The Long Road Home

The other day in the local paper there was an article about the increase in carjackings in my area.  I read it over, looking for some kind of proof, but all that was there was information about how to avoid being car-mugged.  I kinda ignored it because I spoke with a cop a few weeks ago and he told me that the only real danger in my area is gang members who are targeting the local CVS.

Who tags a drug store?

But Tuesday night my parents return from their jaunt in Vegas and I had to pick them up quite late.  Like, almost the next morning late.  When GPOM sent me on my way, he told me to be careful, because, "It's been raining and no-one in this town knows how to drive."

How sweet, I thought, and went along my merry way.  Yet, when I was driving home from my folks' place, his words came into my mind, and I drove the freeways to get home, which takes longer, rather than taking the side streets, which are much more efficient.

Now I've got someone who cares about my safety.  I owe it to him to take better care of myself.

Sittin' At The Rents

So my folks are officially in Vegas, having a perfectly lovely time (I hope).  They're there with my siblings to celebrate a belated fiftieth wedding anniversary, since the two siblings couldn't be arsed to get out here by the folks to do something nice, less expensive, and closer to home.

But that's just my opinion.

For a while now I've been craving some alone time.  A block of time where no-one else is around, where I can hang out and watch TV and sit on the deck and not feel like I owe this time to someone else, or that I'm being watched.  I've been so looking forward to this time, and have in fact brought enough clean clothes and supplies so that I could conceivably stay here until Tuesday, when they return.

So why am I so lonely?  I can do what I want when I want, no-one's around to judge me, yet it's only been four hours and I've already texted GPOM to ask if I can come home tonight.

Maybe it's nostalgia for the old days, when I was alone a lot of the time, and I could sit and do whatever I wanted and could deliciously anticipate the sound of the phone when GPOM would call from Seattle.

I don't know what it is, and I don't know yet where I'll stay tonight (and the next few nights), but I guess what I'm figuring out is that I'm damn hard to please, even to myself.

Operation Get GPOM A Decent Job

Jobs are scarce these days.  Trust me, we know.  (Paying clients are as well, but that's a sob story for another time.)  While GPOM is working now, we need to find him something that has a salary, rather than an hourly, wage, benefits, and an unchanging schedule.  We need this because he needs it and he's a really good person to work with, and for the most important reason of all (to me):

I want an office.

This law-in-the-clouds thing is neat, occasionally really convenient, and not necessarily the best way for me to practice law as I function much better in a more structured environment.  An office would force me to work more efficiently, would create more work-life balance, and would make me feel better about myself.

So if you hear of anything good and/or interesting, do let us know.

Also, if you know of a reasonably-priced office space near the Square, preferably one stocked with attorneys already, let me know.  I'd really like to start researching space.

Chocolate

Today Wade and I were discussing friendships, discounts, and chocolate.  Let's get to the important part.

As a person with ovaries, I have a love/hate relationship with chocolate.  That being said, given the option, I prefer Nestle Milk Chocolate to Hershey's.  No offense to Hershey, and I do love its as well, but Nestle's is creamier and milkier and, well, better.  Even though I visited Hershey, PA, when I was a child.  Even though Hershey is more ubiquitous (can something be more ubiquitous?)

There was a sale on Halloween bags of candy at the store today.  I may or may not be the owner of two bags.  I might've only had two Twix bars yet.  So far.

Send on the Whatchamacallits!!!

Tadpole In Waiting

Now that I've taken one or two or twenty deep, comforting, in-with-the-blue-out-with-the-red restorative breaths, I can talk more about the antibaby.

Maybe at some point in the future there will be a probaby, but that's not what we're going to discuss here.  We're going to discuss my friends' and family's reaction to the potential tadpole.

Wade:  I'm supportive, really.  No.  Really.  I really am.  I think it'd be great. (For the love of christ, do you know how much a child costs?  Not just in money but in time?  Do you know that with my two children, I cannot be your sole source of support while you endlessly digest every tiny damn thing that you're thinking and feeling?  Also, husband.  Mine needs attention too.  Oh!  Also!  Health insurance.  Better look into that, sister.)

Cita:  Awww...baby!  I love having mine, although I considered briefly leaving him on the side of the road for a bit as payback for all the awful things pregnancy did to my body.  And mind.  But he's adorable and mostly sleeps and thank goodness for family and friend support because otherwise I'd go coockoo!!

Sister:  Think you are?  I always wanted one.  But if you get one, Momma won't move out here by me because she'll want to be around the baby and yeah, yeah, that's cool, except could you maybe consider not being so damn greedy with the Momma time?  I need her too!

Momma:  I'll kill you.
Me:  Kill me?  Why?
Momma:  'Cos you're not married yet.
Me:  I think we'd take care of that problem with a quickness.
Momma:  Yeah.  THE NEXT DAY.

This chat with Momma was had after I told her about how late I was and how much I wondered if I were with tadpole.  After that, we wandered around Target and cooed at the monkey baby clothes and toys.

So, we'll see what happens.

Not A Good Day

No Tadpole.  Probably for the best.  Feeling the loss.

Jesus Fucking Christ, how many pictures do I need to have of GPOM's kid?  I could put out a fucking FBI missing persons flyer (or seventy-five).

Like I said, not a good day.  Back to my book.

Tadpole

Remember that a few weeks ago I discussed symptoms?  Well, if not, scroll down a bit.  I can't be arsed to link to a post right now.

I still have no confirmation, but I can tell you that I reread It Sucked And I Cried by Heather Armstrong (Dooce) and now I cannot pee with anything that feels like satisfaction.  And I haven't started.

If this is too much for you, apologies.  Move along to something more interesting.

Nightly, I lie in the bed, pat my lower belly, and tell myself that I'm not pregnant.  This internal conversation goes something like this:

I know you're not there, Tadpole, because there's no way you could be.  But if you are, Hi!  I think you might want to consider a different womb.  Mine's messy and weird and full of gunk and goo and hopefully things that you can softly bump in to.  Of course you're not there, but maybe you will be in the future when I've got my head and finances more ready to have you.

Tadpole, my belly is warm and weird and I want to pee like a normal person and why am I feeling this mix of heartburn and nausea?  'Cos that's no fun at all.

(I've got to talk about this somewhere and where else than here?)