Since I have accumulated more versatile blogger awards, I thought I'd do like I did last time and dissect another bag. In this case, my second purse. This one--while I don't carry it around with me like I would my normal purse--is always nearby, whether it be under my desk at work, migrating around the house, or just chillin' in my car.
Mostly I keep it with me because my current writing projects are in it, and I'm paranoid about leaving them anywhere in case I should suddenly be struck with a brilliant idea and find myself sans notebooks or pens.
1.) That notebook contains book #3 in the pirate series; as well as the beginning of book #4; some notes on books 2, 3, and 4; notes on possible spin-offs; and a folder of more notes, and badly drawn maps.
2.) Emergency food (mostly for work): some V8's and a cup o' soup. Needs replenishing...
3.) Pens and highlighters.
4.) Tea and coffee.
5.) Mini notebook, for ideas not directly related to any fiction projects.
6.) Random bits of books that I'm not really focusing on, but that are nonetheless still "in progress."
7.) One of my adult fiction projects--10 Ways To Tell If Your Cat Is About To Vomit.
8.) Notes for random kids book ideas.
9.) The Fairy Queen, which is almost finished.
10.) The random crap floating around in the bottom of the bag: a Yu-Gi-Oh card I was using as a bookmark, my notary embosser, sticker from a stationery set, spare packet of Splenda, paperclip, hair ties, postal receipt for my taxes, Swedish fish, a rock (?), and a mini whoopee cushion (I have no idea).
This past week went by really fast. I think this may be due to the fact that I was hopped up on lorazepam for most of it. Other Secretary bought office supplies, which means she restocked our office with giant jars of peanut butter-filled pretzels.
They taunt me.
Even if I try to ignore them. That jar of pretzels gets a sick, sadistic pleasure in telekinetically destroying my willpower.
And I can't fight it. As hard I try to ignore the pretzels, that jar wears down my defenses.
And eventually I snap.
10 pretzels = 140 calories. Not horrendous. But can I stop at 10?
OF COURSE I CAN'T BLOODY WELL STOP AT 10.
Or 20.
Or 30.
You get the idea.
So once I give in to that first peanut butter-filled piece of heaven, the day is ruined. By the time I'm finished work at 5.00, I'm bloated and guilt-ridden, and irritable.
In order to combat the Jar of Pretzels, I must take sedatives.
Sometimes this makes me feel like a sad, pathetic individual.
Hope you're all having a good weekend, my honey-bunches! I'm off to go get drunk for friend's birthday. :D
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
I'm afraid expulsion is the only answer. It is the opinion of the entire staff that Dexter is criminally insane.
Teaspoon, where did your blog go?!? Do you have another one? Thanks for all your comments. If you'd like to read any sample of my fiction, there's a link on the side, or you can check it out here.
To the first anonymous commenter--I actually DO know what it's like to be overweight. Therein lies the reason I began dieting, which began the long road that eventually led to starving myself.
To the second anonymous commenter--thank you for not being an arsehole. <3
I really do not understand people who leave negative or nasty anonymous comments on blogs. The ones on my posts have never been that nasty, but I've seen some really mean and negative ones on other people's blogs. Like seriously, if it bothers you that much, THEN WHY THE HECK ARE YOU READING IT?!?
On the other hand, those of you who leave kind and gracious anonymous comments, or even just neutral comments have all of my love. <3
So guess what I did on Sunday? I'll give you a hint--Girl Scout cookies were involved.
It was a massacre. I was merciless in my Girl-Scout-Cookie genocide. And then I moved on to Big Sis #2's banana bread pudding. I DON'T EVEN BLOODY LIKE BANANA.
I'm worried about Big Sis #2. And it's one of those situations where you really can't voice your worries; because even though we're sisters I can't really tell her my concerns about her family, as it's not my place. But her husband is the King of Lazy Useless Douchebags. And her daughter is a giant brat.
What makes it even worse is that Failure-In-Law actually used to be pretty awesome. He was funny and considerate, and he was totally perfect for Big Sis#2 in the beginning. He made her laugh a lot, and took her out to do nice things. And then baby came along and it's like he turned into a baby as well. All he does is whine and complain. When his father's auto repair shop closed down, Failure-In-Law couldn't hold down a new job. And then he shifted to just flat-out refusing to even look for a job, because all the jobs he could actually do were "beneath him." So he sits at home on the couch and does nothing--no cooking, no cleaning, no looking after their daughter--while Big Sis#2 works 40+ hours a week, does all the housework, takes care of my niece, cooks all the meals, and pays for everything. And then her parents-in-law actually have the nerve to criticize her skills as a wife and homemaker. F*cktards.
But now Failure-In-Law has a legitimate excuse not to work. He's had knee issues for a while. About a month ago, he had knee replacement surgery.
Now I know that obviously a knee replacement is not exactly minor, and recovery is going to take some time. But he won't even try. One of my close friends had the same surgery a few months ago, AFTER having multiple other surgeries on BOTH of her knees to remove scar tissue and benign tumors. And a week after she got home from the hospital, she was up and trying to walk, going to physical therapy; and even though it hurt like hell and she had to go up and down stairs on her butt, she gritted her teeth and got through it. Because she said if she just sat around and moaned and whined about it, then she was hardly going to get better. And she's 15 years older than Failure-In-Law.
But nooooooo, he sits on his arse all day, popping oxy like it's candy and whining whenever Big Sis#2 is within earshot, skipping his physical therapy appointments, and not even attempting any of the exercises he's supposed to be doing to help his knee feel better.
Epic fail in the Man department. I've seen elderly women bounce back from knee and hip replacements faster.
Moving on to my niece.
There's no nice way to say it: Niecey-G is a super-spoiled brat. Of course I love her unconditionally, because she is my niece, but I very much dislike being in her company. (It's an odd feeling, that--I'd throw myself in front of a truck to save her if I had to, but would really rather not spend time with her in general.) Obviously, it is most definitely not my place to tell anyone how to raise their children. But it's kind of common sense that if you give your kid whatever they ask for, always give in to their whining or tantrums, and let them dictate the running of your household, then your kid is probably going to end up expecting that sort of parental obedience at all times. Niecey-G is given whatever she wants; is never punished for being naughty; and on cognitive and social levels, she is functioning about 2 years below her age group.
I may not be a parent, but 10+ years of work experience as well as college education have left me fairly knowledgeable in the area of child development. At nearly 6, a child should speak well, be fairly comfortable with things like using the potty and going to bed, should be able to dress herself, and should not need to be carried around by her mother with her face buried in her mother's shirt because she's "shy." She should be retaining some early reading and counting skills, be able to play with other children her age and follow "rules" for games, and she should be not only displaying some independence, but she should WANT to show some independence, as well as WANTING to play with other children.
Niecey-G does none of those things, and it's not for lack of intelligence. She's very clever when she wants to be, but she likes all the attention and mollycoddling that she gets, and she knows how to control her parents' behavior.
This hurts me, because aside from all that, Niecey-G is not a happy child. Not at all. I don't think she's being abused in the typical sense of the word--she's not being beaten or molested--but she's not being treated the way a child should be treated. At her age, she should be happy and carefree and selfish in the way of 5 and 6-year-olds, but with it enough to know when and how to behave and obey the adults in the room. Instead, Big Sis#2 gives in to Niecey-G's every desire and in turn has made Niecey-G her best friend. Thus, Niecey-G now has a tough time fitting in with children her age. She gets the best treatment from her mother, and so allows her mother to have her undivided attention when she should be out having playdates and doing kid-things. It's a cycle in which they feed off of each other and in doing so, they both get sucked deeper and deeper into this negative pattern of behavior--a pattern that will be almost impossible to break the longer they keep doing it.
Big Sis#2 used to be amazing with kids. I think that's what gets me the most. She always loved children, and we all thought she'd end up with at least 8 of them, and that she'd be the greatest mother of all time. Instead she's stuck in an awful marriage to a useless prick, and has turned her 5-year-old daughter into her closest and only friend while simultaneously keeping the rest of the family at arm's length. As she sinks further into unhappiness, she clings that much harder to Niecey-G, and pushes the rest of us further away.
And so, for the rest of us--me, Little Sis, Big Sis#1, and Mum--it just gets more and more difficult to get through to Big Sis#2. There's really only so much you can do and say, after all, before you cross a line.
It's enough to make me want to rip my hair out in giant clumps. Because there isn't really a right answer. There isn't even an easy answer, for feck's sake. It's no one's choice but her own how Big Sis#2 chooses to live her life, but it kills me inside to see her so obviously unhappy (as much as she tries to hide it and put on a happy face, she's not fooling me for a second). I know she thinks she's doing the best she can for Niecey-G, but if the poor child is unhappy now, I hate to imagine how she's going to be when she hits puberty in the next six or seven years.
Our family is like the Mothership of Maladjustment.
I think all of us had really hoped and prayed that the newest generation might be the one that turned out ok. Big Sis#1 has done a brilliant job so far with her three kids (perhaps because she abandoned ship early?), so at least there's some hope for them (they're perfect. Like holy hand grenades, I can't even properly explain how wonderful those children are without tearing up.). But it looks like Niecey-G might be hangin' on the Mothership with the rest of us.
I will keep trying, though. I will not let Big Sis#2 alienate herself from us, just to hide her unhappiness and all the other bad things I know she's feeling. I don't care how hard she tries to push me away. She can hate me for it later if she wants, but as far as I'm concerned, there's no grey areas when it comes to my family--if you're family, I will not turn my back on you, especially when you need help. I'll follow you down into the deepest blackest pit of hell and carry you out on my back if I have to.
Hopefully it won't come to that.
Someone invent me a remote starter for my electric kettle. We can do it with cars--I see no reason why we can't do it with household appliances.
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