Jenny Appleseed

I've been left in charge of the farm for the weekend.

It's kind of hard to explain what an act of faith this is. Not because anyone thinks I'm incompetent or untrustworthy. Not because I can't follow directions and don't know when to call for help if I need it. Not because there just isn't anyone else.

But, because it's not something I think has ever been done in the seven years they've lived here. Because, eventually, when you deal with all the little unforeseen day to day blips of life on a farm, I think that it becomes impossible to believe that anyone else could do the job.

With the personalities involved, that's a fair assumption, really. Like myself and Cabot the rescue cat, Stef's animals are a *cacophony* of twitches and quirks. Which, really, is one of the reasons I'm a part of their lives as well, with my own little world-de-rollercoaster.

I'm looking forward to the challenge. And I'm looking forward to a little housecleaning so I can return, in part, some of the things they've done for me (including refusing to accept payment for my weekly laundrey day).

Wish me luck. And send a little prayer that no wild animals eat all the ducks, the ducklings, the sheep, the donkeys, the horse, the rams, the cows, the 5 dogs or the million and one cats.

there's a house on a hill
by a worn down weathered old mill
in a valley below where the river winds
there's no such thing as bad times
and a soft southern flame, oh Cotton Jenny's her name

High School Jen is (Unfortunately) Alive And (Has Started) Kicking (Back)

I've learned some things about myself and my self-esteem this week. Right now, I'm only going to tell you about one of them and later, I'll tell you the other one because right now, I'm just too lazy to spend the time to do both.

You know how you think that things (people) will change after high school? That somehow all those hurtful girls and callous boys will just suddenly grow up because those tactics just won't work in the 'real world'?

Well, I always did. And today I had a utter stop-in-the-middle-of-road-in-shock epiphany.

Deep down inside, I'm still that girl in high school and one of the reasons that I wanted everyone to grow up so badly is because I wanted to be able to GROW PAST HER. Grow past that scared girl and learn how to handle myself, to learn how to not let callous and shitty people hurt me, to learn how to think fast and defend myself effectively.

(And don't give me that crap about... no one hurts you unless you let them ... and don't get me started on what I think about that whole self-help movement about .. it's their issues, it's not about you... because the Jen? she's all about feelings and if you're hurtful to other people because YOU have issues? that's an excuse, that's failure to take responsibility and this world shouldn't tolerate it, much less excuse it)

(no really, see? it won't be pretty)

The reason I've been living under this delusion for so long is that because, for me, growing past that girl would be forward and good progress, it would be making myself a better person. I didn't start out bad and I would end up even better because then my life would be easier and happier and less full of self-doubt and self-recriminations that have no real basis in fact.

But... those people who were deliberately cruel to others? The bullies? The bitches who ruled the cliques by fear? Why on earth would they feel any need to make themselves better when being complete assholes works so well for them? Obviously those kind of people are lower on the intelligence scale because, well, in the first place - they can't fathom how utterly pathetic they are. (Sadly, they seem to be running the world, so maybe that makes us the stupid ones.)

Besides, the world doesn't punish the bad people. There is no daily fires-of-hell-moment for those who have no conscience and no moral responsibility. They're all sleeping quite well at night in their self-absorbed and nasty beds, thankyouverymuch.

And, FURTHERMORE..... I think you're getting my point here, right?

Mostly, I'm still paralyzed by hateful, hurtful people. Mostly, I take the higher road and tell myself that there's nothing to be gained by trying to fight back. Except... today...

Someone asked me if I'd been off on sick time or vacation while I recovered and I answered that I had been on sick time.

Now, picture those utter ****s in high school that would stand five or ten feet away and say horrible things about you because they knew you could hear them but "they weren't talking to you" and "how dare you eavesdrop" and "what's your problem?" Remember them?

This 40ish year old woman today then went back to her table and sat there loudly opinionating that "It's just utterly disgusting that SOME people would actually think it's okay to use sick time so they could make themselves less ugly."

First, it dawned on me that with the partial cast and black eyes and in the absence of being able to see the rest of the bruising, that to an idiot, I probably look quite a bit like I've had a nose job.

Secondly, I jumped right off the bridge up there on the high road, landing with nary a bump on that beautiful low road, sauntered over to their table, looked that high school bully right in the eye and said...

"Actually, I was in a car accident and part of my face was shattered. Now that you mention it though, if that's really the policy, you might want to take full advantage of it pronto for all the work you look like you need. I'd start with liposuction."

And I turned around and walked away.

And she wasn't even that big and I've never said anything so hateful to a stranger in all of my 35 years on this earth. And I'm kind of sorry.

BUT IT FELT REALLY REALLY GOOD.

AND I'M NOT TAKING IT BACK.

I ain't gonna die, I ain't gonna cry
I won't wear my heart out on my sleeve
You can take the car, but you won't break my heart
Oh, and darlin' turn the lights out when you leave

The Recreational Vehicle of Bitchiness

I have this vaguely amusing post in my head all about being annoyed. Why I'm right snappy. Why I was forced to eat in crabbiness defense an entire medium pizza with dip and why it irrationally irritates me that 1) pizzas have dips and 2) that I had to pick one. As well as a list of who's particular fault(s) it is(are) that I am so chafed.

Partly because I woke up this morning irked, got to work vexed and proceeded to downright aggravation by the time little miss psychotic cheerfulness tithead decided to act like my boss ONE MORE TIME.

Besides which, there are little exasperating pieces of dissolving stitches falling out of the inside of my lip and my nose. I am utterly resentful of being exhausted. Riled and roiled at the utter fuckwittedness of almost every inhuman being I had to interact with today. And miffed at that goddamned boy.

So, in the interests of the greater good of peace and goodwill to all men, the vaguely amusing post is being held over on account Jen's peevishness.

Have a nice evening.

When the Chips Are Down (Or When the Casts Come Off)....

I've become someone famous.



But just until the swelling goes down more.

A lot more.

Dr. Fantabulistic Jason is still happy. I'm trusting him on this one.

---

I was wandering about da net looking up cliches this afternoon in an attempt to flesh out a description of how some particular thing angers me and then I got so sidetracked by cliches that I've lost the will to post about the anger.

It'll come back, I'm sure. The next time I open up my email.

But, for now, cliches! Although, a lot of them appear to do with insanity which may come in handy in this corner of my world someday but they're just not what I'm looking for.

I think that 98% of them originate in the United States. We need a little more multi-culturalism here, people! Anyone have any about anger to add?

madder than a wet hen
all bent out of shape
to blow a gasket
chewing nails and spitting tacks
to flip your lid
to go postal
to go through the roof
to hit the roof
to have a cow
to pop a vein
i'm madder than a yak in heat
madder than a packet of Chewits (?!)
madder than a bull with a burr up its ass
madder than a drunk pig on fermented cabbage
madder than the mad hatter on national no-hats day

the obvious heart waits here to heal
and balances out a subtle reveal

You Know It's Time to Get Back Out There.. When..

You've been laying on the couch and picking up the cat - waving him around in front of you, wiggling him back and forth, making funny noises - and giggling hysterically for hours because he looks exactly like....


...one of those coffee aliens from MIB.

how dare you
how old are you now, anyway?

Wild Goose Chase. But Really Slowly.

Seriously, yesterday, I walked up to MaJen (who's standing at the rear of her little Datsun truck) and I hand her my library book to return on her way home. She hugs me and walks around to the driver's side of the truck, gets in and drives directly to the library.

Upon arrival at which she cannot find the book.

She called me last night to tell me she didn't find it when she unpacked and I should walk down the driveway to see if it had fallen off.

From wherever she insisted she didn't put it down.

Beautiful night notwithstanding, walking is HARD for me. Plus, I've got Stef behind me on the driveway yelling "Your underwear is hanging out!! Hey, Hey Luuuu-cy, your underweaaaar!!" because I've got a facecloth tucked in my trackies because my face is YES, still dripping constantly. So, now the squirrels are laughing at me.

Having the presence of mind to take along the camera (which I have to return tomorrow) I've uploaded a little gallery of pictures around the farm. Or, actually, pictures within the purview of the driveway. Except for the truck, I forced myself to go into the woods cause that's just creepy and cool.

The 15 acres of farm and wide-open space that everyone driving into never fails to park directly behind my car.

The wonderful farm where, with my door open to the beautiful night, I hear - as Stef walks by from the burning firepit, "I smell gas. Do you smell gas, Cam?"

Everyone is safe. We're all *kind* of sound. The rain is falling. The rice is cooking. The library called today because some nice man found the book and returned it this morning. Tomorrow, some stitches come out (who uses real stitches anymore?) and some casts come off and I will spend a couple of hours frightening people at work.

The good part about that is I work in the hospital, so at least it's okay to be bandaged, ugly, yellow and (according to my brother) bulbous.

The gallery is here. If you keep clicking, you'll get to a slideshow and then I, yanno, describe what's going on.

The World Is Still Revolving Around Me. And Even I'm Starting to Get Sick of It.

You're all very sweet, thank-you. Although, uh, thank God my nose is not on the back of my head. I am however, still waiting for my phone call from God and since I'm mocking Him, I may very well wake up tomorrow with it poking out of my butt, in some new wrinkle of his cosmic ha-ha on Jen.

Dr. Lovely Jason seems quite sure that scarring isn't a big deal (it's quite GROSS what they do and no, don't ask, I can't even think about it. maybe in ten years or so) and he is very pleased. Since the nurse told me he was a perfectionist then I am imagining that "very pleased" translates as "you are going to be fucking gorgeous".

Well, I did say imagining, did I not? Dr. Fantastic Jason said that while they're not really sure what you're supposed to look like when they operate they basically just rebuild 'in proportion' so while I imagine that comes across as sounding a bit generic, I also imagine that yours truly will never be even remotely generic. So, no worries there.

Alas, I am tired of myself. I am tired of the mirrors I stare into and then avoid. I am tired of pain. Aching bones where I didn't even know I had bones. And things that drip... ick... so let's expand our awareness slightly.

At least 10 feet.

MaJen returned with lovely plants for my new-ish deck. Stef's been by to "talk to her neighbor over the fence" (*snort*) Simon spouts and trickles merrily away while I fight the urge he creates to pee every 15 minutes instead of my usual twenty. Cabot has decided that our front area is now delineated enough to reasonably defend and actually attacked and stalked one of the border collies around the perimeter this morning.

Actually, I think that between Yeti poking him in the eyes and demoralizing him beyond all resistance a couple weeks ago and then MaJen's dog showing up to rudely push his jut-jawed little body into the sacrosanct Cabot-space while Mommy quite obviously needs his constant attention and headbutting in the nose, he's finally just pushed beyond the fear and trauma of his earlier life to become Killer Kabot the Hissmeister.

Last night, from a seemingly relaxed sleeping position on the couch he LAUNCHED his body five feet to and through the screen door with such force that the door popping open didn't throw off his trajectory in the slightest and landed hissing and MIARRRRROWing four feet on the other side practically on Maxi-pad's back. Scaring the shit out of two of us. (Not me - I actually laughed until I got all dizzy and started to heave).

Strangely, it bothers MaJen when I call him Maxi-pad, but that too, is funny and I must get my amusement somewhere, these days.

It is interesting to note though, that at no point do Cabot's claws come out. And just because he is my handsome and brave little man, we must have another picture (aren't I annoying when I have a digital camera? I'll bet you're glad I have to give it back soon). Because he is my protector and has even taken over the tasks of the nurses who measure input/output by accompanying me to the bathroom EVERY TIME and standing up with his feet on my leg to watch and (presumably) conduct his own measurements.

At least, that's what I hope he's doing.

And did I ever mention that I actually DID pass my physical testing? I did. I have a black-eyed hobbly interview (the final step) this Thursday. Yes, method to my madness - hopefully I will be so pathetic that they'll skip half the questions and let me go home really fast. hee hee.

This is the cutest thing I read today....

1) Y’all Canadians is NAAAAHHHCE. I have never in my life met a nicer group of people. People were nice to us EVERYWHERE, always talking and asking us if we were having a good time. This totally beats out the South when it comes to nice because in the South people are nice to you ‘cause they know they mama is gonna beat them back home if they ain’t. In Vancouver people were nice because THAT’S WHO THEY ARE. Except, they don’t have Super Target or TiVo.

That’s not a joke. You can’t pause live television in Canada.

Plans to relocate to Vancouver: TEMPORARILY DELAYED.

2) Lots of y’all wrote to tell me that y’all don’t talk like that, meaning: aboot! and oot!

Here’s the truth: YOU ALL DO. Stop the denial. I heard ABOOT more than a hundred times and then I lost count. It’s not annoying, in fact, I loved it. It made me want to package you all into little morsels and claim you on my customs form while going through the airport.

from Vangroovooroo, Dooce.

And I am quite proud to say that I am the only human on the planet who's mother could POSSIBLY LOSE the library book she is returning for her daughter on an eight foot journey around the truck. Arriving at the library - gone. So, if anyone finds "fogheart", can you drop it off at the library so I don't have to pay them for it?

And now, back to me. For, although I am chipper, I have been resting up all day for this little burst of internet loving and so, now - Hot date. Icepak. Me.