Ah, silence. It’s something I experience very little of during the day. I’m very quiet most of the time, but there’s always something going on in the next room, cars going by outside, and all the other noise that generally goes on in the background, in a house in a suburban neighbourhood.
Quiet–mainly the lack of motors–is why I love the country. Birds chirping I can handle. Leaves rustling in the breeze and waves lapping the shore are like music to my ears.
I don’t need complete silence. I need nature. Yeah.
Occupational hazards are present in every job, it seems. I mean seriously, you would think staying at home working on a computer in your pajamas has to be the safest thing you can possibly do. Apparently not. I need to get up and move occasionally. And the eyes! They’re at risk as well unless I look away from the screen regularly. I suppose that’s true of many desk jobs, though. Even ones that aren’t performed in one’s pajamas.
Companies should have pajama days, don’t you think? Casual Fridays have been a thing for many years, but what about designating a day of the week, or even a day of the month, so people can go to work as though they’re shopping at Wal-mart? Oh, and especially if you work at Wal-mart, though that would be more of a dress-up-like-the-customers day.
Not sure why I’m picking on Wal-mart, though. I see people walking around in their pjs in the grocery store, around the mall … hell, even I ran out to the bus a couple of months back to hand Alex something he’d forgotten for school, dressed in my sleep clothes. (“Sleep clothes” is what I call them in sign language – it’s managed to translate to English nine times out of ten in my house.)
Speaking of sleep, my Saturday Second Seat on the Right series post will come out at 11:58pm my time–hopefully I’ll be sleeping (what a segue!)–and then Sunday’s Second Seat post will appear at 12:01am, just three minutes later. If you’re a regular reader, don’t miss them! It’s kind of a two-parter. Could I call it a bi-parter? Because then, if it had eight parts, I could call it an octo-parter …
This post full of sleep-clothes madness is brought to you by Just Jot it January …
My only defense for being so late is I tried. Yet as hard as I tried, I spent most of the day paralyzed with fear that I would get another migraine. I had a headache all morning and well into the afternoon until finally I broke down and took an Advil. The pharmacist told me not to while I’m on a daily dose of ASA, unless I really needed it.
It’s only been since I took the Ibuprofen that I’ve begun to relax, to go back to normal. To calm myself enough to sit in front of the screen and type. Even now though, I’m sitting in darkness with my eyes closed, touch typing and feeling my way through this post.
I hope tomorrow all the anxiety will begin to fade.
I’ve taken all my tests now–ECG, CT scan, ultrasound on my neck, and a fasting blood test–and I have an appointment with the stroke specialist on Tuesday morning. Hopefully I’ll get my driving privileges back and I’ll be able to do my own grocery shopping. In the meantime, I’m making every moment count.
It seems my brain has revolted against me. I hope the following post makes sense – I’m not entirely sure I’m over it.
It started last night while I was driving to a coffee shop, to work on a short story I plan to submit to a new anthology. I began getting blank spots in my vision–the “s” was missing at the end of the word “McDonald’s,” for instance–which I know is an indication that a migraine is coming. Migraines like this, for me, usually come without pain, so I figured I’d be fine to continue on my way as long as I picked up some Advil. I stopped at the dollar store and walked around for a bit to see if the blind spots would clear, but they only got worse. Yet by the time I found the Advil and got to the checkout, it had completely cleared up. So off I went.
I got something to drink, took my Advil, and sat down to work. I began to get a mild headache, so I held off on writing for a while. Once I felt fine, I got out my notebook, put the pen to the paper, and couldn’t remember what I was going to write. Hmmm… I thought about it for a few seconds and then remembered the word I wanted was “snooze.” I got the S-N-O-O on the page and couldn’t for the life of me envision what the next letter was supposed to be. I was relieved about ten seconds later when I got it. Off to the next sentence.
I vaguely recalled I wanted to write, “I’ve never been much of a dreamer.” It took me a few tries, but I finally got the sentence written on the page. I thought it was a bit weird that I wasn’t able to concentrate, but I wasn’t too concerned. Yet. Seems my letter of the day yesterday was “v.” It was all I really managed. This is what I wrote:
Snoove
“I give have been a dreamer.”
I realized this when I reread it about ten minutes later. I also realized I had to get to the hospital.
Fast forward to 3:10am: I walked home (thank goodness I only live 15 minutes from the hospital–I’m not allowed to drive) with a diagnosis that it may have actually been a migraine, but it could also have been a mini-stroke. The doctor at the emergency said that though I didn’t have any other symptoms, I should treat it like a stroke as a precaution. I’m going for a CT scan and an ultrasound this afternoon (don’t believe what they tell you about wait times that kill people in Canada!) and after I get a blood test, I have to go to a stroke specialist to get an all clear.
Now I’m going to try to get some sleep. Three hours and twenty minutes with 31 minutes awake/restless in between (thanks, Fitbit) wasn’t enough.
As a parent, I hand out ultimatums all the time: do this, or you’re not getting that; stop that, otherwise there’s no this. It never ends.
Even though I’ve had a lot of practice over the years with ultimatums, I still sometimes have a hard time knowing when to keep my mouth shut. I’ve learned the hard way that if I don’t follow through with them, they get ignored. And following through is sometimes difficult.
For example, when my behaviorally challenged (good behavior, that is–he’s excellent with bad behavior) son, Alex, gets in his head that he wants to go somewhere, about eight times out of ten he’ll wait until the last minute and then change his mind. The last major instance of this was right after Christmas, when he was excited about all of us going to the mall to shop at the Boxing Day sales. My autistic son, Chris, was all ready to go, waiting outside in the cold–if you’ve never met an autistic person, believe me, it’s not easy to change their mind about something they’ve been promised they’re going to do. We were all about to get our coats on, and Alex said he wanted to stay home alone. Although he’s physically seventeen years old, I’ve never left him alone at home. He’s Deaf, and with the mental age of a six- or seven-year-old, I don’t feel comfortable with it. However, usually when we say to him that we’re going with or without him, he’ll get his coat on and go. Not this time. He called my bluff.
With my ultimatum stuck in my throat, the rest of us piled in the car and left. I managed to get to the end of the block before I turned around and went back home. Sure enough, he’d had his fill of being alone and was getting his coat on when I came back in the door.
Since then, we’ve all gone out as a family once. I made sure to tell Chris that we were going to TRY to go out together, and I didn’t ask him to get ready until Alex was outside and in the car. I learned my lesson. Still have to wonder what my next ultimatum trial will be.
I want to start this post by freely admitting that before I opened the tab to start writing it, I moved away from my copy of Fifty Shades Darker. Being that this is mostly a family-friendly blog, I didn’t want to be forced to cheat on the off-chance that I would actually come across a sentence that didn’t contain, “Oh my.”
Moving into a much more comfortable spot (in more ways than one), I looked around and found that my copy of On Fire was the closest thing to hand. I opened it to a random spot, which happened to be Alisha Costanzo’s story, “The Mark of the Phoenix.” I wish I could tell you what it’s about, but I haven’t had time to read it yet. It’s a lovely book, though; one of my own stories is in it. 😀
But I digress. The sixth, seventh, and eighth words at the top of page 266 are “the conversation carried.” There’s a comma in there in the original text, but it makes more sense to try to talk about the words without the comma to confuse things. My first thought was of sitting in a movie theatre, near someone who won’t shut up all the way through the movie. They have the ads on now to tell people to shut off their phones, but I’m guessing no one has come up with an effective ad to tell people to zip their lips. You’d think it would be common sense, but it’s more than some people seem to possess. It’s why I loved the drive-in … or one of the reasons. If you’d known me as a teenager, you’d likely know that I steamed up my share of car windows at the drive-in. …because I had them rolled up to keep the mosquitoes out, of course. Get your mind out of the gutter! And yeah, having a mosquito buzzing in your ear while you’re trying to watch a movie is about as bad as rude people talking in your ear. So where was I? Oh yeah. Mosquitoes don’t have conversations. Or do they? Maybe they do …
Conversations carry so much farther nowadays than they did back when drive-ins were a thing. Back when one had to either spend too much money on a phone call or wait weeks for the reply to a letter via snail mail. Does anyone actually write letters anymore? I’d like to. I wish I had the motivation. It would be cool to do as a promotional device for fans of, say, an author. Hmmm …
Things are going from bad to worse with my mother, and smoking is once again the culprit. For those of you who missed it, I wrote a post in November (click here for that post) about my mother’s tendency to fall and break bones when she went outside for a cigarette at the retirement residence where she lives. Before I discovered that she was falling because she was sitting on the seat of her walker and taking the brakes off before she stood up, the nurses took her smokes away from her, which necessitated that she ask for one so someone would know she was going out. She got a walker without a seat, and she got her cigarettes back. It was all fine and dandy until last week.
They caught her smoking in her room. They took her cigarettes away, and this time they’re not giving them back. She can still smoke any time she wants, she just has to get one on her way out the door. Not a big deal, right? Not if you don’t know my mother.
When she was caught, she apparently didn’t know she was doing anything wrong. The nurse that called me said she walked into my mum’s room and asked politely for her cigarettes. My mother handed them over willingly. Her senile dementia is, of course, the reason it is now a problem.
Now, she:
Has forgotten that she smoked in her room.
Says they’re accusing her of smoking in her room because they can smell smoke on her jacket.
Says they shouldn’t have gone into her room when she wasn’t there and taken her cigarettes.
Says the nurse who said she was smoking in her room is a liar.
Phones me 10 times a day to ask me if I have something to do with the fact that her cigarettes are with the nurses.
Phones me 10 times a day to ask me where her cigarettes are.
Complains to the nurses 20 times a day that she should be able to have her cigarettes back because she doesn’t smoke in her room.
Complains to the management that the nurses are lying and she wants her cigarettes back.
All this finally came to a head two days ago when the management called me, clearly aggravated, to say that when someone with dementia gets to the point that their forgetfulness causes them anxiety, it’s necessary to start considering a nursing home.
Perhaps there’s someone out there who can verify that this is a fact, perhaps they’re just getting tired of answering the same questions 20 times a day. All I know is if my mother goes into a nursing home, there will be no more smoking, and she’s only going to go downhill that much faster.
I don’t know what to do. Explaining things to her–even if she understands, which she usually doesn’t–has no lasting effect. I feel like putting her into a home is tantamount to condemning her.
I’ve come to the conclusion that humiliation is a very difficult thing to write about. Probably because I normally write about things that happen in my own life, and let’s face it, talking about something that’s humiliating is hard. I could speculate about something that might be humiliating in the future, but now it seems like a cop out.
So should I leave it that I’m simply humiliated at having not much to say on the blog that hosts this prompt? Sounds appropriate. 😛
It’s the age-old battle of mother and child, yet since I became an editor, it has taken on a new tone:
(The first photo, in fridge magnets, is written “Mom! Stop editing my life” and in the second image, is written “Fred! Stop editing my fridge.)
Here are the general rules to follow for Just Jot it January:
1. Just Jot It January starts January 1st, but it’s never too late to join in! Here, we run on the honour system; the “jot it” part of JusJoJan means that anything you jot down, anywhere (it doesn’t have to be a post, it can even be a grocery list) counts as a “Jot.” If it makes it to your blog that day, great! If it waits a week to get from a sticky note to your screen, no problem!
2. I’ll post the daily prompts at 2am my time (GMT -5), every day except for Saturday’s Stream of Consciousness (SoCS) prompt–you’ll find that one on Friday morning at 9:30am. That daily post (i.e. this one) will be where you leave your link for others to find in the comment section. There will be a prompt for every day except Wednesday, when the prompt is simply my One-Liner Wednesday.
2a. Since today is Wednesday, I challenge you to make your JusJoJan post a one-liner. If you don’t care to, or if you’ve already written your post, no problem. Remember, with One-Liner Wednesday you can write anything – it’s only a prompt to write one line, not necessarily to keep to the same theme as mine. The rules that I’ve made for myself (but don’t always follow) for “One-Liner Wednesday” are:
(i) Make it one sentence.
(ii) Make it either funny or inspirational.
(iii) Use our unique tag #1linerWeds.
(iv) Enjoy yourself!
(v) Use our One-Liner Wednesday badge.
3. As long as your blog is on WordPress, you’ll be able to link via pingback. To execute a pingback, just copy the URL from the daily prompt post, and paste it anywhere in your post. Check to make sure your link shows up where you want it to, and go back occasionally to see other bloggers’ entries – the more you visit others, the more they’ll visit you! If you’re participating from another blogging host, just drop a link into the comment section. Note: The newest pingbacks and comments will appear at the top.
4. Tag your post JusJoJan and/or #JusJoJan.
5. Write anything! Any length will do! It can even be a photo or a drawing – you’re going to title it, right? There’s your jot!
6. The prompts are here both to remind you and to inspire you to write. However, you don’t have to use the prompt word of theday. You can link any kind of jot back here. Note: If it’s 18+ content, please say so in a comment with your link or close to your pingback.
7. If you’d like to, use the JusJoJan badge so that others can find your post more easily.
Not that I go there often anymoreaddi since I don’t get out much, but there was a boycott of sorts today of Tim Horton’s here in Canada. Something to do with the raise of minimum wage and them not wanting to pay for breaks or something. I don’t know. I love Tim’s, but I didn’t go there today. I wouldn’t have, anyway.
Honestly, I wish I could survive on coffee alone. But too much of it upsets my stomach, and I’m not sure it doesn’t mess with my sleep, too, if I drink it later in the evening.
However, if you’re buying, I take it with double cream, no sugar …
lindaghill.com 