So this is happening

Yesterday morning my dad was taken to the ER.  He was in bad, bad shape: vomiting, sweating, pain, etc., etc.  We thought that maybe it was a heart attack.  We were wrong.  I don't know whether to be grateful for that or not.

He was admitted to the hospital around 6:00 a.m.  Shortly thereafter he complained that his left leg felt like it was swollen and it was going numb.  The idiot doctor ignored his complaints saying that it was just because he was laying on his back.  Later he was unable to move his toes and some of the nurses said his leg was cold to the touch, the idiot doctor still insisted that it was because he way laying on his back.  We, his family, thought this sounded pretty stupid.  My mom told the idiot doctor that laying on his back really didn't seem like a realistic explanation for a numb leg and the inability to wiggle his toes.  The idiot doctor replied testily, "What do you think it is?"  Like someone with no medical training could diagnose something.  Mom suggested a stroke or something.  She was dismissed out of hand.

And to be fair it wasn't a stroke . . .

This morning my dad couldn't move his foot.  His lower calf and foot were purple, no pulse could be found.  Blood clots blocking off circulation.  A vascular surgeon was called in and an emergency thrombectomy (removal of blood clots) was performed.  Clots and scar tissue was removed from his groin to just below his knee.  The surgeon couldn't get into his lower calf and foot without risking my dad's life and (quite literally) limb.  When he came to tell us about how my dad did in the surgery, the surgeon kept saying, "I didn't want to risk his life to save his leg."

Right now we're playing a waiting game.  The surgeon managed to save my dad's leg for now.  We don't know yet whether he'll be able to use that foot.  It's quite likely that if he is able to use his foot, there will be partial paralysis and numbness in it.  And the real question is not whether his lower (at least) leg will have to be amputated, but when it will have to be amputated.

I guess we'll just have to see how it goes.

Learning how to deal

So, I figure I've been dealing with a fairly serious case of depression for several years now.  And by "several years" I mean over a well over a decade.  Considering that I'm only 33, that's a pretty huge chunk of my life.  I've not been formally diagnosed, of course.  I live in Kansas, and fall in that not-so-sweet spot that precludes me from social services including mental health provided by the state - I make too much money, you see, but I don't make enough money to, you know, pay for that stuff myself.  If Kansas had accepted medicaid expansion . . . Well, we won't go into that.

Anyway, my depression.  I'm 99.999% sure that depression is a problem for me, one that I haven't been very good at dealing with.  I withdraw, compulsively buy books, sleep way too much or not enough, I have no energy for anything.  Sometimes it's worse, sometimes it's better, but it's always there; and, from what I've read, it's fairly typical, my depression.  Textbook, even.

I've never really recognized it as a problem.  I knew I had it, but I thought I had it handled.  I mean, I didn't think I suffered from it.  I am not now and have never been suicidal, you know?  Other people had it worse.  Lately, I've been thinking that I've been looking at it all wrong.  I have suffered.  I haven't been suicidal, but I haven't been living.  There is so much that I want to do that I haven't done, and I think it's because of my depression.  I've let it take over my life.  It has been my life or at least most of it since I was in my late teens.  Hell, it conducted a hostile takeover in my early twenties and has been the driving force of my life since then.  I think I can safely say that it's behind the sad fact that I haven't actually done anything in the last twelve or thirteen years.  There was a time I actively pursued my goals, but it surely hasn't been any time lately.

A couple of weeks ago I had something of a slow epiphany.  It'd been building for years, but with the death of my cousin it really kind of struck home.  Life's too short for me to waste it like I have been.  I need to get out in the world and do things.  Live, you know?  I need to find a way to stop being miserable and move.

I say that this realization has been has been building, but that's not the entire truth.  I've known it for a while now.  It's one of the reasons I went back to school a few years ago and got not one but two degrees (a bachelor's and a master's).  My degrees are not enough, obviously.  I need to continue moving forward in my life.  I know what I need to do, I'm not really sure how to do it, but I'm smart, I can learn.

I have goals.  The same goals I've had for a long while.  Some I've had since I was a child, like becoming a working writer.  Others are fairly recent, like losing weight.  I've basically proven to myself that I can't be trusted to work on these goals one at a time.  I'll come up with a way to put everything off that way, and time is so short.  I've got to bundle things.  Work in stages, maybe, but work at it all, and focus as much as I can.  I've come up with a schedule of sorts, so that I can work towards these goals.  I think I'm going to have to be fairly strict with myself for a while, until I fall into the habit, or back into the habit, of doing things I have never done, or haven't done in a long, long time.

And things are going to be slow for a while as I find my footing.  But things are going to get done, which is the point, and more than what's happening in my life now.  I'm going to learn how to deal.  I'm going to learn how to live.

The point of no return

I interviewed for and didn't get another library job the other day.  It's frustrating and stupid that I can't find a full time job in a library.  I'll keep applying, but more and more I'm feeling like the entire search is futile.  I wonder if anyone anywhere will be willing to give me a chance.  It wouldn't be so bad if I didn't desperately need a job.  With a decent pay check and medical insurance.  I think that here soon I'm going to start applying for jobs outside of libraries, though I don't know that that will be much better.  I don't have much in the way of marketable skills outside of books and organization.

And the thing is, I really, really want to work in a library.  Specifically a public library.  If I get a full time job outside the library I'll never have a chance to go back.  Not without starting completely over: first, as a volunteer; then, a part time employee.  And I don't think I'll ever be able to afford that.

Not unless I get married and my husband can support me, and that's probably never going to happen.  Truth?  I don't think I'll ever get married.  I may never date or have sex again, let alone make a lifetime romantic connection.

I have to be able to support myself, especially because I expect to forever be alone.

And that's okay.  I can be alone.  I can't say that I'll enjoy it always or even be 100 percent happy, but I'll be content.  It's better than being miserable because of another person.  Except, I worry that I'll never be able to support myself.  

And I'm worth so much more than my current jobs.  I should be able to support myself.

I feel like I've given up so much already.  I'm beginning to accept that I'll never find love.  I'll never have a partner in life or children, and that's beginning to be okay with me.  Sad, but okay.  I don't need that, not really.  I can find other things to do with my time.  And that's huge, don't you think?  I don't want to give up the library.  I don't want to give up on being a librarian.  It's too much.  It's everything.

But something's got to give.  And being a librarian is the last thing I have.  If something doesn't come up on that front soon, then I'll have to give up that dream as well.

And then what?  Then, what?

I don't know.  I don't know what else there is for me out there.  I'll be traveling blind and ignorant.  I don't like that thought, but I'll soon have no other choice.

I think I'm going to give it through the end of the year.  That's, to my mind, pushing it, but I really want this to work out for me.  After the year's end, if I still don't have a job . . .  I don't know.  I guess we'll see.  But that will be when my final dream dies.

Birthday thoughts

Today is my birthday!  Awesome of awesomeness.  At exactly 11:27 p.m., 33 years ago today, I was born. Isn't it neat to think of it that way?

I love my birthday.  In fact, I celebrate it for several weeks.  I started this years celebration about a week and a half ago, and don't plan on stopping until at least the end of the month.  But technically it is just this one day, March 4th.

I know there's this stereotype of a woman freaking out on her birthday because she's getting older (and I guess less valuable to society/men/something?), but that's not me.  Never really has been.  Long ago, in my late teens, early twenties, I may have been unhappy - deeply, deeply unhappy - on my birthday, but that wasn't because I was getting older.  No, it was because I expected my birthday to be something it never was: magical.  You know, a happy day all about me.  And I had very few happy days when I was that age.  Why would my birthday be any different.  I've learned now to take things in stride and celebrate many small happiness', and, most importantly, not expect my birthday to be super wonderful.  It's going to be a day, just like any other day, and is only special if I make it that way.  So I do.

There are disappointments.  For instance, I had planned on visiting my friend Leanne this week.  That had to be put off because of weather concerns.  Nature obviously doesn't realize that my birthday is supposed to have nice spring weather!  Actually, reflecting on the day, it did.  Today was nice.  More snow is in the forecast for tomorrow.  And when we cancelled my trip, Leanne and I, a few days ago, we didn't know that it would be so nice.  Reschedule for spring!

My mom took half a day off work to take me out to lunch, and one of my brothers accompanied me to the movies.  We saw the Robocop reboot.  Probably the most terrifying PG-13 movie I've ever seen.  Not for the gore, there was a disappointing amount of gore compared to the original, but for the political implications.  Yikes!  My other brother and his wife are coming this Sunday to celebrate.  That's nice.  Dan, my father, slept most of the day, but since he often annoys me I don't hold it against him.

This year, I've decided to add something to my birthday celebrations: I'm writing out a list of goals to attain over the next year.  Kind of like New Year's resolutions, but I actually plan on working on these.  Some because I have to, and others because I want to.  My list of goals follows, in no particular order:

• Hit my 10,000 steps a day goal.
• Study Chinese (Mandarin) an hour a day, five days a week (at least).
• Yoga! Or some other stretchy exercises. I seriously need to work on my flexibility.
• Weights and aerobics a couple times a week (at least).  I need to work on my strength and endurance.  I've noticed that I'm depressingly weak, at least compared to where I was a few years ago.  
• Eat less sugar.
• Eat more fruits and vegetables.
• Keep a regular blog schedule for my various blogs (but especially my professional blog).
• Write a novel.  I have several ideas, and I've been threatening one for years now.  Time to put up or shut up.
• Get a full time job that pays enough for me to live.
• Stop spending all my money - this will be hard until I get a decent job, I don't have that much money in the first place and most of it goes to gas and food.
• Clean bedroom entirely.
• Paint bedroom.
• Quit smoking.
• Lose weight - I'd like to drop a few dress sizes by my next birthday.
• Start doing something other than work, home, work, home, work.  Find some activity to enjoy with others.
• Make new friends.
• Hang out with old friends more (and better).
• Read 150 books this year, reviewing at least half of them on my professional blog.
• Date
• Sex

The last two are going to be especially tricksy, I think.  I've gotten very used to being alone, and though I may whine about it, I would prefer to be alone than to be with someone just because.  It's just awkward being a single 30-something woman.  It's expected that we have a partner.  I found this gem of a blog post that sums up how I feel about being single (emphasis mine):

I would like to clarify that I wholeheartedly believe in partnership, but I think that my own happiness doesn't fully depend on whether I have a partner.  Losing sight of that runs the risk of anchoring yourself to the wrong person, just for the sake of not ending up being this so-called unlovable bundle of damaged goods.  Being with the wrong person, experience has taught me, is far lonelier than actually being alone.

Still, I would like to find someone, which means dating.  Then trusting someone enough to have sex.  What can I say?  I've got issues.  But, then, the kind of sex that I really enjoy . . . You need to trust your partner.  I need to trust my partners regardless, so, yeah.  We'll se how that goes.

Anyway, pursuing my goals will not be too difficult.  Many are connected on fundamental levels.  Today's my last day to enjoy cigarettes.  That's been decided for a while now.  Luckily, I have the next several days off from work, so the public won't have to suffer with me as nicotine leaves my system and Hulk-like rage temporarily enters.

I'm applying for another position at my current job, one that's full time with benefits.  Pays better too. They like me there, so hopefully I'll be in the running.  I worry only that I've been fairly vocal about wanting a job in a library (and this is the Museum), so they may think that I won't be worth hiring because I may leave.  I can't guarantee that I won't leave, but I can guarantee that I won't leave for a while - probably several years.  We'll see.

Gifts (so far):

1. Michael Kors Sexy Amber perfume from my mother.  Nice smells, appropriate name.
2. Thor: The Dark World from my brother, Eric.  Tom Hiddleston needs to call me.  Or Loki does, anyway.
3. A library cart business card holder from my mother.  Weird gift, but cute.
4. Panties, also from my mother.  I guessed socks, but was told socks are only a Christmas gift.  Apparently panties are for birthdays.
5. A week off work from me.  Because, duh.
6. Lunch from Mom.
7. Movie from Mom, but accompanied by Eric.

More to come.

Also, a big "Happy Birthday" to Kitten, whose blog I follow.  It's fun to find someone who shares your birthday, you know?

What I've been going through lately

This is from a letter I wrote to a friend on the 28th of December.  

I've been feeling really disconnected lately.  I don't know what it is, maybe the season . . . Regardless, I've been all at ends.  If you know what I mean.  Just feeling lost.  It's annoying, but I don't quite know what to do about it.

Even now.  Even now I am depressed.  Not sad, but smothered.   Like I'm being weighed down by styrofoam.  I guess that's the best description for it.  Yes, it feels as awkward as it sounds.  There's a certain amount of hopelessness that goes with it, and I wonder if it will ever change, if I will ever feel the sky again.  Intellectually, I know that this is a temporary state, that I just have to muddle through and I'll eventually make it to the other side and drop my burden.  Emotionally, I fear it will never change.

 I look back on my life, my history, and it seems like I have always been this way.  I look forward, to my future, and it's hard to see an end.  The things I want: the life, the love, and everything that goes with life and love seem so far out of reach.  Taunting, rather than encouraging.  Sometimes I despair, but not that much.  Mostly I try to lose myself.  Not think of it.

Depression sucks.  I consider my depression to be a relatively mild form of it, and it still sucks.  It is not all-encompassing, and doesn't narrate my life, but it does color me.  There is no concrete sadness in my depressive state, there's no concrete emotion of any kind.  My emotions flutter by as quick and soft as the wings of an insect: here, then gone again.  Nothing is stable and nothing lasts.  It would be discombobulating, if I could be discombobulated.  I don't cry.  I don't gnash my teeth.  I don't moan.  I don't contemplate ending it all.  Mostly I just sit on the couch with a cat on my lap, watching too much TV and sleeping too little. 

It's always a struggle for me when I begin to pull myself out.  My moods become sharper and more pronounces.  I laugh.  I cry.  I worry that I don't do either enough.  I sleep more: 1) because I'm catching up from my marathon of sleeplessness, and 2) because it's physically exhausting to feel feelings.  I try to be more physically active too, because it's so easy to fall back into the habit of sitting like a lump.  Actually, it's so easy to fall back into the habit of being depressed.

Because for me, it's a habit.  Kind of.

Whatever.  I just mean it's an easy place for me to stay.

I don't want to stay there any more.  I'm at that point in working my way out.

So that's what I've been dealing with.

Later.

In Memoriam

This is my Cinder.  She died today.  She was a good cat.

I don't know how to feel about this.  I'm sad, of course, but kind of relieved.  For the past month she's been wasting away.  The vet said it was likely cancer because every other option - every treatable option - we tried and she got no better.  It was time.  She was suffering.  The past few days our house has smelled of death - rot and infection.  Her eyes oozed puss, and she kept falling over - too weak to walk.  So it was time.  But I didn't want to let her go.  She was my girl.

The last several years she hasn't liked me much.  I brought two more cats into the house.  One took over my room, which was also hers, and threw her out.  I didn't stop it.  She seemed happy enough to hang with my dad and Greyson needed me more.  Or that's what I'd like to think.  Because Greyson is very attached and Cinder was always a little standoffish.  But she was still my girl.  I hope she knew.

I got her in the summer of 2001, I think.  She was fat and happy and a little bit mean.  She liked to bite me on the head in the middle of the night.  She purred when she ate.  And "guarded" me when we were outside and a dog, person, bicyclist, or another cat came by.  By which I mean she ran to me and stood in front of me growling.  I think, though, she looked to me for protection.  And ran to me because she knew I wouldn't let anything hurt her.  Though maybe not.  She beat the ever living shit out of this fox that tried to eat her once.  That was when she was younger.

I called her Cinder after Cinderella, because the first place she went when I brought her home was inside the fireplace.  She came out covered in cinders and soot.  The name stuck.  It suited her.  Not because she was sweet, she wasn't.  She was the Grimm's version of Cinderella - dark and haunted.  I can totally see her letting her stepsisters cut off their toes and whittle their feet, not saying one word, then sending her birds to notify the prince of his mistake - and maybe laughing about it a little.  She also would've danced while her birds pecked out the eyes of her stepfamily while at her wedding.  Cinder could hold a grudge.  But for all that she was . . . mine.  And I loved her.

She used to take the heads of the mice she slaughtered.  I don't know what she did with them.  I imagine there's a pile of hundreds of rotting mice skulls in her little hidey-hole under the bay window outside our house.  My girl was a good hunter.

But she'd cuddle too.  And purr.  She loved being brushed.  Went crazy over peacock feathers and catnip.  She'd jump so high when I first got her.  So high.  In more recent years she stopped jumping.  She was old and I imagine her bones ached.  My brother bought my parents a set of stairs for their bed so she could sleep with them.  

She'd do this think where she'd just stare at you.  She'd walk into a room and stare at you.  For hours if you stayed put.  It was very creepy.  Mostly because she didn't really want anything from you.  She wouldn't let you touch her, so no petting or brushing.  She wouldn't take any treats or food, so she wasn't hungry.  She just stare.  Sometimes she'd follow you around the house, just staring.  Looking kind of angry.  It was weird.  I'm going to miss it.  I'm going to miss her.

I miss her already.

It seems appropriate that it's raining today where I am.

The world weeps.  Right?

My poor girl.

My Life circa 1995 and some other stuff

Here's a short update and some fun old stuff:
I'm going on a short vacation this Tuesday and will probably not be blogging for the next week or so.  I apologize for not posting anything recently.  My brother got married and I wanted to take a break.  I'm planning on coming back to this site, and regularly blogging every other week.  Upcoming post will explore the loves of my life, my best friends, Leanne and Julie.  Then, I'm planning on complaining about trying to find a full time job for a bit or something.  I don't know.  I don't plan that far ahead.

While cleaning out my bedroom and going through old paperwork in my files, I came across something interesting.  Below is my first resume, typed on a typewriter, believe it or not.  It's from 1995, I think.  My, how things change . . . And how they stay the same:

Not the most flattering dress in the picture, but my hair is nice.  My hair is always nice, though, so nothing new.  Strangely enough, my Middle School GPA is the same as my undergraduate GPA when I was in University.  Now, I'm a librarian (grad school GPA was 3.98 -- stupid B+), and my ultimate goal is to become a successful novelist.  But my interests remain much the same, expanding into Gothic and Victorian Literature.  Not mentioned in this resume is my lifelong study of mythology and faery tales.  Oh well.  That's all for now.

Have fun!  Go Gentle.