Where to start? So many different things have gone on in the past week, I can't decide which to write about. I guess I will start with the reinvention of me. I realized, after a doozy of a fight with my hubby, that I have grown complacent. I can't decide if it's depression, laziness, or an all-time low self esteem, but I haven't wanted to do zip in quite a while. I have been unable to find work, and after giving up, I've been unwilling to look for yet another job that will just frustrate me and foster my intense dislike of the general population. I finished my Associates degree in psychology last year and I'm working on a Bachelor's degree in English now, so it's not like I spend my day lounging in front of the TV stuffing my face all day. I have school work to do, and while my house isn't spotless, it isn't a pig-sty either. I have 2 dogs and 2 cats to take care of and clean up after as well. And I try to find time to write. So my days aren't exactly carefree leisure time activity.
I find, however, that not working has made me feel like less of a contributor to my marriage and more of a leech. My husband is the one working and making the money, and I do things at my own pace and answer only to him. Thus, I have inadvertently put him in the role of boss, father, and minder, instead of my partner...and the strain is mounting. I'm actively looking for work again, and I'll take anything at all if it'll put us back on even ground. However, I still will find time to write, do school work, take care of the animals and the house and somewhere in there, find time to enjoy life. I'll let you know how it goes!
Friday, March 25, 2011
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Ebil dentists
So the past few days have been different from the norm. My husband had to have all four of his wisdom teeth pulled on Monday. This gave him a few days off to recuperate, which he thought was going to be all fun and games. I tried to tell him, oral surgery is still surgery and it's no picnic, but he wasn't hearing it. So Monday came, and first thing in the morning we headed to the oral surgeon's office.
Now my husband is a pretty sturdy guy, and he very rarely gets sick. In our nearly ten years together, I've seen him sick enough to go to the doctor exactly once. So I sit in the waiting room reading. There are lots of other people there, as each patient has to bring someone who can drive them home. I watch as patients go in, and not long after, a dental assistant calls for their driver to pull the car around back. I notice that people who went in after my husband did were going home before they called me. I started to get nervous. Finally, it's my turn. But, they don't tell me to pull the car around back. They have me come into where my husband is recovering. One look at him and my knees turned to water.
His eyes were mostly closed. His head was wobbling around on his neck like one of those bobble-head toys. His face was stuffed with bloody gauze and blood was dripping down his chin, splatting on his shirt. Blood dripped from his nose, and there were droplets of it on the floor all around the chair he was reclined in. I swear he looked like a train wreck, not a dental patient. I used to work in an emergency room years ago and I've seen some blood and gore that would put most people on the floor, or at the very least, lose their lunch. But none of those patients were my husband. My stomach sank, my nerves were bouncing and my legs didn't want to hold me. However badly I wanted to collapse on the floor in a puddle, I had to stay upright and be strong. He was so out of it, I had to keep my wits. It wouldn't have gone well if both of us were incoherent.
The dentist came in and tried to reassure me. He said my husband's case was pretty tough. His bottom wisdom teeth had been laying sideways under the jaw line and it was really hard to get them out. The upper ones were impacted and one of them left a hole in his sinus cavity, hence the noseblood. Since my husband never takes any kind of medications, not even Tylenol, the Versed they gave him really knocked him for a loop. They guided him out to the car after I pulled around back (they do this so they don't scare the bejesus out of patients in the waiting room), poured him into the passenger seat and I took him home. I had several near-crashes because I was so anxiously watching him, more often than the road. I finally got him home and helped him into the recliner where he immediately passed out. Then came the waiting game. I knew from experience that with Versed, even after it wore off, he'd be tired and groggy half the day. I waited a bit to make sure he didn't been help to the bathroom or anything, then went to get his prescriptions filled. My poor baby slept until late-afternoon before finally waking up and being able to hold a conversation.
It's wierd, I've dealt with stitches and broken bones with my children, but nothing has ever made me go weak in the knees like seeing my husband laid low by the dentist. I tell ya, I'll be happy if I never have to go through that again. But my husband is in the Army. I'm betting it's inevitable that I will be going through that again.
Now my husband is a pretty sturdy guy, and he very rarely gets sick. In our nearly ten years together, I've seen him sick enough to go to the doctor exactly once. So I sit in the waiting room reading. There are lots of other people there, as each patient has to bring someone who can drive them home. I watch as patients go in, and not long after, a dental assistant calls for their driver to pull the car around back. I notice that people who went in after my husband did were going home before they called me. I started to get nervous. Finally, it's my turn. But, they don't tell me to pull the car around back. They have me come into where my husband is recovering. One look at him and my knees turned to water.
His eyes were mostly closed. His head was wobbling around on his neck like one of those bobble-head toys. His face was stuffed with bloody gauze and blood was dripping down his chin, splatting on his shirt. Blood dripped from his nose, and there were droplets of it on the floor all around the chair he was reclined in. I swear he looked like a train wreck, not a dental patient. I used to work in an emergency room years ago and I've seen some blood and gore that would put most people on the floor, or at the very least, lose their lunch. But none of those patients were my husband. My stomach sank, my nerves were bouncing and my legs didn't want to hold me. However badly I wanted to collapse on the floor in a puddle, I had to stay upright and be strong. He was so out of it, I had to keep my wits. It wouldn't have gone well if both of us were incoherent.
The dentist came in and tried to reassure me. He said my husband's case was pretty tough. His bottom wisdom teeth had been laying sideways under the jaw line and it was really hard to get them out. The upper ones were impacted and one of them left a hole in his sinus cavity, hence the noseblood. Since my husband never takes any kind of medications, not even Tylenol, the Versed they gave him really knocked him for a loop. They guided him out to the car after I pulled around back (they do this so they don't scare the bejesus out of patients in the waiting room), poured him into the passenger seat and I took him home. I had several near-crashes because I was so anxiously watching him, more often than the road. I finally got him home and helped him into the recliner where he immediately passed out. Then came the waiting game. I knew from experience that with Versed, even after it wore off, he'd be tired and groggy half the day. I waited a bit to make sure he didn't been help to the bathroom or anything, then went to get his prescriptions filled. My poor baby slept until late-afternoon before finally waking up and being able to hold a conversation.
It's wierd, I've dealt with stitches and broken bones with my children, but nothing has ever made me go weak in the knees like seeing my husband laid low by the dentist. I tell ya, I'll be happy if I never have to go through that again. But my husband is in the Army. I'm betting it's inevitable that I will be going through that again.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Classical literature?
Yes, I am going to major in English. This means I will have to read the classics at some point during the next two years. I've never read a single piece of classical literature in my life. Or if I have, I've successfully blocked it out. I've never read Moby Dick, or Of Mice and Men, The Grapes of Wrath, Romeo and Juliet, or anything by Shakespeare. Maybe I should have, but I'm a girl. I like stories with happy endings. Anything that has a "happy ever after" is what tickles my fancy. Sue me.
The first book I ever read - meaning the first full length adult novel - was in the seventh grade and I had to do a book report on a work of fiction. My mother was an avid Stephen King fan, so she had a lot of his books in the house. For my book report, I read Fire Starter. From that day on, I was a voracious reader. I ate up everything he'd ever written and for years, I read only Stephen King with a small dash of Dean Koontz when King was between book releases.
Many years pass, and I do mean many. I was at work one night, second shift as a secretary in an Intensive Care Unit, and it was a particularly slow night. One of the girls from the day staff left a romance novel in the desk drawer. Now, I had always scoffed at romance novels, calling them "smut books" or "porn novels", but I had nothing to do and hours to go until quitting time. I picked it up and started to read. From that day on, I was like "Stephen who??". I don't think I ever read one of his books since, although I did still pick up Dean Koontz every once in a blue moon. I found my "happy ever after" fix, and I read so much that I ruined my eyesight. I spent every waking moment with my nose in a book until I could no longer focus on things in the distance. I now have a book case filled to bursting with books, ninety percent of them romance novels. I'm a sucker for a happy ending, what can I say?
Which leads me to the title of this posting. Classical literature. What makes it so good that it's considered a classic? Was it because these works were written during a time when many authors didn't have any sort of formal training or education in writing? Was it because there were so few people eager to write that anything that did get published was eaten up like starving beggars at a free buffet? I've read a few now, particularly Wuthering Heights and Pride and Prejudice. They depressed me. Tragic love stories really depress me. While Pride and Prejudice did have a happy ending, the rest of the entire story, except the last few pages they were at odds with each other. Why did I need to read those again? I've already bought a ebook copy of Moby Dick. Let's hope that's not depressing from start to finish, shall we?
The first book I ever read - meaning the first full length adult novel - was in the seventh grade and I had to do a book report on a work of fiction. My mother was an avid Stephen King fan, so she had a lot of his books in the house. For my book report, I read Fire Starter. From that day on, I was a voracious reader. I ate up everything he'd ever written and for years, I read only Stephen King with a small dash of Dean Koontz when King was between book releases.
Many years pass, and I do mean many. I was at work one night, second shift as a secretary in an Intensive Care Unit, and it was a particularly slow night. One of the girls from the day staff left a romance novel in the desk drawer. Now, I had always scoffed at romance novels, calling them "smut books" or "porn novels", but I had nothing to do and hours to go until quitting time. I picked it up and started to read. From that day on, I was like "Stephen who??". I don't think I ever read one of his books since, although I did still pick up Dean Koontz every once in a blue moon. I found my "happy ever after" fix, and I read so much that I ruined my eyesight. I spent every waking moment with my nose in a book until I could no longer focus on things in the distance. I now have a book case filled to bursting with books, ninety percent of them romance novels. I'm a sucker for a happy ending, what can I say?
Which leads me to the title of this posting. Classical literature. What makes it so good that it's considered a classic? Was it because these works were written during a time when many authors didn't have any sort of formal training or education in writing? Was it because there were so few people eager to write that anything that did get published was eaten up like starving beggars at a free buffet? I've read a few now, particularly Wuthering Heights and Pride and Prejudice. They depressed me. Tragic love stories really depress me. While Pride and Prejudice did have a happy ending, the rest of the entire story, except the last few pages they were at odds with each other. Why did I need to read those again? I've already bought a ebook copy of Moby Dick. Let's hope that's not depressing from start to finish, shall we?
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Foray into blogging
I've always wanted to write, from the time I was about ten years old. My teachers said I had a fantastic imagination. My mom called me a little liar. I've written full novels, as well as a ton of partial ones, in the days before computers were commonplace. I wrote them in notebooks, and on a crappy second-hand typewriter. Everywhere I went, whenever I moved, those pages were carted around with me for years. My self-esteem and fear of rejection kept me from even attempting to submit them. I'd reread them, see things I didn't like or wanted to change, or things that sounded downright stupid. I figured if I could see the errors in my work, a professional would see them from a mile away, and start laughing before I even sent a query letter. So those pages eventually landed in the trash heap.
It's years and years later now. I have a good life, and I am happy and secure. I've taken college courses, received my Associates degree in Psychology and I'm currently working on a Bachelor's in English with a focus in communications. I've changed my mind, more than once, about what I want to be when I grow up. And that's just in the past two years! I figure, I'm 45 now...I should probably figure it out before I've got one foot in the grave, right? My husband, God love him, is always pushing me to reach for my dreams. To not be afraid to try and achieve them. It took me a good long time to discover what they were. I want to write. Even if I never write more than this blog, and nobody but my husband and I ever see it. I am reaching for my dreams - and I have to start somewhere, so this is my launchpad.
At times, this blog may ramble. I have tons and tons of things crammed in my head that want out. Be forewarned. There really isn't a pattern. This blog is just me, being me. And on that note, let me tell you about me.
I've led a colorful and drama-filled life. With that in mind, I can tell you I need no more of it. As my husband and I say to anyone who comes to visit or crash for an extended amount of time, "We don't do drama here." Save it for someone who can get into it, and relish it with you. I am 45 years old and married to my bestest hero. We celebrate our ten-year anniversary this November, and sadly we won't be together for it. My husband will most likely be in Afghanistan. I am an Army wife, and insanely proud of my Canadian-born husband who would go to any lengths to take care of me and ensure we have a good life. I have two children from my first marriage, who are now grown and trying to get their lives on track. My son is just about there, he has a beautiful wife and they have blessed me with an even more beautiful granddaughter. My daughter is trying to figure out her life, and stumbling through it haphazardly. I am torn between wanting to help her, and offering up the tough love she needs in order to learn to take care of herself.
Between the military moving us around, and the harsh economic situation, I have given up trying to find work. I am now a full-time student and homemaker, thanking God that my husband makes enough to support us without me having to work. I take care of a small zoo as well. We have a 10-year-old Husky and German Shepherd mix named Tara, two male cats we rescued from the pound as kittens three years ago, Cain and Abel, and our newest addition about a week ago - a small 5-year-old mutt (possibly Chihuahua and some kind of Spaniel mix) named Tobey, that we rescued from neglect from a neighbor who didn't really want him.
We are currently stationed in Ft. Bliss, Texas and though we've only been in the Army for 5 years (and yes I mean to say "we", as us spouses are tied to the military every bit as much as the service member), we've moved three times in that short amount of time. Throughout my life, I've lived in New Jersey (grew up there), Florida, Missouri, Arizona, Alaska, Oklahoma, Washington, and Texas. Some of those were even military moves! I may have grown up in New Jersey, but Alaska is where I consider home. Hubby and I miss it there, and when he gets out of the military....be it 2 years from now or 15, Alaska is where we're headed.
I guess this is where I'll end this post. Not that I imagine anyone is going to read it, but what the hey.
It's years and years later now. I have a good life, and I am happy and secure. I've taken college courses, received my Associates degree in Psychology and I'm currently working on a Bachelor's in English with a focus in communications. I've changed my mind, more than once, about what I want to be when I grow up. And that's just in the past two years! I figure, I'm 45 now...I should probably figure it out before I've got one foot in the grave, right? My husband, God love him, is always pushing me to reach for my dreams. To not be afraid to try and achieve them. It took me a good long time to discover what they were. I want to write. Even if I never write more than this blog, and nobody but my husband and I ever see it. I am reaching for my dreams - and I have to start somewhere, so this is my launchpad.
At times, this blog may ramble. I have tons and tons of things crammed in my head that want out. Be forewarned. There really isn't a pattern. This blog is just me, being me. And on that note, let me tell you about me.
I've led a colorful and drama-filled life. With that in mind, I can tell you I need no more of it. As my husband and I say to anyone who comes to visit or crash for an extended amount of time, "We don't do drama here." Save it for someone who can get into it, and relish it with you. I am 45 years old and married to my bestest hero. We celebrate our ten-year anniversary this November, and sadly we won't be together for it. My husband will most likely be in Afghanistan. I am an Army wife, and insanely proud of my Canadian-born husband who would go to any lengths to take care of me and ensure we have a good life. I have two children from my first marriage, who are now grown and trying to get their lives on track. My son is just about there, he has a beautiful wife and they have blessed me with an even more beautiful granddaughter. My daughter is trying to figure out her life, and stumbling through it haphazardly. I am torn between wanting to help her, and offering up the tough love she needs in order to learn to take care of herself.
Between the military moving us around, and the harsh economic situation, I have given up trying to find work. I am now a full-time student and homemaker, thanking God that my husband makes enough to support us without me having to work. I take care of a small zoo as well. We have a 10-year-old Husky and German Shepherd mix named Tara, two male cats we rescued from the pound as kittens three years ago, Cain and Abel, and our newest addition about a week ago - a small 5-year-old mutt (possibly Chihuahua and some kind of Spaniel mix) named Tobey, that we rescued from neglect from a neighbor who didn't really want him.
We are currently stationed in Ft. Bliss, Texas and though we've only been in the Army for 5 years (and yes I mean to say "we", as us spouses are tied to the military every bit as much as the service member), we've moved three times in that short amount of time. Throughout my life, I've lived in New Jersey (grew up there), Florida, Missouri, Arizona, Alaska, Oklahoma, Washington, and Texas. Some of those were even military moves! I may have grown up in New Jersey, but Alaska is where I consider home. Hubby and I miss it there, and when he gets out of the military....be it 2 years from now or 15, Alaska is where we're headed.
I guess this is where I'll end this post. Not that I imagine anyone is going to read it, but what the hey.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)