Part of writing more I think is realizing that there doesn't have to be anything monumental; there doesn't have to be any earth shaking "story" in order to justify the exercise.
Leslie loved the Steelers. She was so passionate about them, and football. Last night they played as the sixth seed in the playoffs and the game was crrrrrrrazy. And I was REALLY aware of her absence. I'm not kidding when I say she would have been on her feet, SCREAMING "you ASSHOLE!" at William Gay when he got called for excessive celebration after what turned out not to be a touchdown. I can see her face, eyebrows furrowed. Fierce. Standing in front of the television. Legs shoulder width apart. Finger. Stabbing. At. The. Screen. Punctuating each word. YOU! STUPID! ASSHOLE! Her hands to her head, running angry stiff fingers through thick hair. Turning her back on the screen and stalking back to her seat. Sitting heavily. Still mad. Me, looking up at her...half smirk...Her, coming slowly back to herself.
Emma hid during Steeler games. "Mommy is too loud. She scares me." That sounds bad. She cheered too loud for Emma. Hurt her ears. She censored herself when Emma would watch with us. Biting back the words. Anger visible. Vein at her temple throbbing. I miss that crazy-ass angry Steeler wife.
She wouldn't have seen the final field goal that won the game. Eyes closed tight. Leaning over her knees. Fingers in her ears. Too much pressure.
The field goal was good. We won. She'd have stood then. Cursed now instead at the Bengals fans for throwing shit on the field. Anger redirected at the "enemy" without. Fierce victorious wrath. Standing again. That punctuating finger stabbing at them. THAT'S! WHAT! YOU! GET!
I love watching football. But I'm too dispassionate. There's always time left. There's always another viewpoint. I'll never be the fan she was. I'm okay with that. One is enough for any house. But I'm sort of fiercely proud of her passion.
Good friend to have. Good person to have in your corner.
Our true life adventures...
Monday, January 11, 2016
Thursday, January 7, 2016
Why Is A Raven Like a Writing Desk?
So, it's a good idea in theory. Two birds (ravens?) with one stone. I'm writing this while I'm walking on the treadmill. And it works. Mostly. The seed of the idea came from a blog post written by YA author Arthur Slade. It's here...Arthur Slade's Magical Writing Desk.
So it's more or less been something that I thought was cool but didn't really give a lot of thought to until recently. I was brainstorming Christmas ideas and thought...why not? I looked on Amazon. They sell treadmill laptop desks. You get what you pay for, I suppose, so my version of the magical writing desk is essentially a molded piece of polycarbonate that straps over the treadmill and gives your laptop a shelf upon which to rest whilst your fingers do the walking.
Arthur's version is looking like a good investment. I don't mean to complain...this is actually pretty cool. But it's really more intended for people who want to do a little light web surfing or watch movies/read emails while they walk. Not necessarily for people who want to walk and write. That said...I'm walking and writing...at the same time. Two birds.
This ties into my birthday present which was a fitbit. And all the various step challenges my fellow fitbitters invite me to that I subsequently lose (by a small margin sometimes) because sometimes when given the choice of working out, writing, reading, or...whatever...sometimes I don't pick walking. And so now walking comes standard with writing...win-win.
The downsides:
- no real convenient mouse placement. I can use the laptops little pad, but it's a laptop I bought Leslie, and I'm not super familiar with it, so when I unplug the mouse, the pad is still not functional. I just have to mess with it.
- the mounting height is not...ideal. I can already feel my back twisting up because the height of the keyboard is about 6 inches above what good posture dictates.
- it's not spectacularly sturdy. I can feel the laptop shift subtly as I type. It's actually only a minor issue, because I'm really not struggling, but it's there.
The upsides:
- I'm writing. And I'm exercising. And I don't have to exercise for 45 minutes and then think...well, too bad I can't write...it's getting late.
- I can finally charge my phone while I'm on the treadmill. About this time of night it's spent, and I text while I walk, but the charger doesn't quite reach the wall outlet.
- It was $35. There are LOTS of options on amazon. One was $775. I have no doubt that desk is a legit DESK, and if I were writing about THAT desk, I would just delete bullets 1-3 above from the "downsides". But they'd be replaced by..."Jesus, I just spend $775 on a treadmill desk"
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You guys seem to like dividers.
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Lily loves going grocery shopping. I took her Saturday. We shop at the Giant Eagle. When we shop at Giant Eagle we get Advantage Card savings which I can then cash in at Giant Eagle's gas station chain, "Get Go". So I'd accumulated enough points that I could afford a full tank of gas.
Okay. Because I'm "clever" I downloaded an app called "Key Ring". It allowed me to combine all my little key fobs on one app and scan them at the register right from my phone instead of leafing through them on my actual literal key ring. It's super convenient. I have at least four key fobs on it. What I did NOT realize was that the Get Go would not be able to scan my phone that way at the pump. It forces me to go inside to talk to the clerks.
THIS is where I found myself on Saturday. I parked the car in front of the window at the gas station, turned the key, leaving the radio on for Lily, and walked in to get the guy to authorize my free gas. I pumped the gas, hopped in the car and ...nothing. Battery dead.
I called my buddy Jimmy and he...between about a dozen phone glitches...agreed to come give my car a jump. Lifesaver. In the meantime, I went back into the store to explain that I was stuck in front of the pump and that my autistic daughter was in the car and I would be in the car keeping her company in case she got anxious.
A few minutes later he came out and told me that his manager would give me a jump. I called Jimmy off...got the car started and drove home. Monday my car started and I drove it to work and home again. Tuesday my car started and I drove it to work and home again. Wednesday my car started and I drove it to work and home again...but today? No. It was dead again.
A couple years ago I impulse bought a battery charger from Sam's Club. Honestly I didn't need it but...it just seemed so...cool. Anyway, every year we pack this battery charger in the minivan and take it on vacation or camping because it has a comopressor for flat tires, jumper cables, and a phone charger on it. And I figured...worst case scenario I never use it because: I never ever have a flat tire or a dead battery. And BEST case scenario, ironically...my battery dies and I get a flat and I use the thing to jump start myself or fill my tire and it payed for itself in one use ($89). 
So I used it this morning! Woohoo! And then I packed it in the car on the way to work and tonight...HURRAY! Battery was dead again.
Okay...so hop in the wayback machine. About 8 months ago, I had to take Leslie's minivan in to the shop to get the battery replaced because it was dead. So at LEAST i had the minivan to fall back on in the event that my car battery was dead, right?
Wrong. Because they told me to make sure every couple weeks I get in the minivan and start it and run the engine just to keep the battery full. And I didn't. So it's dead. Like...so dead the auto doors won't auto. And the key doesn't click and the engine doesn't whir or rev or lurch. It just...mechanically turns and nothing happens.
So as I was leaving work today, I AGAIN used the battery charger and it got me home. And THEN...I used it to start the minivan. And THEN I waited 20 minutes or so to let the battery charge and shut it off and let it cool off and do you know what?
It was dead again. Fucking thing. So essentially I have to carry this battery charger with me everywhere I go like a damned oxygen tank which gives me PTSD anyway because of REAL oxygen tanks (not really, but come ON!) and I literally pray every time that I use it that it has enough charge to get the car started.
I think I'll be stopping to get a new battery for my car tomorrow.
I think I'll be stopping to get a new battery for my car tomorrow.
---------------------------
But hey! Writing and walking! Doing it!
Tuesday, January 5, 2016
2016: Let's Get it Started
2016 started less stressfully than I feared. When last we spoke, I had this weird seemingly conflicting feeling about not wanting to let go of 2015 because despite it being a big old pile of shit year-wise, it was MY big old pile of shit, and also contained within it my last memories of being with Leslie and holding her hand and kissing her head and saying goodbye.
And despite my reassurances to myself that in fact December 31, 2015 was "just another day" it carried with it decades of meaning..."this is the last day of this year...you will start anew next year" and starting anew meant starting fresh...with Leslie not by my side. And that was sucky.
And ultimately...like birthdays or New Years past...when the moment that the old year metamorphosed into the new...absolutely no meaning or feeling or loss or gain was conveyed, just as I'd "known" it wouldn't, and if I was a little more subdued than New Years past, I can perhaps be forgiven, but ultimately, it wasn't as painful to actually realize 2016, as it was anticipating ending 2015.
If that makes any sense at all.
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Lily has started this new thing where she only sleeps until about 3:30 - 4:30 in the morning every morning. I'm not in love with it. The plus is that if I get to her before she's fully awake I can typically lie down next to her and cuddle her back to sleep. The minus is...she doesn't give any indication that she's actually awake. I must sleep relatively lightly, because the rustle of sheets and the change in breathing are typically all I need in order to know that when I creep quietly down the hall to check on her I'll find her sitting up in bed smiling cheerfully at me.
Last night she slept until 3:15 or so. I fell asleep next to her until about 3:30. I crept quietly away and slept until about 4:15 when she woke up again. Lather rinse repeat...I was back in bed by 4:30 until my alarm woke me up at 5:30.
-------------------------------------------
We talked at group support about "giving ourselves permission to grieve". The idea, essentially, that it can't always just be about taking care of the kids emotional needs, we also need to be able to process (I brought up "Oxygen Mask", "please secure your own mask before helping others", that sort of thing). The facilitator I think made it too black and white. One of the members in the group was really struggling and I found myself irrationally irritated with the soft-spoken discussion leader and leaping in.
Everyone in that room is in a "similar" situation. It's one thing to psychologically give yourself permission to grieve. To me, that's far easier than the actual "execution". Yeah, I'm fully permitted. I've already decided that when I'm sad, I'll let Emma see it, and so what? Frankly, I think it's good for her to see that I care, and that I'm sad. I think it normalizes it for her. Gives her permission to openly grieve too. That said, it's like anything. I can give myself permission to have a couple beers at night, but exercising that option means not being able to be 100% if Lily wakes and needs me.
There are lots of things I can choose to do, but choosing one thing sometimes means avoiding/ignoring/neglecting another. Life's way more complicated than just...'choosing to do X'. But I do get that if you are the kind of person who really hasn't allowed himself/herself to grieve...you should. Even if finding time for yourself is harder than what most people might think.
---------------------------
I'm going to get a tattoo.
I'm doing some...soul searching. I've always wanted a tattoo. I just never had anything I felt strongly enough about that I wanted to mark myself up permanently. And then when the kids came...I don't know...I think I just sort of felt it was frivolous. And it probably is. But frivolous and having to explain that shit to Leslie...and frivolous and not having to answer to her...well those are two different things.
I want something that symbolizes a psychopomp. A butterfly was initially what I was going with. Then I considered a raven. Now I'm thinking of an owl. Apparently the owl is specifically something that is spoken of in Polish folklore as a carrier or guide of souls to heaven, and Leslie was...very Polish. So it seems fitting. Also I'm thinking of having "Isaiah 41:10" or part of that text "I will uphold you with my righteous right hand" added because it's something that Leslie drew strength and comfort from, even going so far as to raise her right hand when she would struggle to breathe walking up the stairs to our bedroom so that she could take God's hand and accept his help.
I'm still a ways off, but I'd love to hear anyone's thoughts or suggestions, even tips for how to work with a tattoo artist to get the design you want, or how to find a really good tattoo artist.
-----------------
Finally...I'm looking at trying to by a laptop shelf for my treadmill. I talked about choices above. Sometimes my choice is to exercise. Sometimes it's to read. Sometimes it's to write or play guitar. But I find I don't have time to choose all of the above.
I want to write more. If I can do that and get my exercise at the same time? Well...that's just killing two birds with one stone. One choice/option I don't have to turn aside from in order to pursue another.
And despite my reassurances to myself that in fact December 31, 2015 was "just another day" it carried with it decades of meaning..."this is the last day of this year...you will start anew next year" and starting anew meant starting fresh...with Leslie not by my side. And that was sucky.
And ultimately...like birthdays or New Years past...when the moment that the old year metamorphosed into the new...absolutely no meaning or feeling or loss or gain was conveyed, just as I'd "known" it wouldn't, and if I was a little more subdued than New Years past, I can perhaps be forgiven, but ultimately, it wasn't as painful to actually realize 2016, as it was anticipating ending 2015.
If that makes any sense at all.
-----------------------------------
Lily has started this new thing where she only sleeps until about 3:30 - 4:30 in the morning every morning. I'm not in love with it. The plus is that if I get to her before she's fully awake I can typically lie down next to her and cuddle her back to sleep. The minus is...she doesn't give any indication that she's actually awake. I must sleep relatively lightly, because the rustle of sheets and the change in breathing are typically all I need in order to know that when I creep quietly down the hall to check on her I'll find her sitting up in bed smiling cheerfully at me.
Last night she slept until 3:15 or so. I fell asleep next to her until about 3:30. I crept quietly away and slept until about 4:15 when she woke up again. Lather rinse repeat...I was back in bed by 4:30 until my alarm woke me up at 5:30.
-------------------------------------------
We talked at group support about "giving ourselves permission to grieve". The idea, essentially, that it can't always just be about taking care of the kids emotional needs, we also need to be able to process (I brought up "Oxygen Mask", "please secure your own mask before helping others", that sort of thing). The facilitator I think made it too black and white. One of the members in the group was really struggling and I found myself irrationally irritated with the soft-spoken discussion leader and leaping in.
Everyone in that room is in a "similar" situation. It's one thing to psychologically give yourself permission to grieve. To me, that's far easier than the actual "execution". Yeah, I'm fully permitted. I've already decided that when I'm sad, I'll let Emma see it, and so what? Frankly, I think it's good for her to see that I care, and that I'm sad. I think it normalizes it for her. Gives her permission to openly grieve too. That said, it's like anything. I can give myself permission to have a couple beers at night, but exercising that option means not being able to be 100% if Lily wakes and needs me.
There are lots of things I can choose to do, but choosing one thing sometimes means avoiding/ignoring/neglecting another. Life's way more complicated than just...'choosing to do X'. But I do get that if you are the kind of person who really hasn't allowed himself/herself to grieve...you should. Even if finding time for yourself is harder than what most people might think.
---------------------------
I'm going to get a tattoo.
I'm doing some...soul searching. I've always wanted a tattoo. I just never had anything I felt strongly enough about that I wanted to mark myself up permanently. And then when the kids came...I don't know...I think I just sort of felt it was frivolous. And it probably is. But frivolous and having to explain that shit to Leslie...and frivolous and not having to answer to her...well those are two different things.
I want something that symbolizes a psychopomp. A butterfly was initially what I was going with. Then I considered a raven. Now I'm thinking of an owl. Apparently the owl is specifically something that is spoken of in Polish folklore as a carrier or guide of souls to heaven, and Leslie was...very Polish. So it seems fitting. Also I'm thinking of having "Isaiah 41:10" or part of that text "I will uphold you with my righteous right hand" added because it's something that Leslie drew strength and comfort from, even going so far as to raise her right hand when she would struggle to breathe walking up the stairs to our bedroom so that she could take God's hand and accept his help.
I'm still a ways off, but I'd love to hear anyone's thoughts or suggestions, even tips for how to work with a tattoo artist to get the design you want, or how to find a really good tattoo artist.
-----------------
Finally...I'm looking at trying to by a laptop shelf for my treadmill. I talked about choices above. Sometimes my choice is to exercise. Sometimes it's to read. Sometimes it's to write or play guitar. But I find I don't have time to choose all of the above.
I want to write more. If I can do that and get my exercise at the same time? Well...that's just killing two birds with one stone. One choice/option I don't have to turn aside from in order to pursue another.
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