The Bipolar Express

An Open and Shut Case

I went in this morning for my scar revision surgery. I got home about an hour ago. The incision is straight as an arrow and the adhesions are gone. There were some on the abdominal wall, but they weren't severe.

Dr. Sudan did say that he might not be able to eliminate the feeling "pulling" from the inside if it was caused by the abdominal walls being pulled together too tightly. I think if I were to lose 10-15 pounds, that sensation would stop because the abdomen wouldn't be pulling against itself under that extra weight.

Who knows. All I do know is that I'm home, I have Percocet, and I'm going to take a Rip Van Winkle style nap now. :-)

Bad, Bad Blogger

There's been so much going on, I've hardly been online at all - for fun anyway.

I'm taking two summer classes. One of them is online, and it's supposed to be a "survey" (overview) course for educational technology. Ha! It's one of the most demanding classes I've ever taken. Give me a midterm/paper/final-type class anytime!

To complicate matters further, it is a five-week class, and I spent the entire first week madly cleaning the house in preparation for the house to be appraised. Jack did all the "man" stuff - fixed a whole in the wall that Michael punched in (anger management anyone?) cleaned the yard up a little and then... came. inside.

I've bitched for years that I can't stand how messy the house is all the time. Everyone but me lives out of laundry baskets instead of putting it away first. The kids - remember the youngest are almost 13 - leave wrappers and food containers - and food! - all around the house. I'm sure if we lived in a geographical area that didn't freeze solid for half the year, we'd have a multitude of unwelcome additions to our family. I like the non-humans in my house to have no fewer nor no more than four legs!

Anyway, Jack finally realized what a wreck this place was when it took him EIGHT hours to sort through, wash, dry and put away the accumulated laundry. Can you say my kids have too many clothes?? The kicker is that they emptied their closets in preparation for moving to their new rooms, and they just chucked everything into the dirty clothes; things that are too small for them, things that were being stored for later because they're too big right now, etc. Oh, it was a joy.

So, four of the five weeks left to do this technology class, and I have the brilliant idea to take another course. It's multicultural children's literature, and it meets two evenings a week. It's a terrific course, but both of these classes should've been taken alone.

Tomorrow I go in to have scar revision surgery on my upper abdominoplasty scar. I don't know why, but I am very anxious about this - more than I've been for any other surgery, including my DS, which ended up taking 13 hours and left me with a three week hospital stay and a six-week stint with a feeding tube.

What I'm afraid of is that my surgeon will find that the adhesions beneath the scar go deeper. There's a gal on the DS board who's had numerous surgeries to remove adhesions, and she is now on a feeding tube for the rest of her life. Granted, I'm not pleased with having lost only 70 pounds, but I really don't want to lose the last 30-40 by not being able to eat.

I know I'm being melodramatic, but hey - it's my blog, right? :-)

Speaking of blogs, one of my favorite bloggers has been AWOL for a month. Ezpy - A Smaller Target - usually updates every other day at the least. Anyone know anything?

Something sad happened this month too. My very favorite blogger, and one of my favorite people, for that matter, Marybeth (attraversiamo.org) ceased writing after more than four years. I know it is ridiculously selfish of me, considering that this is NOT about me, but I feel like I've lost a friend. Hers was the first "voice" I heard when I logged on. She gave and gave of herself, sharing stories both humorous and poignant. She shared herself more than I can imagine any of my RL friends ever doing. If you read this, MB, thanks for everything; for so expertly articulating so many of the things that I feel, and for letting me know you.

I guess that's it for my evening ramblings. Back to the homework. Oh, joy.

College World Series, aka Nightmare on 13th Street

The College World Series is in town. Whoop doop dee do. Why they have it in the sticks of Nebraska, I will never understand.

I like baseball, I really do, but this town is insane for 10 days or so. I always forget from year to year what a traffic-clogged nightmare it becomes.

Every hotel is packed, gas prices have gone up 10% since this time last week, "family-style" (read: upscale fast food) restaurants have 2-hour waiting lists at supper and 1-hour at lunch.

The worst part is that it is always the week of our "half-a-versary." Now, before you gag at such nonsense from sensible middle-aged folk, consider that that means our anniversary is in December. Aaaah, December in the Plains. What a wonderful time to... to... to do NOTHING because there's nothing to do. So every June we try to do something special; usually take a vacation that we spend the rest of the year paying off. :-( In the spirit of our new (attempt at) fiscal responsibility, we are staying in town this year. There's nothing to do here in June either, unless you are an Oregon Beavers baseball fan. (Yes, that is really their nickname.) Kevin Costner comes every year to see Cal State Fullerton, and that's about as exciting as it gets. (Not that we've met him or anything. Not that he's made a movie in years that a majority of people have seen. It's just that, except for the filming of "About Schmidt" six years ago, that is as close as we come to greatness around here.)

So, Jack and I celebrated our half-a-versary with martinis and seafood last night at one of our favorite decidedly-not-family restaurants. (No kids menus, no high chairs, and nary a french fry in sight!) It was nice. Not the Rockies, or Vegas, or San Diego, or even Chicago, but nice. Tonight we had cheese and wine for supper.

I really miss the boys when they go to their father's, but there are some perks.

Busy, but relaxed for a change

Strange combination of terms there - busy and relaxed - but it's how things are going right now.

We finally got the house into a condition in which it could be appraised. Ok, we hid three garbage bags of laundry in the garage and one full of clean socks in Andrew's room, but hey; it looked good.

There are still some decidedly iffy areas due to the fact that two of the remaining three children in residence are changing bedrooms. Raymond's is almost done and looks great. I give it a week. We stacked all our extra stuff in Andrew's new room, so he can't do much until that's gone and Raymond moves the rest of his junk out. I have a distinct feeling that there is at least as much left in his closet and under his bed as he has downstairs in his new room.

Michael is staying in the room he's shared with Andrew. Michael claims that it will be much neater when he is alone in there because he likes everything just so. Huh? When did that start??

Andrew and Michael have these massive oak dresser/desk/loft bed monstrosities that are space efficient - a good 6.5 feet high - but also about 4 feet wide. To have them both in one bedroom makes it look like a bunker, but with four kids, two parents, and "only" four bedrooms, something had to give. Now they will each have their own room. Andrew and Michael will have to label the inside of their shirts so I know whose goes into which room. (Andrew is going through a "sometimes I forget my deodorant" stage, so Michael is understandably not interested in sharing shirts with him!) 12 years old = deodorant, I don't care how cute he thinks he is!

Leigh is settled into Julia's house (Craig's mom - baby's grandma) and baby will have his/her own room too. Our baby gift to Leigh was to purchase the crib. My idea - kind of a family tradition among the women on my side of the family. She found a piece she really liked and took us to see it. It was $250 for a crib/toddler bed/twin bed combo with an attached three drawer dresser. It was crap. I should've kept my mouth shut :-) but I steered her to the store my boys' cribs came from; actual wood and everything. Thrice the price for a crib and dresser, but well worth it. It wouldn't surprise me - if they were well cared-for - if mine are still in service somewhere. Last I knew they were in my old church's nursery.

I know I'm drifting here, but... I cannot believe that Raymond is going to be a junior in high school. He already has a class ring, and today I was pricing letter jackets. He's already earned two letters - band and choir - and will likely earn an academic one this year. It feels like about a week ago that his father and I were assembling his crib. 6lbs 8oz of baby blue bundle is now 5'5", 165 lbs of intelligent, articulate, compassionate, talented, handsome young man. It just boggles my mind.

Back to topic: so, now that the house nightmare is almost over - Jack and I still have to properly put away all the stuff we scooped into drawers and closets when we were running out of time - it's time to kick some butt on my online class.

The class is on educational technology. It's supposed to be a survey course, and there is no prerequisite, but the 8000 series course number should've been a tip-off. (4000 series are undergrad senior classes, 5000 series begin graduate work, etc.) There are nine modules to complete, each with approximately 6 activities. Of the nine modules, I am confident of four. We (mostly Jack) finished module 1 tonight. It was all techie stuff which I have no idea how any ordinary teacher of my age bracket would know. Aargh.

Because I'm planning to have scar revision surgery later this summer, and because the local university's teacher ed classes were full, I opted for this class. Online seemed like a great idea. Unfortunately, one of the areas in which I do well is classroom participation. I usually have good ideas and fairly insightful "takes" on things. I try hard not to be an ass, but it's against my nature. Plus, these classes are populated by
20-somethings who are taking their first grad classes so they can start to move across the pay schedule. I'm usually closer to the professor's age - hell, my mom was 33 when she got her Ed.D., and my dad was 36!

Anyway, a survey class this thing is not! I have to do a power point, use a database to merge contact lists, and a myriad of other things I haven't done. There are a couple of modules that are more common sense education-related topics that anyone with my years of experience shouldn't have any trouble with. I have 3 weeks and 5 days to complete 8 modules. Yikes. Oh, and if I don't finish, I can't just drop the class, I wouldn't be able to TEACH next year because I need these hours for recertification. Paychecks are good. Eating is good. Lights, heat, water, house, car - all good.

Somewhere over the past 20 years, I have lost my jazz musician internal clock and "gained" that of a teacher. The evil mainstream world has turned me from a happy night owl to a grumpy lark. (Almost typed 'lard.' Funny.) So, time for bed.

Hope all's well in your world!

Where's Samantha When You Need Her?

Wow, what a weekend. And not in a fun way.

Jack is refinancing the house for a shorter term so that it'll be paid off before he retires. Good financial planning, right? Right. There's only one little complication. Because it hasn't been appraised since he purchased it in 2000, it has to be appraised now. Inside and out. Couldn't settle for a drive-by look-see, could they? Noooooo. Have to see the inside too. We found this out on Thursday. It's been cleaning/repairing mayhem around here ever since.

Jack is doing a little painting, replacing baseboard that I had tried to paint white over dark walnut finish - yeah, brilliant - AND he's been getting paged from work about every 10 minutes today.

Raymond is cleaning the "computer room" which should actually be called "The Place Where Useless Crap Goes to Die." He's been at it for about 6 hours or so and you can now actually discern that there is carpet on the floor.

Speaking of carpet: a few weeks ago Andrew cut himself on the outside of his ankle. It bled prodigiously and he freaked. I was down here surfing, so he came screaming downstairs, dripping hemmoraging all the way down the stairs. Did I mention we have white berber carpet on the stairs and in the basement? Oh yeah. It looked like a scene from CSI. The gross factor was completely obliterated for me by the "how the hell am I gonna get that out of the carpet" factor. Yes, I did check the "wound" first. He had somehow managed to scrape it against a hinge on the door (?) and it sliced a nice scratch about two inches down the outside of his ankle. You would've thought the Manson family had attacked him. We cleaned up the blood -off him - put on a couple band-aids and he went cheerfully back upstairs.

Still CSI. I put cold water in the shampooer - hot water sets blood, or so I'm told - and tried to clean it up. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. White berber carpet.

Now, who in the hell puts white sculpted carpet in a fricking WALK-OUT basement??? I don't care if you don't have kids, dogs, cats, guinea pigs... if even one person is going to use the stairs frequently - the laundry's down here - and ever go outside, it is the stupidest choice in the history of interior decorating. (Leigh is moving her stuff out, and we got a 2x3 glimpse of what the carpet is supposed to look like when she moved her small china hutch; the only piece of furniture in there that hasn't been moved in 7 years. It's pretty. Still stupid.)

I've shampooed the stairs four times, used a special cleaner for blood, used cold water, hot water, put bleach in with the carpet shampoo. Nothing will budge the spots. Am I doing a remake of Macbeth and no one told me? I'm not even getting union scale! Carpet: done as it's going to be.

Clutter: Funny word. So small and innocuous-looking. This house was cluttered when the boys and I moved in 5 1/2 years ago, and we've certainly done nothing to change that. Two parents, one teenaged girl, three boys, two dogs, four cats, two full-time jobs, and no housekeeping help. Having an "Alice" all these years would've been nice, but what I really need now is "Samantha" in high-speed mode. I've wrinkled my nose repeatedly, to no avail.

We have filled four 45 gallon garbage cans with detritus of such an array of sources it's amazing. Cancelled checks written in 1975 by a woman (Jack's 1st wife) who's been deceased for 11 years. Boxes, packaging, etc. from every toy, game, picture frame purchased since Christmas. Don't normal people throw these things away? I do know what happened. I told the boys they could play with their stuff after they put the rubbish away. Moron. How long have I been doing this gig? 17 years? They shoved all the junk under their beds so they could play/game/listen/watch with their presents.

On a positive note, I finally got rid of the black enamel metal three-way bulb monstrosity of a floor lamp that Jack had here when I moved in. It is the last piece of "I just got divorced and I have no taste" funiture. Woo hoo!

Michael had decided - around Easter or so - that it'd be a good idea to clean out the garage, so he pulled everything off shelves, out of drawers, etc., so he could "organize." He may finish before Friday when this person comes to peruse our house. Easter to Flag Day. A reasonable window, apparently, for a 12 year-old.

Andrew will only work if someone is standing over him. The child is going to be a school administrator someday, I swear. He comes up with so many reasons why someone else, usually Michael, should "take care of it" that it is unreal.

Finally, this is the week that Leigh had decided to start moving her bedroom things over to her new "place" in her maybe-future-mother-in-law's house (note: need a name for Craig's mom.) So her crap is all over. Well it's in two piles: give away and throw. Unfortunately I can't tell which pile is which, so I have to wait for her to get it out of here. Not a biggie in the grand scheme of things; should be done by tomorrow.

Oh, and I start an online class so that I can recertify to teach for fall. Kinda important. I kinda like getting paid every month.

Back to cleaning. Happy, happy joy joy.

A (GOOD) downward spiral

Life is interesting around here. No two days are the same, that's for sure. And still, I suck at blogging. I realized this because I forget my password every time. Typepad sends it to me and I slap my forehead because then I remember it. Duh...

Leigh had an ultrasound on Saturday. Her HCG - human something something - pregnancy hormone - was high and they wanted to make sure her due date was accurate AND that there was only one baby in there. As a mother of twins who HAD a husband when they were little, I was terrified and speechless at the idea of her dealing with twins alone while babydaddy finishes college 60 miles away. But, all is well. All the hatchling's parts are where they're supposed to be, although some parts were hidden, so the gender remains a mystery. (I'm hoping for a girl for the purpose of pure revenge in a decade or so. bwahaha.

Jack and I had an awesome weekend. I dressed up - why do guys never dress up - including a new pair of cheap - inexpensive AND sleazy - heels and a blouse that is enough too tight for me that in spite of my breast reduction actually provides cleavage!

We went to a Mexican restaurant and had a jumbo margarita each. I don't know what this place uses for mix, but these are the smoothest margs I've ever had. (They're also 11 bucks apiece, so that won't be a frequent watering hole. Plus, if it tastes that good, the mix must be really sweet.

Speaking of sweet, I've been off sugared soda for 10 days. Giant "yea!" for me. That was a really stubborn monkey on my back for a really long time. I can't say that I actually like diet soda, but if there's no Crystal Light or the like, or if I need some caffeine, it will suffice.

Not coincidentally, I have dropped 8 pounds in that 10-day period. Cool.

I'm having my abdominoplasty scar redone. The surgeon - who shall remain nameless so I don't get busted for libel because he did such a crappy job! - pulled the skin too tight, or didn't suture it right or something, and it stretched. (This is the vertical, upper abdominal scar.) In a couple of places it's over an inch wide.

Aesthetics notwithstanding, it pulls and even hurts sometimes. I have an appointment with my DS surgeon this afternoon to schedule a scar revision with him. Since it's a fairly minor procedure, unless he finds something weird under there, I don't think it'll be a problem to get this scheduled fairly soon. I'm excited - mostly for the aesthetics. Part of the scar is textbook. It is a very fine line, barely lighter than my glaringly white belly. So I know this isn't some bizarre flaw in my skin. It'd be pretty weird to have perfect scars everywhere else on my bod and have this one be disfigured. The guy screwed up: plain and simple.

I dropped my legal assistant internship because I don't know how long I'll be recovering. The guy I was going to intern with is a complete ass anyway, so I'm not shedding any tears over this development. I wasn't going to finish the course work until winter anyway, so putting this off a year isn't a big deal.

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Jack and I did the budget last night. Waaaaaaaaaaay depressing. Enough said there.

So I'm going to put a budget together now. I'm way excited. NOT!

What a way to spend the afternoon, huh?

Last Train to Memphis?

Well, it might be the last train to nowhere, but we'll see.

At our therapy appointment on Monday - scheduled at noon Monday on a somewhat emergency basis - Mark assigned us to write down if we want to stay married, if we think we should stay married, and if yes, "how the hell are you finally gonna learn to show respect for yourselves and the other person?" (As I've mentioned before, the man doesn't mince words!)

So, after much thought and gnashing of teeth I've written a FOUR PAGE thesis in the third person. It reads like a social worker's write-up of a consultation with a couple. It sounds crazy, but using the third person was the only way I could keep my hyper-emotional self out of it. Crying until I puke is not going to get anything done during tonight's session.

In other news, my boss is going to place me on "informal intervention." It's like pre-probation. What it's really like is driving for hours and hours with a police car behind you. You make sure you do absolutely everything right, but you still have a knot in your stomach the whole time.

One of the things she's going to mention is my extremely poor attendance. I've consulted with my union rep and asked if he thinks I should reveal the bipolar disorder. It is basically at the root of everything that I am possibly doing wrong. Needing med changes, getting med changes cause psychiatric upheaval that cause me to miss work. Missing work, after my 10 days are up, means missing income, which causes more stress, which causes more anxiety which triggers a depressive episode. We have yet to find an anti-anxiety med that doesn't cause mania.

That's life today.

How're you?

Still Here...

I've been gone for weeks. Where do I start?

I stole this category name from Marybeth because it is just so fricking applicable to so much of my life right now.

I don't think I have the personality to have a blog. The coolest thing about my favorite bloggers is that they post so regularly. Reading their entries is sometimes the highlight of my day.

Ezpy and Sharon and MB - my favorites, and I don't even know how to link to them from a post - duh - write such insightful, often inspiring posts, and I feel like all I do is bitch. (Maybe because I do?)

I was reading MB's post about her 4 1/2 year DS anniversary and I just about cried.

I spent this morning at a local department store trying to find "sucker-upper" foundation garments that were made of something remotely breathable. (It'll be 100 degrees here in about six weeks.)

For the first time in months - it's Nebraska, and summer's here - I perspired profusely as I tried to apply my make-up after I took a shower.

I had to dry under the C-cup sized lumps on my back and, despite an abdominoplasty that left me with a scar that looks like I was in a West Side Story rumble, I had to dry under my belly too.

I am nearing my 4-year anniversary. My goal was 160 - I'm 5'4" - which would give me a BMI of 27.4; still overweight. Currently I am at 180, BMI 30.8, which is obese. WebMD says I should weigh no more than 145 pounds. 140 would give me a 100 pound loss. My low weight was 147 in 10/04, which was 1 1/2 years out.

Lots of numbers, but what do they mean to me?

4 years out, still 40 pounds overweight - minimum.

Failure.

Lack of control over one of the most basic function in life: what I put into my mouth. Nothing new there. Why can't the DS fix my brain too? :-)

Un/Fortunately, I have no GI problems with any kinds of foods. I am not lactose intolerant, I can eat red meat, and simple carbs do nothing more to me than require me to carry a purse-sized can of Oust.

There are days when I think I should've had the RNY so that the dumping caused from simple carbs would "teach me a lesson."

And then there's the vicious cycle: Under stress; eat simple carbs, aka comfort food; no room for protein or fiber; tired from malnutrition; sleep too much; lower basal metabolism; make it harder to lose weight.

In how many languages can one say "Duh!"

And oh, the stress triggers in my life. I know there are others who have worse/more/more serious problems, but knowing that doesn't help me feel better. My mom says it's like saying "I can't feel bad that I lost one child because my neighbor lost three." An extreme example, yes, but in-your-face accurate.

I know folks from the online world who have autistic children, chronic illnesses, untreated mental disorders because the treatments are worse than the illnesses, women in unhappy/unhealthy/abusive relationships... the list is endless. Well by way of a catch-up, here's my list.

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I am married to a wonderful man with a hair-trigger temper and possible untreated bipolar disorder. God bless him, though, he's been in counseling with me and alone for 5 years and under psychiatric care for 4 1/2. He takes two psychotropic meds, which I'm sure he never thought he would be so "weak" as to need. He's a grizzly with the heart of a teddy. Unfortunately when the grizzly is present it's pretty damned easy to forget about the teddy. And, like most of us, when he is the most unlovable is when he needs the most love.
And, wonderfully - especially for a 50-something ex-Air Force son of a Navy veteran - unquestionably accepted Raymond's "coming out" two years ago.

His daughter, my step-daughter, is pregnant, unmarried, progesterone-charged, and has general anxiety disorder. She also took me out for lunch on Mothers' day, because the boys were with their father, so that "someone would take you out on your special day," and gave me a card that made me laugh and cry at the same time. It was a "Mom" card, not a general one, which also means a lot since she lost her mom when she was 11.

My firstborn, Raymond, is gay. That in and of itself is not a problem to anyone in our family, even the grandparents. But, especially in our right-wing military community, this places previously-unknown challenges in his life, and thus in mine. He's brilliant, musically and academically gifted, and probably too close to his mom. (Cliche? Yup. Whaddya gonna do.)

**Funny aside - when the subject of his being gay came up recently during a conversation about his father (who lives and will die in the closet) he said "Yeah, that's where we think I get it," as if he were talking about getting his brown eyes from me or his perfectly arched eyebrows and ridiculously long lashes - bitch! :-)

The firstborn of my twins, Andrew, thinks he is gay as well. he will be "Jack" to Raymond's "Will" and will likely get the shit kicked out of him more than once. to add to his challenges, he is 4'6" and 69 pounds at the age of almost-13. Oh, and he's the poster child for ADHD. If he forgets his meds, he practically forgets his name!

His twin, Michael, is bipolar. Because the twins are on HGH (human growth hormone) injections, their more rapid growth necessitates their medications getting adjusted frequently. The days/weeks that precede the obvious need for a boost in dosage are unbearable. Michael is the sweetest child and the most horribly-behaved; within minutes.

I am completely unfulfilled in my job, but it pays well; for teaching anyway. I have nearly completed the coursework to become a paralegal/legal assistant, and am beginning my internship on June 4th. I've put in a couple of Saturdays with my new boss, and this morning he only had me stay for a half-hour. During that time he pointed out, repeatedly - many attorneys are overly-fond of the sound of their own voices - that I am a "blank slate" and that despite my having completed the academic program required of me I "know nothing." He is rough around the edges, but what he said was all true. I don't want to be a "blank slate" at 42. I haven't been a blank slate in 20 years and it scares the shit out of me. Oh, and an entry-level, full-time position in this field pays 35% less than I make now. Even after I "graduate," which seems a ridiculous term for a certificate when I already hold a master's degree, I won't be able to start my new career; probably ever.

My mother is the most passive-aggressive woman I have ever met, and I can do no right in her eyes. Never could. Never will. Have actually given up. That was freeing.

I had a venti latte for breakfast and a Malibu with juice in the same tumbler for lunch. I think I'll go eat something. Besides crow.

I'll try to have something happy to write about next time.

Mel

Update

Leigh made a decision today that I think might help all of us. Best of all, she made it maturely and rationally. (Anyone who have kids ever have them behave rationally when you can't/won't? It's really humbling. And annoying.)

I digress.

Leigh is moving into her boyfriend's (babydaddy's) mom's house. His mother is a lovely woman; thoughtful, selfless and kind; the kind of person I wish I could be. Craig, Leigh's boyfriend, is her youngest, so she has two empty bedrooms and a lot of time on her hands. And, she adores Leigh. Even now. I believe the woman is a saint.

There was no animosity in this move. Leigh will continue to attend college - for another month - four days per week, then come home to Judy's house from Thursday through Sunday so that Leigh can keep her waitressing job. (She also got a "real job" offer last week! Yea for her!!)

As far as I can tell, there are no hard feelings regarding the move, unless there are some from Jack - we haven't had any constructive conversation today. I'm still waiting, as bedtime approaches, if he is going to make good on his statement that he is going to sleep in Leigh's room for the forseeable future.

Complete Emotional Exhaustion

This has been the worst weekend in recent memory. Does anyone have any ideas as to why Jack and I fight on the weekends, but rarely any other time?

Leigh and I got into it again. I tried to apologize for a thoughtless remark I'd made. My mistake was that I made my apology in a text message. Apparently a "tone" found its way through the magical airwaves that transmit text messages, and my apology was thrown back into my face.

This morning Jack said he is going to divorce me. I went and curb-looked at a couple of rental houses. (Can't very well get a showing on Easter Sunday.) The house that had informational flyers on the yard sign runs $950/month. I'm assuming that does not include any utilities. So, add to that water/gas/electric/cable/phone/internet/cell bills, plus I presume the boys would wish to eat regularly, and I'm fairly sure that I'll have to continue to fuel and maintain my car since I drive for a living... well, you see the problem. (Not to be too tacky, but the rent alone is half my net monthly salary before child support.)

Since buying a 20k car in December, my income:debt ratio is not so hot. Add to that the credit card bills that seem to grow monthly, including a ridiculously overspent Christmas, and there is no way I could qualify for a home loan large enough to buy a house that would fit four people and all their accompanying stuff. PLUS, as my father has warned me my entire life: if you own a home, you must have a maintenance fund set aside for "little" things like the water heater going out, the ceiling leaking, the basement flooding, ad nauseum. He's right, of course. Unless you buy a brand-new home - which is out of the question for me - you inherit decades of someone else's idea of maintenance. Also, I'd have no money to do a damned thing to it; carpet, paint, etc., if it needed it.

The worst part about all of this is that I have been a complete and total bitch lately. Actually the word "bully" might be more appropos. I don't know what is wrong with me. Shit comes flying out of my mouth seemingly several minutes before any coherent thoughts form in my brain. Then I look at the stricken/hurt/furious face(s) of the person(s) I've just shat on and I feel even worse. So, do I back up and use the problem-solving techniques I've learned from five years of therapy? Hell no. I forge ahead on completely the wrong path (gee, maybe I'm related to George Bush?) no matter how much damage I might cause along the way.

I am not an evil person. I am a nice person with a vengeful, jealous, self-centered, selfish, unkind, generally awful person living inside of me who refuses to obey my eviction notices.

Anyone have any ideas? Anyone? Anything?

Please send us your prayers/thoughts/vibes - whatever you're into. We need all the help we can get.