Wednesday, August 10, 2011

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

Wow, that last note/blog was a bit of a downer, now wasn’t it?
Fortunately for me, the family, and the few that actually read these blogs, I am in much better spirits lately.
Still a grouch, as always, but once again a happy one.

I’ve finally registered for classes for the fall semester. Who knew coordinating a class schedule could be so difficult? I think it was the source of several new gray hairs.
Although, the class load itself will be the source of even more.
Five classes this semester, when I really only wanted to (comfortably) take four. The following semester will be the same. All due to some prerequisite remedial crap I have to get out of the way, plus my degree requirement stuff.
I won’t have much of a social life for the next year, and will probably be even more difficult to live with. My poor family.
I am excited to get back into school though.

Logan is gone for her two week stint (court ordered “uninterrupted time”) with her Dad. I always hate this time of year. Even though I know she will be with me for my two weeks once she returns.
Every year, I drop her off (or this year, she drives herself away), I tear up. Silly, I know. Been doing this for 13 years now, and I still cry every time she goes.

Dawson has been a little off lately. By lately, I mean, for a couple months, I guess… Which is why I have him seeing a counselor every week. I have seen improvement in his attitude and his coping skills. Unfortunately, the situation in which he lives doesn’t change or get any easier, and so his coping skills are constantly challenged.
He has wanted to spend more and more time with his Mommy. Which is also unusual. Dad was always the cool, fun parent, and I always had to pry him away every weekend (sometimes kicking and screaming) when it was time to come back to my house. I tried not to take it personally. I knew it was that weird phenomenon known as the father-son relationship. But lately, for the last couple months or so, he wants to be here with me. He has actually devised his own plan, of being here all week, and only going to Dad’s for two nights (it used to be three nights, sometimes four, at Dad’s). His Dad is hurt by this (I think), and probably doesn’t understand it. It might only be a phase. We shall see.
In the meantime, I’ll suck up all the love and attention I can get outa the little guy.

It appears that Sharla is moving back to Glenburn. I say “it appears”, because that whole situation is still somewhat volatile, and I approach it with an “I’ll believe it when I see it” attitude. Once the current occupants have completely vacated the house, and we’re physically moving Sharla back into it, it will be for real.
It will be nice having her and the kids just around the corner (and right next door to Mom and Dad) again. It is fitting; it is where they should be.
I can only imagine how she must feel, going back to her house, her home, again. It makes me happy.

Troy is good, Kayli is good, dogs are good, my new car is good…

I won't complain about healthcare, or taxes, or the economy, because I prefer preserving and appreciating life in my own little bubble. I think a few of you could heed that advice as well.

It’s not often that I can’t find much to bitch about. J

Sunday, July 31, 2011

(Facebook "note")
I haven’t been writing notes as of late. Instead I’ve been using blogger. Perhaps it’s the lack of comments, responses, and (sometimes relatively useful) advice that brings me back to “noting” on facebook.
Perhaps it’s just the psychological exhibitionist in me.  Or maybe not. Blogger is definitely more public, and I've recently realized I'm not quite as comfortable sharing there.
Perhaps it’s just my way of using you all as my personal emotional tampon. Which Richie would rather call ET, as it seems less vulgar.

I might be hung-over. I might just be grouchy (as per usual). I may not have had enough coffee yet this morning. Maybe I’m just overtired.
Or maybe my life is facing potential cataclysmic changes.
Whatever the reasoning, I need to vent. I feel like spreading the misery like cream cheese on an onion bagel.
So, I shall have at it. 

I missed my 20 year high school reunion last night. Well, I didn't miss it, necessarily, I just didn't go.
And in looking at various pictures being posted, it seems I only missed the opportunity to hang out with all the cool kids. Which breaks my heart. (Why isn't there a format button, like bold or italics, for sarcasm?)
I do think there may have been a small handful of people I would have been remotely interested in seeing, and even fewer who I would actually liked to have seen. Like Mary P, or Dave W.
But alas, my social ineptitude (and more likely my current frame of mind) prevented me from stepping out of my comfort zone, and I instead traveled to Bucksport to hang out with people I know and love. And who like me a little. Or at least tolerate me. 

I have so much to do around the house, and yet I completely lack the motivation to do any of it. Even though it needs to be done. Some of it with a certain sense of urgency. And yet here I sit.

I have a 29 foot lawn ornament, otherwise known as a Coachmen Catalina. Purchased three months ago with the intent of good times and making memories.

A couple acquaintances of mine were married yesterday. I should be happy for them. I should feel some kind of pleasure in viewing the many photos on facebook.
Instead it just makes me sick to my stomach.
That could just be the hangover. But it’s unlikely.

I’ve been called several things in life. And not many of those times has it been something like- nice or sweet, or loving, or kind and tender, patient or selfless, thoughtful or caring.
In fact, my mothers words (as if it were helpful advice) ring in my ears- “Remember what Craig said his biggest issue was with you? That you were mean…”
Mean. Selfish. Cold. Uncaring.
I allow those kinds of things to define me. But maybe it’s not a choice, maybe it’s more admission, acceptance, recognition.  Maybe it’s inevitable. Some things are just that, inevitable. Like death and taxes. And Crista being mean.

The neighbor is screaming for her dogs, whom she frequently loses track of. She's driving me crazy.
I think Troy left his long range assault rifle in the bedroom... 

I should probably go back to bed.