Exactly why

There are times I feel like someone got seriously pissed off with me when I was a child and laid a curse over me that plagues me to this day. Basically, I have the worst luck you can possibly imagine.

Something as simple as mailing a teddy bear has turned into a 2 day epic quest, that's not over yet. Why does everything have to be so damned hard all the time? Why can't something just be easy? I mean, even down to printing out a cool thank you/marketing note. It totally bit me on the ass! There is no thank you note because the computer/printer decided to destroy the very last remnant of my sanity. Printing out a thank you note should not be cause for a mental breakdown! But it is when it prints crooked and lopsided! For no discernible reason.

Ugh. It's just so disheartening to have to fight for any advancement. By the time something does manage to succeed, I'm so tired and frustrated that I just don't care anymore.

I wish I knew what the problem is. Maybe then I could try to fix it. Find whoever cursed me and apologize for whatever I did or didn't do. I don't know.

Why I don't go to Wal-Mart on the weekends

I woke up this morning to good news- I sold something on Etsy. I thought it was a myth that things sold on Etsy. It was a little like going out back to have a bbq with Bigfoot, or meet a mermaid at the local swimming pool.

But this has opened a new problem- I have to ship the sold item. I don't have a box. Since nothing ever sells, we don't keep extra boxes lying around. Now I'm supposed to have this in the mail tomorrow. So I decided to go to Wal-Mart to pick up a shipping box because surely they'll have one that will be the absolute perfect size. Makes total since when you're still riding the delusional high of actually selling something.

I don't know why, but I decided to put on actual clothes for my trip. Normally I just throw on comfy pants and a sweatshirt, but today I put on leggings, a dress, a wrap shirt, and my jacket. Apparently it was a bit much because walking into the store, I got several wide eyed stares like they were waiting for me to pull out a shot gun. Or a long sword. Whatever. It still didn't stop 3 different people from hitting me with their carts. Honestly, I felt like it was on purpose.

So I made my way through the store to the shipping area, avoiding the "HAVE YOU HEARD ABOUT DIRECT TV?" people that accost every shopper who makes the mistake of walking down the main isle, and getting seriously annoyed at people being rude for the sake of being rude. No, letting your children block the isle while they throw soup cans at each other is not socially acceptable.

Judging from the shelf labels, there is a box size that would potentially work. It's not perfect, but it's close enough. Unfortunately, the only one in stock has old tape and a shipping label on it. Ok, really? Did someone buy a box, use it, then return it to the store where they put it back on the shelf? Really?! Ugh.

I did get packing tape, though. And some air dry clay to try out. And a bottle of bubbly wine for Steve and I to drink tonight to lament the fact that it's his last day of vacation. He's been off for a month, and it's been great. We didn't get nearly as much done as we'd hoped, but that's just the way the holidays work.

And, of course, the wine was my undoing.

Normally, when I make these little trips, I use the self check-out line because I'm an introvert and also because I can check-out about a million times faster than the bored cashiers. People are stunned and amazed at how fast I can get through the process. But, the federal government in it's infinite annoyingness (screw you auto correct, that's now a word), has decided that alcohol sales cannot be made through self check-out. Insert petulant tongue sticking out. Do they not realize that introverts also deserve a bottle of wine?

So I went to the first express lane. 22 items or less. Apparently some people can't count. The woman had an entire cart full! Overflowing cart full of crap! And to make matters worse, she was unpacking a child's car seat and acting very confused about it. Ugh.

I went to the second express lane. The woman only had about 6 things, but she and the cashier were using the time to gas bag about life the universe and everything, and looked quite annoyed when I had the gall to get in line. How dare I. So the cashier picked one item out of the pile, slowly scanned it, then had to carefully read the screen to tell the woman how much it was. "That much?" the woman replied. "Isn't there some sort of deal? What about that one?" So the cashier had to find the right button to delete the first item, then repeated the whole process with the second item.

I noticed that the woman in the regular check-out next to me was almost done, so I switched once again. All her items were scanned, and the cashier was waiting for her to pay. The woman was talking very loudly on her cell phone in Spanish. It's a pet peeve of mine for people to talk on their phones while in check-out. The woman eventually pays, and the cashier scans my three items. Except she can't bag them because the woman on the cell phone still hasn't picked up her bags and is totally blocking me with her cart! Ugh! Finally, she gets her bags one by one, pausing now and again to yell into her phone- I was wondering if she actually paid for the box of Whoppers that her son was eating in the cart- and piling the bags, one by one, on top of her son.

Finally it was my turn to pay. I swipe my card, then can't remember the pin number. I've had this card for over two years, I've never forgotten the pin number! So I laugh at myself, and explain to the cashier that no, it's not because I'm insane. She laughs and says, "I did that once. You know what it means, don't you? It means you're getting old."

Sigh. Maybe I should've gotten more than one bottle of wine.

Icicles?!?! (Updated)

If you're outside the US, you may not know that currently there is a massive cold air system moving down from the arctic, swallowing the country in frosty frostiness.

In other words- IT'S FREAKING COLD!

But icicles? In central Texas? You must be joking!

It appears the park's sprinkler system didn't get the notice to stay off today, and some of the sprinklers coated the trees in water that froze in this weirdly festive weather.  I think the official high temperature today was 1C (33F)! And it's going to start raining soon. Yeah, icy roads! I'm not entirely sure if my son is going to school tomorrow.

Someone please remind me of this in August when it's 42C (108F).

Updated

Photos to prove I'm not crazy and this actually happened! On Saturday, Steve and I went to look at a house for sale. When we got to the house, not only were there were icicles hanging off the Christmas lights, there was also a layer of ice on the side mirrors on our car! At least the locals are freaked out by this weather. It's not normal!

Fire!

Like belated natural Christmas decorations.

Back to school, back to living hell

Three days is all it took this time. Three days before "the phone call" informing us that, once again, my son has stepped out of line.

So, I went online seeking help... again. This time I got a few different returns. I'm not entirely sure if it's because I used different wording, or if it's because autism is beginning to run out of it's socially acceptable darling phase and the truth is finally starting to come into light. Whatever it is, I'm more than just a little scared right now.

One of the articles, I will admit, was specifically on Oppositional Defiance Disorder (ODD), and I'd like to give the woman who wrote it a piece of my mind. Basically, she admits to being a bad mother, and it was her husband, the boy's step-father, who stepped in, brought discipline, and fixed everything. "All you have to do is ask for help," she says. Well, 1) we've asked for help repeatedly, there is none to be had, 2) we've been through multiple parenting courses and they've all been a waste of time, and 3) there is no fixing this.

Or maybe our issue is that ODD is only one of the life altering afflictions we've had thrown at us.

My afternoon was supposed to be working on my next doll project. Instead, I've been reading one horror story after another about how boys with high functioning autism, like my son, have grown into violent young men who spend their entire lives doped into comas, strapped to a bed, or killed. Usually after killing someone- quite often their mothers. Now, it's not 100%, in fact most of the time it doesn't happen. Or at least that's what the autism cheerleaders want us to believe. I'm seriously starting to question that. And if his behavior does get worse, what then?

I'm sure most parents worry about the mistakes their children make, what sort of people they will grow into. Will they be happy, balanced, productive members of their community? I can only hope that my son won't physically attack anyone.

And I am so sick to death of hearing "ask for help." As a point of fact, two months ago we found ourselves in crisis, again. I call the doctor and requested an emergency appointment, I was in tears begging them to see us as soon as possible. It was still a week before we could see the nurse practitioner, it would be 2 months if we wanted to see the doctor. So I took my son to the appointment, and I was very clear about the issues we were facing. She was very clear that there was no help available. No pediatric psychologists that they worked with, no one to talk to about trying different meds, no one to talk to period. We are completely alone in this, and please don't waste their time.

So, the next person that suggests that "asking for help" will fix anything will get a lecture from me about how fucking evil and cruel the human race is.

New Year

Taking a deep breath now that the holidays are past. I hope everyone had time with family and friends celebrating whatever holiday you prefer.

My son went back to school today and I'm left looking at all the things we were going to do while he was off school. Of course, we did quite a lot, but I'm forever feeling like it's not enough.

Right now I'm focused on house hunting! It's exciting seeing the houses that are available, dreaming about what it would be like to live in them, and terrifying trying to work through all the boring stuff that has to be dealt with to get a mortgage. Luckily, if we can invent a down payment and get approved for a mortgage, our monthly payments could be quite a bit lower than what we're currently paying in rent! Crazy.

Until then, though, we're living in a state of flux still. Not the easiest thing, but it could be worse. At least this sense of hope is a positive emotion.

You should write funny

So, apparently my last post was relatively funny, and I should try to write more like that. And I would love to, because that's popular and the one thing I've wanted my entire life, and always fallen short of, was to be liked. But it's just not me.

I had this great post in mind about tonight's dinner. On black Friday we, Steve and I, went to Costco because Friday is Costco day, I'm slightly obsessive compulsive, and we were out of food after the chaos of Thanksgiving. As we walked in, some guy was offering free cook books. I declined out of habit, but Steve heard "free cook book" and forced me to get one. We tried one of the recipes tonight. I seriously hope the others are better. Macadamia Crusted Chicken was a bust. My punchline was "it needs something to make the nuts stick."

The thing is: depression isn't funny. I don't care how many comedians have depression, it ends in situations like Robin Williams- the self imposed death of the funniest people around. Yeah, a funny thing happened today. Alongside of countless slit-my-throat-I-can't-deal-with-this things.

I have a failing small business.

I have a rental home that I hate and no prospects on a real home.

I have a panic attack every time the phone rings because it's probably the school telling me what else is wrong with my son.

I hate getting the mail because it's always more bills we can't pay.

This is why my funny is broken.

This is why when people ask me to donate, I just can't. I can't even work up the energy anymore to point out that all of the "homeless" on the street that I've seen begging for spare change have better clothes and better hair cuts than I do.

This is why that one moment of levity in the day is lost. Because it's buried in life.

What do animals have against sleep?

This morning, driving my son to school, I was slightly afraid that he was going to die from lack of oxygen because he was laughing so hard he couldn't breath properly. All because he asked me how my sleep was last night.

"Last night? Last night's sleep was fine," I replied. "It was this morning that was a bit of an issue."

I woke up around 6:30am, about an hour before I normally do, and had to use the restroom. So, I scampered off to do my business, happy to crawl back under the covers for another hour. Except as soon as I lay back down, my husband rolled over in his sleep, half on top of me, and began a dream where I assumed he was running away from a vicious hoard of zombies intent on feasting on his brain. I wasn't sure if I should wake him, grab a weapon, or call an exorcist.

As I was wrestling with the decision of what to do, I heard the cat loudly sharpening her claws on her scratchy post in the living room. The cat is far over due to have her claws trimmed, and the idea of her sharpening those already razor sharp sickles filled me with dread for the next time she decides to play KILL THE HAND! with my hand. Then, there was a split second of silence before the sound of a herd of elephants went tearing up the stairs. DUH-DUM DUH-DUM DUH-DUM DUH-DUM! The herd of elephants, of course, was only the cat pretending she's a saber tooth tiger chasing a mammoth up the icy steppes. Then the mammoth turned and chased her down the stairs. DUM-DUH DUM-DUH DUM-DUH DUM-DUH! Then she ran around the living room and kitchen for a bit, making the little bell on her collar scream in panic. JINGLE JINGLE JINGLE JINGLE! Before once again tearing up the stairs after her imaginary prey. DUH-DUM DUH-DUM DUH-DUM DUH-DUM!

All her crashing about alerted Zack, the big dog, to the mammoths that had invaded our house, and he had to see if he could be of assistance to the intrepid huntress. He padded around the room a few times, then headed out into the living room.

Zack typically sleeps on a bean bag, and Toby, the other dog, sleeps in a dog bed. However, when Zack left to aide in the mammoth hunt, Toby decided the bean bag would be much more comfortable. Which resulted in a five minute beat down of the bean bag to make it conform to Toby's shape. CRUNCH CRUNCH CRUNCH!

All the while, my husband was running from the hoard.

Then, around 7am, I heard my son fall out of bed upstairs- his customary way of waking up. Followed by the footsteps of Zack heading up the stairs to say good morning. And soon after, Zack coming back down the stairs and into my room. Where he sat by my side of the bed, and stared at me. This is pretty standard as he is not allowed on the bed until 7:20am, so he sits, stares, and occasionally licks my hand if it escapes from the covers to try to convince me to let him in bed a little early.

On the dot, Zack jumped up into bed, and I had a crunchy stuffed armadillo dog toy touching my nose. Eeeww. So I took it away from him and dropped it on the floor. I then opened my eyes and realized I was staring directly into two dark dog nostrils. His breath puffing on my face. And then he let out a great big dog yawn. I thought he was going to eat my face! That dog does the loudest yawns I have ever heard! AAARRRR-OOOOPP!

Following his gigantic eat-your-face-yawn, Zack did a massive flop into my stomach, knocking the air out of me. He then began shuffling towards my face, slowly getting closer and closer. Once he got into position, he stretched himself across my chest so he could give Steve a great big doggy good morning kiss- much to Steve's dismay.

"What was Toby doing?" my son asked between peels of laughter.

Toby was in his customary morning spot- Steve's pillow- cleaning himself loudly. SLURP SLURP!

It wasn't long after that we gave up and got up for the day.

Needless to say, it was a rather interesting morning wake-up call.