Yes, dear readers, I am still alive. I did not drop off the face of the earth as some have questioned. It’s nice to know there are people out there looking forward to reading the dribble I produce so randomly and miss my sense of humor. Okay, maybe “people” is over stating it just a wee bit. . . more like one reader as in uno, single, alone, eins, solo, etc. You get the idea. So for you, dear reader, and to quote Barry Manilow (Please let that be the only time I write that phrase.) “this one’s for you.”
A few weeks ago, I wrote a post about some medical issues mainly concerning one little gland that terrorizes so many people, An Innocent Gland. I wish I could report that my doctor turned out to be a genius and all is well, but sadly, I can’t. I’m starting to fear my doctor did not graduate at the top of her class, maybe somewhere in the middle. A middle-of-the-pack type of medical professional. As of tomorrow, in a span of six or seven weeks, this will be our third face-to-face visit. I’m not counting the number of times she’s called me. This doctor is considered a “specialist” in which wait times for an appointment are notoriously long, several months are the norm. Through all of this I believe I’ve made a new friend, her administrator, Sharon or whom I like to call, Sandy. We’ve become phone buddies. It’s not every day I remember a phone and extension number.
If you recall that post, then you may also remember that a couple of the symptoms were irritability and cursing like a sailor. I’m doing better with the cursing but if you haven’t noticed the sarcasm dripping from these words you are reading than wake the fu*k up. Yeah, I’m still irritable. And that is my main reason for not writing anything. I don’t want to come across as this raging hormonal lunatic. This emotional rollercoaster ride has lasted far too long for my liking.
Frustration is setting in and time is not my friend right now. Sk and I have yet to celebrate our anniversary but Valentine’s Day is just around the corner. Shit, can I get away with one celebration or must we do two? Then, comes the three-week celebration of sk’s 50th birthday. What is usually a week-long celebration is turning into a three-week fiesta due to the significance of her turning the Big 5-0. Yaaaaaaayyyy! Throw in a day for my birthday for good measure. But wait, hang on to your coat tails kids because we’re still not done. Our one year Permanent Residence anniversary is March 31st.
Did you add all those significant events? 5! And I’m already behind the god damn eight ball because I failed the “guess what March 31st is” pop quiz from sk last night. I do not like to shop, except once or twice a year. On those days it’s as if some other person takes over my body and mind. I literally will shop until I drop, or more correctly, until sk drops. I out-shop my lovely femme partner. I don’t know if this is something I should be proud of or keep it on the down-low so I don’t receive a demerit on my butch lesbian card.
Either way, the point is, I do not have one single present to give sk for any of those celebrations. I have a slight hunch that if I went shopping in the next few days things would not go well with the bitch behind the counter. She can call me ‘sir’ or make that disapproving face when she realizes the present will be for my female partner, that’s fine. Bitches come in all shapes, sizes and designer clothes but she had better not treat me like I’m a child. Do not call me ‘dear’ or ‘sweetie’, do not talk in slow sing-songy sentences, and don’t feel like you need to explain every god damn thing to me. I may not know what the hell ‘foundation’ is or where exactly you put it but I’ll be damned if I’m going to stand there and let you treat me as if I’m a little boy there to buy something for my mommy. Did I mention I’ve been feeling irritable?
Many little things that normally would not elicit any type of response from me are now getting under my skin. I’m finding it very annoying when I begin to read a post or FB story about some supporter of LGBT
rights, which is a great thing, but first they have to make sure everyone knows in the first sentence they identify as straight. Can’t they be a human being standing up for human rights? I’m also very frustrated with myself because I’ve been missing my Mom lately. I miss the sound of her voice, her smile and the unconditional love only a Mom can understand. No offense to the fabulous father’s out there, I know you have your own unique relationships with your children. I never write about my mother and I don’t plan on it now, just one more item to add to the shit pile.
The residents at work are driving me up the walls. I swear, I try not to listen in on them while they are talking among themselves. This is more difficult than it sounds due to the fact that most of the residents are hard of hearing so even when they ‘whisper’ to the person sitting beside them they are talking so loud I can hear them from across the room. That’s how I wind up over hearing a 94-year-old man describe, in a complimentary style, a woman he found to be “built like a brick shit house.” I stopped dead in my tracks, trying to decipher if those were indeed the words I just heard. I looked at the elderly man and he said to me, “No offense lass, but you’re too small, you wouldn’t last long back home.” Last long from doing what, was the first thought that ran through my mind. Luckily I didn’t travel down that trail very far before I got interrupted by a resident inquiring if I knew where “my man, John, went off too.” Her man’s name is not John and he goes outside about every ten minutes to smoke but she can’t remember either of these facts and will continue this routine the entire afternoon until dinner time. The shit pile continues to grow at the expense of my patience.
Not all is lost, I still have hope and once I start focusing on hope, I find it. I find it every where and then I notice I’m not so irritable. For instance, after my appointment tomorrow, I hope my doctor has a better understanding of how my body reacts to different doses of the same medication she keeps giving to me and knows the next step in trying to regulate my system. I hope, no, I know, that eventually those small instances that occur in everyday life will once again be just that, small bumps in my day.
I hope people continue to push for equality on a human rights level no matter how they identify or how often they feel the need to verify their heterosexuality by declaring their straightness in the first paragraph of the story they write in support of LGBT issues. I hope one day I can write about my Mom. I hope my residents do not notice when my patience are running thin because they deserve the very best life has to offer them at this stage in their lives. I hope sk remembers the blog I dedicated to her last week. If she ever needs a pick-me-up, boost to her ego or wants that warm fuzzy feeling in her tummy, I hope she can remember that list I made for her and I hope she feels loved. Finally and most importantly, I hope and pray I never forget why I love her.