tight

unyielding

exhausting

breathless

constant

mom is here. jackson is taken care of, NOT BY ME. (((deep cleansing breath)))

this is the second time i have been given this gift… this glorious gift of TIME to “work” (meaning making a dent in my inbox, catching up on my favorite blogs, working on my book proposal… working on the ACTUAL BOOK that i am pitching)… ya know, “work.”

i set out with a smile on my face, my macbook and earphones and await the glory of the coffee that will come once i find the RIGHT SPOT to plant myself for a few hours and “work.”

arriving at whole foods, i pay for my dark chocolate skim mocha and find my spot… near an outlet to plug in my laptop.

i settle myself. snag an extra chair for my oversized, underpriced purse from target that doubles as my diaper bag and today, my laptop bag. i plug in, log on to the wifi network, take my first sip of my beverage and breathe.

the last week + has been particularly stressful and ridden with anxiety that i cannot go into detail about in this forum. needless to say, having this break, this breath of caffeinated air, this TIME ALONE with just me and my computer is priceless.

i check in with some twitter friends who i haven’t communicated with in (HOLY SHIT) 24 hours because my mom has arrived and i was busying myself snuggling with her as though i was the one nearly turning 2 years old and not my son.

and as i check in with my twitter friends, two women take seats nearby… close to my spot.

you see, i’m sitting at a bar, looking out a window… a lengthy bar that offers a plethora of seats for people to enjoy coffee, delicious food and good company.

one woman is telling the other about her latest “fuck buddy” and how her age (46) has caused him to leave her and now she is angry… like REALLY ANGRY just relaying this story to her friend.

she bangs her fist on the bar. multiple times. continuing to talk with her hands, she then explains the moment of him leaving her apartment and hits, bumps, slaps the bar repeatedly.

at first i feel badly for this woman. she’s obviously distraught and confiding in a friend. but then i notice that others around me are starting to notice her. it’s not just me acknowledging her behavior… hearing pieces of a conversation that (in my opinion) should be taking place behind closed doors, on a couch with your friend and a bottle of wine.

she hits the table again.

“i told him ‘that’s it!’” she exclaims.

and now i’m irritated. so, like any good blogger who is attempting to make headway through their inbox while also on twitter, i begin tweeting about her.

so the earphones are in and the music is blaring and i decide that my inbox and any sort of REAL THOUGHT will have to be put on hold until this woman is gone because NO ONE AROUND HER can focus on anything but her ranting.

i look for other seats… no other outlets are available. i need an outlet because my battery is low… not too terribly low, but low enough for me to not risk moving my seat.

i stay. i decide to blog about her. just to rid myself of this angst and document this experience of THE ONE DAMN TIME I GET OUT TO HAVE COFFEE AND COMPUTER TIME IN PUBLIC…

pink is blaring gloriously in my ears… “child be still…”

I’M TRYING!!!! I’M REALLY TRYING!!!!!

there’s a tap on my shoulder. i’m jarred from my writing. i turn and meet the face of an older woman who is already mid-sentence with me. obviously i cannot hear her because MY EARPHONES ARE STILL IN MY EARS, yet she is talking to me.

i mute my itunes, pull out an earphone and turn in my seat to face her.

OLDER WOMAN: (points at my laptop) “is this one of those little laptops, like the small ones?”

ME: “um… well, it’s a macbook, but i’m pretty sure there are smaller ones out there. are you shopping specifically for a mac?” like i give a fuck.

OLDER WOMAN: “i don’t know, but i know there’s a smaller one and i didn’t know if this is the smallest there is or if there are smaller or what you would recommend?”

ME: (thinking to myself… do i look like i fucking work at best buy?) “honestly, it probably all depends on what you would be using it for. i would suggest researching one that is not only the size you want but offers the programs and applications that you would use the most.”

she pats my shoulder, points over to her husband whose standing 10 or so feet away with their coffees, waiting for her and probably burning the palms of his hands while holding their coffee.

OLDER WOMAN: (points at my macbook) “i think we can get smaller than this…”

she walks away.

and then i tweet this.

lesson learned… just stay at home, lock myself in my bedroom and put in earplugs. i may live a solitary existence for the remainder of my life and never again enjoy the glorious splendor of a dark chocolate skim mocha from whole foods, but at least i’ll get some peace… til the magoo awakes.

cuz i almost lost mine this morning. yes, my cooter came THIS CLOSE to dying a horrific and blistering death this morning thanks to scalding hot coffee and sleep deprivation.

if you saw my tweets this morning, you may have experienced the aftermath of my near-cooter-demise…

mind you, i am not currently covered in lower abdominal boils, nor are there any pinkish, tender areas of said cooter region… but HOLY CRAP YA’LL it was traumatizing, and most definitely NOT how one wants to wake up in the morning, especially a monday morning.

because, mondays suck. no matter what takes place during your day… if it’s a monday, it sucks. sorry, but it just does.

if the week began on a tuesday, tuesdays would suck. alas, it begins on a monday, thus mondays suck.

back to my cooter…

i’m lucky enough to have one of those fantastically hot husbands who gets up before i do in the morning and brings me coffee in bed. ((((swoon)))) i know, and i love every second of it, especially when he brings me a dark chocolate covered biscotti along with the coffee.

paul knows i need AT LEAST one cup of coffee running through my veins before i can begin to contemplate my day with the magoo. on special occasions, like president’s day, or mondays when paul needs to get to work early because he has a class to teach at 7:55, he’ll add not one BUT TWO shots off espresso to my coffee.

a friend of ours once told us this coffee beverage is referred to as a “hammer head,” but we prefer to be crude about it and create out own names using both the words “hammer” and “head” on an individual basis in order to create such inappropriate names.

it’s fun.

so, this morning, paul gets up with his alarm… he shaves… and then proceeds to make my “jack hammer” out in the kitchen while i continue to sleep peacefully. he places the delicious beverage on my nightstand along with a dark chocolate covered biscotti, and then wakes me up…

BY SHAKING ME VIOLENTLY BECAUSE OTHERWISE NO ONE WILL BE ABLE TO WAKE ME FROM MY SLUMBER!!!

once paul sees me adjust myself from the position of fully laying down to sitting somewhat upright and sipping my coffee, he goes to the bathroom to shower and continue his morning routine.

little did he know that i would fall back to sleep while sitting up…

AND SPILL FUCKING COFFEE WITH FUCKING ESPRESSO ON MY FUCKING COOTER!!!

i mean for christ’s sake, i close my eyes for ONE SECOND and the coffee mug goes…

give me a break!!!

so my lower abdomen that houses my c-section scar, thereby giving me two bellies, is scalded through my tshirt. and then i raise the tshirt and see BELOW…

and the underpants (don’t worry, they were boy-shorts, not granny panties) were soaked…

my cooter was MAGENTA with fury.

i lept out of bed, but this of course meant that i spilled that much more of my “head jack” on the bed, wasting that much more of the lusciously caffeinated beverage and soaking our sheets.

the now 1/4 cup mug of coffee is placed on my nightstand, the dark chocolate biscotti still awaits tantalizing my taste buds, and i disrobe. i strip down, leaving my coffee-soaked tshirt and underpants on the sheets and light blanket that have been covered in the “jack hammer” that paul made for me to enjoy.

i knock on the bathroom door. paul opens it.

HIM: “hey.”

ME: “move over. i spilled the fuckin coffee and i’m soaked.”

HIM: “that sucks.”

ME: “no shit. move over.”

HIM: “are you hurt?”

ME: “well, it didn’t feel good.” (then showing him my MAGENTA pink abdomen)

HIM: “dang.”

ME: “yeah, thanks. shampoo please.”

and thus began my monday… how was yours???

i haven’t posted much this week. there hasn’t been much that i can say without nearly hacking up a lung. my head is so congested to the point that when i blow my nose, snot comes out of my left tear duct.

like, of my eye… the left tear duct OF MY EYE.

not. even. joking.

according to my doctor, who diagnosed me yesterday with a “wicked sinus infection,” the reason our nose begins to run right after we start crying is due to our sinuses and our tear ducts all being within close proximity of each other. also, according to my doctor, since i can blow snot out of my left tear duct only, i must have a “loose duct,” whatever the hell that means. i didn’t really care. i just wanted my antibiotics and to blow my nose/eye.

my doctor also chuckled and suggested that i join the circus after i showed her how i can blow snot out of my eye, because “only a select few have such a talent.” i didn’t laugh.

a friend of mine on twitter made a reference to my cold as “the epic snot,” and she could not be more correct. i most definitely have snot of epic proportions. and yes, it is so disgusting.

jackson is sick too, which doesn’t make things any easier. being a sick parent at home with a sick child sucks big hairy donkey balls. like, BIG ONES. i feel so bad for jackson because the poor little guy can’t get comfortable, he’s getting his next set of molars, snot drips from his nose, and when he coughs so loudly, a part of my heart breaks off. it’s so sad to watch little ones be sick.

but then i’m sick on top of it… and in my opinion, sickies hit the parent worse than the child. i don’t know if this is because they have a built up killer immune system that has gone and died in a hole in adults by the time we reach are later 20’s, or what, but i feel like ass and then trying to keep up with my son makes me feel like the hole within the ass.

not. good.

both jackson and i have been to the doctor. he has a cold that i’ve been told will last him 2-3 weeks before he is entirely over it. THAT BLOWS. we have a humidifier running in his room. we traumatize him with saline drops in his nose. he has motrin for when his molars are bothering him. and we watch ice age 3 about 14 times a day so that he can be happy while watching the “BIG ELEDENTS” (elephants) his latest obsession.

you can be the one to tell jackson that they are mammoths and not elephants. i can’t crush his little magoo world any more than i already have.

paul has been so diligent and willing to help out in my exhausted state this week, taking time at lunch to come home and help occupy jackson so i can rest. he is currently enduring a tantrum (probably because jackson wants to watch “the eledents” and paul is sick of “the eledents” and holding his own) while i write this post in my comfy bed and cough up phlegm.

so there is snot on my keyboard, tissues on my nightstand, a z-pack on the sink in our bathroom, and groceries that desperately need to be purchased.

and now paul is getting sick. though he has taken airborne all week long, washed his hands constantly, and gone through multiple bottles of hand sanitizer, paul is coming down with this bitch of a cold.

so we’re taking shifts… errands… household duties… disinfecting… parenting… and still trying to take care of ourselves so that we can get well.

**********

how do you handle it when you’re sick and you have a sick toddler? how do you manage it all? do you manage it all? how much are you able to call upon your partner for help? and when on earth will i get rid of the epic snot?

snowpocalypse, i had plans… good plans. plans that i had been looking forward to and had coordinated and fine-tuned long ago. plans for this weekend. these plans included visits to friends. dear friends. magoo’s godparents and their beautiful twins… plans that included myself and one of my nearest and dearest friends helping to pack up our beloved jewel (pun intended) and sending her on her way with the love of her life… plans of documenting their love story which surpasses any love story that has graced my ears.

i had plans.

mother nature… you fucked with the wrong woman. and so i will wait, patiently, for your apology.

in the meantime, i give you this…

wishful thinking, and sunglasses.

*WARNING* this it a nonstop stream of consciousness post… it will most likely make no sense to any of you unless you are currently a resident of the maryland/dc area.

i’ve heard of cabin fever before. i think there are a few movies out there about it. i dunno, i’m too lazy to even google it with the exception of the wikipedia definition. regardless, i’m on the brink of madness. like beyond medicinal help madness.

if i take one more picture of snow, snow banks, igloos, snow on branches, my kid discovering mass amounts of snow, or my car that was buried underneath the snow, i’m going to vomit all over the snow until the snow is no longer even recognizable as being snow… just my vomit.

i lived in chicago. twice. once when i was too small to really remember it, and then again when i was in middle school and absolutely awesome listening to green day (before they went all broadway) and wearing my flannel shirts and thinking it was the end of the world when kurt cobain died.

no, the end of the world is now. here. in maryland. and our 6 ft under consists of freezing cold snow with a sheet of ice over it because it went down to 6 degrees last night and we can feel the wind blow through the windows of our cheap ass gov’t base housing apartment.

and whatever to you canadian blogging friends of mine who are sitting there, in your homes, reading this with your mug of coffee and baileys, ready to take on another day of isolation and insanity covered in down coats, scarves, mittens, toboggans, or toques (i think that’s what you call them.)

go ahead, laugh at me. i’m well aware that i’m being a whiny little bitch about this, but dammit it’s my blog and i’ll post what i want to. and if you give me too much shit about complaining, i will throw a snow ball at you that cuts your face because it’s been frozen for the last 4 days and basically only now consists of ice.

IN. YOUR. FACE.

i’m sick of this snow. i just want to know when it will end. instead of knowing when it will end, i know when the next fucking storm is coming… today. this afternoon. and into tomorrow… 16-20 inches, in addition to the 30 + that currently resides on my car.

the sky is ugly. grey. unforgiving. filling to the brim with precipitation that will shortly freeze and then unleash its fury on us once again.

so yeah, i’m losing it. entirely. there are only a certain amount of hiding spaces in this apartment and i have spent time in each of them. i have hidden in the closet in an attempt to escape my family. (i love you guys, but we’ve spent enough time cooped up together.) and i’ve spent too long in the bathroom, hoping that paul and jackson just think i’m taking a dump when in reality i’m taking an extra 10 minutes to gain some composure, finish reading a book, or trying to not claw my eyes out.

i’ve even gone up to the attic. the storage space that is the 4th floor of our building. i went up there to get a book for paul the other night. ha!!! i knew exactly where the book was… with all of my other text books, old anthologies, college and grad school materials that i think to myself “someday i may need that.” yet i spent 25 minutes up in the storage space looking at all that was there… maternity clothes, jackson’s toys that he has outgrown, patio furniture that we obviously have no use for here. and i took my sweet ass time before rejoining my family with my wack-a-doo-ness.

and then there are the rest of the occupants of our apartment building that we have to deal with. and their children who are basically on summer vacation but in winter because they get so many goddamn snow days. and they are home and loud and dragging their sleds, saucers, and snow gear up and down and up and down and up and down the stairwell. and then there’s the one kid… THE ONE KID who is a total dipshit smart and funny and throws his frozen, wet snow boots up two flights in the stairwell, run upstairs to retrieve them, and then throw them back down to the bottom floor. he does this repeatedly.

perhaps that is how he is coping with cabin fever. it’s pretty damn annoying though. he needs another outlet. one that doesn’t disturb my child from napping. because when my child does not nap, it makes these crappy days that much more craptastic.

i like mother nature. truly, i do. jackson is an earth day birthday baby, born on april 22nd, and i am a taurus, earthy and whatnot.

but mother nature is being a bitch. an angry and evil bitch. and i kinda wanna punch her in the vag.