Hair Update

After carefully washing, conditioning, drying and curling with my curling iron. I am pleased to say I no longer look like my mother. Will need a good go-round with the gods of haircolor before I go back to work Monday, however, or I will scare the co-workers silly.

Question of the Millenium: Why can’t my hairdresser ever make my hair look like it is supposed to look when I imagine the end result in my mind?

Oh, well. I have a good hairdresser, she just seems to have a finishing problem. Does great with all she does except the final ‘fussing’ she does before I walk out the door. Sorry – I meant to say run out the door with my dark glasses on and my paper bag held up in front of my face so no one recognizes me before I can DO something with this hair I have just paid a fortune to have look like this. <sigh>

Farscape?

I start watching this about a year ago. I’m not sure what hooked me at first, because I’m not usually into puppets and I’m just on the edge of sci-fi. At any rate, something hooked me and I watched it all. Then it was cancelled! Why? Why does that always happen to me? Sometimes they cancel my current favorite show mid-season without ever resolving the story! I am realistic enough to know that the “4400” probably won’t tell all 4400 stories of the returned disappeared people, but to cut it off when they’ve only told 7? Are they coming back? For many, many years? Doubt it. The reason I’m saying this, is I heard a rumor that Farscape was coming back. I, for one, stepped out of my anonymous “comfort zone” last year and went online to join my voice with the rest of the protestors of this cancellation. Never truly expecting there would be something come of it, I was surprised – no, shocked! – to find out it may be coming back. BUT – do I dare to show too much enthusiasm? Does the rumor say it is only four episodes? What the…? Does anyone know what’s going on?

Bad Hair Bad Bad Bad

Anyone who knows me knows I get frustrated with my hair. Always have, always will. I can only go so long before I have to DO something to it. Usually involving scissors. Sometimes chemicals. I have two aunts – one on my mother’s side and one on my father’s side – who went prematurely white headed when they were in their twenties. Beginning my life as a brunette, I came down with a very distinct and unattractive ‘skunk’ chunk when I was in my twenties. My hair, although there is a goodly amount of it, is very fine. A hairdresser once referred to it as “frog hair” in front of my daughter and she throws that one up in my face every chance she gets. The end result of all this hairidity (it’s a PUN, people!) is that I a.) color my hair and b.) perm my hair and c.) only tolerate it until either a. or b. have run their course, then I resort to d.) scissors. Since my darling daughter is getting married next spring and my hair isn’t prone to growing quickly, I’ve been threatened not to resort to d. This has caused a problem. I already did it. <sigh> Now we fast forward to this afternoon when I will be going to my faithful hairdresser to see if she can rescue the ‘do’. I will be putting myself in her capable hands once more to return me to some form of myself that DH will be pleased with. (He is never ever pleased when afore mentioned scissors come out). Say a prayer…

Down In The Dumps

It’s been a helluva week. I say that conservatively. After being ever-so-tired for several days, I finally succumbed to the dreaded sickness. Not really a defined illness, such as influenza, the common cold, the heartbreak of psoriasis (you get the picture). Just the all encompassing ‘sick’.

I even woke up yesterday with a fever. An honest-to-god fever. No longer is this all in my head! Yippee! …or, maybe it’s just become mind over matter.

Depending on how you look at it, being sick isn’t any fun.I know I shouldn’t complain about small bouts of fever, lue, headaches, when there are people all over the world with real and debilitating illness. Who am I to complain about petty aches and pains?

Part of it comes from my own guilt in the process. Yes, guilt. I don’t take care of myself. Therefore, I feel I usually am bringing this down on my own head.

Diagnosed several years ago with diabetes (type II), I have had a constant struggle between being “good” and total denial.

For awhile I took the medicines, checked my blood sugar, did everything right. Nothing changed except I became depressed. I then went through a phase where I took the meds, but went back to blissful ignorance when it came to what my readings were or what I ate. I just didn’t care.

About three years ago I decided I was tired of being tired, tired of living in denial. Went to my doctor and confessed my sins. Got all fixed up with new meds, a new diatician, had a full checkup, pap, mammogram, you-name-it-I-did-it. Lost about 50 lbs. and was feeling pretty good.

Then came Acapulco. You have to understand something about me. My parents, for all intents and purposes, are alcoholics. This means I rarely drink. However, I’m a Pepsi addict. No lo-cal version, but the 100% chock-full-o-sugar variety. I’d given it up for about two years while my “being good” phase was on, but when my DH and I went to Acapulco for 10 days, that was my Big Lapse.

Flash forward three months after the trip. I’m still on meds, but running out. I have to face my doctor to get more. I’m still consuming Pepsi at an alarming rate. I’m not checking my blood sugar – I know it’s high. I’m fucked.

Skip doctor appointment. Look at i-net to see if I can buy meds online. Not even in Canada without a perscription. I’m stumped. How do all the junkies do it? I can’t even get legitamate meds that I need! Wishing I’d taken my chances in Mexico and gotten stocked up. Stupid.

It’s been over a year since the trip. I take no drugs, I don’t check my sugars, I eat and drink without checking a single label. I’m still fucked.

I know I could go blind, have a stroke, need limbs amputated. I know these things and they frighten me… and yet… I am like that junkie, craving the sugar high.

Denial + depression = making myself sick

Need to get it together one of these days before it’s too late.

Manic Monday

Okay, so I know I’m supposed to be the good wife and all, but when DH gets up at 3 a.m. do I have to wake up, too? He’s not sleeping – he’s started combining beans and is stirring around trying to figure out what he’s going to do with them. He’s thinking and worrying and somehow thinks I must be up thinking and worrying, too. I know he’s not intentionally trying to drive me crazy (is he?) but it is. I toss and turn, listening to him muddling around the kitchen. Then I read a bit only to have him slip out onto the back deck and tap on the bedroom slider and make faces at me. <sigh> So, I finally drift back to sleep for a half an hour before my day must begin. Arrrggghhh!

Now it is almost noon and I get a pathetic phone call… “Are you going to be busy at noon?” Uh, well, I AM working. “Could you have someone bring me some lunch?” Who? The tooth fairy? Who but me would be available to take you lunch? Hmmm… Maybe he thinks I was cloned overnight. “I’m not paying anyone to help me, you know.” This is his way of letting me know that if I leave my job (therefore eliminating an hour or so off MY paycheck) it isn’t costing him anything. Man logic. I love it. The whiney voice gets me. Yes, I’ll leave work and go home and make him lunch (he’s not thrilled with fast food) and deliver it to the field. Not like he wasn’t up early enough this morning to make some lunch to take with him. Novel concept.

Maybe after I take him lunch I can sneak in a nap…

Pet Peeve

So, DH calls on my cell phone at work to ask me if we received a check in the mail that should have come several months ago knowing FULL WELL that I do NOT have a photographic memory, nor am I good with numbers, and that the computer program that will tell me if, in fact, this payment has been received is NOT HERE AT WORK, but HOME where I will not be for several hours yet. * This, of course, leaves me sitting here to stew in a bath of powerlessness and meaningless anger toward someone I really DO love with all my heart. Why, oh why does he do this to me?

*This is not a one-time thing

Getting With the Program

Some days I feel I’m being rather productive. This is not one of them. I tell myself I should be applying myself to the work at hand. The work at hand is not exciting. I tell myself I am being paid for doing this work. I am not motivated. I never used to be this way. I have a very strong work ethic and have never been one to shirk responsiblity. I am the one who shows up on time, loses no time in the break room visiting or drinking coffee (I’m not a coffee drinker anyway – love the smell, hate the taste). I work through lunch – having it at my desk while working – and leave no earlier than my full work day. I’m slipping.

Part of my reluctance to work is I know there are so many other things I could be doing that I’m sure would be way more fun. Don’t get me wrong, I like my job. I like the people I work with (fun). I like the work environment (casual). BUT the work that sits on my desk mocks me with boredom. It is not fun. It is not even the kind of work that will keep me busy for more than an hour or so. I’ve been dragging it out for a week in the hope that soon there will be mounds of new work coming in that will keep my mind and fingers occupied. Stupid work. Why can’t I win the lottery?

It’s Not Fair

Okay, so I’m airing out some frustrations here. I think there should be a lottery winner in MY state. There has NEVER been a lottery winner in my state! Oh, sure, piddlesome little $100,000 winners, but that doesn’t count. I’m talking the BIG money. I figure not only should it be someone from my state, but it could really be me. I know the clerks where I purchase said tickets are probably really tired of me saying, “One powerball ticket – oh, and make it a winner, please”. Tough. Just once it would be nice if that did the trick. I’d probably share SOMETHING with them. I’m not dumb. I know they have no control over the winning tickets. I’m hoping for some mind over matter here. I think I’ve got it figured out how I would handle it, too. Winning, that is. I’ve had this discussion many times with my significant other. We would make a list of all our friends. Our true friends. Anyone who wasn’t on that list after it was made known we’d won who showed up with their hand out was just SOL. I mean, you never really know who your friends are until you win oodles of money, right? Oh, yeah, we’d have to get an unlisted phone number, a big fence for the yard, a security system for the house and probably someone named “Bruiser” to deal with all those new-found relatives. I’d like to try it.