Thursday, October 29, 2015

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.

Wednesday, October 28, 2015

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.

Sunday, October 18, 2015

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. 

Monday, October 12, 2015

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. 

Friday, October 9, 2015

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.

Tuesday, October 6, 2015


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.