D'aaaaaaaaauuuuuuggghhh!
Baby shower’s been cancelled, because the baby in question’s been born.
The Mum will still need my unpatented first Mum’s survival kit, so we’ll have to arrange to visit sometime RSN.
With, or without the frikkin’ sarong.
So now Mum-in-law has to rattle up here to get the paperwork to get it back to the friend so she can initial it and get it back to me so I can submit it and finally get my passport.
Glah.
And, to make things interesting, I’m getting started on the things I need to pack for a trip. I now have an adapter so I can charge my devices and stay in contact with the world.
And I’ve got to remember to be slightly devious and pack some of my stuff inside a smaller suitcase inside a bigger one. That way, I have enough room for the trip home and all my purchases/souvenirs.
And take some art supplies. Definitely.
It’s all shaping up.
It looks like everything’s coming together. Things are moving in the right direction.
So of course, I’m reacting to this good fortune by acting like a paranoiac under Damocles’ sword.
Waiting for the shoe to drop. Waiting for the next big disaster.
Waiting for, in this case, my birth certificate to turn up in the mail so I can complete my passport application and file that fucker.
…waiting for Godot.
No, not really. Just… living life on tenterhooks is awkward and painful.
On the plus side, I’m getting a wriggle on with a math-based adventure map I’m building for Mayhem. I’m currently problem-solving the sewer level. Fun. Redstone circuits sometimes hate covering blocks that are supposed to hide them. And then I have to turn it all into a twisty, disorienting labyrinth with locked doors so that there’s a lot of backtracking.
Cause I worked hard on this part of the map and I want people playing it to appreciate it.
But, of course, I have to visit the Doctor, today. Get a diagnosis on my achey joints and inform him that I’m travelling to Thailand and I need my jabs and a note saying I’m taking all these medications for my health so I don’t get arrested for packing them…
Gyah.
It’s all up in the air as to how much is going to get done.
At least the lawn got mowed, yesterday. Big sigh of relief.
All’s quiet…
TOO quiet, as they are won’t to say.
I haven’t had any dramas dropping into my lap, nor Drama Llama’s coming to stay. So far.
I reckon they’re saving themselves up for tomorrow.
What’s happening tomorrow, you may ask? Well, I plan on going out to get a passport photo taken. So I can take it to a friend on Sunday and get myself verified. I hope.
That’s when the Drama Llama will step up to my side and hound my arse all damn day.
Or I’ll be forbidden from going because I have to hold the dog so hubby can mow the jungle lawn.
These things are sent to try us. And make me go gray. And give me dyspepsia.
Heh. Maybe if I leave early enough, he won’t be awake to stop me >:)
As the Drama Flies: episode 2
As you may be aware from the previous episode, I have been invited to Thailand for a few weeks, and also begun the process towards getting a passport.
This involves getting hold of a registrar’s office official copy of my birth certificate and my marriage licence. Which means getting hold of the department of births, deaths and marriages.
Sure, you can get lots of information online, but you can’t order a copy of your own ID papers.
I eventually figured out one has to turn up in person with every document you have, fill in a form, and pay a staggering fee to get a couple of official pieces of paper mailed to you.
Now, a little backstory. When I left to pick up the kids, the hound was on his long leash. When I came back, he was sitting on the verandah. He sat like an angel when I opened the gate to come in. After I freed him from the leash [still attached to the harness which was attached to him] I figured I could rely on him to sit like an angel every time the gate opens.
He sat like an angel when I went to the courthouse to get my paperwork filed.
He sat like an angel when I came back.
He took off like a rocket when I trusted him the third time that gate opened - when it was time to pick up the kids.
I tried to catch him, and lost sight of him. Therefore, I was obliged to go pick up the kids with visions of dire consequences dancing in my head, and worried tears dancing in my eyes.
Mayhem was understandably upset. I was crying. He was crying. Even Chaos, who’s normally scared of the hound, was crying.
We worked on some Missing posters, and discovered our printer was shit out of ink.
We just got to the point where we were expecting ominous phone calls when a familiar bell sounded and the hound gallumphed in for hugs and loves.
We fed him and hugged him and gave him skritches… and discovered he was bleeding from his nose.
New panic time! Yay. Not.
Dragged family and Hound off to the vet’s. Got hound checked out, also got hound immunisation boosters while we were there.
Hound is fine. None the worse for his adventure.
I feel like I want to melt into some comforting figure’s lap and cry the whole world away.
As the Drama Flies…
I usually name my mythical soap operas _All My [NOUN]s_, mad-lib style. But my life is definitely As the Drama Flies. And believe me, it’s flying pretty damn low, right now.
Got some expensive and some not-so-expensive stuff to try and train the hound not to chew shit he shouldn’t chew. Neither of said stuff is waterproof.
Gave selfsame stuff to Hubby and Mostly Shiftless. It hasn’t been seen since.
It rained.
Dog decided to gnaw on the most expensive part of the linkage between Shiftless’ car and the trailer, which took all weekend to fix. Now we’re down $600 and the rent won’t be in for six goddamn weeks just so we can pay for it.
Six weeks of pulling my head in so far, it almost emerges from the other end.
Now, you may also recall from my earlier posts that my legs are not fully functioning. As part of better news, I have to go get a passport. I figure the kids should behave themselves for the five minutes it should take to get this underway.
As I frequently say: Should is not Is.
The queue for the post office was a mile fucking long.
The kids were hyper because their routine was amiss. They got to the point where they were trying to eat each other’s clothes.
Last night, I had finally got in the good, long soak in Epsom’s salts, Relaxo Crystals [not their real name], bubble bath and bath roses. It did my joints SUCH a good job that I was better for most of the day.
Not after the post office.
My knee is back to it’s grinchy self. My wrists are aching. My ankle is threatening to quit.
Expletives deleted. Extensively.
We also had to go shopping, which meant sending Mayhem into Aldi’s with a list and my money. The only thing he got right was the milk and the carrots. And he had to buy himself a treat when I spend practically every conversation with him telling him how little money we’ve got.
So the sugarless gum he bought is going to Hubby - mostly ‘cause I can’t stand artificial sugar. I’m pissed off and in pain. AND I have to roast the damn marinated chook he found “the only kind there”, he claims… because you can’t make chook soup out of marinated fucking chicken.
I only have the cash I’ve got, and then it’s gone.
On the upside, I have an upcoming three weeks of retail therapy in Thailand, come April. Three weeks without whiny, lying kids. Three weeks without worry about hubby. Three weeks in, insofar as I’ve been told, paradise. Three weeks that the in-laws shall have sharing company with Chaos, Mayhem and mutt.
I’m going to love it.
89.8
That’s my weight, this morning. I’m finally down to sniffing distance of my target weight.
After my personal disaster cascade [see earlier posts about me tripping on a chair], I honestly believed I would be battling weight problems and increasing weight until such time as I could actually walk again.
What I forgot is that I would also be less inclined to get up and grab another snack.
Here’s my regime - or what passes for one. Note that I do not recommend this to anyone.
* Wake up, battle forces of lethargy with the argument that one cannot bear to lie down any longer.
* Grab crutches. Hobble to bathroom. Take medication.
* Morning ablutions. Check weight while still clad in knickers. Note date, weight, weight to lose until goal reached, theory on why this is so, and how much up or down.
* Get dressed. Grab crutches. Hobble to computer. Get some blogging done before it’s time to wake the kids.
* Grab crutches. Hobble into Eldest’s bedroom. Wake eldest. Make sure he: feeds dog, preps breakfast, wakes youngest, feeds youngest, eats for himself, preps lunches, gets dressed for school, helps youngest get dressed, gets shoes and socks on for both, packs lunches/homeworks in bags, and gets the bags zipped up. Most of this is achieved sitting down. And yelling a lot.
* Sometime during the previous step, grab crutches. Hobble into kitchen. Prepare chia drink of cordial, chia, and water. Get Eldest to carry it to computer. Hobble back to computer and continue barking at kids to get them ready. And try to achieve breakfast for oneself.
* Grab crutches. Hobble to front room, don shoes, socks, and any athletic braces needed for supremely painful joints. I have one for each wrist, and two elastic bandages - they’re ‘wild’. And yes, I have used all four at once.
* Get eldest to restrain hound whilst I grab crutches, hobble to car. Get kids in car. Get kids to school.
* Come home, grab crutches, hobble to dog. Free dog. Hobble back indoors.
* Extract plastic bag from pocket, place inside 1 apple jelly &spoon, one daily ration of chocolate, and a couple of muesli bars. Carry same to computer.
* Work on various projects [FYI: One Minecraft adventure map, four novels, several stories of indeterminate length and potentially infinite fanfics.] until it’s time to get the kids home. Snack as needed. Drink chia drink.
* Grab crutches, hobble to hound. Restrain hound. Hobble to car. Drive to school. Wait in parking lot for kids. Harangue Eldest re: things he’s forgotten. FINALLY get rolling back home.
* Grab crutches, hobble indoors, chasing kids in also. Make sure Eldest frees dog, closes car.
* Make sure Eldest preps dinner, does homework. Make sure Youngest also does homework. Work on projects in-between progress checks.
* Make sure dishwasher loaded and going, washing machine/dryer likewise.
* Have dinner when ready. Do not have seconds.
* At bathtime, get Eldest to run bath, help Youngest. Grab crutches, hobble to bathroom once it’s time for bed. Get kids out of tub, dry, dressed, in bed. Hobble to own bedroom.
* Divest self of bracers, clothing. Change into night attire. Take medication. Sleep.
That’s pretty much my day, during weekdays. During weekends, I usually try not to do anything harder than typing. And I have to try and remember to eat. I spent this past Saturday not eating a damn thing.
Must hobble. Time to wake the kids.
Feckin’ entropy
It’s Friday. Five days into Sore Footsville. The sink is full of dirty dishes. The countertop is full of dirty dishes and filthy pots and pans.
Laundry is piling up again. Debris is starting to gather on the floor.
I am physically incapable of doing a damn thing about it.
Hubby and Shiftless are working late every night. The only person I can rely on to do anything is Mayhem.
Mayhem’s 10. He’d much rather be tooling about with fun things than fartarsing around with boring old housework. Which is why it’s all mounting up.
I am feeling very, very incredibly useless. I’m broken.
Past time to pack me up and get a new housewife.
Four days until Valentines and I’m worse than useless. I can’t even welcome my hubby home to a clean house.
I can’t give him anything. He says he’s okay with that, but…
I know I wouldn’t be okay.
I have four days, less, to find something. Anything. That doesn’t end up making me a pack of worthlessness in his eyes. His eyes are where I find all my value.
Four days. And no feet.
Two more days…
It’s Wednesday. I promised myself that if my heel showed no signs of improvement by Friday, I would drag it and my sorry fat arse down to the local quack to see what they can do.
Besides, I’m running low on Seratide and I need a new scrip.
I also plan on checking what other rheumatism remedies there are. I was given some quinine-derived stuff last time by a specialist who wasn’t sure if it was rheumatism or Lupus(!). The stuff did nothing for my wrists and a lot of alarming things to my brain. I had a massive cognitive failure and those pills were the cause.
I’d rather have what little brains I have left and suffer pain and agony than be able to move and not remember why I was moving.
For now, since I’m literally stuck in one place for extended lengths of time, entropy is winning in the house. I can see things piling up. I can also see nobody doing shit about it. Just leave it all for Mummy. Mummy will fix it.
Honestly. I don’t give a pink flying crap if you re-organise everything in the process, just CLEAN UP AFTER YOURSELVES WHILE I’M OBVIOUSLY CRIPPLED! For fuck’s sake!
And it wouldn’t hurt to clean up after others, either.
Hubby and Mostly Shiftless have been working super-duper late ever since I hurt myself and (gasp) politely asked Mostly Shiftless to do something for me. The horror.
He didn’t lift a finger, BTW. That’s why I call him Mostly Shiftless. He’ll only do something to help us when he feels like it.
Though I am proof that one does not die from doing housework, perhaps they are scared they’ll hurt themselves in the process.
Only if you leave furniture in the pathways, you lousy slobs…
Okay, that was mildly unfair. Hubby does pick up after himself. And Mostly Shiftless can be relied upon to do his own laundry. They just don’t do anything else.
Hubby once told me he had plans to buy me something both expensive and nice when the occasion warranted. I’m starting to think, “fuck the gift. Help me clean the house!”
I’m in pain and I’m lashing out in the only way I can. It’s very possibly not fair.
Neither’s leaving everything until I can walk again.
Just sayin’.
48 hours
That’s how long it took me to clear the sullage water hose so that it could be shifted for mowing. And I broke a part. Phooey.
It’s also how long I haven’t been able to do housework, because I’m red-faced and gasping for air. As well as rat-faced tired.
It is also how long it takes for my house to go to shit.
There are objects blocking the sink.
There are objects clogging the drainer.
There are objects colonising my clean countertop.
There are dirty dishes colonising strange, new places.
There is (thankfully) no drifts of clothing gathering/breeding in dark corners, but I swear that’s more due to superior effort than anything else. But yes, there is a backlog of laundry.
And now that the mower’s at least working, guess who’s expected to deal with the jungle lawn?
Yyyyyup. Me.
But first I have to restore the house to picture-probable condition. And replace the hose part. And restrain the dog so there aren’t any nasty accidents. And find some sunscreen or a long-sleeve coat I can wear without dying ‘cause I know I’m gonna BURN in the hot sun.
Ohyeah. For the first time in forever, it isn’t raining when I’m pondering the plausibility of fixing the yard. Must be the fact that hubby won’t be home when it’s getting done.
Grr.
And I have to find/buy a decent dust mask 'cause you can bet money that this will set off my asthma.
I’m gonna make quite a picture, tomorrow. Big pink hat, sunnies, dust mask, long-sleeved coat, sandshoes and bestriped socks. And only half of it will come off when it’s time to pick up the kids.
AND I still have groceries to purchase.
Gah.
It all just keeps adding up.