urgh...

Feb. 18th, 2008 11:47 pm
dianadragonfly: (Default)
Apparently Loch Journal didn't eat my post.
My XO laptop is messed up on its time zone. Apparently it's 12 hours early.

Strange...
dianadragonfly: (Default)
Or should that be "Instant Karma's Gonna Get you?"
Remember my job drama from last year?

http://dianadragonfly.livejournal.com/2007/05/06
Um she called me.
She was fired. She refused to commit medicaid fraud. She says.

I go back and forth between giggling secretly a little, being a little pissed at the sanctimonious tone she's taking, and being sympathetic to her situation. But I mostly, really, don't care. You fight your battles sweetheart...I'll fight mine. I'm too old to think every human being I love, or loved, or care about what happens to is my responsibility.

I heard that a little girl I know with Rhett's Syndrome has been sent to an institution.
She was a girl that broke my heart. Most of the time I deal with the kids okay. They just are. They are not a sad story.

But she... she was obviously so much in pain, so agitated. It would come over her, almost like possession or something, and she'd scream and pull her hair and scratch and claw. If I believed in possession... I imagine it was some sort of seizure activity. I didn't spend a lot of time with her, but I spent a few long hours and long nights, here and there, trying to convince her to calm down and sleep. I've gotten past the point where I hold kids who might hurt me, but I held her one night until she stopped panicking and fell asleep. Once you do that, once you are allowed that moment with someone, you are bonded in a way that you can't erase, even if they don't even remember it the next day.

Yeah... didn't I just say I was too old for this?

I think of her in a room somewhere, screaming and pulling at her hair. And I'm not worried much about my ex-boss and her problems.

awhh shit

Feb. 17th, 2008 10:21 pm
dianadragonfly: (Default)
I had a beautiful post... all about my health and about how I fear death and it used one of those damn extended metaphors that [livejournal.com profile] paperflowers and I are so fond of.

LochJournal ate it.

sonvabitch

Anyway, good luck with the Booger King, [livejournal.com profile] paperflowers.
dianadragonfly: (Default)
medical info cut for tmi/boredom )
I'm not diabetic. Not yet, anyway.

I have such issues with food that I'm not sure I could make the changes needed to save my life if I were diabetic. Isn't that sad?

I watched an aunt whom I loved very much DIE in front of me of diabetes while I read poetry and James Herriot books to her. Still, I am scared I might not be able to give up french fries and hohos.

But I think I might have to. I know that RA puts me at a HUGE risk for heart disease and stroke. This latest funky ass thing makes me feel vunerable, like there's a bomb in my chest or something and I'm going about my daily life like there's nothing wrong.

I have this image in my head of my grandpa's final years and my dad's final years, and when I think about them, it's like I see an X-Ray -- there we are, standing and laughing at the airport in 1991 in my favorite picture. And my mind zooms into a mental image of his kidney, of how the tumor must have been maybe pea-sized then, growing slowly... and how the thing that would kill him was there, all along, biding its time as if it had some sort of plan. That's how I feel about this whole strange health thing... that something is there, just waiting. It's not going to be dramatic with sirens blazing or family rushing in, or a team running into action to save me. Just something boring and banal and every day that no one will notice on any tests... This fear is like living with a sniper.

I suppose everyone has that fear of death. I'm just pathological about it sometimes. I was thinking about it when D-Day came up for me.

And I know how some people destory the fear, by not treating their conditions, or eating and throwing up or not eating, or taking bad chemicals or stupid chances. It's like saying "Fuck you, sniper... I dare you! You can't sneak up on me because I invite you in."

I told [livejournal.com profile] paperflowers that maybe, we shouldn't decide to live or die -- just things happen. But I'm a hypocrite because I'm obsessed in a totally oppossite way. I want to live. I refuse to take the power away from the sniper by inviting him. I live darting across alleys and ducking behind trashcans. I know that this fear is perhaps worse than the actual bullet, but damn... I am not about to risk it. I want to live. I do not gamble what I know for what I don't.

When you see the sniper, you can't ignore it. I try really damn hard to ignore, but I always sort of live in fear.
[livejournal.com profile] paperflowers throws rocks at it, calls it a coward, dares it to come in. I love that about her. I hope she never succeeds, though. I am scared enough for both of us.
dianadragonfly: (Default)
Some strange things have been happening to me:

Please check out my post at http://community.livejournal.com/no_pity/575631.html and see what you think. I wonder if I'm diabetic or if this just another one of those strange twists and turns that comes with having RA

Now, I have to go pee....
dianadragonfly: (Default)
"Someone could have gotten hurt," the fifth grade teacher says, angrily, as I help sweep up the glass from the ancient schoolroom door. She walks by but does not help.
The other fifth grade teacher, a fourth grade teacher, and I gingerly pluck knife-blades of glass out of the frame.
I try not to look inside, try not to do any thing that might give more attention to the situation and make it worse. A small boy, 8 maybe. is sitting quietly in the arms of the occupational therapist, while the secretary cleans the cuts on his hands.
He is not the someone she is talking about.

I had been in the computer room when I heard the crash. I came to look. I walked by the P.T./O.T. room and saw the special ed teacher picking up another small boy, this one older but tinier, and carrying him out of the room. There were shards of glass in the hall. Excited fifth graders milling around.
"Is everyone okay?" I asked
"Henry is still in there," she said. So I walk in. The lights are off, the O.T. has a boy in his arms, there's no blood I can see. The oldest boy is walking around, flicking his fingers.
"Come on Henry" I said. He let me take him by the hand, which he doesn't normally do. He's not that type of kid. I lead him downstairs to the classroom and return to help sweep up the glass and call the nurse on the intercom.

These boys are not the someones she is talking about either.

One of the real kids, the kids that are her business, the kids that are the point of the school, the ones who can read and write and talk and let us know what's bothering them....one of them might have been hurt. You know, a child who is not autistic, not like the 3 boys in that room.

Never mind that the 120 year old school building has paper thin glass that rattles when doors slam. Later, I learn a kid shattered three panes last year by slamming a door -- a real kid. Kids throw things, kids pound things. It's the nature of kids, all kids, the real ones and the ones that they all wish would just go to another school and leave them all alone. And it's the nature of glass to break.

She walked by one more time, "It was just a matter of time, ladies," she said.

There are times when it almost hurts, when you can just feel it break all break right open at the littlest thing. I felt that way Monday, watching a non-autistic boy, maybe a real boy by the fifth grade teacher's estimation, sleep on the floor of the counselor's office. We were supposed to be working on spelling words, but he was snoring. Maybe it was nothing, maybe he was up late watching cartoons. Whatever made it so he couldn't sleep at home might be nothing, or it might be something I couldn't imagine. I sat in the counselor's office for over two hours, watching this tiny little guy under a throw blanket, sleeping so deep he scared me.

What I wanted to do was pull him in my lap, hold him like a momma does, or should, and promise him that he would be safe.

As I cleaned up the glass and listened to the ladies complain today, I envied the O.T. in there with the bleeding boy, holding him, keeping him calm.

Whatever battles these kids are fighting, against autism, against whatever else is going on in their lives that I don't know about, against learning disabilities and developmental disabilities, against the frustration of not being understood -- these battles are bigger than I can ever dream of. They are real, so real that it hurts.

Garth lies

Feb. 5th, 2008 09:17 pm
dianadragonfly: (Default)
And now, I'm glad I didn't know
The way it all would end
The way it all would go
My life is better left to chance
I could have missed the pain
But I'd have had to miss the dance

Dude...
If I had known... I'd fucking have stayed clear of the dance. I'd have a chemical spill outside the high school gymnasium, canceled prom, called for ban, a la Footloose, waged a shock and awe campaign.

I have been feeling restless, knowing that Feb is coming up, noting it with passing interest. Oh... it's superbowl. I didn't even notice this year that it's the superbowl, the day my dad went into the hospital. Isn't that funny?

Today is my parent's anniversary, the day that for all purposes, my dad died, even though that wouldn't happen for 6 days later.
All day I was fine.

Then tonight -- I put in some mix CDs from the good ol days of music downloading. Hubby was working late, like he used to do all the time. I listened to my CDs. I'd hidden the Dance in there.

His funeral song.

I really just let it come, you know, let it hit me. And I mentally blogged letting it hit me -- I'm really good at protecting myself like that.

I don't want to call home. My mom and little sister are miserable this time of year and I think it's because they think they should be.

Hubby's home. A tornado. I know he's tired and frustrated, but I feel resentful that he's cutting into my grief. You know, the private grief I mentally blog as I experience it.....

I'm a fucked up human being.
Who misses her Daddy.

I'm famous

Feb. 1st, 2008 01:03 am
dianadragonfly: (Default)
http://www.olpcnews.com/use_cases/education/assistive_technology_laptop_child.html

(state is wrong -- that's okay I don't want to get fired)

Life is good.
dianadragonfly: (Default)
YES!
Going back 2 bed!!
dianadragonfly: (Default)
Have not heard this song since my freshman year of hs:




Tyketto - Forever Young
No sleeping
She waits tables late
Trying to stay tough
Never ending
However long she waits
It's just not enough
He's sleeping late
No work around
Broken dreams come tumbling down
He's been down every road in this ol' dead end town
And now we're two more runners in the night
Forever young
Time on our side
We've got tomorrow
We've got tonight
Two hungry hearts
Out on the run
We?ll always be forever young

She's crying, two worlds collide
Can't take anymore
He's denying the kick inside
Died and slammed the door, (he says)
We made a deal, you and I
Cross our hearts and hope to die
No matter what may come
We'll never say goodbye
But now we're two more runners in the night
Forever young
Time on her side
We've got tomorrow
We've got tonight
Two hungry hearts
Out on the run
We'll always be forever young


btw, Queensryche was so f#$#@!! awesome that I can't even talk about it yet. I just replay it over and over. Eddie HANDED me a pick. I had a bit of conversation with all 5 at the meet an greet. And I was on the rail IN FRONT OF GEOFF (though slightly to the Whip side)

The first time I saw the Ryche was Oct04. An election was happening. Things were going to change! I stood with my fist in the air and screamed to "revolution calling."

And then the election happened...

Anyway, I've seen them 7 more times in 5 more states since then. but this one was the best it's been since then.

Goddamn! muse, I missed your ass. Alot.
dianadragonfly: (Default)
I'm posting from my much-loved xo laptop from the couch. Why the couch you ask? Why not the pillow topped loveliness of a king sized bed?

I have developed a snore that is so bad that hubby can't sleep. So it's alternate nights on the couch for us. My neuro says that it's probably apnea and he'll test me in June. June. Lovely.

Sleeping apart isn't good for us.

I also know hubby is a bit of a baby so I can't base how bad it is by how much it bothers him. But I'm self conscious now -- I was planning to go to the Ryche concert, but I think my snore has gotten so bad that I can't share a hotel room w anyone.


Small sticky xo keyboard and no linux client yet makes for sloppy posting. Sorry.
dianadragonfly: (Default)
This was in my in box:

You have 2 meet and greet passes to the above listed show. Please bring
your photo ID to the will-call window at the venue on the day of the
show to collect your passes. Please reply to this email to let us know
if you will NOT be able to attend.

Why am I saying "Shit"? A few years ago, when I got this message, I cried. Like a baby. Remember [livejournal.com profile] musewithamagnum?

I don't think I can go to this show. It's on a Friday. 4 hours away. And I'm taking 3 days off of work at the end of Feb.


Every time I spend money I don't have on this band, it's with this feeling that this is once in a lifetime, that I will never get another chance.
But I've gotten other chances.

No way my body is up to G.A. No way my heart is up to sitting nicely at a table in the back while the band I love rocks out.

I've spent WAY TOO MUCH MONEY on this band how it is.



They are doing a big event in Seattle again, a charity brunch. Sorry honey. Been down that road before. And even if I wanted to, I am putting on an AT workshop here in town that week that I'm currently freaking out about. So KC would really be my only chance this tour. No travelling allowed. Too broke. The 25th or nothing.

And... Dear God Almighty, I Loves me some Geoff.

And last time I saw him, at Rocklahoma, I gave him a copy of my story. I want to see if he's read it.

And then I can go home and see my mom. Grandma is supposed to be getting released from the skilled nursing center and mom will need some help. And I told mom I'd come home in January anyway.

I can probably share a hotel room with my friends. It's at Harrah's anyway, so I could drive there and even to my mom's with no issues. Not like Westport.

And I don't do anything at my job. My boss flat out doesn't want me to. They hired her an aide and she didn't want one. She does not want me to do anything independently in case I screw up, but doesn't think she has anything for me to do. So I sit with my laptop and program learning games for her students that I will never get to use. I am aware of this. As long as I don't make waves, don't bug her about me working and crap, then things are good. When I start to get ideas, when I start to get excited, when I want to help, want to do things, want to be part of the team -- that's when things get tense. I'm NOT part of the team. If I offer a suggestion, it's shot down. And resented.

And for this I'm giving up a concert?

hrmm....

And fan club members get into GA first. I might get pounded, but I'll be on the rail.

And I loves me some Geoff. I wants to see me some Geoff and Eddie and Scott and Stone and Whip.

I didn't email Susan back yet saying to throw the meet and greets back.

HELP!

Okay

Jan. 5th, 2008 10:20 pm
dianadragonfly: (Default)
That felt good....

see below post

I just need some closure. But there isn't any to be had.

He will die of a heart attack -- soon, if he keeps this up. And that will be it. And he'll never understand why I no longer trust him, why mom divorced him.

Damn...

*deep breath*

OKAY, new subject!

I am eagerly awaiting my XO. Anyone else get one?
dianadragonfly: (Default)
Dear Bill:

I was looking through pictures all this month, trying to get the family calendar together. Damn, you took lots of pictures. That's the first thing we had in common, photography, and I always liked how you'd be up for an adventure, ready to capture it all on your 35 mm.

It was nice. You and mom did things she'd never do -- go look at historic sites in the state, go see the bridges of Madison County, go to Georgia. I have piles and piles of pictures of you two standing by a building or a sign or even a car, smiling.

Mom was crying the other day, asking me, "Have I wasted 12 years of my life?" And I look at the pictures and I can say no. You and she had so much fun together. You were so good together.

I'm trying to figure out when it got nasty, when you stopped laughing and enjoying yourself. When all of sudden, we tiptoed around you instead of having fun with you. I missed you like hell this Christmas, but it was also a little bit nice, in a horrible way. Crystal, Tim, and the baby were there. We got to relax and enjoy the baby and not worry that you would say or do something to hurt their feelings. Mom had control over her own house, her own life again.

That's what all this was about in the first place. Not Janet, not anything else. Mom just needed someone to be nice to her, to not be hateful and mean if she wanted to get the lawn mowed or if Janet's boyfriend brought his dog over. She wanted to be able to at least be a partner on what went on in her own house. She didn't want total control, but to not have to fight if she thought a horse needed to go the vet. Or if she wanted to do something you didn't.

All I have ever wanted was for you to treat us with respect. And I tried, for so long, to not believe any of it, to actually feel bad when Janet came to your house pick up the things she'd bought and was not able to get back because she had been letting you use them. I felt terrible for you. I kept telling her "leave this. leave that. Do you need this?" And then you talked to me the way you talked to me, with your hand in the air, like you were going to hit. I realize I've been lucky -- no man in my life has ever raised a fist to me. And you were the first. All over a washer and dryer.

And then you took things that you knew didn't belong to you from my mom because you were mad and thought you could.

It's not the washer and dryer. It's not the extension cords (although it was kind of funny that you took all of mom's and then had none to start your tractor). It's not the cows. It simply being at peace, not worried that you will go out of your way to hurt my mom's or my sister's feelings. That's why you can't farm the land. We don't want you hanging around the house, being mean and nasty and hurting everyone more. If you could have been a grown-up, you could have rented the land. But as of now, letting you stay there would be giving you a free pass to come over and hurt us.

We lock doors now. When we hear you, we're tense. I wonder how it got that way, how things have changed so much. I remember sitting up all night in the I.C.U., terrified that I'd lose you. When Mom said she was getting a divorce, I remember being so sick about it. I miss you. I love you. But, I've come to understand Mom had no choice.

When I didn't want Mom to get divorced, I thought it was because I didn't want to lose you. But I think you've made the decision to be lost. Yet, you've done it in a such a way that you can blame it on Mom.

I don't know if I'll mail this. When I see you now, I will be scared of you, the way Janet is, the way Mom is. I never in my life expected that from the guy who played guitar and made jokes and loved going places with my Mom. I don't understand what happened, but I miss that guy. I know my mom does too.

Anyway, I don't know how to sign this
I'll leave it here because there isn't anything more to say.
dianadragonfly: (Default)
I'm gonna be so happy to see the tail end of this year.
I'm weary. I'm doing a good job of not being excessively stressed out by all the drama going on my family's lives, and I'm trying not to let if affect me.

Yesterday I stood eye to eye with a man I've loved as my stepdad for 7 years and my mom's companion for 5 years before that as he yelled in my face with his fist raised. I don't think he would have hit me. But I've never stood there before. I've played spineless coward so effectively for so long that the violent men don't get violent with me. I cajole, I joke, I counsel. I'm the diplomat. And the traitor to all sides. The only one in the family that sent him a Christmas gift, the only one that didn't return his. And he stood there and threatened to hit me. But did not. I need to think of that. That he wanted to but didn't and I left -- I was crying, but it was me that turned and walked off.

I WANTED him to see me cry anyway, to understand I was hurt. 30 minutes before, he'd hugged me and said he loved me.

Do I think I'm so special that he won't talk to me like he talks to them? Do I think that it's okay to have him scream at my mom and sister as long as it's not me? Same with my step grandpa, who screamed at my mom when she came into the house to pick up underwear and a robe for my grandma in the hospital. I weasel so well that I usually don't get the brunt of the anger and it's a shock when it happens/

Now my little sister is locked out of the house and it's my fault again -- she told me several times to lock ALL the doors. So I did. I guess ALL doesn't mean the garage door. I worried about locking all of the doors -- what if he was hurt and needed to get into the house? She said, and I agreed, fuck him.

And she's in the cold right now, pissed at me, deciding what to do. And again, I try to make things better and I fuck them up.
dianadragonfly: (Default)
I was in my early 40s with a lot of life before me when I got the news that stopped me on a dime.

Some Christmases are about who's missing. Sometimes they aren't.

I turn here when my life becomes about who is missing, or what is missing.

I need to turn here with good news too. *sigh*

Ten years ago, this song would have made me so angry. I'm so more mellow now.

Things that used to bother me don't anymore. Like I used to insist that all my holiday cards said "Happy Holidays" and not Merry Christmas. Now I'm not so anal. It's not that I no longer respect the idea that this is a multicultural society or that I feel my friends who celebrate other holidays should be excluded. It's just that I've mellowed to the point that I realize that Christmas and Santa are really a secular, cultural holiday that can be shared by any religion. The religious part of the holidays, whether you're Christian, Jewish, Muslim, Pagan, etc. etc., are private to me and really shouldn't be shouldn't be part of the issue.

I have friends who don't participate in Easter stuff that has to do with a giant bunny giving eggs.
That's cool.
I can respect that. They are aknowledging that the cultural holiday is totally different than the religious one. (they don't like it, but they acknowledge it.)

I get so aggravated with church and state issues. For many of you, this is a non-issue, but I live in the Bible belt. It's ALWAYS an issue. Teaching evolution is still very much suspect here (and illegal in neighboring states). I can drive an hour North and see the Precious Moments Chapel, or an hour East and see the Creationist version of the story of dinosaurs.

For me, I think faith has nothing to do with the age of the earth and the fossil record. At one time, I believed people who would look at science and still believe Genesis were just blind. Like I've said, I mellowed. I am not a Christian, but I fully respect the ability to understand that if God is anything, then He or She is beyond what we can really comprehend with science and therefore, science is not a threat. Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny and all the secular influences in the world are not a threat to religion because they are not on the same plane as religion. To try to make the religious world somehow equally represented in the secular world -- to insist it be taught in school, sold on T-shirts in Wal-Mart, made into blow up front yard navtivity scenes (and oh yes, they do exist) -- it only debases religion.

Mellowing, I tell you.

It used to be important to me that I resist all state-sponsored religion. Now I really just don't care.

Okay, weird random, meadering from Tim McGraw to Santa Claus
Time for bed.

"night
dianadragonfly: (Default)
I've been MIA for a while.

damn... there are some things that only a good listen to the Geoff Tate solo CD can solve.

It's taken all my life to get here

And I don't even like this song all that much. But it's perfect right now...

Oh, if you want a Christmas card, respond to me with your snail mail. Also indicate if you'd like your card to be regular or 'Ryche. (I'm on the message board card exchange. I get more pictures of Geoff than Santa on Xmas. Comments are screened. If I can figure out how.

Merry Rychemas.
dianadragonfly: (Default)
What makes me think I could start clean slated? The hardest to learn to learn was the least complicated....

Ahhh..... my Indigo Girls. I loved them so much.

The hardest to learn was the least complicated. Never been 100% sure of what she means there, but she's talking about failure in love, failure to know what was the right thing to do, failure in general. And how she never learns from it.

The hardest to learn was the least complicated
dianadragonfly: (Default)
You said the world was magic, I was wide-eyed and laughing...
I could have been your sister, I would have been your brother...
We were girls in bars, boys on the town, bouncing like a pinball off a careless crowd...

Cleaning out my CD collection. Remembering my Amerifriends so clearly it hurts. I think that was the last time I really young, you know, traveling in a group, loud and obnoxious and so drunk with San Diego, leaving home, being out in the world that we didn't care.

[livejournal.com profile] paperflowers miss you.
And Pam and Susan and Tammy and Rachel and Courtney and Shanelle and Keisha
And Brian and Phil and Patrick and Derik
and even Marty and Tony and [livejournal.com profile] bobamster even though you weren't on my team very long.

Seeing Pam and Maggie last month reminded me of how much you buttheads shaped who I am.



*boob flicks*

I need to fix my Ameriblog. ITS BEEN 7 YEARS!!!!! HOLY SHIT!!!!!!
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