trickydoodle

Send out your juju!

Woo!

Ha!

It went fine. It was fine. A lot of worry over nothing.

There will be more appointments. Actual evals. They didn't do one today because R was so spooked by the fact they put us in a typical doctor's office type room, with the paper-covered examining table and everything. Then we were in a tiny, poorly-lit room with no toys or anything. It was the most ridiculous environment for any kid, and especially an autistic kid.

So. Chris and I both have a crush on our case doctor. She's very Tina Fey.

I inadvertently insulted them by saying I had heard nothing good about the Kelly O'Leary Center for Autism. Turns out they are affiliated. Tina Fey handled it beautifully, though, and asked what it was that I heard that I didn't like. I said ABA Therapy. She agreed with my central points against ABA--that it will essentially change who Robbie is and it won't teach him to think on his feet and express things in his own way.

So, she said she's on board with whatever we decide to do. She will help us find a more eclectic way of helping R. There is a new therapy called, I believe, RDI, but it's new and no one does it around here. Based on that alone it sounds interesting to me!

He doesn't have pdd-nos, after all. That would mean that many of his behaviors and things would be neuro-typical. And, really, none of Robbie is neuro-typical. I was thinking that since his autistic parts aren't all that autisticy, that he would have the nos. But I was incorrect.

We have a full speech eval and a psychological eval left.

I can always tell how I'm feeling about myself by the pants I choose to wear on any given day.

Today, I am wearing Big Pants. They are my size, but they have the wide leg and are actually rather baggy in that stupid discrepancy-between-sizes-in-different-brands- and - pants-types sort of way. These are called Gap Army and are sixes, yet I can pull them off without unbuttoning the button-fly, and I also look like I have a penis. And not a small penis, either.

.........
(in progress)

Finish your post already.

Love,
Trisha

Stop living in my porch light.

You scare the befuckus out of me whenever I open my door to go outside and you fly away in top, hyper-speedy panic mode. And, conversely, whenever I open the door to go outside, I frighten you into said top, hyper-speedy panic mode flight.

It's just not working out for either of us.

You may stay until you find a new porch light. Preferably at the house of a shut-in or on a seldom-used back porch. I must ask, however, that, in your remaining time here at my house, you refrain from pooping right in the doorway, there. M'k? I am being more than fair. I have never pooped where you step.

Best of luck to you.
T

Nor as glamorous. Men, go ahead and stop reading now. Seriously. In fact, run. RUN.

The Internet says the next menstrual cycle will happen sometime between four and eight weeks following the procedure. Check.

This period will either be heavier or lighter than your normal cycle. Uh, check. And that would be heavier. Like, 35 times heavier. And four days longer. And six boxes of tampons more expensive.

And that bit with my trigone. You know, the part of the bladder that bends into the urethra or something. Whatever. Like it matters. The Internet isn't even sure it's something that can be inflamed. Or that this condition doesn't exist. And it may or may not be cause by elevated and fluctuating estrogen levels.

Regardless, I hurt in both my upper right and lower left abdominal quadrants. And I feel like I have to pee ALL OF THE TIME. Excpet I don't. At all. And when I do pee, it's blue. BLUE! My meds turn it blue. It's alarming EVERY, SINGLE TIME! You'd really think I would remember it or, oh golly, expect it. But I don't. Freaks me out every, single time.

The kicker? My meds, which I am to take FOUR TIMES a day, make me unbelievably sleepy. Though, they are working. I believe them to be working. I believe them to be working because I stopped taking them for two days because I was tired of being sleepy all of the time, and I had more and worse pain. So. Guess I'll have to be sleepy for another week and a half.

Maybe that's why it makes my pee blue! To wake me the hell up.

Anyway.

I am grumpy. Tell me a story.

Most people have a hard time delegating, or even wanting to delegate, because you have been justifying your existence through your hard work, and you equate success with struggle; you equate results with struggle. And so, you sort of wear your struggle like a badge of honor. And all of that is opposite of allowing the Well-being.

The only thing that ever matters in success or achievement is your achieving the things that you want to achieve. So if you are setting standards and you're feeling uncomfortable about the standards that you've set, tweak the standards back a little bit. Ratchet it back a notch. Give yourself a break. Give yourself the benefit of the doubt. Lighten up. Be easier. Go slower. Take it easy. Have more fun. Love yourself more. Laugh more. Appreciate more.

All is well. You can't get it wrong. You never get it done.

Abraham

Heh. Not that kind of late, though I can see why you'd think that's what I mean! I am never having sex again, so. Moving on:

I honestly haven't the time right now to stop and chat. But, there is something you absolutely need to know, and you need to know it now, so what choice do I have?

Firstly, I am fine. I am good and bad and happy and sad and all of the emotions regular, normal people have. So, there's that. Thank you infinitely for your collection concern. I heart you all.

And, B., I have found the perfect jeans for 2006. PERFECT! Seriously. The Gap Low Rise Boyfriend Straight Leg Ankle. Now, you might not need the Ankle size, as you may not be crazy-short. So, substitute Regular or (you Freak of Nature) Tall. PERFECT.

They may run a little big. I am not sure. I am wearing the Size Four, and I may or may not be a Four. Sometimes I am a Six. So, keep that in mind.

GO! Go get these jeans!

My pants obsession continues.

Oh, and thirdly, this framed print-type thing that was purported to be my father's Favorite Thing Ever keeps falling. Wherever I put it, it falls. It has been on top of the fridge for years, to keep Robbie from smothering it in toothpaste, as he does every glass surface, and yesterday, it just fell. From the sky, out of nowhere. Today, it fell off the microwave. WHAT DOES THIS EVEN MEAN? Jesus. You'd think if the ghosts have something to say they'd be less cryptic.

Am I falling down on my job? Am I going to shatter? WHAT DOES IT MEAN?

Okay, off to school. Go buy the jeans.

I'm not so much enjoying being married to someone who is indifferent to me as a woman.

Sure, friends. We're friends. Woo!

And it's well and it's good. I love him. I do. In that friendsy way. It's nice to get along well and good with him, as we are parenting the Best Child Ever. We need to be and remain friends.

I think it bums me out, though. the being married part. I mean, why? Why stay married?

No reason. Being this poor isn't a reason. Not a good enough one, anyway.

Closure. That's what I want. We tried, it worked and didn't work. We are through it, we are friends. We have the love. Now let's move on.

Let's literally move on. We don't like Ohio. Why live here? Should we live here just because we do? Just because we do today and did yesterday? Again with the not good enough.

I'm just saying. Life ought not stand still.

Which is actually much more appealing than when I sounded like that Sarah Sidle from CSI. Not as cool as when I was Phoebe. But. I am so totally FBI material. Or I could be on an elite detective squad.

I have made a powerful decision: I am going to be One of Those People Who Own Pens. I am. I think it's just a one-step goal, too. I go and buy some pens. Easy peasy.

And, really? Aren't all life changes like that? Deciding, hey, I want to own pens! I think I'd like photography! I would like a cooler car! A significant other who doesn't do that creepy snore-whistly thing! More turtlenecks! More money! Less loose flabby arm skin! More sex! Less phlegm! Cookies!

Cannot we just decide? More or less or different or better or new? And then make it so?