Grooming

I've been a bit more socially responsible over the past year. I'm starting to do things like R.S.V.P. to invitations. I'll send out handwritten Thank You notes. I bought my sister-in-law of 8 years a birthday present. I suspect I'll buy her another birthday present this year. Here are the results of my socially sowing: Brother nor sister-in-law bought me a birthday present. Cards sent did not receive a reply. No one really R.S.V.P.'s to my invitations. My mother applauds my efforts and tells me that I have to groom relationships. But why do I have to be the initiator and instigator all the time? Why doesn't anyone... groom me?

The Comfort of Myself

Hi. So you're not here, and that's okay. My blog that was once so manicured and loved is now ingrown. Not sure of that analogy, but I'm going with it. I met a girl this year and she kept inserting the fact she had a blog into her conversation. She would talk about her commentors as if they were real people in the room with us. I rolled my eyes and inwardly sighed that that was so 2005. And then I thought how this girl must have nothing going on in her life to be so enraptured with her blog and her readers. I felt sorry for her at her obvious ploy to recruit new followers. Then I felt even lamer when I realized that was me once upon a time. I'm not sure if I have any more of a life now than back when I was Jamiewhohasablog. Actually, I'm not sure what's changed, if anything. But I'm okay with no readers and no commentors. Writing in this space feels like I'm talking to myself, but with a comforting echo. It feels just familiar enough to be safe. So hi, you're not here. I'm basking in the comfort of myself, and that's okay.

Cheek awashed in germs

There were days in a stronger economy that, when my morning went badly enough, I would take a mental-health sick day and just stay in bed where I belonged. This morning was one of those mornings. I woke up late. I chipped my mother's hand-me-down 20-year-old cookie jar giving the dog a biscuit. My low tire-pressure alarm beeped in the car, and I nailed a curb dropping the boyfriend home at his apartment. But with the economy being what it is, the only thing keeping me at home this year is the swine flu. So I wasn't really that surprised when my usual karate-chop kick to flush the toilet at work missed, and I ended up crashing against the back wall of the rest room loudly enough to receive a knock from the men's side.

Un-done

I want to do more. I currently have four unfinished knitting projects. Five, if you count the one that is stowed at my mother's, of which I have no intention on picking back up. I have two sewing projects pinned and just waiting for the sewing machine. This does not include the projects that the materials are bought, but haven't even been started yet. I have a basket of beads from a broken necklace that have been waiting at least two months to be restrung. I have two unfinished books. Okay, I have five unfinished books. I have a gym four floors below me that I swear I'm going to every day. You know, one of these days. I am $100 short a month from putting 10% of my paycheck into savings. I have an unwatched episode of Grey's Anatomy on the Tivo. That probably disturbs me more than anything. My life has become this vortex of time that is completely unaccounted for, and I have nothing to show for it but a whole lot of unfinished business. It makes me feel on the precipice of losing control to live life so unorganized. I'm getting a little panicky about it. So I am going to do what I always do: make lists. I'm going to make so many lists. I'm going to make lists about making lists. Then I'm going to make lists of small, obtainable goals. Like finishing my lime green scarf this weekend.

Pay to Play

My mother was not happy I bought a lottery ticket tonight. "Why did you buy that?" she asked as I waved the ticket in front of her. "Uh, 333 million dollars," I scoffed. "Do you really think you're going to win 333 million dollars?" she mocked back. "No, Mom," I explained. "It's not about the money. It's about having the possibility. Having the fantasy. Having the dream. Without the ticket, there is no possibility for the fantasy, but with it, you earn the right to dream." My mother said nothing and looked away. I don't think she understood my point. *** I called CJ to see if I had the winning ticket. I sighed, "Looks like I'm going to work on Monday." "Sorry babe, I only won $7. I won't be able to support your lifestyle," he consoled. I laughed, "Sure you can. You can take me out for an ice cream cone." "Sounds good to me." And maybe that's why I've been hurt so many times, but continue to throw myself back out there. Because, to me, it's always worth a dollar to dream.

Although not quite as funny this time around

I've often wondered when did things go wrong. The exact moment life went from good to bad. When I should have initially changed my circumstances instead of waiting as long as I did. I've been thinking about my little piece of the web and how the neglect it's suffered boarders on abuse. And that's when I realized the exact date: Monday, August 11, 2008. That was the exact day I stopped living for myself and instead put someone else's needs above my own. It's when I stopped writing. This leads me to several conclusions: Jesus, that was a year ago. I stayed in a bad situation for 8 more months before I did anything about it. Why would I do that. I hope I wouldn't do that again. In the meantime, everything about my life has changed: new job, new apartment, new furniture, new body (minus one tumor-ridden thyroid; plus a few pounds if I were being really honest), new friends, new boy. New smile. New perspective. So let's try this again.

Mr. Freeze Versus the Thyroglobulins

Having become something of a biopsy regular, I don't have the same story this time that I had last time. The only noticeable difference is that my newly acquired, super expensive, super exclusive endocrinologist doesn't believe in local anaesthetics. "The injection of the anaesthetic will be just as painful as the biopsy needle," he tried to explain to me. "Yes, but there isn't one biopsy needle, there's three. And you don't just insert the biopsy needle, you stick it in and wave it around like a damn jackhammer." Seriously, by the time you get to the third needle, who cares about the first teeny weeny anaesthetic injection? And this isn't even touching on how a needle actively moving around inside your throat doesn't feel like a shot of B12 to the arm, which I also had to look forward to, followed by another round of blood samples after that--what's one more needle prod? But I lost out because the super duper endocrinologist prefers the freeze method. I didn't get a good look, but I assume it's a can of frozen air something or other which he sprayed liberally on my neck, causing me to break out in a fit of shrieks and giggles on the operating room table. The opera playing on a tape deck in the corner of the room was accompanied by the whoosh of aerosol and my full belly-laugh hysterics. "Looks like someone is ticklish," chirped the nurse. "I get a lot of reactions with the freeze, but I've never had anyone laugh before," said the doctor, which really made me uncomfortable, because how many patients has this super endocrinologist seen during the life of his practice and I'm the only one? I never like hearing something I do is abnormal. And so I wait. Again. If this biopsy comes back inconclusive again, he's operating and taking my thyroid out as a cancer precaution. Apparently the cancer risk is very high with two inconclusives. If my thyroglobulin levels come back high, he's operating and taking out my thyroid. I didn't bother to ask why. If my levels are come back normal, then I get to keep my thyroid, but get put on medications to try to shrink the tumors. Even though it looks like I'm going to be one of those people who has to take medication every day for the rest of my life no matter the outcome of this, obviously I'm still hoping for the third option because frankly I kinda like my thyroid even though my body doesn't. I asked him why all of this happened in the first place, and he said my body got confused and thought my thyroid was now magically a foreign object, so it started attacking it. Apparently my body isn't very smart.