There were things in my head that I wanted to say here. All too often, that’s what’s on my mind when I’m staring at this box.
Patience, I love you. We all do. You moved halfway around the world to be with the man you loved, and we all wished we could have the guts. You had anxiety problems,and we understood. We knew what those were like, and we all pulled for each other. You wandered the net to find neat stuff, funny stuff, what-the-fuckery stuff, scary stuff, stuff you wanted us to see. Thank you. The people who got pissy because you spammed twitter with your tumblr updates can sod off. It’s prime @millarca tumblr updating time, and I miss it. The silence is deafening.
I wish I could be there right now. I wish I was there so I could take turns with all your other friends helping to hold you up because you shouldn’t have to be dealing with this. I wish that I could say something, anything, to make the pain a little less. I wish it didn’t feel like trying to say anything makes it about me when you deserve nothing but our love and support right now.
Owen, we’re going to miss you mate. Patience, if there’s anything I can do from the other side of the fucking world, let me know.
You know how it is. You’re reading something online, something looks interesting so you click a link, something there looks interesting so you click another and another. So, I found myself earlier reading an article on some celebrity gossip site in which various celebs talked about being bullied as kids.
Is that the new “cool” thing, to admit to being bullied? I hope not, that’s horrid. Forget I said it.
Anyway, one of the celebs mentioned encountering one of her tormentors at a signing. She said the person didn’t even remember what she had done in grade school, or whenever it was. I remember a girl my group didn’t like, no doubt for her twin crimes of being black and poor (yay for being raised in Mississippi, where we’re taught to hate). I don’t remember saying anything to her, but I wonder if I did, or if I stood by while someone else did. Joanna, I’m sorry.
Say one of your previous bullies came up to you now, as an adult, to apologize. Would you care? Would it mean anything? Or would it just be gee, thanks for reminding me of all my therapist and I have worked to get over? I don’t know. Personally, I’ve refused their friend requests on Facebook so if they wanted to apologize, I’d never know.
I’m watching Lie To Me, about an investigator who observes facial expressions and body language to determine when a person is being less than truthful. Huzzah, I have newfound insight that can help me in my interpersonal relationships!
Wait. Most of my relationships occur online. headdesk
I ran into someone today who I knew when we were children together. It was one of those very strange meetings where you don’t know each other at all, yet you have the knowledge that you used to. J is a very fuzzy memory, I couldn’t have been older than 5 when I was dragged (drug?) to his house so my older brothers could do bible study or youth group or something else like that.
It was comfortable, though. We talked about how he moved away from Tupelo when he entered high school, which was a good time for him because hint hint it would have been cough difficult ahem and he would have been erm singled out. When he said that, I realized I didn’t have to ponder the meaning behind his pink rimmed sunglasses. There was a bubble machine going, and we got to watch Gavin dance in the bubbles. We discussed my desire to move back to Orlando so Gavin can be around a more ahem open and accepting culture.
Know what irks me? A society that makes us dance around the topics that are important to us to make sure acquaintances are ok with them. But still, catching up with an old friend. That was nice. :)
My neighbors across the street had two Lab puppies, which they gave away when they realized they weren’t going to be good inside dogs. Over the course of the last three weeks they have gotten a German Shepard, a Siberian Husky, a large mutt puppy and a small puppy of unknown origin. First off, inside dog fail. Second, is there a name for crazy cat lady except for dogs? Other than Michael Vick, of course.
I remember back in the day when blogging was new and we had to send out smoke signals to let Blogroll know we had updated. Back in those days, a popular meme was 100 things. Each blogger would list 100ish random facts about him/herself and the rest of us would ooh and aah over whatever brain dump showed up on the intertubes.
We’re not going to play that game all at once, but I am throwing some brain dump out at you. Steve started playing this song on the guitar and I am reminded:
FACT NUMBER ONE! The song I hate more than almost any other song ever written is Dust in the Wind. Hate it, hate it, hate it, want to take a shovel to the head of anyone singing it. I will watch Barney before listening to it. Barney will end after one episode, but Dust in the Wind will stick in my head for weeks.
Texting while driving law gets limited use
So they’re having trouble writing tickets for drivers caught texting while driving. Maybe they’ve even gotten a clue and realized it isn’t worth the trouble. Can they prove the person was texting and not doing any one of dozens of other activities that aren’t illegal? Most likely not.
Me, I have a Droid Eris. I’m writing this post on it (while safely not driving). When I had a phone with a physical keyboard I would quite often text while driving because I didn’t have to look at what I was doing. If traffic was heavy, if it was raining, or any other reason that actually needed more than, say, 70% of my attention, the phone went back into my lap. Now with only a keyboard on the touch screen, I don’t text while driving because it takes away too much of my attention. Even with Swype, it’s too difficult and not worth the risk.
However, there are tons of other things I could be doing with my phone that aren’t illegal. Talking on it is illegal in some places, not here, but I’m not going to get into that. I could be pulling up Pandora because I’ve gotten sick of the stupid djs on Sirius radio. I bought XM because there were no djs, now I’m stuck with the idiots on Sirius just like the ones on regular radio who made me get satellite in the first place. I could be checking my email. I could be reading my Twitter feed and checking the links people post. I could be checking my geocaching app to see what’s nearby. None of these things are illegal, but every bit as potentially dangerous.
Meh. In some things, I’m all for big government. This time, though, it’s a stupid knee-jerk law that’s a waste of the paper on which it’s written.
I had a dream last night about writing something in here. It was fabulous. Perhaps my brain is trying to tell me something. I’ll get right on that, but later. Right now I’m working on registering Gavin for kindergarten. Eek.
My MIL called this morning and woke me up. I’m glad she did, otherwise I probably wouldn’t have remembered this winner:
Steve and I were staying at a resort in Walt Disney World. I think it might have been the Yacht Club, which is odd considering I don’t like that one, but not much in this dream makes sense anyway. We were in the pool but had to get out because Steve had to go finish quickly some homework on String Theory. I had to walk back to the room by myself after getting my laptop out of the pool. On the way I walked around a boy who wanted to go fly fishing in the pool, who was being followed by a cat chasing his fishing line. Apparently it didn’t bother them that I was carrying my own severed head. Seems we had chopped my head off to make one regenerate (what am I, a Time Lord?), and I was trying to figure out what to do with my skull. I mean, if I buried it, it would really suck for someone to dig it up, do DNA testing, and think I was dead.
I made it back to our hotel room, but I was followed in by a Guest Services cast member who wanted to explain the amenities of the room to me. Odd, since we had stayed there the previous night with Trapped On Vacation. Jason’s wife and daughter don’t exist in my dream, perhaps because I’ve never met them IRL. The Guest Services chick was telling me how we could take the stuffed animals in the room over to the lobby and something would happen, but my phone rang and woke me up.
WTF. Bipolar medications may cause vivid dreams FTW.
Why do I take things personally when they aren’t about me? We took Gav to his pediatrician today for his checkup and boosters before starting kindergarten. He’s just above average in height and weight, and I’m somehow deciding that’s a bad thing and it’s because of me. Hi, Self, he’s just about middle of the pack! That’s where he should be! Never mind that, though, it’s my fault he’s not taller. His speech is a little slower and halting at times. My fault! I should have him out more socially with other kids his age! Who knows why that is, it might be because he’s an only child, whatever. He might make a leap when he starts school and catch up with everyone else.
He hasn’t been to the dentist yet. Ok, so that one actually is my fault, but still. Get it done and poof, problem solved. The world keeps spinning.
Parts of the skin of his p3nis are sticking where they shouldn’t be, thanks to a screwed up circumcision. We need to try to pull it back a little bit everyday so it can get unstuck so it won’t cause problems later. I have to get over my squick factor about having to touch his p3nis and help him out with that. Bleah. :(
These things are NOT ABOUT ME. Why on earth do I have to internalize everything to where it’s screaming ZOMG I’M A TERRIBLE MOTHER?