Saturday, January 21, 2006
#537 Weight Update
Pretty much holding steady this past week. I guess last week's Funny Cide ice cream and this week's Third Thurday dinner have taken effect. Funniest thing - my underpants are getting baggy in the seat, and the crotch is kinda drooping. And yet, when I look in the mirror, I still see no difference. Maybe there is a little anorexia going on. Distorted body image and all that.
#536 Impotent Anger
Saturday, 4:00 pm..
More wind. PC keeps bouncing. Odd, because usually it's the microwave that's most sensitive. This time it's the PC that goes down, and the microwave clock is still ok.
I took stuff to the recycle center this morning, and I was carrying a load of cut-up cardboard when a gust of wind came up especially strongly, and literally blew me over. I'm afraid to try to get those panes of glass out of the van.
I hate wind.
I have done absolutely nothing today. I spent most of the morning and early afternoon writing an angry email to Roman, and now I don't want to send it. Cooling off period. I might still hand it to him next time I see him. We have GOT to sit down and get this over with. We are not going to be able to avoid each other, so we have to set some ground rules.
I'm just not sure what they should be.
More wind. PC keeps bouncing. Odd, because usually it's the microwave that's most sensitive. This time it's the PC that goes down, and the microwave clock is still ok.
I took stuff to the recycle center this morning, and I was carrying a load of cut-up cardboard when a gust of wind came up especially strongly, and literally blew me over. I'm afraid to try to get those panes of glass out of the van.
I hate wind.
I have done absolutely nothing today. I spent most of the morning and early afternoon writing an angry email to Roman, and now I don't want to send it. Cooling off period. I might still hand it to him next time I see him. We have GOT to sit down and get this over with. We are not going to be able to avoid each other, so we have to set some ground rules.
I'm just not sure what they should be.
Friday, January 20, 2006
#534 Strength Training!
I went to the Mensa dinner last night. There were eight of us, and it was a good group. After dinner, four of us went to the gilded Otter in New Paltz to play in some kind of national trivia thingy - I don't know what it's officially called, but there is a screen, and multiple choice questions, and you choose your answers on a keypad. I didn't do so well because I have trouble translating from my brain to my fingers, and I kept forgetting that I could change my answers. Next time...! There's a Mensa group that competes as a team in a particular bar in NYC, and they are always in the top several nationally, so we are toying with the idea of a field trip down there to meet them. Just that Thursdays could be difficult for those who have to go to work the next day.
When we left the restaurant to go to New Paltz, one of the guys asked if I wanted to ride with him, and he'd bring me back to my car afterwards. Stupid me, I said no, it's easiest for me to go home up the thruway from New Paltz. He's 45ish and and it's highly unlikely there was anything else in mind, but conversation and getting to know him better would have been nice. I need a few more male friends - male viewpoints and so on.
This morning I checked out the spa in the village. It's not like a gym - they have no treadmills (and no males, thank you) - what they have is a series of machines, each geared to work on a separate set of muscles, and you move from station to station at a set rate, to a music tape. I got a free week's trial. So I went this morning, just to see if I could do it. It was ok. I plan to go every morning for the week and see how it goes.
I was surprised to find that my left arm is a lot weaker than my right. My left leg is also weaker than the right, but that's the hip that gives me the most trouble, so that didn't surprise me.
Then I ran a bunch of errands. I got a new burn permit, picked up some new tapes for the phone machine (the 8-year old tape is getting stretched), bought and mailed some postcards for the son of a friend of a friend who is in some kind of postcard competition, bought some furnace filters, got the van a checkup and the oil changed, went to the grocery store, and some other stuff I can't remember right off. It was like 55 degrees with no wind, so it was nice to be out.
I got home around two, and found a half-hour old message on the tape from Roman. His mother is progressing, not as quickly as they had hoped, but he's satisfied that she's looking and sounding better. He said in his message he'd call again later today, and hoped I'd be in. He confuses me. I don't understand. I guess this is also strength training.
Later edit - He did call again in the evening. I was surprised that he did. I told him about dinner last night. He said he really wanted to attend, but the aide who was supposed to come to care for his father never showed up, so he was unable to leave. I was surprised to hear that he wanted to attend, since he would have had to return either that night or the next morning. That's a long round-trip drive just for dinner in a mediocre restaurant. He confuses me. I don't understand.
The town has a new bee in their bonnets - they plan to impose a 2% tax on all home sales in the town, on the amounts over the median sale price for homes in the county. The county median is $380,000 (ouch! That's twice what it was before 9/11.). The money would then be used to purchase the development rights on farmland in the town.
Quick tutorial for those not familiar with New York local governments: Municipalities are hamlets, villages, and cities. A "town" is like a sub-division of a county, and may include multiple hamlets, villages, and cities. The town board handles things like zoning, snowplowing, garbage collection, fire fighting, and such outside the individual municipalities (which usually, around here, means the rural areas). For example, I used to live just outside the village of Highland, in the town of Lloyd, in the county of Ulster. My address, however, was Highland.
Since 9/11/01, folks have been spreading up and out from NYC, driving up housing prices as they go. In the past few years, many have actually moved all the way up here (a 2.5 hour commute to Manhattan!). They buy here because they love the rural aspects - the vineyards, orchards, horses, and farms - and they seem determined to keep it that way. There isn't a single fast food joint within 13 miles of the village on this side of the river, and no place to buy a pair of stockings. (Woe to you if you get hungry after 9 pm and there's nothing at home. There's nothing open.) The original residents wouldn't mind a few conveniences, but pretty soon it won't matter to them, because they can't afford to live here any longer. The traffic in the village is getting horrible. It's near impossible to turn left during the day anymore, and because the village doesn't have real "blocks", or even cross streets, it's not like you can make three rights to make a left. It's all very strange. Well, just another thing I don't understand.
Oh, I found out at the exercise place why I haven't seen girl scout cookies in ages - the girls aren't allowed to sell door-to-door any more. Sheesh!
When we left the restaurant to go to New Paltz, one of the guys asked if I wanted to ride with him, and he'd bring me back to my car afterwards. Stupid me, I said no, it's easiest for me to go home up the thruway from New Paltz. He's 45ish and and it's highly unlikely there was anything else in mind, but conversation and getting to know him better would have been nice. I need a few more male friends - male viewpoints and so on.
This morning I checked out the spa in the village. It's not like a gym - they have no treadmills (and no males, thank you) - what they have is a series of machines, each geared to work on a separate set of muscles, and you move from station to station at a set rate, to a music tape. I got a free week's trial. So I went this morning, just to see if I could do it. It was ok. I plan to go every morning for the week and see how it goes.
I was surprised to find that my left arm is a lot weaker than my right. My left leg is also weaker than the right, but that's the hip that gives me the most trouble, so that didn't surprise me.
Then I ran a bunch of errands. I got a new burn permit, picked up some new tapes for the phone machine (the 8-year old tape is getting stretched), bought and mailed some postcards for the son of a friend of a friend who is in some kind of postcard competition, bought some furnace filters, got the van a checkup and the oil changed, went to the grocery store, and some other stuff I can't remember right off. It was like 55 degrees with no wind, so it was nice to be out.
I got home around two, and found a half-hour old message on the tape from Roman. His mother is progressing, not as quickly as they had hoped, but he's satisfied that she's looking and sounding better. He said in his message he'd call again later today, and hoped I'd be in. He confuses me. I don't understand. I guess this is also strength training.
Later edit - He did call again in the evening. I was surprised that he did. I told him about dinner last night. He said he really wanted to attend, but the aide who was supposed to come to care for his father never showed up, so he was unable to leave. I was surprised to hear that he wanted to attend, since he would have had to return either that night or the next morning. That's a long round-trip drive just for dinner in a mediocre restaurant. He confuses me. I don't understand.
The town has a new bee in their bonnets - they plan to impose a 2% tax on all home sales in the town, on the amounts over the median sale price for homes in the county. The county median is $380,000 (ouch! That's twice what it was before 9/11.). The money would then be used to purchase the development rights on farmland in the town.
Quick tutorial for those not familiar with New York local governments: Municipalities are hamlets, villages, and cities. A "town" is like a sub-division of a county, and may include multiple hamlets, villages, and cities. The town board handles things like zoning, snowplowing, garbage collection, fire fighting, and such outside the individual municipalities (which usually, around here, means the rural areas). For example, I used to live just outside the village of Highland, in the town of Lloyd, in the county of Ulster. My address, however, was Highland.
Since 9/11/01, folks have been spreading up and out from NYC, driving up housing prices as they go. In the past few years, many have actually moved all the way up here (a 2.5 hour commute to Manhattan!). They buy here because they love the rural aspects - the vineyards, orchards, horses, and farms - and they seem determined to keep it that way. There isn't a single fast food joint within 13 miles of the village on this side of the river, and no place to buy a pair of stockings. (Woe to you if you get hungry after 9 pm and there's nothing at home. There's nothing open.) The original residents wouldn't mind a few conveniences, but pretty soon it won't matter to them, because they can't afford to live here any longer. The traffic in the village is getting horrible. It's near impossible to turn left during the day anymore, and because the village doesn't have real "blocks", or even cross streets, it's not like you can make three rights to make a left. It's all very strange. Well, just another thing I don't understand.
Oh, I found out at the exercise place why I haven't seen girl scout cookies in ages - the girls aren't allowed to sell door-to-door any more. Sheesh!
Thursday, January 19, 2006
#533 Realization
AOL (and the whole machine, for that matter) was so very healthy last night, I don't understand why I got the "full connection cannot be established" message again this morning. Bleck. Something's slightly off.
The van finally got its alignment this morning, and I picked up the new glass for the CD cabinet doors (both original pieces were broken in shipment, which I didn't find out until Monday evening, when I went to install the glass), so at least some things are progressing.
Mensa dinner this evening. It's going to be the last dinner for one of our members who is moving away, so there should be a lot of people there.
---------------------------------------------------
The realization.
I have finally faced the reason why I was so depressed for so long (four years) after Jay died.
I think I accidentally killed him.
I cared for him alone, and I did it so well the visiting nurses were impressed. I turned him and packed pillows around him, so he never got any bed sores, not even on his heels, which impressed the nurses. I exercised his arms and legs, and worked his hands and feet, so he never completely wasted, and his tendons didn't shorten. I kept track of the pressure in his brain (which could be sensed through the reservoir implant in his skull) and adjusted his steroids accordingly. I gave him eight different medications on eight different schedules, requiring different food timings. I gave him injections of anti-clotting meds every day. I washed his lower body several times a day and changed and laundered linens usually several times a day. A nurse came once a week to monitor him and take blood for Dilantin levels, and an aide came twice a week for an hour or two to wash his hair and beard, and to allow me to run errands. I spoon-fed him, and held his sippy cups, and monitored his solid and fluid intake, adjusting for bouts of violent nausea. I washed the walls when we had projectile vomiting.
I learned how to use the Hoyer lift to get him from the bed to the wheelchair and back. I learned the fireman's lift to get him off the floor when he tried to get out of the bed or chair and fell.
When he had a bad case of candida albicans at both ends and the medicine the doctor prescribed made him throw up (and throwing up was very serious because it screwed up his meds and could cause an avalanche effect), I researched the subject and found gentian violet, and it worked, and the nurses were amazed. I never left the bedroom for more than ten minutes, since that was the limit of his memory and he got frightened if he didn't know where I was. I read to him for hours at a time. I reassured him during delusions and frightening hallucinations.
But mostly, I just loved him.
The immunotherapy he'd had seemed to be working. The tumor seemed to have stopped growing. But because it was so experimental, they had accepted only candidates who had failed all other therapy and were in pretty bad shape to begin with. It was I who discovered the major flaw in the therapy - the sensitized white blood cells attacked nerve linings as well as the tumor, and essentially gave the patients multiple sclerosis. That's what had blinded Jay.
So, with the reevaluation of the clinical trial and his own weakness, he was no longer getting the immunotherapy, but the tumor had stopped growing. With excellent care, he probably could have lived longer. He was weak, blind, paralyzed on one side, with hallucinations and delusions, and no short term memory - but he never gave up his plan to beat the tumor and return to full function.
What happened?
I screwed up.
When you lie for months with little activity, and especially when the brain is no longer talking to one half of your body, certain physical functions no longer work as well as normal. I kept him full of psycillium to keep things soft and moving, and mostly it worked, but every so often there were rocks that wouldn't go that last inch or two. Then it was necessary to take things into one's own hands, literally. It was the only way. (Lest any nurses out there worry about the "spinal feedback" problem, remember his paralysis was due to a brain malfunction, not a spinal injury, so it was ok. He couldn't have a water enema because that would increase intracranial pressure, and oil didn't do anything, since it didn't soften things and the problem was mainly due to a lack of muscle pressure.)
I had done it many times. Once, when he was staying at a nursing facility in Staten Island while he was getting treatment at a nearby hospital, I had just arrived home from spending the day with him when he called from his room and begged me to come back (a 2+ hour drive), and "fix it". I got there at midnight and sneaked in when the nursing shift changed, and went to his room. When the nurses found out what I intended to do, they had a fit (they were hung up on the spinal feedback thing), then I found out that the records showed he hadn't had a bowel movement for ten days while under their care, so I told them they could either call the cops and have me dragged out, in which case I would tell the world about the ten days, or they could turn around and walk away. Then I simply closed the door and did it.
So anyway, this day at home, I did the thing. Usually it was possible to squish the rock, or split it in two, or if it was small just wiggle it out. But this time there was a particularly large and very hard rock. It wouldn't split, and it wouldn't squish. No amount of lubricant helped. I think I tried too hard. When it finally did appear, there were blood traces on it.
When the visiting nurse came the next day, I told her, and she said no big deal. The day after that, his kidneys quit, and then he became sluggish and feverish, and then it got really serious. We moved him to a hospice room in the local hospital. I moved in, too. Every three days someone would relieve me for an hour while I ran home to shower and feed the cat.
Seven days later he died in my arms.
It was always so ironic to me that it wasn't the tumor that killed him - not directly - it was a massive systemic infection that caused all his organs to shut down, one by one. Because he was under hospice care, no one did a culture to identify the infectious agent.
I think it was always in the back of my mind where he got that infection. I never allowed it to move to the front. It was only this week that the thought took shape consciously. But it explains why I was so very depressed for so very long.
I think I screwed up.
A small tear in the tissues probably would not have been a problem (his immune system was not depressed, even after all the chemo, probably because of the treatments during the immunotherapy), but I'll bet it wasn't a bacteria that got in.
I'll bet it was the candida albicans that got him. His alimentary canal was full of it. And I opened a door to let it in the rest of the way.
Having brought it up front, I think I can finally let it go. I did a good job. I tried. I made a tragic mistake. But maybe it was meant to happen, because there really wasn't any other possible outcome. It was an accident on my part, but maybe in the greater plan, it wasn't an accident.
The van finally got its alignment this morning, and I picked up the new glass for the CD cabinet doors (both original pieces were broken in shipment, which I didn't find out until Monday evening, when I went to install the glass), so at least some things are progressing.
Mensa dinner this evening. It's going to be the last dinner for one of our members who is moving away, so there should be a lot of people there.
---------------------------------------------------
The realization.
I have finally faced the reason why I was so depressed for so long (four years) after Jay died.
I think I accidentally killed him.
I cared for him alone, and I did it so well the visiting nurses were impressed. I turned him and packed pillows around him, so he never got any bed sores, not even on his heels, which impressed the nurses. I exercised his arms and legs, and worked his hands and feet, so he never completely wasted, and his tendons didn't shorten. I kept track of the pressure in his brain (which could be sensed through the reservoir implant in his skull) and adjusted his steroids accordingly. I gave him eight different medications on eight different schedules, requiring different food timings. I gave him injections of anti-clotting meds every day. I washed his lower body several times a day and changed and laundered linens usually several times a day. A nurse came once a week to monitor him and take blood for Dilantin levels, and an aide came twice a week for an hour or two to wash his hair and beard, and to allow me to run errands. I spoon-fed him, and held his sippy cups, and monitored his solid and fluid intake, adjusting for bouts of violent nausea. I washed the walls when we had projectile vomiting.
I learned how to use the Hoyer lift to get him from the bed to the wheelchair and back. I learned the fireman's lift to get him off the floor when he tried to get out of the bed or chair and fell.
When he had a bad case of candida albicans at both ends and the medicine the doctor prescribed made him throw up (and throwing up was very serious because it screwed up his meds and could cause an avalanche effect), I researched the subject and found gentian violet, and it worked, and the nurses were amazed. I never left the bedroom for more than ten minutes, since that was the limit of his memory and he got frightened if he didn't know where I was. I read to him for hours at a time. I reassured him during delusions and frightening hallucinations.
But mostly, I just loved him.
The immunotherapy he'd had seemed to be working. The tumor seemed to have stopped growing. But because it was so experimental, they had accepted only candidates who had failed all other therapy and were in pretty bad shape to begin with. It was I who discovered the major flaw in the therapy - the sensitized white blood cells attacked nerve linings as well as the tumor, and essentially gave the patients multiple sclerosis. That's what had blinded Jay.
So, with the reevaluation of the clinical trial and his own weakness, he was no longer getting the immunotherapy, but the tumor had stopped growing. With excellent care, he probably could have lived longer. He was weak, blind, paralyzed on one side, with hallucinations and delusions, and no short term memory - but he never gave up his plan to beat the tumor and return to full function.
What happened?
I screwed up.
When you lie for months with little activity, and especially when the brain is no longer talking to one half of your body, certain physical functions no longer work as well as normal. I kept him full of psycillium to keep things soft and moving, and mostly it worked, but every so often there were rocks that wouldn't go that last inch or two. Then it was necessary to take things into one's own hands, literally. It was the only way. (Lest any nurses out there worry about the "spinal feedback" problem, remember his paralysis was due to a brain malfunction, not a spinal injury, so it was ok. He couldn't have a water enema because that would increase intracranial pressure, and oil didn't do anything, since it didn't soften things and the problem was mainly due to a lack of muscle pressure.)
I had done it many times. Once, when he was staying at a nursing facility in Staten Island while he was getting treatment at a nearby hospital, I had just arrived home from spending the day with him when he called from his room and begged me to come back (a 2+ hour drive), and "fix it". I got there at midnight and sneaked in when the nursing shift changed, and went to his room. When the nurses found out what I intended to do, they had a fit (they were hung up on the spinal feedback thing), then I found out that the records showed he hadn't had a bowel movement for ten days while under their care, so I told them they could either call the cops and have me dragged out, in which case I would tell the world about the ten days, or they could turn around and walk away. Then I simply closed the door and did it.
So anyway, this day at home, I did the thing. Usually it was possible to squish the rock, or split it in two, or if it was small just wiggle it out. But this time there was a particularly large and very hard rock. It wouldn't split, and it wouldn't squish. No amount of lubricant helped. I think I tried too hard. When it finally did appear, there were blood traces on it.
When the visiting nurse came the next day, I told her, and she said no big deal. The day after that, his kidneys quit, and then he became sluggish and feverish, and then it got really serious. We moved him to a hospice room in the local hospital. I moved in, too. Every three days someone would relieve me for an hour while I ran home to shower and feed the cat.
Seven days later he died in my arms.
It was always so ironic to me that it wasn't the tumor that killed him - not directly - it was a massive systemic infection that caused all his organs to shut down, one by one. Because he was under hospice care, no one did a culture to identify the infectious agent.
I think it was always in the back of my mind where he got that infection. I never allowed it to move to the front. It was only this week that the thought took shape consciously. But it explains why I was so very depressed for so very long.
I think I screwed up.
A small tear in the tissues probably would not have been a problem (his immune system was not depressed, even after all the chemo, probably because of the treatments during the immunotherapy), but I'll bet it wasn't a bacteria that got in.
I'll bet it was the candida albicans that got him. His alimentary canal was full of it. And I opened a door to let it in the rest of the way.
Having brought it up front, I think I can finally let it go. I did a good job. I tried. I made a tragic mistake. But maybe it was meant to happen, because there really wasn't any other possible outcome. It was an accident on my part, but maybe in the greater plan, it wasn't an accident.
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
#532 Everything Is Fixed!
I ran the special removal utility from Symantec, and now everything is not only working, the whole system is faster!
Of course, there was a hitch - you had to know what level of Norton Antivirus you STARTED with, because you had to uninstall them in order, from the bottom up. Duh? Jay first installed it, and I didn't have the faintest idea what he'd started with. So I just picked the one at the bottom of the list, and worked my way up. With a restart after every one. I guess it worked.
Now I'll have to run a McAfee scan to make sure that still works.
Of course, there was a hitch - you had to know what level of Norton Antivirus you STARTED with, because you had to uninstall them in order, from the bottom up. Duh? Jay first installed it, and I didn't have the faintest idea what he'd started with. So I just picked the one at the bottom of the list, and worked my way up. With a restart after every one. I guess it worked.
Now I'll have to run a McAfee scan to make sure that still works.
#531 AOL Is Broken Again
I noticed when I brought up the new AOL that McAfee virus scanner is included free. You have to uninstall any other virus programs first, though. I currently have Norton, but when I tried to renew my subscription, they insisted I had to get the current level, and it wouldn't download, so I've been stuck for a few months with no virus updates, while I decided whether to pursue Norton or not.
AOL said not to try to remove Norton using the Windows uninstall procedure, but to use a special exec on the Symantec site. So I went to the Symantec site, and THEY said not to use the exec until after you've tried Windows uninstall and it fails. So ... I tried Windows, and it said it was successful. Now what?
So, ok, I restart the system and ... SLOW!!! The cursor was a dead mouse lying there. On the phone with Daughter at the time, and she says McAfee is probably running a preliminary scan. Go have a cup of tea. Given the age of your hardware, have several cups of tea.
Several cups of tea later, things are a little better, so I go into McAfee options, and turn off EVERYTHING. I'll tell you when I want you to scan and what, thank you.
Then I brought up Netscape and went to Yahoo. Looking fine. A little slow, but not bad.
Next I tried to start AOL. V-e-r-r-r-r-y s-l-o-o-o-w. I mean, we're talking 10 minutes to get the signon screen. Plus I get an error message: "A full connection to the AOL service cannot be established. Browsing and other features may not work correctly... blah blah...." AOL finally came up and I was able to read and send email (which requires a connection to the internet, right?) but I couldn't do anything else that required a connection, including getting to AOL's own Help pages. One would think if AOL is offering McAfee, McAfee at least wouldn't break AOL, huh?
Ya gotta give me optomism credit - I tried it twice. Same result.
Back when I read about McAfee on AOL, there was all kinds of "what do I do if" advice. Guess what? When "a full connection cannot be established", you can't get to that advice!
So, the next step is to go back to Symantec and download and run that special uninstall exec. If you don't hear from me for a few days, I'm trying to breathe life into dead mice.
AOL said not to try to remove Norton using the Windows uninstall procedure, but to use a special exec on the Symantec site. So I went to the Symantec site, and THEY said not to use the exec until after you've tried Windows uninstall and it fails. So ... I tried Windows, and it said it was successful. Now what?
So, ok, I restart the system and ... SLOW!!! The cursor was a dead mouse lying there. On the phone with Daughter at the time, and she says McAfee is probably running a preliminary scan. Go have a cup of tea. Given the age of your hardware, have several cups of tea.
Several cups of tea later, things are a little better, so I go into McAfee options, and turn off EVERYTHING. I'll tell you when I want you to scan and what, thank you.
Then I brought up Netscape and went to Yahoo. Looking fine. A little slow, but not bad.
Next I tried to start AOL. V-e-r-r-r-r-y s-l-o-o-o-w. I mean, we're talking 10 minutes to get the signon screen. Plus I get an error message: "A full connection to the AOL service cannot be established. Browsing and other features may not work correctly... blah blah...." AOL finally came up and I was able to read and send email (which requires a connection to the internet, right?) but I couldn't do anything else that required a connection, including getting to AOL's own Help pages. One would think if AOL is offering McAfee, McAfee at least wouldn't break AOL, huh?
Ya gotta give me optomism credit - I tried it twice. Same result.
Back when I read about McAfee on AOL, there was all kinds of "what do I do if" advice. Guess what? When "a full connection cannot be established", you can't get to that advice!
So, the next step is to go back to Symantec and download and run that special uninstall exec. If you don't hear from me for a few days, I'm trying to breathe life into dead mice.
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
#530 AOL Is Fixed, I Guess....
He called this morning, late morning. The surgery had been delayed until afternoon Monday, and she is in the ICU, progressing, but they don't know how long she'll be there. (I had pretty much the same surgery a few years ago, and the very same afternoon I was trotting around the halls. So ICU is not good, but, she's progressing, they say.)
It was not a good conversation. I don't know why. But it helped to firm my resolve. For example, I offered to send flowers. He said not to. Why not, I asked. Because his mother doesn't know me and he doesn't want to have to explain me. Ouch! Did I just get put in my place? Wham! Why not just slap me. (Will his mother not believe he has a few good friends?)
He told me to go to the AOL website, and I should be able to download the code. I did that. The estimate was six hours, but it took only two, and now I've got everything back. I've done that before, but about every other time I've downloaded AOL, they lost all my old mail folders. I was worried about that, but had no choice. I don't seem to have lost anything this time.
So, back on an even keel.
I talked with the Hairless Hunk today, and we're going to burn the brush pile as soon as there's no precipitation for a day or two.
Tonight we're getting hail, sleet, and freezing rain. Roman is supposed to drive back from LI tonight, he has to teach a class tomorrow morning and then return to LI, so I hope to hell the other woman has the sense to call him and warn him about the weather. In the hospital all afternoon, he may not know. Me, I don't have any phone numbers. We wouldn't want to have to explain my calls, I guess. I was surprised when I asked his mother's first name and the hospital she was in, and he actually told me. He confuses me.
To tell the truth, I DO have his parents' home number. He used my cell phone to call them from class a few times in November when his father was ill, and I just found out today, while trying to pay the cell phone bill online, that in my account I can look at all the numbers for all the calls on my phone for the past six months. But since he has been so careful NOT to give the number to me, I'll be damned if I'll use it. Buck you, Fuddy!
It was not a good conversation. I don't know why. But it helped to firm my resolve. For example, I offered to send flowers. He said not to. Why not, I asked. Because his mother doesn't know me and he doesn't want to have to explain me. Ouch! Did I just get put in my place? Wham! Why not just slap me. (Will his mother not believe he has a few good friends?)
He told me to go to the AOL website, and I should be able to download the code. I did that. The estimate was six hours, but it took only two, and now I've got everything back. I've done that before, but about every other time I've downloaded AOL, they lost all my old mail folders. I was worried about that, but had no choice. I don't seem to have lost anything this time.
So, back on an even keel.
I talked with the Hairless Hunk today, and we're going to burn the brush pile as soon as there's no precipitation for a day or two.
Tonight we're getting hail, sleet, and freezing rain. Roman is supposed to drive back from LI tonight, he has to teach a class tomorrow morning and then return to LI, so I hope to hell the other woman has the sense to call him and warn him about the weather. In the hospital all afternoon, he may not know. Me, I don't have any phone numbers. We wouldn't want to have to explain my calls, I guess. I was surprised when I asked his mother's first name and the hospital she was in, and he actually told me. He confuses me.
To tell the truth, I DO have his parents' home number. He used my cell phone to call them from class a few times in November when his father was ill, and I just found out today, while trying to pay the cell phone bill online, that in my account I can look at all the numbers for all the calls on my phone for the past six months. But since he has been so careful NOT to give the number to me, I'll be damned if I'll use it. Buck you, Fuddy!
#529 Fussing and Fuming
A line from #526, Sunday evening: "He'll call or email me tomorrow night late to tell me how it went."
He didn't.
I couldn't sleep, and was up until 4 am waiting for the phone to ring, checking email every so often. I don't know whether to be worried or angry. If the surgery was postponed again, or if everything went well, it may be that stupid male attitude that "there's nothing to report, so why report it", in which case I am very annoyed with him. But it's also possible he spent the afternoon and night sitting in a chair in an ICU. Or worse, that he's alerting family and making funeral arrangements (the Jewish 24-hour thing), in which case contacting me would be rock bottom on his priority list.
I have never met her and likely never will. She's an abstraction to me, and not a very clear one since he has spoken of her only in the context of someone he visits. But she's his mother, and since he is important to me, she is important. I can send positive thoughts her way, but my worry is for him.
--------------------------------------------
AOL, where I get my email, was fine when I logged out and shut the system down last night. This morning, when I tried to start AOL (I tried twice), I got an error message saying that AOL could not be started, and that I should reinstall from the AOL disk. What disk? I haven't the faintest idea where it might be. This is serious!
It's definitely the code on my system that's messed up (although it could have been messed up by an automatic AOL update download last night). I can still get to my email by going to www.aol.com through Netscape, but I can't store or retrieve anything in AOL folders on my system.
I don't know what to do about it.
He didn't.
I couldn't sleep, and was up until 4 am waiting for the phone to ring, checking email every so often. I don't know whether to be worried or angry. If the surgery was postponed again, or if everything went well, it may be that stupid male attitude that "there's nothing to report, so why report it", in which case I am very annoyed with him. But it's also possible he spent the afternoon and night sitting in a chair in an ICU. Or worse, that he's alerting family and making funeral arrangements (the Jewish 24-hour thing), in which case contacting me would be rock bottom on his priority list.
I have never met her and likely never will. She's an abstraction to me, and not a very clear one since he has spoken of her only in the context of someone he visits. But she's his mother, and since he is important to me, she is important. I can send positive thoughts her way, but my worry is for him.
--------------------------------------------
AOL, where I get my email, was fine when I logged out and shut the system down last night. This morning, when I tried to start AOL (I tried twice), I got an error message saying that AOL could not be started, and that I should reinstall from the AOL disk. What disk? I haven't the faintest idea where it might be. This is serious!
It's definitely the code on my system that's messed up (although it could have been messed up by an automatic AOL update download last night). I can still get to my email by going to www.aol.com through Netscape, but I can't store or retrieve anything in AOL folders on my system.
I don't know what to do about it.
Monday, January 16, 2006
#528 Rubber Soul
The Beatles' Rubber Soul album is playing now (the original version without "Drive My Car"). Several years ago I had transferred it from vinyl to CD, and I just rediscovered it lost in the back of the cabinet. The song "Norwegian Wood" reminded me of Warren. One of my great regrets and failures. For some reason, that song fascinated him. He kept trying to analyze it.
I met him when I lived in Gettysburg. I was married to Ex#1 then, Ex#1 who was off in Germany and then Seattle, living with other women, and, oh yeah, serving his country. Warren was also Army, and was stationed just up the road. He was a sad case. He needed a Mommy. I had just lost a baby and needed something to mother. Ironically, he was from Tacoma. He was tallish and thinish and cutish with a very sharp and strange and fascinating mind. He had a serious drinking problem. The only places to go off the base were bars, so I didn't mind that he and two of his friends from the base spent a lot of time in my apartment, just playing cards and watching TV and generally hanging out.
I don't remember the name of one of the friends, but the other was Jim. Jim was one of those Mid-western farm boys, soft and gentle and polite, a reader and philosopher. The other two, no-name and Warren, used to alarm me by discussing the best ways to commit suicide. I always thought they were kidding, until one day the three of them announced that they had all put in for transfers. Warren and no-name had actually requested Viet Nam. This was 1967. Suicide. Jim had requested Germany. Their transfers went through. Warren and no-name went to Germany. Jim went to Viet Nam.
Warren and Jim wrote to me, and I wrote to them - at least one letter a week, often more. Jim's letters revealed a crush on me, which I tried to gently discourage. Then one day Jim's letters stopped, and I assumed he'd finally found himself a girl.
Warren kept up the correspondence until he got out of the army. By then I was divorced from Ex#1. He came directly to me, did not go home to Tacoma and his anxious parents. He applied for a job with the company I was working for, and a few others in the area, but he had not finished his degree (and the market was bad in this area, anyway) and nobody was hiring. I suggested that he go home, visit his parents, and look into finishing college.
He stayed with me for about two months, and yeah, we did get "involved", but remember this was 1968, tie-dyed t-shirts, free love, pre-AIDS, the original Woodstock was just around the corner, we attended a Jimi Hendrix concert at the local Armory in a small intimate room. (All concerts then were small and intimate - no arenas or stadiums.) It was a different and special time. Maybe it wasn't THE "summer of love", but back then, they all were.
So finally, he went to Tacoma to figure out what he wanted to do next. I got a few letters and calls from him, and then didn't hear from him for a while. So one day I called his parents, just to find out what he was up to. The reaction I got from his mother was unexpected. She seemed to think that he and I were engaged, that there was a great and torrid love affair. She seemed to think that I had broken it off.
She said they were very worried about him, that he was drinking heavily again, that he was disappearing for days at a time, and that I was the only person who could save him. She wanted me to write him a letter telling him I loved him, asking him to get it together and to stop drinking, for me. She practically begged me. She said she would have called me sooner, but she didn't have my number or address. I said, uh, ok, and hung up without giving her my number.
I never wrote the letter. Never called again. Never heard from him again. I can't find any mention of him on the internet. I still wonder what happened to him. He had a brilliant mind. I liked him, but I didn't love him, and I couldn't pretend I did. I didn't want to deal with his drinking. I stepped back, away from him. I still feel guilty about that.
In 1983, I visited The Wall in Washington, DC. At that time, I knew only one person who had actually gone to Viet Nam. Everybody I knew, my circle, had gotten deferments. So I looked for that one name, Jim.
He was there, on the wall.
He had been sitting on a riverbank writing letters when he was hit, only a few days after his last letter to me. He died of his injuries a few years later, during the summer of love.
I met him when I lived in Gettysburg. I was married to Ex#1 then, Ex#1 who was off in Germany and then Seattle, living with other women, and, oh yeah, serving his country. Warren was also Army, and was stationed just up the road. He was a sad case. He needed a Mommy. I had just lost a baby and needed something to mother. Ironically, he was from Tacoma. He was tallish and thinish and cutish with a very sharp and strange and fascinating mind. He had a serious drinking problem. The only places to go off the base were bars, so I didn't mind that he and two of his friends from the base spent a lot of time in my apartment, just playing cards and watching TV and generally hanging out.
I don't remember the name of one of the friends, but the other was Jim. Jim was one of those Mid-western farm boys, soft and gentle and polite, a reader and philosopher. The other two, no-name and Warren, used to alarm me by discussing the best ways to commit suicide. I always thought they were kidding, until one day the three of them announced that they had all put in for transfers. Warren and no-name had actually requested Viet Nam. This was 1967. Suicide. Jim had requested Germany. Their transfers went through. Warren and no-name went to Germany. Jim went to Viet Nam.
Warren and Jim wrote to me, and I wrote to them - at least one letter a week, often more. Jim's letters revealed a crush on me, which I tried to gently discourage. Then one day Jim's letters stopped, and I assumed he'd finally found himself a girl.
Warren kept up the correspondence until he got out of the army. By then I was divorced from Ex#1. He came directly to me, did not go home to Tacoma and his anxious parents. He applied for a job with the company I was working for, and a few others in the area, but he had not finished his degree (and the market was bad in this area, anyway) and nobody was hiring. I suggested that he go home, visit his parents, and look into finishing college.
He stayed with me for about two months, and yeah, we did get "involved", but remember this was 1968, tie-dyed t-shirts, free love, pre-AIDS, the original Woodstock was just around the corner, we attended a Jimi Hendrix concert at the local Armory in a small intimate room. (All concerts then were small and intimate - no arenas or stadiums.) It was a different and special time. Maybe it wasn't THE "summer of love", but back then, they all were.
So finally, he went to Tacoma to figure out what he wanted to do next. I got a few letters and calls from him, and then didn't hear from him for a while. So one day I called his parents, just to find out what he was up to. The reaction I got from his mother was unexpected. She seemed to think that he and I were engaged, that there was a great and torrid love affair. She seemed to think that I had broken it off.
She said they were very worried about him, that he was drinking heavily again, that he was disappearing for days at a time, and that I was the only person who could save him. She wanted me to write him a letter telling him I loved him, asking him to get it together and to stop drinking, for me. She practically begged me. She said she would have called me sooner, but she didn't have my number or address. I said, uh, ok, and hung up without giving her my number.
I never wrote the letter. Never called again. Never heard from him again. I can't find any mention of him on the internet. I still wonder what happened to him. He had a brilliant mind. I liked him, but I didn't love him, and I couldn't pretend I did. I didn't want to deal with his drinking. I stepped back, away from him. I still feel guilty about that.
In 1983, I visited The Wall in Washington, DC. At that time, I knew only one person who had actually gone to Viet Nam. Everybody I knew, my circle, had gotten deferments. So I looked for that one name, Jim.
He was there, on the wall.
He had been sitting on a riverbank writing letters when he was hit, only a few days after his last letter to me. He died of his injuries a few years later, during the summer of love.
#527 Writing Life
I woke suddenly, straight up in bed, at 8:15 this morning, for me a very early hour. It would be interesting to know when Roman's mother went in for surgery.
I forgot today is a holiday, so most of my to do list is undoable. I've got to buy a new tape for the phone, look into that exercise place, sell a few thousand shares of Exxon (my stomach clenches just thinking that) and IBM (good riddance), get the van's oil changed, deposit some checks, pay some bills, and write some letters. I can do only the last two today, so I guess I'll fill in with some basement clearing.
I went to the gas station for raspberry iced tea this morning, and bantered with Tall Dark & Handsome II. He was teasing me that he couldn't give me my change, and I said that would be fine, we could do credit, I'd use up credit in a few days anyway. He said credit was no good because if he dropped dead tonight, no one else would give it to me. I said put it in writing, "writing survives death. Remember that. In fact, write your autobiography tonight."
It came off the top of my head, but it is true. Writing survives death, and change. You read now something that you wrote ten years ago, and you are amazed at how much you have grown and changed, how much more you know now than you knew then.
But the only way you can read it ten years from now is to write it now.
When I was in therapy, twenty five years ago, I wrote and wrote and wrote, several composition books full. Afterward, I got a big stapler and stapled the pages together, because I was still too close to that thinking, and it was dangerous for me to read it, but at the same time I didn't want to destroy it. I'm thinking about removing the staples and reading it all again. Wouldn't it be nice to think "Oh, how silly!", to not be able to recognize the person who wrote it.
TD&H II, by the way, did give me my change.
I forgot today is a holiday, so most of my to do list is undoable. I've got to buy a new tape for the phone, look into that exercise place, sell a few thousand shares of Exxon (my stomach clenches just thinking that) and IBM (good riddance), get the van's oil changed, deposit some checks, pay some bills, and write some letters. I can do only the last two today, so I guess I'll fill in with some basement clearing.
I went to the gas station for raspberry iced tea this morning, and bantered with Tall Dark & Handsome II. He was teasing me that he couldn't give me my change, and I said that would be fine, we could do credit, I'd use up credit in a few days anyway. He said credit was no good because if he dropped dead tonight, no one else would give it to me. I said put it in writing, "writing survives death. Remember that. In fact, write your autobiography tonight."
It came off the top of my head, but it is true. Writing survives death, and change. You read now something that you wrote ten years ago, and you are amazed at how much you have grown and changed, how much more you know now than you knew then.
But the only way you can read it ten years from now is to write it now.
When I was in therapy, twenty five years ago, I wrote and wrote and wrote, several composition books full. Afterward, I got a big stapler and stapled the pages together, because I was still too close to that thinking, and it was dangerous for me to read it, but at the same time I didn't want to destroy it. I'm thinking about removing the staples and reading it all again. Wouldn't it be nice to think "Oh, how silly!", to not be able to recognize the person who wrote it.
TD&H II, by the way, did give me my change.
Sunday, January 15, 2006
#526 Busy Day
I finished the laundry today, and got those silly satin sheets OFF the bed. The top and bottom sheets went directly into the garbage, but I'll keep the pillowcases. My hair likes them.
While I was remaking the bed, it occurred to me that the bed was the largest clear flat space I had, so I put the new CD cabinet together on it. It went pretty well, looks nice. The directions weren't all that great, but once I figured out which end of each piece was up, it was easy to wing it. Of the 202 pieces provided, I have only 10 screws and 2 dowels left over. I think that's pretty good.
Then I moved all my CDs into it, and rediscovered a few I'd forgotten I had. They're in the player right now.
While I was putting the second door on the CD cabinet the phone rang, and it was Roman calling from his mother's hospital room. It turns out that he had called last night, and left a long message on my tape. As a matter of fact, he'd called as I was writing journal entry #524! I said no, I hadn't heard the phone ring, and the machine said there were no messages.
We talked for a while. (Damn, I like talking with him.) His mother wasn't ready for surgery on Friday, so it is now scheduled for tomorrow morning. He'll call or email me tomorrow night late to tell me how it went.
So then I went to the phone tape to see if there indeed was a message, and, yes, there was!, even though the count still said zero! A very long message. Recorded last night as I sat here typing. It took me only a minute to figure out what had happened.
Wind. Scary wind. Put music on, loud to drown out wind and distract mind.
Electricity bounces. I rerecord outgoing message, reset time and date, etc. on phone, but
forget to reset number of rings before it picks up. Default is two rings.
Sit in den, at computer, other end of house from kitchen phone.
Den phone doesn't have a ringer.
Bed phone, across the hall, has slipped (darn satin sheets!) under a pillow.
I am writing the journal entry - the one that complains that he didn't call.
He calls, I don't hear the two rings from kitchen phone or closer bed phone over loud music.
His voice blends into music.
He finishes message, machine now says one message.
Electricity bounces again.
Phone now says zero messages.
I reset phone and clocks and go to bed worried and annoyed because he hadn't called.
Sigh.
You know, I'm getting more attention from him now while we're "on a break" than I did even back in the beginning when things were so good.
I don't understand.
While I was remaking the bed, it occurred to me that the bed was the largest clear flat space I had, so I put the new CD cabinet together on it. It went pretty well, looks nice. The directions weren't all that great, but once I figured out which end of each piece was up, it was easy to wing it. Of the 202 pieces provided, I have only 10 screws and 2 dowels left over. I think that's pretty good.
Then I moved all my CDs into it, and rediscovered a few I'd forgotten I had. They're in the player right now.
While I was putting the second door on the CD cabinet the phone rang, and it was Roman calling from his mother's hospital room. It turns out that he had called last night, and left a long message on my tape. As a matter of fact, he'd called as I was writing journal entry #524! I said no, I hadn't heard the phone ring, and the machine said there were no messages.
We talked for a while. (Damn, I like talking with him.) His mother wasn't ready for surgery on Friday, so it is now scheduled for tomorrow morning. He'll call or email me tomorrow night late to tell me how it went.
So then I went to the phone tape to see if there indeed was a message, and, yes, there was!, even though the count still said zero! A very long message. Recorded last night as I sat here typing. It took me only a minute to figure out what had happened.
Wind. Scary wind. Put music on, loud to drown out wind and distract mind.
Electricity bounces. I rerecord outgoing message, reset time and date, etc. on phone, but
forget to reset number of rings before it picks up. Default is two rings.
Sit in den, at computer, other end of house from kitchen phone.
Den phone doesn't have a ringer.
Bed phone, across the hall, has slipped (darn satin sheets!) under a pillow.
I am writing the journal entry - the one that complains that he didn't call.
He calls, I don't hear the two rings from kitchen phone or closer bed phone over loud music.
His voice blends into music.
He finishes message, machine now says one message.
Electricity bounces again.
Phone now says zero messages.
I reset phone and clocks and go to bed worried and annoyed because he hadn't called.
Sigh.
You know, I'm getting more attention from him now while we're "on a break" than I did even back in the beginning when things were so good.
I don't understand.
#525 Weight
Update on my weight loss.
I've lost almost 30 pounds since the high of late July and August. I know it's a real loss, not just a broken scale, because I am able to get into clothes I haven't been able to wear for a year or more. And also because my skin is getting too big for me. My neck is getting nasty droopy.
The frustrating part is that I still have exactly the same shape! Just a little smaller all around. I've still got the pot belly (may I remind everyone that there's a real sixpack under there - I am well muscled under the padding) and the thunderthighs. When I am standing, I don't look half bad. But when I sit down, the thighs spread and the "famine relief pack" sticks out, and I look the same as before. It's very discouraging.
The thigh spread is the worst because at 4'10" tall, my thigh bones are very short, so sitting makes me look a lot like my favorite amphibian.
I haven't been able to walk as much as I need to because of the cold wet weather, so lately I've had to accomplish the loss through calorie reduction. I'm afraid I may be tipping over into anorexia (without the distorted body image - yet - but I can see where that could easily happen). When I don't go out for lunch or dinner, my average daily intake consists of 6 ounces of Dannon coffee yogurt, and either a stalk of raw broccoli or a large carrot, and my vitamins and minerals. And that's pretty much it. I doggie bag restaurant food, and one average restaurant meal will last me three or four days.
The night of the computer club meeting, I stopped at Stewarts on the way home and bought a pint of "Funny Cide" ice cream. Normally, I'll make four or five visits to a pint before it's all gone. But that night, I ate it all as soon as I got home. I didn't mean to eat it all, I just kept digging for the caramel, and then it was suddenly all gone. But it hasn't shown up on the scale, so... I guess I got away with it.
There's a small "spa" in the village, with "step" classes and stuff, upstairs over my bank. I think I'll check it out Monday. Treadmill. That would be good. Then I maybe could eat more.
I've lost almost 30 pounds since the high of late July and August. I know it's a real loss, not just a broken scale, because I am able to get into clothes I haven't been able to wear for a year or more. And also because my skin is getting too big for me. My neck is getting nasty droopy.
The frustrating part is that I still have exactly the same shape! Just a little smaller all around. I've still got the pot belly (may I remind everyone that there's a real sixpack under there - I am well muscled under the padding) and the thunderthighs. When I am standing, I don't look half bad. But when I sit down, the thighs spread and the "famine relief pack" sticks out, and I look the same as before. It's very discouraging.
The thigh spread is the worst because at 4'10" tall, my thigh bones are very short, so sitting makes me look a lot like my favorite amphibian.
I haven't been able to walk as much as I need to because of the cold wet weather, so lately I've had to accomplish the loss through calorie reduction. I'm afraid I may be tipping over into anorexia (without the distorted body image - yet - but I can see where that could easily happen). When I don't go out for lunch or dinner, my average daily intake consists of 6 ounces of Dannon coffee yogurt, and either a stalk of raw broccoli or a large carrot, and my vitamins and minerals. And that's pretty much it. I doggie bag restaurant food, and one average restaurant meal will last me three or four days.
The night of the computer club meeting, I stopped at Stewarts on the way home and bought a pint of "Funny Cide" ice cream. Normally, I'll make four or five visits to a pint before it's all gone. But that night, I ate it all as soon as I got home. I didn't mean to eat it all, I just kept digging for the caramel, and then it was suddenly all gone. But it hasn't shown up on the scale, so... I guess I got away with it.
There's a small "spa" in the village, with "step" classes and stuff, upstairs over my bank. I think I'll check it out Monday. Treadmill. That would be good. Then I maybe could eat more.
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