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Today began, as one could delicately state it, sub-optimally. We had a crazy weekend with my son, taking him to his first concert (a whole other nightmare I’ll post about when my vocabulary returns to me). Staying in a hotel with him is essentially saying, “I’ll sleep when I’m dead, for tonight, I’m going to be kicked and punched by a semi-lucid toddler.”

Arriving home, we had difficulty getting him to adjusting to sleeping in his bed again. It took forever to get him to go to sleep, and even then, he woke up screaming (his new favorite thing) four times in the night. My son has never been a good sleeper, and some nights are just hell. Last night was one of them.

So today, after a long weekend of what should have been rest, I drug myself out of bed knowing I was going to struggle. Sitting at my desk that morning, I had the curious development in my vision. It was like a short curved band of pixelation over the not so distant horizon, blurring whatever I was trying to read on the screen. I closed one eye, then the other, yet the band remained, leading me to deduce that it was likely the beginning of a migraine. Yet, there wasn’t any pain.

My boss came down to talk to me about something, and his face began to deconstruct as we were talking. It was like watching a scene in a movie where the protagonist unwittingly tries to navigate various social situations whilst tripping on acid. I did my best to hold my own, answer his questions and pray that this distortion of my vision wasn’t a tumor on my optic nerve or anything.

A coworker came down to say hello, and my mind erupted into waves of agony, washing from behind my right frontal lobe, down through my sinuses and across my face. Words failed me. I began to feel almost high, but not in the fun, party way. It was like having a psychic break. I apologized, saying I think I was getting a migraine. I hated to admit any kind of failing such as this, because my coworkers tend to pounce on my weaknesses. But given the garbling of my speech, and obvious wincing, it would be difficult to explain it away as anything else. Nausea was setting in and I knew I had to leave.

Luckily my vision held out long enough for me to drive home. I managed to crawl into bed, and slept for about 3 hours (which is why this post is late going up). I’m nursing the aftermath of it now, which feels like a hangover without any of the fun drinking to go along with it. I would have slept longer, but my son will need to be picked up from school soon and there’s no room for a headache when you’ve got kids.

A new wrinkle


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We got the news last week that my husband’s going to lose his job at the end of the year. We’d suspected as much based on some of the other announcements that his employer had put out recently. Still, it’s come as a pretty big shock.

I’m going through the natural reactions I think, sadness, anger, fear and concern. But mostly, I’m just resigned to a sense of exhaustion over it. We’ve been through this before, after all. Working in his field, it’s not uncommon to be laid off. You’d think we’d get better with time, but no.

The truth of the matter is that while we can swing most of our expenses on my salary, we can’t do all of it. This is the scariest part, because we’ll have to ask for financial assistance from his family, or dip into our nest egg, or both. I’d rather not do any of these things. I hate asking for money.

I’m certain that he’ll find something. The question becomes when. Our lives have gotten much more expensive since we started a family. There’s certain expenses that just can’t be done away with. So, my head is full of worry these days. I’m trying to focus on the positive, but not finding much.

My Two Cents


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I don’t normally post stuff like this but I wanted to comment on all this Ryan Lochte nonsense. Although I think this tweet adequately (and hilariously) sums up what happened, I have some thoughts I wanted to put up in lieu of normal post today.

Anyone who spends more than five seconds watching any video content where Ryan Lochte speaks or who reads anything he’s posted online, you can glean that he’s definitely not the brightest bulb. He swims fast, and the nation seemed to be enamoured with him for a time. But after he and some friends got frat boy black out drunk and roughed up a gas station sign in a foreign country with questionable policing tactics, someone pulled a gun on him and may have held him financially responsible for some damage.

I imagine Ryan waking up the next day, hungover, short a few hundy and trying to piece together an evening that, to his credit, may have been tricky to figure out, given the language barrier. So yeah, what he remembered was the scary parts and his childlike brain filled in the rest.

That is not to say what he did was right. But as someone who’s been the sober person with a very drunk parent, their recollection of the blackout phase of the “night before” are almost always some component fabrication and the rest is distorted by the alcohol. And, maybe Ryan Lochte has a bit of a hero complex. Competing on the Olympic level might do that to you. This probably doesn’t help things for him when trying to craft an authentic recollection.

The notion that he and his friends we robbed at gunpoint has its own sensationalism that he probably should have anticipated before he repeated it. Or at least consulted with his friends before mentioning it to anyone else. But those are the thoughts of a person who has the benefit of a spectator in this hilarious shit-show.

So, what do we make of it? His friends got fined. He lost his endorsement deal with Speedo. Brazil took great offense to the one accusation of robbery that didn’t actually take place amid legit problems with poverty, crime and homelessness during an international sporting event. And, me, watching it all, I say, these guys aren’t criminals. They’re just stupid. And unless we start taxing stupidity, I think it’s time to let stupid dogs lie, or at least go back to what they do best: swim.


I don’t want to write today

I’m sorry.

I’ve tried this post out a bunch of times in my head, but I’m not satisfied with any of its permutations.

I’m going through something, and I’m not really in the mood to discuss it. But it’s big, and clouding my ability to focus on much else.

So, today, I’m sorry. I don’t want to write. So I’m not going to.

I’m giving myself permission to take a break today. And once I have a few days to digest, I’ll pick back up on Monday and hopefully have something that will do my emotions and situation justice.

But for now, you’ll just have to accept some silence. Sorry.

Beach Nostalgia


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In the “before times,” in the days when we were just the two of us, my mother-in-law had a beach house. Well, it belonged to her husband, my husband’s step-father, who died suddenly a few weeks before our wedding. It was awful, how quickly he was taken from this life, and the newly built beach house was something my mother-in-law never got much use out of after he passed.

For us, though, it was heaven. In a little over two hours, sometimes longer in the high season, we could get out of town, and have long weekends in the beach resort towns. The house was far enough outside the city, though, that we could stay in and enjoy ourselves without having to deal with traffic. We’d often go down, even in the winter, just to enjoy some of the quiet off-season.

We’d spend so much time there, that we got to know all the little ins and outs of the back roads. We felt like locals, or at least transplants, during uncertain times. We’d moved to our new home, and with turbulence in my husband’s career, having the beach house and our adventures therein was a comfort and a stability I really miss having.

As with anything that doesn’t really belong to you, you have no say in it’s final demise. So, when my mother-in-law met a new guy and had her eyes set on retirement, the beach house provided a source of income to add to her nest egg. I totally understand her need to sell it, but I was very sad to see it go.

Now we visit the beaches in a very different way. We bank hotel points and schedule long weekends in the city itself, which had its own limitations and frustrations. And, now that we are a family, the way we approach everything is different. And, while I yearn for the before times in many ways, mostly in hours slept and the freedom to not be completely consumed by familial duties, I have to accept that those days are over.

Although, I’d like to think we’d get our own beach house some day, the idea of having one means more sacrifice. It means to accept being tied down to a single location, which given our job uncertainty is not necessarily feasible. And with children comes the ever growing list of weekend obligations, sports and birthday parties and play dates. Life is different, and it’s a good thing. But I’d love to go back and have maybe one more weekend of freedom like we used to have. A taste of what made us great before, and what gave us inspiration to have a family for the future, as a reminder that some things never die, like love, and fun, and memories in the hot summer sun.

Refrigerator nonsense – continued


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As I posted before, we’ve had…difficulty with our office fridges. I decided to roll the dice and put my leftovers in the fridge anyway. My colleague boxed them up for me, since I was handling some of the other clean up, so she forgot to mark the box with my name. It was just a bunch of meatballs in sauce, no big deal, right?

Well, I like my meatballs with spaghetti, and I ran out of time to order some from the pizza shop across the street. So I got something else yesterday and made some pasta at home to bring into work today.

So I got to put my plate together to warm up to find that someone had eaten my damn meatballs. Because they weren’t labelled with my name on them, they were fair game to everyone. And now they’re gone. And I’m left with sauceless spaghetti and the hatred like the fire of a thousand suns.

Refrigerator nonsense


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We have two small fridges in my office at work. I typically don’t bring my food to work, because I look forward to the break that going off campus gives me. But occasionally, I’ll stash leftovers from our catered meeting or bring something in if I’m in the mood.

I came in a few weeks ago to find that someone had not closed the door to the one fridge completely. Overnight, the fridge defrosted itself leaving a worrisome puddle on the floor for me to find that morning. All the food had to be pitched and I was really annoyed that I had to clean up after these supposed adults.

Well, this morning, it happened again with the other fridge. Only it was done, I assume, deliberately. The fridge had been emptied and set to a warmer temperature, but no one put down a tray to catch the runoff. So puddled water again spilled all over the floor.

I wasn’t the one to find it, as I was scheduled to be here a little later this morning. However, tonight is our catered meeting, and I was hoping to pack up some leftovers for the week’s lunch. I’m not feeling very trusting that the fridges will go uncompromised before the morning, so I’m torn about bringing leftovers home with me or letting the kitchen terrorists win and not saving myself some yummy meatballs.


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