ms crankypants

Mum went in yesterday afternoon for part two of the surgery. She was jittery the night before and had come down with a head cold and wouldn’t know until morning if she’d be okay for surgery, and the surgeon’s home was vulnerable during yesterday’s bushfire warnings and no one was sure if he’d be available.

The planets lined up and the nurse I spoke to said she’s comfortable and resting and we can visit this afternoon. As far as I know at this stage, she won’t need further treatment.

Crank-o-meter: Phew

February 28th, 2009 | Tags: family, health | Category: family, health | Comments (8)

I travelled to the city yesterday for a course. The journey was smooth, the course was beneficial and we finished early.

Stuff changed.

On the crowded train home I ended up wedged vertically with some rather smelly specimens of humanity and the loudest man in the history of mobile phone usage who’s going out for dinner tonight. I heard all about it, as did my newest hundred close friends in the carriage. Seeing as I know everything about this dinner, I’m going to show up and shove a basket of bread rolls down his throat. That’ll shut him up for a minute or two.

After surviving the train journey, I got a ride home that included a welcome from the happy, waggy-tailed sausage dogs in the back seat that cheered my misery guts mood. We stopped to pick up dinner and in the car park the car chose not to start again.

A legendary representative of the RACV arrived in 45 minutes and got the car going in less than two minutes.

This was good because my period arrived early and I had nothing to manage it and no shops were nearby that sold products to alleviate that kind of problem. I wanted to get home very, very quickly.

Upon stopping for petrol in order to get home, the car wouldn’t re-start and we were stranded at the service station until the RACV technician was available again. He arrived, whacked some things with hammers, pronounced the car dead and ordered a tow truck.

I was not in an accepting mood at this stage and called mum and dad to collect me and the dogs and take us home.

My dad and brother called from on the road to determine my location. I asked them to please arrive asap because (I was bleeding, cramping, stressing and really, really needing to clean myself up) I needed to go to the toilet — didn’t want to scare them off with the truth. They told me to walk to the nearby Hungry Jack’s and use the toilets. NOOOOOOOOO, that’s not what I mean!

Time was passing and I had to do a half-arsed clean-up job in the service station toilet and stem the tide with a wad of toilet paper. The toilet paper in service stations isn’t of the premium sort and turned into a slurry somewhat like a mix of cement and cornflakes that was a bastard to extract when I got home.

The family rescue crew and tow truck arrived simultaneously and, of course, we had to stand around in the dark supervising the loading of the car on the truck. Watching a fully-qualified tow truck operator load and take a broken car to a designated place was a task that apparently had to be undertaken by four people. Get. Me. Home. Now. Please.

We got in the car but the hell ride continued. My brother felt compelled to tell me he taught the new and virginal boy alpaca how to have sex with a girl alpaca earlier in the day. It was one of the longest 15 minutes of my life. No one listened to my protest that the species flourished for thousands of years without human cheers and high-fives for finding the hole. I tried.

Crank-o-meter: Arghhhhhhh

February 25th, 2009 | Tags: embarrassing stuff, manners, shittypants | Category: embarrassing stuff, manners, shittypants | Comments (9)

Mum was admitted by 7am as requested by the hospital admissions staff, advised she was first-up at 8.30am and we were to call for an update at lunchtime when she was in recovery.

Something happened — or didn’t happen — in those intervening hours. Dad called at lunchtime and was told she was sitting in her bed having stress attacks because she hadn’t gone into theatre. Two surgeons were booked for the procedure and the colonoscopy surgeon didn’t show up, leaving the other surgeon with a patient, theatre, nurses, anaesthetists and everyone else unable to do their jobs. We were told to call mid afternoon as she should be done ‘later’.

Later, we were told she was being discharged that evening and to collect her. Dad didn’t ask questions to my level of wanting to know things, so I got on the phone and at least sorted out that the doctor was discharging her and she wasn’t letting herself out (this is a risk, believe me). She had the colonoscopy when the surgeon arrived for his afternoon shift (turns out it wasn’t his fault as he was booked for the afternoon and not the morning, and the other surgeon was booked for the morning and not the afternoon).

She’s home with a half-done surgery and is tentatively booked to go through all the prep and stress again next Friday.

Crank-o-meter: must contain rage

February 21st, 2009 | Tags: general delusions, health | Category: general delusions, health | Comments (11)

I’m sad about the mindless and unnecessary loss of life and damage at the moment, I’m stressed beyond belief with my mother’s upcoming surgery later next week and there was a death in the cat family this week that’s ripped the heart out of my body and I just can’t erase the flashbacks and guilt that perhaps if this or that or something else had been different I could have saved him. The last fucking thing I need is to return to work and go to a regional meeting and some kind-hearted souls are tinshaking for bushfire relief but are really manipulative fucks because I gave money yet again but I’m refusing to wear a sunshiney yellow ribbon because I don’t wear fucking ribbons. I will wear the poppy and RSL badge on ANZAC and Remembrance Days and the rest are reminders that I could don myself in all the colours of the fucking rainbow and every shade between and it’ll never be more than a drop in the piss trough of civilisation and that’s my call to give quietly and I’ll stand by my anonymity and go fuck yourself and do not glare at me for not taking a ribbon and pretending to be like you. And if you again shout “Who’s not wearing a ribbon, come on, give some money” I’ll buy all the spewy yellow ribbons with the week’s food and bill money in my purse and open every single safety pin and pierce your bloaty lungs and braying throat and shove a few in your eyes so you don’t have to see how much I loathe you and your mind games. Get fucked, everyone has given and no one feels they have done enough and that’s the soul-melting nature of these things, but do not use us to make yourself feel more righteous because my inner sphere of rage is far bigger and stronger than the energy that propels your shrill voice. Want to try outing me even though I gave earlier but I’m just not wearing the scrap of virtue that you think separates the generous from the mean? Come on, look at me again with that supercilious glare and I’ll meet your eyes with my concrete gaze and I really will not care who witnesses the purging of this anger towards you.

Crank-o-meter: just try

February 15th, 2009 | Tags: general delusions | Category: general delusions | Comments (14)

It’s impossible to describe the shellshock of anyone affected by the bushfires, assisting on site or seeing the ongoing horrors on the news.

The Red Cross, Salvation Army and local organisations and individuals are giving an incredible amount of themselves to those who have lost lives, communities and possessions.

I’m hunting around for animal welfare organisations and an excellent start is Wildlife Victoria if you can spare a few dollars. The Victorian Dog Rescue Group is assisting with support and foster homes for dogs, cats, goats, guinea pigs and other domestic animals. I’ve heard local vets have banded together in areas such as Whittlesea to care for animals that cannot be kept with their owners at the relief centres and I’ll link if I can find some information.

February 10th, 2009 | Category: Uncategorized | Comments (7)

Anyone reading this in Melbourne will be nodding their heads wearily when I describe my current mood as dog tired, drained to almost empty, ankles and brain fluid swollen and only having the energy to snap irrationally at people for the most trifling reasons. I think the Premier of Victoria warned us to stay indoors today not only out of bushfire risk, but because we’re all about to rip each other new arseholes for not saying please and thank you.

I just want this weather to fuck the hell off in exchange for a day’s rain, just one day to remember the smell of water and to wash a layer of the baked-on dust from every car, building and what’s left of the foliage.

I met a friend for a drink last night and the drive to the hotel got hotter and more tense on the sizzling skidpan of the freeway. By the time I arrived I was layered in five coats of dried sweat and regretted leaving the relative sanctity of the darkened house.

The soft drinks out of the squeezy nozzles at the bar are too sweet for my taste and after guzzling some water I ordered a glass of dry white wine. The bloody drink took forever when the bartender disappeared around the corner without warning. Where the hell is my drink, huh, huh? You’d better not be serving someone else! He eventually returned, swirling a glass full of ice cubes and said the glasses were too warm and he wanted to chill one so my drink was cold. How quickly did I get the guilts and want to give him a sweaty bear hug?

Crank-o-meter: fuck off summer

February 7th, 2009 | Tags: general delusions | Category: general delusions | Comments (3)