sueeeus

shit.
shit shit shit.
shit shit fuk fukkety fuk buggers buggerdy bugger shit.

OMG!  I am SO King George VI!  Up tight, wound up like a clock, all decorum, all proper…   ….I can totally see myself exploring such profanities in just the way he did, in The King’s Speech.  Only, I probably won’t.  Other than the beauties I just posted.

Colin Firth and Geoffrey Rush have great faces to explore, and I’ve always liked Helena Bonham Carter.  I enjoyed the film.

not tonight dear, I have a headache

I’ve been giving Wellbutrin XL a go for the past couple of months.  I think it is helping.  I had a headache every single day for the first four weeks, but not the cloud or fog or lightheaded feelings I’ve experienced with other things.  I was lightheaded every day with Zoloft, even with a minuscule dose.

Anyway.  I still get headaches.  But I’ve been getting headaches and stomachaches for as long as I can remember.  And I still have anxiety.  It’s not debilitating, but it’s a nuisance.

I still have broken sleep.  It seems that I have an inner clock that insists I open my eyes at 4:36am.  Every. Single. Morning.  Generally, it’s not so bad if I can acknowledge the time, oh, it’s 4:36 again, isn’t that nice, and drift back to sleep.  If I’ve got things on my mind, though.  Forget it.  My brain is engaged and that’s all she wrote.  There is also the matter of the resident bedwetter.  If he’s wet, he tends to arrive at my door between 1 and 2 am.  I send him off to change his clothes, while I go strip his bedding and get him situated again.  I tuck him in, and he returns to the land of nod.  I may or may not return myself.   It’s very exhausting, this lumbering about, trying to function while in a dazed state in the middle of the night.

I might try having him wear an alarm watch, to wake him in the night so he can take care of things.  He’s such a deep sleeper, but perhaps the novelty of wearing a watch and knowing there will be an alarm will be enough of a wedge in his subconscious to cause him to respond.  It’s worth a try.

Meanwhile, I haven’t much to say.

Apart from this.

shit.
shit shit shit.
shit shit fuk fukkety fuk buggers buggerdy bugger shit.

I crack myself up.  That language is so out of character!

My garage door opener is acting up.  As is my coffee machine.  As is my bathroom light.  I wonder if they are on the same circuit?  Unlikely.

Yesterday I couldn’t get my garage door to open.  My front door has a deadbolt lock and an extra security bolt that is always, always engaged.  For security.  But when the garage door won’t open, and one needs to enter the house, what can one do?  There is the third bay for which I actually have a key, but Gadget’s got it so jam packed full of crap that there is absolutely no way to enter.  Hopefully he’ll clear that out soon enough, but for now, it’s of no help.  I might also mention that the electrical panel is on the far wall of that bay, so there will be no repairing of faulty light switches for the time being.

We have a fenced back with locked access gates.  Luckily, the lock was not engaged, so I was able to make it to the back yard and begin scoping the windows in hopes that I’d left one unlocked and unbarred.  We have wood blocks in the window tracks as an added security measure.  All this security.  The stars must have been in alignment, because there was, in fact, an unlocked and unblocked window.  Granted, I destroyed the window screen in my zeal.  Okay, two window screens.  I was thrilled to get in, but also felt vulnerable, wondering how long that window had been left in that state.  I immediately locked it, then went to investigate the garage door situation.  The main controller worked perfectly (opened the door), so what did I do?  I went outside and tried the outside controller again.  It worked!  Yes, it closed the door.  But would it open again?  No.  NO!  Did I mention that I had just locked myself out?  IDIOT.

I scoped the house again, to no avail.  I kept trying the controller, to no avail.  I tried the outside wall controller.  I tried the remote.  I tried the built in car remote.  Nothing.  I kept pushing buttons, and finally, FINALLY, the door opened.  By the grace of God.  I immediately unbolted the front door’s security bolt, so that I could let myself in WITH MY KEY, if I should lock myself out again.  And commenced troubleshooting the garage door system.  Again.  I couldn’t get the remotes to work again, after that.

The antenna is clearly visible.  The main controller works fine.  The sensors are aligned.  One might think perhaps the remote is in need of a new battery, but all three?  The car remote is integrated with the car itself, and would not be low on power.   They should be independent of each other, so that a low battery in one shouldn’t affect them all.  What then?  I’m at a loss.

And today?  So far, it seems to be working normally.

I’m keeping the upper bolt open, though.  Just in case.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Meanwhile.  I’m on vacation.  I have a week off.  Before the week began, the prospect of a week seemed like wealth untold.  Now, I have four days left and I feel like it’s over before it began.  I’ve been watching TV on DVD, late at night, after the kids are asleep.  Mad Men, seasons 1 and 2.  Drama.  It caught my attention and I enjoyed it.  Arrested Development.  I’m working on season 2.  That one makes me laugh out loud now and then.  I can use that!

I took BB to see Avatar at the IMAX, in 3D last week.  It was amazing.  It was the first time I’d taken him to the thee-AY-doe (theater), and my heart just swelled when I’d see him reaching his hand out into space to try to touch the 3D images.  It was such a special treat, to go to the big screen.  At least, I wanted it to be a magical thing for him.  I know that I would have loved to have had such a treat in my own youth.  I actually almost want to go back and see it again, alone, so I can immerse myself in it more, rather than watch my boy watching it.  It was amazing, what I did see, but I was distracted, watching him.  He did great for a nearly 5 year old.  He was fidgety after the first hour, but he behaved himself.  I’m proud of him.

This morning I saw Sherlock Holmes with Robert Downey, Jr. and Jude Law.  It was fun.  I enjoyed it.  I love RDJ, anyway.  He’s fun to watch.

I’m thinking about going to see New Moon, before my week is up.  I’m feeling a bit movied out, yet may not have a window of opportunity again for quite some time.  I’m planning to visit the art museum on Wednesday, and have to take LB in for his second half of his H1N1 shot on Thursday. Friday is New Year’s day, and that’s the end of the week.  Over, just like that.  I had grand plans of movies, books, window shopping and coffee shops.  Maybe I can squeeze something in on Thursday, after the doctor visit.

I’m not very good at relaxing.

I love this age of conversation and reason.  He is nearly five, and he has so much to say.  He conveniently listens only when it suits him, but that may be what any normal child does.

I love to tease him!  Recently he’s shown a sensitivity to boy-girl teases.  In Monsters vs Aliens, there is a scene where Susan smooches Derek.  Now, if I say, “My name is Suuuuuuusan, and I’m going to smoochie smoochie you,” he runs and shrieks and covers his face and blushes, “NOOOOOOOOOO, Don’t DO that Mommy!”

He also thinks it’s funny that my name IS Susan.  He makes sure he tells every passerby, “My Mommy’s name is Suuuuuusan.”  And when asked what HIS name is, he responds without missing a beat, “Gallaxhar.”   Only it sounds like “Gow-ax-ove,” so I have to translate and explain, because, well, not everyone has seen Monsters vs Aliens.  Fifty. Thousand.  Times.

He memorizes full scenes.  “Derek, you are a selfish jerk.”  All the way to “Lime green jello with fourteen pieces of pineapple.”

All I have to say is a few obscure words from the movie and it will send him into giggles.  I love that!  I especially love his reaction when I say, “What the flagnar!”  –He gets very animated and tells me, “Don’t SAY that!”   It’s swearing, after all.   We’re working on his vocabulary of approved expressions.  “Oh shoot.”  “Holy Cheezits.”  “Darn-it.”  “Goodness gracious.”   I get severely reprimanded if I say “Dammit,” even when justified after severely stubbing my toe on something.

what the flagnar!

I wonder if I should be concerned that he usually wants to be the villain.  Darth Vader.  Megatron.  Gallaxhar.  Maybe it’s just a male leadership testosterone thing, and not the makings of a future sociopath.

He’s very much into make-believe right now.  I hear him talking to Susan and Gallaxhar, or about them to an imaginary somebody.  He integrates bits of reality.  Recently, he was telling an imaginary someone that Susan and Gallaxhar were dead because they got in a car crash from a drunk driver.

Sometimes he gets things spot on.  “Daddy is being a selfish jerk.”

I don’t want the grown ups’ differences to wrench at the kids, and I want to keep them shielded from my personal emotional unrest with their dad, which is at times very difficult to hide.  So I tell him, “Daddy is just going through a hard time right now and he’s angry, and sometimes when people are angry, they act like that.  Hopefully Daddy will feel better soon.”

And I mean that.

It’s a rough ride for him, being forced to grow up and move into the world on his own, my forty two year old teenager.  Life is much different when you have to concern yourself with accountability and responsibility, when you have to make your own way, pay your own bills.  Anger is probably much easier to work with than fear, uncertainty, and despair.  So anger he manifests, but I can see the frightened boy, and my heart breaks for him, but I have to let  him go.  I have to stay this course.

It’s so very hard, and there’s no easy way through.

I really enjoy watching the American Idol auditions. And not for sheer mockworthy entertainment, either. Although, if I were in another, unstabilized state of emotion, I just might viciously savor the large scale humiliation. It simply astounds me to see such displays of personal confidence from people of all shapes, sizes, and colors. These people have people who love them. They all have somebody behind them, loving them, encouraging them, believing in them. And I think that’s beautiful. I never felt like I had that kind of loving support, although, in retrospect, I was probably too busy seeing what I didn’t have to notice what I did have. Typical

I feel like such a voyeur, peeking into the lives of those who were showcased, yet I hungrily take it all in. A mother and daughter living in a studio apartment with two cats and a dog. A very, very, very large young girl, with an even larger mother who fiercely and proudly believes in her. There is so much love. A fluffy man with a nice smile, bold enough to wear the Carrie Fisher Jabba the Hut love slave outfit to the audition. So humiliating. He had such a sweet smile. He had to be a nice person. I felt sad for him.

All the rejection, all the tears. These people go in to the auditions with such high hopes, and they exit with their dreams shattered. Some of them are so hard on themselves. It breaks the heart. I remember that longing to fit in, to be accepted, to be loved by the masses. Those secret dreams of being famous. A model. An actor. An artist. A writer. A composer. A singer. A musician. Anything that would make the world love me.

It’s something, isn’t it, that it took over 40 years of life experience to gain the wisdom and self-assurance that there is no need for the world to love me. There is just the need for me to love me. So I see all these beautiful people, and I see they are surrounded by people who love them, and I feel sad that they just don’t quite love themselves enough. Because why else would they be there, if not seeking fame? And fame, once achieved? How thankful I am to be spared!

Prescription for a fine, fine day:

1. Take the day off from work.
2. Spend it with a dear friend.
3. Drive to the city.
4. Enjoy a delightful lunch.
5. See a show.
6. Use the HOV lane to bypass rush-hour traffic while returning to the suburbs.
7. Enter the house to be greeted enthusiastically by a nearly three-year old boy dressed as Spiderman.

What a day. What a show!

I had a silly smile on my face for the better part of two hours. And when Frankie started singing “I can’t take my eyes off of you,” I cried. Cried. Truth be told, I may just be an eensy weensy tad bit hormonal, but all the same, it was quite something.

Who loves you, pretty baby? Stay, just a little bit longer. Late December, back in ’63. Oh what a night. You’re just too good to be true, can’t take my eyes off of you. My eyes adored you.

The sounds I grew up with.

A girls day out is just what the doctor ordered.

Next weekend? We celebrate the boys.  Monster Jam.

We watched Blood Diamond yesterday. I was horrified. I am and have been far too sheltered in my life. My heart cries for the atrocities of humankind. Children armed with machine guns, forced to destroy their brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers. Riding the crest of a progesterone wave, the emotions are heightened and tears stream from my face. One scene, in particular, is so powerful, it stirs the very core of my being.

Dia is pointing a gun at his father. Solomon speaks slowly, steadily. His words are written in every line of his face, the depth of his heart pouring forth from his eyes. “I am your father who loves you. And you will come home with me and be my son again.” The tone of voice and expressions speak volumes more: “I will protect you. I will teach you. You can trust me. You can depend on me. You are safe. I love you.” It is so powerful and so very beautiful. They are so beautiful –Solomon and Dia.

After seeing this film, I am thankful (and relieved) that I don’t have an enormous diamond. Like many a GOAD (Girl of Asian Descent), I likes me some bling. Luckily, my conservative nature, in harmony with typical engineering frugality, prompted me to desire only a fabulous and beautifully set CZ as an engagement ring. Lucky for MG, too. For under $200 he made me quite happy with 1.5 carats of badabing, set in 14k white gold. I love it. I love that I have not one ounce of worry over the responsibility of owning and wearing something as valuable as a 1.5 carat diamond. And now that I have been enlightened in part as to the meaning of conflict diamond, I put all that more value into the ring that I wear.