I got let go at Nicolet this morning.
I am an emotional wreck.
I will talk more when I can actually talk without crying.
Ta,
Bec
12.10.15
11.10.15
Screaming, Screaming Over This Permit Thing...
OK, so not nearly.
Septic has hit a snag. H&H turned in their part to Zoning, and I found this out at the permit office. K, so I had to go to Zoning, which is in the courthouse. But Zoning didn't have any physical proof that I own the land, but Register of Deeds would have it. It's the same building, different floor. Went to the Register of Deeds. I have to pay for documents from there; but Northern Title (across the street from the courthouse) would have the documents for free because they were the ones who oversaw the sale of the land.
AND THIS WAS ALL IN ONE MORNING.
But that is not the end of this story, oh no no. Because I got an email that afternoon from the guy who handles water and sewer for the city, and HE said it's a complicated mess because guess what? I'm in the city limits. Shocker. I told him this several times over the last three months. They have to have a meeting with people from the department and all that jazz to determine if I can have my holding tank. I guarantee you it will be at an inconvenient time for little old me, probably next year.
AND I do not need an inside plumbing permit because we've already got the structures inside. We need the ones outside. Funny how the permit people tell me one thing and then tell the plumbing people another thing. It would help us get things done if they would TELL US THE SAME DAMN THING.
And my Flash DVD box set is somewhere in Rhinelander, but I can't get my mitts on it. It's been out for delivery four times and rerouted three times, but it hasn't come to me yet. I know Barry Allen is late for everything, but this is ridiculous.
AND my bulbs are also in the same looping route. I have no idea where they are either.
If someone drops one more brick on my load, I'll snap under the weight. My body can't take this kind of abuse. I'm under a ridiculous amount of stress and I don't need more crap tossed at me right now.
Ta,
Bec
Septic has hit a snag. H&H turned in their part to Zoning, and I found this out at the permit office. K, so I had to go to Zoning, which is in the courthouse. But Zoning didn't have any physical proof that I own the land, but Register of Deeds would have it. It's the same building, different floor. Went to the Register of Deeds. I have to pay for documents from there; but Northern Title (across the street from the courthouse) would have the documents for free because they were the ones who oversaw the sale of the land.
AND THIS WAS ALL IN ONE MORNING.
But that is not the end of this story, oh no no. Because I got an email that afternoon from the guy who handles water and sewer for the city, and HE said it's a complicated mess because guess what? I'm in the city limits. Shocker. I told him this several times over the last three months. They have to have a meeting with people from the department and all that jazz to determine if I can have my holding tank. I guarantee you it will be at an inconvenient time for little old me, probably next year.
AND I do not need an inside plumbing permit because we've already got the structures inside. We need the ones outside. Funny how the permit people tell me one thing and then tell the plumbing people another thing. It would help us get things done if they would TELL US THE SAME DAMN THING.
And my Flash DVD box set is somewhere in Rhinelander, but I can't get my mitts on it. It's been out for delivery four times and rerouted three times, but it hasn't come to me yet. I know Barry Allen is late for everything, but this is ridiculous.
AND my bulbs are also in the same looping route. I have no idea where they are either.
If someone drops one more brick on my load, I'll snap under the weight. My body can't take this kind of abuse. I'm under a ridiculous amount of stress and I don't need more crap tossed at me right now.
Ta,
Bec
6.10.15
Nearly!
We should be very close to the end of the damn permits being done. Finally. Septic people got their stuff, contractor was doing his bit, everyone else has done their stuff.
FINALLY.
Then there should be nothing to stop this process from rolling already. Let's get this stupid show on the road.
(I am fully expecting one more hurdle, at least, before this is really over. There always is.)
My stress levels were so high yesterday that I'm now paying for it today. The muscles in my shoulder just ache. Stupid. I know better.
I need to take my meds and get ready to sleep because tomorrow's going to kick my butt.
Ta,
Bec
FINALLY.
Then there should be nothing to stop this process from rolling already. Let's get this stupid show on the road.
(I am fully expecting one more hurdle, at least, before this is really over. There always is.)
My stress levels were so high yesterday that I'm now paying for it today. The muscles in my shoulder just ache. Stupid. I know better.
I need to take my meds and get ready to sleep because tomorrow's going to kick my butt.
Ta,
Bec
2.10.15
Permits! AGH!
One permit left to go - septic. The septic people will not submit permits until their down payment goes through, which was sent in the mail via the title office yesterday. So when the mail arrives from the title office, and the septic people get their money, then the septic people will turn in their paperwork to the permit office...and THEN we can get on with the stupid foundation.
I tried to explain this to the contractor, who is frustrated. Well, so am I. I want this damn thing done. I want to live in my house and have my own kitchen and have some PEACE, for heaven's sake.
One more weekend before we get this going. One. More. Weekend.
Ta,
Bec
I tried to explain this to the contractor, who is frustrated. Well, so am I. I want this damn thing done. I want to live in my house and have my own kitchen and have some PEACE, for heaven's sake.
One more weekend before we get this going. One. More. Weekend.
Ta,
Bec
29.9.15
Out of the Apartment
Everything was moved out of the apartment on Sunday (final bits were done today - I locked the door and called it done tonight) and shoved all my possessions upwards seven feet towards the porch of the house and put in the house (every room is piled full of my things, except the kitchen, which has a water heater and a furnace in the middle of it and cannot, therefore, have anything piled in it.) The house is now quite a bit higher in the air because they've now propped it up in preparation for the foundation to be put in...when we get done with the stupid permits.
Because, oh my, we are seriously into Permit Apocalypse here. I have five different groups working on this lot: septic, plumbing and heating, electric (which has two) and contracting. Everyone has to have their permits in and approved by the city BEFORE we can proceed.
Help.
Me.
Lord.
I'm not even worrying about the phone line not being in the house because quite honestly, I have no idea when I'll be physically living in the house. Because I'm not, obviously. I'm at Mum and Dad's until I actually can live in the house. I want this over with already and I keep worrying we're going to run into winter with this (really hope not.)
So ONCE we have in all our little permits, THEN, OH, THEN, we can get this going.
I hate permits. I hate them with an undying passion.
I have new carpet and I can't even put it down because I can't get in there because it's under construction because permits.
I'll let you know when the situation actually changes.
Ta,
Bec
Because, oh my, we are seriously into Permit Apocalypse here. I have five different groups working on this lot: septic, plumbing and heating, electric (which has two) and contracting. Everyone has to have their permits in and approved by the city BEFORE we can proceed.
Help.
Me.
Lord.
I'm not even worrying about the phone line not being in the house because quite honestly, I have no idea when I'll be physically living in the house. Because I'm not, obviously. I'm at Mum and Dad's until I actually can live in the house. I want this over with already and I keep worrying we're going to run into winter with this (really hope not.)
So ONCE we have in all our little permits, THEN, OH, THEN, we can get this going.
I hate permits. I hate them with an undying passion.
I have new carpet and I can't even put it down because I can't get in there because it's under construction because permits.
I'll let you know when the situation actually changes.
Ta,
Bec
26.9.15
Stage 2 Complete!
So, Thursday started out with Mum and I standing around with coffees in our hands, watching WPS guys yowl at the stupid traffic idiots who didn't understand that the guy in the hard hat waving his hand at you is saying GO THROUGH, STUPID.
Then Charter took their dear sweet time getting there and held up the process.
And then things started to go really fast. One minute the house was being pulled out, the next it was whizzing by me at about twenty miles an hour, and soon enough it was around the corner and on the lot, just. like. that.
Two hours easy and it was over entirely.
The house is sitting in a four foot deep pit propped up and waiting for all my crap to go into it tomorrow. I have to be out of my apartment by Wednesday, but the inspectors are coming in on Monday, so my time is up.
I'm living at Mum and Dad's for the moment because the house isn't hooked up to anything because there's no basement and I'm chipping away at a mound of permits that would kill a lesser mortal. But I have not come this far and seen that house on the lot to give up now. I will grit my teeth and do it even if it kills me. It just might.
I'm estimating two to three weeks before I get to move in. Sigh.
BUT, along with everything going in tomorrow, my brand-new chunk of carpet will wait for me to put it in until I actually am in the house.
So, let's hope the paperwork doesn't kill me.
Ta,
Bec
Then Charter took their dear sweet time getting there and held up the process.
And then things started to go really fast. One minute the house was being pulled out, the next it was whizzing by me at about twenty miles an hour, and soon enough it was around the corner and on the lot, just. like. that.
Two hours easy and it was over entirely.
The house is sitting in a four foot deep pit propped up and waiting for all my crap to go into it tomorrow. I have to be out of my apartment by Wednesday, but the inspectors are coming in on Monday, so my time is up.
I'm living at Mum and Dad's for the moment because the house isn't hooked up to anything because there's no basement and I'm chipping away at a mound of permits that would kill a lesser mortal. But I have not come this far and seen that house on the lot to give up now. I will grit my teeth and do it even if it kills me. It just might.
I'm estimating two to three weeks before I get to move in. Sigh.
BUT, along with everything going in tomorrow, my brand-new chunk of carpet will wait for me to put it in until I actually am in the house.
So, let's hope the paperwork doesn't kill me.
Ta,
Bec
22.9.15
We Are Go For Thursday
It's official.
8 A.M. on Thursday, my house will take its little jaunt across the road and be planted on the other side, right smack between the apple trees.
It took a LOT of phone calls (about seven or eight today alone) and screaming (all me, really) and Mum running every which where because I can't, not right now, and emails and some more phone calls and me jumping up in fright every time the bloody phone rang again, but Stage 2 of this process is underway.
Next is Stage 3, getting all those permits and getting my house hooked up to water, septic, electricity, gas, and phone lines. That will be coming in the next couple of weeks. I'm temporarily moving into Mum and Dad's for a bit because the house won't be fit to live in for a while yet, and I have to be out of my apartment by next week Wednesday.
I just have to survive Thursday morning without having a heart attack, or my mother having a heart attack, or anyone else having one. It would tie things up so unmercifully.
(I did just watch Doctor Who's new episode, so forgive the very not-me language suddenly popping up.)
Sigh.
Here we go. Most stressful part of this whole thing is about to begin. I have the feeling I might not remember very much of it because it'll feel like a dream, or a nightmare, or a combination of both. My graduation days were all kind of like that - I was so afraid of tripping over my own feet (it's me, so this is always a possibility) that I didn't enjoy the day as much as the ones who got to watch it happen. I have to remember to breathe, and maybe find a balloon with sand in it to squeeze so that I don't kill a folding chair's armrests.
Or just have some ambulance people equip me with an oxygen tank and a box with labels that I can shred, or bubble wrap, or a pot to clean. Something, anything to relieve the tension. I am going to hurt so much on Friday because of all the stress.
Gotta get some sleep. Next two days are going to be crazy.
Ta,
Bec
8 A.M. on Thursday, my house will take its little jaunt across the road and be planted on the other side, right smack between the apple trees.
It took a LOT of phone calls (about seven or eight today alone) and screaming (all me, really) and Mum running every which where because I can't, not right now, and emails and some more phone calls and me jumping up in fright every time the bloody phone rang again, but Stage 2 of this process is underway.
Next is Stage 3, getting all those permits and getting my house hooked up to water, septic, electricity, gas, and phone lines. That will be coming in the next couple of weeks. I'm temporarily moving into Mum and Dad's for a bit because the house won't be fit to live in for a while yet, and I have to be out of my apartment by next week Wednesday.
I just have to survive Thursday morning without having a heart attack, or my mother having a heart attack, or anyone else having one. It would tie things up so unmercifully.
(I did just watch Doctor Who's new episode, so forgive the very not-me language suddenly popping up.)
Sigh.
Here we go. Most stressful part of this whole thing is about to begin. I have the feeling I might not remember very much of it because it'll feel like a dream, or a nightmare, or a combination of both. My graduation days were all kind of like that - I was so afraid of tripping over my own feet (it's me, so this is always a possibility) that I didn't enjoy the day as much as the ones who got to watch it happen. I have to remember to breathe, and maybe find a balloon with sand in it to squeeze so that I don't kill a folding chair's armrests.
Or just have some ambulance people equip me with an oxygen tank and a box with labels that I can shred, or bubble wrap, or a pot to clean. Something, anything to relieve the tension. I am going to hurt so much on Friday because of all the stress.
Gotta get some sleep. Next two days are going to be crazy.
Ta,
Bec
17.9.15
Permit Hell
I have a half-dozen permits to have filled out before they move the house. It's up on blocks...just not going anywhere. I am working on it. I have my fingers in five pies at once and they're all coming up strawberry (my least favorite flavor.) Someday it will be over.
I am also taking a course online through Coursera and working forty hours a week and, oh, by the way, I'm moving in a week and three days. No stress, right?
AGH!
I haven't started ripping my hair out...YET.
Ta,
Bec
I am also taking a course online through Coursera and working forty hours a week and, oh, by the way, I'm moving in a week and three days. No stress, right?
AGH!
I haven't started ripping my hair out...YET.
Ta,
Bec
3.9.15
Digging Starts Tomorrow!
Hi,
The digging starts tomorrow. House should be moved next week. Things are hauling along spiffingly now. Just the pace I like. Hup, hup.
I cleaned up the property tonight and went and made measurements of a couple of rooms in the house so I can get a judge on how much flooring I'm going to need in future (hint: Not much.) I would rather do it now than before furniture is in the way and I can't get a proper measurement.
Let the crazy begin!
The digging starts tomorrow. House should be moved next week. Things are hauling along spiffingly now. Just the pace I like. Hup, hup.
I cleaned up the property tonight and went and made measurements of a couple of rooms in the house so I can get a judge on how much flooring I'm going to need in future (hint: Not much.) I would rather do it now than before furniture is in the way and I can't get a proper measurement.
Let the crazy begin!
24.8.15
Updates on Progress and Stuff
I have three apple trees on my land (Mum and I thought there were two, but they haven't been pruned in ages and there are two sort of stuck together with dead branches.) I'm obviously going to have to prune them back extensively when the weather gets cold.
The digging hasn't started yet and I'm having difficulty getting the city of Rhinelander to respond to my constant messages, but hopefully in five weeks, I will be almost ready to move into my house.
I'm buying pictures/decorations for the walls in my bedroom and for the living room. I figured out how the bedroom's kind of going to look (it's going to as vintage as I can manage it...mine, anyway) and I bought a kennel for my kitty (when everything is actually settled and in place AND I have the place safe for a kitten) I will get my cuddly animal at last. Funny enough, I'm looking forward to that day more than the one where they move the house (mostly cause the house moving is all anxiousness and worry. I won't sleep that night until I know it's safe on the other side of the road.)
I was trying to figure out where the garden was going to go today, but without the house in place, it's hard to determine where the hell it's going to go. I have a few spots that I think might work.
Let's just hope the city actually has a public works department that WORKS.
Ta,
Bec
The digging hasn't started yet and I'm having difficulty getting the city of Rhinelander to respond to my constant messages, but hopefully in five weeks, I will be almost ready to move into my house.
I'm buying pictures/decorations for the walls in my bedroom and for the living room. I figured out how the bedroom's kind of going to look (it's going to as vintage as I can manage it...mine, anyway) and I bought a kennel for my kitty (when everything is actually settled and in place AND I have the place safe for a kitten) I will get my cuddly animal at last. Funny enough, I'm looking forward to that day more than the one where they move the house (mostly cause the house moving is all anxiousness and worry. I won't sleep that night until I know it's safe on the other side of the road.)
I was trying to figure out where the garden was going to go today, but without the house in place, it's hard to determine where the hell it's going to go. I have a few spots that I think might work.
Let's just hope the city actually has a public works department that WORKS.
Ta,
Bec
21.8.15
Land Owner
Hi,
As of about 5 this afternoon, I will finally, finally, own the land I've been trying to get for three months.
After a thousand hurdles and all those buckets of worry, Stage 1 is over. We close today.
Hopefully I will be able to get the digging on the basement started really soon. Like next week soon.
I have to be out of my apartment by September 30th, so there's my deadline. Luckily, I can move my possessions into the house before they shift it over, so I'll start taking stuff down to the house as soon as I get the keys.
5 1/2 weeks till it should all be over. Yay!
Ta,
Bec
As of about 5 this afternoon, I will finally, finally, own the land I've been trying to get for three months.
After a thousand hurdles and all those buckets of worry, Stage 1 is over. We close today.
Hopefully I will be able to get the digging on the basement started really soon. Like next week soon.
I have to be out of my apartment by September 30th, so there's my deadline. Luckily, I can move my possessions into the house before they shift it over, so I'll start taking stuff down to the house as soon as I get the keys.
5 1/2 weeks till it should all be over. Yay!
Ta,
Bec
7.8.15
Updating You All
Grandma's doing better in the rehab place (apparently she called my cousin Ricky, the only one with any kind of EMT experience in our family,) who thought something was up but couldn't do anything about it seeing as he was in Idaho fighting fires.) Ricky called his mother, my aunt Sue, who went over, saw her mother's condition, and took her to the hospital.
The only thing she wants is to go home, and who wouldn't? My mother equated it to being in prison, with the added neck brace so you can't even move your head when you want to.
So, here's the big secret I've been keeping the last three months or so.
I am 3/4 of the way through buying a piece of land. I've signed the paperwork and gotten pre-approval on the loan for it.
The land is gorgeous. It has really large trees and is situated on the Pelican River. It's two lots that are a little over an acre in size.
350 feet away lies the other part of the equation. Someone is getting rid of a house, along with stove, fridge, water heater, furnace, and sewage tank. They pay for fill. The roof is new.
I'm planning on putting house with land...after I have a basement put in (kind of necessary as the house is small.)
It's already caused me more stress than I thought it would, but once it all gets going, things should be awesome and I should have a sweet piece of property to adapt for raising my son (and daughter, eventually.)
The one thing I am adamant about before I start the application for James is that I have to put up a fence to keep him from falling in the river. I don't know what the undercurrent is like in that particular spot, but I would rather not put my bab(ies) at risk by neglecting to fence the water off. We've already lost one little one in the Pelican in the last year; I swear to gosh the next one won't be my kid.
So that's what's up.
Another thing I've been doing (rather quietly) is writing to James. It's helping me deal with emotions especially; there's a lot of things that have to go right before I can have him as my son and it's going to be awhile. I figured writing him couldn't hurt.
Today I wrote him about his name and explained why he was named James Daniel. This is the part about his middle name. It was so well-written I'm posting it here. I don't want to post the rest; it's not something I want to let go of just yet.
The middle name (at least the one; there may be more) Daniel is not because of my own uncle who is named Daniel. There was a show called Stargate SG-1. In that show, there was a character named Dr. Daniel Jackson. Daniel opened the Stargate for the people of Earth and found the city of Atlantis. He saved millions of people at the cost of his own life at least twice. He was a scholar; an archaeologist and a linguist. Daniel could have stayed home and read books, but instead he fought alongside his friends and passionately spoke out when he felt injustice was being done. He was humble; believed himself a failure (because he unburied the Stargate and his wife and brother-in-law were enslaved; he blamed himself) and was never given medals for all that he had done, but Daniel kept going.
I would wish my son to embody the things that Daniel Jackson did - a passionate, unending thirst for knowledge, pacifism even in the face of those who would see violence as the answer, loyal, honest, kind, gentle, and self-sacrificing to the full. Real men don't need a weapon to make their point, and Daniel proved that over and over (though he did carry a gun for protection.) Daniel was more apt to use his words to try to bridge the gap between cultures and peoples.
I gave you his name to remind you that even in the face of terrible odds, even with those around you speaking war and shouting in anger, you carry the name of one who stood in front of lions and spoke peace, one who faced down terrors and hatred and reached out in love. There is so much hatred and spite in the world now, even before you are here, and it's going to get worse as you grow older. I know, even before you come, that the world probably will not listen to you and you will suffer the pain of rejection and know the voices of those who hate peace and shun your words. But like Daniel, don't listen to them. Do what your heart tells you. Speak peace. Speak love. Never give up, not even in the face of your own death. Keep searching. Keep learning. Be the one who stands up when everyone else sits down. That is the best I can hope for you.
Um, wow. Even I'm impressed with it. I only hope James will get to read it and take it to heart.
Gotta get back to work!
Ta,
Bec
The only thing she wants is to go home, and who wouldn't? My mother equated it to being in prison, with the added neck brace so you can't even move your head when you want to.
So, here's the big secret I've been keeping the last three months or so.
I am 3/4 of the way through buying a piece of land. I've signed the paperwork and gotten pre-approval on the loan for it.
The land is gorgeous. It has really large trees and is situated on the Pelican River. It's two lots that are a little over an acre in size.
350 feet away lies the other part of the equation. Someone is getting rid of a house, along with stove, fridge, water heater, furnace, and sewage tank. They pay for fill. The roof is new.
I'm planning on putting house with land...after I have a basement put in (kind of necessary as the house is small.)
It's already caused me more stress than I thought it would, but once it all gets going, things should be awesome and I should have a sweet piece of property to adapt for raising my son (and daughter, eventually.)
The one thing I am adamant about before I start the application for James is that I have to put up a fence to keep him from falling in the river. I don't know what the undercurrent is like in that particular spot, but I would rather not put my bab(ies) at risk by neglecting to fence the water off. We've already lost one little one in the Pelican in the last year; I swear to gosh the next one won't be my kid.
So that's what's up.
Another thing I've been doing (rather quietly) is writing to James. It's helping me deal with emotions especially; there's a lot of things that have to go right before I can have him as my son and it's going to be awhile. I figured writing him couldn't hurt.
Today I wrote him about his name and explained why he was named James Daniel. This is the part about his middle name. It was so well-written I'm posting it here. I don't want to post the rest; it's not something I want to let go of just yet.
The middle name (at least the one; there may be more) Daniel is not because of my own uncle who is named Daniel. There was a show called Stargate SG-1. In that show, there was a character named Dr. Daniel Jackson. Daniel opened the Stargate for the people of Earth and found the city of Atlantis. He saved millions of people at the cost of his own life at least twice. He was a scholar; an archaeologist and a linguist. Daniel could have stayed home and read books, but instead he fought alongside his friends and passionately spoke out when he felt injustice was being done. He was humble; believed himself a failure (because he unburied the Stargate and his wife and brother-in-law were enslaved; he blamed himself) and was never given medals for all that he had done, but Daniel kept going.
I would wish my son to embody the things that Daniel Jackson did - a passionate, unending thirst for knowledge, pacifism even in the face of those who would see violence as the answer, loyal, honest, kind, gentle, and self-sacrificing to the full. Real men don't need a weapon to make their point, and Daniel proved that over and over (though he did carry a gun for protection.) Daniel was more apt to use his words to try to bridge the gap between cultures and peoples.
I gave you his name to remind you that even in the face of terrible odds, even with those around you speaking war and shouting in anger, you carry the name of one who stood in front of lions and spoke peace, one who faced down terrors and hatred and reached out in love. There is so much hatred and spite in the world now, even before you are here, and it's going to get worse as you grow older. I know, even before you come, that the world probably will not listen to you and you will suffer the pain of rejection and know the voices of those who hate peace and shun your words. But like Daniel, don't listen to them. Do what your heart tells you. Speak peace. Speak love. Never give up, not even in the face of your own death. Keep searching. Keep learning. Be the one who stands up when everyone else sits down. That is the best I can hope for you.
Um, wow. Even I'm impressed with it. I only hope James will get to read it and take it to heart.
Gotta get back to work!
Ta,
Bec
5.7.15
Banged-Up Grandma
My grandmother took one heck of a spill this week (she's about two weeks shy of her 88th birthday.) She apparently tripped going up the back steps to her house and appears to have landed smack on her face and arms. That was Wednesday. We think in the meantime between then and Friday when my aunt called the ambulance that Grandma may have been taking aspirin for her pain (because that's what she's got in the house. She doesn't have good painkillers like us other Koshaks over here have.) That would explain the frankly phenomenal amount of bruising she has.
Realize I was seeing these injuries five days after they happened. She honestly looks like she was beaten. My mother said if she'd passed her in the hallway she wouldn't have recognized her. The upper part of her left arm is all black (I really couldn't help my exclamation at the sight of her arm like that,) her face is green, purple, and swollen all the way around her eyes and up the side of her forehead, she apparently has bruises all up and down her back...I could go on. She managed to crack the tips of two vertebrae, compressed a third, and had a bleed in her brain.
We are all thoroughly impressed with how much bruising/damage one person can manage just with one fall (though she does bruise easily, even without the aspirin,) and how long one person can stand to be in pain before they wind up getting carted to hospital. Someone else who's a member of a church and about ten years older broke his neck and it was three days before he caved. I can only assume stubbornness is either a Lutheran trait, a German trait, or both.
Apparently Aunt Sue went over to check on her on Friday (the circumstances of why she did are still a little hazy, as Grandma doesn't remember anything), got one look at her mother's face, and called the ambulance (considering how absolutely bashed up her face looks three days later, I would have done exactly the same.) They carted her down to the bigger hospital in Marshfield an hour and a half away and stuck her in a neck brace (she's not getting out of that for 3 to 6 months.) We have no idea when she's going to be released from downstate and brought back home until tomorrow when they run more tests. She will go to rehab for a bit if and when they let her come home.
She's not in a lot of pain, but the neck brace looks mighty uncomfortable. She can't twist or anything, so she's incapable of reaching for the things she wants. If I were her, I would be totally annoyed with this whole business already and it's only been one weekend. That brace is going to be a misery in August and September when it gets really warm out.
I don't love my grandmother, but I can't help but help someone who's clearly helpless. Before we left today, I asked her if she wanted water, got the cup for her, and made sure she got some liquid down because it was going to be an hour at least before she got to drink anything else. I know I would hate laying there, bruised and battered, unable to twist my stupid head, and be thirsty for ages without any ability to get a drink or anything else to think about but how thirsty I was.
This little spill of hers may cost her a lot more than just a few nights in hospital. It'll be a testament to her tenacity if she's back to any semblance of normal at this time next year.
The truly sad and mildly awful part of this was that the ONE person who works with my dad who is NOT family told us Grandma was in hospital. My uncle didn't call us till yesterday (when listening to the message he left, I had some CHOICE words I called him, and not quietly, either.) I'll update when I know more (might find out next Christmas what's been going on, considered how behind the lot of them are on giving updates.)
Ta,
Bec
PS: We gained and lost a pitbull in the last couple of days. We came home from church last night and my sister (right in the middle of a sentence) goes, "WHOA." There, in the grate below her feet, was a 90-pound brown and white pitbull, cowering in terror.
We surmised that the fireworks scared the willies out of him, he had run away from his family and found a good place to hide (understandable, as our two regular pets were both scared of the booms.) When he'd calmed down a little, we found out he was a very sweet boy who didn't want to hurt anybody at all, but he had no tag to identify him with.
We let him in the house, gave him a snack, and let him stay the night, as we couldn't raise anyone who could take him (it's a rural area; it's a holiday, it's a weekend, nothing's open.) He caused us no trouble whatsoever. This morning, we gave him breakfast, called some people, and someone came and took him home with them. They called a little later to tell us he'd been reunited with his humans. Best outcome for everyone (although Echo kind of wanted a playmate, and though he was big, he was good at playing.)
Realize I was seeing these injuries five days after they happened. She honestly looks like she was beaten. My mother said if she'd passed her in the hallway she wouldn't have recognized her. The upper part of her left arm is all black (I really couldn't help my exclamation at the sight of her arm like that,) her face is green, purple, and swollen all the way around her eyes and up the side of her forehead, she apparently has bruises all up and down her back...I could go on. She managed to crack the tips of two vertebrae, compressed a third, and had a bleed in her brain.
We are all thoroughly impressed with how much bruising/damage one person can manage just with one fall (though she does bruise easily, even without the aspirin,) and how long one person can stand to be in pain before they wind up getting carted to hospital. Someone else who's a member of a church and about ten years older broke his neck and it was three days before he caved. I can only assume stubbornness is either a Lutheran trait, a German trait, or both.
Apparently Aunt Sue went over to check on her on Friday (the circumstances of why she did are still a little hazy, as Grandma doesn't remember anything), got one look at her mother's face, and called the ambulance (considering how absolutely bashed up her face looks three days later, I would have done exactly the same.) They carted her down to the bigger hospital in Marshfield an hour and a half away and stuck her in a neck brace (she's not getting out of that for 3 to 6 months.) We have no idea when she's going to be released from downstate and brought back home until tomorrow when they run more tests. She will go to rehab for a bit if and when they let her come home.
She's not in a lot of pain, but the neck brace looks mighty uncomfortable. She can't twist or anything, so she's incapable of reaching for the things she wants. If I were her, I would be totally annoyed with this whole business already and it's only been one weekend. That brace is going to be a misery in August and September when it gets really warm out.
I don't love my grandmother, but I can't help but help someone who's clearly helpless. Before we left today, I asked her if she wanted water, got the cup for her, and made sure she got some liquid down because it was going to be an hour at least before she got to drink anything else. I know I would hate laying there, bruised and battered, unable to twist my stupid head, and be thirsty for ages without any ability to get a drink or anything else to think about but how thirsty I was.
This little spill of hers may cost her a lot more than just a few nights in hospital. It'll be a testament to her tenacity if she's back to any semblance of normal at this time next year.
The truly sad and mildly awful part of this was that the ONE person who works with my dad who is NOT family told us Grandma was in hospital. My uncle didn't call us till yesterday (when listening to the message he left, I had some CHOICE words I called him, and not quietly, either.) I'll update when I know more (might find out next Christmas what's been going on, considered how behind the lot of them are on giving updates.)
Ta,
Bec
PS: We gained and lost a pitbull in the last couple of days. We came home from church last night and my sister (right in the middle of a sentence) goes, "WHOA." There, in the grate below her feet, was a 90-pound brown and white pitbull, cowering in terror.
We surmised that the fireworks scared the willies out of him, he had run away from his family and found a good place to hide (understandable, as our two regular pets were both scared of the booms.) When he'd calmed down a little, we found out he was a very sweet boy who didn't want to hurt anybody at all, but he had no tag to identify him with.
We let him in the house, gave him a snack, and let him stay the night, as we couldn't raise anyone who could take him (it's a rural area; it's a holiday, it's a weekend, nothing's open.) He caused us no trouble whatsoever. This morning, we gave him breakfast, called some people, and someone came and took him home with them. They called a little later to tell us he'd been reunited with his humans. Best outcome for everyone (although Echo kind of wanted a playmate, and though he was big, he was good at playing.)
27.6.15
Hamlet Complaint - Again
So, I watched Kenneth Branagh's "Hamlet" last night, and I have to complain somewhere, so you're going to hear it.
I loved the setting, I loved the actors, I loved the costumes, I loved the fact that they made it four hours long and used original language. Those things I like and expect from a Shakespeare play.
But what I didn't like was that bloody Hamlet soliliquy.
It actually makes or breaks this whole play for me. Just as the "St. Crispin's" speech from Henry V does for that play, if that speech isn't done right (cough *Hiddleston* cough), it makes that version of the play not worth rewatching (hell, that's the whole reason Henry's guys go and fight with him. They're outnumbered and a thousand miles from home in France, it's muddy out in the fields, and Henry gives them a ramping good speech to get them to fight (it works. They beat the French.)
I've watched a few versions of this speech-Olivier did his standing on a cliff (kudos) and Jacobi did his sitting down, looking at the floor (getting there.) Burton just sort of did it (he should have tried harder,) Gibson did his in a crypt (enh) and Branagh, I love you, but doing it in front of the mirror rather jauntily just wrecked the whole thing. No gravity, no misery, no tears. He just sort of...does it.
Here's the speech again, so you may review and ponder Hamlet's misery. Some versions (Tennant's in particular) take some lines out, but the point's still clear.
To be, or not to be, that is the question:
Whether 'tis Nobler in the mind to suffer
The Slings and Arrows of outrageous Fortune,
Or to take Arms against a Sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them: to die, to sleep
No more; and by a sleep, to say we end
The Heart-ache, and the thousand Natural shocks
That Flesh is heir to? 'Tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep,
To sleep, perchance to Dream; aye, there's the rub,
For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause. There's the respect
That makes Calamity of so long life:
For who would bear the Whips and Scorns of time,
The Oppressor's wrong, the proud man's Contumely, [F: poor]
The pangs of despised Love, the Law’s delay, [F: disprized]
The insolence of Office, and the Spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his Quietus make
With a bare Bodkin? Who would Fardels bear, [F: these Fardels]
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovered Country, from whose bourn
No Traveller returns, Puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have,
Than fly to others that we know not of.
Thus Conscience does make Cowards of us all,
And thus the Native hue of Resolution
Is sicklied o'er, with the pale cast of Thought,
And enterprises of great pitch and moment, [F: pith]
With this regard their Currents turn awry, [F: away]
And lose the name of Action. Soft you now,
The fair Ophelia? Nymph, in thy Orisons
Be all my sins remembered.[4]
I've just had it up to here with the phoning it in bit. This is one of the major turning points of this play - the moment where Hamlet is deciding whether to continue to go on with the fight or give up and quit. The BEST version of this speech (in my eyes, anyway) was actually David Tennant, who managed to understand what ALL of the other actors so far have not quite caught - this is a suicide speech.
Hamlet wants to die. He's done. He's had it. His dad was murdered by his uncle, his mum married his uncle five minutes later, and he's been told by his dead ghostly dad who's in hell to widow his mother for the second time in five months, and kill his uncle for killing his dad...and he can't do it. (Let's not even go into the fact that his uncle USURPED the throne and took it from Hamlet the Elder and Hamlet the Younger. This kid should rightfully be ruling Denmark right now.) He's told his girlfriend to stuff it, he's pretending to be nuts, and the whole stupid situation has just gotten to him. He wants to off himself, but he knows that God curses those who commit suicide (and murder, for that matter) to eternal hell, so he's stuck. His conscience wracks him badly, so that even when he said he would do what his father asked at the time (in a fit of fear, anger and passion,) now he's not so sure.
This is a guy who's still very much a boy, who is overwhelmed with what he's been asked to do and what he's committed to. He is staring at a sheer cliff face with no crampons or rope and the roaring ocean behind - no way back, no way forward. He's teetering on the brink of oblivion. What will Hamlet do? What can he do? What should he do?
Every answer to his problem sucks. If he doesn't kill his uncle, he's letting his uncle steal his throne and live on as king of the Danes and as a murderer, and Hamlet Sr. doesn't get avenged and is stuck in hell, forever forced to wander the earth with his beaver up. If he does kill his uncle, he avenges his father, widows his mother again, and becomes a murderer himself. Can he live with the weight of the sin of inaction? Can he live with the weight of the sin of action?
I think this is why I relate to Hamlet so much - he's so damn human. I've had decisions that felt like this (some of them in the last couple of months) where you have to (quoting Macbeth here) "screw your courage to the sticking place," suck it up and be brave even though you're afraid of what's coming.
And Tennant GETS it. His version of this speech shows a Hamlet who is appropriately miserable and depressed. He's scared, upset, nearly in tears over the whole mess. He's leaning on a wall because he'd be on the floor without the support. THAT'S the kind of Hamlet soliliquy that keeps me watching and doesn't tick me off. Jaunty with this speech just doesn't WORK.
There, rant over.
:)
Ta,
Bec
I loved the setting, I loved the actors, I loved the costumes, I loved the fact that they made it four hours long and used original language. Those things I like and expect from a Shakespeare play.
But what I didn't like was that bloody Hamlet soliliquy.
It actually makes or breaks this whole play for me. Just as the "St. Crispin's" speech from Henry V does for that play, if that speech isn't done right (cough *Hiddleston* cough), it makes that version of the play not worth rewatching (hell, that's the whole reason Henry's guys go and fight with him. They're outnumbered and a thousand miles from home in France, it's muddy out in the fields, and Henry gives them a ramping good speech to get them to fight (it works. They beat the French.)
I've watched a few versions of this speech-Olivier did his standing on a cliff (kudos) and Jacobi did his sitting down, looking at the floor (getting there.) Burton just sort of did it (he should have tried harder,) Gibson did his in a crypt (enh) and Branagh, I love you, but doing it in front of the mirror rather jauntily just wrecked the whole thing. No gravity, no misery, no tears. He just sort of...does it.
Here's the speech again, so you may review and ponder Hamlet's misery. Some versions (Tennant's in particular) take some lines out, but the point's still clear.
To be, or not to be, that is the question:
Whether 'tis Nobler in the mind to suffer
The Slings and Arrows of outrageous Fortune,
Or to take Arms against a Sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them: to die, to sleep
No more; and by a sleep, to say we end
The Heart-ache, and the thousand Natural shocks
That Flesh is heir to? 'Tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep,
To sleep, perchance to Dream; aye, there's the rub,
For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause. There's the respect
That makes Calamity of so long life:
For who would bear the Whips and Scorns of time,
The Oppressor's wrong, the proud man's Contumely, [F: poor]
The pangs of despised Love, the Law’s delay, [F: disprized]
The insolence of Office, and the Spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his Quietus make
With a bare Bodkin? Who would Fardels bear, [F: these Fardels]
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovered Country, from whose bourn
No Traveller returns, Puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have,
Than fly to others that we know not of.
Thus Conscience does make Cowards of us all,
And thus the Native hue of Resolution
Is sicklied o'er, with the pale cast of Thought,
And enterprises of great pitch and moment, [F: pith]
With this regard their Currents turn awry, [F: away]
And lose the name of Action. Soft you now,
The fair Ophelia? Nymph, in thy Orisons
Be all my sins remembered.[4]
I've just had it up to here with the phoning it in bit. This is one of the major turning points of this play - the moment where Hamlet is deciding whether to continue to go on with the fight or give up and quit. The BEST version of this speech (in my eyes, anyway) was actually David Tennant, who managed to understand what ALL of the other actors so far have not quite caught - this is a suicide speech.
Hamlet wants to die. He's done. He's had it. His dad was murdered by his uncle, his mum married his uncle five minutes later, and he's been told by his dead ghostly dad who's in hell to widow his mother for the second time in five months, and kill his uncle for killing his dad...and he can't do it. (Let's not even go into the fact that his uncle USURPED the throne and took it from Hamlet the Elder and Hamlet the Younger. This kid should rightfully be ruling Denmark right now.) He's told his girlfriend to stuff it, he's pretending to be nuts, and the whole stupid situation has just gotten to him. He wants to off himself, but he knows that God curses those who commit suicide (and murder, for that matter) to eternal hell, so he's stuck. His conscience wracks him badly, so that even when he said he would do what his father asked at the time (in a fit of fear, anger and passion,) now he's not so sure.
This is a guy who's still very much a boy, who is overwhelmed with what he's been asked to do and what he's committed to. He is staring at a sheer cliff face with no crampons or rope and the roaring ocean behind - no way back, no way forward. He's teetering on the brink of oblivion. What will Hamlet do? What can he do? What should he do?
Every answer to his problem sucks. If he doesn't kill his uncle, he's letting his uncle steal his throne and live on as king of the Danes and as a murderer, and Hamlet Sr. doesn't get avenged and is stuck in hell, forever forced to wander the earth with his beaver up. If he does kill his uncle, he avenges his father, widows his mother again, and becomes a murderer himself. Can he live with the weight of the sin of inaction? Can he live with the weight of the sin of action?
I think this is why I relate to Hamlet so much - he's so damn human. I've had decisions that felt like this (some of them in the last couple of months) where you have to (quoting Macbeth here) "screw your courage to the sticking place," suck it up and be brave even though you're afraid of what's coming.
And Tennant GETS it. His version of this speech shows a Hamlet who is appropriately miserable and depressed. He's scared, upset, nearly in tears over the whole mess. He's leaning on a wall because he'd be on the floor without the support. THAT'S the kind of Hamlet soliliquy that keeps me watching and doesn't tick me off. Jaunty with this speech just doesn't WORK.
There, rant over.
:)
Ta,
Bec
31.5.15
Still Working On This Plan Thing, I Swear!
Still trying to get a plan together here. The hurdle that I thought was going to be a problem just got solved for me in 15 seconds (quite a lot of money saved if it works like I hope it will.) Hopefully by the end of the week, I will be able to reveal what the hell is going on (very big meeting tomorrow, waiting on some important information, and then I think things can progress very nicely.) We're getting there, we're getting there.
I can tell you that my deadline for this insane plan is the beginning of September, and the way things are going, I may actually have everything all set and done before then, ha ha.
Lots to do and many big things happening this week. When it's all finalized and I have signed the paperwork, I promise I will tell you what the hell's going on (there is the possibility if I tell you that someone could still hijack the plan and screw up everything, so we're keeping it kind of quietish until everything is signed, sealed, and delivered.)
Ta for now,
Bec
I can tell you that my deadline for this insane plan is the beginning of September, and the way things are going, I may actually have everything all set and done before then, ha ha.
Lots to do and many big things happening this week. When it's all finalized and I have signed the paperwork, I promise I will tell you what the hell's going on (there is the possibility if I tell you that someone could still hijack the plan and screw up everything, so we're keeping it kind of quietish until everything is signed, sealed, and delivered.)
Ta for now,
Bec
26.5.15
Plans Coming Together
Very big things coming soon in my little world. Very, very big things...
I can't say much yet as nothing's been finalized (waiting on one more thing before I truly commit) but if all goes well, I will definitely report back soon with good news.
It's also going to make this summer VERY interesting and completely stressful, but no matter. This is going to be worth it.
Can't say no more just yet.
Ta,
Bec
I can't say much yet as nothing's been finalized (waiting on one more thing before I truly commit) but if all goes well, I will definitely report back soon with good news.
It's also going to make this summer VERY interesting and completely stressful, but no matter. This is going to be worth it.
Can't say no more just yet.
Ta,
Bec
10.4.15
Thoughts on the Flash
Oodles of spoilers on Flash, up to the last episode (17, I believe it was.) My head was on fire (not LITERALLY. I'm not RONNIE) but I had to get this stuff down or risk a dark matter explosion all over the wall (hee hee.)
SPOILER LINE
My thoughts on Harrison Wells...Eobard Thawne...whatever.
He is patient. Oh, is he patient. He's one of the most patient villains I've ever seen (Voldemort was mist for 14 years and unable to kill Harry, so that doesn't count.)
Anyone who goes back 500 years to kill someone and is stuck in what to us would be the Renaissance for 15 years would have to be obsessed and extremely patient.
Read any account of Thawne online (Wikipedia makes it so easy to get a biography of a comic book character, even with all the retconning) and these things become clear: Thawne is an obsessed fan of the Flash's work. He knows everything about him-ran the Flash Museum in one timeline. Then, in the comics anyway, he found the old Flash treadmill in a shop, bought it, traveled back in time, found out he was going to be Professor Zoom, went psycho, and started believing he WAS the Flash and followed Wally (one of Flash's descendants) around. Wally sent him back in time to his own world, powerless. Thawne now carries a deep and bitter hatred for the Flash.
But in this version of the story, (since we do not yet have an in-story history for Eobard Thawne before he lands in Central City in the past) his original plan to kill Barry failed spectacularly. Remember Thawne-as-Wells saying that time has a way of getting back at those who mess with it in Episode 16? (I paraphrase, but you get my point.) He’s speaking from experience: This guy wound up setting up Barry Allen's life so that he would become the Flash. He created his own enemy, same as Voldemort did. I assume he killed Barry's mother (because Henry didn't, little Barry didn't, and big Barry probably didn't), thereby setting up a chain of events that would cause Henry to be jailed, Barry to move in with Joe and Iris, cause Barry to go to college to study forensic science and physics, and eventually become a CSI in Central City (possibly Thawne-as-Wells manipulated that, too? Not unlikely.) Barry studies what he does and takes this career so he can eventually capture the man who killed his mother and exonerate his father.
Meanwhile, Eobard Thawne takes advantage of his time, since he's stuck here. He kills Tess Morgan and Harrison Wells, steals Harrison Wells’ entire life, and opens Star Labs so that he can build a particle accelerator...so that it will fail. He fires Hartley Rathaway purely because Hartley was smart enough to see the deliberate mistake installed in the accelerator. That accelerator was set to fail on PURPOSE. Thawne-as-Wells is 500 years ahead of us. He knew how to build the accelerator, and he knew what mistake to put where so that the accident would occur as it was supposed to. Recall he was watching Barry before the lightning struck. He knew exactly what was going to happen.
He built an entire particle accelerator, at immense cost and time, to turn Barry Allen into the Flash.
But Thawne-as-Wells didn't stop there. He then begged Joe and Iris to hand over a comatose Barry to him so that he could help get his heartrate under control. He trained him and pushed him to be faster. He killed people to protect him (or manipulated people to kill/die for him so that Barry would be safe.) He almost bit Cisco's head off when he found out about the cold gun.
Holy whoa. That is one obsessed fan/villain. To deliberately set things in time and create the man whom you want to kill…that’s dedication.
Thawne-as-Wells went back in time to kill Barry...and wound up making him exactly what he is now and setting him on a path to go back in time and try to save his mother from the man who created him.
My conclusion: Thawne doesn't want a half-assed hero to kick around like a football. He wants a challenge. If he had just wanted to kill Barry outright, he's had his opportunities: he could have done it when he was a child, or when he was comatose, or one of the three thousand times he's been alone with Barry in a room (or even when he was beating him up in the stadium.) He wants an equal when the battle arrives. He wants a Barry Allen who can meet him head-to-head...and he has waited a long time to do it. Oh, he’s going to try to kill Barry, just like he tried to do 15 years before…but will it go the way Wells thinks it will?
SPOILER LINE
My thoughts on Harrison Wells...Eobard Thawne...whatever.
He is patient. Oh, is he patient. He's one of the most patient villains I've ever seen (Voldemort was mist for 14 years and unable to kill Harry, so that doesn't count.)
Anyone who goes back 500 years to kill someone and is stuck in what to us would be the Renaissance for 15 years would have to be obsessed and extremely patient.
Read any account of Thawne online (Wikipedia makes it so easy to get a biography of a comic book character, even with all the retconning) and these things become clear: Thawne is an obsessed fan of the Flash's work. He knows everything about him-ran the Flash Museum in one timeline. Then, in the comics anyway, he found the old Flash treadmill in a shop, bought it, traveled back in time, found out he was going to be Professor Zoom, went psycho, and started believing he WAS the Flash and followed Wally (one of Flash's descendants) around. Wally sent him back in time to his own world, powerless. Thawne now carries a deep and bitter hatred for the Flash.
But in this version of the story, (since we do not yet have an in-story history for Eobard Thawne before he lands in Central City in the past) his original plan to kill Barry failed spectacularly. Remember Thawne-as-Wells saying that time has a way of getting back at those who mess with it in Episode 16? (I paraphrase, but you get my point.) He’s speaking from experience: This guy wound up setting up Barry Allen's life so that he would become the Flash. He created his own enemy, same as Voldemort did. I assume he killed Barry's mother (because Henry didn't, little Barry didn't, and big Barry probably didn't), thereby setting up a chain of events that would cause Henry to be jailed, Barry to move in with Joe and Iris, cause Barry to go to college to study forensic science and physics, and eventually become a CSI in Central City (possibly Thawne-as-Wells manipulated that, too? Not unlikely.) Barry studies what he does and takes this career so he can eventually capture the man who killed his mother and exonerate his father.
Meanwhile, Eobard Thawne takes advantage of his time, since he's stuck here. He kills Tess Morgan and Harrison Wells, steals Harrison Wells’ entire life, and opens Star Labs so that he can build a particle accelerator...so that it will fail. He fires Hartley Rathaway purely because Hartley was smart enough to see the deliberate mistake installed in the accelerator. That accelerator was set to fail on PURPOSE. Thawne-as-Wells is 500 years ahead of us. He knew how to build the accelerator, and he knew what mistake to put where so that the accident would occur as it was supposed to. Recall he was watching Barry before the lightning struck. He knew exactly what was going to happen.
He built an entire particle accelerator, at immense cost and time, to turn Barry Allen into the Flash.
But Thawne-as-Wells didn't stop there. He then begged Joe and Iris to hand over a comatose Barry to him so that he could help get his heartrate under control. He trained him and pushed him to be faster. He killed people to protect him (or manipulated people to kill/die for him so that Barry would be safe.) He almost bit Cisco's head off when he found out about the cold gun.
Holy whoa. That is one obsessed fan/villain. To deliberately set things in time and create the man whom you want to kill…that’s dedication.
Thawne-as-Wells went back in time to kill Barry...and wound up making him exactly what he is now and setting him on a path to go back in time and try to save his mother from the man who created him.
My conclusion: Thawne doesn't want a half-assed hero to kick around like a football. He wants a challenge. If he had just wanted to kill Barry outright, he's had his opportunities: he could have done it when he was a child, or when he was comatose, or one of the three thousand times he's been alone with Barry in a room (or even when he was beating him up in the stadium.) He wants an equal when the battle arrives. He wants a Barry Allen who can meet him head-to-head...and he has waited a long time to do it. Oh, he’s going to try to kill Barry, just like he tried to do 15 years before…but will it go the way Wells thinks it will?
12.3.15
For Pratchett, You Crazy Brilliant Bastard
Oh Sir Pratchett,
Cannot believe you're gone. I looked at your books on the floor of the living room this morning and couldn't fathom this silly roundworld without you in it.
Although we never met in real life, we certainly met in the Discworld. All those places. You remember. Uberwald, where we watched Sam Vimes run from the werewolves… Lancre, where Granny Weatherwax posted a sign that clearly said she wasn’t dead and vampires took over the kingdom; Death’s Domain, where even the carrots were black; and Ankh-Morpork (we were there just yesterday, watching the Alchemists blow themselves up (again), the old Post Office burning to the ground, and Mr. Fusspot buzz across the floor with his new chewtoy (as the grin creeps across my face again.)
We went there, as accidental tourists, like Twoflower, and wound up staying for days. The laughs were many and in all the wrong locales-church, for example (I tried to hold in the snickering and just couldn't do it. God has a sense of humor-he understands.) I nearly drowned reading the bit about Pucci being able to flounce better than a fat turkey on a trampoline. People wonder what I’m laughing at and I don’t even care what they see. It’s hilarious, and I’m going to laugh. You would want it that way.
The real world will miss you terribly. You have changed the way I read, the way I write, and the way I see our stupid old world. Why can’t it be flat and on the back of four elephants and a turtle (gender unknown?) Why can’t we have a Librarian who’s an ape (I’d be out of a job, but it’d be fun anyhow.)
Your stories are a light in my dark little world. My life isn't easy right now; I can run off to Discworld and not come back for awhile.
See, now I’m crying. Why am I crying? I should be laughing. You’re no longer miserable and here; you’re wherever Death walked you offstage to this morning and you’re out of the theatre and into the light of a bright Ankh-Morporkian morning, off to meet Vetinari and Drumknott for a cup of tea. And that’s as it should be.
Farewell, you crazy, brilliant bastard.
Ta,
Bec Koshak
Cannot believe you're gone. I looked at your books on the floor of the living room this morning and couldn't fathom this silly roundworld without you in it.
Although we never met in real life, we certainly met in the Discworld. All those places. You remember. Uberwald, where we watched Sam Vimes run from the werewolves… Lancre, where Granny Weatherwax posted a sign that clearly said she wasn’t dead and vampires took over the kingdom; Death’s Domain, where even the carrots were black; and Ankh-Morpork (we were there just yesterday, watching the Alchemists blow themselves up (again), the old Post Office burning to the ground, and Mr. Fusspot buzz across the floor with his new chewtoy (as the grin creeps across my face again.)
We went there, as accidental tourists, like Twoflower, and wound up staying for days. The laughs were many and in all the wrong locales-church, for example (I tried to hold in the snickering and just couldn't do it. God has a sense of humor-he understands.) I nearly drowned reading the bit about Pucci being able to flounce better than a fat turkey on a trampoline. People wonder what I’m laughing at and I don’t even care what they see. It’s hilarious, and I’m going to laugh. You would want it that way.
The real world will miss you terribly. You have changed the way I read, the way I write, and the way I see our stupid old world. Why can’t it be flat and on the back of four elephants and a turtle (gender unknown?) Why can’t we have a Librarian who’s an ape (I’d be out of a job, but it’d be fun anyhow.)
Your stories are a light in my dark little world. My life isn't easy right now; I can run off to Discworld and not come back for awhile.
See, now I’m crying. Why am I crying? I should be laughing. You’re no longer miserable and here; you’re wherever Death walked you offstage to this morning and you’re out of the theatre and into the light of a bright Ankh-Morporkian morning, off to meet Vetinari and Drumknott for a cup of tea. And that’s as it should be.
Farewell, you crazy, brilliant bastard.
Ta,
Bec Koshak
5.3.15
More Bits Reporting!
Lady Bits Report again (run if you don't want to see this.)
So, saw the specialist today. She had a look at the problem and said she thinks the issues I've been having with well, let's call it incontinence (as in I can't seem to hold it when I want to, and I wet through all my clothes one night last month and I AM 28 years OLD, not 60 or even 2 1/2! This should not be happening to a healthy person!) This problem is probably due to my opening being so small now that liquid is backing up in there and then I spilleth over. My other doctor back in Rhinelander said this, so since two people think it and I assume they know what they're talking about, they're probably right (and honestly, I'm up here. I can't see what they're seeing.)
She also wanted to slice me down the middle and open me up today. I declined. I am in Ann Arbor, I am 600 miles from home. I am not spending the next day and a half in a car miserable and in pain because I've been cut open; I'm away from where my insurance would cover most, if not all of this thing. No, no, no. She suggested (and is going to suggest to my doctor) that we do this thing pronto, allegro, nowish-o, you get the point.
And I am on three new medications, one of which my mother is on, so yay for that.
So we're going to have to figure out when the next "Fun with a Scalpel On My Poor Private Regions" session is going to be. That's next week's problem.
Sigh. Here we go again. I should clean my house next week so I'm ready for all hell to break loose again.
She also suggested I see a therapist for the emotional issues I am being thrown left and right. I've been thinking about it-I'm dealing with so much crap right now I feel like I'm drowning some days. I have no idea how I manage sometimes. With my friend moving and my extended family being my extended family and this lower body thing becoming one mountain I feel I am only equipped to dig myself out of with a beach shovel and the relationship thing being a "let's not even GO there" issue, I don't know what to do anymore. Which way do I turn? I have no one to talk to about this stuff.
So, that's that. I am tired, more mad at the universe for leaving me to fend for myself in the jungle, and I just want this crap to be over with already.
Ta,
Bec
So, saw the specialist today. She had a look at the problem and said she thinks the issues I've been having with well, let's call it incontinence (as in I can't seem to hold it when I want to, and I wet through all my clothes one night last month and I AM 28 years OLD, not 60 or even 2 1/2! This should not be happening to a healthy person!) This problem is probably due to my opening being so small now that liquid is backing up in there and then I spilleth over. My other doctor back in Rhinelander said this, so since two people think it and I assume they know what they're talking about, they're probably right (and honestly, I'm up here. I can't see what they're seeing.)
She also wanted to slice me down the middle and open me up today. I declined. I am in Ann Arbor, I am 600 miles from home. I am not spending the next day and a half in a car miserable and in pain because I've been cut open; I'm away from where my insurance would cover most, if not all of this thing. No, no, no. She suggested (and is going to suggest to my doctor) that we do this thing pronto, allegro, nowish-o, you get the point.
And I am on three new medications, one of which my mother is on, so yay for that.
So we're going to have to figure out when the next "Fun with a Scalpel On My Poor Private Regions" session is going to be. That's next week's problem.
Sigh. Here we go again. I should clean my house next week so I'm ready for all hell to break loose again.
She also suggested I see a therapist for the emotional issues I am being thrown left and right. I've been thinking about it-I'm dealing with so much crap right now I feel like I'm drowning some days. I have no idea how I manage sometimes. With my friend moving and my extended family being my extended family and this lower body thing becoming one mountain I feel I am only equipped to dig myself out of with a beach shovel and the relationship thing being a "let's not even GO there" issue, I don't know what to do anymore. Which way do I turn? I have no one to talk to about this stuff.
So, that's that. I am tired, more mad at the universe for leaving me to fend for myself in the jungle, and I just want this crap to be over with already.
Ta,
Bec
26.2.15
I Should Have Stayed In Bed This Week
I really should have, given the way today has been going (this whole WEEK has been going, who am I kidding?)
Sunday, I found out my friend is moving to St. Paul. Sucks. Her sister is in the hospital down in Madison facing chemo and radiation for a brain tumor, so my friend is very worried about her at the moment (we all are in a way. My friend is a lovely person and her sister probably is, too, and nobody deserves what's happening to them at the moment.)
My big appointment is next week and I'm packing. I'm the person who wants to go least and this whole trip is because of me. I have to miss Trivia for this. Sucks.
I'm still having trouble with Y turns while driving. Stupid directional issues. I keep having to ask which way the steering wheel's supposed to go (that's not going to fly on my driver's test...)
Last night in church, my left hand started going hot and then cold and then I had sore knuckles...yup, here we go again.
By this morning, my fingers are starting to swell and I'm having trouble moving them and typing with them.
I tried to pack my clothes tighter into a bag this morning by shoving them down with my left hand and NEXT thing you know, I'm curled up on the floor in pain because my hand was on fire. Stupid thing to do, really.
But I am not dead, just my hand is rebelling. I went to work anyway. There are small problems with this. I work in a library. I have to type. It's sort of in the job description.
I had to find other things to do today that didn't involve masses of typing until the painkillers made it easier to push my fingers down. Easier, not painless. Every letter I type hurts just a little bit. It etches at you, all day, until you're worn water-smooth and are so tired you want to put your head down and cry about it. (PUM! Look at THAT. Why do I write BEST when I'm down a HAND to WRITE with?)
Then I had to go throw coffee all over my desk...twice in three hours. Whoopee. Doesn't help when you're already sort of down a hand and then there's brown liquid on your mousepad, trailing sticky everywhere.
I've been in pain all day and nothing seems to be making it better at the moment, which ticks me off. Aren't painkillers supposed to KILL THE PAIN?
And it's bloody cold out and I just want it to be spring so I can leave the house without being wrapped like a burrito in a thousand layers of crap.
And Arrow, Flash, and Supernatural are OFF AIR for THREE MORE WEEKS.
Give me a pillow cause I need to scream into it.
Sorry about the complaining. I needed to vent. The world seems endless looping and I want a straight line (THAT is going in a poem, right now.)
I have to go figure out how to do April's theme for the display case. It's poetry. I'm a poet. This should be easy, right? Oh, wrongo. I'm trying to avoid putting one of my poems up there, but any other poems, you need copyright permission. If it's MINE, I DON'T...but I would have to run it by Todd and get it approved. Which baby do you pick? Am I being egotistical putting my work up there? Is this even a debate? Do MY FINGERS HURT LIKE HELL?
This, and other questions, will be answered soon, I hope.
In the meantime, Ta,
Bec
Sunday, I found out my friend is moving to St. Paul. Sucks. Her sister is in the hospital down in Madison facing chemo and radiation for a brain tumor, so my friend is very worried about her at the moment (we all are in a way. My friend is a lovely person and her sister probably is, too, and nobody deserves what's happening to them at the moment.)
My big appointment is next week and I'm packing. I'm the person who wants to go least and this whole trip is because of me. I have to miss Trivia for this. Sucks.
I'm still having trouble with Y turns while driving. Stupid directional issues. I keep having to ask which way the steering wheel's supposed to go (that's not going to fly on my driver's test...)
Last night in church, my left hand started going hot and then cold and then I had sore knuckles...yup, here we go again.
By this morning, my fingers are starting to swell and I'm having trouble moving them and typing with them.
I tried to pack my clothes tighter into a bag this morning by shoving them down with my left hand and NEXT thing you know, I'm curled up on the floor in pain because my hand was on fire. Stupid thing to do, really.
But I am not dead, just my hand is rebelling. I went to work anyway. There are small problems with this. I work in a library. I have to type. It's sort of in the job description.
I had to find other things to do today that didn't involve masses of typing until the painkillers made it easier to push my fingers down. Easier, not painless. Every letter I type hurts just a little bit. It etches at you, all day, until you're worn water-smooth and are so tired you want to put your head down and cry about it. (PUM! Look at THAT. Why do I write BEST when I'm down a HAND to WRITE with?)
Then I had to go throw coffee all over my desk...twice in three hours. Whoopee. Doesn't help when you're already sort of down a hand and then there's brown liquid on your mousepad, trailing sticky everywhere.
I've been in pain all day and nothing seems to be making it better at the moment, which ticks me off. Aren't painkillers supposed to KILL THE PAIN?
And it's bloody cold out and I just want it to be spring so I can leave the house without being wrapped like a burrito in a thousand layers of crap.
And Arrow, Flash, and Supernatural are OFF AIR for THREE MORE WEEKS.
Give me a pillow cause I need to scream into it.
Sorry about the complaining. I needed to vent. The world seems endless looping and I want a straight line (THAT is going in a poem, right now.)
I have to go figure out how to do April's theme for the display case. It's poetry. I'm a poet. This should be easy, right? Oh, wrongo. I'm trying to avoid putting one of my poems up there, but any other poems, you need copyright permission. If it's MINE, I DON'T...but I would have to run it by Todd and get it approved. Which baby do you pick? Am I being egotistical putting my work up there? Is this even a debate? Do MY FINGERS HURT LIKE HELL?
This, and other questions, will be answered soon, I hope.
In the meantime, Ta,
Bec
5.2.15
Healing
Things weren't nearly as bad as I anticipated (thank God for that.) I'm healing well, pain's getting better, swelling's going down, and I was able to do my bath thing without screaming at all (definitely a plus.) I'm still sore, mostly from how swollen things got when they were messed with, but I'm walking less like I've been on a horse all day and more like me.
By Saturday I should be pain-free and back to normal-ish.
I still can't put my LS ointment back on until Tuesday of next week (post-appointment when they've had a look at the wound and determined I don't have an infection.) Steroid stuff can really mess with healing up, so I want to wait until they say I can.
One month till I go to Ann Arbor for my appointment. Yay.
Going back to work today. I think I'm going to sit for most of the day, but we'll see.
Not much else going on. I have food in the oven cooking away, so I'd better go check on that.
Ta,
Bec
By Saturday I should be pain-free and back to normal-ish.
I still can't put my LS ointment back on until Tuesday of next week (post-appointment when they've had a look at the wound and determined I don't have an infection.) Steroid stuff can really mess with healing up, so I want to wait until they say I can.
One month till I go to Ann Arbor for my appointment. Yay.
Going back to work today. I think I'm going to sit for most of the day, but we'll see.
Not much else going on. I have food in the oven cooking away, so I'd better go check on that.
Ta,
Bec
3.2.15
Sore If I Move, Otherwise YAY!
After oodles of delays and such and such, they got a piece off of me today. I haven't looked yet-I have to eventually (and I'm curious/going to be grossed out when I suck up the courage to peek) and taking a bath tonight is going to be not-so-fun the first minute or so when wound hits water. I'm all right-I should probably go peel this gauze off before it gets stuck there.
I'm not hurting much, but that's because I'm under a blanket on Mom's bed and not moving too far. I don't really want to-I'm tired from stressing out about this and I think tonight I should just chill. Maybe tomorrow I'll do more stuff.
It's over and done with, so let the healing crap begin.
Ta,
Bec
I'm not hurting much, but that's because I'm under a blanket on Mom's bed and not moving too far. I don't really want to-I'm tired from stressing out about this and I think tonight I should just chill. Maybe tomorrow I'll do more stuff.
It's over and done with, so let the healing crap begin.
Ta,
Bec
16.1.15
No One Gets It!
Here I go again. I am sorry. Lady bits complaint, AGAIN.
No one around me actually gets it.
I was socially inept before, and that was fine. I'll deal with it. Socially inept is sort of 'in' now and I figured it would be a hurdle, but one that could be overcome.
But now there's physical damage to contend with. That's harder to deal with. A lot harder.
My mother thinks I should get married (she told me this last night. Again.) I won't say she's certifiably insane to her face, but I'm thinking it. She knows me well enough to know right now that is laughable. Who is going to want a socially backward recluse with a body that no longer permits, shall we say, "all the fun and frolic" an almost 29 year old should bring to the table (or couch, or bed, or shower, and you get my point.) It's never, ever going to be easy for me to get laid without hours of preparation. There goes all the fun sucked out of it by this cursed disease.
Have I told you lately I hate LS?
I am damaged goods, twice and maybe three times over. It'll be years before I can do those sorts of things (after eventual surgery to fix my ruined body,) and even if I can, will it be worth how I feel afterwards? I might have pain for days after-how the hell is a girl supposed to have endless rounds of sex when she can't handle ONE?
I want to, eventually. I'd like to. But right now, it doesn't look like I'm going to.
So instead of dwelling on the things I CAN'T have, I'm working with what I DO have. And that means cutting the thought of a partner out of my life completely.
I'm working on that, but sometimes people don't get it. I'm starting to get the questions (anyone special? Seeing anyone? Needling, needling, needling...) I am approaching 30 and it makes sense that they ask, but it hurts me deeply when they do, it really does. How do I tell them that my body has recently closed the door, created a moat with crocodiles and sharks, and locked the gates to keep out, well, everyone?
It's half embarrassment that keeps my mouth shut, mostly because everyone around me (my friends on Facebook, I mean) is having it so damn easy finding someone and promptly getting knocked up. I am alone, boyfriendless and partnerless, because this crap has taken every bit of dignity and hope for partnership I had left and thrown it into a paper shredder. I've had more people look at my damaged underpinnings in the last year than in the last 15 years beforehand (4 people so far, plus another one coming up in March,) and every time they look the problem just gets worse.
I had to stop dreaming about someone at my side. I can't have that anymore. Foof, gone, it isn't possible anymore. Move on.
So, no, I won't marry someone in the near or distant future. I don't want pity/disgust from him when he finds out that I'm an intelligent but extremely angry person (oh, I'm angry. Have you seen how much angry I've poured into this blog?) who's been forced to live like a nun because LS decided I was its new best friend. I might never marry. It's too damned complicated and too darn painful and I'd rather not go through all the agony, thanks very much. I have to go feed the crocodiles and sharks in my moat instead.
So that's that. Complaint of the day.
Sigh. Gotta get back to work.
Ta,
Bec
No one around me actually gets it.
I was socially inept before, and that was fine. I'll deal with it. Socially inept is sort of 'in' now and I figured it would be a hurdle, but one that could be overcome.
But now there's physical damage to contend with. That's harder to deal with. A lot harder.
My mother thinks I should get married (she told me this last night. Again.) I won't say she's certifiably insane to her face, but I'm thinking it. She knows me well enough to know right now that is laughable. Who is going to want a socially backward recluse with a body that no longer permits, shall we say, "all the fun and frolic" an almost 29 year old should bring to the table (or couch, or bed, or shower, and you get my point.) It's never, ever going to be easy for me to get laid without hours of preparation. There goes all the fun sucked out of it by this cursed disease.
Have I told you lately I hate LS?
I am damaged goods, twice and maybe three times over. It'll be years before I can do those sorts of things (after eventual surgery to fix my ruined body,) and even if I can, will it be worth how I feel afterwards? I might have pain for days after-how the hell is a girl supposed to have endless rounds of sex when she can't handle ONE?
I want to, eventually. I'd like to. But right now, it doesn't look like I'm going to.
So instead of dwelling on the things I CAN'T have, I'm working with what I DO have. And that means cutting the thought of a partner out of my life completely.
I'm working on that, but sometimes people don't get it. I'm starting to get the questions (anyone special? Seeing anyone? Needling, needling, needling...) I am approaching 30 and it makes sense that they ask, but it hurts me deeply when they do, it really does. How do I tell them that my body has recently closed the door, created a moat with crocodiles and sharks, and locked the gates to keep out, well, everyone?
It's half embarrassment that keeps my mouth shut, mostly because everyone around me (my friends on Facebook, I mean) is having it so damn easy finding someone and promptly getting knocked up. I am alone, boyfriendless and partnerless, because this crap has taken every bit of dignity and hope for partnership I had left and thrown it into a paper shredder. I've had more people look at my damaged underpinnings in the last year than in the last 15 years beforehand (4 people so far, plus another one coming up in March,) and every time they look the problem just gets worse.
I had to stop dreaming about someone at my side. I can't have that anymore. Foof, gone, it isn't possible anymore. Move on.
So, no, I won't marry someone in the near or distant future. I don't want pity/disgust from him when he finds out that I'm an intelligent but extremely angry person (oh, I'm angry. Have you seen how much angry I've poured into this blog?) who's been forced to live like a nun because LS decided I was its new best friend. I might never marry. It's too damned complicated and too darn painful and I'd rather not go through all the agony, thanks very much. I have to go feed the crocodiles and sharks in my moat instead.
So that's that. Complaint of the day.
Sigh. Gotta get back to work.
Ta,
Bec
14.1.15
So, Things Have Been Changed
Yeah, I didn't have the biopsy yesterday. I have to be off my medication for at least two weeks or it screws up the test (and no one really wants me to go through this twice.) So it's been postponed till the 29th. I have to flare in order to have a good result.
Stopping my medication to see if my symptoms get worse...OMG. Are we back in summer 2008 all over again? I am getting deja vu.
I don't have a mild case of LS anymore, either-I'm definitely in the high-medium to severe category for this. She kind of sort of mentioned that I may have to have surgery to get back some of the stuff that's currently gone under a layer of skin and scarring (she could find it under the skin layer, but that particular bit shouldn't be under a skin layer.) And -newsflash- I'm weird-apparently I'm one of the youngest people she's treating for this. Yippee.
I thought I was alright but apparently things are a little worse than I had thought they were...and part of it is my fault. I did go off my medication for an extended period in there when I should have been attentive and seeing someone for all this.
But that's happened, it's past, and now I have to deal with the problems that are cropping up now. No use crying over my scarred, white, miserable hide.
So I wait. Again.
Doing inventory. Gotta get back to it. I want to finish this today.
Ta,
Bec
Stopping my medication to see if my symptoms get worse...OMG. Are we back in summer 2008 all over again? I am getting deja vu.
I don't have a mild case of LS anymore, either-I'm definitely in the high-medium to severe category for this. She kind of sort of mentioned that I may have to have surgery to get back some of the stuff that's currently gone under a layer of skin and scarring (she could find it under the skin layer, but that particular bit shouldn't be under a skin layer.) And -newsflash- I'm weird-apparently I'm one of the youngest people she's treating for this. Yippee.
I thought I was alright but apparently things are a little worse than I had thought they were...and part of it is my fault. I did go off my medication for an extended period in there when I should have been attentive and seeing someone for all this.
But that's happened, it's past, and now I have to deal with the problems that are cropping up now. No use crying over my scarred, white, miserable hide.
So I wait. Again.
Doing inventory. Gotta get back to it. I want to finish this today.
Ta,
Bec
11.1.15
Biopsy
Lady Bits Warning!
So, normally with a diagnosis like LS, the person has a biopsy to confirm diagnosis.
I have managed to avoid this thing (which involves punching out a bit of your bits with a hole punch, apparently) for nearly three years.
But I'm trying to go see a specialist in March in Ann Arbor, and the insurance company are being jerks and are refusing to pay for this jaunt 8 hours away (for all the fun and joy it's going to bring me having someone ELSE look at my poor, bedraggled bits and diagnose me with 6 more things I can't pronounce.)
But my doctor has a plan, and it involves me donating a chunk of my privates for medical testing.
And that's Tuesday.
I'm not panicking (much.) I've already finished off the laundry, planned out when I'm taking out the garbage tomorrow, planned out my clothes for Tuesday and Wednesday, planned out what I need to do for tomorrow to be ready for the day after, made rolls (food in case I can only walk ten feet to the fridge), and the apartment is clean from last week, so yay on that. I feel less freaked out about having my body abused like this if I know I'm walking into the office ready for catastrophe.
Hopefully all goes well and I can go to work on Wednesday without too much pain going on. Let's hope. I already told my boss I might not be able to make it in (in case I need stitches or something and I'm told not to move for a day or whatever.) Again, I'd rather be overprepared than underprepared. I like to have plans on top of plans on top of plans, just in case.
Gotta love medical testing. Wish they could find a less invasive way to take my skin off.
I will write more Tuesday if I'm feeling up to it. I have no idea how I'll feel afterwards.
Ta,
Bec
So, normally with a diagnosis like LS, the person has a biopsy to confirm diagnosis.
I have managed to avoid this thing (which involves punching out a bit of your bits with a hole punch, apparently) for nearly three years.
But I'm trying to go see a specialist in March in Ann Arbor, and the insurance company are being jerks and are refusing to pay for this jaunt 8 hours away (for all the fun and joy it's going to bring me having someone ELSE look at my poor, bedraggled bits and diagnose me with 6 more things I can't pronounce.)
But my doctor has a plan, and it involves me donating a chunk of my privates for medical testing.
And that's Tuesday.
I'm not panicking (much.) I've already finished off the laundry, planned out when I'm taking out the garbage tomorrow, planned out my clothes for Tuesday and Wednesday, planned out what I need to do for tomorrow to be ready for the day after, made rolls (food in case I can only walk ten feet to the fridge), and the apartment is clean from last week, so yay on that. I feel less freaked out about having my body abused like this if I know I'm walking into the office ready for catastrophe.
Hopefully all goes well and I can go to work on Wednesday without too much pain going on. Let's hope. I already told my boss I might not be able to make it in (in case I need stitches or something and I'm told not to move for a day or whatever.) Again, I'd rather be overprepared than underprepared. I like to have plans on top of plans on top of plans, just in case.
Gotta love medical testing. Wish they could find a less invasive way to take my skin off.
I will write more Tuesday if I'm feeling up to it. I have no idea how I'll feel afterwards.
Ta,
Bec
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)