Tag Archives: Whining

Pollyanna Passes the Buck

Lyda here. I’m writing this quickly, in case the Cosmic Innernetting connection does not work for long.

Y’all may have noticed that I haven’t mentioned anything really personal lately. I’ve been battling my old demon, depression, and any time I start writing something about my life the post takes a turn for the sad. Not that there aren’t things to be sad about, in the world and in my own life. Not that there’s anything wrong with sad.

It just doesn’t seem to help me to dwell on it too much on the blog. So I haven’t been mentioning the stress and problems at work, the sadness of missing my son and missing my kittens, my weird and annoying physical problems, or the horrors of my finances. It only sounds self-pitying and makes me even sadder.

Sometimes sorrow is all I feel. I’m trying to allow myself to grieve the losses. There are times when I just sob until there are no more tears.

But there are times of hope too. Times when I think about the future not with dread and horror, but with excitement at the possibilities. With only myself to care for, what can I do?

Sometimes I think I can do anything.

Kermit: [singing] Life’s like a movie, write your own ending…
All Muppets
: [singing] Keep believing, keep pretending; we’ve done just what we’ve set out to do, thanks to the lovers, the dreamers, and you!

Someday we’ll find it, the Rainbow Connection…


Pollyanna: Have Shovel, Will Splatter

Lyda here. It’s been weeks since I killed a zombie, vanquished an evil king, or defeated an alien horde. Life without video games is weird, but not as weird as life with the Sith Master living in different quarters.

So, I thought, gee, why don’t I knit something?

And the heavens rumbled.

And lo, there came upon her a great smiting.

In other words, my fibromyalgia has flared up and I can’t hold the needles for any length of time.


I knit this weekend anyway. So there. I used the biggest needles I have (size 10) and a half skein of chunky yarn left over from the last scarf, and I just did a bit at a time. I just needed the feel of fiber in my hands. Y’all know.

What I need to knit is a huge blanket. The Disney House is charming and has many advantages – but heat isn’t one of them. My friends the Disney couple like the brisk arctic air blowing through the condo. Reminds them of their trips to Russia and Alaska and New York City, no doubt.

Okay, it’s not as cold as Ohio, or Colorado. But it’s been very rainy and windy here, and colder than usual. The mountains are covered in snow. There has been hail, people!

I’m sleeping with a blanket, a comforter, and the extra-thick quilt my grandmother made me – which I usually only use when I’m sick, as it is very heavy and very warm.

Grandma didn’t think it counted as a quilt unless you could barely move once it was on top of you. Maybe it was her way of making sure the children stayed in bed at night. But probably it was because she lived where it got very cold at night. Grandma was a busy woman, and she didn’t have time to chip ice off people’s feet in the mornings.

But I digress.

And I’m still cold for the first fifteen minutes in bed, until my igloo of fiber warms up. Fiber igloo!

I’m still not sleeping well – a combination of stress, new surroundings, and the fibromyalgia. And my right knee has decided to complain constantly. Rather like me, it appears. I’ve been putting it off, but I’m going to have to go to the doctor and find out if the constant nasty knee pain is part of the fibro or if it is something else. It seems more like arthritis – stiff after being still for a time, creaky (literally), and right in the joint. I have arthritis in my feet, and it looks like my knee has decided to jump on the bandwagon.

Or rather, crawl arthritically on the bandwagon.

Oh, I’m digressing again…

Compared to all this, fighting off a zombie invasion would be child’s play.

I miss my child’s play. I miss my child.

It is a weird time for me right now. I am so grateful, really I am. I have a job and a roof over my head. My son is safe and happy. I know I could be so much worse off. I know that so many people are suffering horribly, all over the world. I feel terribly guilty for complaining.

Not that the guilt stops me, as y’all have noticed.

Yet I am in a weird state, and I’m not fooling anyone pretending that I’m not. I am grieving the loss of living with my son, with my cats, in my own home. And I hate imposing on my friends. I hate that I have brought this on myself.

And on you, dear readers, who have to plow through all this whining drivel to get to the zombies.

Everyone keeps asking if I’m okay because there are circles under my eyes the size of a bull moose (I’m estimating here, people) and I’m limping like Chester and I’m thinking like Festus and I’m typing like a stunned turtle…

It gets me down.

Thankfully, I can read in my little igloo – I’m re-reading all the Harry Potters; I’m almost done with the fifth book – and I can watch movies in my room, and watch the TV in the living room. My friends are great, and they have a springer spaniel who keeps me covered in dog hair and makes sure my knees are never dry. Dry knees are apparently bad. Who knew? Fortunately Disney Dog has lots of drool to share.

And on Thursday, I’m taking the day off to move the rest of my stuff into the condo and to get actually settled. Except the stuff I’m donating – my couch and all of the kitchen stuff – and the fridge. Anyone need a refrigerator? I’m determined to have all my stuff out of storage by the end of the month, as I don’t want to pay for the unit for another month.

Most importantly, I am spending time with the Sith Master every weekend. Last Sunday we went to lunch and just sat there and talked for hours. It was bliss. He is doing well at his dad’s, and the three of us even had a good long chat yesterday.

During the week, I just keep plugging along.

And just like Scarlett, I can remind myself that tomorrow is another day. Bwahaha. I love Carol Burnett!

Somewhere over the rainbow… Sniff. I love Judy too!

The sun will come out… Heh. Funny.


Anybody want to hunt zombies with me? Anybody? Bueller?

Pollyanna Versus the Endless Apartment Search

Lyda here.

It sure feels like this search is endless. Haven’t found the place yet. Heck, it’s not like I have to move next week or anything.

Wait… I DO have to move next week.

I hit the rental ads again today. Spoke to a lot of people, but no one with an immediately available apartment in my price range that takes cats. Left some messages. I have two leads – one nearby, one a distance away. Hopefully I’ll be able to see these places and apply tomorrow or Monday. Nothing more I can do today, so I’m doing this post instead. 

It’s looking bad for keeping the cats at this point. I cannot even talk about how bad I feel about that, how sad and guilty and lonely it makes me feel. And if I can’t keep them, what will happen to them?

And I’m afraid that I won’t be able to find anyone who will take me because of my credit history and my situation with my current landlord.

And in the midst of all of this, my body is freaking out. I’m having a huge fibromyalgia flare-up which is causing me a lot of pain, loss of sleep, and screwing up my digestive process (I will spare you the details).

And my right knee and my right achilles tendon have been excruitatingly painful for the last two weeks and have practically refused to work at all.

Which could be related to the fibromyalgia. Or it could be the extra physical exertion. Or the stress. Or the lack of sleep. Or something as yet undiagnosed because I haven’t had the time / energy / courage to make a doctor’s appointment about it.

Or it could be all of the above.

To add to the overwhelm, my *expletive deleted* current landlord just stopped by with another *expletive deleted* letter in a sealed envelope. Which so far has been the opposite of good news. I’m afraid to open it, and so I’m beating myself up for being afraid, and for not opening it, and for even being in this *expletive deleted* situation which was totally created by my own stuff.

A lot of beating myself up is going on.

Yet there is a tiny voice inside saying that opening it tomorrow – when my son can hold my hand and my brother and my BF will probably both be available by phone for support – will not make any difference in the cosmic scheme of things.

And also it is totally okay that I can’t spell “scheme” today without looking it up. Edited on 12/31 to add: I finally looked it up and corrected the spelling – I was spelling “scheme” as “squeem” – which dictionary.com says isn’t a word. Apparently it is a brand of shapewear. Rubber underwear. Curiouser and curiouser. And have you noticed, the models never look as though they need this kind of support wear? Not that anyone really needs it. It can’t be good for your internal organs, being that squashed.

But I digress…

And it is okay that my heart is pounding just a bit about all of this.

Okay, a lot.

Trying not to go into a full panic attack.

Breathe. Think of something else. Listen to happy son killing zombies with his friend on his new game. Look at adorable cats curled up and sleeping on packing paper. Remember that it will all work out okay somehow.

It’s okay that I don’t know how it will work out. It’s okay that I’m scared. It’s okay that I want to distract myself for tonight and deal with it when I’m rested and fed and have support. It’s okay that I don’t know where I’m moving yet.

It’s okay.

And so I interrupt this post with happy things.

I spent Xmas Eve and Xmas morning with the Resident Sith Master. We had a great time, both of us enjoying our presents and not minding at all that there were not more. He got me two videos – one for my birthday which I opened early so the present doesn’t get lost in the move: the new Star Trek movie, and “Robin Hood: Men in Tights” (1993). He went to his dad’s before lunch, and I was happy because he goes to his dad’s happily now and I’m so pleased that their relationship is in such a great place.

I settled down to a day of watching TV and eating chocolate. In my robe. Watched some of “Fido” and some old Sherlock Holmes movies, and some “Clean House” and some of just whatever I wandered across. I took a short nap, even. RSM surprised me by coming home for dinner – I wasn’t expecting him back until this morning – and we had a nice relaxed evening and watched more TV together.

Today I spent some quality time killing zombies with RSM, and then listening to him play with Second Son who lives in New York. And now listening to him play with his friend who’s home from college for the holidays.

Just being in the same space with my son is the best thing ever.

And I spent some quality time today catching up on the blogs on our blogroll, which are funny and insightful and informative and touching and… Y’all are just fabulous!

I spent some quality time petting each cat. Ditto laughing at their antics.

I spent some wonderful time talking with Gorgeous and Available Engineer Brother, which is always quality time. I spent great time yesterday talking with Gorgeous and Younger Brother, which is also always quality time.

And yesterday, Anna-Liza and I had a fantastic and long conversation which was the best present she could ever give me – herself.

So, the wonderful still and always outweighs the ick.

Tomorrow is another day.

And, no matter what, it will all be okay.

Pollyanna’s Random Post – Now 100% Digression Free

Lyda here. I took the day off today, which is why I’m writing this in the middle of the day. 

The plan was that I was getting ready for the garage sale and cleaning for tonight’s guests. Some friends were going to come over tonight for a potluck, but they’ve all cancelled, so I cleaned the bathroom for nothing. Oh, except for us, I guess.

Yes, I’m supposed to be searching for an apartment / preparing for the garage sale tomorrow come one come all / packing everything I own / pushing the Resident Sith Master to pack up the stuff on his shelves so that we can sell the shelves in the garage sale.

But hey, I did talk to one guy about an apartment. And I did clean the bathroom. So I deserve a break. It’s almost lunch time, and I have a friend from work coming over after her off-site meeting to pick up some items she’s buying for her grandkids.


So, now it’s later. RSM did clear off the shelves, and the coworker picked up her goodies. I packed up the desk area, although not the computer obviously. The desk being sold is cleared off, so the rest can wait.

Now we’re taking a well-earned break. RSM has a friend coming over soon and I need to go run some errands – get some small bills to make change tomorrow, and post signs. Shit, have to make signs.

I was going to go look at apartments, but it looks like that will have to happen after the sale. Or Sunday. Sunday is good for apartment hunting, right?

Meanwhile, here are some random items I’ve been thinking about posting, which have nothing in common except the pig-licking. Y’all know I’m all about the random.

Wow, I must be tired. I haven’t digressed once.

A couple of blogs to check out:

And then there’s this, which just has everything a Pollyanna could ask for in a pig-licking link:

  • Deep fried butter & the competition for outrageous fried food recipes at the Texas state fair – priceless quote by Abel Gonzalez Jr. (inventor of deep fried butter): 
  • “It’s funny, because being at the state fair is the total opposite of being a computer analyst,” he said. “I finally kind of figured out that I was in the wrong field. …”

And then there’s this:

  • From the May 2009 “Country Living” magazine:  “For just $92, you can spend the night inside the world’s biggest beagle” which is in Idaho.

Is it just me, or do you enter the beagle through his… uh… rear?

I guess that’s the end, folks.

Hey, I couldn’t have resisted for all the deep-fried butter in Texas.

Pollyanna’s Odd Bits

Lyda here. This post title makes me laugh in a snarfing and unattractive way. Snarfing is important.

So, here are just some odd bits that are floating through what for the lack of a better word I call my brain. Just some curiosities from my strange world.

1.)  I’ve been doing a bit of catching up on my blog reading (though obviously not my blog writing). As a way to escape the uncertainty of my life. Where the hell am I moving? What’s it going to be like without my son living with me? On my 50th birthday, what state will I be living in? And what will be the state of my mind? But I digress.

I just read Laurie’s post about her Procrasticleaning. I usually am right up there with that. Have a big decision to make? Clean the bathroom. Need to confront someone? Clean out a closet. Of course, when what I’m procrastinating is actually sorting and packing, the cleaning does not help. But that’s what TV is for.

In that post, Laurie also talks about wanting to look into other people’s spaces as a window into their life. I totally do that too. So often she writes stuff like this and it sounds like it is coming out of my head. But funnier, and with a higher ratio of cat-hair-mentions. Not that I don’t have a similar amount of cat hair in my life. I just don’t have funny ways to talk about it like Crazy Aunt Purl does.

2.) With the impending Move of Doom Exciting New Possibilities, I’ve been clearing stuff away. I actually went through the boxes in the garage, and got rid of most of my vast collection of holiday stuff. And I mean vast. I had four huge bins of Yule stuff alone. It’s almost all going – I kept what amounts to a third of a bin, and the Resident Sith Master kept about the same. The rest is going to the garage sale.

3.) How I dread the garage sale. It would be fun if y’all could all come and hang out with me. Anna-Liza could pour sweet tea for the customers, and Knitting Sprite could sit in the shade and take the money, and Marin could talk people into buying all my crap  stuff  inexpensive treasures. Instead, it will be me and RSM and there is so much stuff to drag down to the street and if it doesn’t sell, I’ll probably leave it on the lawn with a big old “Free” sign and if no one takes it I’ll have to haul it off to Goodwill. It just seems like it is going to be an exhausting day and I’m not sure it’s going to be worth it. I’d be willing to sell it all to one person for $20 at this point. But I really need money, and I need to get rid of this stuff, and we did make $75 at the last sale and this time there will be furniture so maybe we’ll do okay.

Argh! No wonder the TV beckons.

4.) So, I was reading Enchanting Juno and I came across this post which is about not buying stuff, and other things – I love blogs where people wander about a bit in the posts, it feels like a real conversation. Or like what goes on in my own head.

But I digress.

And she has some interesting observations on how her own not-buying has shaped what she will consider buying in the future and how it has changed her relationship to things.

I myself dabbled these last two years with the not-buying. I have a bit of experience in this area.

A big bit of experience.

A huge ocean-liner-smashing iceberg of experience.

A massive planet-killing asteroid of experience.

Sorry. Digressing there. Yeah.


It’s given me some time to look at my spending, and what I want to have in my life.

I got tired of all the plastic and paper junk, and I decided to cut way back. I am switching over to more natural materials. Wood boxes and woven baskets. Fabric napkins (bought on sale of course) and real plates. Rags for cleaning instead of paper towels except in the bathroom; because of the whole germ thing I am kind of OCD about when it comes to the bathroom cleaning, you really do not want to hear about it, oh there I go digressing again.

And as I sort through my possessions, I realize that I am tired a lot of my stuff. I want to get rid of it all and start over. I want quality things that fit my taste now. I still have possessions from when I set up my first home at 18, and none of those things were intended to be lifelong possessions. I have lived with them all this time because they were “good enough.”

Good enough for now. Good enough for a college student / newlywed / struggling single mom. Good enough for a person who thinks she doesn’t deserve better.

I’m tired of that. I’m tired of my own poverty mentality, my own addiction to thinking of myself as poor. I want to change that. I want “good enough” change to “good for me”.

Wish me luck. This is uncharted territory for me.

5.) And I have to go now and get turkey and etcetera because I promised RSM a feast tomorrow. He is used to two Thanksgivings – he had one with his dad yesterday – and I love to do it all. We’ll have turkey, stuffing (I was never great at making my own, so I used  Mrs. Cubbinson’s for years. Now we do Stove Top – it’s faster and easier and we actually like it better. Stove Top, you can send the thank-you check to…), mashed potatoes (hugely important), gravy (from a jar – sometimes I make my own, but not this year), cranberry sauce (canned), and my famous Cranberry-Cherry Pie. Oh, and maybe a non-starchy vegetable. Possibly something green.

6.) I’m thankful to be able to make a feast and enjoy it with my son. I’m thankful that we have food, shelter, and lots of love. I’m thankful that even with the changes happening in our lives, my son will be safe and cared for, and I have so much support and love. I’m thankful I have Anna-Liza and all you out there.

And I’m thankful for the help I get writing this blog.

"I think you split an infinitive."

Pollyanna Looks Ahead

Lyda here.

So. I’m moving. This weekend will be a turkey-fest, true, but it will also be a big purging and packing spree for me. So far the decisions have been easy on what to keep and what to sell at the garage sale. Saturday December 5 – Y’all come and bring your money! The garage is almost at capacity with boxes and I haven’t even moved any furniture out there yet.

But soon I will get to the point where what I keep depends on where I’m moving. It would be easier if I knew where I was going.

The possibilities include:

  • staying in this area and living with friends for a month or three while I get my finances in order and decide on the next step
  • staying in this area and renting a new tiny space if I can find one
  • moving to San Antonio and staying with my stepmom while finding a job
  • moving to Ohio and living with Gorgeous and Available Engineer Brother
  • moving to Seattle and staying with Younger Brother and Fabulous Brother-in-law and Gorgeous Sister for a very short time
  • moving to Colorado where the streets are paved with fiber – or at least that’s what I hear

The first choice on that list would be the easiest in terms of cost and time, and I would be able to keep my current job (a longer commute, but not too bad) and see the Resident Sith Master often. My friends are great and have a spare bedroom that they rent out sometimes, so it would not be an inconvenience for them. However, they have a not-cat-friendly dog, and I would have to find a new home for my two demon spawn adorable kittens. The cats seem to suspect something – they have been extra cuddly lately. Or maybe they are just cold – I still have to light the gas heater’s pilot light so we can use the heater. Hey, it’s getting down to 68, even 65 degrees at night now. If I go with this option, I will have one room and will take only what will fit in it. I am not renting a storage unit for my cheap Ikea/garage sale/street scrounged furniture. But parting with my washer and dryer will be hard.

Of course, I know most of you are voting for the final choice on the list.

Is it true that Colorado clouds are made of alpaca fleece and it rains yarn?

Pollyanna Wastes the Day

Lyda here. I’ve been doing a bit of catching up on my blog reading (though obviously not my blog writing). As a way to escape the uncertainty of my life. Where the hell am I moving? What’s it going to be living away from my son? On my 50th birthday, what state will I be living in? And what will be the state of my mind? And will the state of my finances ever be better? 

And of course, as a way to escape the sorting and packing.

I just read Laurie‘s post about her Procrasticleaning. I feel like I’m doing Procrasti-purging – getting rid of stuff as a way of avoiding making decisions about my life. The cleaning will come later, because no matter how upset I am about my situation and the way my landlord is handling all this, I am too proud to leave the place a mess. In that post, Laurie also talks about wanting to look into other people’s spaces as a window into their life. I totally do that too. So often she writes stuff like this and it sounds like it is coming out of my head. But a lot funnier, and with more cat-hair references. But I digress.

Right now, I’m purging. I’m going through everything I own. Every book, every knicknack, every stick of furniture. I’m getting rid of things, moving boxes of books and piles of stuff into the “sell” section of the garage. Which is taking over the garage, and soon will threaten the entire world.

I’m only keeping what I love and cherish, what I need, and what will fit in one bedroom. Because at this point, I may end up in a friend’s spare room for a while and I’m so grateful that I won’t be sleeping in my car which I was afraid would happen.  

So – I’m keeping my bed, my TV, and my Terry Prachett books. My sewing machine, fabric, yarn, and computer are non-negotable keepers. Pretty much everything else is being evaluated. Do I like it enough to move it? Is it useful? Is it small enough to fit it in one room with the bed?

If I were moving straight into another apartment, I would probably take everything. But I don’t know if I am going into an apartment, or my friend’s bedroom, or moving out of state. The not-knowing is driving me nuts, even though it is my own doing – just make a decision already!

But I’m choosing to use this as an opportunity to purge with a capital P. How many vases does one woman need? A woman who does not often get flowers from admirers and by “often” I mean “never”? Not a zillion, that’s for sure. I only get flowers when I buy them for myself, and because of the four-footed demons I live with and also my finances, I haven’t bought myself flowers in a very very long time. I used to get myself daises – they are cheerful and inexpensive and they last a long time. Perhaps I will do that again after I move.

The other day I was upstairs doing something at work – probably filing, I have such a glamorous job – and when I came back to my desk there was a vase of lovely flowers and also three helium balloons. One of the balloons said “Happy Anniversary!” I was very surprised and also rediculously pleased because I just recently had my one-year anniversary at work, and I thought one of my bosses had sent me flowers.

But there wasn’t a card, and I was puzzled by that and I kind of knew they weren’t for me. I moved the vase – which was blocking my work space – and got back to work. And about 15 minutes later, one of my coworkers came into my office and picked up  the vase and asked why I had moved her flowers and “did you think someone had sent you anniversary flowers?”

Oh, I don’t know. They were sitting on MY desk.

She had put them there for some reason she did not explain – because my desk is just a waystation for random items that people need to set down for a few minutes? – and then come back to collect them as she left the building for the day. At 2 p.m., but who am I to notice such things?

It was stupid, but it hurt that she was so dismissive of the possibility that I could receive anniversary flowers. I could have had a torrid but brief love affair with a man romantic enough to send me flowers every year on the day we had met. It could have been the anniversary date of my Pulitzer Prize. It could have been the anniversary of my sex-change operation. How would she know? This casually cruel remark of hers cut me too deep. I know I’m tender right now – what with my whole life going up in flames and not knowing where I’m going to live or if I can keep my cats or see my son regularly, or if I’ll get hauled off to debtor’s prison at any moment. But still – what is wrong with people being just civil to each other? Especially someone who is using  my desk as their dumping station? But I digress again.

And then, on November 10th, I was wondering all day why the date seemed significant. Important work deadline? No. Family birthday? No. Historic milestone? Nope.

And then I remembered.

Twenty-five years ago, I married the father-to-be of my child on November 10th. Weird to think that it could have been my silver wedding anniversary. Perhaps in an alternate reality, it was. Perhaps in that other universe, we happily toasted each other and our lives together and made plans for the next twenty-five years of our lives together, and our son and his younger siblings rolled their eyes but secretly enjoyed seeing mom and dad be all romantic together.

And for a bit, I was sad that we all aren’t living in that reality. And if that isn’t a Black Valentine story, Marin, I don’t know what is.

See? I have anniversaries.

Weird, science fiction alternate-universe anniversaries.

But anniversaries nonetheless.

So there.