I has new pens!

I've been craving new pens for a while.  And new, pretty inks.  It wasn't helped by Odysseus suggesting that the next volume in the Liquid Diet Chronicles (to be written after I finish the current project of the 4th, but CLEARLY not last Modern Gods book, at this point in the writing process) should be done in a burgundy or dark crimson.

Anyhow, I resisted the temptation...and then I gave in.  Odysseus told me to go ahead and make the order I was considering from Goulet Pens, and I did.  I ordered a Platinum Preppy because I've heard a lot about the silly little $4 pens (yeah, they're cheap, and kinda ugly, but damn do they write well), a TWSBI vac mini (it posts, was a little bit less than the full sized one, and something I'd been really wanting for a while, now), a sample of Noodler's Black Swan in English Roses (gorgeous, water-resistant red burgundy), and a full bottle of their Red-Black (which looks like you wrote in blood, and it dried).

I hadn't ordered pens or ink for myself in about a year.  And Odysseus told me that this was my early (but not by a lot) anniversary present.*

I also ordered a set of Jinhao shark pens for my imp, who held his grades to all A's and B's (with the exception of his handwriting, which is still better than his daddy's).  My imp, who loves snitching my fountain pens, and requests a few inked up with his favorite colors every so often, gave me one of his set of seven pens, and gave the pixie another.  And the dumb little things are absolutely spectacularly nice writers.  The little black shark in Chinese fine (finer than European fine) is incredibly smooth.

In any case, my fingers are ink-stained a bit, I have spatters on my left shin from where I dropped an ink syringe that I was using to fill a converter from a sample vial for the pixie, and I couldn't be happier.

In other news, my local Walmart had finally restocked their smaller Pen+Gear brand smaller 5-subject notebooks.   Hadn't happened in a while, and my current favorite is that particular notebook that I'd written out the rough of Bite Sized in (I'm excited--that book has eight reviews, more than any single one of my other books, and all are 5-star), and am working through drafting Gods and Monsters in the second section.  Walmart had three left.   

Had.

I now have those notebooks in mint green (my old one), royal blue, red, and black. 

I also snagged a package of their top-spiral memo books and mini-comp-books (same size as the little spiral books)--at $0.88 cents a pack (three in the comp book pack, four in the spiral memos), it was worth a try.  I'm shocked and thrilled by how well they stand up under fountain pen ink, and am now questioning my choice to give the kids one of each out of the two packages to go with their new composition books.

Hi, my name is HH, and I'm a pen and paper nerd.  And I share the voices in my head with anyone who wants a listen.  

*I've already collected part of his Father's Day gifts, and know what I'm doing for his anniversary presents. 

I didn't need this.

So.  We've been having some issues with the imp.  Major boundary pushing issues.  Yes, he's closing in on eight, so it is to be expected.  That does not make it any less infuriating.

Several weeks ago, he got some of his Transformers toys confiscated.  One was a complicated blue Corvette.  That one was the core of the issue: two weeks ago, he'd earned it back through good behavior.  All he had to do was wait until Friday evening.

He didn't.

Instead, he got the step-ladder step-stool, got it down, and put another the same color in its place.  And then, he lied about it.

That got both toys put in the trash, and the trash taken out to the dumpster.

Two mornings later, the imp has a Transformer--playing with it on the couch while watching Transformers.  I'd slept in, assuming (like an idiot) that the kids were trustworthy.  He told me Daddy had gotten it down for him, and the pixie told me the truth: that he'd gone outside, dug through the dumpster for the bag it was in, and pulled it out.

That.  That got him in really big trouble.  He got banned from TV for the rest of the day, got all of his Transformers toys taken away from him until school starts, and got him banned from watching Transformers until school starts.  And then that got delayed, because he started nagging us about it.

Yesterday morning, he snuck out of his room a little before five in the morning (against the rules--they're not allowed to get up and stay up until six at the earliest), found the remotes and turned on the TV (also against the rules--they're not allowed to do that until after Odysseus leaves for work around half past seven), and watched an episode of Transformers: Robots in Disguise on Netflix (which we only found out about by checking the history).  When confronted, he lied and denied it.

If he hadn't deliberately disobeyed, then lied about it, he'd have only been banned from TV for the day, like his sister was.

I also told him that the next time he lied to me at all, he'd lose all his blocks, and all of his wood rails.

Guess what got confiscated this morning?

Going by his record, he's going to end up with nothing but his bed, desk, books, lamp, dresser, and clothes in his room within the next two weeks.

I so don't need this to deal with right now. 

Visionary.

Throughout history, poverty is the normal condition of man. Advances which permit this norm to be exceeded--here and there, now and then--are the work of an extremely small minority, frequently despised, often condemned, and almost always opposed by all right-thinking people. Whenever this tiny minority is kept from creating, or (as sometimes happens) is driven out of a society, the people then slip back into abject poverty. This is known as “bad luck."
--Robert Heinlein, The Notebooks of Lazarus Long

The floor is open for discussion.  

Earworm.

Gotta share this with inflict this on everyone else.

Not on a freakin' lost bet.

About forty-five minutes after we put the kids to bed, the neighbor kids were knocking on our door, asking if our kids could come out and play...

Yeah, no.  Unlike the crotchfruit next door, my children have a very strict bedtime, even during summer.  It isn't just me being a bitchy mommy, either; both children are very cheery little morning people if they're put to bed early.  If they're not put to bed early, they're still morning people, but not so cheery.  In fact, the children become downright assholes if they don't get enough sleep. 

It doesn't matter, either, what time I put them to bed.  The latest they're up is 7:00, and that's if it's a dark, cloudy, quietly rainy morning that absorbs sound.  The usual is more like 6:00, or just after. 

I have tried putting them to bed late, in the hopes that they wake up late.  It doesn't work.  It never works. 

(I really, really wish it would work...)

So.  No, my children are not playing with the crotchfruit next door.  Not unless they get up and come out to play while mine are outside in the morning while I'm drinking my coffee before 7:00, while it's not raining (it's in the forecast until the second of June, on a daily basis in the late mornings on, 'round here) and relatively cool. 

And if they don't want to play because they want to sleep and can't because my kids are being noisy in their own yard?  Tough shit.  I honestly half hope it does wake them up, and that they wake the adults in the house up, because they make it incredibly difficult for my children to actually go to sleep. 

I can't wait to get outside of town where we can have no close neighbors...

Great.

I noted, just before I went in for surgery, that we have possible poison oak growing in the back yard, and in one of the front beds.  Looks like oak leaves, but on a vine.  Five leaves in a bunch.  I don't have a camera handy--oh wait, the kids just brought me the camera.  Here's the damn plant:

I don't know what it is.  I do know that until I know, I can't take the kids outside. 

And I want to take the kids outside.  At six fucking thirty in the morning.  And let them run screaming around the yard, waking the new neighbors up.  I want to do this every morning. 

Because they're doing this every night, right around the time I'm making my kids go to bed. 

Yet another fucking idiot that can't fucking read

I don't know how widely this has been disseminated, but Justice Sonia Sotomayor has come out and flat-out said she doesn't understand her job. 

Wait, what? 

Yep.  She says she's in favor of forced labor, and is in favor of forcing all lawyers to do pro bono work. 

Where this clashes with her job is that she is currently a Supreme Court justice.  Someone whose entire job has to do with whether a law is or is not constitutional.  Whether or not a law is rendered illegal by whether or not it contravenes any part--original or amendments--of the Supreme Law of the land. 

This...this is not. 

Neither slavery nor involuntary servitude, except as a punishment for crime whereof the party shall have been duly convicted, shall exist within the United States, or any place subject to their jurisdiction. --Amendment 13

It seems to me like it takes a lawyer to misunderstand the clear language in the Constitution and its amendments.

Maybe lawyers should be banned from serving as Supreme Court justices.

Done for now.

I went in for a follow-up with my surgeon, today.  He gave me the path report (good--no cancer), a boost on my dosage (50 mcg to 125 mcg of thyroid replacement), and removed the stitches and told me to move my head a bit (but not to tip it back just yet) so that the scar tissue didn't stiffen up.

I go back in six weeks for blood work to see if the new dose is what I need.

updates

Okay, so last Friday, I had surgery.  A total thyroidectomy.  I have family history of goiters and nodules, and my dad and his brother had thyroid cancer.  A couple of relatives on the paternal side have had Graves Disease, and a couple on both sides have had Hashimoto's Thyroiditis (an autoimmune disease where your body starts treating your thyroid like a virus, killing it and causing severe hypothyroidism). And I had nodules, a goiter, and a non-functional thyroid.  So, it came out. 

Side note: I am mildly allergic to morphine (severe nausea, rash down chest and belly, and difficulty retaining consciousness) and codeine (hives and facial swelling).  And Darvocet is off the market, thanks to the FDA deciding it's better to preserve the lives of fools that overdose than it is to alleviate the pain of those who are allergic to other pain meds. 

I spent Friday night through Saturday lunch in the hospital, and came home Saturday with the drain tube still in. 

(Did y'all know that the surgery recovery beds molest you in your sleep?  The nurses said that it would periodically deflate and inflate, but it felt kinda like shiatsu massage.  And with my lack of height, it meant the bed humped my butt every few minutes for as long as I was in it.)

I've been managing pain with ice packs, and Tylenol as best I could until I got home to my useful pain management.  After that, what hurt the worst was the drain tube that was still there.  I was told to empty and measure it twice a day (I did), and come in this morning to get it out. 

That.  Hurt.  A lot.  The tube was one that went under both sides of the thyroid from the middle.  And pulling it out hurt like a bitch.  It's better, now, after Aleve and an ice pack.  But yeah.

Such was my weekend.  And I still have blood in my hair until my other half gets home to help me wash it out in the shower. 

Dear God.

Can I please have students not try to insult my intelligence by plagiarizing the sample in the freakin' class handbook? 

Yeah, somebody just failed my class. 

How much clearer can I possibly be?

"You have the two hour block set aside for your class's final exam time to email me anything you didn't turn in over the course of the semester."

"Email things to me.  I will not be on campus during finals week."

"The last day I will be on campus is the last day of classes, Friday, May 6." 

"If you haven't turned in anything over the course of the semester, you have one last chance during [this two hour block] on [this day] to email it to me, because I will not be on campus during finals week."

These things have been iterated and reiterated on a daily basis for the past fucking month, both verbal and written.  I still have students trying to find me on campus, to turn in hard copy, and not during the set final exam time.  I have students sending me things three or four hours late. 

I'm heading into Friday's surgery with a fuck-ton not finished up around the house.  The living room is a fucking disaster, as is the kitchen, and the master bedroom/bathroom.  I do not yet know what time I am supposed to show up for surgery, nor can I find out before Thursday when the hospital calls me.  I have the kids to plan for, the landscapers to watch for, and a whole mess of other things relevant to my LIFE going on.  I cannot handle whiny-ass students who don't fucking listen and fucking pay fucking attention on top of all the other shit I've got going on. 

I'm about ready to turn in all grades, my grade books, and everything, and tell the stupid shits that think they're adults to go fuck themselves with a fucking cactus impaled on a reciprocating saw. 

I know nobody wants to hear the truth about themselves, but damn.

Recently, I was talking to my mother.  She said she was thinking of seeing a psychologist to see if she could get them to figure out why no one liked her and wanted to be around her for long, why people tend to turn against her after a bit of time in her company. 

"You self-sabotage, and sabotage others around you.  You also act like you expect others to bail you out when you do this."

"I don't understand what you mean."

"You bought a new couch.  The old one was perfectly fine--you just didn't like it.  I helped you out with groceries since that was your savings plus your grocery money.  Now, your water heater, washer, and air conditioner have all given up at once.  You had no savings, and asked the church to help you with the water heater (which they did).  Instead of getting your washer, which was still under warranty, fixed, you decided to take your savings, the money from your secondhand toilet you sold, and [sister's], and buy a new to you one.  Your AC is still out.  And now, [sister] can't afford the new mattress she needs without paying financing charges, and can't move out because you've sabotaged yourself and her financially.  And you're helpless to fix this by yourself.  And you expect others to help you out of the mess you got yourself into."

"I still don't understand.  Why won't you tell me straight out, instead of dancing around it?"

I don't think I can use small enough words to get this across to her.  There is not a single shrink in the world that can.  And then she'll wonder why they write her off when they do. 

I wonder how the hell I wound up as sane and reasonable as I did with this for an example.

Think I need a new doctor...

I've spoken with my doctor, as of this morning, requesting a refill on my thyroid meds, perhaps at a higher dosage so I can actually function, and so my dosage doesn't need to be adjusted upward so sharply after my thyroid is removed (and, hopefully, so I can heal up a touch faster, since that is also dependent upon metabolism). 

She said my blood tests indicate my TSH is "normal" and she doesn't want to up my dosage until after I stabilize after surgery.

Yeah...no. 

I've seen my numbers.  Sure, they're in the "normal" range.  The TSH is high normal.  When I got her to order the full panel, the TSH was high normal, and the T3/T4 was low normal.  So, I'm on the scale, but my body's not happy with the hormone levels, and is demanding more. 

Fuck that. 

I want a doctor that is willing to put me in the optimal range--right in the middle. 

I want to feel human again, damn it.

Somebody needs a reality check.

Recently, there's been a bit of a local kerfuffle.  Five years ago, we had a GIANT tornado rip through the middle of town, just as the high school graduation was letting out.  There were around two hundred people killed in different areas of the town (there was a six mile swath, nearly a mile wide, running diagonally from one of the hospitals to the far edge of town, angling north as it went). 

One of those killed was a boy who would have graduated this year.  His parents want an empty chair on stage at what would have been his graduation, had he lived.

I can understand their grief, and to some extent, their request, but...

How the fuck dare they?  How dare they demand the right to cast a shadow on the graduation of the kids actually walking across the stage?  How dare they imply that their loss is somehow more important than the losses of all the other parents whose children have died before graduation?  What, are they going to insist on an "empty chair" at the university of their choice when their dead kid should have graduated? 

Why should the survivors' day be spoiled by the reminder that one kid that may or may not have bucked his parents' expectations and dropped out didn't survive to his graduation? 

Why should the other parents whose kids died in the same tornado have to face facts that nobody but them cared?

Why shouldn't these parents have their nose rubbed in that same fact?

This is utter selfishness on their part.  Their kid is dead.  There is no reason for others to coddle them and give into their demands. 

I have a sneaking suspicion that it's going to happen anyway, given the way feelz trump facts in this idiocratic society.

Amen.

Handicapped. Not disabled.

I am exhausted, this evening.  I busted ass all day, cleaning my living room (which hadn't had a real good cleaning since December).  I probably didn't get as much done as most would, and it took three times the amount of time to do.  Because really?  I didn't have the energy, but it had to be done. 

No, it's not done yet.  Remember, I'm working with no energy or stamina.  That means everything that gets done gets done slowly.  Steadily.  With frequent breaks to rest. 

I can still do it, though.  It just takes a while. 

That makes it a handicap.  I can do things, it's just not as easy or as fast as it is for others. 

The difference between a handicap and a disability is that a handicap doesn't remove ability, just makes things harder.  A disability means that I can't do something. 

Yes, there are things I'm not able to do.  However, in most cases, my thyroid has nothing to do with that.  I can't run a marathon--or even to the end of my driveway--but that has less to do with energy and stamina, and more to do with bad ankles, knees, and boobs that would knock my ass out if I tried.  I can't reach the back of the middle shelves in my kitchen standing on the floor, but that's because I'm four feet eleven inches tall in my socks, and barely five foot even in most of my shoes.  (Five foot one, in one or two pair). 

So there are disabilities, and there are handicaps, but calling everything a disability (like with the whole ADA crap) smacks of excusing laziness.

I am handicapped.  Not disabled. 

Cost v. benefits

Okay.  The Friatta I bought at Sam's Club was $12 for 7 servings.  Tasty, and cheaper than many fast food things, but let me break down the costs* for making your own by the recipe I found. 

Great Value sausage: $2.75/lb (recipe takes 1/2 lb), 15 minutes to cook whole pound of sausage
Farmer's Market Eggs: $0.97/doz (buy 2, because the recipe takes all of 1 carton)
Highland Heavy cream (1 cup): $1.94 (recipe takes 1/2 of this, so this makes egg muffins twice)
Great Value shredded cheese: $4.22 per 4 c bag (1 c per recipe)

So, cash cost is $10.47 pre-tax.  For around 2 dozen small muffins, or one dozen big muffins. 

How much time does it take to make this?  Say fifteen minutes to cook the sausage (mix the rest of the things while you do that, and you're taking no more time) and preheat the oven, another minute to pour the mixture into the sprayed or buttered muffin tins, and thirty minutes to cook.  Figure minimum wage hourly cost (what a fast-food worker deserves to make), and you've got about $5.73 worth of time spent.

Your total, for one dozen servings, comes out to about sixteen dollars, cash plus time, or about $1.35 per serving, vs. the premade cost of $1.75 per serving.  If you leave out the time costs (which isn't much), it's under a dollar per serving. 

The other major bonus to making it yourself?  You choose what goes into it, which may well bulk your price, but will also be healthier than the premade (i.e., adding mushrooms, onions, peppers, spinach, etc. costs more for the initial outlay, but...yeah, it adds more, in my opinion than it costs).

*Prices from my local Walmart.  Your costs may vary...on all of it.

Recipe

I ran across something at Sam's Club--Jimmy Dean friatta.  I read through the ingredients, and found that it was basically eggs baked in a muffin cup, so I went looking for how to do that. 

I found how to do it. 

Egg muffins
1 doz. eggs
1/2 c heavy cream or whole milk (using 2% or less might as well be using water)
1 c shredded cheese (your choice--cheddar, mozzarella, pepper jack, etc)
1/2 lb browned sausage

1. Preheat oven to 350, brown your sausage, and spray your muffin tins. 
2. While your sausage is cooking, mix your eggs, heavy cream, and cheese.
3. Mix cooked sausage into the egg, then fill muffin tins to within 1/2 inch of the top.
4. Bake for 30 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted into middle comes out clean.  Try not to scorch the tops.

Depending on the size of the muffin tin, this could make anywhere from six to twelve or more muffins.  My muffin tins were the big ones, so this made six for me.  

I made mine with plain bulk sausage because the imp prefers that (and he actually ate half of one of the giant muffins doused with salsa), but you can use maple sausage, add fresh spinach, mushrooms, onions, or whatever. 

I'm going to be getting more eggs tomorrow, and will make some for myself with onions, peppers, and mushrooms and perhaps bacon. 

Mmm...coffee...

Last weekend, we had a pair of contractors come in, tear down the deck, and build us a set of steps up to the back door.  It revealed a lot of slightly dangerous mess under where the deck was.  I've got some picked up, but there's a lot more to do.  Including adding twelve feet of fencing. 

I managed to get the path to the back door cleared, yesterday.   Made it a lot easier to get the back yard cleanup started.  Made for some happy kids, too, both yesterday afternoon and this morning. 

I got the shopping done, with two kids on Spring Break in tow.  That...wasn't fun, for all that they're much better behaved than the majority of children I see shopping with their parents.  I think this summer, shopping's going to be done early Saturday morning, either with Odysseus, or with Odysseus watching the kids while I go do it.

I have a load of laundry in the dryer, and another in the washer.  Once those are finished, I'm going to pull all of my daughter's clean clothes and rewash those--the rash she's had for a month and a half isn't what I thought it was, it's an allergic reaction to the dryer sheets I've been using for about the same length of time. 

I have the dishwasher unloaded, the dirty dishes loaded, and the dirty dishes loaded with the hand wash only done. 

I think I've earned a coffee break.

And after that, I've got the laundry to finish, and the living room to clean up.   And more to do in the bedrooms. 

Fucking yay.

Stupid.

Ran across something on the book of face, last week.  I saved it, and have been ruminating on it for a while.  It's this:

My older sister posted it.  And, like I said, it got me thinking.

I have never eaten (drank) ice soup.  Nor have I subsisted on Ramen because that was all I could afford.

I don't understand why this meme resonates to that point.  The only thing it takes to avoid ice soup and starvation is a little bit of planning, and an ability to use a microwave. 

When I was student help (in college, in '01), I got paid two hundred dollars every two weeks.  I planned, budgeted, and grocery shopped.  Yes, my kitchen consisted of a cube fridge, a crock pot, and a microwave; yes, my pantry consisted of one of the two nightstands that came in the dorm room (two drawers and a cubby--held potatoes, bread, tortillas, and canned soup).  I ate very well on that, while helping my mom pay for the stupidity she chose to buy.* 

And then, I graduated, got into grad school, and my paychecks started coming once a month.  It wasn't any harder budgeting for that, even when Odysseus was between jobs.  After rent and utilities were paid, and a bit put back for car insurance, we still had something around two hundred for groceries.  Between the savings card for Kroger/Dillon's, and a once-a-month hour long drive to the nearest Sam's Club, we didn't suffer. 

The whole point, here, is that if you're not being paid a whole lot, and aren't getting paid often, if you learn to budget, buy groceries wisely, and learn how to cook, you're not stuck with ice soup.  Or even Ramen.

And this?  This is even cheaper if you don't have the same food intolerance (allergy to wheat) I do.  A dozen eggs will run you about $1.65 or so, around here; a pack of processed cheese slices, around $3; bacon is the most expensive at around $5/lb for the decent stuff; English muffins around $3/dozen; and butter's about $2/lb.  That total would be around $17, after sales tax.  For enough for a dozen egg sandwiches. 

A 1lb bag of lentils is around $1.50 or so, now, and will make around three pots of lentil soup, which is high in protein, a lot of trace minerals, and fiber. 

A 2 lb bag of black beans costs around $4, and will make a LOT of meals. 

Ham bits or bacon ends costs around $5 for a 3lb package, and goes well in either lentils or beans, for extra flavor, a little fat, and a little more protein.

Plan.  Shop accordingly.  Cook your own food.  If you're too tired to cook on days you work, cook a lot on your days off, and freeze your own convenience food. 

Doing otherwise is irresponsible, and sheer stupidity.

*Mom's stupidity was a Ford F-150 with the 4wd, upgraded towing tranny, bigger engine, and 180,000 miles on it.  That she bought for ten grand on a nine grand per year fixed income. 

LOVE the guitar riffs on this...

The rhythm of both lyrics and melody also just do it for me.

Well, damn.

I had thought I had a smarter bunch this time.

Not so.

A smarter bunch wouldn't have tried to turn in papers late without having first asked for an extension.  This bunch?  Two Muslims and a theater student have all tried it.

I do not take late papers.  Not even turned in one class day late, before I've really managed to get much grading done.  I've offered them three ways to turn papers in on time: in person in hard copy, through the class site directly to the grade book, and by email attachment.  Electronic copy is due by midnight of the due date, which gives an extra thirteen or fourteen hours, depending on which class it is.

Still.  Three zeroes.

Yeah, I'm irritated.  REALLY irritated.  Because two of those papers?  Will be C papers at best, and aren't worth my time and effort due to outside issues preventing them from being capable of better.

The other one is an A student who "forgot," because she's the stage manager for both one of the university theater department's plays, and one of the local city little theater plays.  At the same time.

Yes, they have a chance to do better--I have a policy that late papers can be turned in during the two hour block of time set aside during finals week for our class.  That means, however, that they cannot revise that particular paper.

I cannot bring myself to care that that means that two of them will likely lose their scholarships and be sent home.

I cannot bring myself to care that that means that the other will likely lose a potential letter grade from her potential final grade.

They're supposed to be adults.  I cannot let myself care about whether they succeed or not.  They have to learn to do this on their own.

Or not.

Random ramblings

No, I'm not dead.  Just...yeah.

A week ago Thursday, I had the appointment with the ear/nose/throat specialist...then got sick with a mild, short lived bout of something that had me aching all over and spiking a fever, but fine the next day.  

This week alone has been horrifically busy: the kids were out on Friday (but I wasn't).  I arranged with my mother in law to meet her at the halfway point between their house and ours, and hand the imp off for a couple days' overnights.  Then Friday morning, I ran the pixie up to my mom's before busting ass to get to my classroom in time to hold class. 

We had a parent-teacher conference with the imp's teacher on Thursday.  She says he will be thoroughly ready for 1st grade this fall.  The pixie's teacher said that she didn't feel a conference was particularly needed at this point, so...yeah.

Today, we buzzed around getting a few things, looking around at a few things (like the baby chicks, ducklings, and guinea fowl at a nearby farm supply store), then Odysseus went to the halfway point to snag the imp.  I managed to get the dishes done (well, loaded--the imp actually put the soap in and started the dishwasher for me). 

Tomorrow?  Last Monday was Odysseus's birthday.  We'll be going up to my mom's so she and my sister can stuff him with pork roast sandwiches, butter and herb potatoes, and chocolate cake. 

The cats have been...well, cats.  Cricket's still nervous and jittery, but incredibly affectionate, and Shadow's still fat and lazy.  Shadow is currently curled up sleeping on the imp.  Cricket's as still as I ever see her, stretched out sleeping on the arm of the couch.

So far the semester has been rather...uneventful.  The students are better writers than last semester, with a few exceptions that aren't so bad as to be notable.  They've reassured me a few times that they love the idea I had to change up the class.

Over the past several years, English departments nation wide have started complaining that the rest of the university seems to think they're...irrelevant.  Horrible thought, I know.*  Part of the reason, I think, is because of how we teach writing: English departments seem to think it's adequate, timely, and relevant to all majors to teach research papers...done only in MLA format. 

I don't agree.  The only departments on campus that use MLA are English and foreign languages.  No one else.  Social sciences use APA, history and journalism use CMS, and the hard sciences use some variation of CSE.**  What are we doing to help the students majoring in other disciplines write better in their own? 

Not much.

I'm trying to change that in my class.  This semester, I'm teaching three research papers--one each in MLA, APA, and CMS.  Next semester, I'll add CSE to that. 

Right now, I'm trying to rewrite my textbook.  I've gotten some of it done, and gotten most of the chapter over how to do an APA paper done.  I still lack an explanation of the different parts of an APA paper, and the sample essay.***

Unfortunately, with the textbook, I've not had time to more than rough out one of the handwritten drafts for one of the stories.  All of my writing time has been focused on trying to fix things for my students, with regards to teaching them what they actually need to know.

*Not really.  As it just so happens, it's actually true.  English departments that do what mine is doing--shoving writing instruction off onto the other majors to teach to their own requirements--are more and more irrelevant.

**APA--American Psychological Association; CMS--Chicago Manual Style; CSE--Council of Science Editors

***Yes, I have to learn three new styles so I can write the chapter for them.  And so I can write a sample research paper actually using said style.  If anyone would like to offer me a persuasive paper in APA, CMS, or CSE for inclusion as a sample in my textbook for my students, leave me a comment with an email addy where I can contact you.

Just gonna leave this here...

Whew.

As I last posted, a specialist told me to go back onto my thyroid meds.  Thank God.  I went from foggy, exhausted, and scattered to back closer to what I'm used to. 

And I got my papers, which I'd picked up the week before, finished as of last night.  I'll be handing them back today. 

After that?  I need to start working on the textbook I'll be working out of for the coming years.  Rather than teaching four arguments and then a research paper, I'll be teaching nothing but research papers.  It strikes me as a lot more useful to ALL of my students: most majors work in one of four citation styles, and no one but English works in MLA.  Therefore, I will be teaching each of the four citation styles*...once I learn the last two I'm unfamiliar with. 

I'm also feeling up to transcribing scribbled fiction from draft books into the typed drafts I've been working on.  And feeling up to cleaning.

Speaking of cleaning, I've got some ideas on how to bring more storage into the living room.  Odysseus is on board, so I started clearing clutter last night.  Which stirred up dust.  Which gave me a huge sinus headache, drainage, and sore throat that's lasted through the night and into this morning. 

What I didn't realize was that it had done the same to my pixie.  She woke up this morning with a very sore throat, sick stomach, and just feeling all-around bad.  I gave her a Claritin, and she started perking up a bit.  I'm just hoping it was enough for her to enjoy school, and to behave herself.

I'll be having my non-functioning, actively-harming-me thyroid taken out after semester's over.  As of right now, I'm just trying to get my house as ready for another bout of non-functioning homemaker as I can before that kicks in.  The cleaning and the extra storage will help with that.

*The four major citation styles of which I'm aware are MLA (Modern Language Association--what all English teachers go with by default), APA (American Psychological Association--social sciences, teacher ed, and business), CMS (Chicago Manual Style--used by communications and journalism), and CSE (Council of Science Editors--used by Earth and Bio sciences, and likely as not, all science majors). 

Hot damn.

Saw a doctor today--ear/nose/throat--about my thyroid.  My family doctor wanted a biopsy of parts of my thyroid, but the specialist says between the issues I've been having and my family history, it's coming out sooner or later, so when do I want it scheduled?

In the meantime, I'm back on my thyroid meds (same dose, but after a month and a half of nothing, it's a giant improvement that I can already feel).  I'm to stay on that dose until I get my thyroid removed, and they have to put me on a higher dose to make up for the loss.

I do feel better.  Better enough that I think I can get my classes' papers graded by Monday.

Ongoing

I feel like I've been running on five hours of sleep per night for the past month, no matter how much I sleep.  I don't have the energy--mental or physical--to do a whole lot.  What has to be done is prioritized by how necessary it is (or isn't). 

Right now, the blog is a bit far down the priorities list.  So is transcribing what I get the time and energy to scribble down in my draft books. 

Last week, I had a thyroid uptake and scan.  I slept through most of it, to be honest, in ten minute chunks.  I was lying down, fairly comfortable, in a dark room, and under a warmed blanket.  I couldn't have stayed awake if I'd tried. 

I'd asked my doctor if I could go back on my meds.  I was told not until she got the scan results. She got the scan results...and she's sending me for more testing of a different type.  Which means no meds until everything is done. 

I'm not sure when that will be. 

I am sure I'm just about ready to scream at the doc to send me to have the damn thing out, already, just so I can start feeling better.

And I've just picked up the first batch of papers to grade for the semester. 

Bloody fucking hell.  

Still here...

I take the radioactive marker iodine pill tomorrow morning.  Thursday, they do the scan that shows how well my thyroid takes in and uses iodine.

I am so ready for this to be done.

Haunting

Blah.

My thyroid can FTFO.  It quit working right after I had the imp (they promised me that I'd have my energy back by the time he was six months old.  They lied.  I still don't have it back).  It recently started acting out even worse.  So, the doc yanked me off my thyroid pill so they can run a specific test on me in a month.

And now, instead of taking one little dose of levothyroxine to feel halfway human, I'm taking four honkin' big herbal thyroid supplements to feel a third of the way to as good as I was feeling.  And I've only got one more week I can take that before I have to give it up, too.  Just so they can see what my thyroid does when it's been completely unsupported before being given a dose of radioactive iodine for a scan.

Yes, ladies and gents, I've been off the thyroid pill since Monday, and feel like a zombie where motivation, energy, and brainpower are concerned.

Don't count on seeing anything from me until this is resolved. 

It's been a hell month for music, so far.

First Lemmy Kilmister.


Now David Bowie.

Rest in peace, gents.  We'll miss your talents.

I didn't think it possible.

I truly didn't.  There's no way.  No way can a cover of a Rolling Stones song be anywhere near as good as the original.  Especially not "Gimme Shelter."

I...was wrong.

Give it a listen.  It matches, if not betters, the original.

Huh. Tasty.

So, I experimented for supper.  It wasn't bad, but I'm gonna keep playing with the recipe until I get something we really like.

Without further ado:

Sorta Shepherd's Pie

1lb ground beef, or ground beef blended with pork.  Or beef and mutton.
1 can green beans (drained)
1 can corn (drained)
1 can diced tomatoes (not drained)
1/2 onion, chopped
Tater tots (not frozen)
shredded cheese

1. Cook meat with onion in a nice, deep 10 inch cast iron skillet.  Drain if fatty.  Put back in cast iron skillet.
2. Add cans of veggies.  Make sure you taste to make sure there's enough salt.
3. Top with cheese, then tater tots, then more cheese.
4. Bake at 375 degrees for about 20 minutes, or until tots are hot and cheese is browned.

Serve hot.  Probably good with burger condiments, likely good with barbecue sauce.

I'm gonna play with the filling (maybe leave out the tomatoes and use brown gravy in the meat and other veggies) but this was good as it was.  Warm and comforting on a damn cold night.

I'll post the finalized recipe when I figure out what we like best.  

crossing fingers, here...

Last week, I had an appointment with the doctor, where she ordered a full workup on my blood to see if she could figure out why I've been unable to keep my weight in a "healthy" range,* and why I've been so constantly fatigued, with energy draining within about an hour or so of doing anything.  Oh, and always being cold, no matter how many layers I'm wearing. 

Then there's the increasing brain fog that hasn't helped at all with the writing process.

The blood workup came back the very next day, with most things normal, but my thyroid levels very low, despite a 50mcg dose of levothyroxine every day, for the past five and a half years.  I'm assuming, since I've had it tested yearly, that that means my thyroid has dropped the ball even worse than it had, where function is concerned, because the doc hadn't been concerned.

However, she did diagnose another problem in the office, and wanted to get an ultrasound done on my thyroid before she does anything else.

I'm crossing my fingers that there's nothing really bad wrong.  I'm also crossing my fingers that my doctor increases my dosage until I feel as normal as I did before I got pregnant with the imp (where my problems actually started). 

 The end result I'm hoping for is an ability to eat more than starvation levels to get into a healthy range of weight, energy to keep up with housework and maybe do a little bit more with the kids, a longer time period than half an hour of having the capability to do things without having to stop, not being constantly freezing, less brain fog, and more mental energy to help clear out the apathy towards almost everything.**

*I don't think necessarily that the WHO's figures on what constitutes "overweight" and "obese" are really accurate.  They seem to not take into account anything other than a specific build type...which is NOT what I've inherited.  However.  I fully acknowledge that I AM overweight, and cannot lose weight without eating about the same amount of calories as your typical concentration camp victim: less than 1000 calories per day.

**I know damn well I'm not depressed.  BT;DT, I know what it feels like, am prone to chronic depression, and this ain't it. 

Looking back...

This year has been...different.  There've been some major changes, and there's been a lot of issues. 

January: pneumonia.  I missed the first week of classes because of this monster.  Didn't have office hours the second week, either. 

February: stomach flu for a week, acquired food allergy to wheat, discovered chest colds are a lot nastier when you've had pneumonia.  By the end of February, I'd lost something like thirty or thirty-five pounds, and drastically curtailed my diet. 

There are, honestly, a lot of foods I miss: real biscuits (the gluten-free kind are NOT biscuits), crispy thin crust pizza, Club crackers, pie, and Christmas cookies.  That said, I don't miss them that much, since I've always been a meat and potatoes type person.

March: UTI.  Weight started to come back.

May: UTI.  Fifteen pounds regained (WTF???  I don't eat a whole lot, and have usually been good at maintaining weight lost).

June: yet another UTI. 

July: Odysseus finished his second degree and got a job, all in the same week.  He's loving that job, by the way--I haven't seen him so happy with work since he sold a computer shop he owned and ran in '03. 

Also, by this point, I'd regained twenty-five pounds.  I've managed to pry off five, but it takes eating less than a thousand calories per day, and I literally cannot eat that little and do housework on a regular basis.

August: School started for the kids, then for me.  I've had to start driving on a daily basis.  I don't like it, but I am competent at it. 

October: the pixie caused me a panic attack, and routine changed.  For her.  Because she now has to wait in the car with her seatbelt fastened while I get the imp from his teacher at the pickup point.

November: the onset of new and nasty viruses thoughtfully brought home and shared by the kids. 

Yeah, 2015 has kind of sucked.  Yeah, there were good points, but they've been offset by multiple health issues.  I am glad that, for the most part, the year is over.

We're okay.

Christmas passed.  It went about as well as it could, with my family and my mom and sister being sick. 

After Christmas, things got a little hairy.  It started to rain.  And rain.  And rain.  And flood.  I think I read that we got something like between eight and ten inches in 72 hrs. 

Roads started closing.  I-44 is closed in areas it wasn't during the last big flood.  Out east of Carthage, 96 hwy (Old Rte 66) runs next to a spillover pond, a medium sized park, and over Spring River.  Sunday, there was no park, and no separation between the river and Kellogg "Lake." 

There have been water rescues galore, including a crew of a freight train that was washed off the tracks. 

And there have been water rescues of people who moved the barricade so that they could drive through.  Into water.  And then they get washed away.

That last group...I have issues with prioritizing those rescues.  The people disregarding "road closed" signs and barricades are making a choice.*  I think they need to either be left to the consequences, or be charged out the nose for the rescue.  I don't like leaving the idiocy to continue on its way without any repercussions. 

We didn't have to do anything special to avoid flooding.  We didn't have to evacuate, didn't have to make any changes to our routine, didn't have to worry about utilities going out (some areas lost electricity, others lost water), or being wonky (the south end of Joplin had issues with the sewer and water treatment plant being overwhelmed, and people were asked to not wash dishes or clothes...or flush). 

When we bought, we were careful to stay OUT of the flood plains. 

One of my aunts had to evacuate with all of her critters (chickens and dogs and cats) and her husband, and lost one or two of her chickens.  And maybe her beehive.  She didn't take up any state resources--she called one of my other aunts to come help her get out. 

From what I've read, we crested at nearly twenty feet above flood stage throughout most of the area sometime yesterday, when the rain finally switched over to snow, thankfully without more than a few minutes of freezing rain/sleet added into the mix.

*People who build in flood plains are also making a choice...however, for the most part, most people who were flooded out this time were not in areas that were flooded out the last time that it did this, in October of '93.  This time, the water was just a bit higher in places.

Have a blessed Christmas

Dan Zimmerman. Intellectual property thief. Dead Hooker Magazine

Saw something absolutely despicable posted on FB by Tam's roomie (I think).  I've quoted it in full below: 

Dan Zimmerman, widely held to be a longtime intellectual property thief and, I am given to understand, founder of _Dead Hooker Magazine_, has stolen Tamara Keel's "Fun Show Song" and posted the lovely video made as a Christmas present for Tam by Ambulance Driver and Squeaky and posted it over at TTAG, the other sink of iniquity and inequity with which he is associated, utterly without attribution to anyone but himself.

Other than polite reminders (already issued) and the distant possibility of lawyering up -- Tam's a writer and her stock in trade is the unique groupings of words she creates -- there's not a whole lot that can be done.

But there is one thing. Cato famously ended every speech he made in the Roman Senate with "Carthage must be destroyed," even if all he was talking about was proclaiming Junior Vestal Day. The phrase I'd like you to remember and to post all over the Internet is "Dan Zimmerman. Intellectual property thief. Dead Hooker Magazine." And good morning, search engines!

I cannot fully imagine the disgust and outrage Tam's dealing with right now.  Yes, I'm a writer, too, and a teacher of writing, but I've never been plagiarized.  It's bad enough when I find it in my students' writing; it has to be far worse when it's your own words and ideas stolen.  I'd imagine it's a worse violation than theft, but not as bad as being raped.

Little bit of a new spin on things...

Like a friend asked on FB when they linked this story: Why in the hell is this not reported in the mainstream media?

And why do they expect us to believe that the multiple bulk cell phone purchases were legitimate?

Difficult conversations

So, my kids are getting old enough to start really listening to song lyrics, and thinking about them.  Thinking about them in surprisingly complex ways for as young as they are.

One of the albums I have on a jump drive in the Subaru is Flogging Molly's Drunken Lullabies.  The title track, in particular, recently sparked a conversation.



The line "Has the shepherd led his lambs astray/to the bigot and the gun?" really distressed both kids.

"Mama...why did...why would...how could a preacher tell the people in the church to do bad things?"

And thus, I found myself giving an abbreviated, age-appropriate lecture over the Troubles in Northern Ireland to my seven year old son and five year old daughter last Friday, on the way home from school.

My kids have no chance of being normal.  And that's a good thing.

Shit.

Dozens of cell phones--pre-paid, all of them--bought by a few individuals in Lebanon, Columbia, Jefferson City, and Macon, Missouri. 

There's no telling where shit's gonna go down, but five dozen phones bought in Columbia can set off how many IEDs?  Four dozen in Lebanon?  No, the part of Missouri where I live doesn't really have a whole lot of target value, but there's Ft. Wood, Jefferson City itself, St. Louis, KC, Whiteman AF Base, Columbia...

Watch for new construction on Missouri roads (especially in KC and St. Louis, where it never stops), and bits of junk on the side of the road, and maybe in the middles of intersections.  This is not looking good. 

On the bright side, should the likely perps set bombs in the wrong neighborhoods, we could very well see those most prone to violence wreaking bloody revenge, and all the rest of us would have to do was make sure we'd laid in enough popcorn.  

Yeah, I know, I disappeared.

It's been a rough semester, getting into the swing of things.  With Odysseus's new job,* I've had to pick up a whole lot more that I didn't used to have to do.

So, this past semester, I've been running the kids in to school, and either heading in myself on Monday/Wednesday/Friday, or heading back home to clean without small monsters underfoot (Tuesday) or to run errands without small monsters in tow...though I still refuse to go to Walmart--even when it's not busy, the people in the parking lot have a fine disregard for their cars and others, as well as their own safety. 

Everything put together ate up not only my blogging time, but my writing time, too.  I haven't done more than scribble in my draft books for a couple of months.** 

(Why, yes, I'm hearing voices.  No worries--it's just the characters in the book/stories I'm working on, agitating for me to get to writing again ASAP.)

Add in with that the cats' stupid-crazy behavior--Shadow's funny jumping bug was only one incident; remind me later, and I'll tell y'all about Cricket eating a chili pepper that I'd left out to dehydrate naturally--and family obligations, and grading obligations, and other tripping hazards that life left out like my kids leave toys laying around...

(One of my cousins' wife needs prayers--she had a double bypass, and surgery took twice as long and was more complicated than it should have been, because she has MD, and two of the initial attempts at grafting tissue didn't take)

...and you have a five month period where I've been lucky to tread water. 

Thank God for auto-draft billing on the utilities.

There's also the factor that I've been outright avoiding the news, especially politics.  I'm...not apathetic, but definitely believing less and less that I actually have a voice that counts and is heard.  Not that that keeps me from voting, just from writing about the stupidity that we witness every day.  There really is only so much of that I can take.

I hope everyone had a happy Thanksgiving, and that I can get my feet under me after the crazy part of break is over.


*He was hired before the end of finals week of the summer semester, about three days before official graduation.

**I have more time--and stamina--to read others' work than I do to write my own.  I think I may be developing arthritis in the joint where my index finger meets my palm, and it's worse in my dominant hand...and acts up worse when the weather is typical SW MO weather (i.e., schizophrenic and bipolar) than when it's just cold and damp.  And no, I don't need to be paid to read stuff and offer feedback when I don't have to turn in a grade for it.  

Silly cat tricks

So, last week, we had one of those nasty looking translucent brown crickets come in.  Shadow found it, just inside the back door of the kitchen (between the utility room and the kitchen), and was playing with it.  She had her head cocked all the way to one side, the cricket on the floor between her front paws.  Eyes dilated to the point where all you saw was black, with a thin rim of amber gold.  And then, she gently poked the cricket in the butt, just to see it jump.  She was very, very careful not to harm the funny jumping bug. 

Then Cricket, the cat, got scared half to death of something in the living room, tore through the kitchen, and ran over Shadow...squishing her funny jumping bug in the process. 

Shadow's head crooked the other way, her pupils shrank, her ears laid back...and she went after Cricket.  She chased her all through the house, running on her hind feet only while she beat the thunder out of Cricket with her front paws.  I have never, in my life, seen a cat chase and beat another cat like that: running only on the hind paws while giving alternate slaps around the head and ears with the front paws.  Slow, hard slaps that actually knocked Cricket half off her feet a couple of times.

All over a nasty, wet-looking brown cricket that Shadow thought the most marvelous funny jumping bug she'd ever found to play with.

stuck in my head all day

I hadn't even thought of this song for years...and then, boom.

I can't say I'm surprised.

Reports I've heard out of France put the toll at between 120-160 dead; some reports say the perps are also dead, others aren't sure.

I am...unsurprised, to say the least.  I am also, to some extent, unsympathetic.

The people of France, like us, choose their "rulers" in elections.  Their "ruling class" chose to permit the waves of invaders inside their borders, apparently without even bothering to check baggage.  That, in turn, both permitted and damn near encouraged the recent events.

I cannot feel sorry for people who invited in and welcomed those who seek wage war, with or without a nation* backing them up.

Does that mean that I'm going to be unsympathetic to our own people if it happens here?

In a word?  Yes.

To an extent.  However, I don't think they'll find Americans as easy of targets, unless they deliberately hit gun-free zones (which they likely would).  However, after what's happened in Paris, I strongly doubt otherwise law-abiding carriers will leave their means of self-defense behind.

Other than that...again, the American people have permitted gleefully placed in charge those who would welcome in our enemies with open arms (and perhaps the hope that those enemies will take out a few of those who vote against the socialist/fascist/progressive agenda, and remove enough "no" votes to change the political landscape).

So, yeah.  I'm not feeling a whole lot of sympathy.

I am not Charlie Hedbo.  I am not a Parisian.  I am not a victim.

And I don't feel too sorry for those who choose to be a victim in some weird version of Sister Bertha virtue signalling.  

*If world governments bothered asking the radicals, they'd find that the radicals see "islam" as their nation, rather than any particular acknowledged nation state.

Exhaustion.

I has it.

No, not from juggling schedules, nor from trying to keep up with grading (though that's there), nor yet from health issues (migraine, anyone?  I'll share). 

I am exhausted by humanity.  Lately, I've seen so many examples of self-absorption that I've begun to assume the worst of people, moreso than I usually do.  I am so very much looking forward to my Christmas Break, this year...

Last week, I went from my classroom to the ladies' room across the library from my classroom.  I noted a young woman of a specific type pull out what looked like a brand new iPhone, and make a call.  As I was coming back, she was still there, leaning against the outer wall of the glassed-in quiet room, complaining about her commodities basket: whoever had compiled it hadn't given her any mac 'n' cheese, no name brand anything, and had had the sheer, unmitigated gall to include a bag of flour and a bag of sugar.

How dare they.  No name brands, and expecting her to cook.

Now, contrast this with another young person of the same specific demographic.  One of my students, in fact--they asked for an extension on paper 5 (which I'm happy to grant) because they were breaking under the pressure of being a full time college student and working two jobs.  Two, not one.  This student uses an older Android phone, and a two year old Acer laptop, much like the one my husband has.  Student is working two jobs because their family has had to cut funding because of a pregnant sibling.  Student hasn't asked for help, hasn't applied for food stamps, just quietly went and got another job.

And when that student broke down in tears this morning, I could not help contrasting them with Ms. NameBrandsOnlyPlease. 

Especially since my student broke down in that study room, and nobody else paid a bit of attention. 

The two other students (not mine, thankfully) were too busy discussing one of the Kardashians.*

*I will admit that I have no idea which one or why--I tuned out as soon as I heard the name.

Huh. Weird.

Did you know that bacon contains a really high amount of choline?  I didn't.  I did, however, notice the results: my mind has been clearer today than it is when I take my thyroid pill and thyroid support supplements at breakfast and lunch.

I made fried potatoes for supper, last night, using bacon, bacon grease, hash browns, onions, and green bell peppers.  A lot of bacon.  And I kept nipping into the meat candy I'd cooked to gather the bacon grease into a jar in the fridge to cook with. 

So, I got about two or three servings of bacon.  Which contains about 135 mg of choline per serving--more than you find in anything but liver (which I categorically refuse to eat from any animal, whether beef [300+ mg] or chicken [200+ mg]). 

What does choline do?  It supports brain function. 

I have had little to no brain fog today. 

I have a bottle of choline supplement on the way.

I'll also still be eating more meat candy.  Because bacon.

Ugh...I really need my brain to function.

I don't remember a whole lot of Monday afternoon.  And I'm missing big chunks of time from yesterday.

My daughter nearly caused me a panic attack.  It took everything I had to fight it off until Odysseus got home and could take over, and I could do something to derail it.  Which is why I don't remember Monday. 

I took the pixie with me to pick up the imp.  We were a bit later than normal, and she was cranky because she'd refused to go to sleep until around a quarter after two (we leave no later than 2:45, most days, and she'd stretched it until 2:50).  I parked on the opposite side of the parking lot from usual, and she barely paid attention.  We snagged her brother as he was released by his teacher, and I took them to the car.  I let go of the pixie's hand so she could get in the car, and she started to run to where we usually park...across the parking lot.  I screamed at her, and she froze--thank God; there was some fucking oblivious cunt actually speeding in the parking lot (probably doing a solid thirty mph while twisted around yelling at the kids in the back of the minivan/giant SUV), and would have creamed the pixie if she hadn't stopped. 

I'm prone to panic attacks.  Used to have them all the time.  My biggest triggers were my dad or anything to do with him (he's dead, so that trigger's gone), CPS/Family Services, cops, and feeling helpless. 

The feeling helpless thing?  Yeah, that's still a trigger.  A big one.  And there was literally nothing I could do, as the pixie ran past the rear bumper, except scream at her to stop.  I felt helpless; I was helpless. 

Thanks be to God that I remembered all the old tricks for postponing the panic attack until I had time and space and it was safe to deal with (having one while driving?  the opposite of safe): shutting down mentally and emotionally and functioning on autopilot, chugging coffee, and listening to music while ignoring the TV (something else that can trigger a panic attack, if there's already one lurking and waiting to happen). 

And I've since learned how to shut one down entirely: have a double or triple shot of something very strong.  Which I did, once I'd eaten supper. 

But, all of this still leaves me dealing with the aftermath: exhaustion, occasional fugue states when I don't have something I have to focus on (the lost time yesterday), an inability to concentrate for longer than about fifteen minutes, and sore muscles and joints. 

My brain has started moving back to normal function, and I've slept off most of the exhaustion; however, the muscle soreness will probably take a few more days.  Which is, almost by necessity, going to postpone my grading, since it hit me worst in my forearms, shoulders, and legs, this time--I can't hold a pencil for long without my forearm screaming at me, and my fingers losing strength. 

Fun stuff! 

And why I didn't get my planned blog post done Monday.  Or yesterday.  Or today.  I literally cannot remember what I was going to write about.  Can't even remember the subject.

To modern parents:

I'm a parent.  I have been a parent for a bit over seven years (I started being a parent before my oldest was born by choosing what was best for him while I was pregnant, over what I wanted). 

As a parent, I do make mistakes.  I fully admit that. 

I do not, however, make nearly as many mistakes as I see most other parents making. 

Yes, I judge you and your parenting by your sprogs, and by your choices. 

If you give your young sprogs caffeinated beverages, I'm judging you.  Unless your child is honestly chemically ADHD, and you're using caffeine to control symptoms instead of medicating your child into a zombie, you're turning your child into a jittery, cranky, uncontrollable monster, and I'm judging you to be a bad parent on that basis.  Your kid's not a bad kid--you are a bad parent turning your kid into a monster. 

If you give your sprogs more soda and kool-aid than you do juice, water, and milk, I'm judging you.  You're setting your kid up for health problems in the future.  I will admit, I do lean toward convenience foods, but chicken nuggets and pizza rolls ain't the same thing as drinks laden with empty calories and absolutely no redeeming qualities other than "it tastes good." 

If I see your sprog running up and down the aisles of Walmart or the local sporting goods stores, dribbling a basketball, running into people, screaming, and throwing the ball into clothing displays, I'm judging you.  You, not your sprog.  Your sprog doesn't know any better than to behave like a savage.  It's what children do, when they're left to their own devices because you've got your phone stuck to your face because it's either more interesting or easier than controlling your sprog.  There are no bad kids.  Just parents who suck because they don't give as much of a shit about their kid as they do about themselves.  And you, Ms. Sunshine, scowling at me for scowling at your small, screaming savage, are a shit parent for not teaching your sprog--who happens to be a few years older than my oldest, and behaving three or four years younger than my youngest--how to behave.

When I hear you chatting with your friends about how you refuse to breastfeed because you don't want your breasts ruined, and/or formula's just more convenient...yeah, I'm judging you, too.  You are a fucking idiot.  Formula is NOT more convenient, and I promise you I got a lot more sleep even doing all of the feedings for both of my breast-fed babies than you're going to get formula feeding one, especially since demographics* predict that you're probably a single mom who's going to be "raising" the child on your own. 

On the other hand, when I hear you self-righteously pontificating over all of the activities you're paying for your sprog to be involved in...yeah, I'm judging you, too.  You are damaging your child.  Study after study have proven that unscheduled play time does far more in creating beneficial thought patterns than structured activity does, especially in children younger than ten.  Over-scheduling your sprog for structured activities creates a stressed-out, neurotic monster.  If you hate your child enough that you refuse to spend time with them, spend that same money and hire a fucking nanny who'll love your child enough to make sure they grow up with as few hang-ups as possible.

When I hear you self-righteously pontificating over your vegetarian lifestyle, and how healthy your young child is on it, I start wondering if I should call CPS.  Especially when I see your tiny, wan, washed-out child who's smaller than my youngest and the same age as my eldest.  And especially when I hear how far behind your sprog is mentally.  Your sprog NEEDS meat and fish in their diet up until about puberty.  Their brain needs the fats and proteins.    And I'm judging you for forcing your own unhealthy eating habits onto your child, especially if you're also eyeing your child and muttering about obesity. 

And last, but not least, if you have your children in public school at all, without a court order from a family court judge demanded by your ex...yeah, I'm judging you.  If your sprog gets on a bus before seven, they're under ten, and are playing outside until 9pm every night...I've moved past judging you into the realm of I want to slap the dog shit out of you and put your kids to bed so that they don't fail in the shit-hole you've heaved them into, and can maybe make a success of themselves despite you and the public "education" system.

With all due consideration,

An Old-Fashioned Mom

*The demographic I'm talking about is 16-19 year old teen moms.  Of all races, colors, and creeds. 

Book Review

Tom Rogneby is a magnificent bastard who ended a page turner on a cliff-hanger only a little less painful than the last few seconds of Star Trek: The Next Generation episode "The Best of Both Worlds, Part I." 

And it's going to be a lot longer than just the summer break before the next season before I get my hands on the next book.  Damn it.

Via Serica is Rogneby's second published work of fiction.  His first is fun.  Brain candy in a high fantasy/horror flavor.  This one, though...this one is set during the latter days of the Roman Empire, and follows a disgraced Roman senator through the first stages of his exile/death sentence. 

Rogneby has grown immensely as a writer.  As I said, Tales of the Minivandians is fun--brain candy fun.  It's descriptive enough to transport the reader, but not so much as to prevent the reader from setting it aside to do vital functions like eat, drink, sleep, etc.  Via Serica is much more difficult to set aside--the setting is more richly detailed, and the character development and growth is impressive.  The charactars behave believably to their station and change with their experiences and environment.  There were a few, here and there, where I'd have liked a little more interaction, but that's true with any book (and differs from person to person.

The plot, though.  The plot, the story--that's where Rogneby really shines (except for ending the damn book too soon, in my opinion).  The story is believable, and the pacing of the plot is nearly spot-on perfect. 

In case my readers can't tell, I really enjoyed the book, and highly recommend it. 

FFOT: being sick

I'm still down with this nasty, flu-like crap that hit me more than two weeks ago, then came back for a second round last Friday. 

It can seriously take a flying fuck at a rolling doughnut. 

I am so ready for this year to be over, in the hopes that next year has me sick less frequently.

Frabjuous.

The freezer door got propped open overnight, weekend before last weekend.  I didn't realize it until mid-morning, and I didn't realize that the food I kept in the door for convenience got thawed.  And warmed. 

What was in the door?  Chicken nuggets, sausage links, pizza rolls, and other convenience foods that the kids make for themselves when they don't care for what I make. 

The chicken nuggets, in particular, caused issues.  Projectile issues.  Issues I initially thought were simply viral when my son got it Saturday, was fine Sunday, then not fine again on Monday. 

And then my daughter got hit on Wednesday morning. 

I had a kid under elbow and underfoot--at least one--all last week.  For something I thought was viral, and turned out to be mild food poisoning. 

I'm exhausted.

I also feel like a terrible mother.

And no, this doesn't count the actual nasty cold that all of us have, and still have, and are still fighting off (and cranky from). 

But yeah.  I was busy as a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest, last week.  I'm actually slightly stunned I had time for personal hygiene, what with running buckets into the bathroom every few minutes for a wash-out Monday, Tuesday morning, and Wednesday.  

oops

I forgot.  I was going to post something, but I'm fried--graded fifty awful papers in three days (three of which read like they were written in another language and put through Google Translate or something, and one more of which was written in AAVE*). 

And, on top of that, the imp threw up on Saturday, was fine all day Sunday, and threw up in class on Monday.  And the pixie woke up then threw up this morning.

So, I forgot.  Forgot all about posting something. 

Sorry.

Forcibly fornicate a web-footed water fowl

My pixie has caught my cold.  And, if that wasn't bad enough, the imp threw up on the way back from a Sam's Club trip...in the floorboard of the Subaru (which is what I drive throughout the week). 

I have papers to grade.  The kids are down for naps, so I'm going to print all of the rest of them off.  Here's hoping I can manage to get that done while taking care of puking imp and sniffling pixie.

FFOT: a list

My health is at the top of it.  I have not been so sick so often as I have this year since high school.  I'm fucking sick of it. 

My son's behavior, including waking up and playing at completely unreasonable times, is next on the list.  I do not know what time he woke up this morning, but he was draggy and exhausted when it was time for school.  I may well have to put him down for a nap this afternoon.

Life in general.  It has been majorly fucking with my schedule for getting things done.  Between getting sick, and having surprise bombs dropped on me by the kids' teachers, I'm having to scramble to keep up, and I'm not keeping up. 

Grading.  Grading can fuck right the fuck off, just in general.  I enjoy reading the papers and engaging with student ideas, for the most part.*  I hate--HATE--putting a number/letter value to the work.  Even with the rubric helping it's a difficult pain in the ass. 

Politics, politicians, and "leaders" who kick kids with cancer out of a park.  Enough said.

Twatwaffles who haven't the first clue how to use a 4-way stop.

I think that's all, for the moment, but I'm sure more will crop up as my day goes on.

What's bugging you?  Sound off in the comments.

*I do enjoy reading my students' writing.  When it's intelligible, and isn't just random words strung together in no particular order, which has no bearing on the fact that language is supposed to convey meaning.  Unfortunately, intelligible papers are in the minority this semester.  

Free is worth what you pay for it.

I think I've figured something important out. 

A few years ago, before I had the kids, I worked with the football team.  I tutored, and helped them correct, their writing about five hours a week.  Was paid about $10/hour for it.  I'd've been happy to do it for free, but for something a colleague (the one who set the whole thing up) said: "You have to set a price.  If you don't, they won't value what you're offering."

Most of my students don't pay for their own college tuition and/or fees.  They get grants, scholarships, and loans for that.  They don't have to bust their asses at work, trying to earn the money to pay $300+ per class, plus the approximately $700 for all the other assorted fees and textbooks.

From what I've seen, few of the traditional students--those who take out the most in loans and grants--don't value their classes.  They love classes like the "university experience" class (what used to be Freshman Orientation, and was a 1 cr hr 6 week course, but is now a 3 cr hr 16 week course), because they're "easy A" classes, or classes that it's "okay to skip because the professor doesn't care." 

And Bernie Sanders wants to make all undergraduate work "free." 

The thing is, most people see the grants and loans as "free" money.  They don't think about how much it's going to take to pay off the loans.  They don't think about the future.  And they damn sure don't think about what others have to do to earn the money for the federal grants.  It's "free."  Not worth anything.

I think I'm beginning to understand why so few value their voting rights.  Free is worth what you, yourself, pay for it. 

Because, with most of these kids, if they're not the ones earning it, then it's worth nothing.  They don't see others' sacrifice, and absolutely don't look toward the future. 

Fuck.

I cannot write of how many times I snapped awake--like, all the way awake--from flashback nightmares, last night.  I lost count after the third time within about an hour. 

And I'm picking up papers today.  And will be grading for the rest of the week. 

Speaking of which...that's what I'm doing now: grading revisions and extensions. 

I need more coffee.  Lots and lots more coffee. 

Editing is important.

Now THAT is feminism on the level of the original movement!

The ladies who began the feminist movement, way back in the eighteenth century, faced danger.  Physical danger.  They faced being jailed and beaten by the authorities.  They faced being beaten by their fathers and husbands, and occasionally, by strangers.  They knew the danger existed, and faced it with courage and dignity, protesting despite the dangers, demanding equal protection under the law, the right to own their own property, and demanding the right to be acknowledged as having an existence separate from their fathers or husbands.  Or sons.

Yes, at one point it really was that bad: women did not legally exist in their own right.  Their protection under the law was nil.  Their existence was solely as property of the men in their lives.

They won their battles.  Women do have equal protection under the law, judging by some arguments--looking at facts, it can be argued that women now have greater protection under the law than men do.

At least in America.

Yet the feminist movement has not quietly stepped back in triumph, waiting to see whether those changes are sufficient--they've kept attacking.  They have, in this country, begun to attack their own: other women who do not want a career outside the home; children, for having the temerity to need their mothers; men, for having the temerity not to roll over and be dominated by feminism while trying to protect their families.

They do this despite the fact that not all women everywhere enjoy the same protections that American women enjoy.

American feminists behave this way for one reason, and one reason only.

American feminists are cowards.

There is another feminist movement overseas that I do admire.  The women in Russia, and in the Middle East, and in Eastern Europe do not have the same rights and protections that we American women have.  They do not have the same guarantee of safety.  They face beatings, incarceration, mutilation with acid, and even murder when they demand the same protections before the laws that men have, demand the same rights.

Yet, despite the very real physical danger that they know they face by protesting their treatment and making demands for fairer treatment, they protest anyway.

I admire that.  I admire that deeply.

And I regret, just as deeply, that I once, many years ago in my early college years, considered myself an American feminist.

I am not that kind of a coward.

If not now, then when?

As a parent, I have a policy.  My policy is that I am not raising children, I'm raising adults.  I expect a lot out of my kids, and most of the time, they rise to the levels of my expectations. 

Examples? 

They clean their own rooms every night. 

The imp makes his own breakfast, packs his lunchbox after I've made his sandwich, makes sure he has everything he needs in his backpack, and does for himself as soon as I get him to his classroom door. 

The pixie, when we get to her classroom, hangs up her backpack and pulls her folder out.  She keeps track of her own folder and hands it to her teacher as she goes into the classroom to find her seat, then starts on her seat-work. 

Each of my children is responsible for their own choices and actions, and is responsible for the rewards and/or consequences they earn.  And they know it. 

Last Friday, the pixie forgot her folder on the bench where we wait for her classroom to open up.  We got all the way to her classroom door before I noticed it, but when I did, I stopped her, reminded her that she'd forgotten her folder, and that she was the one responsible for it, not me.  She chirped "Oh!  Let me go get that!" and trotted off to go grab it. 

I got a lot of weird looks from the parents dropping their kids off.  One of them muttered, "She's only four!" 

What I have seen with regards to how the other parents handle their four year old children rather...upsets and disgusts me. 

I have not seen one single, other person that doesn't either carry their child's backpack for them, or strip the backpack off the kids' backs to hang it up, pull the folder, and hand the folder directly to the teacher. 

What I want to know is this: do they expect their child to grow up to be a well-adjusted, responsible, functional member of society?  And if so, how can they possibly expect that when they're teaching their kids that mom/dad/grandma/grandpa will do absolutely everything for them, leaving them with nothing that they, themselves, need to keep track of?

I refuse to do anything for my kids that they can do for themselves.  And by doing that, I'm teaching them that they are responsible for themselves.  By doing that, I'm teaching them that nobody owes them anything.

By doing that, I'm working to ensure that they grow up into independent, responsible, hardworking, functional adults.   

We didn't learn anything.

Fourteen years ago, the most egregious attack on American soil sent us to war.  Thousands of American civilians were murdered, and our main military headquarters was attacked.

The most visible of the multiple attacks was this:

Take a good look.  Remember.  Remember the fires.  Remember the people who jumped from the upper floors because they couldn't escape, and didn't want to burn, only for their bodies to break on the concrete and pavement hundreds of feet below.

Now.

Tell me you don't still carry the rage from that day in your heart.

Tell me you're not horrified and angry that we are still letting this ideology flourish. 

Tell me you're not terrified by our open borders that permits this ideology to sneak through.

Tell me you're not disgusted that we still let these...creatures...enter our country legally, through diplomatic envoys and student visas.

Tell me you're not outraged by the slow drain of our liberty to create a "safer" nation.

Tell me you're not revolted by the spineless mouth-breathers in congress that did not permit our last halfway-decent president to prosecute the war they unanimously declared to the point where the ideology was defeated, the way we did after the second most egregious attack in December 1941.

If you can honestly say that you don't feel that way, and that nobody you know does, then we, as a nation have forgotten.

Und now...

Now, it's time to get off my ass and get the things done I couldn't earlier in the week because I was grading papers...

Things like laundry, dishes, more cleaning in the kitchen, and a bit of cleaning in the living room to try to stave off the avalanche of stuff teetering on the edge of the coffee table. 

Time to break out the Metallica.

OMFG.

Y'know, I've been horrified by the way my discipline has been taught in public schools for the past several decades. 

I have just had it brought to my attention that history has had it worse.  I had a student argue that the national security agencies need more authority to better protect us from internal terrorists and saboteurs in time of war, and that were it not for such agencies, Pearl Harbor and the September 11 attacks would have had far higher casualty rates. 

Oh. 

Oh, no.

OH MY FUCKING GOD!!!  This kid had NO IDEA that the LAST TIME we were protected from internal terrorists and saboteurs was during WWII, when FDR rounded up the Japanese and put them in concentration camps. 

Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the proud product of public education: the active idiot.

Please.  Drop out.  And go die in a ditch, somewhere.  I wouldn't trust you with an idiot stick, and you'd probably be demanding $15/hr to mop floors even if I did.

That's all of the emailed drafts...

I've finished up going through the emailed drafts--a total of eleven papers graded this morning.  Not too bad, considering how shitty they are.  Honestly, they're lucky I've set a maximum number of points that can be deducted based on mechanics, punctuation, run-on sentences, and fragments.  They're also lucky that punctuation and mechanics errors count for a quarter point each.  Several have gone way past the max points that I'd deduct from their final grades. 

And, looking at the first course site submitted student draft, the rest aren't going to be much better. 

Grading's going to take me a fuck-ton longer, per paper, than I had anticipated, judging by the last four semesters' papers.

I wanna go 'round slapping language arts teachers, right now, all the way from elementary up through high school. 

Six more graded in 2 hours.

Seems the ones submitted by email and/or the course site's assignment links for turning things in are much better than the ones handed in via hardcopy...but this semester's students are notably worse than last semester's.

Once more unto the breach...

I'll be taking the kids in to school in about ten minutes, and then I'll have around 3 hours child free to see how much grading I can get done. 

Wish me luck. 

After I pick up the pixie, I'll have to feed her lunch, then get her down for a nap, then grade MORE papers.  I'm too far behind to do otherwise.

Oh, bloody hell...

I started grading papers last night.  It's been really fucking hectic.  I'm going to have to bust ass tonight and all day tomorrow to get stuff ready to hand back by Wednesday. 

Last night, I spent two hours, and got three papers graded.  Most of that was spent on two papers. 

They.

Were.

Terrible.

I could tell from reading the paper that neither student understands spoken English, nor comprehends it written.  Nor can they write coherently in it. 

No, they don't speak Spanish.  They speak Arabic. 

I've left each a long, handwritten note on the back page of their paper, and have suggested they go find a tutor.

The rest of their class shouldn't be so much of a challenge.  

I have two more, just like 'em, in the other class.  We'll see how well that works out.

Mind you, I do not believe that they're all so fucking incompetent in English--the third student I graded also speaks Arabic as a first language, and his paper was MUCH better.  I also watched and walked him through the composition of that paper, so I know it's his.  Want to know what I think made the difference?

He sought out a tutor to help him before peer review day. 

Seriously, can we just give an English competency test as a requirement for college, for both native and foreign exchange students?  It would make my job so much easier...