Про Грінча який украв Різдво

I meant to post this entry yesterday. Whoops.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

There’s a key on the MacBook’s keyboard that lets me switch between the keyboards for different languages… I’ve got a switching shortcut programmed for my bluetooth keyboard, but I always manage to go from italics to Ukrainian when I don’t mean to. Since I’ve changed my computer usage and mainly work glued to two monitors, I can get rid of the shortcut and just press the button on the Mac.

ЦРН вшв ерфе ефлу ищ дщтп ещ аштв? Um, WHY did that take so long to find?

Exactly.

 

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For Christmas, my husband gave me an early “present”. He’s not going to Marathon Weekend with me.

I had talked about skipping out, true, but in the end, I want to see how far I could go.

I mean, it might be for the best, but…

When he’s around, I feel bad going to the meetups. I missed hanging out with the RTI crew during Wine and Dine because of him. But… it’s like that every time we go somewhere. One of us is always awkward and it is uncomfortable as fuck for the other one. That’s why he didn’t go to Homecoming with me. It’s why I don’t go to Ohio with him.

Also, I’m a complete shit during the Disney races. I’m tired. I’m cranky. I’m a petulant brat.

Also, also, I don’t like going to the Disney parks. They’re overcrowded and I’m just not a Disney fan, but I’m too tired and cranky to go to Universal.

He’s using the excuse that he doesn’t want to go to the parks because they suck.

Which, OK, fair… but when I told him it wasn’t about going to the fucking parks, it was about supporting me, I got an “I know. I’m sorry.”

He’s also paranoid about the dog.

Guinness is getting old and it’s starting to show. His right leg doesn’t really work the way it’s supposed to anymore. He doesn’t freak out when the doorbell rings. He can’t get up on the couch anymore.

And now, he’s starting to lose control of his bowels. He’s taken 4 or 5 craps in my car on the way to day care. This last time, we were at the light right before the parking lot and he got up and… well. Yeah. And then he sat in it. Because it wasn’t enough to crap, he had to rub it into the blanket. You try cleaning out a car with some wet paper towels and then having to drive to work with the windows open and hope that airs it out. (I should really start carrying that special cleaner we bought for this specific purpose.)

Last night, he woke the husband up and didn’t even make it out of the bedroom.

So, Guinness is his other reason… in addition to all that, there’s a distinct change in the dog’s personality after he’s been boarded for several days (not a good one.) And, let’s be honest, the husband doesn’t deal with death well. Which puts me in the awkward position of hoping that the dog has the kindness to kick the bucket once I’m home (assuming that his expiration date is in the next few weeks as the husband seems to believe.) Personally, I think that the dog will live forever because I hate paying for day care and, on a good day, Guinness is nothing if not pure, unadulterated, evil.

I’m afraid to tell him that I had a dream last night where Guinness got hit by a car and died. I also thought at one point this morning that he stopped breathing.

I’m not saying a damn word because it will make everything worse, but I knew when it was time to let go of both Arsey and Apache. I’m not saying it’s his time… I’m just saying I’m on high alert. My dreams aren’t always harbingers, but sometimes they are.

I mean, fuck, I’m nervous, too, but he’s an eleven year old German Shepherd. Our Aussies both made it to thirteen, so I pray he’ll make it to that age.

Even with that all taken into consideration, I’m pissed off, disappointed, and hurt beyond belief that the husband doesn’t want to be there for me.

So… long story short, I’m more miserable than ever. I’m scraping rock bottom and it’s beginning to show.

It also doesn’t help that this is my first year-end at the new job and I have a fuck ton of stuff to do by January 10th (according to the old Controller’s schedule.) I’ll be at Disney from the 4th to the 9th. I have a feeling I’m taking my laptop… since I’ll be alone any way, I don’t feel too bad. BUT… it also makes me want to revert to my original decision of just eating the $600 for the Dopey bib and staying home.

I don’t fucking know any more.

 

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In happier news, I’m working on making some significant changes in my life. Are they still New Year’s resolutions if I decide to do them before Christmas?

I haven’t really embraced the three words concept for a few years. I’ve just gotten lazy, but I think it’s time to bring them back. (Disclaimer: the three words idea is from my beloved friend CC’s book, “Amazing Things Will Happen”. You should really read it.)

SO.

For this year, my three words are:

PHYSICAL: A little too encompassing, maybe, but all the things that fit under this are related. I want to get past this roadblock with my running. I want to lose weight. I want to finally kick Dopey’s ass in 2024 since it’s a given that it probably won’t happen this year. I want to feel better / get into a shape that isn’t rotund. (Although, I still don’t get anything positive out of running. I want a runner’s high, damnit! I demand the ability to consistently have a runner’s high for Christmas. You hear that, fat man?)

MENTAL: Also a little too broad, but again, when I put together my list of things I wanted to manifest this year, I kept finding things that are related. I want to read more. I want to engage in hobbies I used to love. I want to learn Ukrainian. And Polish.(Apparently, I’m a glutton for punishment. Polish is supposedly a very difficult language to learn.) I want to do the things that make me feel whole and since my brain is my superpower… I want to keep it active. Zoning out to the Sims every night isn’t doing it and I can feel a difference in the way the depression affects me. Sometimes, being as self-aware as I am is a motherfucker.

SOCIAL: I want to make friends. It’s as simple as that. I lost my high school and college friends when I moved to Ohio. I fought hard to get some of them back when we moved to New Hampshire, but some of that was short-lived. Then we moved to Florida and the tenuous grasp I had on any of those friendships continues to lessen as the distance gets in the way. I have two friends in Florida - both from Facebook groups - and neither friendship has really taken off IRL, even though we live relatively close to each other.

And, related to word number three - what the holy fuck have I done?!? I signed up for a learn to play D&D session through the FRC.

ME!

Playing Dungeons & Fucking Dragons.

(I’m laughing my ass off at how that came out, btw.)

I have never been interested in D&D. NEVER.

But.

It’s a way to connect with more people. It’s a way to maybe take some of those random online names and make them friends.

There’s a few more ideas that I’ve had, but signing up for an online learn to play D&D class is a big enough jump for this weekend.

On that note, I’m going to grab my copy of Beginner’s Ukrainian and fight my way through the first chapter.

Привіт! Мене звати Wendell. Як вас звати?

insert witty comment here

Today’s 5K was a horrendous waste of time.

I was told that the course - up and down the Hollywood Beach boardwalk - was beautiful and shady and quick.

I’ll agree that it was beautiful before the sun came up and there was a nice breeze. I’ll disagree with the shady and quick. As far as I’m concerned, that wonderful shady stretch just meant that the humidity was trapped by the trees that bestowed their shade upon the sweltering masses who decided that running in South Florida is a Good Thing. And, of course, running through soup doesn’t necessarily equate to speed.

It’s the “Fire Hero 5K” - a double whammy because it was held on September 11th - and there were firefighters in full gear running the fucking thing. 3 miles in 20+ pounds of gear. Nope. I wanted to pass out just looking at them.

I’ve been thinking about a lot of things, most of them not good.

But let’s start with a good one.

My husband and I are firm believers in the fact that a guide book with only take you so far. At some point, you need to put the book down and explore. We spent almost the entire week in Lviv just walking around, just my bad Ukrainian and a city map to make sure we didn’t get too lost… and we had some of the best experiences that way.

Same during this last trip to London. We took the train out to a friend’s so we could meet up and do the Harry Potter Studio Tour together. While we were waiting at the “station” for our ride, we popped into a little cafe right there on the platform. The guy saw our Arsenal caps and… we got an education on Gunner history and lore. AMAZING. (But, he ended up being outshone by the fan seated next to me at Emirates Stadium. I learned… things.)

Also, during this last trip to London, as I so loudly put as we were walking down the road towards Buckingham Palace, WE SAW THE FUCKING QUEEN.

Fun fact - if the Queen (or I guess King, now) is in residence, the Royal Standard flies above the palace. Do not ask me where I learned that. I cannot tell you… it’s like it’s always just been in my head, waiting to be useful. Anyway, the Royal Standard was flying over Buckingham during that trip. We were going to - I think - be tourists and watch the Changing of the Guard again. (I will always try to do the touristy things, but I will not revolve a trip around them unless I absolutely have to.) As we were walking, we were just chit chatting and trying not to run over the stupid American tourists in front of us who were walking stupid slow and buried so deep in their books and maps that they didn’t realise a car was coming towards us. A car that had a flag on it. A flag that just happened to the the Royal Fucking Standard. THE QUEEN WAS IN THE CAR. AND I SAW HER.

I also let anyone within hearing distance know that, “OH MY GOD, THAT’S THE MOTHERFUCKING QUEEN.”

(Shush. Let me have my random moment of being an obnoxious American tourist.)

So yeah… kind of surreal to think that Queen Elizabeth is dead. She seemed… indestructible.

I don’t know. The other stuff that’s been weighing on my mind… I thought I was ready to talk about it, but I’m still not. Two people know about the panic attack at the gas station and the google search that destroyed my Friday night and most of Saturday. Just two… any more and the thought of sharing that kicks up another flight or fight reaction.

I’m not ready to talk about Phoenix Day, or my Ukrainian lessons… none of it.

So, this post was pretty pointless.

I guess most of them are, but this one is even more so than usual.

pssst…. we saw the Queen

 

#UntilTheVeryEnd… also, #FUCKWARNERBROTHERS

I watch too many horror movies and my husband is The Chicken is Boba Fett. There. That’s a thing you know now about my private life.

I’m done.

Just when I thought I couldn’t be any less motivated to run…

RTI just settled their lawsuit with Warner Brothers, which loosely translates to WB just killed a group that is filled with people who love their intellectual property so much that they band together under the name and use their combined energy to do #somuchgood.

Yeah.

The Potterhead Running Club is closing up shop.

And because the PHRC basically funds all the other RTI clubs, Whovian and Fandom are closing down as well. They hope to keep the FRC Fan Domain group active, but no more medals. No more Racery events. Some of the PHRC groups (like Book Club, Transfiguration, etc.) are spinning off and will continue to operate under different names with volunteers to keep them alive.

But it won’t be the same.

The Tower has always felt like home to me… but it’s lost its magic. Literally.

There’s no other way to put it.

I’m not OK with this.

Seriously.

I’ve been crying since the news broke.

I’ve needed the consistency and the friendship and the sense of family the clubs were filled with.

And now it’s going away.

And I don’t know what to do with myself.

 

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I joke all the time that I’m not all that great at the social part of social media.

But let’s call it what it is: I collect people and then I barely interact with them.  That’s why I have like 75 or 80 Facebook friends and most of my newsfeed is either (Ukrainian) bands or RTI groups. Anything more is overwhelming.

Shit, I haven’t spoken to my best friend, my little brother from another mother for two years now.

I’m just not good at it.

I keep coming back to the therapist that asked me why I don’t let people get close. Why I don’t let them help me through the Dark Days and The Ick.

I hate me during those times. I definitely don’t want to subject people I care about to that… which is why I am SO FUCKING HAPPY that my husband has been able to tolerate it.

We’ve been together since 1998 and got married in 2002. He’s a fucking saint.

A. FUCKING. SAINT.

 

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We’re doing a Stand with, or Support, Ukraine 5k locally tomorrow (whatever, I can’t remember the name). Proceeds are going to the Ukrainian Red Cross. I know they’re having problems selling the race, so who knows how much is actually going to Ukraine, but it’s still… something.

My tryzub sticker is on my car. We went shopping for shelving today and managed to fit it in the car. (I HAVE A TRUNK AGAIN! I might have started jumping up and down in the parking lot screaming my joy… have I mentioned my husband is a saint? Yup.) My Deathly Hallows is also on my car.

The only thing I’m missing are my race stickers. I can’t decide if I want to put them on now and add the marathon after, or do all four after and see if I can find a Dopey sticker.

I guess we’ll see…

 

I like to be called ‘cupcake’.

find you someone who looks at you like Chris looks at Peter

Draft four of my ode to statutory rape is in time out.

I love the idea I have.

I love the way I write my characters.

I love everything except for the fact that Yuri is 15.

I’m not ready to write a draft where I age him up.

SO… because I am a writer and writing is as vital to me as breathing, I am writing.

But not Yuri on Ice!!! fic.

I’m back to writing Teen Wolf fan fic.

But not the version I went three drafts on.

Nope.

Why bother finishing a completely decent story? One that was thisclose to being done?

Because, I suppose, I’m me and I like to do things the hard way.

I started a completely different new fic… with a completely different pairing.

Is it a pairing if it’s an OT3? Whatever.

I’ve decided to write what’s commonly referred to as Stetopher: Stiles / Peter / Chris(topher).

The best part about this fandom is that the Petopher portion practically writes itself.

No. Seriously.

^^^^ LOOK. AT. THAT. UP. THERE. ^^^^

JR Bourne plays Chris Argent and Ian Bohen plays Peter Hale in TW. All you have to do is spend time on instagram to get enough ammunition to fill that ship’s canon. (Ha ha ha! Do you like what I did there?)

Anyhoo… Adding Stiles to the mix makes it that much better.

This happened today and it is still making me giggle.

 

Thankfully, I do not need to age anyone up this time.

It’s the little things.

 

Steady repetition is a compulsion mutually reenforced

I’ll take a bag of rice, please.

OH. MY. GOD. WHY. IS. THIS. SO. HARD.

Draft four has been an amazing, almost religious experience… if you choose to worship at the altar of pain, tears, hair pulling, and very, very creative swearing.

That fucker needs some holy water AND a blow torch.

 

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So. Yesterday.

I turned 47 and my husband came home from the hospital.

Yeah, read that again.

Friday, he went to the ER. He stayed in the hospital until late Sunday afternoon.

Nothing serious. The symptoms he was experiencing were due to a bulging disk and not a stroke or diabetes or whatever Doctor Google terrified him with. He needs to stretch, relax, and do yoga. The husband doing yoga is a visual that I will treasure until the day I die…

But.

He gave my mother a run for her money when it came to the absolute worst birthday weekend ever. They might actually be tied for first right now.

Happy fucking birthday, Wendell.

 

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My godfather’s daughter and I are friends on Facebook. We haven’t spoken for… oh, let’s say thirty years, until recently.

Her grandmother was the Colonel. The Keeper of the Culture.

The baddest ass motherfucker on that part of the family tree.

That woman used to scare the everloving fuck out of me as a kid.

Anyhoo…

When all that shit with Russia happened, someone asked L on FB if she had any family over in Ukraine.

She replied that she did, but she wasn’t close to them.

I couldn’t help myself and messaged her, asking for details. The Colonel used to stay in contact with them, but nobody else had.

After a long back-and-forth, we compared family trees. The one she did when she was like 10 years old and the one I paid a professional for.

They were identical. (And, you have no idea how happy that made both of us!)

She had some information that I didn’t have and vice versa.

But, yeah. The women I found in Ukraine were definitely family. 100%.

She totally made a completely shitty weekend worth it.

I needed that sense of family so badly this weekend and I got that and more.