Christmas Thunderstorms.

generic-lightning-shotjpg-1cd4e2947aad4cf1We are having a big loud thunderstorm.  Like in July.  But at Christmas.

I am liking it.  Because its odd and out of place and those sorts things make me smile.

I certainly won’t complain about a warm winter.  Especially after having such a mild summer.  I fully expected to pay for such a pleasant summer with a non-stop blizzard starting mid November and ending about Easter.

But sometimes the universe gives you Chaos and Kittens (or Thunderstorms) instead of Chaos and Death (or Blizzards).  So here’s the kittens and thunderstorms at Christmas.

Lily and the Pill…

So in the continuing and utterly fascinating story of me giving a pill to Lily everyday…

Score to date: 

Day 1.  Sara Wins.

Day 2.  Lily Wins.

Day 3.  Sara Wins.

Day 4.  Tie. – It looked for a moment like I was starting a win streak because the pill was swallowed with very little fuss or bother.  And then puked up within a minute. Along with all the food she had eaten earlier – so its a Lose Lose scenario, not a Win Win.

Still.  I’m encouraged by the fact that she isn’t fighting it as much.  So we will see.  I haven’t tried the pill plunger I bought because its just too big.  I’m thinking about getting it compounded if this continues to be a problem.

So that’s the update on the ongoing Lily vs the Pill story.

Baking at Christmas

After I became an adult, my mother instituted the Christmas Cookie Baking Weekend.  My sisters and I showed up and her house and we baked.  Dozens and Dozens and Dozens of cookies.  christmas-cookies-553457_960_720

They are very pleasant memories for me.  It is a particularly traditional thing for women to do something of this nature.  Cooking. And despite being all in favor of women breaking out of traditional expectations, I found this particular tradition to very supportive of my feeling of family.

As my mother became ill, we stopped doing it.  I regret that now, but I don’t remember that I regretted it at the time.  I remember being stressed and busy with my job and decorating the house and shopping for presents from both me and my mother.  I think not baking was just one less thing I had to contend with.

Now I regret it because I realize that the moments that I cherish most are the shared experiences.  And baking was a shared experience that seemed to exemplify what family is.

Buying presents and giving presents and getting becomes a burden for me. Its an expectation that cannot live up to its fanfare.  But the act of being together and making something, that is something that always has more value.  Even something as unnecessary as Christmas cookies.


Lily and I wrestle and Lily wins.

I’ve been trying to give Lily some Pepcid AC to help her with her nausea.  Lily does NOT wish to take the tiniest sliver of a pill.   Yesterday I won and she ate a quite decent amount.  I was very chuffed.

Today, Lily won.  She’s not a rude winner though.  She’s quite sportsmanlike.  She came over after I gave up and cuddled up next to me.  Although, to be honest, she does have a bit of a smug look to her.

I’m going to have buy a syringe to feed it to her.  I HATE the syringe.  I once had to force feed a cat for a week.  It is not a happy memory and although it saved the cat’s life, she did not appear the slightest bit grateful for the procedure.  I think we were both scarred by it.

I hate any of these sorts of things, where I am doing something the animal very much does not want to happen and is afraid of.  They do not understand why.  And that is what bothers me.  They can only experience it as terror without any reason.  They think I am suddenly being cruel.  I hate it.  It feels like I am torturing them because they don’t know its for their own good.

So.  anyway.  I need to go out and buy a syringe.  lily

“…when pain is over, the remembrance of it often becomes a pleasure.”~Jane Austen

I wonder if there is anything more devastating to the human soul.

Well, perhaps I think that because it seems to describe my life.

I must stop the rekindling of the masochistic pain I inflict on myself by re-living a wound from 3 years ago.

Its so very pointless and harming me more than original wound ever did. And the original wound was big, as pain inflicted by family members so often is. We are fragile where we feel most secure.

I must move beyond this.

Farts, Vibrators and Careers

faceThere are a large number of utterly silly things that my brain has shoved into the SHAME folder.

I recognize that its silly. I even recognize that pulling the stuff out of the folder and introducing them to the public at large would eventually eliminate the SHAME folder all together.

But SHAME is something of a habit. A process of expectations about what will happen if these things are mentioned and so…

The first of the Silly Shame files is Farts.
I fart. I would love to meet people and start the conversation by saying, “Hi, I’m Sara and I fart. Sometimes I fart unexpectedly and uncontrollably and at conspicuously odd moments. I feel I should just mention that up front.” Put it on top of the rug with the coffee table rather than sweep it under with the dust bunnies.

As things currently stand, I fart and then don’t mention it. Obviously everyone heard it. No one says anything because I didn’t. And then it just there. The gaseous elephant in the room.

The second of the Silly Shame Files is Vibrators.
I masturbate. So does everyone else. My vibrator died last week and I’m wondering where do other people go to buy a good vibrator in town?  Is the place I go really not up to par?  Is it the only place? Do other people have a preference of type? This should be discussed as often as shoes and good wine. There are so many facets to it. What if I’m not considering them all?

I mean I suppose I could google it, but then I would have to remember to erase the internet history and we are back at the SHAME folder again. Because no one should discuss this… I guess.

The third of the Silly Shame Files is I used to have a damn good career. I know,whose ashamed of that, right? Well, its more nuanced than that. Because if people know I used to have a damn fine career, making good money, heading to the corner office with actual door and officer parking. They will want to know why I’m now working a low paying job with no benefit and no future. And there it is – SHAME.

I have failed. I’m failing. I’m a mess. Actually the ‘I’m a mess’ part sums up the shame I would like to introduce and drag its kicking and screaming ass out into the light.

So I really think its best if I don’t go to any parties soon.  I may well introduce myself as a flatulent masturbater who used to have a future but pissed it away and is now mostly interested in blogging and where to get her next vibrator.

Cross me off the guest list.  Its best for everyone. `

In which I Buy Noise on the Internet.

I live on a corner of a busy street.  A corner with a traffic light.  There is a bus stop at this corner.

Its noisy.

I don’t sleep well in the best circumstances but street noise is not helpful, so I tend to run the air conditioner fan even when its cool out.  But eventually that becomes impossible so I run fans.  But fans don’t produce sufficient white noise to cover the street sounds.

So tonight I’m going to try a white noise generator off the internet.   We live in a strange era, don’t we?

I’m buying noise to cover up noise.  I’m paying for noise.  Only 99 cents, but its the idea of it is odd.

But if I don’t buy this, I won’t sleep well and my day will go off the rails because my brain will start to act in wrong ways.

So.  I’m buying noise on the internet.

My life is weird.


Politically Correct & Humor

There’s a post going around about a Christmas Card that a family sent.  Its a family photo where the woman & two daughters have tape over their mouths and the man and one son, without taped mouths, hold a sign that says “Peace on Earth.”

Not surprisingly it upset a lot of people.  The debate is why should a picture of consenting people making what they consider to be a funny joke, be considered so bad?

Politically correct is thrown out as the standard response to people who have a viscerally bad reaction to this photograph.  While I find the derogatory response of “politically correct” to be a bad defense to any position, there are two sides to this issue.

Its about context.  When you have a family where perhaps the female members are outgoing and do a great deal of talking and the male members are introverts, they might have an internal family joke about the situation.  About the need for introverts to take cover to find a bit of peace and quiet.  Perhaps the joke includes references to taping mouths shut.

The thing is – inside jokes like that have a whole context and framework of shared meanings and experiences that do not exist for anyone else.

Now the family thinks – wouldn’t it be funny to put our little family joke into a picture and send it out.  Its funny – it sort epitomizes our little family dynamic.

But  you see that picture doesn’t come to rest of us with all of the family’s context and history.  We see it and we build our own context to it.  And for women, that context is not a happy one.  That context is built on thousands of years of being silenced in legal, cultural and social ways.  So when we see this picture we don’t see an ongoing family joke.  We see misogyny.  We feel the misogyny.

Its a thing most women still experience in a multitude of mostly small inconspicuous ways.  Over a lifetime its 10,000 tiny cuts.  Each one insignificant but slowly building and draining you.

I don’t suppose it was EVER the intention of the family to communicate a message about silencing women.  They had a family joke, which was probably centered more on personality but got gendered as many things do.  But they didn’t consider the context in which it would be seen.  They didn’t realize that none of us participated in their family and couldn’t see the context of their small joke but could only contextualize on the larger picture of how women have always been treated in society.

We are not considering the family’s context of an inside joke.  We are projecting our context onto this picture.  And raising a pitchfork army for an innocent joke is absurd.

But pretending that the feelings the pitchfork army has gathered around are imaginary is inane.  They are real and so are their overall causes.

Grilling out at Christmas

preparing_grill_for_grilling_grill_with_flames_and_conesTonight, as I walked from my car to the door of the apartment, all I could smell was barbecue.  My next door neighbor was grilling out.  Beef.  Over charcoal. That is a smell that will always make me smile.

And more so because its December and 45F degrees out.  It filled the air and welcomed me.

Because that is what that smell is for me.  Welcome.  Its home.  Its connectivity of family.

When I was a child my mother prepped all the food and I my father grilled it.  It was a very cooperative effort.   And then we all ate together.

As a teenager, I connect it to large family gatherings with lots of food and laughter and card games and being together.

As an adult I just savor the nostalgic feel of welcome and home it gives me.

My neighbor is a serious barbecuer.  He doesn’t let weather stop him.  In fact he lights up an old hibachi on cold weekends and they sit around it like its a camp fire, just chatting.

I like him.  I’ve never met him but I like him because he welcomes me home with the smell of his barbecue.

In which my job is probably going to screw me.

youre-kidding-right-lc6vuwMy job has never offered health insurance.  In fact they have been very against Obamacare and paid the penalty rather than offer it.

So I have signed up through the Market Place.  I re-upped last night through the Marketplace because Tomorrow is the deadline.

Today my boss came up  and asked me if I had health coverage.  Actually the way he said it, it sounded more like “you don’t need coverage, right?” He seemed to think I qualified for Medicare, I suppose because of my disability.   After some back and forth, it became clear that he is going to offer a bare bones coverage through the office.

I asked for a brochure.  He didn’t have one, he is having the people come out some time this week.  He said I could hear what they have to say and see if it would be better.  OK.  Sounds reasonable.

TOMORROW IS THE FUCKING DEADLINE for the Marketplace, so why he put this off so fucking long… But OK, I guess.

So, I signed up to hear what they have to say.  Tonight I googled and found out that I will have to sign up for it.  Because I will lose the premium tax credit if I choose Market Place instead of employer insurance.  Which triples the premium for the Market Place insurance.

And he has already alluded to the fact that this health insurance the company offers is whatever the minimum required by law is.

This is a big deal for me because I have just fucking gotten myself on the path to taking care of myself.  I’m now on 3 prescriptions.  I’m going have to have doctor follow ups 3-4x a year.  And I won’t make enough money to cover a lot of it if the insurance doesn’t come through.

On the other hand, what he is offering is supposed to be cheap.  So, maybe the savings will make up for that.

I’m not in a good place for them to screw me because they hates Obama.

I really need to get a job with decent benefits.  One that pays well and has a future path for advancement.  I need to do this.  That will be the goal for 2016.