Angels and Demons

Despite my broken picker when it comes to men, I have excellent taste in friends. (Actually, all but a couple of the men I have dated turned into wonderful friends. My mother would say that I am a good person and therefore attract good people, but she is my mother and therefore biased.

Nevertheless, I am blessed with a life full of wonderful people.

One of them, I call wife.

Ours is connection brought on by a love of all things Muppets and 80's. Ok most things 80's. It has grown into the kind of friendship most people don't get to enjoy as adults. We giggle, we laugh, we spend far too much time phoning and texting each other. It's like being in Jr High. With cars. And a distinct lack of parental guidance. And booze.

The definition of a Derby wife as written by the ladies who developed the concept is a lot longer than I care to describe here. there are things on the list that I hope Wifey never has to deal with. Mostly, jail time. And puking. I can't guarantee that there won't be puking if I keep drinking like I drank last night. ahem. there are things on the list that she has dealt with.

Wifey accompanied me to the hospital the other night. Truth be told, I likely wouldn't have gone if she hadn't gone with me.

I sprained my knee in the February bout. I didn't realize I was even hurt until I had pain later. It took over a month for me to ask my chiropractor about it. I followed his instructions and forced myself to skate light for awhile. For me, skating light means no falling drills or anything that might knock me over. then, one night, I did a turn that sent me to the floor. It didn't hurt my knee as badly as it hurt my head when IT hit the floor. I saw stars. I was dingier than usual after that. Not a good sign but I (obviously) survived. And stopped doing drills and just skated in circles for a few weeks.

It's now crunch time for our next Bout. (JUNE 27th!) My team, the Bang Bang Betties is skating against Wifey's team the Mafia Mollies. I hit the training hard. If I want to be in shape for bouting, I can't hold back. It's the way I am made. I reinjured the ankle, but skated anyway. At least, the knee was getting better.

Until Wednesday night when I tripped over Faithtality and went down hard. My knee made a bad noise and I breathed through it. it hurt bad enough that I cried. They helped me take off my skates and pad and led me off the rink. Ice was applied, as was laughter. I am greatful for Faith's stories as they kept me laughing when I wanted to cry. I don't like crying. I am NOT a pretty crier. Seriously.

When I mentioned that my toes were feeling a little numb, Wifey decided that it was time to go to the ER.

Hot Doctors make it all worthwhile. Note my phone. the texting and twittering never stopped.

Neither did the laughter and the fun. Or the making fun which is why we are indeed going to hell. But we will be in good company. And I will consider myself blessed, even in hellto have her company.

I'm sprained again. With a vicodin prescription that I haven't filled yet although people keep asking me for one. (NO) (BTW, not impressed with the vicodin. it wired me up and then I couldn't sleep. And while my knee wasn't hurting, the ankle still was. What kind of pain pill only cuts one pain-spot?) I don't know if I will be able to bout; I don't want to injure myself further. And it's gonna suck to watch my team skate without me. i suppose it doesn't hurt to pray for fast healing. But I am already blessed in so many ways...

Still truckin'

I met a man the other night. A single man. An interested man.

It's a good thing, this. I am interested too. Torn between old habits and new possibilities, but interested. He's attractive, but not SO attractive that I am afraid to talk to him. THAT is also a good thing. Divorced, of course, as most men around here are, with 4 kids that live in another state. (it's possible that I misheard the other state thing. 4 kids came through loud and clear) He was introduced to me by a mutual friend who spent the whole evening going back and forth between the two of us getting the scoop on what we think of each other and passing along whatever information she thought important. I thought it was funny and plan to get to know him on my own and make my own opinions. I think she was enjoying the job of matchmaker.

Old habits, unfortunately, keep whispering CNR in my ear. But the truth of that matter is that we are friends and he's either not really interested in me that way or he just has too many other things going on to take on a woman too. I respect either situation. I have a tendancy to wait, when I think there is some sliver of a chance at a future, and I don't want to do that again. I've spent too many years waiting. I also tend to get hurt when whatever man I have been waiting for walks through the proverbial door with a woman on his arm and it isn't me. I don't know what the future has in store.

Which means I have to do what is right for me right now. Because there's a surprise around every corner and I am looking forward to getting together Friday after next with BBQ Man (who needs a different name, but that in time MAYBE). You just never know.

on lockdown

once again, there are things I want to say, that I would like to discuss but I can't. It's driving me crazy. The last thing of this sort never turned into anything, but it still might. 

Today, one thing has nothing to do with me but I am somehow involved, the other, everything to do with me. It may turn into a good thing, it may not. Crossroads where I have to be silent drive me crazy, but without the anonymous status I enjoyed when I began writing here, I have to keep it. 

My wife is out of cell phone range. sigh.

Summertime, and the living is easy...

Every so often, someone asks me what my favorite season is. After thinking about it for a moment, I will generally tell that person (or facebook quiz) that I don't have one. that I like them all for different reasons.

Fall for the crisp air and abundance of pumpkin and spice. Halloween and leaves.

Winter for the weather. in SD it would get chilly and rain. In Reno I have snow. not a lot of snow, but I have learned to love watching it swirl like little ghosties across the road. Impromptu snowball fights, anow angels, hot chocolate.

In the Spring, the flowers bloom. Things seem to come to life. I get to daydream about planting a garden and watch my daffodiles come up. Suddenly, a sweatshirt is warm enough and I can feel the sunshine on my skin.

This morning, though, I realized that Summer is when I come to life. Each day I can look forward to hours by the pool. tubing down the river. sitting out drinking lemonade and talking shit with my friends. The puppybutt and I can be at the park until 7 or 8 and still have light. I wake up each morning to the sunlight on my face, gaze at the tree outside my bedroom window and pretend just for a moment that I live in a treehouse. Each day feels full of the promise of fun. There is plenty of time to work and play. The garden I planted in the spring is starting to bloom and I know that I will soon have peas to shell on the porch. Then squash to grill and finally pumpkins to carve as we head back into fall. I feel energetic and excited to meet the world. I can't wait to sit minipool-side and eat popsicles. To curl up and nap on the concrete with my dog. Or on the couch with wifey's dog; which is how the three of us spent many a summer afternoon last summer. There's talk of camping at the lake. Strawberries, blackberries, raspberries, cherries. Homemade ice cream and BBQ'd ribs.

Today, I think Summer is my favorite. I may change my mind when Autumn comes.

Slam!

Nevada is a funny place. Not just the people, but the weather too. We appear to have slammed directly from winter into summer. hot, sticky, summer. Which is great! I bought a pool! I started a tan!

But it hit a little faster than I expected so I am sweating while I pull off the three quilts, the fleece farting dragon blanket, and the DOWN COMFORTER. As I rip off the flannel sheets in lieu of nice cold Egyptian cotton. (I have ONE set. they are glorious. But I might put on the blue ones instead)

With my luck, it will likely snow on Memorial Day.

Happy HNT-Cougar Edition

For the record, I'm over it. yesterday. Now I think it's funny.

Kitty update

I called. He's adoptable. I tried to arrange to foster him but have not heard back. We will see. i still have his file number.

On Cougars and Kittens

No woman wants o think she's getting old. I was 27 when T told me I was "No Spring Chicken" (as he broke my heart) but at the time I was able to shake it off. Three years later, I freaked out about turning 30.  I got over that too. I'll be 32 this year. I'm ok with that. I'm in better shape than I was in high school (not counting my freshman swim season) I only weigh 5 pounds more than I did when I graduated. I am, understandably, proud of where I'm at physically. 

The other night though, I was met with a rather harsh reality. I'm getting older. It hit me like a slap in the face and I'm not really sure what to do about it other than remind myself that in a few days, I'll be laughing about how it ever bothered me.

They called me a Cougar.

A blow to the ego, it was, and the first person who said it was referring to the leopard print trim on my itty bitty dress. But Cougar. Typically an older woman who chases around after much younger men. I think of women in their 40's. MID 40's, not early thirties. Older women hitting on men in their early thirties and twenties. It's not just a noun. It's a verb. A man can be Cougared. I don't hit on men, I only embarrass myself.

Of course, the same fella that said it also called me "easy" a couple of hours later (I've been spreading THAT rumor for years.  but it's not quite as funny when a stranger says it) and although he was playing, I had to walk away. Laughing, but I still wandered off. He had trouble written across his face. My picker isn't THAT broken.

I don't have a picture of the dress. Yet.

Today, there was kitty drama. One was stuck up under one of the shipping trailers. We pulled it out and discovered that he had a crushed paw and a gaping wound. I named him Lefty and took him to animal control since he was a stray and I can't afford the surgeries he will need. He can't have been more than 8 weeks old. We have no idea how long he was under that trailer. I have his case number. I will be calling. I don't need another animal. But he needs a home. And I have a soft spot for broken boys  three legged critters. I worry though. I worry that they will put him down. After all, they don't really have the funds to fix every broken kitty that comes in. And while I think the paw will likely have to be amputated, there is still recovery, antibiotics, the cost of putting him under. I also don't know what else was wrong with him other than the fact he was REALLY dirty. You would be too if you travelled under you car. 

Remember that guy?

I walked into the bar last night after our bout, and was pulled aside by Wifey. She informed me that the fellow behind the bar was indeed B's ex wife's evil ex boyfriend. 

Shit. I don't want this man to know who I am and he already asked Wifey her name and eliminated her from his list. MY name tag didn't have my name on it so I thought I could sail through the night undetected.

Silly Monster.

I had to give him my card when I ordered my drink. Then the girls put me at the Mic to promote our next bout since I knew when it was and I was the least drunk. And I introduced myself, of course. (Actually, I think I might have been shouting into the mic. Bad. I know better.  Anyway...)

Vindictive had asked me what I would do. She offered to back me up if I needed it. I sent a text to B letting him know and he warned me to be careful. I promised both that above all else, I would be a lady. 

I didn't have to worry about it. Apparently, he's damn scared of me (as he should be) and every time I walked up to the bar, he booked it the other way. The other bartender was more than happy to get my drinks, and honestly, his were tastier; if rum and coke can be tastier. Remind me to stick with SoCo and Seven. .  I ignored him and plan to do just that anytime he happens to work one of our parties. I have nothing to say and no kindness for him beyond what I would give to anyone serving my drinks. He has a job to do, and I respect that.

Sometimes, it's kind of fun to be a psycho bitch.

On another subject... or two...

I have spent the better part of my weekend cleaning house. Vacuuming nooks and crannies, making it home again. Since the puppybutt tends to make  mess out of everything while I am at work, it has become extra difficult to keep it clean. Add to that my unbalanced lifestyle, and it's amazing that the house hasn't fallen in upon itself. 

I'm going to change that. It's a big part of my attitude adjustment. I've been spending too much time (again) worrying about boys and focusing on derby that all the other things that are important to me have fallen to the wayside. I think I have mentioned this recently. As many times as I have to say it in order to fix it is what it will take. I'm thinking that I need to evaluate how I spend my time and make sure that I am spending reasonably equal time on the things that are important. Like making sure my kitchen is clean and my laundry done. Spending less time on the computer and more time making things. I need to get me back on track. 

Meanwhile, I had an interesting conversation with a friend of mine last night. She believes that our society is too dangerous to allow children to run about the way we did when we were children.

I don't agree. I think that the world was just as dangerous then. Pedophiles, drug dealers, speeding cars all existed back then, but we still ran fairly free. We knew our boundaries, we knew when to get home. We might have Watchdog.org now to tell us where the sexual offenders are lurking, but that doesn't mean that they weren't in the neighborhoods we grew up in. 

I think as a society we have become overprotective in many ways, and underprotective in others. I agree that sites like MySpace and Facebook offer a whole new dimension to children's lives, but I also think that it should be up to parents to monitor what children do on the net. Block those sites (My cousin cannot email anyone not on her safe list) watch what's going on during homework time. Teach them that not everyone online is safe just as we were taught not to get into strange vans or take candy from strangers. 

I think we do children a great disservice by locking them in the house for their own safety. I don't think I would be the person I am today without memories of forts among the trees and hours spent riding my bike up and down the street. Of jump rope on the sidewalk and walks to and from school. 

Perhaps I will change my tune as my niece grows older or if I should have children of my own. But I hope not. How can a kid grow without sunlight and fresh air?

Taking a deep breath

And working on an attitude adjustment.

I need one. 

But, what if I go sleeveless?

I wear my heart on my sleeve. Or, at the very least, don't own a poker face. Except maybe sometimes when it comes to men. Then I am an actress like no other. What was it E said to me once? Stoic. I had to look it up.

I hail from the philosophy of, if I'm hanging out with you, I like you. (Also if I bake you cookies and such. see below) But actually SAYING anything about it? that borders on terror.

I'm pretty sure that the fear of coming out of the "I like you" closet stems from 7th or 8th grade when I dropped the note on Evan's desk. Let's hop into the way back machine for a bit, shall we?

It must have been 8th grade because I was just starting to become aware of how other people percieved me. I started reading YM magazine (my sister subscribed). I made a new friend. Then three. Taking my total up to 4. (one fell off when she found a new clique) I read that boys liked long nails, so I stopped chewing mine into ragged stumps. I read that if you liked a boy, you should tell him.

I saw Evan for the first time in 7th grade. We had PE together. He was cute. Big blue eyes and a nice smile. I was not a blip on his radar. I always did get along better with the boys so in PE, they were the ones I hung with. Evan and I had a mutual friend, Eric (Eric is now a commercial Airline pilot with kids of his own!) I got to know Eric because I kept up with the boys when we ran the mile. I think I had an 8 minute mile back then. You know, before my boobs grew.

By eighth grade, I still had my crush. And on the advice of YM Magazine, I wrote Evan a note. I wish I had a copy of it. It would be a facinating read almost 20 years later.

It could have been worse. The note could have made its way across the school. I could have been made fun of, he could have been mean. Instead, he ignored it. But I'm pretty sure Eric told me he didn't like me back. At the very least I never heard whether anyone was making fun of me, if I did, I have forgotten.

It doesn't take a whole lot to send me back into hiding. It was years before I approached another boy, preferring to sit back and hope they noticed me instead. Sometimes, I would reach out only to get slapped down.

Even now, I fear that rejection. When it comes to men, I'm still a wallflower in many ways. I tend to try and be a friend first and interested second so that if the man in question isn't interested, then I haven't made a complete fool of myself.

What is the point of all this? I'm at that crossroads again. Of needing to know what is going on and trying so hard to build up the courage to ask, regardless of the consequences. I'm at a point where I'm getting mixed signals and very likely giving them too. Because I'm hiding behind a mask of indifference and I don't know how to stop.

I watched him dance

a vendor came into my office a little bit ago. My office is in the warehouse approximately half way between the East and West walls. the Fish department is directly behind and takes up the other half to the East. I am in a small modular.

A vendor came up a bit ago and popped his head in my door. He has been working on the HVAC system in Fish.

"there has to be a closer bathroom than the one across the building to where I have been working!" Said he.

"Um, there's one in the fish offices"

I gave him approximate directions. As I started explaining, he started dancing.

"Ok! gotta Go!"

He headed back to the Fish department.

I hope he made it...

I don't think I've ever seen a 50 some odd year old man do the peepee dance before. Especially at work...

I don't get it

The topic of conversation the other night turned to my love life and the frequency in which thing simply don't work out.

My friend Krystal said something that confused me greatly, not because it didn't make sense, but because I don't understand why it does.

"You", she said to me, "Might be too nice."

Which underlined my sister Wendy's comment once at a club when she said that I need to learn how to be a bitch. I spent the rest of the evening alternately practicing my emotionless bitch look and giggling at the absurdity of it. It must have worked because I managed to lure a fella about my age away from my little sister (she thanked me for it) on the dance floor where I proceeded to boogie and he played the air flute. Sure enough, once his fingers were tired, he politely invited me to the bathroom. I replied that I just went but that it was right over there.

I um; never saw him again. It wasn't until later that I realized what he was up to.  

I digress.

Apparently, I am too nice. If I want to keep a man interested, I need to be mean to him. 

It looks like I'm gonna live a pretty lonely life. I consider it a perk for any man I date to enjoy my goodies. I certainly can't eat all those cookies by myself (a portion goes to my wife, of course).  I enjoy being helpful. And I'm not going to sit at home alone so that I don't appear to be too available. If I'm going, he's invited. If I'm staying, well, he's invited to do that too. Cooking? Eat! I like to buy presents. I like to treat to dinner. I once volunteered to help a guy clean so I could spend time with him. Er... That was a mistake, but he was weird anyway. It's better that it didn't work out. 

I think he's the one, actually, that taught me that if I am mean to someone, it means I don't want to be around him. We fought all the time about really stupid stuff. I try not to be overwhelming, and I curb many of my nicey-nice temptations but when I catch myself being less than kind, even in my head, it tells me it's time to move on. If I haven't already been declared a "cool chick" and a "really great friend", I start plotting my exit. 

How am I supposed to reconcile the urge to be nice with the apparent dating requirement of being mean? Suppressing my nature hides who I really am and um, isn't that false advertising? I can hear it now...

"I can't date you anymore. I thought you were a bitch but you're actually nice. I just can't hang. I mean, you're a really cool chick and a great friend, but I'm looking for someone who will treat me like dirt..."

Oh wait. I think that may have already happened. Just not in those words.

So it looks like transient relations for me. At least until I find a nice guy who's had enough of the bitches.

S'allright I got plenty of yardwork to do, books to read, and yarn to spin.

A title can't explain it

I was sitting in between the two men having the following conversation today. They were standing up. As a rarity, I am using real names. Monikers just won't work this time.

Glen: Jason! Zip up your zipper!

Jason: Glen!

Glen: What?

Jason: You too!

Me: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA...gasp...HAHAHAHAHAHAHA wait... (looks down) Ok. I just had to check.

it still makes me giggle. things have gotten far too serious around here.

I start to worry

I haven't heard from my dad since right around Christmas when he called to get the low down on my darling niece. 

I was happy to hear that he and his girlfriend were finally living in a house, not on the street and that he was not only working, but clean and sober. 

Generally, my father is but a fleeting thought on my horizon. Usually, I have some forewarning that he's going to come back into my world whether it's to check in or to call asking for money (which he hasn't done in a little over a year since I had to tell him no, that I was also unemployed)  The forewarning usually comes in the form of little signs. A copy of Leroy and Stitch (A sequel to Lilo and Stitch where Stitch's evil brother Leroy comes to wreak havoc) at WalMart for example, sent me directly to my cell phone with a warning to my Seester, "he's going to pop up again"

It's been a couple of years since the major dramas but it's hard for me to forget the past and the hurts. I'll never forget that I love him.

Last week it was the odor of cigarettes and faint cologne at work. One of my coworkers, at that moment, smelled just like Daddy. 

Yesterday it was a friend who missed seeing his son. 

It brought back all the late visits. Of sitting by the window waiting for him to show. Of getting a call from him that he wanted to visit before his six months home was over. That he was leaving the next week and he wanted to see us before he went. Of the time I asked to go fishing with him and he turned me down. Or the time I knocked on his door only to hear him shush his friends inside. The door never opened. He had security cameras. He knew who it was. 

I really do try to forgive him all the things. I haven't seen him in over a year and I dreaded that Christmas day. I didn't want to go. I WANT to want a relationship with him. Except that I have worried and stressed over him for so many years that I dread picking up the phone when he calls. 

Despite the fact that he feels that way, I know Daddy isn't forever. I dread that call most of all. I know he isn't in good health. The years of hard living have taken their toll. I know I should call. Be better about keeping in touch even if only to make myself feel better later, but... But. Always a but. It's so much easier to live in my little world 500 miles from his and pretend that he will be there when I am ready for him to be there. 

I try to focus on the positive. Hours spent at the Swap Meet. How he used to take me treasure hunting on the cliffs. Lobster fishing off the OB Pier. Holding on to his powerful shoulders as he swam with me around the pool. 

There have been too many little indicators. He will be popping up in my world again. I will pray that it's a positive thing. There isn't a whole lot else I can do.

what happens?

My last roommate is following me on twitter. This means that if she hasn't already. She will find my blog.

I have mentioned often, especially in recent months how this is a place where I go to get things out. I thought about hiding it again, like I did when my father called to learn where to go to see pictures of me skating, but I realized that things said can't be unsaid. I have to own up to the things I say. I have to support it when I discuss what I percieve as the truth. I can't go hiding every time someone's feelings might get hurt.

If I don't want people to find it, to read it, I shouldn't write it here. there's a lot i don't write here. My blog is NOT anonymous. ginamonster is a moniker I have been using for a lot of years. A LOT of years. I'm pretty sure you can find me if you know my name at all. I've forgotten all the places I have placed links to my blog.

I'm sure that my perceptions of the time my last roommate and I lived together are completely different from her perceptions. I have admitted openly that some ofthe issues that I had may have been caused by my own attitude.

I have to learn to be okay with what people think. They might get angry. They might get some feelings hurt. Things I know are likely to cause issue, I write down elsewhere. I still keep a written journal for that stuff. You know, the stuff I don't want people to know right now. There is plenty.

I guess the point of this ramble is that I learned something today. I'm still here, and I will deal with the rest.

A warm fuzzy after such sad stuff

Things for which I will never be ready

My family moved a lot. By a lot I mean that I will always envy a little the people who grew up in the same schools, in the same house, eating lucky charms for breakfast (real ones, not the store brand "magic stars" with the effed up marshmallows which still tasted damn yummy). Pictures on the walls, grow up lines in the doorways. We moved every three years. Almost like clockwork. 

Not down the street, although we always stayed in San Diego, but usually across town. For me, this meant leaving old friends behind and finding new ones.  Generally, I never saw the old ones again. (I say generally because San Diego is a small town for a big city and I ended up running into old classmates over the years. But not until I was an adult)

The summer after 6th grade my parents did the unthinkable. They moved us to the boonies. The concept was cool. 5 1/4 acres of oak trees and rocks to climb. A playhouse for me (the inside was insulated but not finished so it turned out that I wasn't allowed to play in there because of the fiberglass. Sometimes, my friend from down the street and I played in the chicken coop instead. We didn't have chickens, just a coop) I started 7th grade in a school where almost everyone had been together since kindergarden. My sister had it worse. She was in 11th grade and had to leave a boyfriend behind.

I like to joke that I only had one friend. The truth is that I had two. I had trouble making friends for the first time in my life because I was new. The cliques were formed. I had all the wrong (hand me down) clothes and lived on the wrong side of town. The wilderness my parents moved us to had colonies of crack houses. People disappeared down there. We didn't know that then. I knew that the houses where the school bus picked us up were run down. I knew that the kids who lived there were a little dirty. That became prime real estate when the drug dens were cleared out by the fires of 2003. 

My sister and cousin though, thankfully, made some friends. One of them had a car. Much of my 7th grade year was spent in the back of that car. A Camero. It made me want a Camero. Robbie would come pick us up before and take us home after school. I felt like hot shit riding around in the trunk. (I did say the back of the car, right?). The car was soooo cooool. I was hanging out with older kids even though I knew it was only because I was the little sister. Rob would make the rounds dropping us all off. Sometimes he would hang out at our house. There would be rubber band fights and all around silliness before he went home. It was fun. It was good times. There weren't a lot of good times in that house. 

I didn't see him anymore after he and my sister graduated. The last time I saw him he was the best man at a wedding and he had a black eye. And a story to go with it. 

I think you know where this is headed.

Seester sent me his obituary tonight. 35 is too young. Somehow, I think someday 85 will be too young too. I know from talking to my Nana that I will never get used to this. It's one thing to say goodbye and never see someone again. It's something else to know you can't ever see them again. I don't know what happened. That town is still a small town and I'm sure we will find out. Seester keeps better in touch than I do. 

I'll never forget though, how Rob treated me like an equal instead of his friend's little sister. How he'd carefully close the glass lid over my head each morning. And drive me home each day after school.

I dreamed a dream

I don't often chronicle my dreams because well, it can get very boring to read. But this one was very realistic and indicative of the things going on in my life. I will place my comments next to the discussion so you can see why I found it important to mention.

In the dream, I was living with my Aunt and Uncle. The ones that live in Carson. My mother was visiting. (I don't usually see my Aunt and Uncle unless my mother is visiting. I have been having issues with this over the last couple days because they went to go meet my cousins in Santa Cruz for Easter and no one thought to let me know. This happens a lot, actually.) Chango lived there too. Suddenly, more dogs started appearing. They were lost. I felt as though I needed to post "found" ads on craigslist and get them back to their homes but I didn't have time because I had things to do. (I am feeling a little overwhelmed by life. Especially where it correlates to Derby. Between that and life, I feel like I have so much to tend to that nothing is getting done) Then, the kittens I have pledged to foster had been dropped off too. And they pooped on my bed. I only had myself to blame because they weren't box trained and I hadn't given them a box yet. I left the room.

When I returned, I discovered one of the kitties in a tub of cold water. I had been giving her a bath and forgotten about her. (Apparently, I dropped the ball. I am also nervous about fostering another litter after losing Tarzan last year. That still hurts. a lot) I picked her up and snuggled her close in a towel. I had just started to worry about whether she would ever warm up again or whether she would stay cold and die like Tarzan when my phone rang. 

It woke me up. I don't remember who called but she was surprised to find me still in bed. (It was one of the girls. She was checking to see if I had picked up her BF's hoodie last night. I am lost and found. Things tend to remain lost in my keeping for a very long time. I get frustrated because people don't keep track of their shit. Then I lose stuff and am humbled.) Last night was a late one; I didn't go to bed until 2. I woke up feeling extremely achey and tired. I found it difficult to get up but I knew that I needed to feed my critters and those of a friend who is out of town for the weekend. 

I still need to do my business taxes. I have to be at work again tomorrow at 5:30 am. Then I need to scan those pictures. There is something else too, but I don't remember what. Oh yeah. Chiropractor. Practice tomorrow night, board meeting Tuesday. Event meeting and practice on Wednesday. Maybe I will skip practice tomorrow. I don't want to. Practice is keeping me on the downhill slope to a size 6, among other things. As always, something needs to give. As always, I fear it's my sanity. Or my health. There were things I was supposed to do yesterday to prepare for last nights event. I blew them off and went to the dog park instead. Aside from the twinges of guilt for not following through, it felt GOOD to get outside. GOOD to sit and chat, or not chat while the dogs rolled about. NOT GOOD to get peed on. (embarrassing, but kind of funny if you don't think about how gross that is)  GOOD to tend to myself and Chango's needs instead of other people's wants. 

I'm at that point again. I'm not sure what to do. If I had known three years ago when I first showed up at the rink that I would end up wondering if Derby was worth my sanity, I probably never would have guessed that it would go this far. With that league, I don't think it would have.  This one is needy like a spoiled child. I think it always has been. The skaters want all the wonderful things that derby brings but they aren't willing to work for it. There is a very small group of us who does. We all say the same thing. "I'd love to be able to just skate, but I can't not be involved." "It would be so much easier if I could trust people to get it done." There may be people who will. I need them to step forward. Soon.