Tuesday, June 30, 2009

Disclaimer

Jess would like to point out that she was not thinking of any one person in particular when she posited in this post that boys were nothing but trouble. 

Jess is not responsible for comments she makes in her blog and the opinions expressed in this blog are not neccesarily shared by Jess or anyone related to her. 

Boys are nothing but trouble, which is a documented fact supported by evidence that one of Jess's younger brothers once spit up in her very long hair when he was a baby and no teenaged girl should have to live through that kind of horror. However that doesn't mean Jess doesn't like boys or that life would not certainly be somewhat boring were they less trouble than they in fact are. 

Also, Jess recognizes the fact that girls are at least as much if not more trouble when they want to be although she herself is fairly sure that she has never caused even the tiniest speck of trouble in her lifetime, or at least that no one has ever proved this in a court of law.

Woof

Would it be wrong to throw a poisoned steak over my neighbors' fence to silence (For-E-verrrrr, muah hah ha ha haaaaahhh) the dog that barks approximately every 3 seconds from 3 am until 4:30 or so? My head says, Maybe. But my heart pillow says, Yes, absolutely, go for it and don't skimp on the poison.

Alternate scenarios include; organizing the neighborhood into angry European-village-type mob with pitchforks and torches in style of Frankenstein movies, following barking to source and ringing doorbell at wee hour with beatific smile and beautifully wrapped box full of smelly old cat food tins I took out of my recycle bin (i.e. If you can't beat 'em, confuse 'em ploy), crawling onto roof and barking/howling at the moon for several hours every night (i.e. If you can't confuse em, join 'em ploy), getting up and writing down ridiculous ideas my brain comes up with at 3 am to share with teh internets.

Monday, June 29, 2009

Update: Apparently I Am Not Dying After All, Probably.

According to Dr. Google, my abdominal pain may or may not have been appendicitis, but since it's much better today I'm guessing I was right and it was some sort of temporary ovarian revolt. Like the eggs trying to take over the henhouse? I don't know. Maybe I shouldn't attempt to write in this heat. Clearly my bwains are not at the top of their game today. I'm gonna go look for some air conditioning. Peace out.
funny pictures of cats with captions
see more Lolcats and funny pictures

Sunday, June 28, 2009

Ovaries are Overrated

I think I've leveled out. I suddenly just started to feel fine; like the bottom wasn't falling out of my life. Heh. Freakin' drug/hormones combinations, sometimes I hate being a girl. Whenever my antidepressant levels are out of whack it seems to affect everything else. Like right now? 

[warning, grody girl stuff ahead. Read at your own risk. I'm talking to you, Dad, and Zach...] 

I'm pretty sure I'm ovulating. Is that something I need to know, Body? I DON'T THINK SO!!! I happily exist most of the time in a state of blissful ignorance about what my ovaries are doing, but not this month, no. 

I couldn't figure out why my right leg hurt at the hip joint this morning. Did I pull it? Heavens, no, it's not like I've exercised or anything lately! Then the pain started to radiate upward and sideways and I remembered that pain, it was so familiar, it was, it was... Right, stupid trouble-making right ovary. Let me tell ya, if I don't manage to use this danged reproductive system to pop out a kid someday I am going to be really, really bitter about the fact that I didn't make the doctor yank it out years ago.

Saturday, June 20, 2009

Dear Universe: WTF???

I don't know what to do. I can't exist in this state for another four months... I can't even see past the next four days. All I want to do is sleep. I wish I could disappear. 

I've decided to give the Prozac-free existence (not that I'm actually free yet, so much as at the other end of the dosage range from maximum recommended) another week. If I still feel this way next weekend, I give up. I'm lucky enough to have found an anti-depressant that works for me without side-effects, maybe I should just be grateful and accept that it may not be as temporary a necessity as I'd assumed it would be. 

Why does this make me feel like a failure? It's not like I have a problem with taking thyroid medication. My thyroid doesn't work properly, I have to take medication to correct that. I'll be on it for the rest of my life, probably in increasing dosages. Obviously this is not ideal, but it doesn't make me feel weak or guilty either. And yet...

Dear Everyone Who Has Tried To Discourage Me From moving to Portland by insinuating flat out stating that I am just trying to run away from my problems and will be even more unhappy there. How is wanting to move to a place where I can afford to live without wondering every month if I'm going to be able to pay the bills "running away from my problems?" Or, if it is, what the fahita is wrong with running away from a problem called this place costs too much to live if you're not an engineer by going to a place where ordinary mortals can exist comfortably and the local newspaper doesn't run articles an entire series on the hardships of a local family of four who has to *gasp* live in their 360 sq ft newly renovated "modern French provincial with a retro element" cottage for the summer while their 3800 sq ft, multi-million dollar home is being remodeled. The deprivation!!

I understand that you want me to stay. It's not like I won't miss the people I love here tremendously. It might not seem that way when I'm moaning about how agonizing it is to be in this nowhere place- not fully here anymore, but not close enough to being there- but there are people all over the country, even the world, who it breaks my heart to be away from. I have to believe that someday these boundaries of space and time will not exist to separate us. Until then, though, you have to trust me when I tell you that I know in my heart that I don't belong here anymore. 

Thursday, June 18, 2009

Something to Look Forward To

I have a fun day planned with a couple of girlfriends in mid-August. I'm looking forward to that in a hazy, far-off-in-the-future sort of way. 

Between now and then there's nothing but a big question mark where a job should be, blah-ness, and an attempt to remember how to be on my own without being miserable.*  I can't remember now if I ever really achieved that. I do remember being deeply happy and content for long periods of time in Buttonwoods, but I know there were bad days there too. I spent more time alone during that period of my life than at any other time, but I was very rarely lonely. I wish I could go back, but I also don't. That was a long time ago and we can move only forward.** I need to find a job, pronto, but I can't find my motivation. Any of it. Have you seen it?

*I am done with boys forever for at least, like, a month. Or six. They're nothing but trouble. All of them! Except for the very small fuzzy one that I get paid to hold in the mornings this week so his mother can sleep since he keeps her up all night. See, even that one- trouble!!!

**Which is the title of a really good book, while I'm on the subject. Which I am, now. Go read it, but be warned- Michael Marshall Smith is brilliant, but not for the faint of heart. Only Forward

p.s. This is a really good review but the book is best read with no intro. Trust me, just go buy the book and read it.

I wish I could care enough to plan something to look forward to in the near future. But I don't/can't. [Wow, going off of Prozac was an awesome idea! I'm so glad I'm not dependent on evil chemicals anymore. And no, I did not stop cold-turkey, I tapered down slowly to the current low amount, which I'm afraid to decrease because I already feel like shit even though I'm pretty sure it's all circumstantial  or at least the circumstances do seem to indicate that there isn't really any reason to indicate that I should feel otherwise but maybe that's the not-prozac talking? Who can tell?! I think I just need to wait it out...]

It's looking more & more like if I'm going to find temp nanny work (yes, the move to Portland is pretty assured. It's still not really official but let me just say that I do not want to be here in six months and most nanny jobs require a long-term commitment because of bonding with the children and blah blah blah) I'll have to suck up to the evil nanny agency and sign their stupid contract that says that I owe them my eternal allegiance even though they treat me like crap and don't pay my salary but instead are making big bucks off of my awesome nannyness with little-to-no expense on their part, (also? Am modest; way.  Oh eff it, I am damned good at taking care of kids. Mean Agency Lady* can bite me, I do my job well and I've never been unreliable. I hate nanny agencies).  Or I could keep my precious integrity and risk not finding work and having to fight nice-but-slightly-unbalanced-local-homeless-guy for the bench down the street. Does integrity taste good? How about warmth, is it as good as a wool blanket? Anyone?

*pseuodnym

Also. Am tired of people who had privileged childhoods. I know it's not fair of me, but if I have one more person who started his/her first job & moved out of mom & dad's house at 25 after being put through the college of his/her choice, with spending money and family vacations included, insinuate that I'm lazy or don't work as hard as they do because I'm working part time or having trouble getting myself to face the job search once again... I might snap and do something drastic, like... make a really mean face, or something. I've been supporting myself since I was 19 and even if you don't count babysitting (for my own sibs since I was 10 and other people's kids since I was 12) I've had a job of some sort for almost twenty years. I'm tired, so sue me.*

*Disclaimer: Jess is aware that it's nobody's fault what kind of family they grew up in and that there's no particular virtue in being rich or poor or anywhere in between. Jess is cranky and depressed and doesn't mean half of what she says and, yes, really is just jealous. And no, nobody has really insinuated this anyway, Jess is just really really bitchy this week and should not be taken seriously.  

Saturday, June 6, 2009

An Epistolary Exchange

Dear "Twenties" group consisting of several twenty-somethings and a bunch of old people one of whom may or may not be the author of this blog,

It has just come to my attention that I failed to provide you with some important information regarding fundraising for our Uganda trip. The checks for our Uganda trip are not tax deductable. This is because we are paying [the NGO in question] for goods and services for our trip, and because our trip is not 75% or more a service trip. The latter enables us to spend time learning about poverty (home visits, etc.) and the work that [the NGO] does. We will be doing some service projects and spending a lot of time with kids, etc. If this poses a problem for you, please let me know, and I will make it right.

In His Grace,

Avery "Once you pop, you can't stop" Pringle*


*name changed to protect Pringle's anonymity

Dear Miz Pringle,

I personally am incensed about the failure of my large check to be deductible from the taxes I don't pay seeing as how I don't always exactly report my earnings. Death to the tyrannical government!!!... As I was saying. I would appreciate it immensely if you tore my giant contributatory check into tiny tiny shreds and then put it through the dishwasher before returning it to me in an unlined A6 envelope with a liberty bell stamp and a return address label that has cute puppies on it. If you do not currently possess cute puppy address labels consider contacting the ASPCA and indicating that you may at one point have a desire to contribute to the care and feeding of underloved animals. You will shortly be overwhelmed with free address labels featuring an assortment of cute fluffy creatures and can select an appropriately puppy-ish one to adorn the unlined A6 Envelope containing my returned check remains.

Waxily,
J. Davers

[Actually I contributed ten dollars. In cash.]


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