A Peace of My Heart

Peace is a weird thing.  It is something we often ask for, pray for, and yet when it comes...it settles in like a slow sunset.  Nothing too specific, just a realization that what was once embattled is now settled.  Only, I don't recall asking for peace.  Maybe I did, I have had a lot going on lately, but it doesn't really sound like me to wish for something like that.  I prefer more tangible wishes, like lottery winnings.  Peace, however, is exactly what I got.

I used to be married.  Long ago and far away (5 years and one county over), I was someone's wife.  I bought groceries for two. I washed Fruit of the Loom underwear. I consulted someone before making major purchases.  My life was hitched to someone else's.  It didn't work out.  To say that is an understatement, given the roiling drama surrounding the "didn't work out"; but after 5 years, the gaping hole left has pretty much sealed shut.  Since we shared nothing more than a name and a mortgage, our dissolution was fairly quick.  I hated that man, though.  Hated him with every fiber of my being for the betrayal and the ruin.  Then, I didn't.  I can't say when it happened, kind of like you can't say when exactly the sun set.  I can't whip out my calendar and say, "Oh yes, on March 24, 2008 I stopped hating my ex-husband".  It was more like one day I thought about him and declared, "Wow. I don't hate him anymore."  Not that I wanted to call him up and reconcile, I had just reached the point of not harboring that bitterness any longer. 

Then, Eric Clapton came to Memphis.  I love Eric Clapton and had already purchased my ticket when I had a startling thought.  What if my Eric Clapton loving husband happened to purchase a ticket as well?  What if I ran into him.  Would I just keep walking?  Would I smile, knowingly, "haha, I know that you have horrendous morning breath"?  Would I *gasp* speak to him?  And how would he react?  It was weird to think that I had no idea how he would react, even though he was the center of my universe for over eight years.  I have let panicked realizations like this keep me out of things that I wanted to do for most of my life.  Staying away from fun, for fear of running into someone who ruined my life.  Not anymore.  This wasn't the episode that changed that, once again, I can't say when I just didn't give a shit.  So, I went to see Eric Clapton...not my ex-husband.  And, it went off without a hitch.  No run ins.  Afterwards, I thought about how I would feel if I had run into him and he was with someone.  I honestly could not get worked up about it.  Whatever.  Good.  I really didn't care. 

All the non-chalance in the world could not have prepared me for what was to come.

One night, after visiting my dad in the hospital, I got into my car to make the long trip home.  I turned my phone back on and was greeted with an email notification.  I nearly dropped the phone when I saw the sender.  You guessed it...the ex-husband.  "Is your dad in St Francis Hospital?" it read.  The hair on the back of my neck stood straight up and I immediately looked in the rearview mirror to check my lipstick.  Why, I have no clue, it wasn't like he was sitting in the backseat of my car.  Habit, I guess.  I replied, "yes.".  This set off a series of back and forth cautious email exchanges that culminated in a visit to my dad's room.  Of all the concerts and near misses over the last five years, my ex-husband was responsible for doing my dad's chest x-ray.  How disappointingly mundane. 

I never saw him.  I was conveniently tied up the day he ventured forth into the viper pit.  I can't imagine going to see anyone in his family, even now.  How he was able to suck it up and walk in the room that held two people (my mom and dad) that, he should have assumed, would accept his head on a silver platter; I will never know.  This is the same man who couldn't even bring himself to call Directv to get our satellite turned back on after non payment.  He visited with my parents for a little while and that was it.  No one was injured.  Earlier that day, I had received the mother of all mea culpas....the Facebook friend request.  I thought long and hard about the request.  I remembered the screaming, the accusations, the betrayal, the threats and the frustrations.  I carefully composed my reply:

"Yeah, so...no.  Here's the deal:  you told me that I had a black soul.  You told me this two months after we purchased our dream home, sitting in our not yet unpacked kitchen.  You left me to deal with the $1100 a month house payment.  You took some skank to all the fine dining establishments in Memphis while I second guessed a $10 pizza for dinner.  You could not even be bothered to show up for our divorce court proceeding.  You strung me along for years and years and then once we got married, you then decided you hated me??  But, instead of just telling me that you hated me, you went out and got yourself a skanky girlfriend and racked up as much mutual debt as you possibly could, and proceeded to treat me like dirt for the last year of our marriage.  Who buys a 200k house with someone they hate???  Well, I sold that house, I cloroxed my soul, I fecked up your myspace account, and gave away your cats.  That box full of your stupid pictures and momentos that I left on your doorstep last year...was actually headed for the dump.  But, my black soul convinced me to just give it back.  I have hated you for the ruin you caused me, but now I just feel nothing.  Therefore, I am denying this friend request; as I don't friend strangers on Facebook, and you, my dear, are nothing more than a stranger to me."

Something kept me from hitting the send button. 

The evenings out on our deck, a small slice of paradise in the gritty Berclair neighborhood we resided in.  The way we could finish each other's sentences.  The fine cuisine I was treated to, in our tiny little kitchen, prepared by him.  The nicknames we gave the cats and weird little stories we made up about them, to each other's delight.  The painting of our living room, fire engine red; and how we both loved it.  The Sunday paper and quiet coffee slurping moments.  The late night movie marathons.  The amateur home improvement projects.  The dramatic reconciliations that usually came about at 3am on someone's doorstep.  The fleeting sense of peace when all was right. 

The adreneline that was at critical levels a few minutes before had settled down and I felt calm.  I saw the opportunity.  To go forward in peace, or dredge up the roiling (how I love that word) bitterness.  And it was with a calm and peaceful heart that I hit the "confirm" button. 

But, let it be known, if that asshat calls me up to invite me to dinner....someone's feelings are going to get hurt, and it won't be mine.

Working Hard or Hardly Working

I am on furlough from my servitude.  Actually, things seem to be looking up on the dad recovery front; therefore, it's back to the business at hand.  OH MY GOD I HAVE LOST MY JOB NOW WHAT THE FECK AM I GOING TO DO?????????????????  I think I mentioned in an early post that I am a class member of a "community leadership" group here in West Tennessee.  Yeah, so, I am not planning to lead anyone in the near future (I have always been more of a follower), I basically joined to beef up my resume.  Any hopes of making friends went out the window after the first session.  I can safely say that I have very little in common with my 9 classmates; not that my friends have to be mirror images of me, I just don't relate to picking out colleges with the children, managing a bank, or being a minister.  The leadership (I feel so smarmy saying that) class toured the hospital system that used to employ me yesterday.  After being asked by several, I so want to believe well-meaning, classmates about why I couldn't just simply apply for a job at that hospital, I finally snapped at around 2pm.  I couldn't stop "because Baptist hospital isn't concerned about the mental health needs of the community, nor it's commitment to it's employees. I would just assume not be lied to at my next job" from tumbling out of my mouth.  So glad our last session is next month. 

The job search has been going on since October, with very few bites.  I did get one bite, from a company that put me through the paces of 8 (yeah. 8.) interviews and A WRITING SAMPLE.  I don't mind naming the company...and I will do so in the next truth filled statements.  Health Integrated blew up my phone for all these interviews with all these various executives and then didn't have the Integrity to call me back with their decision.  Therefore, Health Integrated....you can go to Hell with your blind box ad and your indecisive exectuive staff.  Oh, and furthermore, I was totally going to take that two week training in Tampa and then ditch you guys for something else.  And lastly, the TNCARE clients that you all wanted me to take in to raise, the "expensive" ones, are not studying your "holistic approach to good health".  Phew, I sure feel better!  I promise I don't come off as this snarky during the consideration process...only after the 90 day probationary period.  But, that's that on that.  No job, no prospects, no problem.

It just occurred to me that I haven't petitioned the universe for a job.  I have not thrown my unemployed self down at the mercy of the universe.  There is a reason for that.  Frankly, I don't want a job right this second.  I'm kind of tired.  Also, I am afraid to ask the universe for anything lately.  I have been punk'd by the universe the last several times I bothered asking for anything; so I am going to give it a rest.  God forbid I ask for a "meaningful job" and get stuck with clipping some old dude's toenails so he can walk again.  Third, I really don't want any sort of responsibility right now.  I don't want to manage, advise, counsel, care for, look after, fix, solve, or (big buzzword) initiate.  Honestly, if someone wanted to pay me cash to look after their never shopped at store a couple of hours a day, I'd be all over it. 

This weekend, I am going to see "South Pacific" at The Orpheum.  Kudos to my mother for getting me the Broadway Series Ticket!  I love these chances to put on something nice and escape the stifling issues, if only for a couple of hours.  I wonder who I will get stuck between this time...The Song Singer Alonger Family, or Mr. I Have To Pee Every 10 Minutes.  Either way, it sure beats Mr. Who Says I Can't Make Coffee at Midnight and Ms. Have You Mailed Your Quota Of Resumes Today?

Hi, I'm Ms. I Have No Idea

Today is discharge day for my dad.  Not that he has made so much progress that the hospital can do no more for him, but because if the family is expected to provide most of the care...why not just do that at home?  Remember a few posts ago, when I said that I had told my dad that he would be in the hospital for four days...tops?  Right, so, today is day nine.  Oops.  To my credit, I could not have known that my dad would go apeshit once he woke up.  Confusion.  Paranoia.  Noncompliance.  All hallmarks of my dad's recovery so far.  True, physically, he is awesome.  Mentally...well....not so  much. 

Growing up, my dad never called me by my name.  Depending on the situation, I was either "the girl" or "baby" or "pumpkin".  Later, I became "Jane" or "Phyllis", or sometimes a combo, "Ja-Phyll-Kelly".  This is fairly normal when you are the youngest child...to be called everyone else's name but your own.  This week, I received a new name.  When my mother pressed him to identify me, I became "I have no idea".  Shortly thereafter, he did recite my name, but hearing my new name "I have no idea" was heartbreaking.  He may have been bullshitting, dad always had a flair for the dramatic, but even if that was the case....WTF?

Needless to say, the news that someone would have to stay with my dad round the clock until his confusion clears was not exactly the news I had hoped to hear.  Don't think for a second that I am not thankful that he finally woke up, I am.  I swear.  But, I was kind of hoping he would be going home new and improved.  Not paranoid and stronger.  Once again, I am faced with the consequences of my choices.  I chose not to have children and to not remain married to the wrong person.  Therefore, I have no life outside of service to others who chose differently.  Whereas my siblings have obligations, I am now expected to take a break from sitting around eating bon bons and counting all my money to go stay with my dad.  And why shouldn't it be this way?  I have been there since it all begin, why not finish it? 

I can't help but think there is a lesson in here somewhere.  Either I am about to learn how to have more patience or I am going to learn to stand up for myself.  I am between a rock and a hard place here, if I refuse to stay more than my fair share...I am an evil and ungrateful daughter who is unable to compromise.  If I take on more than my fair share, I can be counted on to do this in the future...since I have no life anyway.  See?  And, it really shouldn't matter...it shouldn't, but it does.  Because after restating the day of the week and reciting "take your medicine" for the millionth time...I am going to want the next shift to be on time.  If I was coming to relieve someone that I resented, I probably wouldn't be in any hurry. 

All this bitching and moaning has a point, I promise.  Wait, maybe it doesn't.  Either way, as my dad's mind gets stronger I am hoping my patience and tolerance follows suit.  When my mother arrived at the hospital the other night (at the request of the staff, since my dad was "agitated"), my dad was seated at the nurse's station, fully dressed, bag packed, moving the mouse around and watching the result on the computer screen.  For some reason, this cracks me up.  Dad always was all about education, leave it to him to go to the hospital for bypass surgery and pick up some computer skills along the way.  I have a feeling my education is about to begin. 

Sound Bites

Here is a sampling of some of the outrageous things my father has said to me over the years:

"You can't trust nobody" Dad never was the grammatical wizard.

"Get have (rhymes with 'rave')" As opposed to 'behave'.  See above.

"Don't worry about that boy, just get your education" This was in response to my teen angst.

"Stay away from those casinos" He was probably right about this one.

"Never get involved with a lawman, they are all cheaters." Again...probably right about this one as well.

"You should go to law school since you like to argue so much" Should have listened to this one.

"Stay away from that interweb, your bank account will be empty the next day" Ummmmm...

"Eat more raisins" In response to whatever ailed me.

As outrageous as these statements (and many many more) sounded to me over the years, nothing could have prepared me for what was coming out of his mouth yesterday when I visited him in the ICU.  Yesterday was his first awake and alert day since the bypass surgery on Tuesday.  When I entered the room, he was sitting up and his eyes were open.  I was so happy to see him at least looking like dad again.  Then, I sat down and began the following conversation (condensed):

me: "Hey daddy!! I am so glad to see you awake!"
dad: "Yep, I'm going to be awake from now on"
me: "Good! How are you feeling?"
dad: "Guess you and your sister gone be fussing and arguing from now on"
me: "ummmm, what?"
dad: "I hear gospel music"
me: "I don't hear any gospel music"
dad: "Well, you don't go anywhere!!"
dad: "Now, let me get my pants on and let's get out of here."
me: "You don't have any pants daddy, you are in the bed"
dad: "I know damn well I do"
me: "What year is it?"
dad: "2007"
me: "what is my name?"
dad: "I have no idea"
me: "What is your dog's name?"
dad: "Rusty"
The doctor enters
doctor: "what's your name?"
dad says his name
doctor: "Why are you here?"
dad: "I just came in here to look around."
doctor leaves
dad: "let's go home"
me: "Where's home?"
dad: "the last place I lived."
dad: "Grandma's going to fall off the table."
me: "well alright daddy, I'm gonna go."
dad: "ok!"
me: "I love you"
dad: "I love you too."

Jesus Christ.  I had so hoped he would wake up, and I am glad he did.  Once again, a case of getting exactly what I asked for.  Now I must alter my petition and ask that my dad gets back to his right mind...quick.  I am fairly sure it is the Morphine that is causing him to converse in an alternate reality; and he still needs the pain control, but how long is too long for him to be on vacation from his normal oriented self? 

I have spent the better part of the last 4 years counseling families of dementia patients on acceptance.  Sitting in that hospital room last night, I forgot every single buzzword I had exhausted.  I found myself in their shoes, convinced that this could not be the reality from now on.  I remembered how frustrated I would get with families that "just didn't get it".  I now felt their frustration with me. 

Today I will visit again, hoping to see a little more of him through the fog.  I would spend a lifetime listening to dire warnings about the evils of the internet, cops, and casinos if I could just have my overly cautious, yet completely oriented, daddy back.

A Bird In Hand

Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw.  No amount of discussion from nurses, doctors, family, people who had been there....nothing.  But, after 12 hours in the ICU waiting room, I was gnawing at the bit to get back there and see my dad after his heart surgery.  That is, until I got there. 

My big, strong, race winning dad was simply an appendage of the machines that were keeping him alive.  He was covered in wires and tubes of various colors.  There was the biggest flexi-straw I had ever seen coming out of his mouth.  Not to mention the sounds: swishing, beeping, alarming, tapping, clanging.  I don't think I would have been any more disturbed if I had seen my dad lying in a casket.  The worst part was that he wasn't simply just lying there.  He was struggling.  I assumed that he would be out, as in asleep.  He was on Michael Jackson grade sedatives, for God's sake.   His brow was furrowed, his mouth was trying to work out that flexi-straw (ventilator), his hands were slowly raising up (probably to remove the breathing tube), when I say it was the most horrifying thing I had ever seen...I am not exaggerating. 

I had been dry eyed thoughout the process, from the general practitioner appointment to the OR waiting area....I was there, firm and patient.  I knew that if my face registered worry or concern, my dad would have packed up his goody bag and went on home.  Today, my dad should have been released from the hospital.  I told him little lies like this (Oh, it will just be a 4 day hospital stay) not to intentionally deceive him, but to put his mind at ease so that he would address this issue in the appropriate manner.  I had to share this moment with my dad's other children, who only refer to him as "Pop".   I didn't want them there, to be quite honest.  They were there to see Pop, I was there to see my daddy.  Daddy trumps Pop any day of the week.  The dry eyed drought ended there at daddy's bedside.  The only consolation I had was that my dad is strong and that he would pull through this like a prize fighter. 

Turns out, this would be more true than anyone could have imagined.  Sure enough, my dad made leaps and bounds that first night.  They were able to remove the ventilator and he was eating ice chips by sunrise.  However, when my dad actually came to himself, he was having none of that.  He fought and wrestled with the staff and dislodged the balloon that was holding up his aorta.  This is the same man who rarely, if ever, took a Tylenol.  Now, he was coming out of the Diprivan haze...and he was fighting mad!  So, just when I thought it couldn't get any worse...my next visit was as bad as the last, except with four point restraints.  Working in a psych unit, I understand that the restraints only come out as a last resort.  Welcome to The Last Resort...let me get you another flexi-straw.  The progress made had been negated and he was back on the ventilator. 

I wanted to tell those people that the same gigantic Shrek-like hands that they feared were the same hands that once held a panting hummingbird that had stopped to take a rest.  They brushed my hair before loading me up to take to the babysitter.  They fed an obese hound dog ice cream each night.  Those hands built me a bookcase for my dorm room.  They used to hold both of my feet entirely while we watched the news.   I understood the necessity of the restraints, but it broke my heart to view the reality of them.  I was also slightly mortified that my daddy had acted that way in public.  I wondered for a second if he said the "really bad cuss words" during his tyrade.  This was another side of my dad that I wanted to warn them about.  I knew very well the uneasy feeling if we were kept waiting too long at a restaurant.  The disquiet that would accompany a solicitor at our front door.  Used car salesmen, rude waitresses, snappy grocery clerks, and missionaries all saw the brunt of my dad's impatience.  I spent most of my adolescence courting mortification.  I didn't want to even imagine what the ICU staff had witnessed. 

But, I can't focus on that now.  We are on day three of his ICU stay.  He is making a little progress, not the leaps and bounds that I expected...but clearly, that isn't the right way.  He has been taken off the Jacko meds, so he should be slowly coming out of the fog...again.  The brute strength that he has relied on to get him out of sticky situations is of no use now.  What he needs now is quiet determination and patience.  There are a couple of machines that won't be there when I go see him today, but most of all, I hope the furrowed brow, the restlessness, and the struggle have also been removed from the room.  I want hummingbird in the hand dad back. 
 

Young At Heart

If he had stubbed out the Camel unfiltered before taking off, I didn't notice.  50 yards, give or take, was the distance my dad challenged me to run.  Recognizing an easy win, I accepted the challenge.  My dad was in his mid fifties, and I was a lithe 15 year old kid with energy to burn and pink lungs.  I could hear my dad's snoring and hacking from any room in the house, so it was preposterous to believe that he had a snowball's chance in Hell of outrunning me.  Hell must of had the air on that day...he beat me by a long shot. 

I was born on my dad's fortieth birthday, brought along to keep him young...as he liked to tell it.  My parents were tired and frankly, kind of parented out by the time I arrived; but I still consider them to have been the best parents for me.  I spent my early childhood being questioned about my grandpa...which is what most people mistook my dad for.  While my friend's dads were young and involved, my dad was old and distant.  He worked...a lot.  And for most of my childhood, he was my bi weekly dad.  Bi weekly, that is, until we moved to Georgia, to be closer to his job and to live as a family unit.  Basically, this is where it all fell apart.

Me and dad...like oil and water, but also like two peas in a pod.  A bittersweet relationship to say the least, we were just as repelled by each other as we were drawn together.  Turbulent teenage years did not help the matter at all, and I spent plenty of time wishing we could go back to the days when it was just my mom and I.  I think my dad sensed this, still being the outsider even though we all dined at the same table.  But, there were moment, like the race.  There were moments when we could put aside everything and connect.  These moments were often quiet and unexpected...and fleeting. 

When I left home for college, I insisted that I go alone.  Truth be told, I did not want my parents there...crowding the moment I had waited all my life for.  My parents agreed to this, and watched as I loaded my Mustang with my worldly possessions.  I said good-bye to them and sped away...on my way to my future.  Reality set in once I parked my car on campus.  I would now have to unload all this crap alone.  There were dads everywhere.  I felt so stupid!!  People weren't going to look at me crazy because my parents were there, they were looking at me crazy because they weren't!  I looked and felt TOO independent at that moment.  Like I had ventured out too far in the gulf and now was unsure how I was getting back to shore because I had not yet learned to swim.  I managed though.  The next morning, I awoke to a ringing phone.  I answered the pay phone in the hallway and heard my dad's voice on the line.  Seems there was an OJ and Egg McMuffin with my name on it at the McDonald's just off campus.  Another fleeting moment had presented itself.  After that, my dad assisted me every September.  A grey haired man among the young hip dads...but also the only one NOT using a dolly. 

On the way to my wedding, in the car, my dad and I rode in silence.  It was just us, my mom had been banned as she was spazzing out.  The closer we got to the church, the more nervous I got.  My dad chose this time to inform me that once I left the nest, I could never come back.  It wasn't a threat, more of an observation.  I was about to get married, had just bought a home, and was now expected to live like a grown up.  No more bringing my laundry home.  No more filching snacks out of my parents cabinets to take with me.  No more charging gas on my dad's account.  The Sunday paper that I had grown used to receiving out of my dad's hands first thing in the morning, gone.  I would now be expected to get my own paper.  I was in too much of a hurry to be grown, so I didn't pay much attention to what he was trying to say.  I think I even rolled my eyes.  He was in his sixties by then....so far out of touch with the world today, or so I thought. 

When I shed myself of awful husband number one, and decided to move to Memphis, my dad was there with the U-haul.  When I made a feeble attempt to come home again a few years later, there he was with another U-haul.  And when that didn't work out...well let's just say that I should have bought stock in U-haul.  The years ticked past, and it never occured to me that either of us was getting any older.  After awful husband number two left, all I really wanted to do was to disappear into my couch.  But, Dad would not allow that.  Every Saturday morning, without fail, he appeared at my door to take me to breakfast and then ride around.  It pissed me off beyond belief, but I felt obligated.  I didn't want to hurt his feelings and he was obviously lonely.  It didn't occur to me until years later that he was the one doing me a favor.  When I finally got old enough to provide my own moving service (but not old enough to stop jumping ship), my dad continued to hang around.  Watching me unpack.  Watching me paint my new place.  Sweeping the cobwebs off my porch.  It got on my last nerve sometimes.  But there again, hindsight is 20/20 and I now see that his presence is likely what kept me from dangling from the ceiling on those occasions. 

When my surprisingly healthy dad passed out last December, I knew it was time to pay the piper.  It was too damn bad that he didn't want to go to the doctor...he was going and that was it.  All those visits to the doctor led up to a grim diagnosis and in three days, a surgeon will open him up and repair his heart.  Turns out, all those times I accused him of having a pea sized heart...the opposite was true.  His heart had worked so hard all those years that it became gigantic.  In his seventy five years, my dad had seen far more disappointment than happiness and it finally caught up with him.  Parts of his heart had given up and just simply shut down.  Amazingly, aside from the passing out episode, he had no other symptoms.  It is like his heart didn't realize it probably shouldn't still be beating, it just worked harder to compensate; much like my dad.  I don't think he realized that he was entering his "twilight years", preferring to remain middle aged as long as he could.  When the doctor delivered the bad news, I was certain that my dad would say "AW Hell Naw, nope, I am not having any heart surgery.  Nuh Uh."   I just knew he was going to put on a stoic face and wait to die. 

But, I was having none of that.  Just like my dad showed up for me, I was going to show up for him.  And much to my surprise (though it shouldn't have been a surprise at all, I now know) he was ready to fight.  Just when I thought he was ready to lay down and die, his spirit rallied and he was ready to race again.  It was like his heart told him that he was old.  And my dad, true to form, slapped his hand down on the table and said, "The Hell you say!"  It has been twenty years since our race that summer.  I feel fairly certain that if we did it today, he would likely not win.  However, once his heart gets it's extreme makeover...I wouldn't be so sure.  The day after my dad's heart surgery, I will lose my job.  I am not the least bit sad about this fact, because I can see that while I will be unemployed, I will have a far more important job.  I will finally have to fulfill my purpose of keeping him young. 

That's What I Get

I enjoy calling in sick to work.  I love the feeling of putting one over on my supervisor and the promise that the unexpected free day holds.  Monday was one of those days.  The greater Memphis area was blessed with temps in the 70's and sunshine, a recent rarity.  I phoned my employer (taking special care to turn the tv down--wouldn't want them to think that anything entertaining was going on here) and laid it on thick.  Seems I had done a lot of yardwork the day before (lie) and my allergies were acting up (lie); therefore, I was going to take some medicine (lie) and lie back down (lie).  After the initial rush of exhiliration, I looked around and thought, "what shall I do first?"  I knew the answer to that immediately.  Grabbing my keys, I slipped out the door and got into my car.  Driving to the "place I should not go" was weird at that hour.  People on their way to work, not me though...I still had my pajamas on! I pulled into the drive through and placed my order.  I felt a small twinge of guilt as I exchanged my money for my goods, but nothing strong enough to make me change my mind.  I unwrapped my purchase and put it in my mouth...and then set it on fire.  Yep, I slipped.  I figured as long as I was being bad by skipping work, I should just do it up right and smoke too.  Ah, hello old friend...it has been too long.

I pulled back into my driveway feeling like I had been sent home sick from school (but not really sick).  When I walked back into my house, the first thing I saw was that my dog was standing on the kitchen table.  She looked at me as though I was standing on my head, like "WTF ARE YOU DOING HERE??".  Either she had been chatting on my laptop, or she had been sampling my coffee, neither of which was good.  I changed my clothes (not sure why I didn't do that before going out into public) and did some light housework.  That was when I remembered that I had plans that night.  I checked my calendar and sure enough, I had wasted a day off.  I always consider it a waste if I have any sort of obligation at any point during the day off.  I was to meet with my leadership group at 5:30 for dinner and then sit through a county commission meeting (not that I am involved in that, it is just to see how local government works).  I sighed at my misfortune.  Now that would dictate the rest of my day.  This is why working 2nd or 3rd shift never worked for me.  I hate knowing I was about to have to do something. 

I enjoyed the day for the most part.  A nap was involved.  There was some patio time.  I walked my pup uptown and back (she laid a mustard colored turd in someone's yard...must've been the coffee).  But all day, 5:30 was hanging over my head.  I knew I would have to start getting ready at 4pm, as there would be a shower and blow out involved.  At approximately 3:45, I took my dog out and sat out in the sun for a minute.  It was so nice and warm.  I couldn't help but feel a little pissed off about my oblligation, wishing I could sit out there for the rest of the evening, smoking and drinking Corona.  It was the first warm afternoon of the year.  Instead, I got ready, applied makeup, reigned my curly hair into a conservative bun, and put on "business casual" clothes.  Ugh.  I trudged to my car, feeling like the fun was over.  Driving to the function, I made a quicke petition to the universe.  "Please let me hold my tongue and not be bitter about losing my job when people ask me how the job search is going.  They are not being nasty, just curious. Also, please show me something tonight that I didn't know before.  I just want to come away from the next few hours feeling like it was worth it." 

It seemed odd to me that the parking lot of the restaurant was empty.  I am usually the last one to arrive.  I felt a little smug as I parked my car.  After sitting there for a couple of seconds, I had the idea that maybe it had been cancelled!  I checked my email, silently praying for a reprieve.  Turns out, it wasn't cancelled.  I was scheduled for Monday,  NEXT MONDAY.  I looked at myself in the rearview mirror and felt horror.  I NEVER veer this far off the map.  Sure, I get dates wrong, get confused about the days of the week, everyone does that.  However, I went too far this time.  I actually got dressed and left the house.  DAMNIT, I wasted a chunk of my free day!  I could be at home right now, unwashed hair and all, soaking up the warm afternoon sunset.  My mascara clad eyelashes and glossy lips mocked me from the mirror.  As I made my way home, I got the paranoid feeling that every person in the oncoming cars knew. I felt especially sheepish pulling back into my driveway, after my 20 minute absence.  I basically spent an hour getting ready for a twenty minute drive.  Even my dog was suspcious of my return.  I did the only thing I could do.  I shed those clothes, put my raggedy outfit back on, grabbed a beer, my smokes, and my dog and hit the patio.

A nip had settled in the air by then, the sun had already set (thank God DST starts Sunday), but I was going to enjoy my beer on the patio time, no matter what.  I reflected on the afternoon's events and finally allowed myself to laugh about it.  So, once again, I had been granted exactly what I had asked for.  I learned something that I didn't realize...that I have A LOT going on and need to pay closer attention rather than wandering around through the days.  And, the Universe knows me well enough to know that I would not be able to withhold snappish comments at this point.  In the end, what was supposed to happen is exactly what happened.  The next morning, as I was getting ready for work, my dog watched me with doubt...

You Know What They Say

I have a friend who says a phrase at the end of whatever she is explaining.  It is her way of ending her point.  She says, "And stuff."  She hates that she does this, as do I, and so she has started trying to stop using it.  It never fails though, as soon as she lets her guard down, "And stuff" comes right out.  It really isn't a big deal, but it made me think about the phrases people use to verbate (is that even a word?) the punctuation mark "...".  I began to listen to those around me and have collected a sample of how others trail off after making their points...

"First One Thing Then Another":  My dad says this, often in response to "What have you been doing", but sometimes in response to "What did you buy at the store?" or "So what did you and so-and-so talk about?"  Usually, he will tell me the answer, "Oh, I bought some dog food, shaving cream, and orange juice" but then will insert "First one thing then another" as a way of saying "I did/bought/discussed a number of other items but I don't feel like going into all that right now."

"Blah Blah Blah":  My mother used to say this.  I can remember eavesdropping on her phone conversations as a child, desperate to know what she was discussing on the telephone.  She would end several sentences with "and blah blah blah".  I misunderstood though, due either to a hearing impairment or preoccupation with toys, and thought she was saying "block block block."  In my 5 year old mind, I imagined my letter blocks being used to substitute words.  So, I would try to locate the corresponding blocks and "decode" what she was talking about.  For example:  "Yeah, so Nancy called in last night and said she was sick and blah blah blah (block block block)."  I then would locate the approrpiate letter blocks (no idea what my logic was) and try to spell it out for my self.  I would end up with something like: "...said she was sick and soup dog butt." 

"And Stuff":  As I mentioned above, my friend says this.  I believe she uses it as a way to say "I could talk more about this topic, but I don't feel confident enough, but if you are interested in the other stuff I could say, just ask."  For example: "Ms Black attended activity group every day this week, she painted, sang, and stuff".  This phrase is often pulled out when the speaker is wandering into dangerous territory, such as discussing things that are beyond the speaker's level of expertise.  "Alzheimers disease causes you to forget things and stuff." 

"And Everything Like That":  I know several people who use this.  To me, it sounds as though the speaker is trying to claim intellectual ownership of the topic at hand, plus all related topics.  For example:  "Mary came to the bar last night and drank too much wine, girl, she started throwing up and everything like that."  Everything like that could include diarrhea, dry heaves, and urinating...basically expelling bodily fluids.  The speaker wants to be sure you don't say "yeah, she may have thrown up, but did she sweat?"  This phrase makes the speaker feel as though he/she is the authority on the topic (plus all related matter). 

"You know?":  UGH. This is the worst.  This is basically the speaker's way of saying "Affirm me."  The speaker is seeking your affirmation in order to be granted permission to continue.  What would happen if you said "No. I don't know" in response to this?  The conversation would come to a screeching halt, and the speaker would likely walk away thinking you were a first class asshole; even though he/she is the one who asked!  A variation of this is "You know what I'm sayin"?

"So":  This means, "I am not going to mention anything else about this, so please just change the subject".   It is often used following a threat as a way to make the threat but not actually be expected to carry it out: "I told that bitch if she called my house again I would beat her ass, so...."  So what?  So she continued to call your house?  So she never called again?  What happened next?? This phrase is also often used as a bragging tool, to shut down any further pissing in the pissing contest.  "You have a pool? Well, I have a pool AND a pool boy, so...."  So, don't even try to top that. 

"Or Whatever": This is similar to "And everything like that", but different in a distinct way.  "Or Whatever" means "I just made a point, but the opposite could be true, so I am detaching from being right; that way if the point I just made turns out to be false, then I can't be held responsible.  For example:  "The forecast calls for rain later this evening or whatever."  We all know that weather can be unpredictable.  This way, if there is no rain, the speaker won't be chastised as being a weather moron.  This prevents "I lugged this raincoat around all afternoon because you said it was supposed to rain and now it is clear!!"  It also recognizes that there are several other possibilities.  It could rain "or whatever"; or it could snow, sleet, or hail.  All the speaker knows is something might fall out of the sky. 

"But Anyway":  This is another "let's quit talking about this topic and maybe talk again about something we have already talked about before."  I had a patient who said this at the end of EVERYTHING.  "My dad left our family when I was nine, but anyway."  But anyway what?  "My dad left our family when I was nine, I like to paint, read mysteries, and garden." 

"Six of One, Half Dozen of the Other":  I have another friend who uses this as a way of saying "It makes no difference".  I hate this phrase because I want to Math-e-tize it.  I can't wrap my brain around it.  Does he mean "6 plus 6", "6 or 6", "6 of this and 12 divided by two of something else"?  And don't even make me try to say it, it is usually said at a rapid rate, and I just can't spit it out that casually.  I usually end up with "6 and half dozen other 6's".  Why not just simplify it by saying "12".  For example: "You bought Doritos and I wanted Fritos, but oh well, six of one, half dozen of the other, I suppose" could be "You bought Doritos and I wanted Fritos, twelve."  There are variations on this one as well, which further complicate the matter: "Six or one half dozen of the other", "six and one half dozen of the other" "Six to one half dozen of the other"...ugh, I was a Liberal Arts major for a reason!

Surely I have a "...", I just don't know what it is yet, because apparently, I don't listen to myself when I speak.  I will try to be more mindful of how I end my points and report back.  In the meantime, please feel free to add your own point ending phrases in the form of a comment.  And everything like that. 

Long Review of Eric Clapton's Memphis Show

I have always enjoyed Eric Clapton. "Lay Down Sally" is on the soundtrack of my childhood. "Layla" (the ending) is the song I want in the scene of my death in the movie of my life (It's in pre pre pre production). "I Can't Stand It" is the song that escorted me out of the most damaging relationship of my life. "Modern Girl" helped me put it all back together again. Then, in 2008, "Wonderful Tonight" an autobiographical novel by Pattie Boyd was released. Oh. My. God. Eric Clapton was the worst boyfriend/husband ever!! But, something about this story intrigued me. I knew he had written "Layla" and "Wonderful Tonight" about Pattie, and how could a love story based in so much longing go so wrong?? So, I read Eric Clapton's soon after released autobiography, just to get both sides. Oh. My. God. Eric Clapton was the worst boyfriend/husband ever. And, he admitted it. The love story that began with "Layla" ended with bitter songs such as "She's Waiting" and "Miss You". The most ironic fact of the matter is that Eric wrote "Wonderful Tonight" not as a love song, but out of mean sarcasm; because Pattie was taking too long to get ready and Eric was ready to get loaded. And who knew that "Bell Bottom Blues" was also about Pattie? Well, I guess Pattie and Eric knew...as well as Pattie's husband, George Harrison. Knowing all of this backstory only fueled my passion for Eric Clapton's music. I relistened to every song, now plump with satisfaction that I knew what it was really about. When the tickets went on sale for his Memphis show, I bought one (yes, one...that's a whole 'nuther post) and anxiously anticipated March 5th.



Before I get into the meat of the review, let me first make a disclaimer. I am not a music critic. I KNOW music. I LOVE music. I would rather be blind than deaf for fear of never being able to hear chord progressions again. I have my opinions on what's good. What's good for me, is probably not what's good for you; but that is what makes the world go round.



I had a seat in the nosebleed section of the FedEx forum, but honestly, there isn't a bad seat in the place. For some reason, I always seem to find the seat either directly in front of or beside the blowhard music "expert" (Jersey Boys row mates). This time was no exception. This man behind me was bragging about his music knowledge, much to the admiration of the others around him. I instantly hated this idiot. Oh, he had been to every concert ever. Each preconcert muzak song that came on prompted a story about this asshole's glory days, each involving a ratty ass Subaru, the Mid South Coliseum, and dope. "Green Eyed Lady" came on and this doofus sat there and said, "Yeah, I saw them too". His date said, "Who sings this?" He couldn't remember. He tried to play it off by throwing out some names, "Norman Greenbaum? No. Pilot? No. The Guess Who? No." I turned around, looked at him, and stated in a voice loud enough for his now dumfuzzled followers to hear, "Its Sugarloaf." WIN. "Yeah yeah yeah! That's it!" he exclaimed. The irony is that when he was allegedly at the Sugarloaf concert, I wasn't even a gleam in my father's eye. He was just served by someone half his age, who by all appearances, should NOT know that. But that's me, music expert. Anyway, that shut his fat ass up about music. He then began to pontificate on restaurants, and by the looks of him, he was the expert in the this category, I let him have his podium back.



But I digress. Roger Daltrey took the stage at precisely 7:30pm. Which was odd, since the arena was only half full. I expected some no name European band to open, and apparently so did everyone else. The familiar strains of "I Can See For Miles" filled the air, and thus began a stampede of slackers trying to get to their seats. I won't go into Roger Daltrey's performance here, he isn't the reason I bought my ticket. But I will say that I was pleasantly surprised and even inclined to research some of his new stuff. The hour he played was an enjoyable one. After his set and another half hour of intermission, Eric Clapton took the stage. Another disclaimer here: I love 1970/80's Eric Clapton. Not so much 1990's Eric.



He did a couple of blues numbers ("Goin Down Slow" and "Key To The Highway"), then brought out a Derek and the Dominoes relic ("Tell The Truth"). "Old Love" a song he cowrote with Robert Cray (awesomeness) was next. By this time, I had settled into the realization that there would likely not be any "Bad Love", "Pretending", or "She's Waiting" junking up the set list (which is a disappointment). The guitar playing was so clear and perfect though, that I didn't mind anymore. I settled into my seat and allowed the chords to knock me upside the head. I swear to God, the music coming out of the amps was so beautiful, I didn't know whether to dab my eyes or pump my fist (When is "Jersey Shore" coming back on anyway??). Some more standards followed ("I Shot the Sheriff" and "Nobody Knows You When You're Down and Out") then on to the "Journeyman" days with "Runnin on Faith". The next three songs were crowd favorites: "Layla" (sadly, the 1992 version), "Rock and Roll Heart" (thanks Verizon!), and "Badge". This was where the show got a whole lot better, at least judging by crowd response. People woke up, sat up, and clapped along. The final three songs were successful in whipping the laid back (and likely, now high crowd) into an air guitar frenzy: "Before You Accuse Me", "Wonderful Tonight" and "Cocaine". Two things here. Number one, it cracked me up to see all the couples burrow into each other for "Wonderful Tonight", knowing what I know. In reality, they might as well had embraced to the strains of "Used to Love Her" by GNR. Secondly, I have never seen so many freshly scrubbed white kids get so worked up about cocaine. The way these assholes were fist pumping and shouting along (just to the word "Cocaine"...they didn't know the rest, surprisingly.) you would have thought that they came straight outta SOFO. These are the same people, removed from this high spirited environment, that fan their faces when a smoker is within breathing distance. That was it. Eric finished "Cocaine" (tee hee) and waved at the crowd. Then he left. No fanfare. Of course, Iphones all over the arena immediately pulled up the concert lighter app and that alone could have been a commercial for Apple. (I suppose the Verizon Mongoloid also has this app, but everyone knows that the Iphone is the superior product)



After a couple of minutes, Eric and band returned and did "Crossroads", which earned a standing ovation. Then, the mass exodus. It has just occurred to me, a million words later, that I should probably do another post about all the drama that I saw unfolding around me, all evening. There was romance, passion, a cooling off, rejection, and then rage...all in the two seats in front of me. On the way out of the forum, I witnessed a range of human emotion...from elation to vomiting. All in all, it was an awesome show which opened my ears to parts of Eric Clapton's repertoire that I might have otherwise skipped on the cd. On a final note...I parked at Parking Can Be Fun on Union (smug parking secret). As I tweeted last night, Parking can be fun, I suppose; or it could be a CF (urbandictionary.com). Last night...it was a CF. I felt so smug parking there, some distance away from the forum, because I didn't mind the gritty Second St crawl. I consider myself fairly street smart and I knew not to linger or marvel. All that smugness came to a screeching halt; however, as I made the SLOW descent down the tiers of the garage, along with half of the mid south population. Smugness returned; however, when I pulled up to the cashier and paid $3. Friday night, March 5th, 2010 was well worth the money.

Five Things

After a conversation with a friend yesterday, I thought a lot about positivity.  Currently, I am lacking this.  Without boring you, gentle reader, with all that is wrong with "the way things are"; I will sum it up to say: Life, right now, is shit.  Yeah yeah yeah, I have my health.  Right.  So, I said to my friend, "I just have to remain positive, because if I let bitterness take over my heart, I won't be open to the good things coming my way".  This made perfect sense at the exact moment that I said it.  And then, the next 36 hours consisted of a series of events that I can only deem "Ways God is Trying to Make Sure That I Am Earnest".  Tonight, after a furious marathon housecleaning session, I am relaxing on my couch watching "Frances" (an excellent 1982 film which should have won Jessica Lange an Oscar, but alas even Jessica Lange has bad days).  I am trying to put the last crap filled several hours out of my mind, and replace the blackness with sunny optimism.  (sheepish laughter) To facilitate this process, I will now list 5 things to be happy about RIGHT NOW. Not next week, not 2 years ago, not when I get a job, or start school, or anything not centered in NOW. 

1.  Harriet. This basically goes without saying, but that small, stinky, fuzzy dog makes me so goddamned happy that I could rub her fur off.  I swear that she knows what the deal is.  She winks at me occassionally (people have trouble believing this, but this is the same dog who transported a Route 44 size slushy up into her chair without spilling a drop) as if to say, "Screw those haters, turn on that electric blanket and let's watch this season of Nip/Tuck all in one sitting!"  Harriet came out of a bad circumstance, but she has made lemons into lemonade more times than minute maid.  If I am broke, heartbroken, sick, broke, unemployed, broke (guess what I am currently preoccupied with), I can still make raspberries on Harriet's pink tummy and infuriate her, which in turn, delights me.

2.  My car is now in good shape.  It was serviced recently.  Now it is safe and reliable again.

3.  I have a lot of bottles of bubble bath stowed away. 

4.  My butt is rock hard thanks to all the aerobics.

5.  My bangs are at an acceptable length.

Alrighty, there you have it.  Weird thing happened yesterday.  I was sitting on the couch (notice a theme here?) feeling so sorry for myself.  I was having a halfhearted conversation with God about my misery.  I requested a reprieve from this misery (what I meant was God, please send me a good job or a winning lottery ticket because I don't want to be broke this summer.) and I got EXACTLY what I asked for.  I was arrested from this downward spiral by frantic knocking at my door.  All Hell broke loose in the house, Harriet commenced to summoning the dead with her ear splitting Jack Russell barking.  I stowed her away and answered the door to confront the jackass who had interrupted my pity party.  There stood a lady with a large bag.  She was from the Neilsen Ratings (note: if they choose you, you can't shake them. Ever).  She wanted to know if I had changed my mind about not allowing them to attach 1978 CB radio looking things to each of my televisions to monitor what I watch.  I confirmed that I had INDEED not changed my mind (long story short...I paid too much for this house and worked too hard fixing it up to have shit cluttering it up).  She then hands me the bag and says, "Well, I have to give you this gift anyway, so enjoy!" and with that she was gone and I was dumbfounded.  The bag contained a fancy gift box with a glass bottle coke (!!), a huge bag of Kettle Corn, a HUGE Hershey bar (!!!), and a cute candy dish.  I sat it on my kitchen counter and just stood there staring at it.  And then it hit me.  I just experienced divine intervention.  I asked for a reprieve, I got a reprieve.  A break in the misery.  Nothing more, nothing less.  And let me tell you, it is impossible to be miserable 3 squares into a GIGANTIC Hershey bar. 

What the Eff???

Ok, so I didn't realize that linking my Formspring with my blog would result in such nonsense on my page.  Sorry folks!!! I got carried away with answering random questions about myself and apparently I have clogged up twitter with my insignificant mumbo jumbo.  It isn't my fault though.  My employers should provide me with more opportunities for challenging work that requires the use of my brain.  But alas, they have so far failed me in this respect...

More meaningful information to follow....

formspring.me

To iPad or not to iPad?

If an iPad was to arrive at my house from an anonymous donor, I would certainly accept it and spend all night figuring it out. I am never opposed to newer, better, faster, shinier.

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Is your house messy or neat?

My house is fairly neat. There are issues with dog hair, oldness, and my tendency to start improvement projects and lose motivation; but for the most part I keep a clean house. I believe in everything in it's place and a place for everything, but really...it is just me so I can do a full sweep of my house in approximately 15 minutes (10 if I have my ipod).

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Who is your favorite hero and why?

This was on my myspace page for years, and I actually caught some flak for it. I am my own hero. That's right, ME. I have tripped up so many time on my path to happiness/success/fame/fortune and have managed to pull myself up each time and keep moving forward. I use my past journals as instruction manuals on how not to eff up again. I consider myself my best teacher and model. Conceited? Maybe. Effective? Definitely.

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What's in your pockets right now?

I have no pockets, but even if I did they would be empty. Everything goes into the purse. Even trash. I am not proud of this.

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Do you own a Kindle? Why or why not?

I don't, no particular reason other than I just haven't gotten around to purchasing one. Also, I don't go enough places to require a mobile reading device. I still do fine with books.

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Do you believe in God? Why or why not?

I believe in Something. I don't believe in the usual "God", long robe, white beard/hair, sandals; however, I do believe that there is a force guiding life. I also believe that fate, providence, and luck all are components of "God". I don't believe in hellfire and brimstone, as the Something I believe in is based in peace and kindness. The Something also has a great sense of humor and likes to psyche me out from time to time, just to make sure I am getting the full experience.

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What is your favorite thing about living in Covington? Fave activities, places to eat, things to see, etc. (This is absolutely NOT me pumping you for ideas. Nope. Not at all.)

My favorite thing about living in Covington is being able to walk my dog to the square and back. Sad, isn't it? I live on the outskirts of a lovely neighborhood, and in the Spring and Summer I enjoy walking by the pretty houses. I also enjoy the Sportsplex and pool. I splurged on a membership last summer and it has paid for itself tenfold. Many Sundays, I am the only person at the pool! I hate that Covington could not support it's Starbucks, and I have yet to find a good coffee joint that doesn't sell other folk's crap they no longer want. I wish Covington had more of a tennis community. Marlo's patio is a great place to hang out in the summer, but GAWD who can afford that??? With a little more retail (dining/coffee) and rec opportunities, Covington would be Awesome.

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What would your dream job look like?

It would look like me, laying on a chaise lounge on my patio, reading magazines whilst my paypal account fills up with donations from adoring blog followers.

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Allow me to dump my purse for your inspection http://formspring.me/peachgalintn

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If you could go back in time 10 years and tell your younger self something, what would it be?

Do not, I repeat, do not leave Memphis. No matter what is offered or promised...don't do it. Oh, and also...do not smoke that cigarette after the Audabon Park 5k just to see if you are actually over smoking. You won't be and that will be a grave mistake.

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What was the most interesting place you've traveled to?

It seems too obvious to say NYC, but I will have to go with that anyway. I saw everything from a PETA protest gone awry to a man wearing a live cat on his head. Don't see many of those wandering around Covington, TN

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