Insert Year End Summary Here

This is supposed to be where my year end summary would go, and if I'd had a remarkable enough year to warrant such a thing I would gladly post it. This year was, in many ways an exercise in futility, in lows and lower lows [yes, I'm being melodramatic] in loss and betrayal...looks like it has all the makings of a romance novel or after school special.

To be fair good things did happen this year: the Wog publishing his book, Goose starting grade one and Roo finishing her potty training [okay, that one was for me] and Hiddleston did give us the brilliant Henry IV and V this summer [also for me].

But we did have to [try] sell our house, lose all our savings and scale back so much that we couldn't function without help from our families, and the Wog did lose out on three truly brilliant jobs that would have turned everything around. Topping the year off with a big ol' blah, we still haven't heard from the consolidation folks so it seems we're just where we started.

The holidays have been lack luster at best, with Goose spending Christmas Eve hunched over the toilet and Roo hacking like a two pack a day smoker...good times all around.

I'm trying to stay positive as we move into the new year; I keep thinking it has to get better because it can't get any worse. People say that to us a lot; 'It will get better'...is that what people say when they don't know what else to say?  Do they really mean, 'I'm glad it's you and not us'? Not that I blame them, some days I wouldn't want to be us either.

Happy New Year to anyone who took the time to read this and any of my other [never-ending] rants. All the best to you and yours this holiday season.

The Road Goes Ever On and On...

Well surprise, surprise...the tidal wave of lack I was expecting hit, and yet here I am [and here you are].
Perhaps it will just be my lot in life to keep keeping on [thank you NKOTB] no matter what, perhaps because I've never taken loosing well, and perhaps because I firmly believe, that nobody can ever, EVER, successfully tell me what to do.

I dusted myself [or wrung out my clothes if we're keeping the tidal wave metaphor going], got up and applied for a consolidated loan...it felt awful, laying all our debts out there for strangers to pour over, but the Wog and I did it and I'm terribly proud of him. We're still waiting to hear from the money lending folks, but maybe, just maybe the Lack will remove its claws from us and we'll be able to move forward. Maybe.
It's terrifically hard to keep hoping, pining for something I don't know will happen. Bullheadedness I've got in spades, but I've never done well with uncertainty. The unknown and uncontrolled terrify me...

So I focus on the trivial, the mundane...and yes, I often focus on Hiddleston [and no, he is most certainly not being lumped in with the trivial or mundane]. But he is achingly lovely and somehow focusing on him alleviates the pressure I can feel bubbling up inside me. I can't explain it, and I won't. He's lovely.

Replace Klonopin with Beer and Get...This

I'm beginning to realise that I should have subtitled this blog, 'I'm ranting again, just wait, I'll stop shortly' because, let's face it, that seems to be what I do. If this were a proper Mommy blog it would be full of sunshine and kittens and breastfeeding, and if I were younger it would include a myriad of sexual innuendo and mildly profane remarks about the Divine Mr Hiddleston and anyone else of note.
But this poor blog is neither of those things...that's why I named it what I did. It's everything and nothing and all over the place, with no rhyme or reason. Just like me. And I loves it, Precious.

This is where I should get all philosophical and talk about what the Lack has taught me about the true meaning of life. This is where I should submit myself to a public flogging because I once bought my husband a one hundred and eighty dollar t-shirt. I know I should, but I can't and won't. The Lack sucks. I'm sure it doesn't just suck for me, it sucks for alot of people. But this is my blog and not the world stage.

I love my life. I love books and plays, movies and my kids [in no particular order]. I love beer and sex and looking at pictures of Mr Hiddleston like some starry-eyed fifteen year old. What I don't like is loosing my house, my car and everything that sews the fabric of my life together. I don't like where I am right now. I hate it.
Tomorrow is the day the Lack will become a tidal wave and drown me, us. I've ducked and weaved and wheeled and dealed...I've even borrowed and stolen. But as of tomorrow none of it will matter...because of the way the dates fall my beautiful monstrosity of pick up sticks will crash and be washed away.

Yes, the melodrama is flowing...I've replace the klonopin with beer for the evening...feel free to disregard.

It's Roux' birthday in less than two weeks; she'll be three and it's all she can talk about. I feel like the worst Momma in the world because I know I won't be able to live up to the party she has planned in her head. Yes, before you point out that she's only three I will clarify: I don't even have the money to invite the family over for cake and chips...that's how badly the Lack has become. I can't find money to buy gas or groceries, how on earth can I find it for balloons?  Yes, I'm a thrifty person, so yes she has gifts [mostly second hand, but cute and clean] I started buying them months ago [hey, Christmas is only a few weeks away].  But still...it hurts, you know?

It hurts a lot.

Why Indeed

It's been a hard two weeks for Mommy Mab and her littles. First gastro, then scarlet fever, then gastro again...then Mommy Mab got bronchitis. Ickiness all around. Plus, making matters more unbearable than usual the Lack has been poking its nasty head out wherever it can. Boo on all counts.

Today I decided to engage in an activity I take great pleasure in: planning my success. Now, depending on my mood this game can take many forms; from the banal imagining winning the lottery to the elaborate-become a late in life highly sought after actress [Hey, it could and will happen...just wait!].

Given that I was plodding away at the Big Green, where for the last two days its been my job to unwrap hundreds of usb sticks and repackage them with monogrammed notebooks. I decided to re-investigate the mini executive MBA program I've been trying to borrow funds from pretty much anyone to attend.

After all my proverbial ducks were in a row, meaning I'd discovered nobody wanted to give me the money and I'd need a student loan if I decided to go through with it, I remembered the fellow I'd been speaking with had mentioned that the program was eligible for employer tax incentives. So I decided to call my lovely HR Generalist to get her opinion.

'Oh Beaver' she practically cooed. 'Why on Earth would you want to take that course?' she giggled. 'You'd never be approved anyways. What benefit would a course like that have for someone at your level?'
I admit, I'd hoped she'd be a little helpful, but I hadn't expected the saccharine, patronising, attitude. I rebutted that I'd already submitted my application and been accepted based on my work experience and existing degree. 'Oh Dear, why do you even want to bother?'  I thanked her for her time and advise.

So why do I even bother? Because I do, damn it. I bother alot. I may not rattle the cage as wildly as I did in my younger days, but I can still give it a swift kick if I'm of mind to.  Just wait Big Green, I'll show you...I'll show everybody.

A St Crispin's Day A Rant in Three parts

So begins a St Crispin's rant in three parts.

First of all, the Lack continues to rear it's very ugly head. The amount of self loathing I feel about even talking about it...well, I loath in a variety of mediums...alot. Birthdays for classmates have become an issue; how many birthday parties does Goose have to go to? I swear he has one every other weekend...
His school has an 'All or None' invitation policy; heaven forbid a child know what it feels like not to be invited somewhere! They might learn that life isn't fair or something...
At any rate, having to buy gifts nonstop for other kids isn't really my cup of tea, but I hate the idea of Goose being the kid that brings the less than stellar gift...and then I hate myself on all sides. I hate the other moms, then hate myself for not being the other moms.
Secondly, I need to address that dratted Hiddleston and his antics, which are beginning to inter fear with my day to day life. That man is far too lovely for his own good...I just like to watch him...again and again.
What becomes of fangirls as we age?  Are we supposed to retire?  Or go underground? Am I now a fanwoman? Now, I'm not terrifically old, but given how young most fangirls are I feel positively ancient...and rather creepy.  I still remember my glory days of James Marsters and Michael Rosenbaum  [some of you may have to look them up...please do. They were-and still are-lovely].  
But yes, Hiddleston...too cute for his [and my] own good.  No man should ever be able to sneeze like that and still be sensual; it must be criminal.

Today I happened to overhear several of the uppers at Big Green discussing the salaries of the incoming newbies. Image my surprise to discover that their salaries match mine. Interesting considering I've slogged away in this place for nearly nine years...four of which I haven't even been granted the standard 'cost of living' quasi increase companies give you to keep you quiet.
Well, I'm not sure if I can stay quiet [like I ever could]. I have an honors degree from one of the best universities in the country, I arrive early and stay late, I take on other jobs outside my comfort and training, I fill gaps when people leave, I put up with more shit in a week than most do in a lifetime.
All for, [wait for it]
36 400 a year.  Before taxes. 
Now, please realise this isn't intended to be one those I'm edumecated/hardworking/rescuekittens type rant, but rather a flailing of hands. Eat me, Big Green. Eat me.

Is it Thursday? Also, Porn

I don't know where time is going, but it must be going somewhere because it seems to be hiding from me. I feel like I've barely gotten out of bed and arrived at the Big Green before its lunchtime and I'm frantically trying to do errands, then suddenly its dark and I'm trying to ensure my kids are actually clean and fed before I put them to bed.
Then I read 'Avengers' porn for an hour or so before bed...okay, sometimes I branch out and read 'Supernatural' porn too.  And Hiddleston. Don't get me started on Hiddleston.
The Wog has gotten himself a job at an ultra high end steak house where people in sweatsuits and gold chains pay extra for crowding and toppling tables. This makes the lack feel like it's waiting, lurking in the corner, about to pounce and make its presence known. The house is still for sale, and the bills are still unpaid. So I read porn. Porn is simple, safe and easy. I feel like after the last two years I've earned the right for easy.
Logically I know that nothing is really easy, or simple. I know this the way I've known since babyhood that life isn't fair. But the power of self delusion is good enough for me. I'm a realist, but reality has never really suited me. Give me elves, vampires and demi-gods anyday.  Pinky and the Brain can keep their world; I've got my own.

Whines and Worries

Well, we're four days post-surgery for Roux and I think she's doing great. I know in the grand scheme of things tubes and adenoids aren't a big deal, but they were a big worry for me. That's sorta my thing...or one of my many things; I worry, alot. I worry about things that I'm sure most people don't even spare a passing glance to. From the moment my eyes open from my klonopin inspired slumber I worry through my day.
Thanks be to my years of teen aged therapy so I function perfectly well to the casual [or even not so casual] observer, but inside my mind moves in ways I can't even begin to explain. My worries range from the mundane, 'is summer over?' to the chronic 'will my kids/me/myhusband get gastro?' to the things that probably should be worried about, 'will we sell the house before the bill collectors knock down our doors and take all we have?'. I still wait for the wonderful. Oh how I wait, and worry.
Is it any wonder that I try to will my spare time with things as far from my actual life as possible?
I read more fanfic than any human should, and still crave more...so I delve deeper, darker, naughtier, and branch into things I never would have considered five years ago.And for the record, there's pretty much nothing I wouldn't have considered five years ago...I consider my tastes t run towards vanilla but have been told my self assessment is flawed. Perhaps vanilla with nuts, and gumdrops, and bourbon sauce...
I'm currently obsessed with fandoms that I never even glanced at before, both Panda and otherwise, and I love/need/crave my Panda world...
And don't even get me started on that dratted Hiddleston.

Moving Forward...sort of

The Goose started grade one yesterday; he was beyond thrilled by this. I, slightly less so. This is not to say that I'm not proud of Goose, or vaguely confused how he got to be old enough to attend grade one, I just feel...removed somehow.

When this journey into night began nearly two years ago I made a promise to myself that I would never, ever let the kids' lives be negatively affected by the Lack. But the Lack is rearing its tentacles at nearly every possible venue these days. Every time I manage to pry one off another one grows in its place.

I couldn't afford to buy Goose a new school bag that he desperately wanted, shoes or school supplies...but I couldn't let him start without them either. I don't want him to be that kid. I know I should make it a learning experience, but he's six...his learning lessons should be reading and math, not that Mommy can't pay for both his pizza lunch and the oil bill at the same time. Or that Mommy is sick to death of going to GrandMommy with a hand out. Or that Mommy's heart is broken in so many peices she can barely hold it together.

I wait so patiently for the Wonderful, and will continue to wait.  For Goose and Roux I will wait forever.