little_tristan: (Cream of Darkness)
The weather's been semi-agreeable. Monday and Tuesday were just bearable, but rainy. I've been sad, and even though I know why, I'm still being a bitch and taking it out on Steve, who's just trying to live his life. Well, not taking it out on him exactly. I'm not mad at him, just suspecting him of plotting. Which he doesn't do. I can't really see him ever being legitimately accused of plotting evil against anyone. But I've been sad and he's had to bear the brunt of it, being the one who's here and all. Yesterday he made me cry and things are awkward, but it was by saying something kind so I can't explain it without revealing the inner darkness of my cobwebby brain.

But. I went to the pool Tuesday and it was good. Better than last time. Probably just needed a little time off. I was walking and standing and keeping my heels down and everything. Still, good thing there was ice cream in the house when I got home.

I just found this on my desktop. I think I started it Thursday. Wednesday was hot and also free bus day, so Steve and I went to the doctor's office so I could have blood drawn. I was hopeful going in, but when the puncture wouldn't stop bleeding that kind of told me what the result will be. Also, the bruise is huge. I enjoyed having the chance to go anywhere, but Steve is understandably bored. Yesterday we went to the post office to mail books. I don't know how he can stand it.

Cousin Heather is coming over today to play with me. I want to empty Mom's storage unit in Dallas, but Steve wants to leave as early as possible so I don't know if we can do that. Everyone leaves as early as possible. They show up as late as possible and then watch the clock, waiting for it to be time to go. I can't seem to stop crying about that this week. And me crying makes Steve squirm and watch the clock.

Note: This is in no way a complaint about Steve, who is great. It's just my feelings about always having to choose between staying home and being left out, or insisting on going somewhere and being a huge burden that ruins everyone else's fun.

So I'm at a bit of an impasse, which is a tidy little way of saying I'm in hell.

But other than that, everything's okay. I got rejected for a clinical drug trial for depression. It's probably for the best, all things considered, but I am interested in therapies that haven't been tried by other human beings. I'll probably keep looking into it, to see if I qualify for another one later. In the meantime, I'm cheering myself up with inexpensive blown glass jewelry from eBay. And Criminal Minds. Reid brings da happy, and it's something Steve and I can do together.
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: (Ranger)
And already I'm having a mild anxiety attack over the idea of Ranger spending the night at the vet. I know she'll be okay. She likes everyone there and they're all very nice people. She'll have her evening meds before she goes and I'll pack her supper and her morning meds for tomorrow. And Harvey, the big orange cat who lives in the office, will keep her company. Ray loves Harvey, and sometimes he's kind enough to acknowledge her.
Probably not Oddmonster safe... )
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: (Quincy Sad Phone Call)
Ever since my mom died, I've been--different. I've always talked too much, but now I say really personal things to complete strangers in person, rather than just online. And whenever I do, I think of something I've read a dozen times, a passage from If Life is a Bowl of Cherries, What Am I Doing in the Pits? by Erma Bombeck. Most of us have been in Erma's place. Now I'm in the opposite role. Thank you all for listening.
I'll bet it's cold... )
little_tristan: (Riptide Murray Too Early)
And linking quietly here out of respect for others (and fear of complaints/reprisals). Don't click if you don't lika da sad.

Sort of PG, implied slash, Riptide, with death.

Don't Go Away Heartbroken
little_tristan: (Riptide Murray in Shock)
Only not to Canby, 30 miles away. If we go, it'll be in search of an entirely new business venture, and we'll end up in either the middle of California, or Detroit. Guess which one I'm hoping for. If you guessed staying here, you win the kwepie doll.

But, in all fairness, I'm thinking it over and making a list:

Pros (or neutrals)

♥ Our house kind of sucks, so chance for a new one!
♥ New church, where there's no vindictive ex-friend to tell the entire congregation that I had an affair with her husband.
♥ Possible new job that Herr will like, where he can work reasonable hours and make a decent living doing something he loves.
♥ Most of my friends are online, so they'll go with me
♥ California would put me closer to favorite uncle and one cousin
♥ California weather would be neat
♥ Detroit weather might kill arch-nemesis
♥ Detroit is closer to my one true [livejournal.com profile] catyah, and possibly within vacationing distance of DC. (Not that we ever take vacations, but still...)
♥ At least I don't have to leave Mom.
♥ Might lead to finally cleaning out attic and basement.

Cons

♠ Probably can't sell our sucky house
♠ No vet, mechanic, pill-pushing doctor, or legal pot connection
♠ Can't travel, so I'll never see my local friends or family (dying sister, awesome cousin, oldest friend) again.
♠ Likewise parents' graves
♠ Lose custom-built library
♠ If the boys die, I'll be stuck there far away from everything I know
♠ Detroit weather might kill me
♠ Would have to drive to new location--very long trip in the van with no sightseeing stops
♠ Murphy Sloane and Roy DeSoto don't take moving well. If Ranger gets lost, she might not be able to find her way home.
♠ Bruder always gets bored partway through packing and just sends half my stuff to the dump.
♠ Can't finish settling Mom's estate from a distance--need my lawyer and accesses to Polk County Court.
♠ Lose awesome accountant.
♠ I was born here and this is where I belong.
♠ Might turn into one of those douchebags who constantly compares her home state to the new one with the new one always coming in a poor second, pissing off the locals until they all hate me. Especially in Detroit.
♠ Have to find a new company to rip me off on wheelchairs. (Assuming Herr's new job has insurance.)
little_tristan: (No Icon)
I'd always wondered about that, how they differed from regular headaches. But it started Monday morning, after I requested a police welfare check on my mom. First it was just a pain in the base of my neck, and then it traveled up to my skull, and gradually over the top to where it set up camp and began drilling for oil in my left eye socket. I wake up with it every morning now, that stiffness in my neck and the pain in my head, but every day it travels a little more. Yesterday it got around the front to my left collar bone, and today it's setting up another rig to drill in my right eye. I don't have the slightest idea what to do about it. None of my drugs are working. Yesterday I found actual pure morphine in Mom's apartment. I need to do some research first, but I expect I'll be trying that before this is over.

I wonder if the tension would go away if I cried. So far, I haven't done that for more than a minute or two at a time, because I suspect that when I really start, it could last for hours and right now I just don't have the time. Maybe I can schedule it for Sunday.

Sometimes I pause and wonder if I'm having a stroke.

I can't really remember when I last ate. Caffeine helps a little.

My cousin and her friends did a great job cleaning up at Mom's. It was only a little bit awful taking her brother over there. He actually got there first, before I'd even left home, but the manager couldn't let him, because apparently I'm in charge. The legal machine has taken over, and the law, in its infinite bizarreness, puts children ahead of siblings. But he lives far away and can't stay long, so I guess it's just as well. I don't know. Yesterday I signed the cremation order, which had to be initialed in about nine places, and at least 4 of them were to certify that there isn't anyone else with greater authority to sign it. Basically, it was 4 different ways of saying, It's all on you, kid. That was when the headache reached my clavicle. I'm so afraid of fucking up.

I did fuck up, though, because between the cleaning and the funeral home and trying to get her mail from the PO, I never had time to go to my sister's. As it was, I didn't get home until long after Herr went to bed. I was working hard and a lot of important stuff got done, but she needs me and I couldn't be there. I can't be everywhere, and that just sounds so lame. I sent Uncle Harold to visit with her while we cleaned up the worst of the mess (sort of a twofer), but it's not the same. He's not in charge, so he can't tell her what's going to happen. I'm going to try and reach Harold today and see if he'll drive me out there.

There was a message on Mom's answering machine from a woman in Colorado who was apparently a close friend. She sounded worried. I have to call her, but the idea makes my jaw hurt.

When I got home, there were flowers on the porch from the boys' bosses. They were very surprised. Even at their age, they still don't understand death protocol.

The footprint is still on her door.

At least the vomiting has stopped. For now.
little_tristan: (Denis Leary)
Actually, I've been awake for a long time. I've officially run out of positions to sleep in that don't inspire unbearable pain, so I read in bed for a while and then got up at one. It's brutally unfair. The Thing That Hurts isn't supposed to hurt when I'm already lying on it, so when it does, there's nowhere left to go. Sitting up doesn't really help, I just feel more in control and better able to cope when I'm wearing my exoskeleton.

Of course I expect to be ridiculously tired in twelve hours, but for now at least I'm getting some writing done. It might even help me finish Les Miserables on time. (No, the irony is not lost on me. It never is.) And later today, I'm calling about the new improved exoskeleton. March is almost half over and I haven't heard from them since December. But I think I might be able to sleep in that chair.
little_tristan: (Remmington Steele Sleeping in Car)
The boys got home almost on time today. Herr worked half the day and clocked out, so he didn't get paid for sleeping in the van. This bums me out, because he worked a lot of Saturdays without getting paid and I think they owe him a little. But the good news is he was walking straight and speaking coherently when he got here. He was even able to eat a reasonable amount of slow-cooked beans and crackers. We're going to bed in a minute (yes, it's six pm), and things might be better tomorrow.

But if it's not too much trouble, for those as do, please pray for us.

*thanks and hugs to my lovely flist*
little_tristan: (BtVS Spike Misery)
Herr just left for work, after one of the worst weekends we've ever endured together. Over the last few months, he's been degenerating into a fanfic character--one who spins around in an endless panic, not eating or sleeping and living on caffeine and fear. The middle of last week, he started throwing up a lot, whether there was anything in his stomach or not, and he finally collapsed in the factory on Friday. Even then, he wouldn't see a doctor. He's scary that way--the lengths he'll go to to avoid losing control. Instead, he clocked out and slept in the truck until Bruder finished up and brought him home. He slept on the sofa all evening, refused his supper, and for the first time in months, slept through the night.

Ever since, we've been trying to get small bits of food into him, or even water if that's the best we can do, and he's developed a tolerance for my liquid food. (He drinks the high calorie stuff; I stick to the sugar free.) But we couldn't keep him home today. He may be a walking skeleton on whom Victoria's Secret extra small yoga pants hang loose (he wears them for underwear, not having any body fat whatsoever), but he's by-God going to work. The only sign that he's at all sane is that he is planning to spend most of the work-day sleeping in the van. He hasn't decided if he's going to clock in, or tell them he's taking a sick day while being on call for the things only he can do. It's sort of a toss-up between sleeping on their time or working on his. Either way, he gets paid and the work gets done. Unless he collapses again.

You'd think someone that writes these scenarios as often as I do would have some clue as how to handle the situation. But I don't. Actual men are just a whole different story, and I'm not being allowed to dictate the ending.
little_tristan: (Rex Goliath)
Mostly I'm extremely tired. We had to get up at 2:30 this morning. Herr was talking about something but I'm not sure what. The only part I really heard was "jackboots and Wagner".

The possum(s) live(s) in our basement now. No one likes this, but we haven't been able to come up with a solution. A sign of the weirdness of our lives is that this isn't really a priority. In the interest of not being cruel, we may start feeding them. I'm tired of homeownership. And possums.
Fandom-related tired )
So, yes. I'm very tired. I did buy Herr a Valentine's Day present today, although I sort of hate Valentine's Day. I was always the one kid in a class of 30 who got 11 cards, even though the teacher sent everyone home with a complete list of classmates' names the week before, and we were required to bring a card for everyone. There's something extra special about being excluded when it's actually against the rules. My dad always tried to make up for it, though, with candy and stuffed animals and such. And then, on Valentine's Day, 1997, he died. So it's been a sort of mixed emotion kind of holiday all my life.

But. Herr needs a new wedding ring. It's only been 11 years, and I got him 10k gold so it would be stronger, but more the half the thickness of it has worn away already. It's like a brittle little shell now. Not only is he worried it might break, it's gotten too big because it's worn from the inside. So I ordered him a new one, slightly thicker and a bit wider, from Amazon. (I looked on eBay, but the only one I saw that I liked was pictured on some strange guy's hairy finger, and it had someone else's name engraved in it. Okay, I got the original at a pawn shop, but no hairy finger makes all the difference. A store is a store.) It won't be here until tomorrow, but since he doesn't care about holidays, it doesn't really matter. He cares about our anniversary, but that's not 'til May and I'm not sure his ring will last that long.

I hope he doesn't fuss about the cost. He often does, and I'm quite tired of it.

Still, in spite of all the tired, I think I'm going to write a story now. It's been a very long time, and I rather miss it. It will still be about the wrong characters, but I like them and they have unfinished business.
little_tristan: (Losers Cougar Silent Tears)
Day 9 - If you could have lunch together with anybody ever (fictional characters included), who would it be and why?

My Grandma Zimmerman. She died twenty years ago this March and I miss her every day. Every day the list of things I want to ask her gets longer--about our family, her childhood, how she reconciled her devotion to scientific discovery with her strict Baptist beliefs, what she thinks about everyone from President Obama to Stephen Jay Gould, not to mention what the hell actually happened to her first husband (whom we know existed because they had a son)--and there's just no one else who can tell me. Seventy-five years of knowledge and experience, all lost when I was only beginning to appreciate it.

And I wouldn't invite anyone else to this lunch, because I want her all to myself. But I'd take notes and write extensive posts over the ensuing weeks.
little_tristan: (Losers Cougar Silent Tears)
Probably everyone who's interested knows that the lovely and talented Anne Francis passed away last night. Until I read the news reports today, I hadn't put her name together with so many of her fine performances. For instance, I had no idea she was the confused mannequin in one of my all time favorite Twilight Zone episodes. She was a pin-up quality beauty in her youth, and a wonderful actress throughout her career. Eighty years is a good, long life, but that doesn't make it right.

Then I turned to my morning comic strips for cheering up and guess what I found? The Widow Doonesbury in a casket. No illness, no foreshadowing, no warnings of any kind. In the 20 years I've been reading Doonesbury, I've seen Andy die of AIDS, Lacey succumb to Alzheimer's, and BD lose a leg, but at least he padded the blows on all of them. Still, I guess there's never a good way to lose a grandmother. (Favorite exchange ever--Alex: "Is it okay if I call you Notorious Grammy D?" Daisy Doonesbury: "Heavens, dear, I wouldn't know. Is it disrespectful?"")

It was shortly after that that I realized I was out of Irish cream, which is basically what I use for food these days. It was 25 degrees out when I made my first trip to the liquor store at 9:30, just to find out that it was closed. (Oregon has state-run liquor stores with mandated hours, not to mention the whole population limit thing. Our town only gets one because we're small, but at least it's 5 blocks from my house.) I went back at 11 when it opened (30 degrees), and am pretty well buzzed now. That's good. Still a little cold, though. I can't put on sweaters or coats on my own, and since the arch-nemesis demands the heat be cranked up past all toleration, I can't have Herr put one on me before he leaves in the morning. So dickhead's hanging around the house in his underwear, and I'm either sweating to death inside or freezing outside. Did I say my house before? Yeah, that doesn't sound right.

Small bright point? Les Miserables is really engrossing. Can't imagine why I didn't finish it before.
little_tristan: (Losers Cougar Silent Tears)
So, the last few days have mostly been taken up with my fun new obsession over The Losers. I'm reading and writing fic as fast as I can, watching the movie as many times as I can fit it in (other people keep getting in the way of that one), and then today I finally got the two volume graphic novel set. This is where the bad news comes in. I have issues with chronology. I demand it, sure. I need to know what order things go in, and it's essential that I be able to organize and access things in the correct order, but I also love spoilers and find it much easier to follow a story if I know where it's going.

What does that mean? It means I skipped around a bit, flipping through pages and looking at pictures and occasionally stopping to try and piece things together. Also, I kind of read the end. And now I'm very, very SAD. I mean, WTF, people?!? Seriously. WTF?

An hour ago I was thinking about some time-line fudging that would permit a shiny, funny little Riptide crossover, and now--well, now I'm just trying not to cry. Unsuccessfully, I might add.

No wonder movie-verse is dominating the fandom at the moment. The movie needs a sequel, in fact. But it fucking well better have a happy ending.

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