Monday, June 25, 2012

Credit Where Credit is Due

One day I told Shawn very calmly, "You're personal maid had quit.  She ran out into the street screaming.  So would you mind to throw out your Pepsi cans, ashtrays, and whiskey glasses?"

And I have to say Shawn really has been trying to pick up after himself.  The next morning I walked into the office.  This is a shared space but when I walk in, all I see is uncontrolled chaos.  Is there a controlled sort?  I dunno, it sounded good at the moment.  There is trash, stacks of papers, notebooks, scraps of papers, ashes, ashes, ashes, about a million Pepsi cans, half full (because the bottom is half is apparently, undrinkable) a full ashtray, tools, wires and all sorts of other miscellaneous things and items.

It stresses me out.

So the following morning I walked into the office and saw.....  A desk.  There was a desk under all that chaos!  He had picked up every scrap of paper, can and miscellaneous item and put it....somewhere.  Who cares where he put it all!  I could lay out my notebook onto the desk!

I left a very nice note for him, thanking him for the clean up.  It really changed my mood and attitude for the entire day!

The following week, the area of our living room that had somehow become a dumping ground for his projects had been touched by magic.  You see, Shawn's workshop is the garage.  It is also, the living room, den, office, front yard and back yard.  I come home to relax and sit amongst anxiety and stress.  My sould craves organization and neatness!!!!

So I walk in with groceries and the table where we eat--we have not eaten there for a year because it is filled with projects--was...it was...dare I tell?  YOU COULD SEE IT!  The cheap vinyl table cloth was 100% visible!  And the cheap built in hutch was empty!  Every scrap of metal, wire, tool, and box was gone.  IT WAS JUST GONE!!!

Shawn came home.  "Did you see the living room?" he asked slyly.
"Yeah," I answered.
"Do ya like it?"
"Yeah."

So I decided I would ask a few things.
I began by asking, "Did you see the toilet?"
"Yeah."
"And the tub?"
"Yeah."
"Did you see the trash can?"
"Yeah."
"And the laundry?"

And so on.  I swear, guys do one little thing they ought to be doing anyway and expect such great praise.  Where's my trophy for cleaning the toilet?  Do I get a cookie for running the vacuum?  Where's my great applause for picking up the groceries?  Huh?!

A friend of mine had actually talked her man into doing some light housework because she would be gone for a while.  While she was visiting her sister, the man texted her every 5 to 7 minuets to let her know he had done a chore.

I TOOK OUT THE TRASH
I SWEPT KITCHEN
I WIPED COUNTER

And so on.  This went on for a couple of hours.  When my friend was done with her visit, she stopped off at the local trophy store and had a special plaque made for her man.

HA HA!!  Surely you knew I was kidding about that one!

Tuesday, June 19, 2012

Drunk Blogging

I am thoroughly embarrassed for my drunk blogging.  Sometimes I do believe that little Facebook mistake may have cost me and it is embarrassing when I vent & I am too lazy to start a new, hidden blog.  I honestly have no idea who can read this, who saw that I listed this blog with facebook long ago & deleted it.

Oh well.  That's what I get for drunk blogging.

The day after my last drunken post, I was offered a token of appreciation at work, a gesture of thanks.  And of course, now I feel like a complete asshole.  That's what I get for drunk blogging.  I know I said that already; I'm not currently drunk, just trying to make a point to myself and the rest of the dummies out there.

The only problem with this is that I am the kind of person who views such a token like, "OK, what are you up to?  What's the catch?"  Because I learned the hard way that you cannot trust anyone for any reason, I am always very suspicious.  And that's just sad.

I suppose most people, whether you work in the home or outside of it, or work two full time jobs both in and out of the home, you tend to feel unappreciated, taken for granted.  This is most certainly true when you're doing both.  To clean up only to have it dirty again, or cluttered, or soiled seems utterly meaningless.  When you do the same things day after day, year after year, only to be right back where you started at the beginning of each new day is down right depressing.

I had made the decision that I would no longer be picking up after people at work, constantly going behind them.  And yet, it still lingers at home. After all, this is why God put me on this earth, isn't it?

I often used to think that I had no life goals, no dreams.  I now have figured out what I want in my life:  Simplicity. 

I can life without the chaos, the clutter, the messes that cause anxiety.  "Can" is an operative word here.  I "would like to" is more appropriate.  But as I see it, that may never happen until I am dead.  And that's just sad.

Thursday, June 14, 2012

In Spite of Everything...

Besides everything going on at home, accompanying the fact that my stomach sometimes knots up as I turn down our street, I have family issues going as well.  I harbor secrets I dare not tell, anger & bitterness I cannot share.  I swell with compassion for several--literally several--of our close family members dying slowly and methodically of cancer. 

And besides all this, I have my job.

I sometimes wonder if I had a penis, if that would make a difference.  After all, it took me six years to make per hour what another had accomplished in only two. 

I learned by accident and confronted with deep resentment.  My boss told me things, lot of things, in an effort to smooth things over.  And that's all it was, just to smooth things over.  I could have argued.  I could have pointed out that I am smarter than this.  I could have asked, "Do you really expect me to buy that?"  I have been around, you know.

Months ago, after a mini break down of sorts, he once asked me, "Would you maybe be happier somewhere else?"

Well......yeah.  Why?  You know of anything?

You know of a job that isn't blistering hot in the summer?  Something that doesn't suck the life out of me just from unbearable heat?  Do you happen to know of an open position that doesn't require me to wear three sweaters in the winter?  Something that doesn't dry out the skin on my hands until it cracks and bleeds?  Do you have in mind something that doesn't have me dealing with human feces?  Or maybe a job where the scent of human urine festering in the warm Texas months is merely an idea?

But of course I never say these things.  I never do. 

I was always taught to take pride in my work, whatever it may be, no matter how much I hated it.  If you didn't take a certain amount of pride in your work, your boss might just go out and find someone who will.  It's hard, though when you feel passed over, another number, an expendable asset.  (It's been pointed out to me than a Mexican could be hired within the hour to replace me)  It's very difficult when you're having fluff being blown right into your face just so someone else can save their own face.  I've strived to save the company money, did the things no one else would do, do the work when people just plain forgot.  And yet, I do not fall into that pool of favorites. 

I throw fits, and there are some others who throw fits.  Some get defended.  I remain as always, one to be reminded, unwarranted, that I have an attitude problem.  If you think constantly reminding me of something that's as plain as the nose on my face is gonna make me change, you've got another thing coming.  Why should we blow off her fit and not mine? 

Apparently, I swim in the wrong pool.
Sometimes it is the phrase, "Well, that person has a lot going on at home." 
Don't we all?

And yet, I am uneducated.  There are few jobs out there.  My boss is fully aware of this, and also completely aware that a well trained monkey could do my job.  Not in so many words, but if you carefully read between the lines you could almost hear him saying, Who are you to question whether I pay you less no matter what you do?  I'll just hire another uneducated cretin like yourself to fill the position if you don't like it.

And so it goes.  I suppose if we were all so blatantly mellow, the world might be a better place with fewer wars. 

Or would it?





Wednesday, June 13, 2012

I have rearranged my entire life & existence because Shawn has always wanted his own business.  I have done eBay (even though I hate it with a passion of passions) for ten years, on and off.  I have dealt with items and junk and sellable things strewn from one end of the house to the other.  This is a deplorable act for a neat freak.

I have picked up after, lost sleep and weekends.  I have cleaned, rearranged, driven to & fro.  I have developed what I suspect are the tiniest beginning of stomach ulcers or cancer--why not?  I have cried and taken handfuls of Advil.  I have worked volunteer overtime doing the things that no one wants to do.  I have accepted the fact that hillbillies have invaded my front yard and the back.

And what do I get for it?

Yelled at, screamed to, and cussed upon.  I do not look forward to coming home.  I dread the weekend.  I'm sick of eBay & festivals.  I'm tired of living with a pressure cooker with an unpredictable mood.  Though lately it's been fairly predictable:  Angry and more angry. 

I "joke" that I may very well hurl myself off a bridge.  I fear God has given me all I can handle.  I may take up drinking as a hobby.  I can certainly understand why some people fall down that slippery slope. 

I can no longer handle the stress, the constant upset, the never ending of things not working, running out of time, and something broken. 

I'd like one day--JUST ONE FREAKING DAY--without something going wrong, without being upset about something.  Seems the only time I am not upset is when I am sleeping.  Perhaps I'll take up a voluntary addiction to pain medications like so many others.

....Just to escape the pressure for a little while.

The devil roams about like a lion, seeking who he may devour.  I feel as though I've been chewed on thoroughly.  Not yet devoured.  I supposed there's a glimmer of hope somewhere in there, though I have yet to see it.

I was put on this planet for one reason alone.  God created me for the sole purpose to do for Shawn & what he wants.  At least it feels that way.  If that isn't the case then I really have no idea why God made me at all.  Sometimes I wish He hadn't.  If I had been aborted, I could have grown up in Heaven.  No tears, no weeping, no pain, emotional or physical.

If Shawn had not taken my vehicle after I'd come home from work, I might have already driven off in search of a tall bridge.

Wednesday, June 6, 2012

Ignorance is Bliss

Shawn quit his job & we started our own business.  I'm still working my job but we are equally overworked, under-rested, and totally and completely freaked out.  Then, stuff piles on.  If you are human, you know about stuff.

Nine years ago Shawn bought a baby cocketiel.  He visited the bird every day at the small pet store after work and it bonded with him pretty quickly.  The store thought the bird was male because it was a bright white all over with two vivid orange dots on either side of the face.  We named the bird Lulu, regardless.

Then, Lulu began to lay eggs.  Lots and lots of eggs, year round.  I complained about his bird nonstop.  I never felt like it was right keep such an animal, a creature that could fly anywhere in the land, crammed into a cage.  It would be like locking me in the living room for all my life.  I hated the mess that Lulu saddled me with.  Poop, bird seed, bread crumbs, more poop.  It was a never ending battle for me.

But I found ways to connect with Lulu, in spite of all that.  She really loved the Andy Griffith theme song.  I whistled it when I did dished along with other old TV shows and hymns.  She danced on top of a little box I set in the cage, she made sharp, happy noises whenever I whistled.  Shawn couldn't whistle.  Even though Lulu hissed at me when I changed her water bowl, at least we had those songs.

Lulu also barked like a dog when someone came over.  She learned to bark from Prissy, who we lost a year ago to severe arthritis.  The dogs always look to Lulu to see if a stranger is on his way through the window.

On Thursday, Shawn noticed that Lulu was getting ready to lay an egg.  He thought it looked a bit red & swollen, but assumed it was normal.  He mentioned it to me when I came home & I said it was normal to look a little swollen and I noticed a broken egg on the cage's floor.  It was probably fine.

Around 8:30 pm, I bent to close the curtain at Lulu's window and just happen to look up at her.  Something was wrong.  Seriously wrong.  Lulu was perched on the top rung of her ladder.  Her breathing was labored and her egg hole was....just wrong.  It looked like something had come out that should not have come out.  I wasn't sure what I was looking at, but I knew it wasn't good.

We hit the internet and posted a photo on a forum.  I stood at Lulu's cage for a while before I went to bed.  "I am so sorry," I whispered.  I knew she had to be in pain.  I quietly whistled Andy Griffith twice, and figured it would be for the last time.

I lay in bed for an hour that night.  I was sure poor Lulu would be dead in the morning.  While I lay in the bed, Shawn later told me he had done his own research online.  He found out about egg binding, which I'll get to later.  He was certain Lulu would not make it through the night.

The next morning, I went straight to the cage and there sat Lulu, still on the top rung.  Her breathing was slow.  There was something extra poking out from the egg hole and poo slowly dripped down.  "I'm so sorry sweetie," I cried.  I couldn't stand it that there was nothing--NOTHING!--that I could do to ease her pain.  I could not do the obvious, I just couldn't.

I set the alarm clock for Shawn & went to work.  I told Liz about it.  I was crying.  I had foolishly forgotten that I was speaking to The Show About Me.  Liz had once had a bird and when I shared my pain with her, this is what I received:  "Me me me me, me-me...me and me, me me.  Me me me, oh and me-me, me me."

Once again, Liz sees an opportunity to see how her own story relates to this and she can talk about it for six hours.  Clearly, I would receive no consolation here.

9:30 am.  Shawn shows up at my job.  I hug him outside and we both cry until we're shaking.  "I'm so sorry I couldn't be there with you," I sobbed.

Here's what happened:  The vet took Lulu and gently cupped her in his hands and his eyes widened as he viewed the bird's under side.  "This isn't good," he said.  "I know it isn't good..." Shawn replied.

No one at the pet store instructed us on how to handle a female bird because everyone was certain that Lulu was a male.  We never knew such a thing could even happen, that it was possible.  Females tend to lay eggs in the spring & the fall.  Their bodies use calcium to create the egg shell.  When a bird such as Lulu lays eggs like a chicken, it depletes their body's supply of calcium.  In this case, a calcium supplement should be provided.  Of course, we had no idea that we should have been doing that.  There's nothing out there to tell you that you should be doing that.  We had no idea we even should have searched a thing online!

With the calcium deficiency, the egg can become lodged in the uterus.  The bird will normally break her pelvis trying to extract the egg.  This normally, in most normal cases causes almost instant death, as far as I am told.  The bird cannot survive this process.

So the doctor says, this isn't good.  "This is her uterus.  This is her bladder.  This is her kidney," the doctor explains to Shawn.

I stop here because I do not know how to type out the sort of anguish this brings to an animal person.  To know that our Lulu had sat there like this with three major organs hanging outside of her body for that many hours, still alive....It's difficult to put into words.

Shawn blamed himself and of course I tell him that he didn't know any better (regarding him noticing the redness & swelling Thursday morning).  When I had noticed Lulu, well after the clinics had closed, I wasn't exactly sure what I was looking at.  Deep down I was hoping it was just some sort of afterbirth, maybe something I never noticed before or didn't know about.  But I knew she was in pain.  I knew what I was looking at wasn't going to last long.

The vet placed a needle into Lulu's wing and pushed the plunger.


The house is oddly quiet now.  I hear a sound that is EXACTLY like Lulu gnawing on her cuddle bone.  I think to myself, "Ah, that's just Lulu on her cuddle bone."  Then I peer from the kitchen to the empty space in the window.

I opened the cabinet that needs grease on the hinges.  In my mind, I hear it squeal, followed by Lulu's reaction to the shrill noise.  No....it was just in my mind.  I never realized how much I'd miss that bird until she was gone.  Yeah, I complained about her all the time, but I do the same with close family members.

I didn't sing when I did the dishes. I didn't whistle, either.  I think it would have been easier if she'd merely gotten sick & died.  It might have easier to know that she wasn't in that kind of pain.  It might have been easier if it wasn't the result of something ignorant we could have prevented.

One year ago, almost to the day, we had to put down our 13 or 14 year old dog, Prissy.  She was healthy.  Had the blood of a healthy puppy; the vet had never seen anything like it, ever.  If we knew that jumping down off the furniture would damage her back so badly over the years, we could have prevented that horrible day.  Same with Lulu.  We just didn't know.  "Sucks," Shawn muttered.  "Another perfectly healthy animal."

Whoever said ignorance is bliss?

We wondered why this poor bird was even alive Friday morning.  "I guess we raise some tough-shit animals," I sighed.

                                                      Prissy examines Lulu after a shower