I Love Them... I Really Do...

I just spoke to a customer. His computer is not turning on, and there is nothing either the tech or I can do. Tech is there for a modem install, by having me provision the modem we cannot set up the .net email account for the customer. I try to explain this to the customer and he says – “So, what you are saying is that the web pages are not going to work tonight? I won’t be able to get online or get email right?”

I said “Sir, if your computer is non-functioning at the moment, then the internet nor the websites are going to work for you. If you, however, get a working computer the internet will function.”

Customer: “Oh. Can you repeat all of that again? I want to write it all down so I can understand it.”



I took a deeeeeeeep breath in, held it, hit the mute button, released the breath, turned the mute off and said brightly, "Sure, let's see where you are confused."

5 Minute Disturbance

Morning is a time of deep sleep for me. It's when my body finally relaxes after a romp of active dreaming and I get some of the most important rest of the night. I loathe being woken up at this time, especially suddenly. However, that being said, I don't mind being woken up if it's a sense of danger that is impending.

This morning, my dog heard something outdoors that he did NOT like. He ruffed up his fur, and walked stiff legged from the bathroom, to pace between the front and back door growling. Then a sharp series of barks erupted from his throat followed by more growling.

I woke up like a shot, lay still listening to the morning outside my window. Were those footsteps I heard? The rustling of an intruder? I did not know. I could not tell. All I knew was my dog was upset about something, and I was frightened.

After a five minute performance of canine vocal skills, my dog abruptly stopped. He didn't return to the rug in the bathroom, but instead went to lay out on the rug in the kitchen. I went to check on him, and he scrambled to his feet to meet me at the kitchen doorway, ears back, head down.

Whatever the danger was was now over. My dog was back to being submissive to me and quiet overall. The only noise his nails on the hardwood floors, no imagined sounds to be heard either by my ears or my heart or my head.



I was safe once more with my protector at my door. :)

Early Onset....

(aka where I get to laugh at myself)

This just happened. I figure it’s amusing if a little sad. It’s just one of those mornings I suppose.



Me: “Dispatch! This is megan.”

Tech: “Hey Megan this is tech 9339 ….”

Me: “Oh ok… hold on a second… gotta finish something…”

45 second pause ensues as my mind blanks out and I forget where I am.

Me: “Dispatch! This is megan.”

Tech: “Hey Megan, this is tech 9339 *STILL*…

Me: “Aw crap… I’m sorry. I blanked.. I went for the first instinct.”

Tech: “You know… with Alzheimers you can wrap your own Christmas presents and still be surprised Christmas morning.”

Me: “Yeah same holds true with pets and really small children…”

We laugh.

Me: “what can I do for you?”

"Blame the Abuser not the Victim."

I was thinking on my drive home tonight of the slogan that so many responsible "dangerous breed" dog owners repeat to themselves - "Blame the Deed... not the breed." So often, people want to place the blame of what happens on an animal that does not hold the human moral code
in their heads.

This blaming the breed in such statements like: "All Pit Bulls are dangerous with their locking jaws!" or "Dobermans get to a certain age their brains swell and they become aggressive." or "Rottweilers are inherently evil and our dangerous to our communities." (etc) completely ignores the human component to dog related bites and maulings. Often times the dogs are also victims of poor handling or training, no socialization, neglect, or downright abuse.

This is also a mindset that prevails in the covering and prosecution of rapes. So often rape victims are "blamed" for what happens to them: "Oh she wore a short mini skirt and a tank top, she was just asking for trouble." "She got drunk! IF she didn't want something to happen then she shouldn't have put herself at risk!" "Well, she said 'yes' before! How was I supposed to know that her 'no' was anything but playing around?" (this was something like the excuse
> my ex-fiance used when I confronted him about my rapes 10 years ago. He also said that since i was his fiance then i didn't have the right to say no.)

So many excuses... that instead of blaming the abuser of the victim, we blame the victim of the crime instead. We've all heard the slogan that says - "No means no" - but so often I hear guys in my games or on chat channels make jokes about it. "No means no until you can convince them to say yes!" Or they talk about how they will make a girl change her mind about sex, when she has flat out rejected them. (I'm going through something like this right now, which may be the reason for this chain of thought.)

I think the rape victim community needs a new slogan that like the dangerous breed community takes the blame off the victims. I've posted my idea in the subject line, which doesn't rhyme as well, nor is it as catchy as the "blame the deed not the breed" but it does the job well.

If you read this... can you think of another one? There's no prizes involved but I'm curious to see what the people who read this journal can come up with.

I have been using various blog sites since 2003. This is just another reincarnation of the self - a different facet into a fractured psyche. One that might be a little more dry and sarcastic, instead of woe-is-me. However, if the woe comes in herds and droves, I hope whoever stumbles onto this corner will forgive me.

In my other blog, which I still maintain out of a perverse sense of self-torture there is something called "friends lists." Basically that is a misnomer as anyone on that site realizes over time. It should instead be called "people who are as curious about you as they are about a train wreck."

Eventually, what usually comes to pass is that people grow tired of hearing about my woe, or my dog, or my dreams, or my thoughts and "un-friend" me.

What a word.

At any rate, while some of the un-friending still stings based on the person, for the most part I could care less. I'm still not even sure why people even decided I was worth reading since I am pretty much the broken record of woe, peppered with paranoid fears based on a history of abuse.

Should I be flattered that so many people have been interested in the train wreck of my life? I don't know, doesn't that seem a bit sadistic? Is it another tale of "oh god her life is so much worse than mine!" so they read to feel better about themselves?

I admit I'm a bit cynical about the whole thing.

But just a bit, because one can't be negative in this world! No Siree Bob! No negativity here! I don't want the negativity police after me to rap me on the knuckles with a piece of chalk. (But if they do hunt me down, i hope the chalk is green and blue combined.)

Also, here's a thought... when does one stop being your friend? Or how about your best friend? This is something that has been troubling me for the last few months.

The woman I called my best friend in the town I reside in, has stopped talking to me about 3 months ago. The reasons I am sure could be endless, but I suppose the most simple reason is we're in two different modes of life now. She is a graduate student, with a boyfriend, and different interests. I am not even a college graduate, with no boyfriend, and I like to play World of Warcraft, spend time with my family, read an endless parade of books, and travel.

I feel like I'm in an endless repeat of my life by the way. How many times has this happened now? Not just with her, but with so many others? I think I've lost count.

I think I've also lost the ability to care, beyond the slightest twinge of "ow. that hurts."

Yeah. Ow that hurts.

Ow.



Well, lift a glass boys and girls to future friendships, to present friendships and to past friendships in all their fancies and forms. To friending, and unfriending. To memories.

Good night.

Little Sarcastic Things Making Life More Bearable

I am 32 years old. Due to being treated wtih multiple forms of hormonal birth control over the last 14 years I've never really had to deal with my menustral period. The hormone dosage always made it so my "period" didn't actually occur, thus I had no pain, discomfort, or mess ruining my plans.

This has since changed.

I went on anti-depressants in the form of Zoloft last year to combat my ongoing anxiety and depression issues while in talk therapy. I didn't want any kind of hormones being given to me that might affect how the anti-depressants would work. I was outfitted with a regular copper non-hormone IUD last year, and came off of the hormones completely.

Thus now? I am in severe pain when "that time of the month" comes around. Right now I have pain in my back, in my stomach and a headache. This can last for nearly two weeks for me - off an on pain as well as blood. It's like my body is making up for lost time.

Now, I realize this is not something most people want to hear about. It's disgusting or icky or whatever. And yes I've heard the joke "Never trust anything that bleeds for two weeks but remains alive...." but let's face it, kids, this is part of the natural life.

And if it's part of natural life that means *I* get to talk about it. Or at least make horrible jokes of my own about it to my friends:


Megan C [1:42 PM]:
I want to yank my uterus out with salad tongs at this rate.
Would you like to have my uterus for a pet? It does tricks!
Lisa C [1:42 PM]:
lol no thx
Megan C [1:43 PM]:
Bummer. Do you know of any humane societies that accept wayward uteruses? uterii? whichever.
Lisa C [1:43 PM]:
lmfao no... but there should be!

The little sarcastic things make my life more bearable overall.

To Be On Imaginary Drugs

So far this week I've been asked twice if I'm on drugs when I've said something a bit off beat. Well, I'm not, I just have a hyperactive imagination that allows me to wonder what it would be liked to be corpse camped by a platypus instead of a priest of World of Warcraft. Would you sit there laughing or just be annoyed that a mammal that lays eggs is keeping you from rezzing safely?

Perhaps it is true that I am not like the rest of the world. My therapist, Rita, says that my inner child is fully integrated into my personality and she is quite healthy. She, unlike, the rest of the world things this is a good thing because it still allows me to feel hope and wonder about the big bad world no matter what it throws my way.

It also allows me to still enjoy movies like Kung Fu Panda fully with the rest of the kids in the audience, despite being 32. I giggled when Poe destroyed a kitchen in the search of almond cookies, i felt sad when the other kung fu students insulted him for being unlike them. And i fully enjoyed it to the point of recommenging it even if everyone else views it as a "kids movie."

Granted I suppose I can see other people's point of view when I spout off some of my more odd comments. But it's not like I'm trying to be like this, this is just who I am. I'm the woman who wants to be a snuffleupagus when she grows up. I think it'd be way cool to have my own snuffle and to live on Sesame Street so I could talk to Big Bird whenever I want.

Why be something normal with so much responsibility in the real world? Why not be a shaggy elephant type creature who can rollerskate better than I do on my two human feet...? How is that so wrong when you consider the realistic alternatives...

Being an adult human is hard to do especially in these hard economic times, with all the uncertainty of how I'm going to pay for rent, gas, electric and food. If i can spend a few minutes here and there expounding on the coolness of kids tv shows, or wondering how good a walrus would be as a warlock in World of Warcraft, why am I being asked if I'm on drugs?

Have I done drugs? Why yes I have.

You know what I discovered when drunk and high? I found that I'd rather be sober with my imagination and in control of who I am; than out of control, paranoid, and feeling sick as a substance takes my mind on a roller coaster ride.

To me there is something comfortable about being different from the people who can only talk about what they saw on TV last night. It's comforting, even if it's lonely sometimes. And sometimes I do find people who understand where I'm coming from. When that happens the world clicks into place again and the smile that tickles who I am, bursts forth into full shine on my face.



In other news, my efforts in feeding the wild animals in the back yard is paying off. There is a rabbit that comes every day to gnosh in the afternoon, a very unrabbit hour for him/her to be out. Every time I see that fuzzy grayness in my backyard I hug myself and smile.... it makes me feel special.

Of Oatmeal and Driving Slow...

Nathan asks me while on the phone -

"Megan, why do people drive so slow?"

Speaking from my non-linear chains of thought I responded spontaneously:

"They drive so slow, because they are scared of the faery nazis hijacking their cars, slashing their tires and turning them into bowls of oatmeal."

Nathan bursts out laughing and we proceed to speak of the psuedo-philosophy question of "How do you know you aren't a blueberry muffin?" Since the term blueberry muffin is a human word which is a concept for human perception... thus you might be a blueberry muffin to a goldfish.

Nathan asks, "Why are you working for us?"

I reply, "Making money."

He said, "Good Answer."

Kurt, meanwhile, is laughing at me.