Hold me closer, Tony Danza.

puking rainbows.

That's the image I get when I think of this last day. Well, technically the last two and a half days.. but considering that I haven't slept they're just kind of blurred together. But seriously, puking rainbows. Everything was great yesterday morning, I was pretty much as close to deliriously happy as I've been since the Christmas Fiasco (I don't even celebrate Christmas. Is that why that day always sucks? It's like some screwy evil mutant Santa midget elves take sadistic pleasure in their twisted methods of taking revenge on my already screwed up life because I refuse to take part in the commercialized madness that goes on every year so that big, corrupt, greedy, money-grubbing executives can get yet another dollar in their already over sized, overstuffed, over everything pockets..yeah. I'm not bitter.). 

Anyway.. everything was great. I glowed. He stayed the night, platonically, night before the night before tonight (understand? =P). We talked, caught up, laughed, joked around, bonded over late night confessions, reminisced on the Before, raided refrigerator for yummy foodstuffs, rinsed, and repeated. .. it was really great. And then we ended up crashing as we cuddled. As I said.. it was really great. And then the waking up, and the work going, and the falling apart happening, and the treatment enduring, and everything else-ing, and it wasn't remotely close to really great. And night before tonight (last night), I didn't sleep... because I came home after the emotional upheaval of the day and I went to my room, and I laid down on my bed fully clothed, too tired to even undress... and I smelled him. 

So I cried. And I didn't sleep. And I over thought and over felt and over analyzed and bleh... And that's the environment in which my last blog blurted forth from my mind. And then today. Oy.

The not sleeping, and the work going, and the self stabbing (story for another time), and the stitches for self stabbing (see previous parenthetical aside), and the work drama-ing, and the money drama-ing with Melman *yes... that IS a nickname. ;)*, and the ignoring still being done by Water Boy, and the hurting still being done by me, and the x-ray for wrist fracturing (yet another story for yet another time), and the stupid boy who I have yet to come up with a nickname for because I'm too damn tired all around, and the pestering by said stupid boy (just to give you an idea ---Him: I've come up with a list of exciting things we can do for the next thirty years. Me: That's cool. I brake for Unicorns. Him: Whaaa...? O_o Me: Oh. I thought we were talking about things that didn't matter.--- V_V)and the excesses of my family.. and I got home after everything- which I'm going to have to go into tonight or something after I sleep or coffee fuel or something- and I laid in the street. And the result of street laying will also go in that blog.. and I can't keep my thoughts straight. I keep getting random images from random things and random thoughts and random feelings, and-... it's randomly chaotic in my head.

But back to the point. puking rainbows. Like I said, and if I didn't I should have, that's the image I keep getting for the past couple days. You know, at first they're all misty and pretty and wow and stuff, and passerby's stop and stare and smile softly. And then all of the sudden, the colors start to tint that gross green, and then they start to lose their brilliance, and then they start to blur together on the edges, and then they start to bleed together, and they really start to get into it- moving around and moaning and groaning and getting feverish and sliding into and out of focus and merging and unmerging and then eventually they all end up melded together into that really icky brown color [and my goodness, now I'm thinking of Legally Blonde... what is wrong with me??!! o_o] and they start shuddering in earnest and dripping strings of weird bogie-like glittering saliva. And then all the sudden they start puking. Just hurling up all this crap.

And let me tell you; it's not pretty. Rainbow puke is almost as bad as Unicorn poop.

And yeah... that's my image. And realizing what I've just said and all the mini rants involved in this, and the disgusting detail I went into, and the fact that I have to work again in about three and a half hours...

I think it's time for me to sleep.

It's not you, it's me. I don't like you.

It funny, isn't it, the way life turns out. The roads we walk that we never even knew existed. The why's, how's, and wherefore's of us. The people we become and the things we do that we told ourselves we never would. The darkness that taints the thoughts we think, the cynic we end up being, the bitterness that replaces hope, the synonyms we turn into. 

I am a synonym. Just another person, just another woman. Just another face. Just another friend. Just another hurting. Just another seeking. Just another yearning. Just another someone.

Just another someone wanting. Just another someone asking. Just another someone giving. Just another someone dreaming. Just another someone screaming. Just another someone pleading. Just another someone.

And sometimes not a someone. A somehow. A somewhy. A somewhat. A something. A synonym. 

Just another. Another. Not one, not you, not I. Just another many. Just another knowing. 

Just another me.

I eat tofu and I vote.

This morning, Paint Lady walked into my bedroom. Rumor has it that she was trying to clandestinely watch me sleep. She claims she was looking for her little boy. 

We'll let you decide. ;)

So she walks in and I'm laying on my back, totally immobile, fighting back a grin while said boy, Master Awesome, is sitting on my chest, leaning over my face, and pulling on my lips and eyelids while the CUTEST baby talk is burbling from his ADORABLE mouth. And then I pounce. Suddenly, I'm in control and he's on his back squealing in laughter while I blow on his stomach. <3


Paint Lady's reaction? "Now I KNOW you're in love."

She's right. 

My weakness? Kids.

Which.. is probably why I got conned into taking Oh Smart One, Paint Lady's brilliant 4 year old daughter, to the park on my lunch break from work.

But that's okay... because she was sooo stinking cute the WHOLE time. X) She was pretty well behaved, too. =)

And she made a lot of friends(surprised? I think not), ran around, and then ten minutes before I had to go back to work, she comes over to me and says, 

"Okay, I'm done. Thank you for bringing me here, I had lots of fun. Now I'll let you buy me ice cream and take me home so that you can go back to work with the small, poor, sad kids. 'Cause they need lots of help. Mamma told me. *beam* "

Oh. My. Freaking. Goodness. I LOVE this girl.

So I bought her ice cream and took her home and went back to work with the small, poor, sad kids. 'Cause they need lots of help, and it's my job to help them.

And tonight, after I got home from treatment and posted my last, whiny blog, she says, "What is WRONG with you?! You never complain."

I told you she was brilliant.

Anachronistic Antidisestablishmentarianism: A Case Study

I will not feel bad for myself...

I will not feel bad not myself...

I will not act on the inner me's urge to go dance in the rain...

I will not feel bad for myself...

I will not consider painting Water Boy's face while he sleeps...

I will not feel bad for myself...

I will not think about stairs...

I will not feel bad for myself...

I will not fantasize about yummy things I cannot eat...

I will not feel bad for myself...

I will not contemplate tomorrow's treatment...

I will not-... Oh screw it. I feel bad for myself.

           *sigh*

The Unused Walking Stick

One of my best friends, Oh-Beautiful-and-Gorgeous-One-Who-Makes-Me-Burn-In-Loving-Envy (for short, we'll call her Paint Lady), constantly seems to be coming up with ways to make me difficult. Not like it's hard- I can be a difficult person.. but still.

I'm stage two cancer. I've been through two invasive surgeries so far and we're working on scheduling a third after this round of treatment, depending on how it turns out. I'm getting therapy twice a week intravenously- it's pretty much exhausting. I'm working multiple jobs. Any working day under 16 hours is a good, short day in my life. I recently moved into a two bedroom apartment on the fourth floor; the only way to get to it is up floor flights of stairs outside. Each flight is eight steps, and there's a little landing inbetween each one. Under normal circumstances, it's not bad at all unless you're moving furniture and stuff. Then it sucks monkey ass. But really, my life right now is nowhere close to normal. To top it off, I haven't had a real Shabbat in FOREVER AND EVER AND EVER AND EVER AND ever. I DID get to finally go get my Shabbat candles from Howler's place the other day, though. So at least now, the potential for a full-fledged Shabbat is there. =)

Anyway, as if it's not hard enough without teasing, loving or not, everybody seems to feel the need to make me the object of joking sympathy...>_<...

Last week Paint Lady's husband, Oh Ostrich Rider, gave me a walking stick.

Oy.

So all week, I've been struggling to get up those stairs after 18 hour days chock-full of abused kids, teasing surrogate family, fighting family, majorly confuddled hottie (Water Boy), not so confuddled but still confuddled other hottie (Howler), and all of the other people that make my life what it is- hard. (Have I mentioned that I'm WAY too young for all of this crap? Someone is DEF out to get me. >.<) I finally get inside my apartment, start dropping my clothes as I walk and eventually fall, mostly naked, onto my mediocre bed. And on the nights when I can close my eyes without images from my past or the traumatized and bleeding present of the little ones I work with, I get a small taste of Heaven: sleep. Just sleep.. Dreamless oblivion. And for a while I can forget everything; I can stop thinking and rationalizing and plotting and fearing and dreading and fighting and just exist- or not exist- in my mind.

And then I wake up.

....Whoever said that thing about too much of a good thing was a fucking idiot.

And I turn my head and what do I see? That walking stick propped up in the corner of my room. And it takes an immense amount of will power to get out of bed and turn away from that, to not take the easy road. Because whether or not anyone else understands that small decision and it's major implications in my life, I do. And that's enough. And each day I get up knowing that it's going to be so full of pain and suffering and doubts and fears, both mine and others'.. and I get up anyway. And I put on my clothes and I look at myself in the mirror, and I tell myself, "Just today. Think of today, just today, and you can do this". Sometimes I'm right and sometimes I'm not, but everyday I walk out of that apartment and I go to those traumatized and bleeding children and I leave that unused walking stick behind.