Without title, see within

Today, I have no title for this blog beside fuck this shit which seemed a tad vulgar for face book posting and well, I am cleaning my titles up, being more classy these days. I am not getting any younger and I don't want to use up all my vulgarity now. Who knows how much vulgarity I will need when I get older?! I don't want to be one of those sweet old ladies, hell no, I want to be the riot of the bunch, the pinch the ass of the cute Dr. bunch. I want to laugh wickedly and live life to the fullest when I get older. You know, funny that I say that...laugh wickedly and live life to the fullest when I get older, yeah that, funny, because why don't I do those things now? Where did I go. Why don't I live my life to the fullest, now. When it matters. Life matters now, not tomorrow, not yesterday but now. And dammit, I lost the ability to live it.

What happened? Well, shit. How long do you have? What happened? Well, life happened to me. I am one of the unfortunate many who can't quite shake off the woes of life. The flashes of a crappy childhood where I never fit in, almost, sometimes but just not really, an incomplete puzzle piece that wasn't cut close enough to fit perfectly but almost fits if squeezed enough. Then the horrible, awkward affair, the shitty-teenage years. Walking to the beat of a different drummer is not an easy thing, especially when all you do is want to fit in. Damn. What about fitting in means so fucking much to me? Really does it matter if I fit in? If I wear the "right shoes" or "drive the right car" and lord knows I would never date the "right" guy because they never looked twice at the fat girl. I never had enough respect for myself during my teenage years, those stupid, stupid, years. If I could pass on anything to any woman young, old, in the middle, hell just anyone for that matter is RESPECT yourself because if you don't, no one will. Corny, girl, I know but true. You can't just go around giving out your good stuff because well, it becomes not good stuff, it becomes painful and sad and good stuff should never be painful and sad. It's not called painful-sad stuff, it's called good stuff and if you treat it as such it will one day become great stuff. Awesome stuff even. Save that stuff, save it for someone who gives a shit. Save it because you deserve it and you are worth it!

Now not all the good stuff in life is the a romp in the bedroom (or car, truck, van or where ever you may romp) sometimes the good stuff is the you part. The part of you that is kind, good, caring, loving, strong and stronger still. Sometimes it is the part of you that can't keep a secret (dammit) and is a tad bit jealous because these are the things that make you up and you are good. We all are good. OK, so that was some sappy shit right there but I think you are all with me.

Tonight, well, tonight has been a trying night. It is my last night before my last night at work and I have had time to dwell on the many mistakes I have made at work. I have had time to think about the past and how I let things get too painful and overwhelmed and I walk away and I think, "is this what I am doing now? Walking away?" Crazy thoughts really because it is time. I can't explain it more than that. I have to do this. I know that the next job is going to come with it own set of problems and mostly those problems will be my lack of control around my lip area. My insecurities. My imperfections. And the fact that in general, work sucks balls. Sorry, work, but you know you suck. It is true, that is why work is a four letter word. All the bad words are four lettered, common knowledge, man. But as a few friends of mine have told me recently I guess I just need to get over myself. Whatever that means.

The wind of changes...or some stupid crap like that...

Tonight is the perfect night to write about change, as the wind is blowing and the moon is glowing and the words are flowing....hahahaha I kill me sometimes but seriously, change it is a-coming and I am freaking-the-hell-out.

What kind of change? Well, a life-changing change, of course. At my age, you don't blog about your hair color as being a change, unless it turns ummm, green and it was on accident. I am changing jobs. There I said it, it is written down. No turning back now. I am leaving the ER and going to the VA. Why? Well, that my friends is a story indeed, however, a story for all of the world to see, when I have not been secretive about who I am or where I work? Eh, I will save that drama for my book I will one day write. And hopefully, someone decent will edit it because my English is for shit man. And maybe you all will buy a copy or three.

So, here I sit, sighing and sniffling. No, for once I am not crying, I am sniffling because I again, have the Karma cough that tried to kill me in August, about the same time my therapist decided I was not good enough to waste time on, even though I have insurance and I am pretty damned funny. You know what to hell with her. What the hell does she know? That clutter makes you feel burdened? That it is not smart nor healthy to ignore your mail and not pay your bills. Well, hell, really Einstein, I would have never figured that out on my own, thanks for all your wonderful insight. Bitter? Bitter me? Never, I forgive easily, I just never forget.

However, in all seriousness, changing jobs has been painful, not only for me but those around me as I am an asshole and not afraid to share my misery. I am awesome like that. As dramatic as it sounds, taking this job is a huge leap of faith. Of it will all work out and things will be OK. And you all know, that I really don't believe any of that crap. What's the deal with this job? Well, it is part-time, yeah, 40 hours every 2 weeks and the insurance because of the part-time, well, it is 280ish bi-weekly. Yeah, I was shitting puppies when I read that, also. But with the house of sickness Tony and I live in, living without insurance is not smart or really doable. I have to have insurance. Have too. And it sucks. And I am stressed and worried and wondering WTF am I doing taking a job I can't afford to live on?! Protecting my sanity I hope. Refreshing my love of nursing. Taking a break. Doing the right thing for me. Shit I dunno, really, what the hell I am doing beside getting out. All I feel is this extreme need to get the fuck outta dodge right now. Run, Angie, Run. And it has to stop. I need it too stop. I need a break. So, I keep telling myself, yeah things will work out. Things will be OK. Two small dogs=a few days of meals.....

Suck it blues

I have the blues. Not the good kind of blues from my youth that comes with powered yellow cheese-like stuff and noodles but the stab yourself in the fucking eye kind of blues that comes when you are in your thirties and have suffered through them a time or three...The why can't I just lay here and to hell with the world blues. The who the fuck cares why are you so whiny blues. Yeah, I got the blues. And this time I even paid for them.

Yes, your eyes heard that correctly, I paid for the blues. How stupid am I? Well, how much time do you have? Let me explain. I decided after a horrible vacation and an lashing of misery on some  innocent (or not so innocent) people that I perhaps needed some therapy. So, I made an appointment and wouldn't it know it has been rainbow and unicorns ever since?! Oh, wait, back to reality, I made an appointment and met this wonderful lady, who immediately put me at ease, like I wanted to crawl up in her lap and surround myself in her warmness, who after speaking to me for an hour said "Ummm, I don't think I am going to be able to help you, so I am going to refer you to another therapist". Knock my crazy ass over with a feather?! WTF are you kidding me?! You just asked me about my life story and now you say "Umm no thanks crazy bitch" and pass me on?! Well, deep breath, I didn't freak out too bad over this news and actually just laughed, as I thought well...shit. What now? Well, I was referred to another therapist who finally called me back and said "UMMM, you have an eating disorder and those are not my specialty, so I think I am going to send you to another therapist". I am like huh, when did I get an eating disorder and damn if I have one I am surely not very good at it. Binging, hell yeah, I got that shit down, but the rest of it, not so much. Have you seen me?! Hello...but back to the story, so after speaking with the lady and telling her, I want to have the lap-band but I am an emotional eater, could she please help me with that issue, that I feel like if I can get my emotional mess of a self straightened up, I won't have to eat till I am sick then "hello, new me". Well, she agreed to see me. I think I should have been more leery at the shaky start because three sessions later and now I am in a mess. And I think I am going to need more therapy to get over the therapy I have had. Shew!

My therapist, well, she is a nice lady. We live in a very rural, limited resource kind of area and as much as an asshole as it makes me sound, I think I am smarter than 99% of her patients and I am not totally sure I am not smarter than her. Yeah, I know, what an ass. If someone came into the ER and told me that, I would be cussing them for weeks. But, eh, I think it's true. Tony, however, thinks it is me. Which, boy is that ever helpful. I am already struggling and asking for help, then my therapist calls me, tells me, "You suck, the work you have done is not good enough" and Tony says, "yeah, she is probably correct". Oh yeah and the work that isn't good enough?! You all ready for this life changing bit?! Boxing up my mail and getting rid of some of the clutter in my house. No, I did not accomplish this. I didn't. If I could accomplish this I wouldn't be paying you $120 a session for you to tell me to clean my house, in fact, I would PAY a fucking maid $50 and keep the difference...Seriously! Mail and clutter the root of my problem? Really?! That is what makes me want to Thelma and Louise it daily?  I think not. Now maybe, just maybe, she is on to something and could be on the next best-seller list, "Box up  your mail and your life will follow" or some shit. Maybe this is life-changing advice I am blatantly ignoring but I have my doubts on this.

So, now what? Another snack? More naps? Deep breaths? No, no, not that, cleaning?! A fate worse than death for the dust bunnies. Well, no, not cleaning, hello. That would be progress and we don't believe in progress here.

Know me?

You say "what happened to the girl I married, I don't know you anymore."

What happened to the girl you married? Life happened to that girl. She grew up. She wasn't quite grown when she married. She was still a child at 19, full of dreams. Dreams of children running in the backyard, of backyard BBQ's and of everlasting love. Life made her realize that dreams are for suckers and she isn't a sucker anymore.

You didn't want children. She gave up that dream. You had no hopes, no aspirations to better yourself. She obtained her BSN. You wanted to stay in the AC, although the AC holds nothing. She stayed. You changed. She changed, too.

Life happens and things change. She has seen a lot in her time. People born into this world and people leaving this world and the aftershock of both. She has been the bearer of bad news, "I am sorry, this pregnancy wasn't meant to be" or "They didn't make it". Yet she still chooses to believe.

The past? Well, us, we seem to be stuck there. Fearful and hating but unable to affect a change. Why? Well, even a fool knows the past can't be changed. And instead of living for today, we both dread tomorrow. Thankless and full of hate and bitterness.

You, you say "you don't know me anymore" and well, dammit, all you have to do is ask.

What in the heck in this lump in my throat?

Today has been a full of festive moods days to say the least. Festive moods?! Well, yeah, because festive moods sounds much better than I-want-to-strangle-my-spouse-mood. And it is not quite so umm, damming as evidence should I slip and strangle my spouse. Not that I would mind you...no...I wouldn't but if I did surely I wouldn't post it on the internet for the world to see! Right?! Right?!

What has my panties in a twist? Well, several things. As most of you know, my spouse is chronically ill. Meaning he is sick most of the freakin' time. Not his fault. Not his fault, boy this is so hard to remember at times. When he is puny and whining, when he is yelling and mean, when he is not sleeping and telling me endlessly about the news I have to tell myself, he is sick and it is not his fault. And it is a whole lot like my other most un-favorite saying "it could be worse". Fuck those sayings right in the goat-ass. Yeah, those sayings are true and sometimes they get me through the day but well, more often than not they just make me angrier.

Yeah, I realize things could be worse. They could, they always can be and at times, things will be worse but do you know how much that really helps me in the middle of a crisis?! None! Not one damn bit. Yeah, worse, well to hell with worse. To hell with you for telling me "it could be worse". I wouldn't tell you that because dammit to hell, it is worse and worse and than briefly good, then worse. Dramatic, always, true, you know it.

As for the his is sick and it is not his fault. Well, it is not his fault. I don't think that anyone (other than those weirdo's with Munchhausen disorder) would chose to be sick. There are days when he feels fine. His mood is good, his tummy doesn't hurt, his blood count is OK and he functions. But those days are few and far between here lately. When we first starting struggling with illness it was the whole finding the diagnosis, then finding the correct treatment and taking different medications and now, we are doing the whole thing again. Yes, I say we because it is a struggle that we go through together. He is my spouse, when he hurts, I am mad if I didn't cause the pain, when he vomits, I clean the mess, when he can't sleep, guess who isn't sleeping?! All joking aside, illness affects (or is it that damned effect?) the whole family unit. It is hard because sometimes, you just want to get up and do and not worry is this a sick day, or a good day. Are we going to make it through the day without any meltdowns, vomiting or other problems? It's hard on both of us. And it is harder not to be selfish and say "why". Why doesn't really help either because it just is, there is no why.

I struggle. I am human and have my own problems, like this huge lump in my throat that is all the bitterness and sadness that I feel (or acid-reflux from all the junk I have eaten to try and numb the pain). I make mistakes and say hateful things. I cry and I bitch and complain. I over-share then build walls to protect myself. I am fragile and I am sad.

So while I hate all this bullshit about "it could be worse" or "not his fault" and the occasional "why" it's true and dammit that really makes me mad.

Wife wanted

I want a wife. I do, start saving money for Christmas because I will not be happy until I have a wife. Not a wife like me, heavens no. I want a real wife, a wife who can cook a five-course meal in 5 inch heels and a full face of make-up. A wife who rubs my feet at the end of a hard-day and will shut-the-hell-up for five minutes to let me think! A wife who will buff the floors (whatever the hell that means) and clean the windows. A wife who cares about the state of my socks and will purchase new ones and quietly whisk away the offending holey socks.

What else do I want in a wife? Well, thanks for asking. I want a wife who really cares, one that will ask me if I took my medications and keep up on my Dr.s appointments. A wife who will cook healthy meals and snacks and make me walk after dinner. I want a wife who will remember birthdays and holidays. A wife who will shop frugally and endlessly for the perfect gift for said holidays and birthdays. A wife who remembers important dates and pays bills on time. On time I say, none of this OHMYGOD they are shutting off the electric, hurry up and run out there and throw some money at the electric company man!

I want a wife dammit. A wife, a good, clean, honest wife. One who makes hand-crafted gifts and a mean martini. 

Old me...

While I long for the days when my blogs were full of wit and merriment they, alas, are no longer as such. They are more full of whining, bitching, pissing and moaning a sure sign that I am getting old. If only I could put grey hairs and wrinkles on my blogs then I would have the old trinity. You do know what the old trinity is, don't you? Bitching about everything while doing nothing, wrinkles and saying such gems as "back in my day" or "when I was a kid". *sigh* I at least thought I would make it to the big 5-0 before I started acting like this, boy, I aged quickly. Everyone always said I was mature for my age, well to hell with them!

So, I had adopted a new alter-ego in my twilight years (all 36 of them...), Super Nancy to the rescue (my new feisty alter-ego), speaker-outer for the downtrodden, teller of shit no-one wants to hear.  Nancy, she is a total peach man! She is witty and strong-willed, can't be broken. She is the voice of reason. Or so I thought. She was going to be my savior.  She was the Hero-ess for beaten down women everywhere and she only lived for about 12 hours and dammit, she died crying with her head ripped off and shoved up her ass for daring to voice her opinion. The opinion of those that cannot be heard. I loved you Nancy and you will be missed. Lesson learned? If you are going to be ferocious, don't cry. No one likes a cry-baby.