Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Oh, that's right... I haven't written any in EIGHT FREAKIN MONTHS!
Truth is, I kind of miss this. The process of catching up is just such a pain in the... well, you know. Can't upset the auto-censors. Here we go with the Reader's Digest Condensed Version, then. Everybody likes Readers Digest, even God.
I finally showed my son the door late in January, when he made it halfway through his twenty-third year continuing to be uneducated, unemployed, stoned, and frequently afoul of the law. Predictably, the process was accompanied by much recrimination on his part and guilt on mine. Will he use this cold-water dose of reality to get his stuff together? I don't know. But I can't make it my problem anymore. For awhile he hated me. For even longer, I hated myself. Now we're talking, at least. To my knowledge, he's still not working, and he still hasn't secured permanent residence anywhere. I imagine that will finally happen when his friends decide they want their couches back.
Seriously, this is hard. I'm codependent and a fixer by nature anyway, and it goes against everything I've been taught to cut those apron strings. Tough love always seemed a contradiction of terms to me. But I just can't do this anymore. It was literally making me sick.
My daughter and my grandson are still living with us. Prince Charming has been on again and off again with the child support, resulting in her no longer being able to work, because she hasn't been able to afford the daycare. There is no end in sight. Were she alone, I would insist that she learn to fend for herself too. But my grandson is in the equation, which changes everything. And, truth is, I really enjoy the little guy. There's nothing like toddler snuggles to make a woman's day. And he loves his Oma.
The hard part? She's increasingly sliding back into the old role of child, expecting me to center any available time I have around her and her needs. This is not happening. I don't have the energy I used to, and honestly, I don't have the desire either. It was old when she was seventeen. Now she's twenty-seven. It doesn't help that it appears to be her plan to maintain the status quo until either A, a new Prince Charming sweeps her off her feet and whisks her away to paradise, or B, she comes into her inheritance and can finally live the good life. Given that B would entail my biting the dust, that's not very appealing to me, even if it is more realistic than A. Somehow we're going to come up with a Plan C, unless one of you has an eligible brother, son, or grandson who has a job and an appetite for punishment. But I'm rambling.
Healthwise, things are much the same. I'm still smoking, although I quit about as often as a wasband who will not be named changes his socks. I gain weight. I lose weight. I gain even more. It's been the same old pattern. I made it all the way up to two hundred and forty-six pounds when I was diagnosed with non-alcoholic fatty liver. That scared the crap out of me, and so I sold a kidney (my bad one, not to worry, I'm not THAT much of a fool) and joined Slimgenics. This was about a month ago, and I've already lost twenty-two pounds. It hasn't been as hard as I anticipated. Processed foods are completely out of the picture, and I'm shedding old addictions as quickly as I am the weight. My ultimate goal is to make it down to a hundred and forty pounds. I haven't weighed that little in thirty years.
The down side? (There's always a down side.) It's expensive as hell. Their supplements and snacks could drive a person to bankruptcy. Once I go through my current supply, you can bet I'm not going to order more.
I got my crafty Libertarian self elected as a district delegate for the Republicans, and if all goes according to plan, I'm going to get myself elected as a State delegate too. If I could make it all the way to the Convention, that would be beyond fantastic. I harbor no illusions about Ron Paul actually winning, but the Party is growing, and the mindset is catching on. Some good changes will happen if the right people get elected to the right offices. And this groundswell will make the frontrunners just nervous enough to want to dicker on the points that are important to us. Baby steps, baby. These next four years are going to be interesting.
My job is demanding but satisfying. I love the people with and for whom I work. I do not love the commute. I average three hours a day on the road. That's too much. Unless I find something with comparable pay closer to home, though, this will have to continue until we retire in ten or so years. Then? Eastern seaboard, baby, here we come!
The weather is freaking me out. Last year at this time, we were cheeks-deep in snow. EVERY other year at this time, it's been cold as hell, and things didn't start greening up until well into May. Not so this year. We've had several days in the eighties, and trees are blooming already. The grass is back, shoots are springing up everywhere, and the frogs and mosquitoes have awakened. Mind you, I love the warmth, but it still makes me nervous. I can't help wonder if the earth has tilted on its axis or if, God help us, the Mayans or Al Gore were right.
Have I missed anything? I don't think so. Enough for today, then. I'll do this again in another eight months, Mayans and Al Gore notwithstanding.