Wow, I suck

Last post December 20th. Wow. Way to go Lacey, good job. Here we go again. I think I really have to at least make an effort to keep this up, because writing has always had a very important hand in keeping me (somewhat) sane. I feel better when I get things out, when I can see the words that have been flying around in my head.

The last thing I wrote about was my Grampy's funeral. Happy thoughts. Let's continue with that for just a bit. Christmas was awful. It wasn't the same without him at all. Thankfully Meghan kept everyone pretty happy when she was around...she is so expressive, a true drama queen in the making. She had a wonderful time. Rob proposed to me on Christmas. I wish he had waited. I was already rocking from Grampy's death and my first Christmas at home in years which didn't exactly go as planned. I couldn't give it my happiness. I tried, and failed miserably. He felt bad, everyone couldn't understand why I pretty much hid the ring. It just wasn't the right time for it...

Anyway, I got through it. I'm in no way planning a wedding. I can't. I get too stressed out just thinking about it, and honestly, I wouldn't care if I got married at all, next year or in ten years. It's just not that big of a deal for me. Part of the reason is Grampy. I just assumed he'd be there, you know? Unlike my Poppy who passed away a few years ago, Grampy was always so full of life, and he fully intended to try to live forever, so, it was just expected that he would be there, beaming because he was so happy and proud, and even though I don't dance, I would have danced with him that day...but that's not going to happen now, and it saddens me so much.

Another reason is how incredibly fat I am. I hate my body, but I can't seem to get on the right track to do anything to change it. I just tried on my spring/summer dress shirts this morning, as I have a job interview in a few hours. Thought maybe I could pull out a nice shirt and at least TRY to look nice, though a huge blob of a person never looks nice, not really. Yeah. None of them fit. Oh, I could get them on. I could do up the buttons, but they were nearly popping. I shouldn't have even tried. Now I'm even more depressed. I feel like crying, but what's the point? I'm fat. End of story. And I'm always going to be fat, because I don't have the willpower to change that, and I refuse to be the fattest girl at my wedding. And I refuse to have a million pictures to remember myself as a white ball. Not gonna happen. No way, no how.

Oh, there are other reasons why I'm in no hurry to get married. Money for one. That's a big one I guess. And I often wonder if Rob and I will be ok married. We fight like cats and dogs as it is. I cracked this weekend about the mess he leaves EVERYWHERE he goes in the apartment. He told me he's trying and I nearly bit my tongue off. I'd hate to see what not trying looks like. Seriously. So he said he would try harder, and yeah, the first day, he did the dishes, and he tried to help with the boxes of junk still in the dining room. Yeah, now the junk is just spread all over the apartment. I'm going to lose it again, I know it, and you know what? I just don't care anymore. So be it. I made myself clear, he knows where I stand. I told him that I refused to be in a marriage like my parents. I love my parents, but there are parts of them that I hate. They were (still are half the time) miserable when we were growing up. Mom would freak out at everyone because she thought she got no help. And when I did try to help I got screamed at. No wonder I was a crier back in the day. I'm not going to become that angry, sad, screaming woman. She is already in there, trying to come out every chance she gets, and I'm not going to give her a constant outlet.

I feel more like Rob and I are roommates lately. We really don't act like a couple anymore. We've even been sleeping in separate rooms because he's been sick for two weeks now, coughing all night. I'm really enjoying the sleeping alone, except for the horribly sore back I get after laying down for a few hours...not really sure what's going on there, but it isn't fun. I guess I'm going to have to go bite the bullet and actually go to the doctors soon. I hate the doctor. Well, I like my doctor as a person, but hate doctors in general.

I have an interview today. I was a temp for two months at an office like a five minute drive away from my apartment. Would have been perfect, but I was told that they don't hire temps. Which is stupid if you ask me, but whatever. So now I have an interview for a job today at 4pm. It's in Bedford, so it'd be a sucky long bus ride that will make me cranky and want to kill myself, but it's a job. I need to have a job and make some money. Fingers crossed. They probably won't hire me because I'm so fat. Not getting my hopes up.

God, I'm a cheerful person aren't I? I am in all likely hood depressed again, but whatever. Been living with that for over ten years now, I think I can live with it longer.

I guess I should mention that we got a kitten and named him Benson. I love him, but I also hate him half the time. I don't think I should ever have kids. I'm pretty sure I'll be one of those mothers that drowns their kids in the bathtub because I snapped. Seriously. This is a serious worry for me.

Ok, I'm going to end this epic post now. I'll be sure to post the rejection and anger I feel when I don't get the job...ah, nothing like a positive outlook!

Does anyone even read this thing anymore?

Wouldn't you know it...

So I've been beyond stressed lately, with the death of my grandfather, no job, no money, Christmas is coming, etc, etc. Little things started to pile up, like dirty dishes or dirty socks being left willy nilly all over the apartment, stuff still in boxes, furniture still not put together, etc. It was starting to pile up inside me and making me go crazy. Actually go crazy. Last night Rob got called into work. I was watching tv and eating popcorn. Then I chipped a back tooth. Yup, same side as my other broken tooth, but down the bottom, closer to the back. It's one that has a filling it, so I'm wondering now if the whole thing will just fall apart on me, and I'll have two huge holes on that side of my mouth.

So I cracked the tooth, and everything, and I mean everything feel apart for me. I sat on the couch in the dark and cried. I cried over the tooth, I cried over the insurance and money I don't have to fix it, I cried over the dirty dishes and socks, the no job, the no Grampy, the issues Rob and I have been having lately, the feeling of worthlessness and unhappiness I've been having, etc. Rob came home and found me like that. He offered to do all the housework, in his usual "WHATEVER WILL MAKE YOU HAPPY, I'LL DO IT, JUST PLEASE STOP CRYING" fashion he has. I didn't want that. I told him that I understood that he was working and I wasn't, so it's normal for me to do the majority of housework, but I need help. Just a little bit, cause I can feel myself going nuts. It's that simple. It's a slippery slope, and I've been here before. I'm a long way from where I was, long ago, but it all starts somewhere, and I certainly don't want to get beyond this.

My Mom, Nanny Barb (maybe) and Aunt Bonnie were supposed to come up today, Bonnie had a flight to catch. I killed myself last night cleaning up the apartment, moved extremely heavy boxes, cleaned up the guest bedroom, etc. Threw out my back, cried when I tried to move, you know, all that typically fun stuff that I get myself into. Yeah, no one came. Oh, my Mom came, to my brother's house. I understand that since the baby is there, that's where people are going to stay, I get that. I'm totally fine with that. But John and Denise still haven't been over here to see my new place. I understand that they are busy with the baby and work and stuff, but still. Like today. Mom called and said that they were all going to Costco. I said that was fine, I'd see them later. She said no, they were coming over to get me. I said no, I didn't want to go to Costco. I didn't need anything from there, and I had no money, so why should I go to Costco? She said get my coat, they'll be there in a few minutes. So fine. I got ready, then they called from the parking lot. John, Denise, Mom and Meghan. Um, am I missing something here? You can't come in for five minutes and see where I live? It's not a huge deal, but I nearly killed myself trying to make it somewhat presentable, as much as it can be still filled with boxes, and no one but Rob is going to see it. That's fine.

Ugh! I want to scream or something! Nothing is going right. I'm supposed to go home with Mom and Kendra tomorrow. I just want to sit quietly and sleep all day. How am I going to survive that car ride? And then I get to go and wrap a million presents for my sad grandmother. That's going to be wonderful. I just want this whole stupid Christmas to be over. I hate it this year, I don't want it, I want it to go away.

Sad, sad, sad

It's been an awful week. I guess it's been a bit more then a week now. Who knows anymore? It's become so hard to keep track of what time it is, or even what day it is anymore. As hard as it is, I think it's important for me to write about this stuff. I need to get it off of my chest.

Tuesday morning I received a phone call. My Grampy had a stroke the night before. We were weakly hopeful. I would be called when news was offered. I few hours later I received a call from my father. It didn't look like Grampy would make the night. You need to come home. I cried. I screamed. I rocked back and forth. I don't know if I can actually describe to anyone just how much I loved my Grampy. He means so much to me. He's always been there. Always. And he's always shown his love, clearly, to me, unlike many others I grew up with.

I made it home that night, 9:30. My little brother let me into the locked doors of the hospital. My Grampy, that man full of life, fight and fun, was lying on the bed. An oxygen mask on his face. His chest rising slightly. His eyes tightly closed. I broke down. I refused to sit next to him. I also refused to leave that room that night. I stayed, sure he would be gone soon. As the night grew on, I was able to sit next to him. Hold his hand. Whisper in his ear how much I loved him.

He was still alive the next morning. And the next night. My Aunt Bonnie and older brother were coming that night. We said that he was waiting for them. The night before he seemed to be in a lot of pain, and was given medication which seemed to calm him. The twitching and kicking stopped. Unless I placed a cold cloth on his forehead, or unless someone told him "Bonnie and John Mitchell are almost here." Oh, how he kicked.

He survived the night. And the next day. His whiskers were growing. It was awful. My Grampy never had a beard. He was always clean shaven and well dressed, he always smelled lightly of Old Spice. That night, Thursday, was awful. His breathing stopped at least 15 times. Probably more. I almost screamed at him to just let go, stop fighting. We were going to be ok without him. It would be hard, but we would be able to go on, eventually. But he would regain his breath. The next morning, as I had every other morning, I left to go home for my shower, but I didn't think I could come back. I had been there every day and every night, but that night was awful. Awful. I didn't know if I had it in me to give anymore. I stayed home for a few hours, tried to sleep, played with the baby, cried on Clayton...

It was John Mitchell who convinced me to go back. The nurses, the wonderful, wonderful nurses, shaved him. He was clean cut now. And apparently his breathing was better, and his color too. I went back. My Nanny Barb jumped up and hugged me, told me she was so glad I came back. I kept up my vigil. I owed it to him. I had been away for so long. I owed it to him to be there for him.

Now were were waiting for my cousin Jeremy to fly home, as well as one of Grampy's sisters. Friday they would be coming, her in the afternoon, him in the evening. We all knew he was waiting for Jeremy.

That night was hard. My grandmother said goodbye to Grampy for the second time in a week. Myself and my aunt, uncles, and mother sat in the TV room of the hospital and watched a Rankin's Family special. We laughed, some of us danced (my aunt is crazy)...We may have had cabin fever. Jeremy got there, as did Rob, and Clayton came too. The night was over, Mom, Bonnie and I were left alone with him again. My mother wrote his obituary, sure it would be over.

The next morning, he was the same. His breathing labored, but no more so then the night before. I wanted to scream. He was so stubborn. He was going to go on his own time, and that was it. My grandmother called that morning, as she always did. She told us "Maybe he needs to be alone to go. Why don't you three come on home for a bit. Have a shower, have some breakfast. Rest." We didn't want to go, but she did, so we started to tidy the room, and I called my Uncle Greg, and told him the news. I hung up the phone, turned to tell Mom and Bonnie not to forget their purses. When I got no answer, I turned back to the bed, and they were sitting beside him, mom holding up her hand. I stopped. I looked. He wasn't breathing. Mom yelled "Go get the nurses," I ran, in my sock feet, to the nurses station, tried to say "Wilena" but it didn't quite get out. The nurses followed. When I got back, he had taken another breath. Wilena took his pulse and told us it was time. Mom made me call my uncle Greg back to tell him to bring my grandmother. My hand was shaking so hard I could barely dial. When I hung up the phone, he took his final breath.

And it was finally over.

After all that waiting, it was finished. My Mother and Aunt cried as if their hearts were breaking. I sat there and shook, crying my own tears. We had asked for this so much during the last few days and when it happened, it was the last thing we wanted.

Then the phone calls, the family, the screaming of my grandmother, the sitting...It's all a haze. It didn't even feel real. Life was somewhat normal as we waiting for the funeral.

The funeral. I read. I'm still amazed I got through it. People tell me I did well. I don't know. I'm not a religious person, in fact I'm surprised that I didn't burst into flames, but I took comfort in the words that I spoke. I felt like I was doing something. Before and after the funeral, my grandmother told me many times how proud my Grampy would be of me. I think he would probably have told me to stop being so foolish, but who knows?

The graveside was the worst. I will never forget my grandmother screaming "no no no," or my mother "trying" to take my carnation from me (every other grandchild threw theirs into the grave with him, I felt bad about this, but as Mom reminded me, Grampy hated flowers, so would have been glad I kept mine). Rob and I left soon afterwards, came back from Halifax.

And my frustration continues. I don't know why. It just seems like I'm not happy. And I don't know what to do about it. I know a lot of it has to do with Grampy, but I was unhappy before hand too. And Rob is so touchy lately. I make suggestions and he snaps at me. I hide in the bedroom, he in the living room, and we live our lives separately. I need a job. That way I can have a real reason to hide from him. I shouldn't have to hide from him, or want to. I don't know what to do.

I just want to get this whole stupid holiday behind me.

Starting all over again....

Well here I am, in Halifax. No job, no money, but an apartment and a boy. My boy.

We've been here a bit over a month now, and the job hunt isn't going very well, for either one of us. I've applied to countless jobs and haven't gotten a bite yet. That's gotta make a girl feel good about herself. I'm going to start applying for shitty retail jobs now, anything to get some money coming in. Most days I try not to think about it. Other days it's all I can do. I'm glad that I came, but it makes me wonder...I mean, in Calgary Rob and I both had good jobs, good friends...and now...ugh, with Christmas coming, it's very stressful.

But I am, over all, very happy to be here. I mean, the ocean! My family and old friends...though things are stressful on that front too. My grandfather is recovering really well from his TWO heart attacks but his pancreas isn't doing well...they think that he might have pancreatic cancer. Like five percent of people with pancreatic cancer make it for five years...I'm trying not to think about it. That seems to work most days, though I did cry myself quietly to sleep one night. I don't want to stress Rob out over things that he can't fix.

Speaking about Rob being stressed, he's been very stressed off and on, due to the whole money thing, job thing, moving thing. Sometimes he would snap. Other times he would go and be by himself. I don't deal well with my own stress, let alone someone elses.

This is it so far. Hopefully I will have better news to post soon.

Hosptial Music

Where to begin? It’s been a really long time since I’ve written in this. Almost a month now. Such is my curse. I love to write, but often stop for no reason whatsoever. I make up reasons. Too busy, too tired, having nothing to say. But there are always things to say, if you really try.

Where to begin? Work is going great in some respects, not so great in others. The new receptionist is wonderful. Judy is a gift from the non-existent gods. She always wants to work. And she does my filing, which Wendy was so intent on me doing. What the fuck ever. Judy is always working, and if she has nothing to do, she will ask everyone if they have anything that needs to be done. That’s just amazing to me. Like night and day. And she drives me home a lot. That’s pretty awesome. There are other issues, as they always are. I just keep waiting for things to be resolved, and keep on saying to myself “If I was the boss…”

Last Saturday Rob and I helped Chrissy and T move into their new condo. It’s a really cute little place, which a huge back deck (which I got burnt on that day. Ah, fun times). I can’t wait to spend some non working time there. The day actually wasn’t too bad. We got there late, so we didn’t help as much as we could have, but I would like to think that we helped make a difference. I gave them Idiot Boy’s tiny TV that he left at Shelly’s that I was using at my apartment now until Chrissy gave me an older bigger one of hers. So now we’re just trading TV’s it seems. Good times! So anyway, I hope they get some use out of Idiot Boy’s TV, since I don’t want it. I was going to give it to goodwill, but Chrissy and T’s seems like a good place.

Sunday we drove to Vulcan to do the geeky thing. And it was pretty geeky. I bought a Borg bear and a Captain bear which I have named 13 of 69 (thank you Chrissy!) and Captain Ricky. They have brought me much enjoyment. I’m wishing I had bought the communicator that I saw. But I didn’t. What can you do? I really, really wish that Jill was there. I would have done so many stupid, geeky, retarded things if Jill was with me. But what can you do? She’s being all married and adult like in Ontario, which is all good. Just makes me sad sometimes. I keep wishing and hoping that someday, maybe, Jill and I will live in the same province again. I guess I should probably stop holding my breath on that one. But stranger things have happened I suppose.

We’ve been doing some trip planning. I’m getting excited to go to the States and to finally see Stacia face to face…it’s very exciting! Plus I get to dress up (and be to token fat girl in the wedding, but that’s ok) and see all sorts of new places I’ve never seen before. I’m hoping that it will all go well.

I also got new glasses. I got a nice pair of prescription sunglasses and then just a regular pair. They are blue. Everyone keeps telling me how much they like them, so it looks like they’re not stupid after all. I was a little worried that I wouldn’t be able to pull them off, but apparently I can. Good stuff!

I guess I should get back to work now. I don’t want to, but I should probably earn my pay check. Boo! The important thing is I updated this for T!

I also feel I must tell everyone I am obsessed with Matt Good’s Hospital Music. When I bought the CD last summer I wasn’t so thrilled. Then I started reading more about the CD and making of it (depression, suicide attempt, divorce, etc) and started listening to it harder. Now I love it. There are some songs I’m not thrilled with, but that’s normal for a Matt Good CD in my experience. There is one in particular that I just love. I don’t know what it is about it, but I love it. It’s called “The Boy Come Home” The first verse in particular gets me, so for your viewing pleasure, here it is:

“While I go over it in my headWalk through those doors and stand there staringAnd there ain't one soul that's in there deadMy hand stays out, I keep my headAnd walking out I see you sitting in that Ford of your old man'sScratching your arms like your skin is crawlingBut done up the best you can”

It may not seem very nice or great…but seriously, listen to the song a couple of times and give it a chance…

Happy Birthday To Me!

I am officially a quarter of a century right now. How scary is that? It's weird. But I guess it had to happen some day.

My pre birthday weekend was pretty great, with some kind of shitty stuff thrown in here for good measure, cause, let's face it, it's me after all. Saturday at the Virgin Fest, was insanely hot. No shade. Lots of sun. Some water...I got massive sunburns on odd parts of my body, like my hands, feet, and insides of my arms, plus more normal spots too. Fun times. Then I'm pretty sure I got heat exhaustion. That sort of sucked. We left early that night, but didn't really care about the later acts, so that was fine. When I got home, I had a cold shower and got a horrible pounding headache and thought for a brief minute there, my head might actually explode. You will be happy to know that it did not, but it tried really hard to.

Yesterday was better. Not as hot, less sun and more cool breezes. And awesome music. Lots of smoking, lots of pot, lots of pushing, but a pretty damn good day. Until we got to Rob's car and found out that it was broken into. A wonderful typical ending to one of our days. His cd's and ipod were stolen, and some dirty old crackhead touched all of his stuff, but otherwise, I think he's ok stuff wise. His driver's side backseat window however, is taped up right now. Poor Rob. He did get me an awesome birthday card though (haven't gotten the rest of my birthday present yet, I'm spoiled!) that he made me open. I'm pretty sure he thinks I need to go to AA, but I'm good with that :)

Quiet

I'm home alone tonight. Just Chekov and I. My landlords are fighting again. Yelling at their little girl. Do they think that I can't hear them? Or do they even care?

I'm tired tonight. And not feeling good. My stomach is sick and my head is aching. I'm nervous about tomorrow. And I'm alone. Oh, did I already say that? Rob won't be over until Friday, most likely. The apartment seems really quiet and empty. I think I'm ready to start living with Rob for good. I wonder what we will do though. He's talking about staying in Calgary longer then I was expecting, but not a year longer I don't think. I don't know what I will do when my lease is up here. I sure as hell don't want to live with three boys. Ugh, I don't even want to think about it.

Tomorrow is my appointment. I'm getting nervous. Really nervous. That's probably part of my sick feelings tonight. Chrissy and T will be taking me tomorrow and waiting for me to be finished. I'm still freaked out though. I'm just really scared that there's going to be something really wrong with me. Everyone keeps telling me that everything will be fine, and it probably will...but at the same time...anything could happen. It's just adding to my stress ulcer.

My Mom wants my uncle Jamie to stop driving. She also wants him to get his eyes checked. I wish I was there. I want to spend time with my uncle while he's still able to do things. I don't want to get there only to push him around in a wheel chair.

I have to drink so much water tomorrow. Here's hoping I can keep it all in until my test is done.