October 30, 2005

I Had a Fight with My Mother

. . . yesterday, more or less in front of my cousin and his wife. The good news?

1) I talked myself into staying over at her place one more night, so I could continue to enjoy my cousins' company. I'm not so sure I stopped being mad, but I stopped acting mad. I even managed not to say, "no act of mine this weekend should be construed as meaning I don't hate you." This required me to remind myself, over and over again, that I'm 43 years old.

2) Neither one of us got mean in the heat of argument, though we're both more than capable of it.

3) I continued to help her move into the area near the L.A. Airport.

4) I acknowledge that I have all kinds of base emotions WRT others, and they will continue to trip me up. I can even—sometimes—consent to be kidded about my failings. For me, this is astonishing progress.

Live and learn. Excelsior.

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October 15, 2005

I'm Up, Maybe for the Night

According to my insomnia book, aspirin may be a sleeping aid. Although it doesn't help with the onset of sleep, it assists with "maintenance." I'll give it a shot tomorrow night, and perhaps I won't wake up after three hours.

I need to leave in a few hours for the West Side, where I'm going to be attending a few service meetings for my church group. Fortunately, they have coffee there, and fruit/bagels.

I liked being a calm, seemingly happy person with minimal dark rings under my eyes. Now I get to be ugly and bitchy again. Oh, bother. Still, as problems go, these aren't what I'd call Big.

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When Writers Argue

"I was not being sarcastic; I was merely being a bit ironic. You were being sarcastic, and that isn't nice."

This is the next level, after the "I didn't imply; you inferred" argument.

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October 12, 2005

I Went to the Doctor Today.

I told him the Prozac my OB-GYN had put me on for PMS was making me sleepy in the afternoons, and asked if he could sling me a little Wellbutrin to take in the morning so I can be perky/motivated. In return, I promised to go off sleeping pills soon. Real soon.

His counter-proposal: if I go off the sleeping pills first, then he'll give me the Wellbutrin. He's obviously a granola-crunching hippie Mother Nature's son kind of guy. Though he did give me some Fiorinal with codeine to have on hand against future migraine attacks.

So, you know: the quality of mercy is not strained.

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October 11, 2005

My Husband and I

. . . are having a cold war on the issue of whether it was more important to bring a pumpkin pie to a potluck, or to arrive somewhat on-time. No, reallly.

In school they spent years trying to teach me algebra; better they'd taught me how to get along with my fellow human beings.

And who invented this "marriage" stuff? It's entirely beyond me.

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October 10, 2005

I Went to a Gathering Yesterday

. . . of three different writer's groups headed up by my writing teacher. We were all supposed to read aloud some small snippet of our work. I went through all my files, and suddenly realized that every single thing I'd ever written—including all my blog entries, high school essays, and every word of my novel—was crap.

I read something anyway.

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October 09, 2005

What Is It About Life Post-40?

I now have perhaps the fifth migraine headache of my life, and the first one that's really lasted and hurt, rather than being purely visual or disappearing almost immediatly.

My grandmother had these. My mother used to get 'em, but controls the condition with medication.

So I guess the party's over, in case I hadn't figured it out from looking at my skin and hair—or feeling the twinges in my knees and ankles when I stretch at the wrong angle. I like to think I make up for it all in cunning.

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October 07, 2005

Dad Update, 1

For years my father stayed abreast of this weblog by calling me to ask if I was still blogging. Eventually I began to suggest that there were other ways to find out beyond throwing me an interrogative.

Now he tells me that I'm losing my touch. I explain about the computer glitch that limits me to short entries.

He's unimpressed.

Parents constitute the ultimate tough room.

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Mom Update, 2

Using Pirate Route A, I made it to Westchester in 55 minutes today. Coming back, I wasn't so lucky, but I think there were a few accidents that delayed freeway traffic and messed things up locally.

However, I'm going to look at the Gold Line. I could catch it in Pasadena, and she could just pick me up wherever it is that it stops. Thoughts?

I don't suppose we get to use the Diamond Lanes here in SoCal if we buy hybrid cars?

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Mom Update, 1

Since my grandmother had so many heart attacks (and strokes) over so many years, mom just doesn't see how a teensy heart attack could possibly be a big deal. Very flattering and all, but why are my brother and I calling her so much now? (Gee, Mom. Maybe because the last heart attack Grandma had killed her?)

But I trust her to report the doctors' feedback faithfully, and it appears that all involved (again, except the sibling and I) see it as a non-event. So, onward.

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And Suddenly,

it's real.

I drove to Westchester yesterday to check on the house my mother owns there, and see what needs to be done to it before she can move in. She had planned to move in November, but the tenant found another rental unexpectedly quickly, and he's out.

Paint, I told her. And a new back door. And the carpets look iffy.

Anyone know the shortcut to LAX?—that freeway the airport shuttle peopel use? It took me an hour and a half to get home yesterday via the 10/405, and I think I'm gonna need that route.

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October 04, 2005

My Mother Called Today.

She found out on Friday that she had a mild heart attack (as in an infarction) a few months ago.

And I mean—mild. She's not seeing the cardiologist until Thursday.

I'm irrationally afraid, and it's manifesting as anger. I want someone to cross me so I can yell at them. I'm a one-woman "fuck you" looking for a target.

Let's talk politics.

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October 01, 2005

The Latest J.K. Rowling

Pretty nice.

And not just because one of my two (2) theories on who "the half-blood prince" might be turned out to be correct.

This book is shorter than the last one by a few hundred pages, but I still had to break the reading up into two sessions. Naturally, that meant that I had to read a few chapters over as the details faded from memory . . .

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CT Scan Went Fine.

Though the lab techs don't see the images: those get sent directly to the doctor. So, naturally, I'm insecure, and presume that I ruined everything by breathing through my nose (to the degree that I can).

At least when I get my boobs squished the nice technician tells me when to hold my breath.

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