My case of the crud is responding to antibiotics.
My boss told me I'm doing a fantastic job, and she's very impressed with me.
I've made a big purchase I'm very happy with. (No deets yet...I'll show you all later.)
The week is looking up!
31 October 2009
My case of the crud is responding to antibiotics.
20 October 2009
What's the result of too little sleep and a husband who's got a cold?
The crud, that's what. And I've got it.
Ick. My Indian name is now "Runs With Snot." I'm shaking with fever, and the back of my throat feels like someone's gone at it with an electric sander.
So not fun.
Marital property law dictates sharing of everything in a marriage, but things like this I can live without.
19 October 2009
My husband has a cold, which means he can't breathe, especially at night. He snores when he sleeps, which means that with this cold he sounds like a chainsaw. Or a wrecking crew. The cold also makes him restless; many's the time I've woken up with his elbow poking me in the kidney, or one of his arms flopped over me, or had him squish me onto the very edge of the bed, on the verge of falling out.
Last night I woke up at 11:00, with his snoring about to shake the windows. I'm a very light sleeper in general, so even with my earplugs I couldn't get back to the realm of unconsciousness. So I migrated to the couch, cat in tow, and tried to catch some Zs. No dice. Between the cat wanting to sleep all over me (after giving me a very thorough kneading first), terrible nightmares, and a couch that I can't quite stretch out full length on, I had a horrid night.
16 October 2009
It's 4:04 in the morning. I've been up since 2:45, and awake since about 2:00. Don't know why I'm battling insomnia right now. All I know is that it sucks.
At least it's Friday.
08 October 2009
My mother has always been fond of telling all and sundry that when I turned thirteen, I became someone she didn't know. During this past trip, she went one step further and pontificated to my husband that "boys are easier to raise than girls." In front of me, yet.
First of all, it's called puberty. Everyone goes through it, and everyone becomes a hormonally-challenged snot. And everyone (usually) comes through to the other side intact. It's something you sign up for when you become a parent. Deal with it.
And secondly, even with the raging hormones, I didn't drink, didn't do drugs, and didn't run around. I got straight A's, was a member of the National Honor Society, was a National Merit scholar, and eventually graduated with honors from a small, prestigious college. I spent years trying to please my parents and be a model daughter.
Yet all she could say was that I was "difficult."
Well, ya know what? Doormats exist only to be stepped on, and I'm tired of it. In the past few years I've learned to recognize abuse for what it is, and stand up for myself. Clearly that rocks my parents' well-ordered world; it shocks and enrages them that I will not roll over and accept the role of meek, submissive (i.e., doormat) daughter any more.
If that makes me a wicked child, so be it. After forty-some-odd years I've finally decided that I like myself for who I am, and that there's more to life than pleasing people for whom my best will never be good enough. And my parents have shown that they cannot - and will not - be pleased. Instead of acknowledging that they may have hurt someone else's feelings and apologizing (like rational adults), they expect me to come groveling back and apologize *to them* for standing up for myself and my husband.
Well, I'm done. And I'm done feeling sorry for myself. I have a husband, friends, and co-workers who love and respect me for who I am. If my own family cannot do the same, it's their loss - not mine.
06 October 2009
The package from Ground Zero, that is.
I opened up the box and there, buried by a sea of frilly robin's egg blue packing peanuts, was my makeup kit. No note, no nothing - just the kit.
I'm not sure whether to be happy or desolate. I mean, after everything that happened they're not going to say ONE WORD to me? I know better than to expect an apology from narcissists, but apparently they're happy to maintain radio silence. After all, clearly I am the one in the wrong. (sarcasm)
That hurts me almost as much as their insults to me and my husband.
I don't know these people. They're like strangers.
It feels like I have no parents now.
I want to cry all over again.
05 October 2009
Otherwise known as "We are Always Right."
Ever come across someone like this? Someone who, for whatever reason, is either unwilling or unable to consider the validity - or even the existence - of alternate viewpoints?
These people just boggle my mind. The "it's my way or the highway" tenet is so insular, so narrow-minded, so tremendously *arrogant* that it's a wonder they can function in society.
There is no arguing with them, or even disagreement. If you don't believe as they do, you are WRONG. End of story. To entertain notions to the contrary is so threatening to their worldview, to their very nature of self, that they must fight and deny them at every turn.
In the end (to quote from the movie "War Games"), the only way to win is not to play.
02 October 2009
Remember how I was complaining last month about how tough my job was, and how frustrated I was getting?
Now, over a week after the great parental debacle, I find myself thanking my lucky stars that I have such interesting and worthwhile employment; not only am I becoming more comfortable in this new project to which I've been assigned, but it's also keeping my mind very much occupied and away from things I'd rather not think about - like the giant pink narcissistic elephant in the room.
I have yet to receive my makeup case; it'll probably get here in the next few days. I anticipate that it will arrive with a note about how disappointed my mother is, how hurt, yadda yadda yadda. Or maybe I'll get lucky and it will come unaccompanied.
Guess I'll have to wait and see.