Five more weeks...

Every Tuesday night, part of my soul dies.

This semester has proven itself to be the worst of my educational career.  My collegiate pilgrimage, might I add, is proving to be the longest relationship I have ever had.

It's okay, because I truly love school.  Nothing makes me happier than a fresh college-ruled binder and a brand new black ball-point pen.  New folders, new sticky notes, new text books, new friends in new places, and new teachers to make me even more excited than I was the semester before.

I have thoroughly enjoyed every single second of my time in college...

Until now.

From the very first day of class on Tuesdays this semester, I knew that I was in trouble beyond trouble. 

I have a mouth. That is something that does not take a brain surgeon to grasp.  I like to openly express myself when I feel I am being mistreated or when I feel like you are being a dick.  Sometimes I just lack the filter portion of my brain and will openly say what I am thinking whether I am completely ostracized for it or not.
Even my daughter says "You know when you say the first thing that comes to your mind?  Normal people don't do that."
Thanks, Bird.

So this professor.  5'2", 172 years old, with a PhD from Yale.  He looks like he may have crawled out from underneath a pile of hippies at Woodstock.  The fact that he doesn't smell like Patchouli is utterly surprising.  On the first day of class he asked if anyone minded if he went barefoot. After slipping off his strappy sandals, he wandered around the classroom during his lecture with his toenails that look nothing shy of those greenish/yellow potato chips you sometimes find in the bag. Yes...Those.  And he looks like this:

This past week he told me "He should plan my demise." Also that I go around slandering Mormons and I just "can't do that."  I also know nothing about love if I don't know the true basis of where passion lies.  The guy is a complete nutter, yet I paid him $308 dollars to tell me I am stupid and above all, incompetent.  

I am willing to bet that I could pay a bunch of people $200 to do the same insulting. Maybe even $100.  That's a pretty good price for boosting one's self-esteem.

I've been counting down every week.

Five more weeks, five more weeks...

 

*Update: I got an A+, over the allotted percent in this class.  Phew.

Hell's Time Clock

On September 4, 2013 I sold my soul to the devil for a paycheck every two weeks.

At first I thought "It's just not what you are used to. Grin and bear it. You don't have to make these people members of your family."
Slowly but surely I accepted their behavior and dug my heels in like all the people had before me. I accepted mediocre pay and decided that it was an easy job all I had to do was lower my standards.
Which I did. The problem was there was no one to complain to.  Issues arose, but I just had to swallow them down because no one gave a care.
Besides, when management is the problem, who do you complain to?

Little by little I felt myself fleeting.  Small fragments of my soul being diminished along with my dignity and pride. I would have sleepless nights for the fear of being verbally ripped to shreds the next day.  What kind of decision had I made?  When all these other decisions I had made in the last few years were for me and my daughter - to make us happy... I sold out.

I would receive verbal beatings all week long, but lunch on Friday - like it made all the abuse just magically disappear.  Like when your parent backhands you across the mouth but pulls you in for a hug afterward. They did it out of love, right?  I don't treat people like that.  I don't pretend to like you if I don't. I don't abuse people. And I certainly don't associate myself with people who do.  Yet every single day I went to a job where I was saying "It is okay to abuse me." It is not okay.

If there was only one thing I have taken away from this life it is that I will not put up with someone hurting me - not mentally, emotionally, or physically.  A screaming product of why I am alone. An even louder scream of why I will remain alone.

I am okay with this as long as I am okay with myself. And I am. Now that I am no longer punching Hell's time clock. I would rather be poor than have no dignity.

My Own Clique

My biggest fear for the last 12 years has been losing my daughter.  In one way or many ways, I always knew that when the preteen/teen years came, our relationship would begin to dissolve.
I don't mean go away completely, but dissipate or fade even. One day she wont wave bye at the bus stop or kiss me when I drop her off at her friends house. One day she will scream "I hate you." while she stomps with fury off to her bedroom and slams the door.

Some of my friends have already had these moments with their kids. Some of my friends will soon enough. My relationship with my daughter isn't perfect, as I have balanced the role of mom and dad alone for her entire life, but I do a pretty decent job. I also know when to put my phone down and pay attention to the greatest thing that ever happened to me.

Tonight, I entered the cafeteria to my old middle school - my daughters current middle school - for a science event. As more and more families piled in, moms grouped off into cliques and oddly enough so did their daughters.  I watched these small kids experimenting with these awesome science projects while their parents couldn't stop texting for five seconds.  All the while I hung out next to my daughter. She walked away once because I was being too slow. She saw her friends and she said hi. Even wrapped her arm around one for a half-hug, but she didn't leave my side. We walked from station to station like two friends would - maybe we were in our own clique? She wasn't embarrassed that I was there with my chin on her shoulder watching science experiments or rolling up her sleeve as she stuck her hand in a pile of goo.  She didn't seem to mind when I tucked the strand of hair behind her ear and oinked like a pig in that same ear to tease her.

One day I may not be so fortunate.
She will tell me to go away.
She will tell me I embarrass her.
She will even tell me she hates me - I am pretty sure all kids do.
Right now, she is still my little bird.
She lets me hold her hand and she still kisses me on the lips.
She snuggles me before bed every night and she makes sure to tell me she loves me just before I turn off the light.

Some people's babies are grown up and have moved away, some have grown only so much and passed away, and some don't have babies of their own.
I have been endlessly blessed to have every ounce of love I could ever need.
Someone once said "I married my soul mate."
Well I made mine.
Just saying...

One Single Day

The "New Years" holiday has never meant much to me.  I always see people food shopping galore, hosting elaborate parties, having themed said parties, dressing up and going out, but all the while it is nothing more to me than another night for me.  A night I usually spend in jeans and/or sweats with my daughter after watching movies and/or playing a board game or two.  Last night we did crossword puzzles together.

I get the "resolve," but it is always so trite and unrealistic.  You really think the best thing for your future is to buy a gym membership you will most likely use for 2 months and never again?  You really think that the key to success is to "be kind to others" only to be cut off in traffic and scream like a sailor and forget about it the next time you have a misfortune?  I don't set these kinds of expectations for myself. I don't presume to let one day dictate that I need to have resolve. That I need to be better for the year because I was so crappy the year before.

I try for these "resolutions" every day. Every day when I wake up I make my day's goals and decisions.  When someone says something snotty, I resolve to bite my tongue. When someone forgets to flush, I cringe and flush for them.  When I get bossed around, I stand up for myself as I always should have.  When someone cuts me off in traffic, I remind myself that I have no idea who they are or what is happening in their life.  Maybe they don't have an emergency to get to, but that's not for me to determine behind the wheel of my car. You're in a rush?  Whatever. You are one space ahead of me now - revel in it. 

Life is really hard.  Like, really hard.  And no one can fully understand hardship and heartbreak and all the other two-words-in-one experiences without having gone through them, but I firmly believe setting unrealistic goals for yourself one time a year is worthless. Why one day a year? Why not every single day?  We celebrate all kinds of holidays throughout the year; If every day is too much pick each of those calendar holidays and set a reminder.  One day a year is not enough.

So celebrate the coming of a new year. A clean slate.  I have given up on thinking "This is my year" because it is, also, unrealistic.

This is my day. I am going to make the best of ONE SINGLE DAY rather than 364 days way too far ahead of me to actually control anything.

Today is my day. My day to be all the things I want to. Or at least start to be.

Kitty Boy

Making a decision on someone else's behalf is one of the most difficult things I have encountered in my short 31 years.  The process is gut-wrenching, stressful, and down-right depressing to say the least.

Over the course of the last year and a half, my kitty, Dylan, has been sick. No one knows what is wrong with him, but, of course, everyone speculates and imagines they have the answer.  He has been to 3 different vets and each one walks away clueless and Dylan walks away worse for wear.

A year and a half of having unwilling bulemia.  He eats... he throws up.  He drinks... he throws up. All the while I am sure his heart is weakened, his esophagus has to be tore up, his teeth are probably ruined permanently, he has 60% hair loss, he is down 9 lbs (yes, he was 20 lbs; He is a massive cat), and he has random open sores from licking himself almost compulsively.

All of those reasons make me say: Put him down.
Life is not meant to be lived while having to suffer constantly.

And pets don't tell us when they hurt.
He can't say "Mommy, all I want to do is eat like a normal boy." or "I just want to stop having to hurt every day."

At first I was distraught having to go through endless rolls of paper towel and cleaning up piles of bile and hair.  Now it is second nature.  He gives the meow and I am there in a flash.  Thankfully I have almost all hard floors in my house and he manages to puke in pretty convenient places.  But still my heart is heavy for my kitty boy who has been my little buddy from the first day.

His appointment to be put down was for this past Saturday.  He has had an amazing week, too. One puke on Wednesday and nothing since. Almost as if he knew it was the end of his life was coming this weekend. Saturday came and went. I cancelled his appointment because a large part of me couldn't put down my little kitty boy who was snuggled up on my lap for the better part of 3 hours the night before when I couldn't sleep over the thought of ending his short life. When I called the shelter, the little old lady who answered wept with me as I told her I didn't know what to do.  I told her I didn't know how to make the decision for him and that I didn't know if it was even the right decision at the end of the day.  Especially when he was having a great week. A week of normalcy.

Dylan (left) and Lucy - Nov 2013

Maybe selfishly I just need more time to come to terms with ending the life of my little friend.  My companion. My buddy.  The guy who when I got him had no whiskers because he burned them all off on a candle.  The guy who would sit on my lap no matter where I was (yes, even tried to on the toilet). The kitty boy who has been a part of my family longer than any actual human guy ever has and maybe ever will.

I know, at the end of the day, that Dylan's life will be cut short and that I will have to make the long drive to the shelter to put him down, but I am not ready right now.  So many things happen in life and they always seem to happen at the same time - and I am not ready to lose him yet.  And as tears now well up in my eyes I will go snuggle up with him on the couch now, because I can.
Because he is still here... for now.

Eleven Years Ago Today...

Eleven years ago today, I lay in a hospital bed dying.

Eleven years ago today, my body decided to begin the process of shutting down.  With a high fever of 104, I was delirious and on the verge of slipping into a coma with blood pressure around 140/104.  It was the longest day of my entire life.

Eleven years ago today, I was admitted into the hospital with every hope of a routine delivery of my baby. My blood pressure had been high for a month prior, but it was closely monitored. Being induced was nothing out of the ordinary and nothing every other Obstetrician hasn't done before.  It was all new to me though. 24 hours after trying my best to deliver drug-free, came the breaking of my water.  This not only distressed my unborn daughter, but sent my body into unparalleled pain.

Eleven years ago today, I got through 29 hours of labor and my body decided it was time to push.  I was not dilated. It is physically impossible to birth a baby if your cervix is not dilated, but I had absolutely no choice in the matter; When it's time to push, it's time to push. Fail. On an epic scale. No matter how hard I tried, nothing was happening. No matter what the doctors attempted, my body was resisting. My body began to fail and my baby was dying. One of the last things I heard was "We are going to lose them both!" before slipping into delirium.

Eleven years ago today, I was prepped for an emergency cesarean section. Which is actually incredibly common nowadays... even then.  C-Sections were on the incline averaging at 70% or so I heard. They strapped down my arms and legs, because, well, that's just what they do.  After attempting to numb me from the waist down, the anesthesiologist asked "Can you feel this?" "Yes" I replied.  "Hmm... you shouldn't be able to feel anything." And the surgery commenced.  From behind my little sheet, I could feel my abdomen being sliced open with a scalpel. I screamed in absolute terror and was drugged into oblivion while my mother yelled for them to give me more drugs.

Eleven years ago today, my baby was born and I didn't get to meet her.  I was in a drug-induced high and from what I can vividly remember I told my mother "I am in outer space."  Apparently I had enough drugs. I have also learned later that redheads need 1/3 more drugs than any other hair color in order for said drugs to work effectively. If only...

Eleven years ago today, my daughter was rushed to the NICU, because she could not breathe on her own. When the doctor broke my water, she drank it, causing severe distress on her lungs. My beautiful baby girl sat alone in an incubator hood for the first 24 hours of her life - without her mother.  I was a hallway away coming out of my euphoria and not even knowing I had just had a child.

Me & my bird.

Eleven years ago today, my life was changed forever.  I learned patience, and kindness, and how to love someone else in a way only a mother would understand.

Today my little baby is a beautiful, hilarious, snarky 11-year old. She is sassy in all the right places. She has a sense of humor that makes me double-over more often than not. She is like walking out of a smokey bar and gulping down heaps of fresh air. She is the rays of sunshine on an overcast day.  She is my better half and one of the sweetest souls I have ever known.  Shes awkward, and quirky, and her long legs trip her off more often than not. She is my soul mate in this life. The reason I was put here.

Happy Birthday to the best person I have ever known. I love you bird. <3

One Way or Another

As I pulled into the Pet Supplies Plus parking lot this afternoon, I noticed a row of cages on the sidewalk and a plethora of people everywhere. I decided maybe this was not the day for me to get cat litter. Maybe I should just leave now while my mascara isn't running down my cheeks and my nose isn't stuffy and red.... nope. I parked.  And as I walked to the building I started breathing heavily knowing it was not going be easy for me to be here.

Each cage was filled with a dog or a puppy and each of those said dogs wanted nothing but my touch.  My eyes immediately welled with tears.  One puppy licked incessantly through the cage as if to tell me "It okay lady. Don't cry."  I did anyway.  I wept like a baby for these poor animals that don't have homes.  I wept for their lives in cages while their irresponsible owners proceeded with their flippant lives.  And it happens every day, and not just with dogs which is where my heartache comes in.  I could cry for a thousand hours at how bad I feel for these children, puppies, kitties, and nameless millions of other animals that people carelessly turn their shoulder to.

Or even the people that have to have a "purebred."  My mutt is cooler than your purebred could ever be. How could you even stand to spend $1000 on a dog when there are 50 of them locked up at the local kennel who need you and your love?  I can't even think about the children in orphanages otherwise you may as well put a bullet in my head.  But as an owner of rescued pets, I cannot even begin to understand some people's thought processes.  How an animal from the mall would even make sense when the Humane Society is destroying animals left and right because they don't even have the room for them.  But oooh, I need a teacup this or a miniature that.  Personally, the cat in the cage at the shelter that has one eye or 11 toes on one foot, is the cat I want most of all.

Finding your animal a new home is one thing, but getting rid of them because your priorities have changed is another - and it is thoroughly unsettling.  I have a cat who needs a new home and I can't find her one.  Have I dropped her off on the Humane Societies doorstep? No, I will wait until she finds the perfect home.  She needs it badly, but I'd rather she stayed here than in a 2x2 cage with little to no love every day - or better yet, euthanized.

Then there are hundreds of thousands of animals born each year that don't have homes and don't have any love.  They starve to death, they are beaten, they are left alone - when they require nearly nothing but love and love alone. The poor little dears. And today I got to look some of those unloved babies in the face and all I could think was how I wanted to put out a worldwide threat:
Fix your animals or allow me to have you fixed for your ignorance.