So, here's another post I couldn't put up right away because of my mom reading my blog. I am OK, but here's what I wrote Friday, for your reading "pleasure." Lots of EFF bombs. I have not even gone back to reread ...
Well this is just fucking great. Another mini crisis in Manic’s life and she can’t even fucking blog about it because this is not an anonymous blog and if her mom reads this her mom will fucking freak out about it and I can’t do this to my mother, so instead, I have to sit here and tell no one. What is the point of having a blog if I can’t share the stuff that’s bothering me?
So, this is just great. First, we have a job loss, then Mr. Manic’s grandmother dies. I’ll start here since we just got back from the funeral in Minnesota. We left on Tuesday afternoon and get to a hotel in Wisconsin where I get a migraine and end up sleeping on the hotel bathroom floor dying of one of those headaches where you want to drill a portion of your head off in order to make the pain go away and also vomiting. At least the tile on the floor was cool. I have no idea if it was clean or how much of other peoples’ DNA existed on that cool tile but while vomiting and dreaming of drilling half my head off, I guess I didn’t really care. Finally, around 5 a.m. I felt well enough to get back into the hotel bed.
We get up and leave around 9 a.m. to head to the Minneapolis airport to pick up Mr. Manic’s sister and there’s some dumb fuck (more on that later) in front of us with a flatbed of crap flying all over the place in front of us. An aluminum piece of some shit (YES, I REALIZE I AM SWEARING A LOT IN THIS POST BUT I AM HAVING A CRISIS AND IT MAKES ME FEEL BETTER TO SAY FUCKING BAD WORDS!) … so, there’s some aluminum shit flying off the truck and Mr. Manic tries to dodge it and misses the dodge.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if we get a flat tire in five minutes,” he says.
FORTUNATELY, we DO NOT get a flat tire.
UNFORTUNATELY, we DO GET a temperature gauge reading of EXTREMELY HIGH like the car is about to freaking EXPLODE in five minutes.
We find the very next exit to pull off and thanks be to God almighty not far off there is a gas station with two service bays and some VERY VERY VERY VERY nice men there who help us out. That piece of aluminum crap from that asshole truck driver punctured the bottom of our radiator or some important piece at the bottom of the car, and antifreeze was not leaking, but practically gushing from the car.
Oh yeah, and while we’re getting the car fixed, why not get my period too. Doesn’t THAT sound like a fun addition to all the shit that’s going on?
One hundred dollars (remember also, my husband has just been removed from his employment duties, but I think we’re good in that department now, maybe, another crisis may impale itself into our lives because why the hell not?) … so $100 and an hour later, we are back on the road thanks to these dear, dear men, and we pick up my awesome sis-in-law from the airport.
And lo and behold, there is a glorious God because in sight, there is a Don Pablo’s and for those of you who don’t know what a Don Pablo’s is, it is just one of the greatest chains of Mexican food-slash-margarita places on the face of the earth, and when we lived in Pennsylvania, we could eat there any time we wanted. There are currently no Don Pablo’s in Illinois (apparently we are not cool enough for Don Pablo’s – OR CHIC FILA – get me started ON THAT – ANOTHER CRISIS!). So, we have a couple quesadillas, some chips, guac, oh, and yeah, MARGARITAS. We have to fuel up because while we know we are going to a funeral and there WILL be liquor, we also know there will only be loose meat and hot dishes to eat, so it’s urgent to get in some good Mexican food while we can!
Now, we are up to the funeral part, and here I am just rambling, because my mind is on overload AND autopilot at the same time and I don’t know if that’s a good thing. Oh, I also forgot that on the way earlier, I get an email that my editor boss whom I love, love, love is moving on to another venture. This may impact the future of what I want to do in terms of my freelance career with this certain organization. But, that’s neither here nor there … see what I mean about overload and autopilot?
At the wake, somehow, my kids make it into the funeral home before me, and it is absolutely crushing. Crushing for me to see my babies that shocked, scared, fearful, sad. They had only met their Great Grandma once, but knew of her, loved her, received birthday cards from her. THIS is their first family member who has died, and it’s a major, major ordeal for a child. My poor children. They had never seen a body before. I can’t really describe how it was for them, but poor Tukey, all dressed up, over at the casket, he would look, then sob, then walk away. Like he definitely didn’t know what to do. I didn’t see how Ajers reacted right away, but I know I saw him at the side and he was crying. It’s so hard for them. Diva had received a special locket from her Great Grandma with a photo of both her Great Grandma and Grandpa in it, so in turn, Diva wanted to find something special to ‘give’ to Great Grandma. She found a locket of her own and placed her photo in it. With the help of the funeral director (who, autopilot/overload, Diva and I were BOTH CRUSHING ON!), he led Diva to the body and placed the locket around Great Grandma’s neck to be buried with.
Oh my God, I am getting so tired of writing this. It is 6:51 p.m. Friday night and while I probably will not post this for a week, I could handle taking a xanax and going to bed for 16 hours right now.
Back to the funeral … After the family viewed the body and before the public came, we all had a moment to share some memories. There were not too many people speaking up. It’s hard to do this sometimes. I shared how Great Grandma would ALWAYS remember my kids’ birthdays, and even though she didn’t have much, she always sent them a card with four quarters taped to the inside of the card (incidentally, that night, I had some serious dreams of quarters. It was weird). So, then Ajers raised his hand, and his voice cracked and he started to cry, hard …
“I may not have known my Great Grandma very much …”
Then he broke down and sobbed, which in turn, made every single person in the room cry. He gathered himself, my little brave boy, and he continued …
“I may not have known my Great Grandma very much, but I do know this … she gave the best hugs in the world!”
It was the most beautiful thing anyone could have said, and so true. She was a giving, caring, selfless woman would NEVER, EVER thought of herself first.
On that note, I am gonna end this for now. I am hoping to have more information on the latest and greatest crap Manic news next week, but because I am so fearful of freaking my mom out because she thinks the absolute worst, I can’t share it. But, here’s the thing …
On the way home from our trip today, I check the voicemails at home and my mammogram came back and they need to do more tests on it. Interesting that during my mammogram, I’m talking to the lady, answering her questions, “No, no one has breast cancer. No, no one has ovarian cancer.” Then I’m asking her how many people get called back for retests. I’m all casual because I’m always sure my mammograms are fine, and HEY, I JUST FUCKING TURNED 40, and how proactive have I been, because I’ve been getting mammograms for five years already, and now all of a sudden, I have to go for additional testing and an ultrasound?!?!
And see, ten minutes ago, I was crying and upset. This second, I am pissed as hell about it. But then a while ago, I’m like, “OK, yeah, it’s my turn. I’ve always said, ‘I’m gonna get cancer someday so when’s it gonna be?’” And I guess I would rather have it be me than my husband because I know how to take care of me, and I’m not sure I know how to take care of him. You know what I mean? Like I know what I can do for myself to make me feel better, but if he were sick, I wouldn’t know what would make him feel better. And you know what? I would look HORRIBLE bald. And I don’t think I would be a very gracious cancer patient. I am not feeling very gracious right now. Oh, and here’s the other FUCKING thing that pisses me off. They call me to tell me I need to schedule additional tests, on FRIDAY OF FUCKING MEMORIAL DAY WEEKEND. Then, no one answers the fucking phone when I call to schedule an appointment.
Do you know what this means for a person fretting over their health? Yep, this means, MY WHOLE ENTIRE FUCKING WEEKEND, AND POSSIBLY MY WHOLE ENTIRE FUCKING LIFE IS FUCKED, all because they couldn’t call me like a couple hours earlier. Those fuckers.
OK, this is making me feel so much better to just get all this shit out, and I will eventually post this, I just can’t do it right now because my mom will freak. Mom, you REALLY, REALLY REALLY MUST STOP READING MY BLOG, or I’m going to have to do a private invite only on it. Seriously, you don’t need the stress of it all, but by the time I do post this, I’m going to be fine and clear, and all this whole hoopla is going to be a huge mistake. That’s what I’m going to tell myself anyway. But in the meantime, thank you bastard people who called and left the message on my machine because you have just ruined FOUR DAYS OF MY LIFE, AND POSSIBLY THE REST OF IT.
Oh, and here’s another hilarious fucking joke about the whole thing. How cool of my body to wait to possibly get cancer until RIGHT WHEN MY HUSBAND LOSES HIS JOB SO WE CAN GET ON COBRA!?!?!? So if I need a mastectomy and radiation and chemo and experimental marijuana, cuz you can bet your ass I’m on THAT freaking bandwagon, well, then it’s gonna cost us a helluva lot more to fix me.
OK! CAN I TYPE THAT ANY LOUDER?
I THINK I AM DONE.
Update today, May 26, Monday: After four days of worrying this weekend I called the mammogram place this a.m. When she told me BOTH hospitals were booked until next week and I started bawling, MIRACULOUSLY the very kind lady on the phone found an opening and could I be at the hospital at 8:50 a.m.?
YOU BET YOUR ASS.
I drive to the hospital, and in the car I'm applying lipstick, thinking, "OK, this might be the last time I apply lipstick before I find out I have breast cancer. And then I'm waiting in the room in those stupid half-robes they give you and I'm thinking, "OK, this might be the day I find out I have breast cancer." And then I see the pink ribbon sign for breast cancer on the wall, and I think, "OK, now I am going to look at those pink ribbons in a whole new way." And then I think, "OK, now I will start racing for the cure sinc I am sure I am going to have breast cancer." And when I registered and the woman asked me if I brought anyone with me, and I said No, then I started to freak out a little bit, thinking, "How am I going to drive home knowing I have breast cancer." And then I think, "I don't want to have to write a book about breast cancer - there are too many of them out there."
The shit that runs through the mind when there's a scare like this.
Fortunately, my boobs are good. Thank you God. A-freaking-Men! I love my boobs.
And now, go to the previous post and enter to win Jen Lancaster's Pretty In Plaid because I am going to see her on Thursday and she is going to draw the winner.
Also, since I took a Xanax before going for the mammogram this morning, I am going to go take a nap because I fucking deserve one.