Frnglh nrnggnfh mmrfchf.

That's what I'd be saying tomorrow. Still freaking out about the teeth being removed. Still worried about just having gas and needles in my mouth.
At least Annie's going with me, though. I hope I don't cry. I hope it's all over fast. I look forward to feeling better.


More Nonsense

I wanted to complain some more in my last entry but I'd gone on so long I thought it was only fair to start a new entry.

The next two weeks are going to blow thoroughly. I'm scheduled 30 hours this week and working Monday through Friday. I have two noon-to-close shifts which also stinks. It's been pretty slow at work due to parents taking their kids out of town for spring break, so that'll be a really, really long eight hours. I missed both my classes yesterday because the oral surgeon only does consultations on Tuesdays. But I forgot to get a signed excuse from him. Ooops. I even wrote both my instructors and told them I'd bring one. I absolutely have to go to the rest of my classes, which is why I chose to try and find someone to cover for me at work Friday; so I'd have two days to recuperate (well, except I have to work Sunday morning). Next week I'm working another five days, but I'm only getting 23 hours.
I also have a math quiz due this week (I'm just going to have to do it right now), and a test next week in three different classes.


I'm trying to find time in between working and doctors to just pack. Yesterday I think I filled a dozen boxes but you wouldn't really know it. It was all in the dining area, books and my Matrix and Charlie's McFarlane football figurines. There are still books on shelves so it's kind of unnerving to have done that much and not made much of a difference.
As with anything unpleasant, though, I'll just have to bear down and get it done. No one else is going to do any of it because there's an unspoken understanding that Cavan only has to move his own stuff, and Charlie and I have an agreement that I'll do the packing and set-up if he does the physical moving.

We're also still dealing with the current landlady as far as how we're going to get our deposit returned. She claims she's an “honest and fair landlord” who's only ever been shit upon by other people. We clearly remember being charged for cleaning she claimed we didn't do the last time we moved out of here (she charges $15 an hour, by the way, and claimed to be here for over six hours, so we lost over $100 right there). Then she charged us for a portion of her twenty-year-old carpet that started coming up. Although we fixed it, she claimed she needed a professional to glue it down. There was another $200. Then she said the carpets weren't steam-cleaned. Add $120. The list goes on.
Basically, she's cheap. The easiest thing to do would be to turn over the new tenants' deposit to us. Instead she'll just bide her time and make excuses to do any sort of walk-through because that way, she can avoid being pinned down to a definitive set of repairs. Ugh.

None the Wiser

In three short days I'll be less of a woman than I am right now.
Number 17 and number 32 are being permanently removed.

Those are my wisdom teeth, by the way, if I'm remembering correctly what the oral surgeon called them.

I'm petrified. So much so that I've had some gastrointestinal problems since yesterday morning before my appointment. I won't go into any details other than that the idea of having needles and scalpels in my mouth causes great anxiety.

However, I'm really glad that I'm going and that Annie is making me go. Okay, it doesn't hurt that it's her father and there's some hope that he'll hook me up with a discount and payment plan. There's even a possibility he might do it all for free and just write it off. From what I understand, her family can afford to write off two little wisdom teeth.

I wish I could show you a copy of the x-ray. It was funny; when I looked at it, I assumed it was backwards because one tooth coming in completely and totally sideways and it's the left side of my mouth that's been causing so much trouble for so long. Turns out that one's not bothering me at all, but the one on the left, although it looks relatively straight, is creating a little pocket for food and bacteria to get stuck. Apparently I've had a low-grade infection for a while. He prescribed me some antibiotics, told me to take 800mg of ibuprofen three or so times a day, and sent me on my way with a 2:30 appointment on Friday to cut the suckers out.

After avoiding any sort of dental work for years, this is a major step for me. I'm trying to take it one thing at a time so as not to get too overwhelmed, but it seems the health ball has already gotten rolling. I think I've been to see doctors of some sort or another more times since my birthday last August than I have in the previous 10 years.
There are so many little problems right now in my body that it's difficult to know where to begin. The teeth definitely must be taken care of. My next appointment with the allergist isn't until June at which point I assume I'll be a sneezing, itching mess, but hopefully they can find a way to resolve the sinus situation beyond just a Claritin and steroids that I don't want to shove up my nose. I haven't been keeping up on the nasal spray because I don't like doing it. It feels and tastes really unpleasant and doesn't seem to improve matters much.

I'm just hoping things change with a move to a place sans mold, mildew, carpet, and a ton of dust.

Big Steps

I'm starting down the Road to Recovery.

It's so cheesy, but it's also sort of humiliating to know how long I have let things build up without doing anything about it.

I went to the Good Earth this morning, first thing, and loaded up on Magnesium and B-2, two things that are not, for some reason, in my daily vitamins.

I have a consultation tomorrow at 10:45 with an oral surgeon for my horrifying dental condition.

I'm also doing some stretches right now because there's a lot of tension in my neck and I think a good portion of my headaches are coming from there. And the teeth,

Constant Headache

If I thought back far enough I might be able to determine what day, exactly, my headache started. Because of the intensity it's building up to today, however, I can't think that straight.
My guess is that it's been off and on, every day, for about two weeks, with the first Really Bad Headache starting sometime in November.
It sucks feeling sick every time you come into your own house. I just wish we'd never moved back in here. I'm glad I know why I don't feel well, but there's something in knowing that also makes me question the validity. Am I insane? Am I paranoid? Are my headaches worse now that the mold is worse, or because I'm expecting them?
I don't know.
It doesn't help that I'm working over 30 hours this week, six days, plus I have a meeting next Sunday, another quiz in math, a Spanish test, and some writing homework I haven't gotten around to.
Feeling this shitty makes it difficult just to get out of bed, let alone go to work every afternoon.
In case you didn't know, I am not looking forward to this next week. I hope it goes fast and I can ward off the headaches when I start to feel them coming on. Every spare moment seems to be dedicated to dishes laundry, dogs, and vacuuming. But I know what I should be doing is just laying down in a dark, quiet room.

New House, Old Girlfriend

I had a dream last night that the current tenant at our new place refused to move out. We kept driving by and finding all of his stuff still inside, even after his lease was up. I got a key and started hiding in the house, trying to find a way to get him to leave, when I realized it wasn't the guy we'd thought was living there; the resident was actually Charlie's ex-girlfriend. I didn't want to tell him this because I was afraid they would start dating again and not tell me about it.

In real life, I drive by the house probably three times a week, just reminding myself that I'm actually going to live in that neighborhood and be just two blocks from work. I'm looking forward to the idea of walking to work, except, perhaps, when there's a lot of snow or rain.
I have begun to collect boxes, newspapers for packing, and I even got a nice tape gun for putting the boxes together. I haven't decided when I actually want to pack. I'm generally premature in that respect and we end up shifting them around and pawing through them to find things that I didn't think we'd need. The truth of the matter is, I suddenly hate moving very much. Now that I actually “own” things and have my own furniture, the idea of picking it all up and setting it down somewhere else, no matter how close, irritates me.
As I've said before, the worst part is that we're going to have to do it all again when Cavan graduates. I have toyed with the idea of moving back to the west side because it's cheaper and everything is right where you need it: grocery stores, shopping, movie theatres, restaurants. But it's completely devoid of any personality. Living on the north side, at least there's some diversity and a Jamaican restaurant. In the 'burbs you're lucky to find a Mexican place that isn't Taco Bell. Maybe things are changing, I don't know. Plainfield did just get a big open-air mall, but is that something upon which to base your residency? I hope I'm not becoming that boring.

I think we'd all like to stay on this side of town if we're going to live in Indiana, regardless of whether or not we're all housemates in a year. There just isn't anywhere else to go.


Few things are worse to experience than someone you care about telling you they don't appreciate what you've done.
Relationships are basically, in my mind, just one silly compromise after another: I won't sleep with other people if you won't; I won't go out drinking every night if you don't; if you promise to not call me bad names I'll do the same for you; I'll go see this movie in the theater but next time let's rent.
However, once you take the leap to compromise on something Really Important, be careful not to ask for applause. You may just learn that you, as usual, haven't done enough.

Snow Day

Regardless of the fact that it will be in the 50s this time next week, or the fact that it was almost 70 a week ago, I can’t get to class. With bald tires and 4 inches of slushy snow, plus “freezing fog” and 20-mile-an-hour traffic, I’m just saying screw it.
Charlie took a snow day too. Maybe we can dig out his car from the garage (the alley to our garage has absolutely no salt or plowing action) and go to the movies or something.

In other news, did I tell you we signed a lease on the new place? It still hasn’t quite hit me that I’m going to be moving again. I know it’s happening, it just hasn’t fully registered because I haven’t opened a single box yet. Maybe I’ll start packing two weeks before we move. I don’t know what you’re supposed to do, but I hate living with boxes.
We definitely need to get some more paint mixed so we can fill in the holes from our picture frames. They’re all concrete screws with anchors because, well, the wall between us and the other side of the double is concrete. Makes sense. Lowe’s, here I come!

Cavan’s taking the bigger bedroom with the sunroom and large closet at the new place. He needs it for all his video game and computer crap, but it kind of sucks. We have to take the tiniest bedroom. Oh, well. I don’t do anything in there but sleep, anyway. I just know I’ll have to do some major wardrobe shifting and thinning out to make my clothes and shoes fit. I’ll probably have to use the closet in the spare bedroom. Which will become Charlie’s video game room. At least I can have the breakfast nook off the kitcen as my own office.

Sunday we’re driving up to Noblesville to pay for and pick up a kitchen island I’m buying from a woman on CraigsList. It’s nice, with a marble top, but no wheels. I think we might add some so we can cart it around the kitchen. there’s a bit of dead space next to the stove that currently houses a hideously ugly four-foot-long-or-so table that has to go. It provides more storage, I guess, but when we looked at the place a couple of weeks ago, we all agreed the table will live in the basement once we move in. Maybe for folding clothes.

I think I’ll take a shower.

Varying Shades

I just realized that I have been dyeing my hair various shades of blonde for almost one year now. That's a freaking record for me. Usually it's blonde for about two months before I get sick of it. Now I can't imagine going back to a dark shade.

We just spent 30 minutes tooling around at work while I made drinks and our landlady showed the house. They were gone when we got back but their car is still here. I'm assuming she's boring them silly with pointless details. They either want to rent it or they don't. I hate thinking about how much time I'll lose when I see her head bobbing over here. It's literally at least one hour of your day, not to mention all the times she just “pops in” to ask a question or advice about something or go on about her health problems.

I've also realized that I almost no immune system right now. Yesterday morning I got in the middle of a dog fight. The neighbor had her pooches in the backyard and I didn't realize it. In the mad rush to get ours out of the yard before there was a massive bloodbath, someone bit me. I think it was Alvy. Within a matter of a couple of hours the bite was infected. Even after I washed it out with antibacterial soap and slathered on neosporin. Today it's all white and the skin around the cut is swollen and red. Yuck! What the f–k is wrong with my body?

Stupid mold.

Cross Country Pets

One thing to take into consideration when it comes to a Big Move, I've realized recently, is the sheer volume of pets we have to haul, possibly, thousands of miles. If we are considering a long-distance move when I graduate – whether I go to grad school or not – is that my oldest dog, Trinity, will be turning ten years old that year.
Unfortunately, most labs usually only live between 12 and 14 years. This breaks my heart when I think about it. I mean, I'm literally holding back tears as I write this. To think that, this year, Trinity is middle-aged and has already lived at least half her life . . . well, it just makes me feel awful.
The cats are fine. They're both 8 and 9 and I know they have plenty of time. Plus, cats aren't really ever a bother when you've struggled between a hundred-pound labrador mix and a bit of food she found on the sidewalk.
So now I'm all miserable because it's just dawned on me how old she'll be when it's time to move again (not considering the move next month or the move after that when Cavan graduates), and how difficult it may be for her to take walks, or even see. And I have no idea how the younger dog, Alvy, will handle it. He goes insane when she leaves the house without him. What would happen if she left and never came back? He'd be a mess, for sure, but I certainly don't want to run out and “replace” Trinity.

I guess that's the risk you take when you adopt an animal. Well, “risk” isn't quite the right term since there can't really be hope that your doggie will live forever . . . eventually, they won't be around. I just wish it weren't true. I just watched my friend Scott lose his sixteen year-old dog.