Am I doing it wrong?

For some random reason, about last Thursday I guess, I started having this overwhelming urge to go to church.  I have no idea why, other than maybe it's because I've been feeling like my life has become the epitome of out of control, but whatever.  It's not like I was hearing voices or anything, just out of the blue one day I think to myself, self?  Go to church.  Since I kind of talk to myself a lot, and most of what I say is random thoughts and makes not a lick of sense to those around me, I didn't put a whole lot of stock in it.  I mean, for all I knew it could be a guilty conscience thing because the pastor of my church just added me as a friend on facebook, and he was subliminally sending me peer pressure.  So I ignored it and went about my day.  But as Friday came and went, and then Saturday, the need to go to church just kept building and building to the point where last night I actually set my alarm to go to church.  If you know me, while this is a step in the right direction, it by no means is a form of commitment.  I am NOTORIOUS for being able to sleep through over an hour of alarm bells and whistles.  The only reason why I ever get up in the morning is because I want to, not because some electronic device is screaming at me.  So this morning the alarm goes off, and I, as per my norm, shut it off without even waking up.  Until about 9:30am, when, again, I feel like getting up and going to church is what I'm supposed to be doing.  So I wake up The Smoodge, crawl out of bed to get her breakfast, then start getting ready.  Since church is in New Braunfels, we have to be gone by 10 to make it.  And surprisingly, she eats quickly, I dress us both, and out the door we go.

I spent the whole driving thinking how God must realize that I really needed some sort of spiritual enlightenment and uplifting, and how today's service would be inspirational and gear me with the tools I need to make it through the next couple of weeks.  Only a small part of me is afraid that I'm going to get rammed head on by an 18wheeler at 70 miles per hour on the way there, because, let's face it, with my luck, I WOULD get an urge to do something that would lead to an accident.  But no, we get to church, I get The Smoodge checked in at the nursery, take a deep breath, and in I go.

All this urging and pressure and everything to go to church, and you know what happened?

Nothing.  Not a thing.  

Now don't get me wrong, it was a decent service.  No better, no worse than any other.  But surely I didn't wake up early on a Sunday morning to drive 30 miles and experience nothing?  I didn't feel touched, or enlightened, or...anything.  And I was definitely in a place to be receptive, both physically and emotionally.  Instead, I felt alone.  And empty.  I sat by myself.  I saw people I knew and smiled to be friendly and was ignored.  Even by the pastor himself.  

I don't know what this was supposed to show me.  How truly alone I really am?  Got it.  Thanks God.  I'm not angry, just confused.  I don't expect miracles, and I don't expect special treatment.  But I didn't expect my emptiness to be magnified in a place that I felt like I was supposed to go to.  I've always believed that I don't have to go to church to believe in God, or have a relationship with God.  I feel closer to Him in the evenings when I'm holding my daughter as she falls asleep than when I'm in church.  But every now and again I think it's good to go and experience the group interaction.  It's kind of like how a car needs gas.  I don't have to sit at a gas station all the time to have gas in my car.  I just have to go when I need a refill.  And I guess I just assumed that the direction I was being SHOVED in with going to church today, God was telling me I needed a refill.  So why didn't I get one?

Out of curiosity, and on a slightly different note,  can I consider the gas it took me to get there and back my tithe?  I mean, technically I spent more in gas on the drive than I would have actually put in the collection plate. 



I'm kind of OCD. And I completely understand why. It's how I am able to control something in my life that is so utterly out of control. I have a schedule that I keep, and when something gets off schedule, when something that is supposed to happen doesn't, I tend to start to get depressed, and then I start neglecting other things, and I just let it spiral and spiral until I realize I'm at the bottom and force myself to crawl my way back to the top.

First it's my dishes. I stop doing my dishes. And I'm one of those people that has a dishwasher that I use as a drying rack because I don't believe it does a good enough job. So when I stop doing dishes, they just pile up in the sink. Then I stop picking up The Smoodge's toys and just let them kind of clutter up the living room. Then I let the laundry pile up. It just keeps getting more disgusting from there. The point is, I know when I'm starting to get into this depression spiral, and I can usually snap out of it by just doing the dishes, or picking up the toys, or whatever stage I'm at, by correcting it.

Right now I'm not doing my dishes, and the toys are all scattered. And the only reason why I can't add laundry to the list is because laundry isn't done until Saturday evening, so I'm not officially to that point until then. But if right now is any indication, it's probably a good indication that's where I'm headed.

I know why.  Most if it has to do with the limitations that have been imposed on me by my ex and the courts of Comal County that don't allow me to care for my daughter in the way that I should.  That sucks a lot of my will to live.  I can probably attribute part of it to the horrible Uterine Overlord and its insistence that it spin my hormone levels into a blender filled to the top with no lid.  And in spite of understanding all of that, I still let it happen.  

It's strange, almost as though the logical side of my being steps away from the emotional side and says, um, hey.  You're about to go nucking futs and this is why so let's not do that, m-kay?  And the emotional side goes, NO WAY, I'VE GOT A GUN AND I KNOW HOW TO USE IT. 

*in case you were wondering, I don't actually have a gun.  at least not one that i would ever admit to having in a public forum because then it could be used against me should anyone i talk about killing ever get shot.

**seriously though, I don't have a gun.  It's a figurative gun that my emotions are fond of waving about like a monkey in a knife fight.  so again, just to be clear, i don't own a gun.


Toying With My Emotions

*Disclaimer-This post is probably fairly boring and confusing.  But I need to get it off my chest, and lucky me, I think that's kind of the point of having a blog.  However, if you do decide to read it, you'll definitely get a good glimpse into why I haven't had the energy to post in awhile.  

Before I start this story, let me first give you a list of important players.  That makes my life a lot easier, which is what's really important here.

Dr. A - PCP
Dr. R - Geneticist
Dr. B - Cardiologist
Dr. E - Gastrointerologist

Mostly giving you this guide means I only have to type 3 letters instead of up to 18.  See?  Making my life easier.

About a month ago, The Smoodge's PCP (primary care physician for those of you who think I would allow my daughter to have her own stash of drugs) scheduled her to go see a cardiologist for the heart murmur that her geneticist diagnosed.  Dr. R said it could be detected both above and below her heart, and since heart problems are common in Chromosome 10 deletions, it warranted an appointment with Dr. B.  Dr. A is who scheduled it because he's kind of the hub of the wheel, if you will.  Anyway, Dr. A had his nurse schedule the appointment, and she called me to let me know when it was.  And the date she told me was September 24, 2008 at 9:30am.  So today rolls around, and The Smoodge and I head out for the appointment.  I ended up missing my exit, and, thanks to all the WELL THOUGHT OUT construction going on in San Antonio, called Dr. B to let him/her (I don't know yet, we haven't met) that we were going to be late.  Long story short, her appointment wasn't scheduled for September 24th, it was scheduled for October 24th.  By the time we had gotten that figured out, not only had the MENSA candidate posing as a receptionist and I bonded, but I was sitting in the parking lot of the medical center.  I nicely (no really!  I know how I can be, but this time, I was so freaking patient, I was channeling Gandhi)  asked if we could be seen anyway, and was shut down.  Ugh.  However, that lovely receptionist was able to slap a couple of brain cells together and ask if I wanted to add The Smoodge to the cancellation list to possibly get her into see Dr. B earlier than the end of October.  So I signed up for that plan, and off to the rest of the day we went.  The Smoodge to her school, and me to my place of bidness (that's slang for business).

Blah blah blah, day goes by, blah blah blah.  The Smoodge and I get home, and a strange number calls my phone.  It's Dr. B's office, and they have had a cancellation for tomorrow at 2:30pm, and would we like it?  Um, yeah...that's gonna be a positive.

So now I get to go through all of the worrying and sleeplessness (that's kind of a stupid word...too many 'ess's...or is it es-i?...whatever) tonight.  The Smoodge has a whole slew of doctors and appointments and issues and things that have to be watched and all kinds of stuff.  And I'd like to think that even though my daughter's body has kind of turned out to be a lemon, we've weathered a lot of this fairly well and are making lemonade.  And by we, obviously I mean me and The Smoodge.  But that's a rant for a different date.  Anyway, weathering things well, and doing what needs to be done.  When she wouldn't stop vomiting long after the spitting up phase of her life should have been over, Dr. A sent us to Dr. E to have it checked out, who did an endoscopy/flex sigmoid and determined it was esophagitis caused by acid reflux.  And now she takes meds twice a day to combat the acid reflux.  So then we went to Dr. R on Dr. A's recommendation because he wanted to see if all her other little issues were tied together through some kind of syndrome, and Dr. R discovered the Chromosome 10 deletion, which, by the way, really not a lot of information on, it's just kind of check any bodily system that displays any signs of anything out of the norm, the heart murmur, and the elevated liver levels, we went back to Dr. A to get a sonogram of her liver to see what was wrong, and they discovered her gall stones.  Gall stones, in case you aren't aware, are fairly unheard of in an 18 month old without mitigating circumstances, such as premature birth (she wasn't), feeding tube (she doesn't have one), or very heavy antibiotics (nope, not this one either).  So then we had to go to a surgeon, and he and Dr. E agreed that the gall bladder needed to be removed, so we did that.  My 23 month old daughter no longer has a gall bladder.  Anyway, now that we have that dealt with the gall bladder issue, which we thought would take care of the liver issue, Dr. A decided to move on to the heart murmur issue.  Which leads us to Dr. B.  And we're still dealing with the liver issue, but at this point it's just waiting for blood results from Dr. E, but that is ALSO another rant.  Current issue at hand, cardiologist.  

Throughout ALL of that, and believe me, that's the abbreviated version, the only time I really start to panic or freak out or drink excessively (kidding...sort of...mostly...) is when I don't know something.  And the culmination of that not knowing just comes to a head the night before the appointment.  All the other doctor's appointments I don't so much freak out about anymore, simply because I mostly know what's going on.  Currently with the heart thing, I don't, and so last night I was panicky, and then when the appointment didn't happen, I calmed down, and now I'm all nervous again, because it's back on.  It's definitely better to do this tomorrow instead of a month from now, but man, I gotta get some sleep at some point.  I guess that's just the price I pay for being proactive instead of reactive.  While a heart murmur isn't generally a big deal, and tons of people have them, and especially in a less than two year old whose pipes haven't gotten themselves all figured out yet, what elevates this is her chromosome issue.  And I realize it's a slight murmur, but then I think about how I was told not to worry about her vomiting until they discovered it was a good thing I worried.  And I was told not to worry about her gall stones, until they removed her gall bladder and discovered she had been passing gall stones for probably her whole life.  So yeah.  Elevated liver levels?  Heart murmur?  What's to worry about there?

And to keep from going completely bat shit, I'm going to be going through the 1039 emails that have been piling up in my inbox this evening and organizing my day for work tomorrow to help time go by faster.  So stop by, say hello.  I'll probably be on facebook, and meebo, and whatever else.  I'll take any distractions.     

Funny! Funny. Funny?

I stumbled across this picture today at this website:
Come ON! THAT's damn funny!

No? Not funny? Just me?

I thought you people were my friends.

Sidebar-when you say 'funny' a bunch of times, it makes you feel like you are saying it wrong. Try it, right now, out loud. See? Told you. Who's laughing now?


Damn Cat

I am not a quitter.  I'm really not.  And I've had pets all my life, and understand the importance and commitment of having and caring for one.  And when I got my cat, my horrible horrible cat, I thought it would be a good idea.  I though, self, get yourself a cat, for a lot of reasons.  One, it'll keep you company at night once The Smoodge is asleep.  Two, it'll be good for The Smoodge to have a critter around to help her learn how to be nice and all that other crap you're supposed to teach kids.  Three, a cat would be good in an apartment, and isn't icky like a fish, or weird like a lizard, or smelly (except for the litter, I had forgotten about the litter) like a rat or mouse (and The Smoodge would totally squish a rat or mouse), or need room to run like a puppy.  So I got a cat.  And he's very handsome.  And I suppose on some level I do love him.

But he.  Is.  A shit.

I CANT FIX THIS STUPID CAT!  There is something really REALLY wrong with him.  I had him neutered and declawed, hoping BOTH of those things would chill him the fuck out.  FAIL.  He EATS THE CARPET IN MY APARTMENT!  WHO DOES THAT?  He doesn't eat meat.  At all.  My cat does not eat meat.  I am ashamed.  He LOVES fruits and vegetables, and does not even like meat juice.  WTF?

I have, on numerous times, come perilously close to putting him in the dumpster and being done with it.  I'm not kidding.  I love him, but I love the bottom of my feet too, and when I step on a CARPET NAIL because that little son of a bitch has chewed the carpet down to the concrete and wood, it makes me want to find a potato sack, some rope, and a couple of rocks.  I've got the rope and the rocks.  He's lucky I can't find a sack.  He is SO close to being adrift in the safe harbor of my patience.

So please.  ANYONE OUT THERE.  How can I make him stop eating the damn carpet?  And if you dare tell me to use bittering agents, I will kick you in the neck.  He likes the way that tastes.  Sprinkle some pepper on the area, you say?  Nope, big fan of that as well.  

I like him, I really do.  I don't want to have to put him in the dumpster.  It stinks in there.  And he doesn't have claws, so he won't be able to fend for himself against the crickets and nutria.


A Post Just To Post

I haven't been able to do this because there are too many things going on.  And by the end of the day my brain hurts, and I can't think of anything to say, and the only thing worse than not saying anything is saying something that is nothing.  But that can't really be true because then 99% of the blogs out there wouldn't exist, and to be perfectly honest, neither would this one.  I mean, hell, the name of this thing itself means nothing, so...crap, I think I just talked myself into a circle.  I feel dizzy.

While I recover, enjoy some pics from this weekend.  No seriously.  ENJOY THEM.  That's an order.


Funny...or scary...

So my last post kinda sucked, it was all dark and twirly and whatever, but as I'm going through my site meter to see who is stalking me (and I know you are, just so you know, I know, but I'm okay with it, so don't sweat it...just don't send me your fingernail clippings.  I draw the line there...and a few other places, but we'll start with the fingernails) and I see that someone from the Texas Department of Mental Health and Mental Retardation has been checking out my blog.

I either appeal to those who are MHMR, which, is kinda cool, or someone working for the state of Texas thinks my blog qualifies as MHMR and is now gathering evidence to present a judge to get a warrant for the men who want to put a snug fitting and oh so stylish white coat on me.  Whoever it is, and regardless of their intentions, it's their first visit, so I'd like to welcome you.  Hi.  I'm Mandy.  This is my blog.  Hope you're enjoying yourself.  Make yourself comfortable.  Don't send me your fingernail clippings.

Oh, and keep checking my blog from there.  That way I can list my blog as a consultant for the Texas Department of Mental Health and Mental Retardation.  And that's totally going to build my stats. :)  

its...Its...ITS ALIVE!!!

It's been just over a month since my last post, and do I have anything meaningful and insightful to say?  Nope.  Not even a little.  I've even been pondering the last few days what I should blog about once I finally get back up on that ole blogging horse.  And did anything come out of it?  Nope.  So I'm just going to pretend like that prolonged absence didn't happen and move on.  Everyone on board?  Mm-kay.

I joined facebook.  To those of you who claim that I said I would never join facebook, I say fabricators!  And non-listeners!  I said MYSPACE!  I would never join MYSPACE!  I never said anything about facebook....(hold on a sec, combing the archives and deleting any facebook references so they can't be used against me in a court of law)....(okay, never mind, I don't have that kind of patience, and sadly, i kind of bore myself)...or if I did say anything about facebook...(whoo-hoo, disclaimer!) was that other people were on it, and I didn't get it.  But now?  Well, I still don't get it, but, at current count, I have 24 friends to help me through it.  I know right?  TWENTY FOUR WHOLE FRIENDS?  I know, go ahead and hand over that Miss Popularity title.

Seriously though, joining facebook has been interesting in ways I never imagined.  I'm finding all these people that I knew in what seems to be a completely different life.  I talk to them...oh excuse me...I write on their walls (wtf?), and they write on mine, and the conversation strain seems as though it picks up right where it left off.  Except I'm not the same person I was when I left off 10 years ago.  And I hope they aren't either.  Because I don't know that I want to know my high school friends all over again, I want to know the people they have become.  I hope that I'm not still seen as the girl I used to be.  I know I'm a lot more pessimistic now.  A realist.  A....don't throw things at me, Cori...conservative.  I still like to have a good time, and laugh, and talk about old times, as long as everyone realizes that that's all it is.  Reminiscing.  Not trying to relive.  I do miss that girl though.  She had the world at her feet.  

So now, where do you go when you meet all these old friends?  Do they become new friends?  Are they old new friends or new old friends?  What do they expect of me?  What do they see me as?  Do I care?  I don't know.  In reality,...shit, can you even call it reality?  It's online for gosh sakes.  That's not reality....anyway, in reality, I'm thankful that I'm at least not forgotten.  That all these people who, when they see me on the street don't glance my way, at the very least recognize my name and say hello.  And yes, some of you have passed by me in the street and looked right through me.  And no, I'm not going to stop you.  But that's another topic for another day.  As for not being forgotten, it's reassuring to know that even though I live in this single mother prison, I can still be virtually remembered.

Wow, I think I just went to the dark place.  And I'm not even drinking.  Ok, that's about enough of that.  Besides, I gotta go finish The Smoodge's homework.  And check my facebook.  Maybe someone has written on my wall. :)