I see dead people

In my dreams. In smell-o-vision.

I usually hate posts that start with “Last night I had the strangest dream….” (And do you have Matthew whatsit stuck in your head now? Good. My work here is done.) But I’m going to tell you anyway and I’m blaming it on my ceiling fan, which rattles like a summbitch and kept waking me up. Well, that and the baby doing the friggin’ merengue in my uterus all. night. long.

I had walled up two very dead Mexicans, to be disposed of later. I’m not sure why I was diposing of them, or how they got dead, but there they were, in my rock wall, stinking. I don’t have a rock wall, mind, but in my dream, I did and it was lovely, covered in lichen and moss and, y’know, apparently a dead Mexican repository. On the other side of my lovely rock wall was a beautiful green field, the kind you’d see on a postcard from England. Emerald green grass, sheep grazing off in the distance, a copse of trees off to one side; it was gorgeous. In the green field was daysgoby. She had this navy blue pram, one of those old English jobs, the kind nannies push around manicured parks.

In it was her dead mother. Only every so often, the dead mother would get up out of the pram and do a little jig. She bore a scary resemblance to

Cruella DeVille

and Gloria Vanderbilt.

After doing her dance, she’d turn into a three-legged black pig, complete with Cruella hair, and start hunting for truffles. As you do.

That’s the last time I have Doritos before going to bed.

That would be an ecumenical matter.


I was reading an email from someone on a diabetes email list I belong to and something she said just made me want to explode. Since theological discussions are frowned on on this list, I’m posting it here (and besides, I’ve threatened to do it often enough, I should follow thru on the threat).

She said that she thinks that God gave her epilipesy. This blows my mind. What kind of God GIVES you a disease? If God is a god of mercy and goodness, then why would he give you something like epilepsy? Or, as David Attenborough said “My response is that when Creationists talk about God creating every individual species as a separate act, they always instance hummingbirds, or orchids, sunflowers and beautiful things. But I tend to think instead of a parasitic worm that is boring through the eye of a boy sitting on the bank of a river in West Africa, [a worm] that’s going to make him blind. And [I ask them], ‘Are you telling me that the God you believe in, who you also say is an all-merciful God, who cares for each one of us individually, are you saying that God created this worm that can live in no other way than in an innocent child’s eyeball? Because that doesn’t seem to me to coincide with a God who’s full of mercy.”

That right there pretty much sums up why I don’t think there is such a thing as God. I don’t know how to explain it any better. I was going to try to get all rational and Darwinic and give long examples of why (including Sister Joanne, who told me, when I was six, mind, that I was going to hell because I wasn’t a Catholic – yeah, way to convert someone, there, Sister.) , but that’s pretty much it. I don’t believe in God. I don’t even feel the need to justify it. If you do, great. I don’t think less of people who do, I just don’t understand it. Kind of like I don’t understand homophobia. I understand the meaning of the words, but I don’t understand the action.

So there you have it. I can’t even muster up a long dissertation on the subject. I just. don’t. believe. End of story.

Not that I’m complaining, mind…

…but I came home from picking up the haul I got off Freecycle and O had Hoovered the rug AND picked up the books the Boo had left out. Without being asked. I think aliens have replaced my daughter with a cyborg. As long as it’s a cyborg that does the hoovering, I will be content.

Now, the Freecycle haul. I’d posted that I was looking for a toddler bed for the Boo and a guy said he had one. I went over there tonight and he also gave me a fairly new car seat, a little tricycle and a high chair seat that straps to a chair. Score! Psych.

I’m gonna go buy a lottery ticket tomorrow because this is the second bit of good luck I’ve had recently and since things come in threes, I figure, it can’t hurt.

Major Bedhead Presents, For Your Edification:

Grammar Rules for the Unenlightened; Or, How to Write Good

Don’t use a big word where a diminutive one will suffice.

Don’t use no double negatives. Don’t never use no triple negatives.

No sentence fragments.
Corollary: Complete sentences: important.

Stamp out and eliminate redundancy.

Avoid cliches like the plague.

All generalizations are bad.

Take care that your verb and subject is in agreement.

A preposition is a bad thing to end a sentence with.

Avoid those run-on sentences that just go on, and on, and on, they never stop, they just keep rambling, and you really wish the person would just shut up, but no, they just keep going, they’re worse than the Energizer Bunny, they babble incessantly, and these sentences, they just never stop, they go on forever…if you get my drift…

You should never use the second person.

The passive voice should never be used.

Never go off on tangents, which are lines that intersect a curve at only one point and were discovered by Euclid, who lived in the sixth century, which was an era dominated by the Goths, who lived in what we now know as Poland…

As Ralph Waldo Emerson once said, “I hate quotations.”

Excessive use of exclamation points can be disastrous!!!!!

Don’t use question marks inappropriately?

Don’t obfuscate your theses with extraneous verbiage.

Never use that totally cool, radically groovy out-of-date slang.

Avoid tumbling off the cliff of triteness into the black abyss of overused metaphors.

Keep your ear to the grindstone, your nose to the ground, take the bull by the horns of dilemma, and stop mixing your metaphors.

Avoid those abysmally horrible, outrageously repellent exaggerations.

Avoid any awful anachronistic aggravating antediluvian alliterations.

This sentence no verb.

A short update

I got a phone call last night from my endocrinologist. From her, not her nurse or some office flunky, which was very fantastic. She was calling to tell me my thyroid test was fine, but she wanted it checked again in a couple of weeks, and then she asked about my glucose test. I told her the results (117, which is good) and then told her that I’d been checking all day yesterday and gave her those numbers. She was concerned with the high readings and wants me to ask for the three hour test (oh fun) and wants me to track my numbers today, too. So I’m going to do that. I’m going to have to ask for a prescription for test strips, though, since I’m almost out of the One Touch extras I had, and I can’t use O’s meter since she brings it to school with her each day. But how cool that the doctor is concerned! And called me back! Amazing.

In other news, I got a new temp in here on Monday. She’s MUCH better. Nice, friendly without being ooky, chatty without having diarreah of the mouth, and she doesn’t require much in the way of hand-holding. I think she’ll fit in just fine around here. Roll on June 14th.

FanTABulous

O is going to be thrilled.

I think I have gestational diabetes.

Last night, I had a lemon square – my friend T made them over the weekend and they were yummy. I checked my bg an hour later and it was 133. Just a tiny bit high. This morning, fasting, I was 99. I had my usual bagel and cream cheese for breakfast, checked an hour later and was 144. Hmm. I just did a 2 hour check and was 166. Fuck. That’s too high.

I brought a fairly low-carb lunch today – chicken and veggies and a salad – so I will do one and two hour post prandials and see what that does to my blood sugar. I had my glucose tolerance test on Friday, but forgot to take a meter with me to see what I was after an hour.

I suppose this could explain the massive headaches, the nearly 8 lbs I’ve gained and the complete and utter lethargy I’ve been feeling for the last month or so.

Update:
The one hour test came in at 117, which is fine, they say. My hemoglobin was kind of low, so they’re sending me a lis of iron-rich foods to eat.

Just for the heck of it, I’m going to do the gestational diabetes diet for the next couple of days, see if I feel any better. Because right now, I feel like shit. Scary, falling-asleep-while-driving shit. It sucks.

…and last, but not least, karataaaaaaaaaay!


Hiiiieeeeeee-ya!

Well, it’s still a girl. I’m measuring right on target now, which is good, since I was measuring way ahead a few weeks ago.

At the last ultrasound I had, they couldn’t see the baby’s heart. It was there, beating away, but she’s so low in my pelvis (and as the tech put it, “You’re a bit fluffy, dear.” No shit, Sherlock.) that they couldn’t see it. So I had to have a fetal echocardiogram today, which freaked me out a little bit. The technician is doing the ultrasound, clicking away, then says “Hmm”, grabs my folder, asks “Do you have any history of heart defects in your family?” and leaves to go get a doctor. Meanwhile, I’m in the room for 15 minutes, alone, trying not to hyperventilate. Jesus, lady, way to give me heart failure. But everything’s fine, no problems at all.

My friend T is coming out tonght, for the weekend. We both love to cook; he loves it so much that he’s going to culinary school in Cambridge. I’m really looking forward to it. He found this kitchen supply shop in the funky college town I live near and wants to go. I don’t know how I managed to miss this place, but I did. Not after tomorrow, though. There will be Henckels and Wustof-Tridents and lots of other fancy-schmancy knives to drool over, gadgets to fondle, appliances to covet. It’s gonna be fan-freakin’-tastic. And then tomorrow night, we’ll cook a feast together, like we always do. Mmmmm. I can’t wait. And? He’s as rabid a Red Sox fan as I am. I picked a good friend.

There shall be a dearth of torpid bovines



Well, I called the agency and got rid of Dozy Cow. She’ll finish the week and we’ll get someone new on Monday. *whew*

She never shuts up. Never. I just want to hit her. And she keeps interrupting me when I do get a nanosecond to leap in with some training. Listen, lady, SHUT UP already and listen to me when I’m talking to you. See my lips moving? That means yours shouldn’t. I don’t care if Maytag has licensed the Magic Chef name to some company, it has nothing to do with what we’re doing here, so stop gabbing about it.

She’s complained so many times about how grubby it is here that I’m tempted to just hand her the bottle of 409 and have her go to town on the place. Maybe I’d slip into unconciousness from the fumes. It’s either that or she’ll bore me to death. If you’re working in a manufacturing facility, it is ridiculous to expect the place to be immaculate. Especially when the company won’t spend a dime to update the place and the commodities we ship out of here are sticky and icky and gooey. Makes for kind of a messy place. The office is not dirty, it’s just old. And yes, I suppose they could paint it, but to waltz in here on your first day and ask me when they’re planning on painting is just a tad presumptuous. So, buh-bye now.

People do my head in

Since I’m leaving my job in mid-June, I took it upon myself to hire a temp to replace me. She is unbelievable. She started yesterday and we had a few down minutes, so I checked my email. She was READING my email over my shoulder. Um, lady? CUT IT OUT!

She looks to be about 55 and holy crap, is she opinionated! She walked into the place and started complaining about the condition of the office, it was too cold, then it was too hot, then there wasn’t enough to do while I was out, someone left the toilet seat up, she can’t believe we only have a cleaning lady once a week (only she called her a maid :roll eyes: ), when was she going to get set up on the computer and meanwhile, I’m explaining to her how to do things and she DIDN’T TAKE A SINGLE NOTE! If she doesn’t improve today, I’m calling the agency and requesting someone else to start on Monday. She told me her whole life story, too – son is a recovering heroin addict, she’s going thru a bad divorce, she was married before, blah blah blah blah blah. Shut UP, lady, and learn how to do my job so I can leave!! Aaagh! And stop reading my fucking email! Dozy cow.

It has FINALLY stopped raining. The state flooded. They got something ridiculous like 12″ of rain around Boston. It’s been unbelievable. Today is sunny, though, so hopefully things will dry out. I really need to get my garden tilled – I may wind up just doing it all in pots this year, since it’s so late in the season. Maybe I should do that anyway. It’s less work, less bending and stopping with this big ol’ belly. No weeding when you plant in pots, either. Hmm. The more I think about it, the more I like this idea. Wonder if you can grow carrots in pots…. Anyone know? I may just give it a try anyway. Home Depot has huge pots and the garden center in the next town has lots of lovely organic potting soils and composted manure (it’s called Moo Doo. This cracked me up.)

Anyway. The temp should be here soon, so I’d better send this before she tries to read it. Mother of god. People are just amazing.

Slowly Collapsing, Like a Flan in a Cupboard

That, apparently, what my uterus is doing. It’s not a bad thing, it’s just what happens when you’ve been pregnant five times.

So everything is fine. The baby is fine, she’s just very low in my pelvis (this would be the flan-y uterus, I guess) and not easily felt.

Anyway. All’s fine. More later. Thanks for the good wishes, everyone.

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