I think the most exciting thing I've done in the past few weeks is to get my flu shot. I felt like I should be standing in a huge auditorium, wearing my uniform, and standing in line with others from my work place, waiting to get a mandatory flu shot.
I hated flu shots.
Well, the shot itself isn't that bad, really. It doesn't hurt at all. No big deal. No, I hated that it was mandatory.
I also hated mandatory meetings.
Something about me hates being told I must do a thing. I feel like, "No, I don't! Dang it!" But then I have this very strong rule following personality, so I end up doing things like getting flu shots.
Now I can do it if I want to do it, so I do. I'm older, I have a compromised immune system, and I'm prone to infections. I don't want the flu. I need the pneumonia shot, too, but the pharmacy here in the town of 10 people didn't have it available when I got the flu shot.
Erma and Ambrose and Jethro got theirs, too. We got actual thank you cards from the pharmacy. Erma and Ambrose have theirs on the refrigerator.
So.
I don't have a lot on my mind today, other than some pretty heavy thoughts that I don't want to share here.
No, it's not that I'm suicidal or truly very depressed, but I worry about my family.
I've been out of the Air Force for many, many years, but I miss it so much sometimes. I think Jethro misses the Army a lot, too, at times. Some people that come into contact with me, especially, are so condescending. I will think, "I was in charge of millions of dollars worth of equipment, and was the supervisor over 14 airmen. I trained tons of people when I was the training NCO at various bases I was assigned to. I've raised 4 kids by myself, and I know how to run a household. I know how to pay a bill."
I keep quiet, though.
I will stand up for my kids, but it takes a lot to make me actually stand up for myself sometimes. I wonder why that is... Heck, sometimes I get angry when one of my kids says something mean to another, and one tattles and then I feel like I have to deal with the crap going on. But if they said something about me, I would probably just cry, or tell Erma about it.
And complain a lot, until it was out of my system.
I'm going to be Erma's advocate in the labor and delivery area. "Don't you put that epidural in her back, dang it!" She figures I've gone through 4 kids with no pain killers, no epidurals, and she watched one of her friends deliver very quickly with nothing. To be honest, I wanted pain killers, because darn it, that labor stuff hurts! However, all of my labors went so fast that I was already past the time for pain killers by the time they said, "Do you need something for the pain? Oh, oops! You're at 8 centimeters! Too late! It's almost time to push!"
I hope Erma goes that fast, too.
It's much, much better and faster without an epidural.
So anyway, I'm rambling.
It's what I do best!
I really want that Dragon software, that is the speech to text program a lot of people use. It's really good, I've read. My hands get so sore and swollen, that sometimes I can't type at all. There are times, guys, that I can't lift up my blankets. My hands hurt too much. It's muscle pain, not in the fingers or joints. My muscles hurt so badly! It used to happen maybe once a month, so I thought maybe, just maybe, it was somehow connected to the female innard parts I still have left inside me. Like, something with my cycle, except that my uterus is gone, so it's not really like a cycle. Anyway, that's the technical side of things, I suppose. Innards, I am sure, is a word most surgeons use all the time.
Now, though, the pain happens more, and my hands swell up and stay swollen longer than they used to. Even now, my hands are falling asleep as I type. Changing positions doesn't help. I drop things all the time. I've gone through more coffee cups than you can imagine. Good thing I bought them at the thrift store, huh?
Speaking of that, our favorite thrift store up and closed!!! We were so disappointed. I don't understand how it happened, though I can imagine the new manager ran it into the ground. She was not very good, I can tell you that.
I need to find another, closer one. There is a Habitat for Humanity resale store here, which is cool.
I don't think they have clothes or coffee cups there, though.
About a year ago, Jethro bought me a rocking chair at the thrift store. It has a back that is something like woven bamboo, and several kids couldn't resist putting their fingers into the holes, and now the bamboo is torn. I just cut out a piece of cardboard to fit the back, and I want to cover it with a pillow that I'm making from material that was Mom's. However, I don't know how to work her old sewing machines, my hands hurt too much to sew with needle, and though I have stitch witchery, I don't have an iron! So, for now, I just have a broken rocker, but I'm using it anyway, dang it.
It's really kind of funny... in the box of material I have, there are three pieces of cloth that match my rocker's seat, which is made of oranges, browns, and tans. It's almost like a gift from Mom. "Here, honey! These match your chair!" I can almost hear her. In the box, too, were two baby dresses and a couple baby boy outfits. Those were like a gift to Erma. If she has a girl, she can use those dresses, if she has a boy, then he can use them, too, though that'd be weird. Hee hee!
No, perhaps Jethro will have a boy. Anyway, the clothes were a neat item to find.
A present from Grandma to the kids, you know?
Yes, I talk about her here a lot, I know. I hate that others have moved on and seem to have forgotten about her. Logically, I know that's not true. But heartwise? Well, I still hurt. I still miss her, terribly. I can't move on. Not yet. I don't want to forget her. I have her pictures all around me. In front of me on the desk, on my shelves, and on my bulletin board. I don't talk to her or anything, but I do think about her, and wish she were still here.
She'd have come when I had pneumonia. She'd have gone to my brother, who just spent six days in the hospital. She'd have written to Lampshade, called my oldest nephew, and sewed baby clothes for Erma. She loved us so and she showed it.
A part of me died when she died.
A part of me still wants to wail with the pain inside.
I deal with it by silliness and laughter.
Plus, I figure if I suddenly started wailing, I'd probably scare Ambrose and it would make Erma slap me and call the loony bin to have me admitted.
Dads love in completely different ways than Moms love, I know. So it's hard to lose a mom who loved me so much. I also know that death is a part of us, a part of life, really, but that doesn't mean I have to like it. Even if I don't accept it, it doesn't mean that it won't happen, even to me.
People say things like, "You'll be fine. Time heals the wounds. You have to go on. I understand how you feel." It doesn't help, not at all. Time isn't healing me. Oh, I don't cry as often as I did when she first died, but I do cry. I touch something that she touched, and I cry. I touch one of her books, that still has her bookmark in place, and I cry. I remember her in her hospital bed, and I remember her in her casket, and I cry.
I like to keep this journal rather light-hearted, but sometimes I simply can't do that. It's a journal. I share it with all of you, but it's still a journal of my thoughts and feelings. Sometimes, my thoughts and feelings are sad.
It's how it is.
In other news, I made some fruit salad today. You take bananas, grapes, blueberries, and strawberries, and mix them together with a box of instant vanilla pudding. Ambrose got the sugar free, fat free kind of pudding, and I'm not sure it's working correctly. It's supposed to help mix with the juices of the fruit as they sit in the fridge, but this pudding mostly stuck to the fruit. It tastes good, but it's not what it's supposed to be.
Hey, what is, right? Nothing is what it's supposed to be, is it?
Oh, my gosh, my tooth hurts!
I just bit on something, forgetting about a cavity, and OUCH!
Well, I'm going to watch some television or read something, maybe both.
Go in peace, be warm and filled.
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