How to spend a weekend apart from your significant other:

They say that absence
makes the heart grow
fonder. Well, I have to disagree.
I miss you, yes; but I don’t love you
any more than before.

Don’t speed-
I’ll have you here safe over fast any day.

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In which I am a total pussy, and my doctor is a saint:

There are moments in our lives that we think define us. I find that this is incorrect. These moments don’t so much define us, as teach us truths about ourselves that were always there to begin with.

Yesterday, I had eye surgery. While awake. Needles and lasers and freezing. My ophthalmologist has levels in wizard. His expert execution of Ray of Frost at my retina while I whimpered and cried and hyperventilated like a child is testament to his amazing skill at his craft.

Being honest with myself, they probably ought to have restrained me or something. The man is a miracle worker that he was able to flawlessly re-attach my retina with me shaking like California during a massive, devastating earthquake.

Kudos also to my boyfriend, whose facial expressions And vocalizations conveyed nothing but soothing comfort and support while a mad-man stuck needles in his girlfriend’s eye. Then did other stuff. Then stuck in more needles.

I did not find out until today that the D was actually pretty mortified and scared, as well. But that he was calm yesterday was possibly the only thing that kept me from reaching up and strangling the doctor as a fight or flight response, then running out the door- irreversible blindness be damned.

And I attribute to God the fact that although I was terrified and plotting my escape every moment, I still had the presence of mind to follow the doctor’s directions during the procedure. Seriously. That shit was difficult.

At the end of the day though, it was a really positive experience. Don’t ask me to explain how. I don’t understand it either. All I know is that I went to bed last night feeling really, really good about life.

I’m still feeling pretty damn good about things. Except the snow. The snow can go fuck itself.

Go home, Mother Nature. You’re drunk.

Yes, this is actually a happy poem.

I drank a nightmare-
left my stomach
knotted with a cupboard love
for your face.

“Seeing is believing,” said the bone box;
but I’m bellows to mend
each time you pocket
my insecurities.

__________________________

In other news, I woke up exceedingly happy from some very comfy sleeps. Now breakfast, then a nap until I need to get ready for work.

The D and I have been doing a lot of talking recently. The hardcore kind of talking. The sort of talking during which ambitions are discussed and decisions are made.

I am applying for an open position at work (a higher paying one on my same shift, in my same department, with loads more responsibility). After discussing the option and the desire to do so, I feel incredibly secure in the decision, and optimistic that I have a really good chance of getting it. I find it amazing to feel so supported and encouraged by someone who is not directly related to me.

No offense Mom, Dad, Brothers- it just feels damn good to have someone on the outside recognize that I’m capable of better things, too.

The Pros and Cons of Being Nocturnal

Let me make this clear: I work during what most people refer to as “night-time”. My shift begins at 23:00, and ends (usually) at around 07:00. Third shift is a blast- the shift leads of various department have competitions over the PA system where they will randomly play music or sound clips from TV or movies. They do hilarious accents when paging the mechanics to fussy machinery.

Everyone gets to tell off-color jokes and have highly inappropriate conversation on the line because the leads are so much more laid back. This sort of stuff would not fly on first or second shift. Plus, the shift differential is pretty nice.

So, as I pass first-shift people on my way out the door, I don’t really think much of it when I say, “Have a good evening,” because after all, I’m going home for the day- It IS my evening. They look at me, and the rest of third shift like we’re nuts.

Let’s continue on with the rest of my evening:

I don’t have to wait in line at the bank because, Hey! Everyone else just got to work! The ladies at the counter are always cheerful and calm- their day just started and I’m usually their first customer on days that I have to stop in, so I’m never dealing with irritable employees who’ve had a shitty day already!

Woah! No lines at the gas pump or grocery store either!! How fortuitous!

My friends, however, never seem to be able to recall that I have a night job.

“Hey, can you help me out and watch my kids all day Friday and Saturday since you never work weekends??”

“Sorry, but I work nights, remember? I need to keep my sleep schedule or else I’ll be useless Sunday night when I go back. I could probably do the afternoons though. Just let me sleep the mornings both days.”

“Oh, that sucks! We’ve got to get you a better job so you can have a regular schedule!”

Bitch! What you really mean is that you want me to get a job so that my schedule conforms to your schedule, making me more useful to you.

For the record, I love working nights. It suits me just fine. You day-people can take your day schedules and shove them where the Sun don’t shine. Speaking of the Sun, I get to enjoy sunny days like today while you’re cooped up inside doing your day job. I figure I’ll head to bed around 15:00 or so, right as the kids are all getting out of school and the busses are impeding your lunch-break travel schedule.

A good night to you, ladies and gents!

Why I am a Terrible Catholic: A Lenten Self-Analysis

Don’t get me wrong- I don’t feel that I’m a bad person per se. I do my best to be an honest, compassionate, kind, generous, and caring person every day. It just seems to be specifically living my faith where I fall short time and time again. It being the middle of Lent now, I feel it’s high time to call myself out on a few things:

1. I don’t go to Church, at least, not nearly as often as I should. I make plans to go, almost every week- but something always seems to get in the way. I accidentally sleep through my alarm for Saturday night Mass (I work nights,so daytime sleeping is my thing). Or I just couldn’t stay up long enough Sunday morning for Mass. Or I just make the choice to be lazy.

“Oh, I’ll go next week,” is a consistent thing for me. There is no excuse for it, and I need to buckle down and go. Especially since the D is so supportive of me going, pursuing my faith, and more than happy to do it alongside me. He actually wants to go to RCIA classes when they start back up in September. He has a bit more conviction than I do, and I should be learning from that. (For those of you who don’t know: RCIA is the Rite of Catholic Initiation for Adults.)

To curb this, I’m going to make this public announcement: “I will stay up for morning Mass tomorrow morning, which the D and I will attend together.”

Now, if I don’t go, I have to come back here and tell you all how lazy I was.

2. I have little to no willpower. To me, “giving up” something has always been more like “cutting down drastically”. Kids who decide to give up their favorite candy or snack probably do a hell of a lot better at sticking to it than I do. Of course, it isn’t intentional- but that’s no excuse. I am an adult, and should be capable of exhibiting a certain amount of self control.

3. I do not pay attention. I’m the sort of introverted person who will be off in her own little world, not paying attention, and then suddenly realize that I just cut someone off in traffic. Or was unintentionally rude. When I notice that I’ve done something like that, I do my best to apologize when possible, but I know there are probably dozens more times when I don’t catch it.

I’ve come to see myself as the derpy sheep in Jesus’ flock…

The one where every time he turns around, has unwittingly gotten itself into some sort of trouble. Without fail, He always comes to my rescue, because I am sincerely trying. I just seem to have more shortcomings than most of the other sheep.

For a long time, I had abandoned my faith. Mostly, because with failure after failure, I started to feel a sense of total defeat and despair. More recently, especially with Pope Francis’ words condoning forgiveness, patience and acceptance, I’ve begun to feel significantly more worthy of trying.

It’s helped me see past the failures, and see them as new opportunities to learn and improve myself. It’s comforting, and makes me feel as though even when I don’t succeed, I’m still worthy of God’s love, and the love and acceptance of the congregation- as are all people regardless of creed, gender, political stance, race, and sexual identity. We are all God’s children.

Even the derpiest members of the flock.

The derpiest sheep

The derpiest sheep

What are some ways that you could better live your faith, whatever religion you follow?

All the Things

So, my boyfriend’s parents met my mother and my younger brother last night. One of the D’s older brothers was there as well. Alltogether, I think it was a fun time.

His mom said that my mom was delightful, and sounded like she damn well meant it. There was a lot of laughter at that table, and we all sat around talking after dinner until about 30 minutes past the restaurant’s closing time. Unintentional, of course.

The D’s father swiped the check as soon as it came to the table. My mom started to reach for it. They made eye contact for a moment, and D’s Dad gave my mom a look that clearly said, “Ho, you best putcho’ hand down”.

Very much unexpected. I can only imagine the battle of wills that may have happened if my dad had been there as well. Two quintessential men facing off over a dining check covering 7 people. 8 if he’d been there. Perhaps next time the rest of us will be able to sit back and watch the fireworks. This time though, my mom caved.

If you’re reading this, mom, I would have, too. Don’t be ashamed. The man can be intimidating when it comes to allowing him and his sons to be chivalrous.

Also, the ice cream was baller. You should have had some.

Shortcake says, “Hi.”

Bunnies aren’t just cute like everybody supposes

“They’ve got them hoppy legs
and twitchy little noses.

And what’s with all the carrots?
What do they need such great eyesight for anyway?
Bunnies! Bunnies it must be Bunnies!!!

Or maybe midgets…”

– Once more with feeling
A Buffy Episode.

It’s true that bunnies aren’t just cute. They are freaking awesome.

Allow me to introduce you to Shortcake:

bunny

This is my pet rabbit, and a damn awesome bunny. She was suffering from anxiety and malnutrition when I got her from a co-worker. My co-worker had adopted her from a friend, whose son was abusing her and neglecting to feed her properly, so she naturally had some issues with humans. This co-worker hadn’t really realized how much work and such a pet would be, and did the responsible thing and asked around if anyone knew anything about rabbits. Having had experience with taking care of various furry things in the past, I spoke up, and after a brief conversation, including info on which vets in the area will tend to rabbits, he offered to just give her to me.

Of course, I accepted.

He brought her the next day, and she came home with me in her little cage. This was a little over a month ago.

Now, what a lot of people don’t know is that rabbits are freaking smart. Really, they’re just like cats, only they aren’t quite as verbal, and they prefer the floor. So they don’t jump up on your shelves and knock things off the way cats do. IE- cats can be jerks, while rabbits are a lot more passive.

Shortcake is doing just fine now. She has free reign of my room while I’m at home, and is only confined to her cage while I’m at work or out running errands. She eats well, is very well hydrated, and is about over her timidity issues when it comes to humans. Rabbits are prey animals, and have natural prey instincts, but she allows petting now.

She’s litter-trained. She only ever goes in her box, which is why she has free reign of my room, including being allowed onto my bed, which she hops onto freely when she’s ready for attention.

She knows when to head over to her cage when I start putting my shoes on to leave. She waits patiently by her cage door to be let out when I return. She plays fetch.  She loves playing with her toys, and burrowing into my laundry.

All-in-all, she is a fantastic pet.

For some reason, my roommate’s large German Shepherd is terrified of her.

Weighing in at 110 lb, this trained guard dog cowers in corners if he sees her, and refuses to enter my room, even when she is in her cage.

His reaction to her makes me think of Monty Python’s The Holy Grail- that one scene where there’s the white rabbit in the cave that goes all evil and then the camera cuts away, cuts back, and all you see is blood everywhere.

That, or the old Bunnicula books. Anyone else remember those?

So much funny.