plastic tyre rim was SHREDDED, and we got home, my friend hung up, and I called Strep and said "hi, GUESS WHAT?!".

So we organised to catch up again and have him fix it again sometime on Saturday.

Which is where the seemingly unrelated bits becomes related.

That annoying at the time puncture allowed me to be not alone yesterday, and it allowed me to not look blankly at my son and wonder how I was going to look after him.

The whole flat tyre deal has been pissing me off monumentally, and in the end, the whole saga now has shown itself to be a part of the Bigger Picture I couldn't see while in the midst of it because god help me, flat tyres are ANNOYING.

So deep!

But, peoples, there IS a bigger picture in re The Repeated Pattern Of Loss my life has taken on for, oh, FOREVER, I just can't see it.

WE ALL have a bigger picture, even those who don't even believe in that crap.

You can rarely see it when you're IN it, so I suppose life is a series of Getting It in hindsight, because you don't know, you CAN'T know the lesson or appreciate the opportunity waiting or understand the value of an experience, until it's passed.

And I'm essentially a contented person, no matter how fucking sad I am now, because even with the shit repeatedly hitting the fan, and even with the hopelessness I'm feeling, what I KNOW, is it isn't my LIFE, it's just STUFF.

This might sound like wank, but I know too, that I'm SO lucky to be able to keep standing back up and asking life to hand me more stuff to dook it out with, because I'd rather feel shit NOW about things I have control over - because I CHOOSE to pursue answers about my fertility, so these losses don't just HAPPEN to me - than feel shit about things when I NO LONGER have control over them. I'd rather mourn the loss of a dream as I'm pursuing it, than mourn the chances I never took.

Resuming...

Then we left Strep's place to go my acupuncture appointment, the one I'd made because acupuncture at the time of transfer significantly increases conception rates (so does, anecdotaly [anecdotally?] at least, SEX), and the quivering bottom lip and heartachey angst welled up again.

My acupuncturist did some pranic healing though, and used points to calm me the fuck down, and the whole time Daniel pottered around the room like The Awesome he is, playing with his Acupuncture Guy's Feng Shui coins ("Look! I got da monies!") and being so calm and happy and he's ALWAYS so reliable when it comes to minding his own when I'm doing my own, and here I am, feeling a WHOLE lot better and sounding even more like a flowerchild hippy than you already THOUGHT I was.

Saturday, February 21, 2009

well that sucks

my embryo didn't survive.

I don't know how I'm even writing this.

If you're out there, please let me know. I feel so alone.

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

BLAH

I think I'm meant to have another blood test today, and I think I'm meant to have a scan too, but I've been so BLAH about this whole frozen embryo transfer that I forgot to call the unit yesterday to get today's instructions.

So I guess I'll just show up and proffer an arm and my underbits for appraisal, and let THEM work out what they want to do with them.

Which is why I'm up at the buttcrack AGAIN.

I hope it's the whole being tired thing, but the BLAH right now, right this minute, isn't has reached epic proportions and I have that sad place in my tummy that means I can't eat, drink or breathe without feeling ill, and my eyes have their automatic Crinkle And Fill response on so the screen keeps going fuzzy, and I don't know what to do with all these feelings and I reckon they're not about a guy, because, duh, I'm in the middle of trying to make another baby grow from a handful of cells, but I feel so SAD about that guy today, but there are other things way more important are at play here like the whole FET thing and also I'm sure today's bloods will show I ovulated within the last day and quite apart from the hormone rush THAT gave me, it also makes me sad because even if I DO get a baby out of this, it will be the baby that ends any and all dreams of having a baby with someone who loves us.

Because I'm human and OF COURSE I have that dream.

I don't even WANT to get pregnant. What I REALLY want is someone to hand me a child, age irrelevant, and say "Here, I got this for you. It's yours.", and then I'd take it, and care for it and love it just as much as any child I'd made myself and our family would be 75% complete and all this heartache wouldn't have to exist.

The end.

Monday, February 16, 2009

squee! gee!

We were at IKEA yesterday, where Daniel frolicked in the ballpit while I bought a new table and chair set for him because the blue plastic he has is the lovechild of Bad Planning and Poor Vision.

Pros: it's plastic.

Cons: it has SO MANY nooks and crannies to store crap in, and I'm SO OVER either cleaning it out with toothpicks and willpower, or NOT cleaning it out with toothpicks, which is my preferred action plan, but there's only so much fluff one can ignore before being forced to admit it's probably mold.

Which is a kind of gross overexplanation of Daniel's new table and chairs.

and I got a squeegee and a hundred tealights.

The I got all pissy because godDAAMN, IKEA might be The Shit, but it doesn't plan for single parenting.

I wasn't thoroughly appraised of the Child Retrieval Procedure, and so merrily paid for mah shit BEFORE collecting Daniel, so then I had to LEAVE mah shit UNMANNED while I went back through the store to the entrance side again because that's where the playroom is, and you CAN'T go back through the store with your Shit because there's a sign says "Do Not Go This Way With Your Bigass Trolley Because It Won't Fit, Go That Way", and points to the OTHER end of the store where the exit doors are.

Had I chosen to go That Way and to NOT leave mah shit sitting around for ANYONE to take home, I'd have STILL had to leave my purchases unattended ANYWAY, so rather than picking my child up AFTER the one hour limit AND leaving my purchases alone, and rather than leaving my purchases unattended then getting my car to load the hopefully still THERE purchases then parking the car AND leaving my child beyond the allotted one hour limit, I chose to leave my items unattended so I could go This Way. So I collected my child (IKEA staff: Daniel, it's MUMMY!, Daniel: *pauses to assess possible outcomes, weighs benefits of TOTAL STRANGER reading to him versus one mother, familiar and supposedly adored. Chooses stranger* Mother: *weeps*) was sidetracked by said child and his eye for one buck hotdogs and icecreams, leaving my items unattended for That! Much! Longer! which meant there was NO WAY I was gonna leave my damn trolley alone some more, so I when we were done cramming Daniel's maw with junk, we got the trolley which miraculously still contained our bounty, and then dumped that motherfucker and CARRIED the fucking lot back to the car.

Then we met up with Daniel's father and sister at Neutral Ground MacDonald's for what felt like WAY TOO MUCH time, even though it was probably only SOME time.

And that was our Sunday. Yeah.

Saturday, February 14, 2009

again!

Did you see mah Tweet?

Why yes! I'm doing it again!

Except I'm not.

So cryptic!

Plans were made just last week. I do better when I have something to work toward, and this past month or three I've been floundering with no idea what to do this year in re The Babies. I mean, I'd had the last cycle fail, then moved to the next planned event which was getting those motherfucker plates out of my face, then the next move was...a lot of virtual hand wringing. Then one of those flashes of inspiration that hit you in the face with a resounding "well, DUH" came along, and there it was, A Plan! One that could be implemented on Day Nine.

Which was NINE days from THEN and ELEVEN days from NOW, so today was the second of aproximately a million (give or take) blood draws, all craftily designed to work out when I ovulate this month.

Then we wait three days, then we thaw out mah frozen behbeh, then we hope it survives its virtual re-entry, then if it does, we transfer it, and then we wait.

The rest of the world HATES the two week wait. I love it though because a) I'm a freak and b) it's a time of hope and possibilities and I could live the two week wait FOREVER.

Upshot: Provided the planets align just so, I could be pregnant within the month.

There's probably more chance of winning the lottery WITHOUT buying a ticket, and/so when/if/whatEVER this fails, it's straight into IVF for my next cycle, because I don't have time (thank YOU, 1966) to respect how emotionally hammered I feel after the past (several fucking) year(s) or so of total shit.

You might think I'm kind of fucking crazy, but admit it, it IS kind of fucking exciting too.

random

October 1st, 2006.

video

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

such perfect timing

My due date was March the third, 2009, so had my world not splintered into a thousand million billion pieces, those two beautiful, perfect, and so very loved and still achingly, painfully and so very, very missed embryos might even be here already.

Adding to my current load of personal angst, is the ACCOUNT that arrived today from the pathology service, reminding me they analysed the contents scraped out of my uterus on August the first, last year, and could I sign here please.

Today.

SIX FUCKING MONTHS LATER.

I don't understand.

Why now, you know?

Why exactly NOW?

Saturday, February 07, 2009

never again

The last time things were great between Guido and me was...god, only three weeks ago, but that was an island of happy in the Period Of Suck between November 21 (I'd had an exam earlier that evening, which is why the exact date sticks in my mind) and last Wednesday.

I can't believe that three weeks ago, he stayed, he held me, he told me all sorts of nice shit about how he feels about me too. I thought the previous several weeks/months/felt like eons would now be over, and they were, for a week.

He DID come back a week after the Poured Out My Heart episode. He was sweet and kind albeit hellbent on revisiting the whole Being A Total Wad deal too, and he told me he wasn't my future.

So, okay.

He kissed me when he left and texted me when he got home, because I worry, he knows I worry, and that I feel better when I know he arrived without being smashed into pulp by any of the punkassed freaks living around here.

No shit, behold our violent neighbourhood history: a seige not 100 meters from my front door. It was sad more than violent because word is, the dude was off his (spectacular!) meds and somehow got his hands on a crossbow and threatened others before locking himself in a house and becoming more of a danger to himself. The roads were closed, the police were everywhere, and it all ended badly when he burned the house down and turned himself into a tragic memory.

A stabbing at the end of my driveway several months ago.

The Starforce raiding a boarding house three houses down.

The infamous armed robbery.

And it's always late when he leaves so I just like to know.

I also like to know he's safe when he goes on his monthly bender in town. He KNOWS this. He KNOWS I worry if I know he's out drinking. If I DON'T know he's drinking, I worry til I see him again. He knows all this and he likes that I care.

He liked that I told him all that stuff, he liked that he stayed, he cares about me bla bla BLA.

But he's not my future.

I stopped all contact then, and began turning my phone to silent at night, not to miss his call, but because the sound of my phone NOT ringing kills me.

But! He called last Friday, three times, but I didn't call back because Not My Future.

Then he called on Wednesday and I didn't answer because not my future etc, but Wednesday is the day of the month he gets hammered and staggers home at god knows when, and I worry, so I texted him when the worry got to be too much, and asked him to text me in the morning, so I knew he was okay.

A few hours later I got the message, "pick me up from the city" which freaked me right out because, pick him up?? He's NEVER asked me that before. He knows I've got Daniel, so my brain is all zinging and I'm fretting about what in fuck could have happened? So I loaded Daniel in the car and, as predicted, he slept the entire rescue mission.

Meanwhile, my sensible self is thinking this is WRONG, I shouldn't be rescuing a GROWN UP, but honestly? I'd do it for anyone he needed help in that moment, but never on a regular basis because if you've got THAT much of a problem, me regularly collecting you is only enabling you to a) take advantage of my good nature and b) not curb whatever demons haunt you.

But!

He's never asked that before, hence my middle of the night trip. I mean, god, the last time this happened he got into a FIGHT, and he's FORTY FOUR, and WTF??!

When I got there, his brother was with him, so I was addled. I mean, what the hell did he need ME to collect him for?

I haven't seen his brother since I was eight or nine years old. He lives in another city and apparently when he visits they both go out and get maggoted for the entire several night visit, so they were both drunk, but R at least, was coherent and gracious. Giudo was a spectacular pain in the ass.

Even his brother told him to stop being such a fuckwad, and was lecturing him about being nicer to me. I was all OHGODSTOP and Giudo was like a thundercloud and I was wishing I never, ever checked my phone that night.

Ultimately, what got me most was when he said he'd called then texted because he didn't want to pay for a cab, so ultimately, he USED how I feel to save himself twenty five bucks. He USED my love, my worry, my concern for his welfare. He kept telling his brother to give me twenty bucks, which is insulting. Either thank me genuinely and give me nothing, or thank me genuinely and give me several tiomes more than a cab ride is worth, you know?

Now I have no idea if this is true, and I have no idea if him caring about me is true. I just don't know what to believe, because the way he was acting was out of character even for him, and it felt like he wanted his brother to see how badly he could treat me and still have me picking him up in the middle of the night.

So in the morning after not sleeping at all because of all the being upset, I sent ANOTHER text and told him to not contact me again.

Becsaue he USED MY FEELINGS to get a FREE RIDE.

But despite all this bullshit, ending it is SO HARD

And foolish, seeings it was a spur of the moment thing to do. Foolish not because I should keep setting myself up for this type of heartache, but because had I thought it through and THEN said the same thing, I'd be more sure now I made the right decision.

Then I found a goddamn batman torch he'd bought for his son and left here that night, so I texted him AGAIN despite the virtual hand in his face I'd sent him two days ago, because it WAS for his SON.

He told me to keep it.

I dropped it into his mailbox instead.

And now, for whatever reason, I feel like I am going to die.

I asked him to not break my heart. He told me he wasn't my future, and he could have walked away then, but he didn't. He deliberately went out of his way and he smashed my heart to smithereens and now I really and truly feel like I'm going to die.

This is the man I've loved FOREVER. This is the man I feel like I WILL love forever. He's the one who, because of our family connection and our professional relationship, represented SOMEONE I could rely on because without that belief, I had no one. So now I have no one.

The worst part of this is not losing the man, it's losing everything I believed about him. He told me once he'd always look out for me, and that meant SO MUCH because no one's ever done that for me. Not my family, not the friends I choose, no one. Now that's gone, he's gone, and the delusions about him that kept me safe are gone. I used to sit in his office and dream of the maybes, the what ifs, the maybe some days, and now I don't even have that as an impossible dream.

Friday, February 06, 2009

and then and then and then

It's forecast for 43C today, but it's still beautiful outside. Warm, but not stiflingly, so the house is still open to catch the morning cool that would be ushered in by the non existent breeze if it actually existed. I should probably close it all up way sooner than I ever do, but I love open windows and doors, and with the heatwave shut-in we've had this past week or so, it's a treat to be able to see what exists beyond the blinds.

We're heading across town today, to see Gail and to drop off some Nine West heels I scored from the thrift store but have no intention of ever wearing. It's going to be too hot to do anything other than waft around in air conditioned cars and/or shopping malls soon, and taking the trip to run an errand is, not surprisingly to any0one who's ever been in lock down with a three year old, more entertaining than slothing around at home listening to a) the air conditioning burning a hole in my bank account, and b) Roary the Racing Car on DVD, for the thousandth time and counting.

We'll head to the beach later today, or the pool a little earlier than later (what?), and I'm still avoiding my girlfriend and her son because her kid is a fucking nightmare, and I'm kind of too fragile right now (more later, if I can just stop with the damn crying) to deal with that level of shit. But! How guilty do I feel for implementing Avoidance Tactic # 1 ie don't call or answer phone EVER? A lot, because I like HER a lot but her kid, my god. A total sociopath in the making, and I'm not even kidding.

And truth is, I'm kind of not up to cramming a sock in my indignant hole, as I always do when she inevitably parents my child the way I guess she must think it should be done.

Seriously, what IS that? I mean, I might think you're making asshole choices vis a vis raising your child, but they're YOUR choices and are none of my business. Is it wrong of me to expect the same consideration?

But anyway, I DO like her which is why I cram it when what I really want to do hand her the sock and detailed instructions on what she should, at that particular moment, do with it.

Okay....Happy thoughts.

Total score today as this guy coming by to give me a free (FREE!) monitor. Nineteen inches, baby (I'll wait here 'til you're done audibly gasping over that amount of awesomeness) and delivered to my door at either 10am, or 11.30. For free. Because my current monitor is doing okay but every now and again goes *twink*, which is the EXACT noise it makes, and then the screen reduces in size by about a centimeter or two either side. Very weird, but very much "I'm about to DIE" in monitorspeak.

Cons? It's a crt screen, ie, not one of those sexy flat screen things

Pros? IT'S FREE

Also, and get this for You Have GOT To Be Kidding?? when my screen first twinked at me, I elbow jabbed my ubergeek, technofreak, North Carolinan friend who has every bit of technology you could IMAGINE in the ribs and asked her "so, what've ya got for me?", as in "har har, you live in NORTH CAROLINA, I live in Australia, AS IF".

And she said "I've got an iBook, I'll send it to you"

And I was all slack jawed and gaping at this revelation, for days, actually, and when I stopped with the jaw/floor routine, I said "you're kidding, right?

And she said "no, iBook, you want?"

That's when I died because an iBook? ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

Y'all, I'm getting a laptop AS A GIFT.

Four years old technical specs go here bla bla BLA

GIFTED

In other news, updates on my complicated, product heavy beauty routine, the one onvolving olive oil as a cleanser and lemon juice as a toner.

The lemon juice is going well, but the oil cleansing made me fearful after I got one (only) almost pimple, so I put a temporary kabosh on that. It's GREAT to take off zinc based sunscreen though, and my mineral make up just slides off, so I'll revisit the whole oil as a cleanser thing when I can find some castor oil (it seems to be an under the counter thing at the pharmacist, probably because it's a STRONG LAXATIVE, ohmyheck. I doubt using it as a cleanser if going to make me cleanse my bowels though, so onwards and upwards, what-oh?) because it's meant to be an AWESOME cleanser that "humidifies" the skin and I have NO idea what that means but it sounds like something I want, bad.

Meanwhile, Daniel is on the sofa having his brain sucked out of his head by some ABC TV show that sounds highly uneducational and features a lot of squeaky voices. Just think, when I get my laptop (MY LAPTOP OMG) I'm going to be able to sit next to him and have my brain sucked out of my head too. Sounds excellent!

Which about wraps up today's episode of The Bee Chronicles.

Stay cool, or warm, depending on your coordinates.




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