33 weeks. 231 days. 5,536 hours.

 

...since the last time I saw my Dad. 

Since the last time anyone saw him alive, really.  I was going to say, "Since the last time anyone saw him," but that's not true.  The nice people (I'm presuming they're nice) at the crematory saw him a few days or so after that.  I have his exact cremation date somewhere. Let me think: he died on a Friday and we went to the funeral home to sign papers the next Tuesday, if I remember correctly, and that day or the day after was when he was actually cremated.  So that would be the last day anyone saw him.  

Unless you want to get really technical and say that anytime anyone looks at the cremains, they are seeing him...I mean, technically it's true.  That's what remains of his earthly shell.  

Alright, I'll quit.  

This week, I started to feel like I might be in Acceptance for once.  I think that's a misnomer.  "Acceptance".  To say I have reached Acceptance now implies that I wasn't accepting this harsh truth before, and that's inaccurate.  Of course I've accepted the fact that my Dad's gone and not coming back.  I know what death means.  Not only did I know in advance that it was going to happen, I was there when it happened and was there long enough afterward to leave no doubt in my puny human brain that it did actually happen.  

I guess I just mean that, I'm starting to feel like every single thing I do or say or think isn't clouded by the fact that one of my all-time favorite people in the world isn't here anymore.  The fog is starting to lift a little.  I can't be sad all the time, not when one of my all-time favorite people is in Heaven and I live daily with the promise that I get to see him there one day!  Seriously.  Heaven has got to be such an unimaginably beautiful place, I can't wait to see it (I mean, I can wait to see it -- I don't want to get there any sooner than God intends for me to get there) and I'm just so happy that my Dad is there.  Happy, pain-free, strong, with a clear mind, loving everyone, and waiting patiently for me and the rest of his loved ones who are still here on earth to join him one day.

And meanwhile, I still have days where it takes all I have just to get out of bed in the morning.  But I also have days again where I feel unstoppable.  Like the "old me" is coming back around.  Or probably a new and improved me instead of the "old" me.  IDK.  I just know I've felt a change lately, a good change.  The kind of change where I realize that I don't recognize the person in the mirror anymore and I have to do something to fix that, and I have to do something to get myself back to the person who doesn't let dirty dishes sit in the sink that long and I have to get back to being the person who doesn't like it when the hamper overflows or something doesn't get put away in a reasonable amount of time.  

And I know that the stages of grief aren't linear, and are subject to change. I might be in Acceptance today but be bawling my eyes out and unable to move myself off the damn couch tomorrow.  I hope not, but I know it could happen.  I know you just gotta take emotions one at a time sometimes, and celebrate the good ones when they do happen.  Cry when you feel like crying, rejoice when you feel like rejoicing, right?

That being said, not much new is going on lately.  It's officially spring, yay! So of course we're supposed to get snow this weekend.  We still have a couple of piles of snow around our yard, even though we've had a couple of 70ºF days since our last snowfall.  98% of the yard is mud and dormant grass.  It's still much too early to go out and do any yard work, and I'm just trying to catch up on housework lately.  I've been contemplating hiring a housecleaner to come in like once a week or somesuch.  Who knows.  We'll see.  

Last week, my sister showed up as a suggestion for a new friend on Snapchat.  So I added her as a new friend (or however that works on SC).  And not even a minute later, go figure, she disappeared from my friends list.  I think that was a new record.  I tried looking her up again and there were no signs of her at all.  So you know what that means? I've been BLOCKED...again. Woe is me.  My whole day was ruined.  NO IT WASN'T.  I just shook my head and heard my Mom's voice in my head, "I don't know what is wrong with her."  IDK either, but it's probably the narcissism.  Again, pure speculation on my part because it's hard to diagnose someone who hasn't talked to you directly in over a decade, but I think I may have enough data from prior to that to make a good educated presumption lol.  

And on that note, it's time for me to go back to work. TTFN!

In like a lion and out like a lamb, or something like that.

That's what "they" say about the weather in March, I guess.  If it comes in like a lion, it should go out like a lamb, and vice versa. 

*chortles in Midwestern*

It's funny, the other day I heard someone on social media talking about how strong they are; for context, they were talking about some emotionally heavy crap that they are going through right now, and I think it was for their own benefit more than anything that they followed it up by saying that they're strong and can get through whatever life decides to throw at them.  Don't worry about me, I'm strong, I'll be fine -- that kind of thing.

My first thought was: how sad.  Not because of what they were going through, but how sad that they think they have to be strong. Is that supposed to be a boast?  A compliment?  Yay, you didn't show your true emotions! What a good person you are!!  

I'm trying to remember if anyone tried to comfort me in the initial sorrow of losing my Dad by telling me I was strong, or that I had to be strong, or anything along those lines.  I'm sure someone did, because it's one of those things people say when they don't know what else to say.  But if they did, I don't remember who or when. Which is just as well, because being "strong" was the very last thing I was trying to be.  

I'm not saying I wasn't trying not to break down in public.  I'm not saying I still don't have times when I need to try not to break down in public.  (I do.  A lot!!)   I'm only human. I have emotions. Strong emotions.  Not just in this case, but in many cases.  If that's a sign of being weak, then yes, I am weak.  

But most of what made me sad for this person is that they didn't realize that they don't have to "be strong". That little bit of knowledge is what got me through years and years of watching my Dad deteriorate, sitting with him in his final days, watching him take his last breath, and now trying to make sense of living life without him.  I am not strong, but my God is. I can fall apart, and He will pick up the pieces.  I don't need to make sense of things or figure anything out, because He's got the plan.  I don't worry about what might happen next because I know God is in control.

I used to read words like that and think Yeah, that's nice, blah blah blah.  But I actually feel those words now.  I feel them deep down in my soul, in ways I cannot express in writing.  

This isn't about my sister (because she's blocked me on most forms of social media), but it makes me sad for her, too.  For pretty much the same reason.  Aaaaaand, I can't get into that right now because lunch break is over and it's time to get back to work. 

Toodles, for now...

Bragging rights.

Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin', into the future, indeed.  As of today, it's been 28 weeks and 5 days since I last saw my Dad.  As you've probably noticed, I don't count the weeks in here anymore.  I don't really count them in my head anymore, either, although Fridays are still generally not good days for me.  That is to say, off the top of my head I can't tell you how many weeks it's been, other than late-20-something.  

I guess that's a good sign, if you want to take it that way.  I do.  I don't want to wake up every day thinking about how many days or weeks it's been since my Dad died, that's for sure.  I had to use Google to get the statistic for today, ha ha ha.  It's weird, it just seems like it's been...IDK...longer. 

Lately it feels like I'm starting to feel all of the losses I've had over the last year or so, and I don't like that feeling at all.  I've heard it said before that losing a pet can be as painful or even more painful than losing a human loved one.  I heard that again recently and it made me want to laugh.  I've lost a lot of pets, and it has hurt immensely, but losing my Dad hurt so much more than all of that put together, I'd say.  And I'm not a person who takes losing a pet very nonchalantly at all, for lack of a better word.  Up until last year, I would've totally believed that losing a pet could hurt at least as much if not more than losing a human loved one.  

But I don't want to go down this road right now, because I'm struggling with the depression demons as it is lately and even though I don't think that breaking down crying is a sign of weakness, I feel like it would be for me today so I don't want to go there.  I need to be strong.  I need to get shit done today.  I mean, I'm getting shit done, but I need some enthusiasm and motivation behind it, so I can get even more shit done. Like the 10 loads of clean laundry (give or take) that are in our bedroom, needing to be put away right now.  I don't mind washing and drying laundry, but I don't like putting it away. But I like having it put away.  

And my car really needs to be washed. But it's been in the 20's below zero for the last week (hence today's title) so I haven't been able to take it through the car wash.  

I also need to vacuum the bedroom carpet. I can't blame that one on the cold.  That's just me being lazy.  

But I did get caught up on the dirty dishes this weekend. Sort of.  The dishwasher needs to be emptied now, and the clean dishes on the counter need to be put away.  But I got the counters cleaned off and the stove top cleaned.  So I'm making some small but important steps back to getting the house in order.  Because an orderly house helps my messed up mind feel like it's in order, too.  

I'm going to spend the night at my Mom's house tomorrow night.  That is actually getting harder for me to do.  Not schedule-wise, but emotionally.  Mostly because at least half of everything there reminds me of my Dad.  It's been a few years since I've actually seen him in the house now, but still.  The stuff that is his reminds me of him, and the stuff that isn't his makes me think of what he would say about it.  And I really wish my parents would have kept my old bedroom the way it was because I really do not like sleeping in my parents' bedroom when I'm there.  But literally the only other place to sleep is in my Dad's recliner, in the living room, next to my Mom's recliner.  And I've done that before -- when my Mom broke her hip and my Dad was, at the same time, in short-term rehab at the VA.  But I couldn't do it now because my Mom leaves the TV on all night.  All freaking night.  Then complains that she doesn't sleep all night.  She leaves the lights on and the TV on and, even if I could sleep in a recliner or on the couch (which I can't), I couldn't sleep with all that.  

Oh wait, I take that back.  I did sleep on the couch the night after my Dad died.  I forgot about that for a moment.  My mom slept in her recliner, I slept on the couch, and my nephew and his GF slept up in my parents' bedroom.  I slept like crap anyway so it didn't matter where I slept.

Anyway...yeah.  I don't know.  Some days I work from home at her house, turning her kitchen table into my desk for the day, dragging my laptop and extra screen and backpack of mobile office supplies with me so I can make phone calls and do everything I could normally do except print.  Since I'm back to working full-time now, I don't have the whole day to sit and play on my phone while she watches TV and vents about everything until we go run an hour's worth of errands, so we run errands when I'm done working.  Then I play on my phone while she watches TV, lol.  

I still call her every night, though.  I think at this point it's just to make sure she's still alive.  We don't really talk about anything.  She tells me what the weather was like, and what it's going to be like for the next week or so, and she tells me what's on the news and whether she talked to anyone else in person or on the phone that day.  

My two favorite things: small talk, and talking on the phone.  

IN GOOD NEWS...

Ozempic is starting to actually work for me again!!  The long-story-short version is that I was on it inconsistently for about a year (do as I say, not as I do...) and wasn't losing any weight (GO FIGURE!!) and was even gaining some back after my Dad died because, hello, emotional eating and such.  No surprises there.  So at the end of 2024 I climbed back on track and got myself back to my provider and she started me back on Oz again.  However...when 2025 rolled around, our insurance decided they aren't going to cover Oz for weight loss anymore; and that I'd need a diagnosis of diabetes (not pre-diabetes, which I was able to eke out with my last labs drawn like a year and a half ago before I started Oz, with my borderline A1C) to be approved.  No problem, my provider assured me, she'd just write for Wegovy instead (same active ingredient, different brand name).  Except, our insurance -- for WHATEVER REASON -- doesn't cover Wegovy.  This does not compute in my nurse brain.  Not one single solitary bit.  Especially because our insurance plan makes this big deal about how they are focused on HEALTH and WELLNESS.  So, let's focus on getting healthy and well and preventing potential problems before they become problems!! 

Or not!

Back-up plan time! My provider's office has a "deal" with a local pharmacy where they provide compounded semaglutide (the active ingredient of Wegovy and Ozempic) for an out-of-pocket price that is actually just a little bit more than the co-pay for the brand-name Oz was.  So, I was a little leary of trying compounded stuff, but I also want to lose weight and improve my health, so I decided to try it.  This is my second week on it.  It's going well!  I am hopeful. 

And so, the reason I know it's starting to work for me again, is not just because the needle on the scale is ever-so-slowly starting to move downward, but because whenever I eat too much of the wrong thing, I pay for it.  And I don't like paying for it.  Now, I've had an irritable GI tract for as long as I remember so I'm pretty much used to "paying for it", but it gets a bit ridiculous after a while.  So once my puny human brain realizes that I can actually control that now, I just have to not eat x, y, and z, it's like magic. I stop wanting to eat those things, even on bad days.  Like now -- these days, I'm craving water and fruit.  It's not fruit season right now so I'm SOL on that end, but I cannot drink enough water.  I get 10k steps a day just going to the bathroom and back.  (Kidding.)  I'm no longer craving carbs and chocolate and sugary stuff all the time, I just mostly want water.  The last time I stayed at my Mom's house, she kept trying to feed me all day, and I just wasn't hungry. Seriously. Like every time she went to the kitchen she'd offer me yogurt, pudding, chocolate, Jimmy Dean's egg, cheese, and sausage croissants, all this stuff that I either wasn't hungry for or I knew would make me sick shortly thereafter.  

It is so nice to be able to turn down food when it is offered to me, because for so long that was not the case.  Too many times I would take whatever was offered and scarf it down.  Not anymore!!!

Alright, I gotta get back to work.  TTYL!

 

January 29th. I'm drowning.

I mean, I knew today would be difficult, because it's a Significant Day.  If my Dad had a headstone somewhere, it would be the first date you'd see.  

I didn't think this day would be almost as difficult as the other day that I'm dreading, which is the other day you'd see on that non-existent headstone.  But, it is.  I started crying last night.  I was crying when I woke up this morning.  I cried in the shower and while I was getting dressed.  I was thisclose to calling in to work, but it was too late by the time I thought of that; I had clinic this morning (thankfully it was all online) and I thought, if I can just get through morning clinic, we'll see how I'm doing and maybe I'll take the afternoon off.  Mental health day.  Who wouldn't understand, I can't work today, it's my Dad's birthday?

The good thing about online clinic is that I only have to see the other person on camera for about 5 minutes or so.  And I can adjust the lighting so you can't see that I'm not wearing makeup, and my puffy eyes aren't as noticeable as they would be in person. 

Actually, for a few minutes, I thought about going in to work instead.  The rationale being that I'd be able to keep my mind off of sad things if I was at work.  But I didn't. I decided to stick with the original plan of working from home today.  And all morning, I did pretty damn good.  Keeping busy kept me from thinking about it.

But now it's lunch break and I'm thinking about it.

I hate it when people say, "Happy heavenly birthday!"  Okay, maybe I don't hate it, it just doesn't feel right to me.  When you're in heaven, do you even celebrate birthdays? I don't think so.  Your birthday is the day you are born on this earth, and in heaven you don't have any earthly concerns.  (Note, if your beliefs don't match mine, this is not the time or place to debate.)  So, I don't want to wish my Dad a Happy Birthday in heaven. It's not his birthday there.  He's not turning 81 today.  He would be turning 81 if he were still alive, but he's not, so he's not.  

Hey...the cremains I have in that little urn on my shelf are turning 81 years old today...I never thought of that before!  Did you know cremains aren't actually ashes? They're pulverized bone.  So yeah...they've been around since 1944.  ;)

Anyway.  I guess that's part of the struggle of today, is not knowing what to do about it.  I know what other people have done, and none of that feels right to me.  I don't want to ignore this day, because it's Significant.  I can't even honestly say I wish he was here so I could celebrate with him.  Is that bad?  I can say, I wish he was here without effing dementia so I could celebrate with him.  That is the truth.  I wish there was no such thing as dementia or Alzheimer's and that my Dad was still here with his mind completely intact and a strong heart and strong lungs and an able body.  But he's not.  

So I'll just "somehow manage" through the rest of the day, and continue missing my Dad, today more than ever.  We have cupcakes in the fridge so I'll have one later (which I was going to do anyway) and in my heart I'll say that I'm having it for him, which will probably make me cry while I'm eating it.  Yum, salty cupcake!  Then I'll try to pretend like I wasn't crying all day when I call my Mom for our nightly 3-minute conversation, then I'll probably end up crying myself to sleep and oh yay, I have in-person clinic tomorrow so I hope I don't wake up crying again but if I do, I'll try to hold my face under the cool water in the shower for as long as I can to get rid of the puffiness, and put on some makeup, and trudge through until I feel better again.  I have that whole routine down pat now.  

But oh, wait! The six-month mark of the other Significant Date is right around the corner.  UGH.  It's Sunday.  Hot damn, just when you think you're doing alright, you get sucker-punched.  Twice in one week?!  I suddenly feel very deflated.  

This is another reason why I don't drink -- although, believe me, I have wanted to drink more in the last six months than I ever have before in my life.  Not only does my face and neck turn bright red and blotchy when I consume the slightest bit of alcohol, it also makes me feel hot (temperature-wise, that is) and diaphoretic and usually sick to my stomach shortly thereafter.  Not fun.  I used to be able to push through and enjoy myself because it used to not be that bad, but one time I tried doing that and my throat started closing up, and that's when I decided alcohol wasn't worth the risk of anaphylaxis anymore.  

I knew that when my Dad died, I would want to drink again.  Despite the risk.  I want something to just help me forget for a while.  But I also have this feeling that I wouldn't be able to stop.  That if I did have some alcohol and didn't have an adverse reaction, I would just keep having more and more and more and that would not be good.  Or if I did have an adverse reaction, I would be glad to feel pain for something other than my own loss and that would not be a good place to be, either.  So I avoid it.  Even when taking communion now, I go for the grape juice.  I don't want to drink alcohol because I like the taste of it, I want to drink it so I can forget the sadness in my heart and on my mind for a while, and that is not a reason to drink.  

Instead, I want to eat all the sweet and carby stuff.  My Ozempic dose is getting up to where it was when I actually lost weight before, which is to say it's getting to the point where I'm feeling fuller faster and my cravings are dwindling and my appetite is decreasing, for which I am rejoicing, but the emotions I'm dealing with on this go-round are much stronger than they were before.  Meaning, the first time I lost a bunch of weight on Ozempic was before my Dad died and it was a lot easier to overcome the emotional eating that contributed to being overweight in the first place.  This time, I feel like a mess.  At least this time, I don't have "a bunch" to lose, lol.  But, still; in order for any health improvement plan to be successful, you have to get your mind in the right place.  

I'll just leave it at that.  LOLOLOL

Because I have to get back to work. Hey! I stopped crying! I'm gonna go empty my bladder and finish up what I have to finish from morning clinic and try to get some calls done and try to get some notes prepped for tomorrow's clinic and try not to be sad anymore because every day is like the greatest celebration ever for my Dad now that he's in Heaven.  He doesn't have these worldly concerns dragging him down, I'm sure, and he's not 81 in Heaven -- he's ageless.  He has no worries, or fears, and nothing will ever strike him down again.  THAT is what I will celebrate for him today.

God grant me patience, but please hurry!

A few months ago, when my hubby had a minor surgical procedure at one of the hospitals in the city -- and then again a few weeks after that when my Mom had her cataract surgeries, they had this awesome feature where I (being the patients' contact person and driver) would get texts each time the patient moved from one area to another.  So, when they were checked in, even though I was standing right next to them, I'd get a text. When they were admitted to pre-op, I'd get a text.  When they were done with pre-op and waiting to go into the OR, I'd get a text.  When they were in the OR, I'd get a text. You get the idea.

Why don't auto body shops do that? 

This morning at 0730, I dropped my beloved Specific Blue Beauty off at a collision center I'd never heard of until last week. I handed the nice man my key fob, and a nice girl in a minivan picked me up to drive me to the rental car place a few blocks away and . . . I want to know what's going on now.  Oh, I know what they told me happens now: they disassemble my car to look for internal damage (pretty sure they didn't say "internal damage" but I'm a medical person, so get over it) and then repair it and bill my insurance company and then they let me know when it's done and I go back and pick up my pretty new Specific Blue Beauty that will have a new grill and new trim pieces in the front and probably a new front clip, too.  The nice man also said they could probably buff out the scratches in my driver's side door, which have nothing at all to do with the deer accident.  He's my new best friend. JK.  

But I want to know what it's doing right now.  It was cold and dark and lonely when I left it there in the parking lot this morning.  My rental car is a 2022 Toyota Corolla. I'm not a fan of Toyotas, or cars, so I'd like to have my Equinox back as soon as possible, please and thank you.  I haven't even figured out how to plug my phone into this car yet, which is important because I'm at a really important part of the audiobook I'm currently into and the fact that I didn't get to listen to it on the way home really made me sad.  I mean, not sad enough to sit in the parking lot and figure it out before I left, just a little bummed.  

Oh, and the rental car has Florida plates.  Are you kidding me? It was -18ºF when I drove that little thing home this morning.  Nothing sticks out in winter weather in the Midwest like a car with Florida plates.  Looking like I don't belong here, driving a car I'm not familiar with yet...yay.  No wonder the car didn't have a heated steering wheel or heated seats. It's from Florida.  

That's all I got right now. TTYL.
 

Happy whatevereth of January

I miss the sun. I miss being on the world's third-largest ocean liner with nothing to do except relax and soak up the sun, miles and miles away from this cold and snow and cold.  

Seriously, why did my parents have to settle so far north?  They got married in Oklahoma.  Right now, the weather in the town where they got married? It's 50ºF with a "feels like" of 66ºF and a 70% chance of rain. 

Where I am right now, it's 35ºF with a "feels like" of 28ºF, mostly cloudy,  and a cold front is moving in. I mean, a COLD front. As in, on Monday the high is supposed to be -4ºF.  Did you see the negative sign in front of that 4?  That means four degrees below zero.  Zero means nothing; how can the temperature be less than nothing?!

And on the same token, this is what we call Bragging Weather. I'd rather have sub-zero weather than 10 feet of snow.  Sub-zero weather is what the Midwest is known for.  We just throw on another layer or two and go about our lives.  Of course we complain, because we don't like living where the air hurts our faces.  But we deal with it and move on.

Anyhoo . . . next week I'm finally taking my car to the shop to be repaired. Or didn't I tell you about that? Right before Christmas, I hit a deer on the way to work.  I'm fine, just mad.  The deer was fine, it lost some fur and ran away.  My Equinox has a big gaping wound and I'm super embarrassed to be seen driving it.  Alright, maybe not a "big" gaping wound, but it's missing part of the grill and I really am embarrassed to be driving it the way it is, but it really was right before Christmas and then after that we went on our trip, and since we got back we've both been sick with this upper respiratory crap, and it's only been the last day or two that I've started feeling human again so yesterday I finally made the appointment to take it to the body shop.  Is it weird that they want me to take all of my personal belongings out of it before I drop it off? I have a lot of personal belongings in there.  Is it weird that I have a lot of personal belongings in my vehicle? I spend a lot of time there, I guess.  I know what I'm doing this weekend.  

And another thing! This whole nonsense of being sick every time we get back from a big trip -- that has got to stop.  8 years ago after our trip to Hawaii, when I came back with strep and bronchitis, I chalked it up to 12 hours straight in an airport and then 8+ hours in an airplane.  But now? Coming back from an awesome, relaxing cruise and being sick for 2 weeks? No. Ain't nobody got time for that.  Ain't nobody got PTO for that, either.  I wanted to start 2025 being rested and relaxed and ready to kick ass in the new year, not hacking up a lung and being dead on my feet after 4 hours of work, then coming home and crawling into bed at 6pm every night.  Thank God I'm starting to feel better, and also Thank God the house was clean before we left because I have not had the energy or motivation to do anything since we got back! All my Christmas decorations are up still.  I don't care, I'll probably leave them up for a while now.  Or I might take them down this weekend, too, once I remove all my personal belongings from the Nox.  

But seriously.  I guess, besides drugging myself up to avoid motion sickness on our next trip, I'll have to throw in some immune-boosting crapola, too.  

I might be in a cheerier mood today if the sun was shining.  Or I might not be, because it's Friday and I don't like Fridays.  Still.  It's been almost six months, and I still don't like them.  Is that ever going to change? Rhetorical question.  You can't answer it. I can't answer it. No one can answer it.  I would guess that Fridays will probably never be the same for me ever again, although even now some are worse than others.  

I have really been missing my horse lately. I know I have another horse, but, her and I don't click like Nicker and I did.  I think I've talked about that in here before and, anyway, it makes me sad to think about so I'm going to change the subject now.  Also, I can't ride Shasta, and that's part of what I've been missing, which is funny because even if Nicker was still alive I probably wouldn't ride her because she'd be like going on 32 years old and I hadn't ridden her in a few years anyway.  Oh, well. Next topic!

I should write about my sister one of these days.  How she hasn't talked to me in person since about, what, 2012? I have replayed that last interaction in my head so many times, trying to figure out what I did wrong.  It was after her oldest son's graduation party, we (my hubby and son and I) were leaving and as we were walking out to our vehicle, she asked me -- and forgive me because I don't remember the exact way she worded it. It was an awkward question and I didn't know it would be such a turning point in our relationship.  But she asked me something along the lines of what I thought of her boyfriend or if I approved of him, or something like that.

Now, let me explain something here.  Her boyfriend was at the party.  Let me explain something else: my brother-in-law was also at the party.  My brother-in-law meaning her husband.  We had all ("we" meaning me, my husband, and my parents) been told ahead of time that the boyfriend would be there but under the guise of being a family friend or something like that, because my sister didn't want her husband to know he was her boyfriend.  Totally and completely awkward and just...weird.  All of it.  

So when she asked if I approved or something like that, I told her, No.  Which was obviously not the answer she wanted.  Up until then, she had been wanting me to meet her boyfriend so badly. She even said she wanted my approval.  Up until then I did as I had been taught and just ignored it and pretended it would go away if I didn't acknowledge it...but then I broke.  I couldn't do it anymore.  No, I told her.  I don't approve.

And I didn't.  I didn't like the guy. He was creepy.  I didn't like lying in front of my brother-in-law and my whole family.  Even if "everybody knew anyway" (except my brother-in-law, or maybe he did, IDK).  If she wanted to date, fine; get divorced first! Don't effing use your kids as pawns (which I knew she was doing to some extent but wouldn't find out until much later that she was doing this to such a degree, it makes me feel horrible for not being a better person and rescuing my nephews)  For weeks after that we "discussed" this over emails and texts, she kept saying I didn't understand and we should get together so she could explain and I kept saying OK, let's do that, then, but she kept coming up with reasons why she couldn't get together at the days and times I'd suggest, and then pretty soon she just started blocking me and . . . here we are.

And I have to go back to work now. HA! I'll write more about this saga later. Because there is so much more I need to get out of my puny human brain...

I thought of something funnier than 24.

Where were YOU when it flipped from 2024 to 2025?

I was on a boat -- one of my happy places.  Next to my hubby.  Somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean.  Technically not even in the United States, I believe.  I probably would have slept right through the official changing of the new year, except we heard the cheers of several thousand people a few decks below us, and we were both half-awake enough to mumble, "Happy New Year" to each other before we rolled over and went back to sleep.  

Okay, so it was more than "a boat".  It was a 17-deck cruise ship that was once the world's largest passenger ship, the Allure of the Seas.  And we were likely sailing somewhere in the Bahamas at that time.  Our first cruise, our first time out of the country, what a way to ring in the new year, I tell ya!

This was kind of a test.  See, all of my life I have been one of those "prone to motion sickness" people.  I can't do amusement park rides.  I always had to call "shotgun" because I couldn't ride in the backseats of cars.  Sometimes even standing on docks would make me nauseated.  We went to a waterpark once, and I got sick after going down a freaking slide.  I had pretty much figured I would never ever get to go on a cruise ever in my life because there would just be no way. 

Then we got our little fishing boat.  And I love fishing.  I love going out in boats.  I really do.  And I used to get nauseated at first, but I just kept taking the medication and using the Sea Bands and everything until I started not needing them anymore.  And we started flying more places, and that started being alright, too.  I mean not completely alright -- but manageable. Instead of needing to take three meds just to handle a short flight across the country, I can do it with just one now.  And it's more prophylactic than anything.  I haven't actually thrown up on an airplane in over 27 years.  Go, me!

Fast forward to last year, we started talking about what to do for our 50th birthdays and also our 30th anniversary (50th birthdays were last year, 30th anniversary will be next year).  The hubby suggested a European cruise for our anniversary, and then he suggested that we take a "test cruise" this year to see if I could handle it.  Sure, I said.  Let's try it.  Yeah, I was less than enthused at the time; to be honest, I was less than enthused about anything in 2024.  I wasn't sure if I'd actually be able to handle a cruise, and I have never actually thought about going on a Caribbean vacation, so when he booked us a cruise to the Bahamas, I was feeling way more out of my element than anything else.  

But oh my gosh. It happened, and I was armed with scopolamine patches and ondansetron tablets and sea bands and diphenhydramine and it could not have gone better! The only time I felt nauseated was the night before we set sail when I ate too big of a deli sandwich for supper and then layed down to sleep almost immediately afterward.  Not once on the ship did I feel an iota of motion sickness.  I didn't even wear the sea bands most of the time, and I only took the Zofran when we were actually moving.

I feel like I'm over-reacting but this is also huge for me.  I'm not going to go out and start hitting up amusement parks or anything, but...it's pretty freaking awesome not to be motion sickness' bitch anymore.

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Oh yeah, and now we've traveled to another country, blah blah blah. But it didn't really feel like it. The Bahamas is very touristy and we didn't go very far away from the ship or the pier.  We didn't sign up for any shore excursions, just in case I wasn't feeling well.  And honestly, we both needed to just chill and rest and do nothing anyway.  I got a nice tan, that I now have to hide under layers of clothing because it's freaking cold here in the tundra, but that's okay. It was so nice to have nothing to do but just lay in the sun and warm up like a cold-blooded reptile.  There were way too many other people but at the same time, it was nice to be anonymous among them. Except for the fact that we were all packed together in the same relatively small area and now I've got this nasty cough that I can't seem to shake, and an odd rash on my arm that reminds me that the loungers I loved so much were definitely not disinfected between users.  YAY!

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In other news, not much. I'm back to work full-time now, no more day-off-during-the-week-to-spend-with-Mom.  Feeling bittersweet about that.  It will be an adjustment for all of us, but, it wasn't meant to be a permanent arrangement anyway.  I'll still go over and help her out, and spend the night at her place, but after I'm done with work or on my WFH days.  

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Don't think I missed the fact that the 5-month milestone passed while I was gone.  It's weird.  Almost 6 months.  Almost half a year.  That seems like so long and yet, not.  I've never gone this long without seeing my Dad before.  Most of the time I feel numb when people ask "How are you doing?" and things like that, but if someone were to ask me a specific question about my Dad, I would absolutely lose it.  I saw a meme on FB that said something like, Don't ask me how I'm doing, ask me to share one of my favorite memories with you -- or something along those lines.  And that made me think -- No, don't do that! I will definitely break down in front of you if you do that.  

I unjoined all the "grief" groups I had joined on FB because it was just too much, seeing all that on social media all the time.  I don't know if that's avoidance or protection or healing or none of the above, but it just gets so depressing seeing those kinds of posts all the time.  Dad wouldn't want me to sit around and be depressed because of him.  

Dad's birthday is at the end of this month.  I'm not looking forward to that.

Gotta get back to work! TTYL