Please stop throwing grenades at my sun umbrella

Gentle moving water
sunshine
birdsong

WOOSH

dead fish float up like bubbles in the aftermath.


Life seems to tumble along and then suddenly explode every once in a while. I'm not into that whole "things happen in threes" nonsense, but a whole lot does seem to happen at the same time. I would really like life to present me with only one disaster at a time, but for some reason that seems like too much to ask for.

It's not really like grenade fishing, it's more like powerful rapids and swirling eddies, but my skills for navigating such treacherous waters are so poor that lobbing grenades in my general direction probably wouldn't hurt my chances.

Next weekend my brother is moving to Wisconsin, which for some reason he never bothered to tell me. He did have me edit and correct his resume, but why let me know that he got the job and is moving across the country? Sure, my feelings are a little hurt, but it's really great that he got the job. He'll be with his super-awesome girlfriend who just finished law school, and he'll be able to provide her with some support while she tries to get her feet under her. It's all well and good...except that our mom is having half of her colon removed the following Wednesday.

My father is not a great, or even good nurse. His worry makes him restless and short-tempered. I need to go up to Dallas that weekend to help get mom settled in to recover. It would be easier if Colin still lived near them, but we'll all make do. I'm worried that I may have to take extra time off depending on how the surgery goes (I am telling myself that everything will go swimmingly), but I don't really have extra time to take.

And it's Edmund's birthday that weekend. If there is any man who deserves a great birthday, it's him. A great birthday would not involve a trip to the great vacuous metropolis. It would involve Schlitterbahn, a nice dinner, presents and fun. I am not exactly sure how we will fit all of these things into the same weekend.

Oh yeah, and my truck still hates me. She may or may not want to make the trip.

So that's the bitch part of this ramble. Bitching about it won't change anything, so we will try our best, and do what we can. Either Edmund will come with me to Dallas or the universe will align in my favor and I will finally beat him at Rock Paper Scissors, winning the right to take his car to Dallas.

If I have to take extra time off, so be it. I'm looking at going up every weekend or every other weekend for the first couple of weeks, but if things don't go as well as possible in surgery I will stay with my parents. Perhaps I can tug on my boss's heartstrings. Doesn't she hope that when her daughters are grown they will come home to take care of her if she needs major surgery? I feel like it's a legitimate line of reasoning.

We can go out to dinner in Dallas for Edmund's birthday, and hopefully we can go to Schlitterbahn the next weekend. It's not perfect, but what is?

With all of this awesomeness going around, I keep coming back to a video Edmund shot while we were moving him into the apartment. We were tired and sweaty and almost finished when Pudgy decided to help. It still makes me laugh, so I'm going to probably be watching it a lot over the next few weeks.

Didn't we just buy groceries?

Day 18, not the assignment

Today's topic did not mesh with my brain, but I did learn a lot reading up online. It was really interesting, but instead of poetry let's talk about the supermarket.

I am a terrible shopper. Really. I bargain shop everything and completely overanalyze. I look at price per ounce, sure, but only in comparison with fat content, fiber and nutritional content. Edmund has walked away while I was examining crackers, more than once.

And still, after all my efforts, I still end up leaving feeling like I spend too much money for too little food. It's frustrating, but I'm trying to be better. I know that part of the problem is that I really don't cook. I have little self-confidence in the area, and I've lived alone in my tiny apartment for the last few years. I don't need to set fires for my own personal benefit. Now that Edmund is here with me, I feel like we should find more nutritious, cost-conscious ways to eat together. Unfortunately, the cost of additional fire extinguishers is never factored into nutritious and cost-conscious meals.

I'm not kidding. Fire making mac'n'cheese? Check. Small white scars on my left arm from attempts at frying okra? Check. Shit, I set my goddamn bangs on fire on Monday. To say that I have little confidence in my cooking is an understatement. I want to be wrapped in flame-retardant before stepping near a stove. I really want to be able to cook, I just want to do it without ending up in the ER.

Unfortunately, what I'm trying to say is that I'm my mother's daughter. I have never known anyone else who received third degree burns making soup. Or went to the ER (children in tow) for mostly-severed fingers more than once. The creepy thing is, she knows how dangerous the kitchen is for us, and yet she still gives me more cookbooks and small kitchen appliances than I could ever use. I think she might be trying to kill me.

So that leaves Edmund and I in limbo on the dinner front. Strangely enough, limbo is also the bulk foods aisle. I'm trying to avoid the bad fat in the sesame sticks we both love, but only some real divinity could save me from macadamia nuts. My diatician has told me monounsaturateds are all a-okay fats, so the logic in my brain says "yes, macadamia nuts." My heart stops at the $12.99/lb price tag. I mean, I'm not going to buy a whole pound...but why even put them out at a price like that? Between the high fat (whatever kind it may be) and the price I feel guilty every time, but I love them.

So we always end up in bulk foods, and I'm always trying to run away without that bag of macadamias, but I fail. At least the guilt always send me running back to lowfat cottage cheese and veggie juice.