Vaguely ready

This year has fucking blown. Not blown by. Blown. As in donkey balls. And I've not chronicled a moment of the really, really bad shit. I guess this means that writing and blogging isn't in my blood. It's a shame. I'm Irish, and I feel a small calling to be an eloquent in the written word as I think I am in my head ;-) Also, writing what has happened would have been an excellent way to keep track of just how much shit went down. That post on 3/8 about my mother's fall outside a bar? I had completely forgotten about it until just now when I was looking at older posts. How much have I forgotten already? Either because forgetting is my favorite way of dealing with something, or because the next even was so horrific, the prior faded into nothingness?

Maybe I'll keep track of what I hope is the up swing. I've left my old job and my horrid, evil, batshit insane bosses. Still in the same career, but hopefully that is going to be corrected in the next two years. I moved. In with my mom. Yeah, that might not be an upswing, but it makes paying the credit card bills easier. I've started to lose weight. I have excellent vacation plans for 2010. My mother has gotten down to getting caught drinking only once every 13 days. Yes, Al-anon, I'm coming. I only cry about my Dad once-ish a day. And that's not great big huge breakdown crying. That happens now occasionally, like last week at Hallmark where snot-running-down-your-nose crying in the boxed Christmas card isle happened (god help me if I ever venture to the family cards.) So there will be no xmas cards this year. There's a gorgeous new niece. There are new friends via Facebook that I have knowns since I was 10 - as the Waterboys said, they couldn't have come at a better time, not if they tried. And there's a scary new obsession with Twilight, that alone should have me in stitches for days.

Maybe, but even as I type this, I'm generally down. This will soon become this more boring abondonded blog ever.

We'll see.

This Blog

The views expressed are mine alone and do not reflect the views of my employer.

We are reciving a presentation on "social media postings" and the Company tomorrow. Should be fun.

My dad

My dad died at the beginning of April. Even writing that sentence seems surreal. There will, someday, be a long post about the two weeks before his death, and the weeks following, but I'm not ready.

What I do want to share is that I dreamt of him Friday night.

I don't dream, and when I do, I only remember bits and pieces. This weekend I spent at my Mom's house, both to spend time with her, and also as a convenient base to meet up with friends. I had spent Friday night with my sister and our friends and was sleeping in the small back bedroom. The dream was long, complicated and involved searching for something and giving presentations (yet, not work related) and I have no memory of what it was about.

Then there was Dad. From mid torso to the top of his head he filled my vision. He was wearing a white button down dress shirt with short sleeves. He was healthy. His skin was the light brown color it gets when exposed to sun and contrasted so well with his crisp white shirt and his blue, blue eyes. God! I don't remember them being so blue. They sparkled. And like often, they sparkled with happiness and a bit of mischief. And he was smiling. Not laughing, no teeth, just a barely discernible up tilt of his lips. He looked so good! He was happy and healthy, he wasn't gasping for breath or yellow or miserable or fighting for his life. He was happy. And he was staring at me - looking right into my eyes with his sparkly blue ones. I wouldn't have turned away for anything.

I didn't think of it when I woke up, just "oh, I dreamt of Dad." I hadn't had any dreams since he died.

Later that afternoon I was at a family First Communion party and I told my aunt. She's the one who woke me up and told me it was his way of telling me he was alright and that he was happy. I probably cried as hard as I'm crying now - right in the middle of the banquet hall.

My Daddy is alright. He is healthy. He is happy.

So, it's been a while

I haven't posted since early March. Much as happened in the last 6 weeks, things I'm not ready to write here.

Which Jane Austin Heroine Are You?

Take the Quiz here!

Of course I want to be Lizzy Bennet, but Elinor is a really more like me. Or Anne Elliot.

911

Tonight someone called 911 to report there was a woman lying on the sidewalk outside a bar at 8:30 p.m.

5 cop cars raced to the scene.

The first arrived and assessed the woman had not been assaulted or robbed. She had fallen and could not get up because she was drunk and had previous knee problems. He called the other 4 responding cars off. He helped the 72 year old woman up, drove her to her house and saw that she made it safely into her home. He then found her son's phone number and called him as a favor. Her son is a cop as well. He is a good man. Both her son and the responding officer.

That woman is my mother.

I don't know what to do.

I hate romance novels

I know they aren't real. I know this would never be said in real life, but it literally made me catch my breath after I read to the second comma - and now you must suffer and read it too.

Because when I pray, I say your name first, and I say your name last. When I breather, I breathe for you. Every kind thing I say, every good thing I do, I do because I know you're in the world and I ... I love you.

Stupid men.