To my grandfathers, uncles, cousins, and friends…

I will always remember.  Thank you.

Go visit Sheamus’s blog to view a lovely veteran’s tribute video.

So, I went to the girly doctor yesterday. And lord knows how much I just -love- laying on that cold table with my feet in stirrups while a stranger inspects my delicate bits.

*cough*

Oh, yeah, there are guys reading this. Sorry fellas.

Moving on…

She decreed that not only did I need to get the annual boobie inspection taken care of, but she’d also like to have a vampire suck some blood out of me for various tests.

Can I just state for the record that I absolutely hate having blood drawn? I used to donate blood (until I lost too much weight and got all anemic like, bah) and would always be the one sitting there with tears streaming down her face the entire time because it hurts so damn much. But I did it, as often as they would let me. I have craptacular veins kids, the kind that do a little dance and try to avoid being poked. I usually end up with glorious bruising to boot.

So when she informed me that I needed all this blood work done, naturally I gave her a good dose of the hairy eyeball. And silently wished her uterus would fall out. But being a very polite person, I merely smiled and said, “Okay, great!”

So after fasting, and skipping my morning coffee (!!!!!!!) I trudged my happy ass over to the vampire’s lair. A very nice gentleman brought me in the back and reviewed the orders from the doctor. He studied both arms very carefully and finally agreed with me that, yes, the left arm is the better one to poke. I told him that I was a lousy stick and that I would try not to cry, but no guarantees.

He handed me some gauze and said, “Here, for the tears,” with a snarky smile on his face. He was actually rather amusing. And seemed somewhat bemused at my fear of needles.

“Okay, this is going to hurt, don’t move!”

I waited. And waited. And finally looked down at my arm. The needle was in and I never felt a thing. Never felt a thing. That is a first in 40 years of being poked and prodded.

God bless that man, I think I’m in love.

Why Does He Do That?: Inside the Minds of Angry and Controlling Men, by Lundy Bancroft

I picked this up at Borders on Sunday and have been reading it nightly.  It’s absolutely frightening how many things I recognize.  There are a few things that don’t apply, of course, but reading it had me shaking at first.  The first day I picked it up, I skimmed through it, and was completely shocked to see my life being described down to the tiniest detail.  I literally had to put my hand over my mouth to keep from crying out, “Oh my god, how did you KNOW?”

Mr. Bancroft (yeah, it’s not some “feminist propoganda”, you jerk) has worked with literally thousands of abusive men and their partners and provides some amazing insight into how their minds work.  The most important thing I’ve taken away from this book thus far is that it’s -not- caused by substance abuse, no matter what we’d like to tell ourselves.  Substance abuse may facilitate it, but alcohol or drugs will not make a non-abusive person become abusive.  Period.

The addict (be it alcohol or drugs) who is abusive needs to address both issues in order to have any truly meaningful change.  The sad part is, the recovery rate for abusive addicts is rather low.

The only good part of that is the knowledge, and we need to tell ourselves this as many times as it takes, that there was never anything we could do to stop it.  There was no amount of compassion and help we could give to make it better.  It wasn’t going to change, and it was never our fault.

If you’ve ever been in an abusive relationship and were left wondering what the hell you did wrong, please pick this book up and read it.  It will really help.

Today is Christi’s 40th birthday. Or rather, would be her birthday if she were still here to celebrate it.

In August I blogged about what happened to her, as much as was known about it at the time. Since then, not much has changed. The low-life scum responsible for this is currently doing a little bit of hard time on an unrelated charge, but it is not enough. It will never be enough.

A long time ago, Christi saved my life. By looking at her life, I was better able to look at my own and see what was happening. And make some seriously needed changes to my circumstances.

Her disappearance, and presumed death, have, in a way, saved my sanity. I can’t really explain that, I wish I could. All I can tell you is that her death made me more aware.

The last several months have brought about many changes in my life. Changes in how I perceive the world around me, and how I perceive my own place in that world. Once again, I have removed the rose colored glasses and taken a good long look at things from a different point of view. All because of her.

Thank you, Christi. Be at peace, my friend.

Wow, so the pain meds are wearing off. Which is good and bad. Good because I hate being fuzzy headed. Bad because I can feel my back now.

I woke up this morning to make sure Cricket made it to school on time, sent a note into work, and then took a bunch of happy meds and went back to bed. And slept soundlessly for the first time in months. Until 2:00 this afternoon.

As the meds wore off, I realized how much I hate not being able to see or think coherently. A couple of weeks ago, I decided it was time to lay off the drinking because it kept clouding my brain. But it wasn’t until today, about 15 minutes ago actually, that I realized how much I -hate- being fuzzy headed.

I’m a thinker, it’s what I do. I think. Over the last several months though, I found myself doing far more feeling than thinking. And you know, ick. Feeling has it’s place, it’s time. But when plans are being laid out, thinking works best. It’s too hard to see the big picture if your emotional center has you too busy looking at the tiniest of details.

I’ve been trying to move steadily forward all of my life. I felt though, that I was always moving past something, away from something. When what I need to be doing is moving towards something. It’s a subtle, yet huge, difference.

I blogged a couple of weeks ago about being a growed up and making growed up decisions. About laying out solid plans for a future that I need. That my family needs. But, for reasons that I’m not going into right here, I was also sabotaging those same plans.

I started on this path over a year and a half ago, putting my life on a solid foundation and providing a sense of security for my family. And what did I do? I let myself get sidetracked by emotions and confusion. For a moment, a very brief moment, I almost believed that we really didn’t need that security. That we, for some reason, were not worthy of the solidness and security that others have.

It ate at me, gnawed at me, and I found myself drinking, more often than not, in an attempt to escape my own brain telling me that the things I wanted weren’t selfish, weren’t stupid. Wanting peace of mind and security, wanting stability and solidness, isn’t selfish. It isn’t stupid. I knew that, but I felt like I was fighting an uphill battle, so I almost gave up. Almost.

When I laid off the drinking a couple of weeks ago, things started becoming clear to me once again. I reviewed all of the options I had before me, and laid out a clear plan that is not only exactly what I want, but also achievable.

There was a certain freedom in that. All of the uncertainty, all of the feelings of worthlessness, the confusion, was gone. This is the plan, this is the path, and this is where I’m going. The belief that I was being selfish, that the things I wanted were too materialistic, gone. Good riddance to those feelings.

It’s amazing how much clarity one has when one isn’t crawling into a bottle. Once I stopped trying to silence my internal insistence that I did so deserve those things by actually believing it, I was amazed at how clear things became. No one has the right to sabotage my future, not even myself.

Is wanting stability materialistic? Possibly. But I don’t really think so. Is wanting a solid future buying into so much societal nonsense? No, I really don’t think it is. But I couldn’t see that while I was drinking. All I could see was that it was something I wanted, but felt guilty for wanting it at the same time. I wish I could explain why I’d feel that way, but it’s all so surreal now that I wouldn’t even know where to begin.

All I have now is that path, that plan. And it’s exactly what I’m doing. I will not surrender my dreams. Ever.

My girl Robi came over yesterday and took me to get my meds. Yay! Her boyfriend dragged the recycling out to the curb for me since I couldn’t manage to do much on my own.

We sat on the front step and handed out candy to all the little trick or treaters, yacking with the neighbors who were also out on their step. It was a decent night and we went through a ton of candy. Although watching me try to get up from the front step I think may have been the funniest thing anyone has seen in a long time.

Today I’m home from work, completely doped up and feeling very little pain. Tomorrow I go back to work, which is cool, because quite frankly, I’m terribly bored! There’s only so much entertainment one can get from contemplating ones navel.

Wow, it’s taken me seven minutes to type this. Mind boggling. It’s a sign to go back to bed.

Later