Believe in the Flowers.

Carol of the Zombie Jesus!

This is getting to be hard on me, physically and mentally. I think the mental part should be obvious - dealing with my mother, stress, the recent weather, getting started on my job, the list goes on. But my poor body's physical reactions to this have been just as unpleasant. I am exhausted, to a point I never would have thought possible. I want nothing more than to sleep for a week or two to try to feel like I'm beginning to catch up on all the sleep I've missed thus far and will miss in the future. I spend the day mildly nauseated, especially if I for whatever reason have some type of fast food for a meal. At night, I am thrust into the all-too-familiar realm of heartburn and acid reflux, and if I dare eat after dinner I suffer the consequences. Tonight, I was lucky; I had to get up, but I have yet to start hacking and choking on the acidic bile that has built up in my throat. The other night, not so much so - I woke up in a coughing fit, which is far more like the previous symptoms I suffered when this last afflicted me, some fifteen months ago. Granted, it is an occasional demon, but it has crept up on me for the last few days without warning and I haven't appreciated it at all. And no, for those of you who are screaming, "Wow, if this last happened when you were pregnant, then maybe you are!" I'd like to say that I've taken three tests and they've all been negative, and last time Colin knew before I did - and this time he has no premonitions. We've been preventing, to a not-so-dependable degree, through the charting method. I haven't been doing basal body temperatures because 1) I am forgetful and 2) I would probably lose the thermometer. At the moment, condoms are nearly not an option because they would likely make Mom uncomfortable to have about and we've no good way to hide them, and I am unable to use most forms of birth control: hormonal treatments have made me ill in various unpleasant ways and even the plain copper IUD gave me problems that made it pointless to continue using. I have taken this as my body's sign that it doesn't want to be messed with, and considering some of the symptoms I suffered (debilitating cramps, horrible migraine headaches when I have otherwise never had a migraine, incredibly heavy bleeding when I already bleed well enough on my own, thank you, etc) I have no intention of arguing with it. The NuvaRing was functional enough until I realized that I had not been given a pivotal piece of information: you are only to use it at a certain point in your cycle, and otherwise it not only may not be as effective, but it will shift your cycle in whatever directions it pleases, and it will take months to adjust itself. I no longer remember how long it has been since I stopped using the ring, but my cycle is still off-kilter and shifts by several days (backwards, usually, which I'd like to think means it's going back to its old tendencies of the beginning of the month) here and there. The acid reflux can usually be treated; it's partially my own fault for giving into temptation and proving my low willpower by eating after when I know I ought to as a rule. Granted, waking up and having to stay that way for upwards of an hour, if not two, is irritating. This is the second time I've been up tonight, and thankfully the first time was treatable by spending a few minutes upright and doing my best not to think about the lingering pain in the back of my throat. The second time I wasn't quite so lucky, and I was forced to get up. I feigned a visit to the bathroom to retrieve some Tums, and six wintergreen extra-strength chalk tablets later (yes, above the reccommended four max, I know) I am out in the kitchen on Colin's computer, typing this and downing a glass of milk (about 16 ounces). This is routine when I have acid problems; the Tums are always my first line of defense, although they rarely work, much less really help anymore. I always go for the milk next, because given enough time (and moo juice) I can typically fix the problem enough to go back to bed. I do my best to sleep on my left side, though it doesn't help much. One would think that these late-night excursions would keep me from going back to my old eating habits, but c'est la vie.

The weather has been another monster of its own. Thunderstorms left and right for days, now, and I'm getting downright tired of it. They keep me up late, get me up early, and wake me out of a dead sleep at all hours. If I'm already up for whatever reason, they gleefully keep me that way. I get the impression that I'm just having all my dislikes and irritations lumped on me at once for the pleasure of a giggling deity.

Moving is a seperate problem that isn't worth discussing right now, if only because I could gag just thinking about the massive amount of work left to do, and how I sincerely don't believe any of it will be done by our self-set July 1st deadline.

One more half-cup of milk should do the trick, I think. I still have to clear my throat, and when I do, I still get up acidic phlegm vaguely reminiscent of chicken egg rolls.

My mother has a lazy susan in her house, in a side cabinet at floor-level. It's actually two shelves, with the lazy susan on the top shelf, and on this lazy susan - and the shelf below - there are many fascinating things that are totally inappropriate for a baby to play with. Seasonings (including chili powder, can't you imagine THAT hospital visit?), cooking sprays, glass bottles of all shapes and sizes, rather heavy canned goods, and a menagerie of other things that a one-year-old probably shouldn't be allowed to play with. Of course, this is a moot point, considering he's sitting in front of that cabinet right now, pulling things out and stacking them on the floor. Stacking things is a relatively new concept; he has seen us do it with his blocks and Legos, but has never actually attempted the feat himself. He's usually content to just watch us throw around his toys so he has the opportunity to knock them over again, our beloved little Godzilla. So he's stacking cans, miniature jars of off-brand baby food used for making homemade dog treats, empty decorative bottles of olive oil, and empty glass salt and pepper shakers. Naturally, he only usually succeeds in getting these Towers of Hell about two objects high, at which point he gives up temporarily and seeks refuge in pulling the protective caps off of the spray-tops of bottles of cooking spray. I really, really like the concept of olive oil-flavored cooking spray, but I don't like the idea of an olive oil-flavored baby. I don't think we have a roast pan big enough for him anymore.

I could just take these things away from him and close the door again, although there's no real way to baby-proof that particular cabinet. There's just one fatal flaw with this plan: doing so would make him scream. Today hasn't been a particularly bad day - or good, neutral really - but the idea of ruining the otherwise lovely mood of a content child has me edgy, so for now, I risk temporary blindness. Well, HIS temporary blindness. This has nothing to do with MY well-being.

On Sunday, our goober touched the stove. Let me be more specific: for the first time, he decided out of nowhere that it would be a REALLY GOOD IDEA to reach up and just kind of put a couple of fingers on that hot pan up there. Yeah, that one, with the food in it and the burner on underneath. It's funny how you can turn your back for all of three point four seconds, and during those few seconds a child can go from being across the room irritating your spouse to trying to singe off a couple layers of skin. This has never been a problem before, and I guess we weren't really ready for it, because afterwards, since neither of us actually saw him make physical contact with the pan, we kissed him and hugged him and told him it was okay, and then wondered for the next ten minutes why he was still flinging around his left hand and screaming for what seemed like no good reason. Does this make us bad parents? Probably, but I don't see anybody revoking my license - OH WAIT NOBODY GAVE ME ONE. That's the problem.

So we took him to the emergency room about two hours later, after stuffing him with lunch and breakfast simultaneously because let's face it, we knew we'd be there a good three or four hours, and that meant no lunch for Gabe. We got baths, cleaned up, and almost made it out the door just over two hours after he had originally touched the pan. He had big red blisters on the pads of both the index and middle fingers of his left hand, and it pissed him off, naturally. We got there, waited a while in the ER, then got to go to something called "urgent care," which really means "we figure whatever you've got isn't going to kill you in the next day or so, so you can sit here and wait extra-long in an eight-by six room with no magazines or cell phone service and a bunch of things your kid can't touch so you'll be forced to listen to him scream during your hour and a half wait." So we sat. And waited. Why? So a nurse could come in right out of 1982 (well, his hair did, at least) and ask us what's wrong, so we could tell him exactly what we told the nurses up front, and then twenty minutes later a doctor could come in and tell us yeah, he burned his fingers, here's some cream you can put on that, but I'm too busy to do it so a nurse is going to come in after me to do all of the actual work, and oh yeah, she'll bring you the cream too. After being assaulted by three more nurses in fairly rapid succession, we escaped with our lives. Barely.

His fingers are looking better, now, and he isn't acting as though his fingers are causing him any real pain anymore. Which I suppose is progress, considering what could have gone wrong if he had maybe touched that pan a millisecond longer than what he did.

On the plus side, it turns out he's about 32" long and weighs 24 lbs 6 oz, so that's not bad at all, right?

Also, we've been doing so much work here at Mom's that we're not getting anything done in the places it needs to be done: say, for instance, the new apartment.

My paragraphs are getting shorter. I should stop.


I was kind of hoping that when I spoke to the gentleman who is doing the hiring for the position I want that after the phone interview he would say something akin to, "Hey, you know what, forget the other guy I was talking to. I want to hire YOU." Granted, it was nice to hear him say that I was the frontrunner out of his options and he thought I had answered all of his questions correctly and oh, yeah, he liked my personality too and thought I was bubbly (was he talking to me when he came to that conclusion?) but it wasn't the exact thing I was hoping to hear. I realize that I can't make his decisions for him, but I did my best to answer as honestly as I could, while still keeping in mind the stereotypical answers that every hiring company wants to hear from its potential employees. I won't lie and say that I'm not worried about whether or not I'll get this job - I'm not that cocky - but I'd like to think I have some kind of a chance. Supposedly I'll find out tomorrow whether or not he has chosen me. Cross your fingers for me, will ya?

The water is still rising here. Alicia called me the other day in a panic, worried by my sandbagging post that the water had risen far enough to start affecting a good portion of the city, so let me clarify: the majority of Quincy is up on a bluff, giving the advantage of several stories worth of space between the river and the city. There ARE businesses and parks down by the river that have been flooded out, and our incoming bridge (Quincy Memorial bridge) has been closed down, so Bayview (usually outgoing only) is now two lanes, one way each. Also, our water treatment center is down there, and though they're sandbagging it and trying to prevent the water from getting up to it, we've been put under a water warning and people are preparing for the treatment center go to under. If it does, we can't use tapwater anymore, so we're stocking up on bottled water, and putting aside containers of tap water so that we have something to wash clothes in, just in case. As of right now, there are supposedly no actual warnings out about the water and the city doesn't anticipate the water treatment plant being shut down, but then again, they were still saying that the Memorial Bridge wouldn't be shut down up until the evening before, at which point they were STILL labeling that as a mere rumor. 7 AM the next day, they decided that yeah, uh, the bridge was closing. Because nobody saw that one coming.

It appears that I'm boring, and thus, I've nothing else. Hmm.

The news world has lost a great man.

Earlier today, newsanchor and longtime mediator of Meet The Press on NBC, Tim Russert, collapsed in his office at the Washington DC bureau and was pronounced dead despite the efforts of EMS and other officials. Tim Russert had worked for NBC for over two decades and was a dedicated family man, a loving father and husband, and a talented journalist who has overseen a great deal of election coverage during his many years of service to the media and to the world.

My deepest sympathies go out to his family and friends.

In other news, today we let Esy know that we're moving. He didn't sound happy, but hey, we haven't been happy at our apartment either. It is in dire need of cleaning, and to be honest I'm sort of upset that there's game tonight, only because so much still has to be done and it's going to get put off yet another day. I suppose there isn't much I can do about that, and I know that Colin's desperate to get out and do things with other people.

I'm also very, very sore from sandbagging yesterday. And sunburned. But it was well worth it. The river is going to crest at levels mere feet below the 1993 river crests that destroyed so many homes in so many states. Des Moines, Iowa, is being evacuated because the city is flooding. The last time this happened, I was seven, and the most I remember is watching on TV as the Ayerco gas station across the river in West Quincy exploded in a fiery ball of ominous black smoke. So the question becomes, what will happen this time? What if the levees break again, or if someone does something stupid and breaks it on their own? It doesn't affect the majority of Quincy, thanks to the fact that we're up on the bluffs and thus the river would have to rise some two or three extra stories in order to affect the city itself. But there are all sorts of buildings and parks that are off the bluffs that will flood, and have flooded already. Sigh.

Today is a day of exhaustion, and it's only 2:30 PM! We have spent today very busy, and very baby-less, which has been fine with us. We're dirty - okay, well, we showered - and we're tired and blistered and our backs and knees ache. But it was worthwhile. What were we doing today?


Also, today my mother said the word "balls". In reference to my son's testicles. I have never heard her use that word before in that way.

That is all.

All right, so I'm darning someone I hardly know. But still. She posted some questions on her blog, and now I'm forced to copy and paste the questions onto mine, because I can't help myself and it's late, and I'm in a sort of odd mood that's better left to be described later, after some sleep and thought. Therefore, I present to you, my not-so-faithful readers... ESTHER'S QUESTIONS!

What is...
• 1 - What is something you dislike about yourself?
• 2 - What is something you do well?
• 3 - What is your favourite room in your home and why?
• 4 - What is a good neighbour?
• 5 - What is the worst thing parents can do to their children?
• 6 - What is your favourite time of day?
• 7 - What is your idea of a dull evening?

My answers:

1) I have no gray area. I am a creature of extremes, both good and bad, and it's tough for me to acknowledge the existence of anything other than what I see. I will almost always gravitate toward the option that will end in being a self-defeating irritation if at all possible, especially when I'm already depressed. This is a fault that I'm obviously aware of, and working on to the best of my abilities.
2) I'd like to think that I'm a good roleplayer, as stupid as that sounds. I could say listener, or that I'm good at giving advice (this is when you nod and smile slowly like you think I'm right), but all that comes up in my head for an answer is something that, predictibly enough, involves game. I think I roleplay well because my imagination is immense and often uncontrollable, so I might as well put it to good use with something, right?
3) This is a kind of difficult question to answer because I can answer it for three different places. For the apartment on Broadway my answer has to be the bedroom, and not for any weird/kinky reasons. Just because the windows are overlooking Broadway, it's comfy, and I can lay down there and think - not because it's especially tidy or well-decorated or anything (it isn't). For Mom's house, which is where we're currently staying, I'd have to say my favorite room is a tie between the kitchen and the front room. I say this because the kitchen's always bright and there is FOOD HERE, and the living room because it's where we're currently sleeping, and also where the TV is. These make the living room acceptable. As for the new apartment on 12th, I have no idea yet. It's tough to tell which will be my favorite room, but I can't wait to find out.
4) A good neighbor is someone that actually goes out of their way to be a neighbor and not just a random stranger that shares a building or block with you (ie our neighbors at Broadway). The people all around Mom's house are neighbors, people that I have more or less known my entire life (with the exception of a few that have moved here and there). I know them by name, they've known me since either I was a baby, or since I was six or so, and have known my mom too - and sometimes even my grandparents from when this was still THEIR house. I can go over there if need be, I know their names, and when we're all outside we stop to talk to one another, or at least wave and say hi. We're interested in each other's well-being, not because it's just the right thing to do but because we actually all know each other and feel a bond as neighbors that makes us want to watch out for one another.
5) This is a tough question to answer and I'm not really sure I can answer it once over and be satisified, but I'll try. I think that ONE of the worst things that parents can do to their children is to raise their children the exact opposite of the way they want their children to live later on. A first impression is everything, and if a parent teaches their child to be irresponsible and manage money badly from the get go, then that's all that poor kid is going to know, and chances are that parent is going to pass down their fiscal irresponsibility, and end up with a child who won't be able to take care of their parents in their old age any better than he can take care of himself.
6) I'm an afternoon/evening person, even though I stay up late - or would if I were able. Anymore, late is midnight, and that's pushing it. Anyway. I like the afternoon, because you know you still have a lot of day left but it isn't incredibly early with ALL of the day ahead of you still. Evening's just nice because you know that the day's almost over and you've gotten a lot done, but you still have a bit of time left to tie up loose ends and maybe enjoy yourself.
7) A dull evening? Easy. One where I sit around all night, not because there isn't anything to do, but because there's nothing that I WANT to do. That's always rough. It's tough to remind myself when I'm in a funk of not really wanting to do anything that I'm bored because of my own inability to decide what I want to do. Anymore, though, it has worked out in that the evening tends to end before I figure out what's wrong, and I get to go to sleep!

All right, so that's all. I shall ramble more later, when I know (at least a little better) what's going on in my head. Thank you, Esther!

Seriously, it is.

In November of 2006, we were living at Jefferson street still in a three-bedroom house with a grand total of three other couples, one of which lived briefly in the living room. Colin worked until 11 PM or midnight, I was job-searching, and we were nervously awaiting the arrival of our first child in April. I was 20, Colin had just turned 23, we were unwed, and we had very little going for us. We knew we needed out of the overcrowded house, mostly because there wasn't even space in our tiny bedroom for a crib, much less space in the house for much-needed baby items.

So we were surprised, to say the least, when while driving down Broadway one day we spotted a red and yellow sign on the lawn of an oversized house that declared there was an apartment for rent. We immediately called the number and found out that while the place was only a one-bedroom, it was big. We got to look at it later that day, and were so desperate that despite the $350 a month we would have to drop, we would sign for the place immediately. Within two days, we were moving out of Jefferson into our own apartment. It was big, for sure, with a combination kitchen/dining room, a large bathroom, one huge closet in the living room, and .. Well, the living room was huge. At the time we managed to overlook the fact that the walls in the house were only about three feet tall before the slant of the roof kicked in, the fact that it was an attic apartment and thus was up two flights of stairs (which was horrible when you're pregnant), that the central air didn't really work as well as it should, and oh yeah, that the living room had no windows. At all. Anywhere. None.

But we overlooked those problems like the desperate parents-to-be that we were. We said goodbye to Jefferson and by the end of the month were residents of the Broadway apartment, despite those problems, and the numerous others that cropped up over time. We dealt because we were happy that we had just managed to find someplace that was ours, and livable. We had privacy again, could walk around in whatever we wanted, could use rooms whenever we pleased. There were no washer and dryer hookups, no basement access (bad in tornado alley), no way to gate off the second flight of stairs that was actually inside of our apartment. Two of the few windows we had leaked like nobody's business and some of them didn't work or couldn't be used for whatever reason. We had no water pressure and little hot water. Our door didn't shut all the way and only barely locked.

About a year later, we knew we needed out. Gabe was crawling and finding it easy to get around our barriers. We had to shut the cats out of the bedroom because the bedroom held more storage of things we hadn't had the space to unpack, and when they weren't trying to pee on things, they were rifling through our belongings at all hours of the night. The single bedroom arrangement would, we knew, eventually become intolerable. Our combination living room, game room, storage room, relaxation room was big, but also stuffy, and it was nigh impossible to light it according to our standards. Without windows there, it made it seem like we were living in a dungeon, and because it had the most space and it was where Gabe's toys were, we spent more time in that windowless room than anywhere else in the house. We did some looking, but when we managed to find something, it would fall through for whatever reason: horrible neighborhood, frightening neighbors, impossible rent, credit checks we couldn't dream of passing. We dreaded going home, and ended up having numerous arguments about how awful it was to have to go back to that place, how neither of us ever wanted to but how we always HAD to. Going back to Broadway at the end of a day spent out was like doing a dreaded chore, and we were always anxious to leave again.

So you can imagine our surprise when last week were driving down 12th street and saw a sign stating that an apartment was for rent right next to Pair-A-Dice Hobbies. It was a two-story building, and while it had no yard, we weren't in any state to be picky. We called.

They were questionable on pets. Turned out the place was owned by the bank right across the street, which meant at the very least they would be reliable when fixing things (more reliable than, say, our current landlord). The rent was the same as what we're paying now and the house was trailer-style, an old converted two-story house made into two separate apartments. There were washer/dryer hookups in the basement, and technically only one small bedroom, although some arranging could mean two. We weren't in any place to argue, so we went to go look.

Six rooms total, including a much smaller bathroom and a relatively smaller kitchen, but with separate dining room. A baby-sized room, a living room, and a front room that, despite the door to the porch, would make a good bedroom. There were two fireplace mantles in two of the rooms, even though the fireplaces had long since been blocked off. It was the only one with basement access, and there was a door down to it from the kitchen. A gas stove, which was Colin's big "want", and not much counter space though that could be worked with. A single-side sink, which was disappointing, but workable too. The water pressure in the shower and from all the taps was good, the bathroom had a medicine cabinet, and we were told we'd be allowed to store things down in the basement. There were no stairs that weren't already blocked off, and a small back porch onto which we could put chairs or even a grill. It needed work - painting, cleaning, retouching - but we were told that we were welcome to do the small stuff, as long as we okayed it all with the bank first. The apartment was baby safe, homey, and had windows in every damn room.

Today, we signed the papers and put money down on that apartment, and were in exchange given two keys.

We are moving.

Dinner is always difficult for us. Dooce's post today - well, the first one from today - has reminded me of how finicky children are sometimes. Take Gabe for instance (proof that I understand a bit of how Leta acts): this child will eat macaroni and cheese, and that is IT. Mind you, there are ways around this. For instance, chicken nuggets are okay, but only if accompanied by mac and cheese. He won't eat my homemade salmon patties alone, but if I cut them up and put them in a cup of Easy Mac - I love that stuff, one serving in an easily-disposed cup! - he'll eat them, to a degree. Ice cream is also acceptable, thankfully without macaroni, because otherwise I think he would never get ice cream. I am not making chocolate macaroni. Ever.

We've been here at my mother's house for five days now, and will probably still be here tonight and tomorrow. The heat wave has given up but only for today, so even if we did get to go home, it would only be for tonight since Colin's at work right now. Tomorrow is going to be well into the 80s whether or not we like it, so we would be heading back this way. I've been waiting for a call about the apartment we looked at and any potential jobs, and haven't gotten anything yet. It's more than a little disappointing, but I understand that what will happen, will happen. Hopefully I'll continue to have the necessary patience to wait this through. My assumption is that I'm not getting either of the jobs I was waiting for, and that we won't be getting the apartment either. It makes me feel kind of sick.

So.. It turns out that I have a lot to talk about. Let's see how much of it I successfully get through.

First, the apartment. The heat around this part of the nation has been astronomical - we've been some twenty degrees above average, meaning that our 75 degree days have been topping out over 90 on more than one occasion. I suppose that if our situation was a little different it wouldn't be such a problem, but consider this: we live in the attic - third story - of a building. The living room is our main room and also the biggest, has a vaulted ceiling (but also has the shorter walls with low slants, as one might expect from an apartment like this), and - oh yeah - has no windows. None. The nearest "window" is the door down the stairs that leads to our apartment, and since it has no extra screen door and is oh SEVEN FEET TALL there is no way we're leaving it open. Also our downstairs neighbors are untrustworthy, creepy people. Mind you, we have central air. We're the only apartment in the five apartments in this building that is so lucky. Because of this, we lack any easy way - okay, ANY way - to install window units. And of course, because our AC unit has gone unserviced and is trying so hard to cool off an apartment three floors away with huge ceilings, it's overheating itself and thus is doing no good. Fans don't help, even if the windows are open - although sometimes it isn't worth opening them. So we swelter - two adults, a one-year-old, and two cats. Our thermostat's thermometer only goes up to 90, and it's always pushing that mark, so my assumption is that it's typically between 85 and 100 up here if one ignores the humidity, which always makes things worse.

So we and our meager budget are apartment searching. We naturally can't afford to pay more a month than what we're paying now, which is tough to beat in this area without delving into the slums/government housing and I just don't feel safe down there. We've spent the last two days and one night at my mom's house, which despite its caving-in back roof, has working central air. It's kind of a defining factor. It makes sleeping on the floor on an air mattress and putting up with her on-edge attitude almost worthwhile. Better than not sleeping and being unable to cool down, which is what I was doing the day before we decided to go stay at Mom's a while.

We have an apartment that we were looking at, one owned by a local bank. It's a nice place, considering - an unfinished basement with washer/dryer hookups that we have sole indoor access to, a dining room, two bedrooms, a living room, and a very small bathroom with a pathetic wanna-be shower. It needs touchups, some new curtains, and a good cleaning, but also has dedicated parking out back and a small area where we could put a grill - and a front deck that we could put chairs, or at least a plant, on. It's also on the first story, as opposed to the third. Oh, yeah, and IT HAS WINDOWS EVERYWHERE. The fact that it doesn't have central air isn't such a problem, since we technically own two window units - a large one that could probably cool half the apartment, and a smaller one that could take care of the other half - that are "in storage" at Aaron and Kellie's. Meaning, of course, that we left them there as we've no way to transport either and have nowhere to put them, ah ha ha. Ha.

The problem is that while this awesome new much-wanted apartment would be the same price as what we're paying now - DEAR GOD - it was already applied for by another person before we even went to look at it. There's a possibility that their application will be denied for whatever reason, but even if that ends up being the case, ours may well be denied too. We both have horrible credit and I don't have a job yet. We're hoping, but not getting our hopes up too much.

As for jobs, that too is a "rant" in and of itself. I have had an offer from a hiring company that hires out for HP - yes, Hewlett-Packard - that wants me to work at Best Buy - ha ha! - and potentially somewhere else as a product rep. At $15 an hour and only working weekends for 13 to 14.5 hours, it's a steal of a job, but not enough to actually help us get ahead on our bills. I'm hoping to hear back and be told that HEY I HAVE A JOB NOW, but I would have to get a second job on top of that, which I'm also working on. It would probably only be a minimum wage job, but the amount of money that would be coming in total would be well worth the effort in the long run. We could get ahead and stop having the immature, worried, guilt-fueled arguments that we've been having recently. It would be one thing that would no longer be a nervous concern, and the best part would be not having to worry about our electricity being shut off, or having to avoid our lurking landlord because he's looking for overdue rent from last month, much less THIS month, that we still don't have.

So that's it. This is a Friday that Mom was supposed to take Gabe, and she did, so he's assuredly sleeping peacefully in the cool breeze there while we're sweating our asses off up here, trying to figure out how to spend our baby-free evening. The worst part? We're probably just going to shut everything off, open the windows, and go back to Mom's in hope of cooling back down and getting a couple of hours of well-deserved sleep. Colin has already stated his dislike of this idea, though only because he doesn't feel well (too much Mountain Dew) and thus doesn't want to leave the house again, but I know that getting back out of the heat will probably help him cheer up a bit, if not feel even better. It was a little warm at Bobb's house as it was, and we weren't in the car long enough to have really gotten the cool down that we so desperately needed.

Mayhaps tomorrow I'll share a little insight to the 2 AM tornado warning we had a few days ago, and the subsequent hail-ridden car ride to the hospital. Not because anybody was hurt or sick, but because we have no basement access here, and that's the nearest safe place for us to go where we won't have to beg for admission. For now, however, Colin's already asleep on the sofa, so I'm going to see if I can't wake him up and get him to put his pants back on. I think I'll be driving.

More specifically, I hate it when he acts like this.

More often than not, recently, Colin has been getting into a very deep depressive funk where he decides that all of our money problems are not only his responsibility to fix alone, but are also totally and completely his fault. He doesn't decide this because he ever has the facts to back it up, but because it's more convenient for him and gives him one more thing to be depressed about. The worst part is that when I try to tell him that we're in this together - we got into debt together, we'll ride it through, and we'll get back out with each other - he takes that as his cue to throw the blame my way, and though he'll never admit he's thinking it because he says it isn't worth mentioning, he's fairly sure that all of this is now MY fault because I obviously have no interest in finding a job and am not actually trying. Okay, well, right this second I'm not trying. I'll admit that.

There's a sense of martyrdom about him: if it can't be totally his fault so he can feel bad about it, he can't take any blame at all and thus it must be my problem because I am the only other convenient person. I tend not to appreciate this stance, because while I have no problem understanding that yes, some of this is my issue too and I am just as responsible for our financial turmoil as he is, I DO have a problem sitting back and taking sole responsibility for all of this crap. However, the only time I can get him to admit that yes, he is thinking this is my fault for not finding a job yet, is when we're having a horrible argument - the same argument we tend to have when we find ourselves in the hole - and thus when it actually matters, it doesn't get brought up. Naturally this means it's cannon fodder for the next big two-day fight.

So now while he sleeps instead of trying to fix his issues, I'm going to get a shower and go back out and attempt to fix some of mine again - with any luck, by finding a job. Thus far, no dice, although I've been purposefully avoiding the fast food chains because I've seen what the golden arches have done to Colin and I'm none too enthused about getting fryer grease burns all over my hands and arms. But it seems like this is one of those situations where my options are becoming increasingly limited, and my best choice is to simply bite the bit and do the shit I don't really want to do. I realize I'm being a bit emo about this whole thing, but I'm doing my best not to go overboard with it. There's only space in this small apartment for one crying emo kid, and I don't want it to be me.