Been months

I've been trying for access to this blog for a long while. I finally stumbled upon the *right* help question at Google, as I'd been going in circles. My six year anniversary of blogging is coming up in a few weeks, but the real press this time was Bloglines shutting down in a few days and me reading thousands of blog entries recently.

Hello my people.

My Bloglines, which I had not checked in a few years, actually has 45 saved Chez Miscarriage posts, ending in 2005. What a treasure.

Life is going. From April until September, it was the hardest time I had ever had in my life. Ex tried to win custody of J, who just turned 13 this month and strangely in his pubescent haze suddenly has a say about custody - this after he purposefully ditch the sixth grade and had a frenzied and blamed mother as a result. I don't think ex expected me to fight, but I did. The first few months were on my own. I even submitted close to 400 pages of discovery. After that, Bea found me a lawyer who'd do it on the cheap. I worried about his thoroughness, although he did better after I politely jacked him up. Ex finally dropped the suit this month, supposedly, when J said he wanted to live with me. In my opinion, he actually dropped the suit after they contemplated the idea of me having a lawyer.

I think his goal was to no longer have to pay me.

Only a few in my life knew. Bea was helpful in some degree, although I always questioned why she couldn't just pay for me a real lawyer. This reduced rate guy ($2500 for all but discovery through trial) was actually more expensive than paying someone $300/hour or a $1500 retainer.

She has moved closer and is only about 30 minutes away as of this month. I'm still getting used to it, but parts are nice - quick dinner/movie, picking up or dropping off art in her area, etc.

I went to my hometown in August. My father, who is still cheap as ever and never offered me a cent in the lawsuit, scheduled a clean up date for my grandmother's house; she's in a nursing home and it's been sitting. All that was left was going to Good Will, so I picked up some little china pieces I wouldn't have otherwise gotten. It was the first time I'd seen my sister or father since my grandfather's death four years ago.

Overall, things went well, despite the personalities involved, mine included. What it reminded me of was a positive part of my upbringing. For example, it takes all I have not to correct Bea's Ghetto "English" in her speech and writing. Now I remember why. My father isn't wealthy or upper crust (they do very well now, though), but he has a being around him that I also have. It isn't a snottiness, but it is a sense of propriety that definitely comes through in my writing. He spoke of trying to get his community college students to speak Business English and I guess he's in an appropriate environment to make that demand. I am not. I couldn't get Bea to speak, write, or dress in a genteel fashion if I tried. And I have, just a little.

She took offense over a year ago when I asked her to not wear t-shirts with writing across her big boobs around me. I was trying to politely guide her into stepping up her wardrobe, but she then just wore plain t-shirts instead. In the last six months, she went back to dressing with writing across her large chest. At least that is usually spelled right. I wish she weren't incapable of dressing nicely, but that is merely a symptom.

Many in my life doubt her money and she sure doesn't pony up for me. However, she is so frugal, she doesn't pony up for herself either.

So, I as thinking in terms of looking for an outlet for educated and genteel folk so I can feed that side of me, because my ever loving therapist swears they're out there waiting for me for life and love. You'd think Art would do that for me, as I am very active in the Arts, but I do not have connections in the next level of Arts and most of what I do is with other artists, not collectors.

I am in that land between the wealthy/educated/genteel and the laid back/curse-filled/redneck, my feet in each camp, although the second camp is more likely to accept me. Of course, I accept both sides fully, I just have been reminded where I came from and it doesn't seem like that bad of a place. I would like to step myself up and join the first camp in my own right. And maybe I would feel comfortable going back to my roots. Not to offend anyone from any camp, but I realize I've been on a slide.

Aren't you lucky to have such a wordy piece of navel gazing as my first post in seven months? I hope I'm back.

Happy Winter

Have you dug out of the snow yet? We still have plenty of the parking lot mountains, but it's pretty easy to drive.

Hope you all are doing well. I think of you so often.

For those of you who don't read Facebook or even if you do, I can be more honest here! Hurrah for anonymity or at least the guise of it!

My art is going very well. I had a good number of sales over the last few months as well as some awards. Both concepts are mind-boggling, considering I just began my "Let's Turn Professional" journey a year ago. I didn't anticipate that I would come this far this fast, but I have worked very hard on the business of art. I should probably paint even more, but I work on showing, volunteering, and doing some contests.

According to his teachers during our meeting last week, puberty hit J full force during school's second quarter. Yeah, it was that specific. I was actually glad to hear it wasn't all just him hating on me. I absolutely love him hating on others, too. heh

You may remember he had an ADHD battery done four, count 'em, four years ago. J isn't hyper; he's the inattentive version. I chose the wrong child psychiatrist, who didn't believe in ADHD, and ex took that morsel and ran. So now we're paying. Now, though, J's teachers strongly support his getting help for his inattention and I'd been trying to find a good-to-premier child psychiatrist for a while. Then I tried to just find one on ex's plan. (Why do they not return phone calls?) Now I've got an appt with a ped who specializes in it. Whatever. Whomever. He comes recommended.

Once the teachers were involved, ex hopped on board, as absolutely reluctant as he's been with me for years. It's been harder with J, but I told him what's happening isn't working, so we're going to try something else. If it doesn't work, then fine. I didn't elaborate on how hard it is to get the right med at the right dosage. Alas. Of course when I told him I would be taking him whether he wanted to or not, he said he would not go and it's just like my philosophy about babies and kids being victims of the medical system, captive audiences to get treatments they don't want. He's too smart for his britches. Somehow, I was able to tap dance out of that one.

We're all excited about middle school around here. He's chosen strings orchestra as one of his electives. As his other, he's chosen shop. Ex and I find that funny and odd, but it's fine with me, as long as he gets it out of his system by the time college prep classes are available. I figure it's a Scouting influence. Speaking of which, he's doing well in Scouts. It's perhaps his favorite thing, but as with everything else, he's only so motivated. I have to stay on him for his obligations, but he generally comes through in the end.

My relationship is on track to be the grandest roller coaster ride of all time, complete with stomach churns and screams. I often wish one of us would get off the pot and do the breaking up, but we don't. We love each other and get along well, except when we don't. I still think she's cheap -with me - and I'm still sick of what she continues to give others. Further, her life's dramas spill over into mine; I can request to not hear about such, but still do and then I can't shake it and how it all influences us. Of late, the stress is getting to me and making me less than charming in the other areas in my life. I don't like my cortisol levels to maintain such a high level that I am a royal bitch all the time. It's begun to affect me physically. Her phone was out all last week and I felt a blissful measure of peace.

Another alas.

Tell me about all your alas-es.

Lifting a weight

It's been a good Fall for art. I sold three paintings and I won two awards. I feel good about the two shows that are concurrently running at the art place, am participating in just one other right now, but with plenty others on the horizon. Things are coming together, but I still have distinct feelings of being the new kid on the block. I suppose I am, but I would like some respect. I feel uneasy. In part, it's been problematic b/c I've suffered my fifth thyroid overdose, which makes one ravenous and gain even more weight, unable to sleep, agitated, mouthy, etc. I'm so ready for this to be over. As if. This week marks my four year anniversary of being diagnosed. Speaking of anniversaries, I missed my five year anniversary of this blog. I think of this so often, what I've so candidly spilled here. Sometimes I feel quite shy about having been so honest. This month, I resigned from the board position I'd held since April in a society I'd only joined last December. In the future, I must know the board cliques before I sign on. I came to realize that it was a group of little old ladies in tennis shoes and I had more lofty and professional aspirations than they did. Strange thing to me was that they had two shows a year, required attendance and reporting any absences to a board member, required committee work, and had a limit of the group to 30 so that the center could accommodate all of us for shows. Now these things seem like an organization interested in making shows both central and successful, but instead of a Show and Sale, they actually thought of it more like a Show and Tell. I could not devote so much time to nothingness anymore. There are other related niggles, but I'll give it a rest. Last week was good, this week is a muddle and I can't shut off my brain. My son is 12 and acting both 14 and 3. I learned at the parent-teacher conference that he treats his teachers like his mom, which isn't pretty as he rolls his eyes without rolling his eyes. It's time for treatment of his ADD to get his focus on and transition smooth, as his stubbornness and know-it-all-ness will only get worse. I am trying to find a doctor that takes ex's very well known insurance, but have not had luck as most take no insurance at all. The real progress is that ex actually agreed that something needs to happen. I really need to get on the stick with this. Bea and I are still chugging along. She can be such a sweet, helpful, and thoughtful person. Things had gotten very comfortable and I was happy, but last week I had a trust issue knock me back six months, a straw that broke the camel's back I will readily admit that I am jealous of her previous girlfriends with whom she was very generous. With me, she is quite tight and I feel like she has the warped idea that I should provide for her and us. Four times in our short relationship she has had the need to come to me for money, which is laughable. The third time was for over a month's time when she was being audited (for the third time) due to some mis-steps by her CPA, who will soon be convicted for embezzlement of some 20 clients. Last week was the last straw emotionally, as she discovered she'd over-spent her arbitrary monthly budget amount imposed by her new CPA, a budget which is only 7% of her INTEREST income, as she brings in a huge amount each month doing nothing. She felt it appropriate for me to bail her out with an advance from my credit card. Absolutely absurd. As I've carried on about before, she repays, sure she's good for it, but she gives no "thank you bonuses" which make it logical to lend to her. She's shot herself in the foot with this one. Like I said, we'd gotten to a very good place; I had given it up thinking about money and fairness, knowing that instead she'd bail me out when something big broke, like my water heater and brakes, but they're nowhere near what she is/has given others. Of course, the higher order concern now is her actually getting a house for us and me somehow living monetarily under someone who is so completely arbitrary and foolish. I need stability and not flurries of spending for which I have no reins, but I am still responsible somehow. I have the impression she's easy with everyone else (shouldn't I be treated at least the same as her parents and sisters?) and tight with me. Granted, part of the reason she went over budget-wise was buying art supplies for me for Xmas, which would seem nice, except most of it is not what I'd specifically requested when asked. They're large sets from brands I don't use and had ruled out. It really makes me feel bad...at a loss...confused...frustrated. I feel the victim of her midnight shopping sprees. I told my therapist yesterday that if she were a man, I'd be expecting a $20K diamond necklace or the like. The light went on for my therapist how expectations are somehow skewed b/c it's Bea instead. Really, I just want to feel special in the well communicated ways I'd like to feel special. She likes to dabble in my art "business," twice buying me boatloads of frames which weren't my style and I could use only maybe one third, so I actually gave them back to her. Then she went on an easel-buying spree, to include another of the regular outdoor working easel I already had, despite the fact that I sent her specific links and preferences to get a few for shows. Same with Xmas. Same with other little stuff when I have to tap dance and be appreciative. My business is my business. I need to steer it. Okay. Rant is over. This is my second, less angry draft, but it wound up just as long, but w/o so many details. She's coming tomorrow to avoid traffic. I don't want too cook, b/c that costs too much and I'd rather go out to eat. I fear the blow up. Hope you all have a great holiday.

What do you follow?

I'll readily admit that I don't check my email here all the time anymore. It would be a waste of effort.

However, I have begun to wonder about all these messages of being followed this place or that online. Paranoia aside, I'm not so sure these folks know me or care about my blog. I've visited a couple of their pages and they follow 15,000 other close friends, too.

What do you think about these Twitter and Twitter-like notifications? Who do you follow and am I missing something, my head in an Odorless Mineral Spirits fog?


PS - Baby fever has hit Bea even harder and I'm trying to figure a way to reconcile our diverse feelings. She's been better about the one thing at a time idea lately, so she knows I'd prefer getting other things secure first. She's young; she has some time. I do love her so. I wish I could give her what she wants.

Down to a crawl

I called a clinic today. I'd sought by email a few referrals, got none, so I climbed the long ladder to the high dive alone.

And plunged.

I was quickly told that most places have a cut off of 42, but they have 45, actually until 46 arrives, so actually only about 13 months ago for me or about seven months before Bea and I met.

When I asked if they would just test, she said they might do a clomid challenge, but it didn't matter, because they would not use the information. She then referred me to their donor program.

At this point, I don't really can't embrace the thought of another child, but I absolutely and fully feel the pain Bea has in wanting another. I have been there. Bea's walls are induced, though; she is not infertile in the least. She has been pregnant a number of times with losses, but she has gotten pregnant both times the first time she tried with insemination. She mostly just doesn't want to be pregnant again, however if she used the donor vials she has, her son would have a full sibling.

I especially do not want her to decide to have a child with someone else and to have a visitation arrangement. That child would not feel like it would be mine. Then again, I honestly do not know if I could birth via donor egg and donor sperm and feel like it'd be mine. I don't want to birth a little stranger.

Of course, I did grow to love P's daughter, L, but I never considered her mine. With Bea's 4yo son, I know I could love and care for him, but he'd never be mine.

Seems, though, that something ripping your cooch to shreds should feel like it's yours.

I know people do donor stuff every day. I know some people are desperate enough for children to put aside their own genetics. I don't see that as me. J is a cousin of Thomas Jefferson and Jimmy Carter. I would not have any historical links or tales for a child born of a donor. For a genealogical geek like me, that plays large.

Last night, I did thumb through the donors online. They seemed like lovely women. Of course, I was quite critical of the writing samples. I'm such an intellectual geeky snob. Only one did art, but other things precluded her. I liked one, cute kid, but then she said he had a big nose.

I don't like shopping this way! It's ridiculous!

Bea is texting me about someplace else she found online. Pandora, I tell ya.

Baby steps

I volunteered one thing the other night. I would get myself tested. Mentally, I will only go that far.

I will not deconstruct my wall and I will not get my hopes up.

In fact, I will hope that my eggs are past expiration. Perhaps that's an additional measure of closure that I can handle appropriately.

So now I am seeking a fertility clinic and dr in the DC area. If you have experience in such, please drop me a line or refer my question on. I am not up on the current batch of bloggers who might have knowledge.

Pshew.

Never in a million years thought I would put up a post like this after being left at the IVF alter by both a husband (1999) and a fiance (2005). Or that it would be a lesbian wanting it with me.

Old topic reborn

It's been almost a year since I brought up the topic of babies.

Bea wishes very much that we'd met several years ago. I could have been on the baby bandwagon.

In the past year, I have progressed past bandwagon to bandwhat? Of course, I don't coo over babies, but I largely don't covet them anymore, either.

Enter the multi-millionaire who can afford whatever she wants. She has a son through donor insemination and he's almost five. She wants another. She would consider a surrogate. She might consider her eggs. She just does not want to be pregnant again. She has a big heart and could love any child, to include an adoptive one.

However, if she had her way, she'd see me pregnant. If I were to be pregnant, I would have to use my eggs. My 47 year old eggs. Or she'd consider a surrogate. But I would want to breastfeed, which is best accomplished after a pregnancy.

She said if she got a surrogate, she'd want a live in surrogate who could be monitored.

She has a number of vials of the same donor semen. Still, she asked if I'd consider an African-American donor and I said I'd want another red head (as she carries on about what a pretty baby I made, who looks just like me), so she said her son's donor has red-headed children, too; this donor has had incredible success. If we were to do this, I'd prefer her son and the new baby to be half siblings together.

If I said yes. she would immediately begin the process.

How could I possibly let my guard down and hope again? It's too crazy. That wall was hard earned and built with blood, sweat, and tears.

Honest evaluation

I don't drink very often anymore, just a beer with dinner out, because another thing I don't trust is my ability to judge properly about drinking. I hold my shit too well and I think last night qualifies as that. I perceive that I'm in more control than I am.

I came here to a safe place. I didn't do anything to get in trouble, but it bugs me that I pined over someone long gone. So I am embarrassed at the depth of emotion that leaked out.

I had kept my near hatred of him in place until he started checking my art blog. The first time in late June was an aberration to me. He only stayed 90 seconds, didn't even make it to the main page, but did exit via the profile, a frustrating page to me b/c it doesn't really serve a purpose. He arrived googling my full name, so it was pretty specific.

The second time was mid July and he didn't look much further than the first.

The third time was a few days after my (and his daughter's) birthday. He stayed six minutes and looked all over the place for the first time.

I know he's proud of me; he always appreciated my art and was very supportive, something I'm not genuinely getting now.

I think his drinking is in control b/c he's lost a significant amount of weight. He's down to what he weighed when we met.

He says in a note on fb in one of those list memes going around that his favorite vacation was Co-sta Rica. I don't see any evidence of them going, so I can only assume that was with me just a few months before I started this blog.

Of course, I don't know if he's checked my fb, but I did mention him with distain in a similar meme last fall. If he went back though my notes, he'd see that. I suspect he hasn't, though, b/c my art blog publishes there, too, and there'd be no reason to google my name to arrive at the art blog b/c the blog address is on every post. Then again, maybe that's why he stayed on the blog such a short time? I know he can see my fb, b/c I finally decided to join the local network, regardless of him, as a "see what you're missing" moment. I have it severely limited as to what a network person can access, but fb frustratingly doesn't include enough options to be blocked, like notes and pictures.

I was fine without him. Had checked his fb when I began last October and he didn't have one. I then checked in March and was surprised to see it, begun in January. I don't think I checked it again until he began looking at my art blog in June. You might remember I've been through this blog visit thing before with a (minor) ex checking the blog and it bugging me. After enough time elapsed, I sent it all to her in an email and there were no more visits.

Gosh, I desperately don't want to contact him, but I don't like where his visits put me.

I return to my outlet

I drank a bottle of wine tonight. Three Pinos or something from Trader Joe's.

It makes me honest.

I fucking still love Paul beyond any love I've ever had before, yet I never told him he was the love of my life like he told me constantly. It's been three years.

I check him often on Facebook, as in tonight.

He seems to be happily married, but....

he's checked my art blog three times in the last month or so from his office, so it is easily identifiable. He even downloaded a picture of my son playing his violin.

Thank goodness for my stat thingie.

I love him, regardless of what he's done.

I think he is still stuck on me. It is not a casual checking in.

His wife is ugly as dirt. I feel sorry for her. I can check her Facebook, too.

I feel sorry for Bea, as she will never measure up. I love her, but not with this passion and I fear her finding this blog.

I love Bea in an odd way. I do not trust her. She snoops through my stuff and my computer. I do not think she will ever really come through for me, the struggling artist and single mom. She's paid her ex over $600,000 in the last six weeks. Just because. She refuses to help me and I am going in the hole, near bankruptcy b/c I decided to pursue the life of an artist and all the costs that brings. It feels absurd to be partners with a multimillionaire when you're about to seek credit counseling. She constantly insists she cares, yet she always services her exes time and again before me.

She is too fucking stupid to appreciate anything intellectual. She is ghetto. Her family is ghetto. They use her and she services them at all hours. Her sister has AIDS and fucks whatever moves, yet Bea does not report her.

Contrasting this, Paul is the quickest brain I ever met, next to his brilliant daughter.

Just like it makes me cry that Memph is gone and can't watch Top Chef with me, I cry because I can no longer be with or trust Paul. But I long to.

So this is my drunken rant that isn't too drunk b/c I could easily drink another bottle.

This is me.

Take that!

I was recently shocked to see the 10 year anniversary advertisements for The Tigger Movie. It's tough to think nostalgically in a commercial sense for the very first movie you took your son to see. 10 years? I think it was yesterday! And he sat through it beautifully, although he was less than two.

(BTW, my first movie was Bambi and I distinctly remember Thumper bounding on screen and Flower peering up through the colorful meadow.)

In honor of J's 10th cinematic viewing anniversary, I present Sammy and a McDonald's Pooh from that era. Sorry, but sweet Pooh doesn't stand a chance against these moves.

The Eye Vacuum

The Rabbit Kick

The Chenille Drag

The Butt Bite

The Sleeping Head Rest

Out with the old

Although Bea did the preparations for us early in the week, J and I finally buried Sad.ie and Memph yesterday afternoon.

Sad.ie had been frozen for almost 2.5 years in a taxidermy snafu. I'd frozen Memphie as soon as I found him last weekend. There was room for little else in my freezer.

Once we got them outside, J wanted to open up the boxes. Sad.ie was as beautiful as the day she died. I remember her looking so horrible then, but she was so luxurious and just as I always wanted to remember, but had not been able. Although I was scared that opening the box would bring her too close, it actually made me feel better.

I wish I had warned J about opening up Memph's box. He was in full rigor when I found him, so it was a rather large box. Rigor is most pronounced in the smaller muscles, so the face is grossly affected. Memph looked like he'd been tortured by demons, but thank goodness J missed most of it by being on the opposite side. I explained about rigor mortis and J didn't have nightmares as far as I know.

Bea's hole in the backyard was perfect and the boxes fit side by side. J and I remarked about what great cats they both were and then we covered them with dirt.

By 11pm, I was crawling out of my skin antsy. I called Bea to tell her that it is taking everything I have to not dig up Sad.ie. She was just fine in my freezer and there was no reason to get rid of her. All day, I'd thought about her new environment, her thawing, her getting invaded, and her box caving in. It is gruesome and morbid.

I know I'm odd. I want to grave rob my own cat. I was fully expecting more cat pee between my pillows.

In with the new

As I said, I knew Memphie was on his way out since the end of June.

I also knew of kittens born on June 5. I did not want one. I was really looking forward to only three cats using the litter boxes. I would own so many cats if it weren't for the litter box.

Three hours from me, this litter of kittens was born to Bea's ex's household from a stray they'd only adopted a few month earlier. To call these people white trash would be a compliment. They are ignorant and malicious. Within four weeks, five of the six kittens were dead. Bea crawled under the house after a deluge to save the last one, the day after the remaining three had been put out by the owners, and I use that term loosely.

The mother cat had already largely abandoned the kittens, as she was an outdoor cat without free access indoors. The kittens had lived inside and were exposed to people, to include children too young to understand handling them.

Bea bottle fed the last kitten for almost a week. Can you believe that you can buy kitten feeding supplies and dehydrated cat's milk at Wal-Mart?

She then transitioned the kitten to food fit for a kitten. She was a good mom, however she and her roommate continued to "play" with the kitten quite roughly, appropriately calling it an ankle biter. Apparently it was used to being played with that way, so Bea kept it up.

I guess you know where all this is going. She brought the cat to me 10 days ago, so for a few days I had five cats. Who knows? Maybe the little monster is what put Memph over the edge.

When I realized that the cat would be coming to me a few weeks ago, I named him/her/it Sammy/Sammie, as it was a name that could go either way, b/c they had no clue of the sex. Turns out, it is a Sammy. He is a beautiful gray that looks different shades from different angles, so very much like Sad.ie, except he completely lacks the composure she had as a kitten.

I said I would take him if Bea pays for the spay and shots. She agreed and said she'd do a one year plan at Banfield, too - not that I'm crazy about Banfield, but it would cover most everything Sammy would need without me worrying.

In addition to minimizing any testosterone in his aggressive system, I wanted Sammy spayed young so as to ensure it is done, as Bea too often fails to come through on what she says. We went to the vet that Sad.ie went to, b/c the (errant) receptionist said they'd spay early, whereas Banfield was trying to get me an appt for late October. During the appt when I told the vet I wanted him spayed early, she declined, then I protested with reason, then they said they'd consider it, as they do spay early with rescues they do. I figured out they fix the unattached kittens early, not the ones who are already pets, in case something happens.

Anyway, during the exam, the vet made the mistake of putting her finger too close to Sammy's face and he lit in, drew blood, shook his head, and growled. She called him "Devil Child" and labeled him hyperactive.

That's Sammy, but I am working hard on the kitten biting and other behaviors. He's people socialized, but was taunted, and he wasn't cat socialized enough to know when enough is enough. It's like he's feral, but he's not. He wants to be around so he can bite and scratch, play that could be cute as a kitten, but cannot be written off as an adult.

I have never purchased so many cat toys. Our motto around here is, "Skin is not a toy." We substitute, we redirect, we scruff like a mother cat would, we isolate, we walk away. We are the behaviorists. And it is working somewhat. He still nips, but he doesn't bite unless he gets angry, at which time he goes zero to 60 on the Anger Meter, another typical behavior for this sort of kitten. The other three cats were very fearful, but now they just whap him if he gets out of line. They have begun to play chase me/chase you, so that's a great sign. We all know our jobs in dealing with him.

Although the vet says that some cats stay overly frisky (aka mean), particularly the ones bottle fed and not having the mother cat's influence, I do think Sammy is being retrained and will perhaps grow out of the rest. For now, all I can say is thank goodness they trimmed his nails so well!

His blue eyes have turned greenish in the last week; he's a very handsome chap.

Ah, don't let him fool you. Yesterday, he napped for one hour in the afternoon and one in the evening. Bea actually crated him like a dog and told him when to take naps. I may use that approach. I do love that he's chosen my fuzzy robe as his favorite bed.
Of course, J is absolutely smitten...and bears the scratches to prove it.


Sammy is nine weeks old today.

RIP Memph

Memphie died over the weekend. He was the best cat, so gentle and affectionate.

He had a tumor in his abdomen which I first felt about a month ago. It was confirmed by the vet, who wanted to put him to sleep on the spot. I declined, as Memph as too much life in him. Up until the end, he jumped on top of the high kitchen cabinets. He was eating like the dickens, although his hips had carved out, while the tumor bulged like a pregnancy.

We went away Friday through Sunday and I knew I'd be putting him down this week. However, I returned on my birthday to find him dead on the floor.

He was such a sweet cat, he allowed me not have to take him in. Doing that with Sad.ie ranks among the hardest thing I've had to do as an adult.

J isn't home again yet from his dad's. At present, I have two dead cats in my freezer. This happening gives me the opportunity to no longer "wait" on ex to pay for Sad.ie's taxidermy, as it has been almost 2.5 years. They'll be buried together, which is fitting, as they were both incredible cats and I got him only 10 days after she died.

I shed my tears already in this process. Honestly, I am glad I had so long to say goodbye. He was a sweetheart, my secret admirer.

I venture back here

I didn't drop off the face of the planet!

...for any friends still reading...

I have been painting a good bit, but I haven't been blogging that, either.

I really hate blogs to exist mostly for times of stress and the good times are skipped and I desperately do not want this long-term investment I have here to become that.

My relationship with Bea is troubled, but she is resolute about making it work. I am on the fence. About the many things she promises, I feel like they're carrots on strings, as she has not come through on any of it. However, I can honestly say that she has had the worst upbringing that I have ever heard of and she desperately wants to put that behind her, but I think I am bringing her realizations of the baggage she has and now wants to work on. I'm a fer piece from high class, but she is from the ghetto. Although we have broken up twice, we are considering couples therapy, her suggestion. She is a sweet person with a big heart, but she needs to trust me and to come through on what she says.

My son is doing very well. He's in a nature camp with a friend this week. He finished his second year of violin, but he's less and less willing. Against his wishes, I signed him up for that camp this summer, too, although he will miss a lot of that due to his greatest new love, Boy Scouts and Summer Camp. It could be worse. He's still the quiet, demure guy, but he shows such tenacity, resolve, and composure as a new Scout that I get compliments on him all the time. Alas, if only he were so cooperative with me!

Bea did surprise us by buying him a pre-paid phone last week and he's really enjoying that. I loved it today, b/c my new phone died last night and I got a replacement today, but the phone number transfer didn't work from the SIM card and I was left in the cold today. It'd be so much easier if I could just remember phone numbers!

Painting is going well. Although me showing in public was new in January, I have loved being able to do it. I routinely have three pieces in the gallery, plus now have a coffee shop, library (I have a solo wall next month!), senior center, and government center for exhibits. Selling isn't the thing; creating and displaying are. It lights a fire on me to need to produce. Just next week, I will be hanging 10 pieces in two locations. So exciting. I am enamoured with pure landscapes and painting en plein air. It charges me.

I wish Bea would understand and respect it more, as there are lots of weekend conflicts with opportunities to paint and go to workshops.

Now if only I could come through on another block. So sorry, Val. I have not forgotten you.

If you read the art blog, or the lack thereof lately, don't consider it dead, either. I've been painting instead of photographing paintings or writing. I'll have an inspired day soon and post a number in one day.

Next month, I fly to a family reunion with my mother's mother's family. It's the first time to have such a gathering outside a misc wedding or funeral. My son will be at Scout Camp, but I guess I'll do. Of course, they specifically request the kids. There's a measure of geneaolgy which a 2nd cousin is putting together, so I am looking forward to that angle: compiling about the living!

Three cats are doing well, but Memphie has lost a lot of weight recently and I am having flashbacks to Sa.die two years ago. He's had a check up and bloodwork done, but it is inconclusive as far as I know - just a low amylase, tiny high WBC, and high specific gravity. Hopefully, I talk to the vet again tomorrow about the thyroid. I go to Banfield, a chain, b/c they offer a pay-by-the month program and all office visits/vaccines are included. So far, I've only paid extra for the thyroid test, but I pay so much with time, miscommunication, absolute lack of communication, and plain ol' poor service or caring that I am considering a switch. They didn't notice that they kept a cat who has recently lost two whole pounds in a cage w/o food or water for 10.5h. I just don't see the compassion, but I don't know if all the locations are so over taxed.

I still talk to Lyd often. She started a physician-guided shake diet and has lost about 25 pounds. I am so proud of her for doing it. Her mother has spent all her lottery winnings for the year already, so they're back to normal, but do have a nice sun porch to show for it. Lyd is still hung up on me, but tries with all her might not to go there. Although she'd say she's weak, I think she is one of the strongest people I know. I should tell her.

I tried to get on Bloglines today to catch up a bit, but it wouldn't let me it. Feel free to lead me to any especially telling blog entries you've read or written in the last few months.

Now I'm telling myself, "Don't be a stranger!"