30 April 2024

Considering I get hardly any visitors here, who on earth is so damn interested in my love life and dear God, why?

I love having a visitor tracker. It doesn’t tell me who you are nor your street address, but I get lots of interesting stats.

Anyway. I’m in Jennings right now and I doubt I’ll have much interesting to say for the rest of the day, I’m just needlin’ ya. I did start up my diabetes program with that sleek new little sugar meter. I did not like my numbers, but those things are never 100% accurate anyway. We’ll work on it. No big.

All right. I better get home or Dad will be like “where are you?” He needs to pick up meds. ‘Later.

29 April 2024

Okay, I don’t know if I’m allergic to tobacco smoke but I’m pretty sure it irritates me.

That, or whatever was making me cough before is still happening now and again.

If it’s not Dad’s chain-smoking, it’s likely allergies. I’m hoping that’s what it is. There’s still plenty of stuff blooming, plus we live in an area with some bayous and some swampy places and therefore lots of fungus, so it could be that. I already know from my few months in South Bend, Indiana in late summer 2002 that some fungi fuck me up. That may not even be an allergy. Fungi have a high affinity for animal tissue. None of us are particularly resistant to them.

Whatever. I was coughing as I started this entry so this is me thinking out loud. Moving on now.

We had nasty storming this morning and I wasn’t sure what severity we were in for, so I stayed home today. Dad thinks it’s option B versus going to work, but I wasn’t going to go to Lafayette, I was going to go to the library or possibly Carrie’s if she’s home. There is almost no point in driving on Monday or Tuesday. Unless something weird happens, I think Wednesday through Friday or Thursday through Saturday are perfectly reasonable work schedules right now. If I could figure out working towards alternative income sources on other days of the week, I’d have it made. Dad will be happy either way because I’ll be out of the house Doing Something.

Weirdly, he asked me to let him know I’m leaving when I do go “to work” so he can put on his Life Alert pendant. Call me crazy, but he ought to be wearing that thing anyway. I mean, what if he had a heart attack while I was in the fucking shower. I might hear him, I might not. Just hit the fucking button. Besides, it’s faster than calling 911 even if I were in place to know what was going on when it happened. And if it’s important enough for Life Alert OR for 911, I shouldn’t be fucking driving him.

But… as usual… I say nothing, because he’ll have some counterargument.

High drama in the trailer park today. Dad was napping earlier and I was playing phone games and watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV show, not movie) when this racket started up outside. I couldn’t tell at first whether it was a woman or a boy but they were yelling stuff like “I didn’t do anything wrong!!!” and “Let me in!!!” and BANG BANG BANG on a door. There are so many Latino people in this neighborhood that I thought it was probably the tenants in Corey’s trailer behind all the ruckus because they’re white, that was not a Mexican kid screaming, and the sound seemed to be coming from that direction. When I got up to look I found out I was right. And the screamer was definitely a boy. I couldn’t tell at that distance but I suspect I’ve seen him before: probably the tenant’s son, and he’s getting around to middle-school age but his voice has not cracked yet. His tone of voice was such that even if I were the meddling type, given my general life experiences, I would not have walked over to yell at him because mofo would have probably punched me in the face or something, and it would have actually hurt. I did think to myself, Boy, if Jodi’s home, she’s gonna be PISSED. Number one cardinal sin where the trailer-park owner is concerned is tenants lying to her. Number two sin is tenants disturbing the peace. Though I think the sins might have swapped places today. Dad got up not long after the incident and maybe half an hour after said incident had begun, he hollered for me to come look out the window and sure enough, Jodi was at the trailer with an Acadia Parish sheriff’s deputy in tow. Those people had already pissed her off by committing Cardinal Sin One some weeks ago, and now they’ve upped the stakes. If she doesn’t get Corey to evict them, I will be stunned. And Corey will defer to her. He and his mother and sister used to live here and they have a good relationship with Jodi.

I will not deny I’m kind of wishing Dad would take advantage. That is a nice trailer and I think he would be more comfortable there. I know for a fact I would be, with the central air and the probably two bathrooms alone. It’s probably not going to happen, though. Because he’s paying Jodi rent on this trailer and not just rent on the lot, Dad stays here so Jodi can get that extra money. He feels he owes her a lot because she stayed over here overnights after he got out of the hospital last year. I understand, but if someone asked Jodi whether she’d rather get more money from Dad or see Dad more comfortable (and he would be; he does complain about this place from time to time), I suspect she’d pick the latter. But I won’t be the one asking that question. Not my lease, not my place.

The other thing that happened during Dad’s nap was I got my glucose meter via FedEx from that hospital/Humana diabetes-treatment partnership. When they told me it was going to connect to the internet I assumed it would be a CGM, but no such luck. I’m not 100% disappointed; I had been a bit worried that I might start reacting to the CGM covers and their bandage adhesive, and now I don’t have to worry about that. It is Bluetooth, as I suspected, so I can move numbers to my phone even if I can’t upload them, and stuff will be a lot easier to track. The notice card that came with the kit says to set up the app and then take my first reading and that will start me in the program. I’ll do that tomorrow because I intend to be out of the house for part of the day anyway. I get intermittent connection here but not reliable enough to try an app installation, much less sending data.

But the meter is actually cute! It is teensy and it makes me think of what a glucose meter would look like if Apple designed it. (I’m an Android gal through and through, but Apple’s designs are pretty. I can admit it.) And it actually came with control solution! I almost never see that in new-meter kits. I’ll do a control-solution test first tomorrow.

I’ll keep my other meter. I could end up kicked out of the program tomorrow if Humana loses funding for it, and then I wouldn’t have a meter. Or I would, but I’d stop getting free strips for it. Might be worth my while to check Amazon to see if they have the strips because there is a native app for the meter that I can use even if the program ends (I won’t be using the native app for the program), but right now I’m a bit broke for buying strips. So having prescription strips is still a great idea. I’ll probably fill that about once a month just to be on the safe side. Hopefully my situation improves enough soon enough that I can stop worrying about all of this.

The other cute thing that happened today is I was standing out on the front steps doing something on my phone and all of a sudden I hear BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZeep! right above my head. Looked up and it was a male ruby-throated hummingbird flying off like I had startled him. Which I must have done, since he had squeaked. At first I was surprised because we have no feeders in Dad’s yard anymore, and then I remembered I’m wearing a red tshirt today. Birb saw red, got excited for nectar snax, and then OH SHIT RED IZ MOOVING. Oops! Sorry, lil guy! I need to set up a feeder soon. That might be something I use my Walmart gift cards for. Wouldn’t be a bad expenditure. I’m sure the neighborhood miscreants have been wondering why we aren’t feeding them anymore.

(If you have ever observed large numbers of hummingbirds at a feeder, you would know why I call them that. Hours of free entertainment right fucking there. Or cheap, anyway. White sugar still isn’t a huge expense.)

The other neighborhood miscreants, the feral cats, seem to have disappeared. Dad made a big deal yesterday out of not having seen any of them but I’m finding it’s true, there don’t seem to be any around. Part of me is glad for the wild birds’ sake but part of me is a little sad too, because we don’t have a good animal-welfare situation in this state and, like as not, someone carted them off to gas them somewhere. I’m not against euthanasia, but we aren’t particularly humane about it. But we’ll see. Could be it’ll turn out they just felt the front coming and didn’t feel like roaming until it blew over.

Okay, I’ve been sitting here with my mind wandering all over the place for the past ten minutes. If something else happens today, I’ll add it. If not, I won’t. Deal? Deal. Buh-bye.

28 April 2024

If I do this one right, I’ll have begun it 45 minutes after midnight, I’ll write a little bit, I’ll go to bed, I’ll get up later, and then I’ll add more to this post. Whee!

I just had to mark the occasion because I was sitting here writing a thing for my Substack when I noticed movement out of the corner of my right eye and there was this fucking green bug on my shoulder. I had a bad moment until I realized it wasn’t a stink bug; then I had a worse moment when I realized it looked something like a tree roach structurally, but it was smaller (not small, just smaller) and also prettier because it was the color of a katydid. Except I don’t think it was a katydid. I need to look up the developmental stages of tree roaches.

Anyway. I am sorry to report I murdered it with the flyswatter, being that it was soft enough to do so. I have reached this weird stage in my life where I don’t automatically want to murder all bugs anymore, but most bugs in my living quarters are fair game. Sort of. I absolutely refuse to open the door to outside at night unless there is a damned good reason, but I wish I could just point a magic wand at them all and zap them outside, where there is more food anyway. I suspect they come in here more because they can avoid most of their predators than because we have any real kind of a smorgasbord for them.

A miscalculation on their part, of course.

I will say that if it’s a spider and I get to it before Dad does (he sprays them! what the fuck? They’re squishable!) and I can actually catch it AND if it is daytime, spooder goes outside. I was chummy with some eight-legged ladies in the Dublin apartment because they were helpful and caught bugs that were buggin’ me. Kitchen Window Spider got relocated outside before it got too cold to catch things, simply because I didn’t want her webs in my face when I washed dishes anymore. Window Tunnel Spider in the living room disappeared before I got up the nerve to help her; she was bigger than KWS. But I’ve caught… two here so far? Those Little Caesar’s dipping cups with lids are so useful for things like that. Easy to wash, too. I have a small collection of them which I guard jealously. (Dad’s already noticed them and is curious. He likes his random containers, does my father.)

Phone and hosting are paid. I actually had enough money to do it and I still have twenty bucks in the Uber account. I’m really diggin’ having money immediately after a delivery run without needing to take extra steps. Also, yesterday (the 27th) I got the oil changed finally. No, I have not gotten it done since just before I moved back down here. Yes, I’m a moron so feel free to point and laugh. I get the punchline because I happened to be looking for an oil-change place on a Saturday and in Jennings, most of them are closed by 1pm if they open at all. Not Walmart. I never would have thought. So I went over there and it is WAY CHEAPER to get it done there than at Take 5, which was my usual vendor back in Ohio because I didn’t have to leave my car. And I got the tires rotated at Walmart too, which they charged for and which Take 5 never does. WITH the tire rotation I STILL spent less. It was close to $70 before sales tax, less than $75 with the tax. With high-mileage synthetic, mind you, same as always. Alllll righty then. Nice to know for next time.

However, it looks like ONE OF MY FUCKING BRAKE LIGHTS IS FUCKING OUT AGAIN. Or so they said on the form. I need to get a bulb and then have Dad check for me before I go replacing something I might not need to. It will not bother me to have a replacement bulb in the glove box if it turns out someone hit a wrong button when they filled out the work checklist or something. It’s that passenger side again. But I looked at the bulb and it seemed fine. Normally they get discolored when they burn out, the same way an incandescent household bulb does. Could be it’s still out but the bulb is not the problem. If the socket has finally failed, I’ll be pissed.

I’ll also be able to earn the money fairly quickly — turns out I can bring in $100 in three days if I’m industrious about it — but it’s the principle of the thing.

I think I’ll look on YouTube soon to see if I can suss out how to change it myself. If I can do it myself, fuck it. I would be able to just buy the wiring harness but it doesn’t seem like anyone’s selling that for my year, make, and model anymore. If the complete taillight comes with a harness, I’ll be good to go.

I keep meaning to take down the GoFundMe, not because I wouldn’t appreciate more help but because I’m at a point where I can earn pretty regularly now. But I hadn’t gotten around to it yet, and then yesterday I got a notification of a donation. I am not going to say no to it. I’m so broke I can’t pay attention. What I had to cover the oil change was from Dad. If I figure out how to move that $20 to the Uber card, I’ll be starting off with $40 and maybe can actually get my insurance paid on time, probably. Due date’s this coming Thursday. I think they’ll expire of shock.

That will depend on whether I actually want to drive before Thursday. I don’t get charged a late fee, and they don’t cancel my coverage until the absolutely very last deadline on the 21st. I am a bad, bad woman, but I also want to do something besides tear up my car all the time.

Last time I went to Lafe. for deliveries, which was Friday, I started out nauseated. I don’t know why but I have an idea. There was this weather front approaching and I had headaches off and on for two fucking days, Nausea Day being Day Two. Nothing hugely major but enough to be miserable. I bet the nausea was related. It used to be I’d get what the migraine people call “visual prodrome” before a nasty one, but that seems to have stopped years ago; I really hope the nausea is not a new thing that sticks around. New-old thing, because once in a while my headaches in my twenties would make me puke. Whatever. Do not want. Go away, nausea.

(It did, this time, but let’s hope it never comes back.)

It’s now 7:30pm, haha. Everything else up there ^^^ was from like 1 this morning.

Neighbor guy who replaced my starter a while back has erected (because this is such a Public Display of Penis) a gigantic TRUMP 2024 flag on his front fence. I am not exactly surprised, but if he thinks I’m going to take any bait about politics he’s going to be in for a snoozefest. I am here in Acadia Parish to lick my wounds and maybe have time to recover, at least economically. There are people here I really like, but practically speaking I don’t give a fuck about anyone here except to the extent they are making decisions about whether to help, trade with, or employ me. (Carrie might be the one exception. Might. Jury’s still out.) Hence the not wanting to get into debates. I suppose it’s a kind of lying — oh hell, of course it is — but this is the usual kind of lying I get up to doing, 95% of the time that I ever do it, and I always hate it. But I am also philosophical. If what they want is for everyone to be afraid of them and to lie to their faces, they’ve got it. If they want people to trust them and to want to have conversations with them, they have to stop supporting assholes like The Donald. Don’t feel left out, y’all. I’m just about at the point I don’t want anything to do with Biden voters either. He does have some advantages over Trump, but that’s such a low bar. He’s still trouble since the first thing he did in office was include “gender identity” under the defintion of sex and then stump for perverts in dresses, and I’ve fucking had it, and I’m not supporting any of those clowns anymore.

Anyway, neighbor guy’s girlfriend brought over barbecue yesterday. It was all right. I’ve had better. Dad crowed about it but Dad’s happy if you coat anything in sugar. He’d never admit it, but that’s what it is. It was nice of them, anyway. I don’t know if they know Dad’s political implications and I won’t be asking. Though I have not pointed out to Dad any of the times he’s groused about Trump that back in ’17 when he visited me in Ohio he had said something about being glad Hillary Clinton hadn’t won. Which means he voted for the asshole in the first place, and isn’t that fascinating. I’m pretty sure it was the January 6 attack that put him off. I wonder when Americans, and particularly American men, are going to get it through their thick heads that someone who hates large parts of the country is going to eventually hate them too. The rest of us are the canaries in the coal mine and a whole lot of us are on our backs on our cage floors now. Pay attention, dumbasses. You’re suffocating.

Dad keeps talking about barbecuing, even bought a combo smoker-grill for the purpose, but stone cold facts are that he may never complete a grilling out there again. He’s made one serious attempt, had to quit halfway through from sheer exhaustion, and had me roast it the rest of the way in the oven to get it done. I need to start teaching myself how to use a charcoal grill. That would thrill the shit out of him, and it’s a useful skill. Though people are going to start thinking I’m a weirdo, because I will probably opt for wood chunks instead of charcoal briquets most of the time. Did you know there is actual coal in the charcoal briquets sold for barbecue grills? Between that and all the fucking sugar you see in most “barbecue” meat dishes, it’s not the meat killing us, y’all. And the added sugar is an even worse problem in restaurants. I’ve watched enough Guy Fieri (how many fucking shows does that man have? Good thing I like him) to have figured that out by now. It’s no fucking wonder all that restaurant food fucked me up back in Ohio, not that I’m in much better shape here.

Did you see the way I glossed over the “Dad’s last barbecue” thing? Yeah, me too. I’m trying not to think too hard about it. It is strictly day to day here. One day he seems mostly not in crisis, the next day he’s in the hospital because he needs more baking soda in his drug regimen. (This already happened. It is not a new thing. I’m telling you this because one or two of you might actually be people I know and I don’t want you freaking out.) Tomorrow, who knows. I am making no predictions about anything. He could fail to wake up tomorrow, he could last another five years.

I’m not much better off. I have this theory about middle age. Starting at age forty you run through a kind of biological gauntlet. From about age forty to about age sixty, we start dropping like flies. Those of us who make it to sixty can reasonably expect to get to seventy or seventy-five at least. This is not a hard-and-fast rule. OBVIOUSLY some people die in their sixties. But as far as Sudden Deaths What No One Saw Coming, ages forty to sixty tend to be prime season for those. And you always find out there was a cause, even if the nitwits writing obits claim it was “natural causes.” No, Brentley, we’re not supposed to die at forty-five. This isn’t the Stone Age, and not everybody died at forty-five even then. Lots of us made it to seventy. It’s just that far more of us back then did not make it past age five, which skewed the life expectancy stats.

Anywayyyyy… So I’m still working on my paperwork now and again. I got my file box finished. Yay! I want to make sure this shit is sorted in case someone has to deal with it over my cooling corpse. Hell, the first hanging file in there is labeled IN CASE OF DEATH. My letter to Thea’s in there. If I ever make a will, a copy of that will go in there too. What a joke, right? Like I have any assets. Right now the car could probably pay off my student loans if it really is worth six grand. That’s about it though. But I probably should set down some instructions for how I want all that shit dealt with. And I definitely have to set down instructions for leaving anything whatsoever to Sean. He’s not legally related to me anymore and wouldn’t get squat even if I had squat. Which I don’t. He’ll probably get photos if he wants them. I can’t fathom him wanting anything else personal.

Oh, and I fired a shot against a major vexation in my past: I still have a lot of the back-and-forth with Cheryl, my former mother-in-law, about the divorce and about my son. It is all now in a hanging file labeled something like IN-LAW BULLSHIT/ 1999 TO EARLY 2000s, allllll the way back to the back in my file box. Congratulations, Cheryl and Angel Bob. And before you think I’m complimenting Bob, google “Doctor Who Angel Bob.” Creepy old fuck.

Anyway. I got new underwear yesterday after two and a half fucking years. I used to like Hanes okay but when I took these out of the packaging, I immediately wondered how long they’re going to last. They look cheap and shabby. We’ll see, but I wanted some that I haven’t bled on, because… still, since February, no periods. I had some spotting in probably February and maybe early March but nothing to write home about. Also, I think I might have had six pairs of underwear left and they were all falling apart or close to it. So let’s start over fresh. I’m not so confident about my reproductive status that I wanted white underwear, though. Nope. All black. Old habits are hard to break. I would have gotten more of a color range had any of the mixed-color packs NOT had one or two white pairs in them. No such luck.

I’m still using what you’d call “underwear protection” but it’s Poise pads now. I am pretty sure my pelvic floor is trashed, plus ladyplumbing tends to be slightly leaky now and again no matter who you are. I might make up a set of cloth pads to use instead. Nothing I’m going to worry about right now. Poise is comparable in price to the name-brand menstrual pads, I think. We can talk environmental stuff but me changing how I do things doesn’t matter if 3.9 billion other female people aren’t. Or some portion of them, anyway. Meanwhile, it feels so much nicer with the Poise than it did with those heavy-day fucking diapers. Whew.

(And no one playing gender-identity games with pee pads, either. Ever notice that?)

I AM tempted to take up sewing my own underwear. Out of tshirts. It’s a thing I’ve mulled over now and again for a few years, because there are designers who sell patterns for that. It’s as good a use for tshirts as any because too many of them wind up in the landfill, and the resulting product will likely be better-made than what I just bought once I figure out what the fuck I’m doing with knit jersey fabric. And they can be whatever color I want. Bonus.

Oh god, I just rambled on and on with this entry. Sorry. It’s the not really having anyone to talk with. There’s Dad, yes, but first off he’s really hard-of-hearing and I am not a voice-raiser unless I am really pissed off, and then only sometimes, so raising my voice at any other time stresses me out because I half-consciously associate it with conflict, so I tend to forget to do it. No, not on purpose, but I know that’s what’s going on. Secondly, what also stresses me out in Dad’s particular case is the way everything has the potential to be a fucking lecture. And I never know what will trigger it. Nothing is off the table and it really, I guess, just depends on his mood that day and what’s been on his mind… and it’s that much worse if his take on the particular subject is asinine, which all too often it is. (I mentioned a couple things he said one of the more recent times I visited Carrie and she marveled because, as she put it, “He’s smarter than that.” But I got an idea he’s like that with her too because there was ZERO surprise in her voice.) If I haven’t said before that I don’t think this is dementia because he was like this when he was younger too, there you go. So I do not look to my father for conversations overmuch. I have reason to believe he finds that frustrating, not because he has a burning need to Be In Conversations all the time — he’s where I got my introversion, he most certainly does not — but because, I guess, he sees it as a failure on my part because I’m a fuckup so I’m supposed to be going to him to find out how to stop being a fuckup. I would rather just avoid that whole minefield.

So I do. And I don’t look for conversations with anyone else around here either because, well, the sum fucking total of my life experience tells me to not trust people. So you get to see me babble here.

Anyway. I need to make a new to-do list while I’m still thinking about stuff. I could write it here, but I wouldn’t read it again, probably, and I wouldn’t get like two-thirds of it done and then I’d look like an absolute fanny. Let’s give that a miss.

25 April 2024

So far this week I’ve Ubered on Monday and then yesterday. The Monday bit was for Rory’s fan domain, and that’s definitely back up. Yesterday was just because I need to earn some money. I now have more than enough to pay the phone bill. If I go back out tomorrow I will end up with enough to catch both the phone bill and the hosting service on time for once. I am pretty sure I will still be late for the car insurance for May, but I won’t be AS late. We’ll see how that all goes.

Then, on Tuesday, I had a telehealth appointment because I got this card in the mail from the local hospital system (I know their name but I can never spell it — me, the excellent speller) who, in conjunction with my Medicaid provider, have a special type 2 diabetes program going. It seems that after years of wishing, I will finally get a continuous glucose monitor (CGM). Now, I don’t know how much good it will do me with our horrific internet/cellular connectivity here, but I did warn the provider about that. Hopefully it’s now a note in the chart somewhere. Anyway, the CGM isn’t here yet. I am pretty sure I’ll be able to get readings even when it’s not sending to the internet because it’s a Bluetooth connection. We’ll see about that too.

Okay. Red beans and rice are Right Out; they send my sugar well above 200 mg/dL. Chicken VoilĂ  is right the fuck out too, same reason. In either case we’re talking a sugar spike by more than 100 mg/dL. And today, I had two eggs over easy, two sausage patties, and three pancakes and that fucked me up to a similar degree. I think very shortly, not long after I get the CGM, we’re gonna evolve our diet into something more low carb. My body has zero tolerance for this shit anymore. The fun bit is I will be able to see the results directly instead of having to listen to idiots on the internet claiming that Splenda raises blood sugar. What will be harder is convincing Dad that I’m not killing myself or being a princess. He’s one of those people who thinks “natural sugar” is healthy. Dude, that high sugar you were getting on your readings that borked your kidneys was natural too. Ebola is natural. Pick your natural. I don’t know what I will do if the car dies. As long as I can earn my own money then I have some modicum of control over my diet. I can buy extra eggs or I can buy almond flour or whatever. I just don’t want the fucking arguments. I suppose I’ll have to start showing him my damn numbers just to shut him up. Hey look, Dad. I can actually eat an actual meal and not starve. Imagine that.

I seem to have another problem, though, and I’ve been dancing around this for a while and you’ve all seen me, all three of you bots out there. I am not sure just what it is. Some elements of it say “heart issue,” some say “reflux” (but usually no acid burn?), and some say “oh shit, I stopped breathing, WAKE UP.” It’s not every night but, for instance, the past couple nights were not good, and night before last was downright scary. So this is something else I have to ask about, and I already didn’t ask about that EKG from the colonoscopy preadmit. A large part of it is I don’t want to be trouble. I also don’t want to hear Dad’s shit. Matt and Thea had remarked upon my loud snoring for literal years, so this is likely not a new problem, but Dad will find some way to convey “this is what you get for being stupid” anyhow. Oh, I forgot the coughing. That’s new. I think I mentioned the time maybe a couple weeks ago that I actually coughed up phlegm that was a weird color. That hasn’t happened again, but I was coughing a good bit yesterday. Not like I have a cold or something but more than you would expect from someone who isn’t sick. And it could be allergies. It’s spring, shit’s blooming all over the place, and even Dad has had congestion. I have no idea. But coupled with everything else it’s got me worried too.

(And today, every time I cough it hurts my head. I woke with a headache and am currently at the point where if I’m not coughing I feel okay, but every time I have to cough it’s Ouch again.)

Oh, I forgot. Another thing going on is that suddenly I can’t eat a lot because I get really uncomfortable. This is not necessarily a bad thing, considering, but for it to have not bothered me much at all before and now suddenly I feel like shit is really weird. I say “suddenly” like it just happened right now but basically it’s been going on almost since I moved back here. I don’t think I ever had heartburn as often as Dad had it at an equivalent age but I wonder suddenly if there is shit up with my esophagus. Or stomach. Is it too soon for diabetes-related nerve damage there? I hope so. Although some of the potential alternatives are terrifying.

As I think it through, I have one possible avenue of exploration. I mentioned that stuff comes up but often isn’t acidic. It’s possible my acid production is shot. I could see if things improve if I start using betaine HCL at meals. It’s not an expensive supplement and if it helps, that’s all to the good. It isn’t good for my poor stomach to not have enough acid in it. It would explain the discomfort too, or some of it, because that tends to happen with protein-y meals. Fat may or may not be a factor too. It is hard to say because I don’t think eating fat gives me the shits, necessarily, which would be indicative of a gallbladder problem. (The fact I’m on metformin just contaminates the potential evidence there, but I still don’t usually get the runs.) But if the betaine HCL doesn’t help my situation, I can try ox gall or a lipase supplement next. We’ll see. At least most of that stuff ought to be cheap. I hope.

I am equipped to slay this dragon! Or at least tame it. I wish I’d kept things up in 2012 instead of quitting because Stupid Man (not Matt, for once). I’d be in such a better place today. But I do have some good tools in the toolbox. I just need to USE them.

I want my sugar normal.

I want to have a good night’s sleep.

I want food to not be my enemy anymore.

I want to stop looking like a troll.

The folder I use to store these when I write at home is not open all the way and so I can see my desktop, and there’s a photo there that I lifted off Facebook. It’s from this play Thea was in last year. Other than some Instagram pics Dawn passed on to me it is the most recent photo of my daughter that I have. (It may be anyway. I would need to check.)

The situation with her is a thing I have kind of sat on a mental back burner and then left there. I miss her, and there is nothing I can do about it, because I can’t trust therapists anymore and anyway, I’m not the one who went off the deep end. Also, I feel like it’s only useful to ask for help when someone actually can help you, or can give you advice to help yourself that is actually helping yourself. This whole situation is happening because Matt lies to me and Thea lies to herself. I can’t stop either of them doing that. There is no school of psychotherapy that cures that. We are at an impasse. It is incredibly cruel.

(I don’t want him back, and I told him so, but we could have been friends and yet, he did everything he could to prevent that happening without looking like a dick in front of our daughter and his friends. Nice to know I’m respected and valued. That was sarcasm. I already knew I wasn’t.)

So it is easier to come to a place of grudging acceptance than to keep trying to be sad about it. Not that I’m not sad, but at a certain point it starts blunting unless you do things to keep it sharp, and I refuse to do that anymore, because it is not productive. I know what the score is. I do not need anyone else to understand, because no one’s in a position to fix this anyway. I don’t care if they think I am a bad mother. They would have thought I was a bad mother anyway. It is what it is. It can’t be undone.

So if anyone except bots is reading this, because I still care too much what others think, don’t assume I don’t love my daughter just because I hardly ever mention her. There is nothing to mention. I never get news.

But you might start seeing old stuff here about her. I have my old journals and I have other sources. So that’ll be nice.

As for my son, I don’t know what’s up with him. Until he tells me, I won’t know. It does me no good to chase people who don’t want to be found. That is what it is too.

22 April 2024

Pleased to note that my hosting service is good about giving me some wiggle room to pay for an expired domain instead of immediately offering it up for blood sacrifice. Rory’s Bane is back online.

In my experience, Mondays are kind of slow anyway so I wasn’t expecting much, but one real boost I got was a $14 run to Abbeville. Cookies. From the mall. Great American Baking Co. That $14 was my share. I dunno, you tell me. Jodi (Dad’s landlady) was incredulous when I told her after I got back. Probably should have told her about the fake hedge animal I once transported from a Big Lots in Reynoldsburg (or was it Blacklick?) to a neighborhood almost (or actually) in New Albany, and that when I left the customer’s neighborhood, I saw another Big Lots nearby. Or no, I could have just told her about the big-ass bag of theater popcorn that other time. I love rich people. Throw away some MORE of that money at me, yo.

Jodi was over because she’s been thinking about setting up generators, a bigger one between her house and Brenda’s and a smaller one at Dad’s. Dad seems to think he’ll be paying for his. We’ll see.

But I reached about $25 even before the cookie tip came in, which was another six, so I think I have about thirteen or fourteen in reserve right now after paying the domain fee. I need to get my ass back out there Wednesday or Thursday and just go through until Saturday, especially as we’re supposed to have rain on the way. I might as well get the bulk of it done before I wind up looking out the window and going “Nope” at the weather. At least at this point it’s $43-ish for one expense and $35 for another. It won’t be as scary as the insurance payment. And the $35 can wait until 2 May for all I care.

I need to change those things over to my Uber debit card. Not the one I use for customers and their Shop & Pay runs. The other one that’s for me. No more 85 cents an instant-pay! (A buck-something after 1 May!) Woohoo! I should take some time, too, and tinker and see if I can do transfers back and forth to my PayPal and whatever. I WAS pleased to note that the Uber payment app lets you set up savings goals. Not enough banks and credit unions do those. It was one of the things I loved about KEMBA.

(A thing I learned not long before I left: KEMBA started out as the employee credit union for Kroger employees! That’s about as Ohio as it gets. If I ever go back, I’ll be in for account number FOUR.)

I joked about Rory’s Bane back in the first paragraph. I actually don’t know what he thinks of the site, and it needs cleaning up anyhow. I have been saying that for literal years and it’s still not done. Not that it would ever be DONE done unless he kicked the bucket or I quit running the site, but you know what I mean. I was actively surprised when a woman who knew Rory’s sister Sally-Gay back in high school messaged me a few years back and complimented how much work I’d put into the site. Lady, this is what I do because I can’t go chase his ass. Total compensation. Like men with little dicks driving huge pickup trucks. Don’t tell Rory’s people I said that, though. I am behaving myself, and I’m tired of being seen as a Bad Woman. Not that that’s going to stop anybody. I just thought I would register my opinion.


You might be wondering, “Would you drop the site if Rory said he hated it?”

Probably. But he’d have to prove he was the one sending the message. Anyone can pretend to be anyone on the internet, and plenty of assholes have been pretending to be him; the problem was so bad there for a while that when he finally got (or his wife started) his own Instagram, a lot of fans didn’t believe it was him at first. Thank fuck for blue checks and friend-list clues. I actually do not know what I think about whether he would ever say a thing like that to me — or about me, publicly, maybe. Based on everything I’ve heard, there is some potential there for him to be an asshole. Probably one of the reasons I’m attracted to him. I seem to have an asshole magnet that I dearly wish I could destroy. But on the other hand, I’ve lost count of how many people who have met him have come back and praised him to the skies. I’ve seen that sweet streak in him myself. He even gets all cute and shy sometimes. Awwww. So who knows. I’m not going to borrow trouble, but I did want to indicate, publicly, that I’m aware of possibilities and have thought about what I would do. People think I’m slow and stupid for some reason. So I usually have to spell it out.

And I wouldn’t even be talking like this about him if we weren’t five years apart in age, if he hadn’t started out normal ordinary working-class, if he hadn’t gone through some major hardships and come out the other side, if we didn’t have some quirks in common. I don’t make it a habit to moon after celebrities, and haven’t since I was a teenager. It isn’t the celebrity I’m all gaga over. It’s the man himself. The only thing his fame did was make him visible to me. He literally could still be a tree surgeon who never managed to make it big as an actor but if I knew of his existence and as much about him as I do now, I’d still be into the big man. I’ve dated worse. That is a horribly flippant thing to say. It’s still true.

But I don’t date married men anymore, and did in the past only because I was young and stupid and insecure. I no longer think married men wanting to fuck me is a compliment or a “sign” of anything, which pretty much dooms any future straying husbands with me from the word “go.”

Plus I’m a troll now. So every other factor I’ve addressed here is irrelevant, really; he is guaranteed to find me repulsive. I get it: I wouldn’t fuck me, and I masturbate only because I don’t have to look at me while I’m doing it. Looking at him from afar is all I’ll ever get. So let me have my little fucking hobby and stop grieving me about it. If you are.

Speaking of. Would you believe Matt was jealous of him while I was still living at Matt’s place? Not even kidding. I have no idea why, because men as a rule are almost never attracted to me, Matt knows that, and Matt never loved me in his entire life. I think it was some weird control thing. Me obsessing over Rory was a clear and present sign that Matt didn’t have an emotional hold over me anymore. I wonder if it was a coincidence that Thea announced she was trans less than a year later. I wonder if Matt manipulated her at all. I ask this question because he would tell me he wasn’t on board with it out of one side of his mouth and then “respect her pronouns” out the other side and Have Talks with her behind my back. Even if he wasn’t specifically putting ideas into her head about trans, he was pushing her somehow. I saw a few examples of the latter when I went digging, and they were appalling.

It may just come out — no pun intended — that that whole mess really was 90% his fault, and I hope for his sake he’s dead when or if it does. I will say no more than that. Because that shit wasn’t one bit funny, and he was playing with both our lives, mine and Thea’s. All because he couldn’t be my puppetmaster anymore.

I haven’t reached out to him at all this year, and not since mid-year last year, when I saw Thea’s graduation video and learned that she was moving to Colorado. He ignored me. Message received. I’m curious whether he’s relieved I’ve given up or is disappointed he isn’t yanking my chain anymore. I’m not curious enough to find out, and I probably couldn’t anyway. Just idle curiosity. (Fucker couldn’t spell curiosity either. Thought there was a U in it. Along with many random foods which he often eats anyway because he is stupid, he is allergic to Google and dictionaries.) I’m good, and getting better all the time. I have down moods sometimes, but they don’t last and those evil spells I went through in the first year and a half or so have largely dissipated. At some point I may even stop insulting him. I make no promises.

I swear to fuck he was making me ill. Both physically and mentally. For two fucking decades. It’s like I finally pulled a rotten tooth that had almost killed me.

Speaking of health. I have been dutifully using the glucose meter and strips from my prescription for my fasting sugars, and before and after one daily meal when I can manage it, and I have learned two things (among others):

1. Metformin does not seem to make a difference one way or the other

2. However, exercise does seem to make a difference

Not even formal, strenuous exercise. Just the moving-around involved with food delivery. I went three days in a row last week, not for more than six hours at any point (I don’t think), and I got my fasting sugars within goal range one morning and very near it the other two. My nurse practitioner’s goal range is shit because it allows fasting to go as high as 130 mg/dL (it’s not her fault; the medical establishment are generally morons about this, which is why the diabetes epidemic is so overwhelming), but if I were to go keto and then make a real effort at regular movement, I have a sneaking suspicion I may be able to get into actually normal range.

This is both wonderful and terrifying. It’s really hard to eat Actually Right around most people, because most people are carb junkies. It’s even harder around Dad, who thinks it’s all about food quantity, and I am not even going to try to explain that one to him. I would rather we never discuss food at all other than planning what to buy or eat. I am watching him waste away before my eyes but he thinks he’s doing so great because he’s losing weight. You’re losing MUSCLE, you old coot. I can LOOK at you and tell. You NEED that. Oh fuck it, I can’t fix it anyway.

“Oh, fuck it. I can’t fix it anyway.” That seems to have been my personal mantra quite a lot over the past 2.5+ years, actually.

But I can still fix me. I’m almost 100% sure of it.