little_tristan: (Otters Significant Otters)
He's not okay, but he's a little better than yesterday. The insurance debacle got bigger and stupider and in the end we were forced to cave. Remember back when we decided to buy the plan that we couldn't afford so we could go to our own hospital? There was a misunderstanding. When Kaiser said we could choose hospitals, what they meant was we could choose to go to theirs and be fully covered, or go to ours and pay fully half the total cost out of pocket. (With a deductible of either seven or eighteen thousand; I never did get that figured out.)

Last night's post was written in a state of denial, after we made the bold decision to stick to our guns and do what was right for Mark. Today there was a lot more information dumped on us. With actual numbers. In writing. Bad, bad numbers. And by the time the ambulance arrived, it was so late Russ and I couldn't go, what with him having to be home in bed an hour ago.

The most hateful, hurtful part of all of this is that the doctors here all say the same thing: he really isn't ready to be moved. There's still a chance of decompensating on the 205. But Kaiser says no. They hear pneumonia and breathing without a vent and stamp him good to go. But since we had to make the ultimate decision about whether to go bankrupt or not, and therefor whether to put him on the road, he also had to sign a goddamn fucking waiver absolving them of responsibility in that very event. Or any other, really.

I'm having a very Ted Quinlan Catbread Underwater moment here. Every time I think I've met my limit of hateful, hurtful, downright goddamn hard things--my life just kicks in again. Mark's alone and scared with his lungs 1/3 full of fluid, and yes, he'll almost certainly get well, but I promised I wouldn't let them take him away, and now I have to find away to get out of these clothes (which I've been wearing since yesterday morning) and go to bed alone and I can't stop crying because if something does happen I'm two hours away.

It barely matters at this point that I won't get a shower this week. But it still kinda does.

I wish I had one of those best friends who comes running when things go to pieces and hugs me until the world makes sense.

I'll see Heather tomorrow. She'll probably hug me. That'll be good.

I'm sorry I didn't reply to any comments yesterday. They made me so happy, in a hugged sort of way. I might not reply to any comments here, either. Tomorrow's going to be a mess. But any offered hugs will be gladly accepted and deeply felt.

Last night I didn't sleep, but a few times I was sort of half awake and suddenly felt Mark lying beside me. He used to do that when we were dating, when he was too tired to drive home. He'd go to sleep in the living room but I'd wake up in the middle of the night to find him on the bed, fully dressed, just watching me sleep. It seemed like it should have been creepy but it never was.

All day I've been feeling him, a warm, skinny arm across my back, a little shiver of tobacco and geeky t-shirts.

He called as I was writing that sentence. I knew I felt something.
little_tristan: (Gilead Gunslingers)
For some reason Mark woke me up at three this morning. He gets up early, I get up early? That was not in the vows.

Ebay has been kind enough to throw me a couple more pairs of jeans that Mark can wear. Man thing: I didn't know he needed pants because there are at least 5 pairs lying around the bedroom. Draped over the heater we don't use, sticking out from under the bed, just kind of everywhere. I don't dress him or do the laundry, so how was I supposed to know he only considers two of them wearable?

Other man thing: Russ has been letting me buy him socks that are too small for, I don't know, ten years. Why would he not tell me he needs bigger socks? Are big feet an embarrassment for big men? Is he a girl? Commune Purchasing Officer is a hard job enough without all this disinformation re: socks.

Heather is learning the second hardest way why people don't let toddlers play with their Kindle Fires. I gave her an Otterbox to save her the hardest lesson, but the little boogersnot--the same kid who tells his mother in complete sentences that he has to poop and then hides in a closet to do it in his pants because he wants privacy--has figured out that hitting certain buttons makes the games better. By buying upgrades. Which are then charged to me.

Am I the only one who thinks Amazon should require a password when buying apps and upgrades within apps? iTunes does, and it's not nearly as good as Amazon in most other ways. I wouldn't mind if Heather was buying them. She has good sense. Her son, otoh, thinks nothing of billing me $7 so he can have a wider variety of Angry Birds.

Maybe there's a way to turn off One-Click on certain devices. That can be my project for the day.
little_tristan: (Puppy Upside Down Willow)
I'm watching a lot of documentaries lately. America the Beautiful, which looks at American standards of female beauty, is very good. Preschool University, on the difficulties of getting into elite Manhattan preschools, is probably more interesting if it's relevant to you. Like, if you live in Manhattan, have a two year old, and can afford fifty grand a year in tuition.

The Billionaire's Tea Party, made by a Brit trying to figure out what the loving fuck is going on over here, makes me sad. No, Tea Parties, you're not a grassroots organization. Poor dude in Walmart clothes who built the website for free? You got hosed. The guys backing your barbecue are worth over $20 billion and that shit just ain't trickling down. Know what else? It's never going to.

Also, if you want to call the president a communist/socialist/Marxist/whatever, please learn what those words mean. 'Cause someone might ask you to defend the accusation and that shocked, stupid look, followed by orders to "look it up" is not helpful to your cause. Because I know what the words mean. I just don't know what you mean.

Tammy was just here dusting and fighting off the dogs because I forgot and scheduled the lawn guys for the same day. But she appreciated the seahorses I stamped on my thumbnails this morning. Probably no one else will notice, so that makes me feel better.

I'm supposed to be paying bills and doing financial stuff, but it's Mom's birthday and I'm taking the day off. It's also Willow's birthday. Dog's never give you a day off, but at least I don't have to bake her a cake. She's perfectly happy just chasing her rope.

The catbox experiment is working well enough that the cats are behaving. Kenny not so much, but I still think that's mostly obesity. That's not exactly news. It's more of a progress report.

Work is still up in the air and the insurance company is still a pain in the ass. They had a meeting yesterday with an agent to answer questions. I gave Russell a list. Most of the questions revolved around prescription copays and my curiosity as to how I'm saving money by paying more. Our last insurance had a three tier system, $15/$30/$45. The new one is two tiered, $15/$30. Yet when Mark picked up my last prescription, which used to be $45, he had to pay $60.

I realize this is a significant savings over the $233 and change that the drug company wants (is Cymbalta shit by California condors or something?), but there's still a lie in there somewhere. I'm so sick and tired of these guys lying to us. And the whole defense of the massive premium increase is that we'll save so much everywhere else. Yet everything costs more. The only thing we haven't tested is hospitalization. I shudder to think what the radical markup and ensuing justification on that would be.

Of course Russ went off on the guy in the meeting, showed him the receipts, pointed out the numbers in the handbook, called them liars and thieves, the whole bit. Dude had no explanation whatsoever and said someone would call me to clear it up.

Ask me if that's happened. Go ahead. I dare you.

They're just lucky I got my Cymbalta or shit'd be a lot crazier right now.



Here's Murphy Sloane in his exoskeleton, looking a little bit crazy, too.

That platform he's on? Is a piece of plywood laid over the bathtub. It doesn't work as a tub, but it's good for storage. And Murphy. Also, true fact: the bar of Irish Spring in the soap dish behind him? Came with the house.

There's a new sea urchin in the house. This one's a cute little spiny critter from Africa, dating back about 50 million years. I haven't gotten a new urchin in a long time, but I was on ebay looking at chondrites and it popped up.



This is the new urchin, along with a thumb for perspective and seahorse showing off.

The chondrites are coming from Germany. I don't know when they'll be here. It's very exciting. For some reason we don't have any. I've never even held one before. But I read about them in Scientific American and it said the slices are gorgeous under a microscope. I love microscopes.

I also love The Hunger Games. I'm going to go read now.
little_tristan: (Riptide Murray Too Early)
Everything falls apart when I go to the bathroom in the morning. Today when I came back, not only had Willow chewed up the trash, my master monitor had died. I was going to steal the arch-nemesis' monitor long enough to switch control over to the slave, but luck smiled on me. When I unhooked the master, control switched over automatically to the slave. I didn't know that would happen.

The slave monitor sucks a little bit, but it's better than being offline. Or trying to explain to the a-n why I need his monitor, but only for a minute.

Sister and I have been trying to figure out how to get together tomorrow, with her confined to her house and my boys working. She said she'd been told they weren't having dinner because they can't afford the food. Her husband's out of work again and his mother's being a non-contributing leech for the fifth straight year. (At least my soul sucking dickhead nemesis in-law pays rent.)

We don't have time to cook the meal, but I said we could bring pizza and hang out. That's the point of Thanksgiving, right? Hanging out with your family and being thankful for what you have, even if it's Figaro's instead of Butterball? She was good with that. MiL the Hutt was not.

Ensuing conversations in Yahoo chat have escalated the crazy. Now that we're coming over for an hour in the late afternoon, MiL has to climb up on the cross and produce a full Thanksgiving dinner with all the trimmings. This is not a generous act on her part. This is her slaving over a hot stove all day for people she hates so she'll have something to punish my sister with until Christmas. Which is a whole other, but cruelly similar, drama.

The timing will fail, of course, because that's what she does. Always. We'll get there at five, after Russell's worked eight hours, spent an hour getting home, and driven another hour to Sister's, and the food won't be ready. She'll say it'll be another hour or two, and we'll end up leaving before dinner so Russ can get home and go to bed because he has to work on Friday, too. Hopefully McDonald's will be open.

But whether we get to eat at all is irrelevant compared to what she'll do to Sister if we leave before dinner, since she went to all that trouble for us in the first place. I wish I'd never brought it up at all, but Sister gets so unhappy when we miss holidays. There's just no way to save her.

Everyone blames the boys for working but that can't be helped either. They have to finish welding parts for the machine or the orders won't go out and the deal will fail, just like it did before. And our shop lease expressly forbids welding so it can't be done here. The machine has to be on the production line in two weeks and it's not going to be good for much without all these fiddly bits welded together in straight lines. Who knew the electronic designing and software writing were going to be the easy parts? Okay, that's not true. There were no easy parts.

I wish we could stay home and not bother the MiL from hell at all, but I haven't seen my sister since July. I don't want to wait another month.

At least my dentist appointment got canceled so I don't have to go outside. Their portable front door ramps got stolen. I actually have to find a new dentist now. One with a building I can get into. I love these people. They have an all female staff and the receptionist always remembers me. Now I get to go to whatever schmuck happens to not have stairs.

Everyone downtown has stairs. Even the physical therapists and chiropractors. All the good buildings are Historic and immune from current ADA standards. Historically, cripples stayed home. Some traditions just never die.

Oh good. The sky has gone completely black. I need a better look at that.
little_tristan: (Gilead Gunslingers)
We're running low on balm. The boys are at work today, welding on their machine. At least Willow gets to go with them. It's more peaceful at home and she has a great time riding in the car.

[personal profile] valis2 has finally sucked me into jewelry making on a trial basis. I'm still collecting the findings for my project, but if the tools aren't too hard to use there might be a second one. Heather calls it bead-crack. She isn't wrong.

New books have arrived! I'm taking a break from long ones to read Yossel by Joe Kubert. My sister has always been a huge fan of his work, he's been a cartoonist and comic artist all his life, and as a teenager she wanted to go to his school in New Jersey. It's still frustrating that that didn't happen. She was truly great.

I'm still working along on my story. It's so much fun having a new thing and writing it for the first time. I've already said that. But it's still true.

The most fun thing is that the story has a set time-span of roughly three days and two nights, so I'll actually know when it's finished. A group of strangers are getting along as best they can, as usually happens in my books, but this time they're waiting for rescue, which will actually come on time.

Hopefully they'll have some fun, overcome some difficulties, and learn a few things about themselves in the process. Although there's always one who doesn't want to learn. In this story she's based on Sister's MiL. The trick will be keeping the armed guy who's based on Mark from killing her.

I really enjoy those two. I just ask myself what Mark would say/do if he wasn't married to someone who's related to someone who's related to her, and go from there. It's awesome. And he's a big help with the human behavior parts. Also firearms.
little_tristan: (Christina's World)
The good news is I sold some books! I gave a box to Cousin Heather to take to a craft/rummage type sale she's doing this weekend where people rent a table and sell whatever they want. But before she could get there, a friend of hers who'd read The Bedlam Boys asked if she could get him more so his book club could read it. He bought the whole box and I had to send another with the boys so she'd have some for the sale. (Their work is close to her house, so she can sneak over there and take things from their truck during the day.:) I doubt she'll sell any more, but it's still pretty cool. And if it's not raining, they want me to come speak at the club meeting. Only in good weather, though, as I won't be able to get into the house. Of course I've no idea what speakers do at these things, so I'd love advice from anyone who has experience. Or just good ideas.

I also think I've finally lost some weight, as today I was able to cross my legs for the first time in about 4 years. That was exciting.:)
Cut for depressing shit that no one wants to read )

Oh, and the boys put up a higher door between the kitchen and dining room so Willow can't even see over it, let alone jump it. The a-n still teases her over the door until she leaps for him, but she can't get to him so he can't complain. And the latch is way easier for me to work.
little_tristan: (Kitten Star Me Kitten)
It's a little after midnight and I've made the executive decision to stay up all night. Herr and I both had trouble getting to sleep, but I failed completely while he succeeded after about an hour of false starts. I was considering getting down to it and really concentrating on sleep when I suddenly got sick and had to get up. He's so very tired that he fell asleep again while I was in the bathroom, and I just couldn't wake him again. It's too cruel.

But it's kind of neat being the only one awake in the house. Ranger is sleeping on the sofa behind me, Willow is upstairs sleeping on Bruder's bed, and I don't have to worry about taking them outside. The a-n won't be bugging me, and I'm catching up on FB and my flist without the guilt of "burning daylight". I might even do some writing. So long as the house doesn't get much colder, it'll be a fun night. Well, for another 3 hours. Then everyone else will be up again. Until then, I'm keeping the Netflix very, very quiet.
little_tristan: (Supernatural sam spoon)
Willow just had her first successful leap-in-the-air-and-catch-the-ball moment. Unfortunately, she failed to complete the twist and landed on her side. The ball popped out of her mouth and Ranger picked it up, so I think the game is over. Possibly also the ball.
little_tristan: (Kitten DJ)
My mom had a record called The World of Johnny Horton. It's actually two records, and the original set had a foldout jacket with a little biography of Johnny Horton, ending with his premature death in a car crash in the late fifties. Mom played this set of records often, as it was also one of Grandma's favorites. So it naturally became on of mine.
Missing Mom intersects with US history... )
little_tristan: (Kitten Glowing Kitten is Glowing)
Things have sort of come to a head with the arch-nemesis. We had a bit of a dog-related blow-up a couple of days ago (sorry you were there for that, [livejournal.com profile] catyah), and he hasn't spoken to me since. The quiet has been kind of nice but it's also given me time to think. With a little help from my boys, who are very good at shifting my POV. Sometimes I hate that. This is one of those times.

I'm starting to get what senility actually means. In three words: He. Can't. Learn. It's really that simple. When The NY Times online logged him off, as it does every couple weeks, he had me come and log him back in. Only he doesn't ask for that. He says it's not working right and he can't get it to do anything. I've explained the log in concept maybe twenty times, but to him it's a great technological mystery. And it always will be. In fact, this time he said he'd never seen that screen before and didn't know what it meant. He said he'd have to try and learn it some day. When I showed him the card next to the keyboard with the user name and password written on it in his own handwriting, he didn't recognize it. He had no idea what it was. I told him to forget it and logged him in.

He's also relapsed from leaving the soap in the kitchen where I can reach it. At some point in his past, he developed the habit of putting it behind the faucet, and after a couple of weeks of leaving it beside the sink, he just switched back. Presumably because the memory of my shouting at him about it only lasted that long.

So this is where we are. He isn't going to change. He isn't doing this because he's stubborn or mean or trying to piss me off. He just can't learn any new or different ways of behaving. Which means I have to. I'm the only one here who can change, and if I don't, I'll spend the rest of his life in a rage. Which, believe me, isn't fun. And, though this admittedly concerns me a little less, it's probably not fun for him, either. It's probably very confusing and maybe a little scary, having everyone around him be angry all the time and not understanding why.

I don't know exactly what's going to happen--how I'll adapt to this mental paradigm shift--but things are going to be more peaceful from now on. Now that I've fully accepted my part in all this, and the boys understand the source of the trouble (my failure to grasp the true situation up til now), I think we'll be able to work together to make things better for everyone.

Although I'll probably get some books on senile dementia. Best to stay ahead of these things.
little_tristan: (Kitten Interwebs)
They should do a remake of My Two Dads and, near the end of the first season, have the dads actually fall in love. They wouldn't even need to change the dialog much. (Joint custody is unnatural. A child should have both her fathers.)

I'm supposed to be writing checks and paying Mom's bills. I've figured out that I don't want to because then it'll be over. When it's over and we split up her money, she can't come back. Grief logic is easily the most fucked up mode of thinking I've ever experienced, and I've been mentally ill all my life. I know that the money could sit there forever and she'd never come back for it. And yet--I wait.

On the other hand, [livejournal.com profile] catyah, who is alive, will be here tomorrow and I won't enjoy it nearly as much with this hanging over my head.

The living room also needs dusting, but at this point that would just be an excuse. Ditto brushing Ranger.

Why can I not get Dark Star Safari: Overland from Cairo to Cape Town for Kindle? It's 500 pages. I'm thinking about filing some kind of discrimination lawsuit against publishers who only put out books in inaccessible 2 pound versions. I'd be willing to settle out of court for e-books.

Herr very adorably thinks he's getting his Volkswagen back today, just because the guy said so. He can't seem to understand that this mechanic, M, may be the best in the county, but when he says Wednesday, he means Friday. When he says Thursday, he means Monday. Maybe Tuesday. Also, three days = one week.

But after two weeks of driving the Chevy Venture, I'm not sure how much he really misses it.

Yeah, okay. Pay bills, brush dog's butt, then I get to finish House of Leaves. I can do this. Maybe even before the sun comes up.
little_tristan: (Books)
Identical twins Bruce and Brian Reimer were born in 1966, two happy and healthy babies with nice middle-class parents in Winnipeg. When they were eight months old, however, they developed a condition where their foreskins were healing over and blocking their urethrae, which caused painful urination. The fix was simple and easy: circumcision.
But sometimes simple isn't that easy after all... )
little_tristan: (Kindle)
Mary Fisher lives in the High Tower by the sea. She's blond and rich and tiny and beautiful and she gets everything she wants. Or everything she thinks she wants. When she decides she wants Robert "Bobbo" Patchett, she gets him. But Bobbo comes with strings attached, and Mary is in over her head almost from the moment they meet.

Ruth Patchett is an unusual woman. Nearly six feet tall, broad of shoulder and thick of--well--everything, she's nobody's idea of physical perfection. Least of all her own. Ruth has no illusions about herself, though. All of her illusions are reserved for her husband, whom she believes loves her. She knows he sleeps with other women, Bobbo thinks honesty is the most important thing so he tells her whenever he falls for someone new, but he always comes home to her and she thinks that matters. It doesn't.

Bobbo, an avaricious philanderer with an adding machine for a heart, thinks he can have whatever he wants and no one will get hurt. He believes in logic, but only his own. Logically, if he tells Ruth he's seeing another woman, he was honest and that makes it okay. She has no right to be hurt because he wasn't in love when they married. But she was. If he ever knew that, he didn't care then and he doesn't now. Not now that he has Mary Fisher on the side. His life is perfect, with Ruth and the children at home in the suburbs making him look like the perfect family man and Mary in the converted light house, writing her romance novels and being the perfect mistress.

Until Bobbo pushes Ruth too far. His logical honesty doesn't extend to his parents, and when she stands up to him in front of them, revealing his affairs and her own unhappiness, he snaps and walks out on her. It looks like his victory, taking all the money, giving her a pittance for an allowance and leaving her with the kids, but he makes a fatal mistake. On the way out the door, he tells her she's not a woman at all--she's a She Devil. And in that concept Ruth finally finds her power.

A She Devil doesn't have to be honest. She doesn't have to care about people's feelings, or even their lives. She can have and do whatever she wants, because she is a devil. And with that new knowledge firmly in mind, Ruth begins to systematically dismantle both Mary and Bobbo's lives. Along the way, she takes down some secretaries, a few of Bobbo's clients, and guides a similarly misfit nurse into a life of lesbianism and adoptive motherhood. And then she makes medical history with a series of cosmetic surgeries that have never been done before and that she probably shouldn't have been able to survive.

This is not a happy book, yet it makes me happy to read it. It's not a funny book, but it makes me laugh. Ruth isn't a sympathetic character--in fact, she scares the hell out of me--but I love her and want the best for her. Some of her choices seem questionable at best and an affront to God and nature at worst (and her worst is pretty bad), but it seems to give her satisfaction, if not actual happiness. I don't think she can ever really be happy, because she is a She Devil and devils aren't a happy race, but she does get what she wants. And, unlike the unfortunate Mary Fisher who is probably the only real victim in the story (except maybe Ruth's children), she's totally on top of the situation. Maybe it's her height, but one gets the idea that Ruth, after she discovers her inner devil, is never in over her head again.
little_tristan: (Rex Goliath)
I'm watching Tortilla Soup and reading Liquor. Is it weird that I love fictions about people in places I'll never go, preparing food I would never eat?
little_tristan: (Christina's World)
Jennifer Knapp wrote and recorded my all-time favorite Christian/Folk album, Kansas. Her voice, her style, and the Biblical beauty of her lyrics just blew my freaking mind back in 1998, and it still does. But today, just now, I saw this article on NPR and found out she disappeared from the gospel scene because she's a lesbian. I may be alone in this, but suddenly her music makes even more sense. She's making a comeback as a folk artist of faith, and I'm going to hunting her new music all day.

But first I had to hear this again. It means so much more now...
little_tristan: (Puppy Willow)
I just realized that, while I keep posting to LJ, I haven't actually read my flist in almost a week. That keeps happening. So things I've missed or just let slip:

Happy birthday to [livejournal.com profile] speak_me_fair! I hope it was fun and joyful in spite of the anniversary connection. (And isn't it weird how your body or subconscious or whatever remembers, even when you don't think about it? They need a pill for that.) Hugs and love and happy wishes for you, and have a good time in Paris!

Also, thanks to [livejournal.com profile] hardboiledbaby and [livejournal.com profile] calamitycrow for the pretty v-gifts. *hugs and kisses you both*

Somewhere today, in between therapy, puppy wrangling, and staring blankly at my novel, which, let's face it, is probably too lame to even bother publishing, I will find time to finish reading and commenting on everything else. If I don't, blame the puppy. She's used to it.
little_tristan: (BtVS Spike Misery)
Yesterday was all about banking. I had to go to three banks--mine, where I set up Mom's estate account, and the two she used where I closed her accounts--but it got all complicated and I ended up making 7 stops altogether. And at one of the banks they were doing construction and had ripped up the entire sidewalk between the curb cut and the door so I couldn't get in. But (this is the best news I have) Bruder was well enough to drive, yet not quite ready to go back to work, so I had a ride. (My new wheelchair came with run down batteries so I can't go more than 10 blocks from home alone. At least not if I want to get back. They're bringing me new batteries next Friday.) Anyway, we ended up conducting business in the parking lot with the teller running back and forth with the paperwork. She was really nice about it, and gave me one of their new account promotional things as a please-don't-sue-us gift. I can't use it myself, but Cousin H will love it.:)
Quite possibly you should all stop reading now )
little_tristan: (Daria: Mr. D)
In all of my previous 36 years, life has followed a sort of pattern. Bad things happen, and then good things happen. Sometimes the good things come directly out of the bad things (car wreck = new car) and sometimes it takes a little perspective to see how it worked (Dad died = new improved life. Eventually.). Sometimes they aren't related at all, the monotony of misery is just broken up by random good things. (Crappy day/book in the mail) And sometimes it's just expecting the worst and being pleasantly surprised when it doesn't happen. (Thinking the IRS wanted to send Herr to prison, but they didn't.)

But year 37 is taking a decidedly different turn. It just keeps getting worse. It's like entropy has completely taken control and everything is trending relentlessly toward chaos. (Yes, I was working on the estate today. How did you guess?) I keep seeing potential bright points, but they vanish before I reach them. Everything that seemed like it might be a small compensation, a little bit of "at least this will help with...", has turned out to be just another wad of frustration. I can't even come up with ways in which things could be worse. I mean, they're pulling rugs out from under me that I didn't even know I was standing on. Soon the fates will have to trade in their scissors and strings and shit for shovels so they can devote themselves full time to digging deeper holes for me to fall in.

I fully expect my house to burn down in the next few days. But don't worry. The arch-nemesis will be fine.

Yes, I'm wallowing. So the fuck what? I can't come up with one semi-decent reason not to. Everything sucks. Suckity suck suck fuck it to hell. Damn it.

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