The Purr Of Death

Oscar the "furry grim reaper" is a 2-year-old cat who, having been raised in a Rhode Island hospice, accurately predicts when patients have four hours or less to live. He makes his rounds of the patients, observing them much like the doctors and nurses who care for him. If he feels one is particularly close to death, he curls up beside them, and the nursing staff usually end up calling the family.
I love cats, but this guy is apparently aloof until he finds himself someone shuffling their way off this mortal coil. Most of the nursing staff and families like what he does and take comfort in it; at least if no one else is there, the traveler has some warm, furry feline company on the way out.
But... what if the handsome devil is the Reaper himself? What if he actually brings death rather than simply senses when it's coming? Think about it... a cat's purr delivering the Kiss of Death.
Shivers.

Turnaround

If you're reading this, you're special. No, really. I want YOU to read this. I don't want my psycho ex, mentioned in the last post, reading this. Apparently he found my blog. Since this is supposed to be theraputic, and having a stalking ex reading my therapy is really scary, it comes down to this.
Dammit, things were starting to go pretty well, too.

The Diary Of Jane

This Breaking Benjamin song confuses me and speaks to me at the same time. I recently ended a toxic friendship, the longest running friendship I've ever had. You can imagine how hard that was for me in and of itself, but the circumstances surrounding my decision... really sucked. Try as I might, I just can't get her out of my head, can't put the whole ugly mess behind me and move on. I still dwell. I still wonder "what if" I'd said something else, something earlier. What if I'd given up on it long ago, as 20/20 hindsight shows me I had plenty of reason to do. What if someone else had been in her place at my wedding? What if I didn't have a stab of pain and betrayal every time I look the photos of what was supposed to be the happiest day of my life...

Something's getting in the way, something's just about to break
I will try to find my place in the diary of Jane
As I burn another page, as I look the other way
I still try to find my place in the diary of Jane

I burn that page in my life over and over again, look away, anywhere, anywhere but back... and I still wonder how she's doing, what she thinks of me, how she's getting along with my pscyho stalking ex who started driving the wedge between us. I find it funny how she's the one who told him, to his face, when we first started dating: "If you hurt her I'll kill you." Now she wants to be friends with him. Her reasoning, as far as I could deduce from her last email (a stab in the dark, I think; just to see if I'm still listening) was that since I wasn't being much of a friend (having failed to call or email her since the fiasco at my wedding, and by the way, she hadn't either), she needed companionship somewhere, and would rather be lazy and take the known lying cheating scumbag of an asshat that I used to date (thank Gott he dumped me) than get out of her little happy zone and go make new friends. I have a lot of leftover anger, confusion, humiliation, and feelings of betrayal from that breakup (can you tell?) that's in the queue for therapy. Now here's just another thing to add to it, to fold up and put in a drawer to be dealt with later.

Such A Thing As Too Honest

Is there really such a thing as being "too honest"? Perhaps, if your wife is asking if that dress makes her look fat... or if millions of yen are fluttering down from the sky. Apparently people in Japan who have been recieving bundles of money in their mailboxes or watching it fall from unknown places are "too upright to pocket the money" and have been turning it in to police for two months now.
This raises the question: Would Americans act in a similar fashion? Would you, having found about $10,000 sitting in your mailbox, turn it into police, to await the time when its rightful owner will come forward?

Dreary Monday

So DH isn't getting a yearlong vacation to the cradle of civilization. Apparently there was some kind of fight in the barracks in the middle of the night, bad enough that somebody with a lot of stripes decided that everyone, even the people who didn't live in the barracks, needed to be present for the ass-chewing. You can imagine how well that went over. Our Saturday was pretty much shot by the time he got home, near lunchtime. We hadn't gotten but maybe two hours of sleep before the call came, and DH of course didn't sleep at all after that. I got fitsy naps when my brain slowed down long enough. When he got home, DH said he'd been bracing himself on the drive in: "We leave in a week, we leave in a week..." Getting there and learning this was all about a stupid fight, well, that made everyone mad.
I have a lot of cleaning to do and I'm not looking forward to it. There's a lot of new electronic stuff (read: boy toys) that I'll have to find a place for, to get it off the floor. I still have to chenge out my dead hard drive with the new(er) one I got from my father, and try to retrieve my data. If I can't, I'll be hella pissed. There's a box to be sent to Iraq, another letter to RSM to be mailed, applications to be returned...
Sigh.

"An Upscale Bar"

Oh... ow. I'm in pain. It's a good pain, though, as I'm in stitches. Gasping. Oh it hurts.
What a musical joke!

If you know me much at all, you know I'm very musical. I played several instruments, all of which are too big and expensive to own and transport, as much as I've moved around lately. I miss playing, but I much prefer to play with a proper band.
Methinks I'll be visiting Linda more often.

Card-Carrying Psycho, Part 2

So this week we determined that I have some codependent tendencies. DH said, rather offhandedly, that everyone has some codependent tendencies, and some bipolar tendencies, and some OCD and ADHD tendencies... It made me laugh, but he's right. It's frustrating being told I have "tendencies" but still not getting a solid diagnosis. I know it takes time, time for the doctor and therapist to get to know me and see what medications work and what medications give me odd side effects, but it's still frustrating.
There's a difference in the "tendencies" that DH was talking about and "tendencies" as mentioned in the mental health world. I think what DH is referring to is more accurately described as "attributes". We all have them, just not in a high enough frequency or intensity to be worrisome. Once they start infringing on quality of life, a person can be described as "tending" to do/think/feel in a certain manner. Everyone gets angry or sad and doesn't know why at some point in their lives. I just do it... oh, about every day.
Codependent tendencies? Just means I gotta make my own damn friends.
Wanna be my new friend?

Odd Call

Here I sit, awake at a much earlier time than I usually am, wondering where my DH is.
Oh, it's not as bad as it sounds, I know where he is, just not why or when he'll be back. He got a phone call at 3:30 this morning (on a Saturday!) to be at work ASAP. No idea why and no word since then. I've been sleeping fitfully for the past 3 hours and finally gave up, got up, and made a sammich to keep me company. Now that I've eaten it, I'm lonely again. (ha)
I wonder what this could mean... a fellow soldier's death was the first thing that came to my mind. Three times in high school, strange calls over the PA system were made for certain groups of people (those who went to such-n-such middle school, all sophomores, etc) to gather for an announcement. After the first one, we all knew what such an announcement would be. If that's the case, I just hope it was quick for the victim and that I'll be able to give DH the support he'll need. The second thing that came to mind was deployment. I've been through it before with an ex-boyfriend, so I know I can handle it, but DH hasn't been yet and will worry himself sick over me. I wonder, though... if it's just a deployment announcement, why drag everyone in at 0330 on Saturday? If they didn't know Friday before the end of the duty day, can't they just wait till Monday, or possibly a more humane time than 0330? DH's squad leader asked him if he'd been drinking. He hadn't, but I know more than a few of his buddies were probably still drinking when the call came. It was a Friday night, for Pete's sake!
I know enough not to try calling him. If he could use the phone, he'd have called me already. I just have to wait it out. I remember when I was waiting for a definite go/no-go about deployment with my ex; I was gnawing on my fingers by the time the announcement came. This time, I'm just waiting. I knew when I married him that DH would probably go to Iraq before his ETS date, and if he reups, he'll definitely have a sandy vacation at some point. Maybe it's time.

Huh.

The pastures always seem greener on the other side of the fence.

Going Home

I'm on my way home. It's a long drive to think about a whole lot of things, but I think this time I'll put on some mind-numbing music. It feels good going home. It feels good knowing what home is. Where doesn't matter; it's what's waiting for you when you get there that makes it home.
I'm going home.

Missing My Peeps

I sent the first of hopefully many letters to Blogdaddy on Saturday. Accompanying it was a letter to another friend who's been in Iraq for a year now but isn't due back till November, what with the extensions. A friend of DH's just shipped to basic as well, and then of course there's everyone back home whom I haven't seen since the wedding or before. I packed myself up Saturday night and headed west; wanderlust had taken me, and I needed to see familiar places, see how they'd changed. My high school has gotten bigger, glitzier, more snobbish-looking. Shopping centers stand where empty lots once lay. I needed to remind myself that these familiar places marched on without me. I needed to see old familiar faces with their new haircuts or smile wrinkles. I especially needed to smell mountain air.
Well, I smelled it. It made me sneeze. The dry heat where I live now is much more bearable than the oppressive, humid blanket that settles on my home state from May to September. It's odd wanting to leave, actually wanting to be away from "home", but I suppose it's part of growing up and moving away. I've heard that a little bit of wanderlust is healthy; keeps you interested in the everyday home life.
I'm ready to go home.

Blue Falcon, Hooah

Here's a shirt I will be buying a few of and mailing them to certain "favorite" people I know:

http://www.rangerup.com/mysteryshirt.html

If you don't understand, here's a story from my college days that may help out.
There was this one guy in my company, Headquarters (HQ) but not my specialty unit thank goodness... wait, let me explain how HQ was set up in my ROTC program. It consisted of the (cadet) staff NCOs and officers, like the real Army, but also was home to the specialty units: the military band, the precision drill team, the Color Guard, and the Ranger Challenge team. This arse of a cadet was one of the staff NCOs, a great asskisser but not good enough at PT to get an NCO position in a line company.
Well, he totally screwed another guy nearly out of the Corps of Cadets (another story for another day) and was promptly labeled a "Blue Falcon". They're also known as "Bravo Foxtrots", as the initials of the real title are BF (and it sure don't stand for Best Friend). Now, one of the usual things to do to people you don't like, or even people you do like but want to mess with, is pennying their barracks door. These doors were thick, heavy wood in thick, heavy metal doorframes, so it was easy to stuff pennies between the jamb and the door, above and below the doorknob. This put so much pressure on the latch that the knob couldn't be turned, neither from the inside nor the hall. If done well, the pennies would be so jammed themselves that Public Safety couldn't even get them out with a crowbar.
This door was pennied very well. It is rumored that nearly two dollars went into that door.
This kind of thing is done very quietly during the night, so the occupants are stuck in there during morning PT, holding their pee and waiting for Public Safety to come crowbar them out. You might feel sorry for the Blue Falcon's roommate, but he was skinny enough to go out the window. Our Blue Falcon was not, and was holding his pee waiting for Public Safety to save him. Eventually, Maintenance was called in to remove the door from its hinges. This was done, and our Blue Falcon finally made it to his last class of the day. The door was replaced and HQ went about their business.
The next night, while the penniers slept, the artists came out to play. By morning the door sported a bird carved 1/4th of an inch into the dense wood and painted bright blue. It was a work of art, and obviously a lot of time went into it. Also obvious was the fact that the door couldn't be repaired; the carving was too deep to try to sand it away, so a new door was ordered from Maintenance. It took a few days to get it, so our favorite shat-upon was poignantly reminded of his misdeeds every time he entered and exited his room. The new door arrived, was installed, and the old one carted off.
Not quite the end of the story. Some smart cadets noticed where the old door was taken, and the first night our Blue Falcon had a new door to enjoy, the carved door was recovered from the dumpster behind Plant Ops. He hadn't quite suffered enough. That heavy old door made its way back up to the third floor and leaned against the new door, propped up by several well-placed rubber doorstops. They ensured that in the morning, when the door was opened from the inside, the old door would fall right into the room, yet another reminder of how much of an asshat the guy was. He ended up limping all day from bruised toes.
We hadn't finished with him yet, though. Again, the old door was taken away, but Maintenance hadn't learned their lesson, or perhaps they enjoyed the show. The door was again found in the same dumpster that night. The barracks had a ledge under the windows, about a foot and a half wide. Skinny cadets would shimmy out the windows and wash the outside for inspection, or sneak in and out of their rooms after taps, or other devious things cadets think of when they're stuck on campus for six weeks in a row. Somehow that door was lifted to the third floor window ledge and propped against the outside of the guy's window. This time, Maintenance was "too busy" to get it down for a few days; the cherry picker was otherwise occupied.
Everyone thought that was finally the end of the Blue Falcon's door. Months later, however, during HQ's company awards ceremony, our favorite cadet was presented with a new award: the Order of the Blue Falcon. Someone had gone dumpster-diving again and retrieved the carved door. The painted bird had been professionally carved out of the middle of the door and shaped to look like a sliver of a tree trunk, then glazed. Bark had even been glued to the edges for a nice touch. The company commander had a glowing little speech, making it sound like an actual award, and handed the carving over with a big smile and a handshake.
I know the guy will never forget that.

Additions

I added The Life and Times of a Butterfly Wife to my Good Reading section. She tends to have things that cheer me up, like her Good News from Iraq posts. It's nice to see that kind of stuff, particularly when I'm not looking for it.
I just realized that Sarah's blog isn't linked on here, so I remedied that as well. I've been reading Trying to Grok for a while now, but dropped the ball on linking to it. I blame it on having a huge list of bookmarks saved on my old computer, so that I could link to my usual reads from Firefox instead of my blog. Now that I don't have my bookmarks, I'm having to link through the few addresses I remember off the top of my head...
And then there's Homefront Six and Household Six, the two I have an excuse for getting confused in my head. You can sort them out.

Card-Carrying Psycho, Part 1

Tomorrow I (hopefully) get a diagnosis, at least a preliminary one. What kind of crazy am I, Doc? My therapist has suggested two possibilities, and the worst thing is I could have tendencies of both, which makes it harder to treat. Probably why I've had so many problems with therapy and medication in the past, but thank Gott (as RSM says) I don't have to worry about how I'm going to pay for it anymore. That is probably the one difference "this time" that's making the most impact. I was always rather hesitant to throw everything on the table before, always wondering if I'd bare my soul only to run out of money again and have to stop going, stop taking the pills. That would screw me up worse than anything else, running out of prescriptions.
I'm very isolated here... I moved away from all my family and friends, so I have no support structure. I've been trying to make new friends, but it's hard in a city... where do you go to meet honest people? I'm afraid of trusting (even the slightest bit) someone who doesn't deserve it. I did, however, luckily run into an old friend from college (and the best communication link to a mutual good buddy in Iraq) last weekend. He was just restationed here. I'm excited, but DH didn't like him back in college, and I'm afraid hanging out with him would make DH uncomfortable, because I wouldn't ask him to come along if he doesn't like the guy. My DH is a homebody, and so am I, but I like getting out with other people every so often. What with work, me trying to find work, and still getting things organized at home, we haven't been out nearly at all. Last Friday we had a delightful double date with a buddy of his from an Army school and had a great time. Hopefully we can do it again soon.
Oh, right, this is supposed to be about how crazy I am... We'll see what the professional says tomorrow. Wish me luck. (What kind of luck can I have? "Hope you get the less crazy disease..." Whatever. Luck is luck.)

Hospitalized

My desktop has been shelved for the time being... the hard drive is apparently on its way out, so to save my data, it's sitting in the corner until we can afford a new computer and that little doohickey my father was talking about that can transfer the data from my dying hard drive to a new one. I've been trying to get my external CD writer to work so I can back up all my stuff, but it whirrs and whines and then says that the files don't match their originals, and spits out a blank-but-full CD. It's been pissing the hell outta me 'cause I've done everything I can think of to make the damn thing work: uninstall and re-download the driver and writing software. That, obviously, didn't work. All my music, recipies, documents, music, a few videos, music, and did I mention music? It won't all fit on my iPod. I only have a Nano, and it's full of the same stuff I've had on it since Christmas. It's about time to switch out, but now I can't.
Poo.
I want a Mac.

Confession

I have a confession to make, Blogdaddy. I learned your recipie by heart and followed it to the letter for many months, or as best I could in this new city with its comparatively icky water. (I miss mountain well water.) I used a glass pot and wooden spoon, just like you said. I stirred in the sugar while the water was warming up, let the teabags steep for a while, and even put the ice cubes in the pitcher too.
I'm sorry I've failed you.
Today I used my (horror!) automatic coffee-maker to "brew" tea. Dumped the sugar in the carafe, stuck the teabags in the coffee filter, and hit "On". Mr. Coffee bubbled away happily, not knowing the difference. At least I used the wooden spoon to stir the sugar in the carafe before pouring the tea in the pitcher.
It sits in the refrigerator, cooling. RSM would die of a heart attack.

Randomizer, Version 1.0

I tend to put water on the stove and forget I did. By the time I get back to it, most of it had boiled away.

I updated my Amazon.com wishlist, and my birthday is coming up next Tuesday (hint, hint). I asked my husband for a vacuum cleaner. Pathetic.

I want to reduce the size of my rear, because lately when I fart, it gets stuck in my jeans and rolls around uncomfortably and I think it's because my big butt is smooshed together. Sometimes I steal stuff from other bloggers and call it inspiration. Thanks, Crystal. You make my day.

I really really miss my blogdaddy. No offense to the cool people tending his blog in his absence, but they'll agree, no one can replace the great RSM. He gives awesome hugs.

I'm gonna go take a nap now.

Pleh

Oh Dear

I haven't fallen off the eastern edge of the earth (country), but sometimes it feels like it. I'm dealing with some screwed-up stuff right now, and will be for a while. Turns out I'm not as sane as I'd like to be, so posts will probably be few and rather moronic. I get to deal with my new (possible) diagnosis and what it will mean for me and my husband. Now that I'm married, I get to worry how my in-laws will take the news that their son's wife, and their only chance for grandchildren, is a kook. Goody.

Signing Your Life Away

What a way to reenlist! JT of Violent Zen was taped to a 4 x 4 for the occasion. Apparently it was also his birthday, which explains the 4 x 4 a bit better. Back in college, we used to drag our comrades through the showers, fully clothed and ice cold. I guess I was lucky to have been born in the summer.
At least they kept him cool.

Domestic Me, Part I

I have fallen down the drain, flushed swiftly down the toilet of domesticity. My hell-raising days, though few and far between, are certainly at a dead end now. I might as well buy bandannas and tie my hair up in them, and wander around with yellow rubber gloves on my hands, looking for something to clean.
I have asked for a vacuum cleaner for my birthday.

Catching Z's

Wow, I'm tired. This morning between 0830 and 1130 was probably the best sleep I've had in weeks. I dreamed, vividly and realistically, and I remember most of it. I woke in the same position I fell asleep in, which is good because I usually move around a lot, partially waking myself up and ruining the sleep cycle. I've been trying to regulate my sleep schedule, but it's hard without a job or other obligations to keep me awake and active during the day.
It's nice being able to stay home and fix things up around here, go out when I please and actually plan and cook a good dinner. I would love to be a stay-at-home mom, or a part-time working mom, when we have kids. I want to be there for their early developmental years, not dump them off at a daycare center. The only thing like that that I'd consider is a Montessouri school. I have some great memories of my own Montessouri years. I learned manners there.