Still Here... Really

I'm still here.

Work is chaos. Life is stressful, but getting better. I'm feeling down and out, but this too shall pass.

Contemplating the future of Milk-Induced Coma. Love my blog- my other baby in a way- but here I am the Milk Maid, sans milk for the first time in over 3 years and no immediate plans of revamping the breast milk brigade. Desire, yes. Practical, no.

On a positive note I have starting writing a book. Ten whole chapters so far! It's kind of in the style of how MIC (milk-induced coma) used to be- funny, witty, sarcastic, fast paced, and utterly silly. Hopefully I can keep the motivation to finish the book and then work on getting published.

All around me there are new blogs to represent new beginnings and different directions and change. I'm feeling a little left out of the swirl, but I just don't have the drive any more. In so many ways I have given up on myself. The past year, two years, more- it's been a struggle to cope and survive. Today I am just trying to make it through until tomorrow and then the next day and then perhaps the next.

I'm not alone, but I'm lonely. I miss things I still have because of the fear they will leave me like every other thing in this world seems to have done.

I miss each and every single one of you in blog-land. I've been terrible at keeping up with the friends I have made over the past 3 years and it's no one's fault but my own. I apologise because you all mean more to me than you can ever know. Again, I'm a failure.

Hide-Y Ho Neighbors!

Hello all- I've been quite sparse. I've finished clinicals and MISS the FUCK out of my peeps at super huge clinic spot. I felt all bLaH last Friday- too blah for a mish-mash even, so I've kinda ducked low and been holding a lot of stuff in.

Some "hey we have a time line now" kind of stuff has been happening on the Let's Have Another Baby front- we're looking into January or February of 2009 if you were hanging on the edge of your seats... like all ONE of you.

Faith started 5th grade recently- and she loves it tremendously! The teacher is a young skinny preppy peppy pep-squadish type, but I will resist the urge to annihilate her with a bazooka.

I got a new cat Saturday night. Jef was already against the cat, but I went against him with the mantra of "it's easier to ask forgiveness than permission"! The cat's name, who is a loverly long haired black furred male sans nads type, was Jellybean. I said Ix Nay on the AmeNay and changed it to Mungojerrie (wiki this!). Mungo J is an outside kinda guy, so as soon as he graces us with his presence again I will feature him!

--The Milk Maid says tis better to win by admitting your sins that to lose with a halo.

Best Buy

Saturday Dookerific Ramblings

Some days it amazes me how great I feel, but most days are like today. Nothing to work towards. No direction. No momentum. No give a shit.

I don't like being bitter. I don't like the cynicism. I don't like who I am or how I feel about it all.

But nonetheless I'm pretty much stuck with me.

I've tried not to keep it all so bottled up or hold it in or fuel the fire of a grudge, but I can't let any of it go as of late.

I love Jef being home, but some days I wonder if he still sees the girl he married.

I enjoy the freedom to gain an education, but I wonder if all my hard work, sleepless nights, and effort will amount to any kind of decent pay check or feeling of self worth.

I love my friends, but I wonder how easy it is for them to "take their ball and go home" in my life- so to speak.

I love the fact that I have decent people reading skills, but I dread the paranoia that brings my way when I'm feeling low.

I love my blog, but I wonder some days if anyone out there loves what I do here.

Don't worry, loyal readers (if there are any). You can't shut me up. I'll be here babbling on and on until someone pulls the plug.

--The Milk Maid listens to the sound of silence.

anyone for Mac memory ?

About As Deep As I Get

I'm feeling better today. I'm feeling normal at least. I could go into a long, wild dissection of "normal" at this point, but I just don't have it in me today.

What I do have in me today is a list of events I've compiled that make me do what I did Saturday (that whole shoe-dropping melt-down thing).

Let's start on Friday night: I was tired, I didn't want to go anywhere after my trip to see Konetta (which wasn't a bad session at all). I needed a shower, I felt ookie, and I was- as previously mentioned- tired. Jef and I had decided earlier to go eat somewhere. I had changed my mind on that idea by this point, plus Ava was bathed and in jammies. Jef didn't get my memo on this. So- we loaded up the family truckster and went to dinner. The food turned out good, the company was great and I ended up enjoying myself. We came home and went to bed. I was exhausted at this point.

Saturday morning: Ava slept until 8:30 which is great! I could have used a little more shut eye, but all was well when I got up. Mostly. I had that nagging almost achy feeling- like I was getting a cold, but with no cold-like symptoms.

I'd like to insert here the word aura. In med-term speak it basically means a premonitory feeling of awareness (usually of a seizure). People who have a history of seizures can usually learn to spot the signs and tell someone right before the seizure happens. Looking back, what I was feeling when I woke up Saturday was an aura of sorts. A premonition of mood change if you will.

I've been paying attention to what throws me into severe shifts of mood, and I have noticed a distinct pattern. When I feel that tired, cranky, crispy, achy nagging feeling then I really need to shied myself from outside sources (or inside sources) that can be my trigger.

What was the trigger on Saturday? The trigger that started that downhill run that landed me in my bathroom floor in tears, unable to think clearly (except for one very clear voice that said You have to get out of this house NOW!).

If I tell you what my trigger was you will either (a) laugh, or (b) suggest I seek professional therapy- lots of it and in a timely manner.

I have no trouble with therapy. I probably need to be on some kind of drug like vitamin Z or L. I have been in the past, and my only problems with the meds are how complacent I feel. I do Ho-Hum worse than I do Looney. Plus there is that whole distrust of docs that I have... But that is another phobia for another day.

Anyways, as soon as I left the house (which took 3 return trips to get things I'd forgotten- like my wallet, my cell phone, and laundry I was going to take to the cleaners) I was fine. It was me and Ava on the road to adventure, albeit mundane adventure. We ran errands, we did chores, we even hit the flea market. And when the day's running was through and we headed back to the humble abode I was completely fine. Still tired, but 98% improved from the morning.

So- hormonal? Stress-induced? Did Konetta free up toxins in my body during the massage and reflexology session that were too much to take all at once? Past demons knocking on my door for a house call? All of that? Something different?

Ready your Dr. Google fingers and self-diagnose at will.

--The Milk Maid says she's deep like a pond today.
alarm system monitoring

Because it's my nature. And because it isn't.

For the past week, maybe a little longer than that, I've been feeling particularly... um... how do I say this and not scare the bee-gees out of everyone?

Cheerful? Sunny? Bright, verdent, full of life? Pizzazzy, complete with heel-kick?

I know- it's scary. Where's the snark, Milk Maid? Where's the venom? Has no one been there to piss in your cereal every morning? Awww- poor Milk Maid.

I'm not sure what the change is. I'm not sure what has even brought it all about. I am pretty sure that I don't want to over-analyze it because that would probably pull the plug on my Tub-O-Cheer and I'd go whooshing down the drain (and B would have to come fish me out with a pipe snake).

I was driving down the road this morning (ok, I admit- yesterday morning too. And Monday.) and I was happy. Downright annoyingly jazz-hands peppy. I was thinking about LOVE and BIG J and BABIES and SCHOOL and GOOSHY ROMANCE and VACATIONS and all the while I was singing songs...

You see where this is going? And it's not even Vitamin Z induced. No, I wasn't drinking either (although it was 5 o'clock somewhere).

You ask, "Maid of the Milk, what brought about this change? Did your bitch shoes get too tight?"

I'm still me, rest assured. Because pepper-specked in between those warm fuzzies of puppies and kitties and love and junk was this voice:

Waiting for the other shoe to drop... Aren't you Milk Maid?

Whew-- for a second there, I thought I'd been body-snatched and replaced with a Pod Person.

--The Milk Maid says whatever she wants, then feels all giddy about it.
bathroom faucets

They Are Runnin' 2 A Day Thru Blogtown...

I hate to blog twice in one day (ok, well maybe not hate).

I just have this heaviness in my heart that wont stop, and I guess I'm gonna dump it here:

Jef's sister is coming to get the Jeep this afternoon... Jef's dad decided that he needed the money more than Jef needed the memories of Ronny, so he's taking it back. I wont go into details, but the whole situation really sucks. It hurts my very soul to know that something that meant so much to Ronny, and therefore meant so much to Jef, will be gone shortly and it's all about the almighty dollar. Everything is fleeting. Everything is transient.

If course that flails me into the reality that so many women- women I know and love- have lost so much more than a silly car. And of course that makes me feel guilt. Guilt for having two great, happy, healthy children. Guilt for getting frustrated when said children break the rules or cry for no reason or break things. Frustrated for the simple fact that there isn't a damn thing I can do to FIX any of these women's misgivings.

Short of doing something like this:

I came into the kitchen yesterday morning as I was readying Faith for school and saw a glass of water on the counter that Jef had drank part of before leaving for work. The ice wasn't yet melted. Panic... I immediately called him to make sure he was alright. Of course he was, and he thought I was a wiener for calling and sounding so worried. All I could imagine, as I watched the little ice cubes float around in the water in the glass in the counter was what if he's gone? Here sits something that has very little meaning, but it will have survived long after he could have been taken from me.

It's all very fleeting, isn't it?

Dr. 9021-OH Whatever!

Warning: Strong language ahead. If you don't like it, lump it-- and read something else. This is a long damn ramble... don't get lost...

I don't know WHY the hell I watch Dr. 9021-OH I'M SO VAIN!

It just pisses me off, let me assure you. I look at perfect women complaining that their size zero body isn't a double zero, that their size D tits aren't a DD, and that their labia minorus isn't 1cm shorter than it is now. What the hell people?

If any of you remember my rant on The Dress then you will be pleased to know that- officially- I can fit into and zip The Dress completely. It's no matter really as I have gained 6 MOTHER FUCKING pounds since deciding to diet. Yes, six. And yes, somehow though some strange and probably cruel reason I still got into The Dress today. Only after shopping for a new dress and breaking out in hives that 4 benadryl wouldn't cure. That's a whole other rant though.

Picture this: Sicily, 1937.

Nope- wait, wrong story line and plot. Picture this: My bedroom with Big J fast asleep (aka vodka-induced coma) and me, flipping channels. Dr, 9021-Oh whatthefuck is on. One of the great docs is fixing a F to M transvestite. I have the deepest respect for someone who is gender-confused or whatever the proper term for that is (which is escaping me momentarily). I was intrigued until (dundundun) the "type-cast skinny bitch that should be shot instead of plastic-surgeried" shows up.

Instead of ranting and raving like normal, I lose it. I go through 12 different scenarios in my mind. If she was chubby like me would her vuh-jay-jay matter so much? Would one freakin centimeter of extra lippage be such a fucking ordeal? What if she was a size 12 (except for her hideous, terrible, no-good stomach that flopped and flipped in every direction). Oh wait-- a size 12 huh? Let's just shoot her now- fat chicks are bad for ratings!

I am a size 12-14. Minus my huge enormus gigantic floppy terrible no good stomach. But I EARNED that stomach. That's 2 babies worth of flab people. Some people only wish. And that makes my heart hurt even worse. I'd be a size 4,000 if everyone I knew could be instantly blessed with a baby. It just goes so much deeper than size and weight for me though...

No, I'm not a hideous monster of a blob. But I feel like one as of late. Sure, there are people out there who weigh more than I do- which I admit is closer to 200lbs that I want to be. Try 195 on for size. Even at 5'8 I'm one the bad end of the BMI scale. I see ME as a cow. Other people- no. I can see them for who they are. Which for the most part is a beautiful, deserving person. But not me...

I'm tired of no matter what I look like not being enough for whomever. Jef says he loves me, no matter what size I am. I believe it. I just have a hard time loving myself. I remember what I used to be, how it used to feel to dance and wear tight jeans and feel confident. Not that I ever felt any confidence when I was half the size I am now, mind you, except for the occasional spurt when I visited my fantasy world.

My father nick-named me The Moose some time in my high school life. I was tall enough and strong enough to run over any poor, pitiful fool that stood between me and a home run, a goal, a basket, etc. I was a hurricane. That was so long ago.

My mother always made sure to buy me XL size shirts. Even when I was 130 lbs of muscle and could bench press 200lbs and leg press 450 or more. Because I was "big". At a size 8. And she was a what- an 18-20 then?

I wear a goddam large NOW.

Mother never hesitated to remind me that I "wasn't her child". I was adopted. From the beginning I felt like I was different. Dirty. Not accepted. Born of sin. I am the black sheep of the family. I stand nearly a foot taller than anyone in my family (all but one cousin) and was the natural blonde at birth (not so much now, but then!) surrounded by the jet-black coiffures of the fam-damily it was easy to feel as though I was the black sheep. Obviously, I was the different one. I could be picked out from 1,000 meters. Sniper bait.

We would vacation in Daytona every summer. The condo we rented was very strict with its rental property, and the place could only be sublet to a direct relative- daughter or son, with the consent of the realty company. My cousin Teresa would pose as my mom's daughter so her family could rent the place for a week. She is 16 years older than me. I was the only one questioned as a "fraud" by the realty company. "Why is SHE with you?" they'd ask. My mother would scoff, "She's our other daughter".

I had a plan for this post- a direction to begin with, but now it has seemed to grow like kudzu... wild and where it will.

Looking back to earlier in my day, I sat in the kitchen floor and cried. I sobbed for all the things in my life that are unknown. Baby #3, Big J's health, my parents, Faith's grades, my sanity, whatever else may come tomorrow. I also cried for the things that have been, but are now long gone.

I collapsed into a heap of need. As my body bobbed up and down with raw emotion a small whimper broke into my previously impenetrable space. I looked up. Ava stood before me. Her lips were pursed in a pensive pout. Her face seemed to say, "What's wrong mommy?".

I wiped my tears with my sleeves. I held my arms out for her. She walked towards me and jumped into my lap, putting her tiny arms around my neck. I squeezed her ever so close, never wanting to let go. She took her right hand and patted my shoulder gently as she dug her head deeper and deeper into my neck.

A tiny, "Ahhh" whispered from her mouth.

"I love you Ava. Thank you for taking care of mommy when no one else is here to understand."

How can I hate myself when I have her?

Mixed Bag

I woke up shouting my mantra of "It's gonna be a better day, dammit!".

I went to the mall with my mom and got a makeover and nearly $300 worth of new makeup and skin care courtesy of mom as an early x-mas gift.

I look fabulous. Shiney eye makeup, glowing skin from a new radiant foundation. I have cheek bones too!

But I still feel like shit.

I am having pangs of guilt over leaving Ava for Jef's holiday party. At the same time I am feeling like a complete idiot for feeling guilty. I can't win this fight- I'm a loser either way I turn. It's not like it's a big deal to let a 15 month old spend the night with her grandparents. But what if...

Oh save me from the what ifs!

I went to the mail box a bit ago, because after yesterday I completely forgot that mundane chore. What do I find?... A chronic kidney disease eating guide for the holidays addressed to Big J. Knowing better, I read it anyway. Look out below as I plummet to those depths again.

It definitely doesn't pay for me to wear makeup. Tears always smear the mascara.

I'm tired of being in This Place that I keep coming back to. It feels like every hope and dream and plan we have had together gets crushed in This Place. I have been really good at staying away from the doldrums. I actually thought to myself last week, "Hey self- you have been upbeat an in control of yourself lately- Good job!!"

And that was all the permission my mind needed to go berserk again.

--The Milk Maid is going to sulk in a corner for a while.

At least I have a neat closed captioning deal to insert here.

Wednesday

Today is better than yesterday. I'm bucking up and moving forward.

All that ambition and motivation I had for school last week has gone in two very different directions since yesterday:

1) I have doubled, quadrupled, or even quintupled my eagerness to start school and find a nice cushie phlebotomy job. I also want to add an injectables class to my schedule. I should be a freakin' RN, but I don't have that kind of time. Well, time is not so much the issue as usable brain space and patience and ambition, and oh yeah- intelligence.

2) I wish I hadn't signed up for school. Yes, I know what I just said not 2 sentences ago. But here's the logic (if you want to call it that): If I hadn't of signed up for school the whole course of destiny could have been changed. None of yesterday might have ever happened!! If I hadn't washed my hands yesterday morning then everything could have changed too. Ok, the original point I think I was making is: humm- I don't know what it was.

Anyways... I can almost see today. I cried to the point yesterday that my eyes were about 70% swollen shut. If you've never done that kind of crying, might I suggest you don't try it. I wont be wearing eyeliner anytime soon. Not that I would have any way, but you know what I mean.

Jef was worried that I'd already written him off as a dead man. Of course I hadn't, but I can understand that fear. He should know by now that I don't give up on anything that easily. I am the dork who's standing in the freezing rain when her team is down 20 to nothing in the 9th inning still cheering like mad. And I don't even like baseball that much.

Imagine what I will do for my best friend.

--The Milk Maid is best served cold.