*makes face*

It probably won't be interesting to anyone but me, and possibly tadpole_bac , but I had to write it down.

( Click for the weird jaunt into my subconscious... )

Yeah, wow. There was more. But now it's gone fuzzy. Grah. Normal dreams that didn't wake me up in a panic might be appreciated, dream self. Okay? Thanks.

It appears That five days later, our house has been purged of the creeping crud that's plagued us.

*knock wood, sofa, head, laptop, and anything else within knocking distance*

I'm creeping around, having only had Gatorade (not even GOOD Gatorade, but the yucky original yellow crap) for the last 48 hours, and I'm feeling nearly human again.  A hallelujah chorus of 'woot' all around.

The only, and I do mean ONLY good thing about taking the medicine I did, is that it causes hallucinatory dreams the likes of which you only get from LSD. Not that I've ever tried LSD, Mom, because I haven't.  I wig out at too much Advil.  I'm guessing about the LSD related dreams that Hollywood creates?  Okay?  I'm a good girl.  Swear.  With one two three a couple of exceptions. :D  Speaking of, I should probably look at what I wrote while I was high.  It could be scary stuff.

I digress.  I had good dreams.  I had the sort of dreams that you wake up from, have a sip of Gatorade, nod when it appears that it likes its new home in your tummy, and go back to sleep, and the dream picks up right where it left off.

The leading man in my dreams?  Mr. John Krasinski. (Go ahead and give up another chorus of 'woot,' Office fans)

And we were in college; we both lived in my hometown of Irving, Texas (convenient!) and we both lived with our parents.  So it was like having dreams about my high school boyfriend, only taller, scruffier and  a touch racier.  We sneaked out to spend the night with each other - I never did that, either, Mom -  (only cuddling, of course) went to dances together, drove around and talked for hours, and our parents seemed unbothered by it, for the large part.  And he let me use his toothbrush.

It was all terribly romantic. 

*looks at previous part of typed post* 

Okay, maybe I'm not telling it right, but it WAS.  Hey, I'm still in post flu-like stupor.  Cut me a break.  :) 

In totally unrelated news, there are auditions tonight and tomorrow for The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas, for which I'd love to be in the chorus.  FUN show.  Wish me luck.

So much to blog about, so little drive to move my fingers on the keyboard.

I could tell you about the ongoing Orwellian nightmare that is the patch of earth around our house, or give you folks a new chicken recipe that rocks.

I'll start with one, and then see if my attention holds to the other for later.

Let me tell you about last Tuesday.

( Known casually around here as the 'Day of Suck' )

Yesterday morning, I got attacked by an amazingly big, giant snake.

...

I'm just gonna let that sink in.

*nods* I KNOW. Horrifying, isn't it?

( Perhaps I'm prone to hyperbole... )

Pfft. Living in fear and disgust at the creatures around me. Seems to be my lot in life, it does.

Lastly, and these two things are in no way related, my parents took Ethan and Aaron home with them this morning until Friday. So I'm freeeeeeeee! FREEEEEEEE! *flails* Keep the adults in your prayers over the next couple of days. They're gonna need it. ;)

He remembers you.

No, I'm kidding. But I think I seriously just creeped myself out.

Anyhoo, Frank still sits in the back garden mocking me, although he's getting a little overrun with daylilies and roses.

I hope he has allergies, the bastard.

*cough* Long story short for those new to the f-list, I have a creepy statuary owl named Frank (click the tag) in the backyard that stalks me from time to time.

What? Doesn't everyone?

So I get this email yesterday from a friend who lives all the way across town:
***
Subject: An owl

Carrie,

I just wanted to let you know that I have a friend of yours on the porch across the street that just stares at me. I need to take a picture and send it to you. I think it could be your owl's brother. Creepy!!

Maybe I'll see you tomorrow at the pool!

Sunny
***
Dear God in Heaven above, they're BREEDING.

And I checked. It isn't Frank, moonlighting in someone else's yard. I looked and he's still out there.

( And a totally unrelated picture of some freaking cool Texas Panhandle clouds )

Oh, dear heavens.

I'm working on day seven of sleep deprivation. If I've been weird or cranky this week, I'm gonna chalk it up to that. Married girls, do you know what I'm saying? It's really hard for me to go to sleep when hubs isn't there.

Now I realize that he sleeps more deeply that most people in comas, and that he starts a loud snore exactly 12 seconds after he turns out his light and his head hits the pillow (not an exaggeration, I've timed it), but there's something comforting about my big, dumb, blond Texan being in the bed next to me. Mostly, because I know when push comes to shove, that he could totally protect me from all enemies, foreign and domestic. But actually, it's habit. And the way my leg falls over his immediately, when we sleep is like, the BEST thing in the world..

Ahem. All mushiness aside, I've been getting offline about midnight, when no one is writing or I simply can't anymore, and then instead of sleeping, I go wandering around my house. I lay in bed and watch TV, do laundry, watch the lights of the Christmas tree... all manner of ridiculous things to be done in the wee hours of the morning. Last night, the last time I remember looking at the clock was around 1:15. And I thought, 'Oh, okay. Not bad. The boys might sleep til 7(*hysterical cackle*), and that's still decent.

Silly girl.

( Maddening black lab story under here )

Hello!

Does anyone else get completely stressed before they leave to go on a vacation? I'm a wreck. Usually, I'm the quintessential 'meh' girl. I rarely worry about anything. It's not the first time I've traveled internationally. It isn't the first time I've left the kids. I think it's just the fact of my leaving my safe little bubble is what has me troubled, more than anything. Likely enough, I'll be fine once I get there, lounging by the pool, fruity drink in hand.

Right now, though, I'm trying to rip DVD's to download onto Nolan's ipod (Him asking me to do this a week ago would have been helpful), packing for the both of us, making sure all of the boys clothes are clean and ironed, and I have to go purchase a hanging bag.

Oh, and plan for my classes this afternoon, make dinner for tonight, coordinate Ethan's choir schedule, make up a list of emergency contacts, print out emergency maps to the hospitals and Dr.'s offices, and make sure that we have everythingeverythingeverything that we might possible need for a week long stay on a boat.

The thing that I'm most concerned about? My cell phone might not work. It's bad enough that I won't have internet ($50 per day for 180 minutes)but I won't be able to talk to the boys, either.

Okay. Breathing. It's going to be alright. It's going to be fun.

( Itinerary )

I'll miss you all and have fun pictures when I get back!

For the most part, I am an isolationist.  A lone wolf.  And I'm a little agoraphobic.  People stress me out.  Like really stress me out.   So I use music to de-stress in public.  I have my ipod, and I use it when I'm at Wal-Mart or the grocery store or the pool; I find I'm less homicidal that way.

It is amazing to me how the most annoying voices cut RIGHT through the loudest volume on the ipod, though.

I like to think that I'm normal.  Not normally homicidal.  I usually follow the Judeo-Christian ethic of 'Thou shalt not kill.'  Sometimes, I'm even full of grace for my fellow man.  But then there are days....

Like the days that I spend a short eternity in airports and airplanes listening to inconsiderate people shout into their cell phones, (There's a rant for another day)  intent only on themselves, and the times when the monotone twelve year-old behind be in the airplane says everything that enters his head the moment that he thinks it, while kicking my seat every fifteen seconds...  then the large bucket of grace that the Lord usually gives me for other people begins to run a little low, and it's everything I can do not to turn around and THROTTLE said preteen, while the woman next to him feigns sleep so that she won't have to talk to him. 

Can't say that I blamed her.

But seriously, the Across the Universe soundtrack, and more specifically Jim Sturgess' voice, saved his pudgy little neck.

It was a close call.

Close call.

I'm so glad to be home.

Have had a dream wherein one of my fictional characters gets attacked by several other fictional characters that know (and may have liked) him.  Was awful.  Awoke wary.  Glad I live in a house with all boys.

Might have lost it.  Imminent loss of sanity expected.

I'll keep you posted.

This is the beepingest house I've ever been in.  Everything beeps.  EVERYTHING!

For the first couple of weeks, it really unnerved me, and I would go from room to room, checking things out.  For example.  There's an alarm on the refrigerator, that beeps when someone doesn't close the door.  Both the washer and dryer beep when there's a problem or they've finished their cycle.  The oven timer chimes, and continues to chime once a minute until you turn it off.  The microwave beeps until you press cancel.  The fire alarms are OH MY GOODNESS loud, and the coffeemaker beeps when it finishes brewing its carafe and when the burner goes off.  I'm not even counting all of the boy's toys that make some sort of goshawful noise.  Plus the noise of phones and missed calls on my cell phone and trillian and google chat on a daily basis...

But something is beeping this morning, and I can't figure out where it's coming from.  I don't recognize the beep, and I can't distinguish where it's source is exactly.  It goes off about once an hour;  I feel like I'm going out of my ever-loving mind.  It's as if someone is watching me, nudging their friend going, "Watch this, man.  Watch what she does when I push this button."

*shakes fist at imaginary, invisible men*  I don't think it's funny!

*******

And Aaron was waiting for his toast to pop up, and made an observation.

Aaron.  There's dust on this picture.

Ethan. (Scoffs) Where isn't there dust?

Guess who gave the little darlings dustcloths and told them to remedy the situation?  That's right.  Me.  Mumzilla.  In my defense, this is the Texas panhandle.  I could dust one day and it would look like I hadn't done a thing three days later.  However, that is what you get when you criticize my cleaning prowess.  :D

And if you are making it beep in my house, stop please.  The voices in my head simply can't take it.  ;)

 *heh*  I can hear the chorus of "Yeeeees," from the f-list.

Anyhow, the crazy extends to my husband, as well, I fear.  You all know how I have a  thing against bunnies and squirrels and dolphins?  Well, here we go again.  Same play, Act II.

There's this OWL.  Thankfully it's not a real owl, 'cause I find those kind of creepy, too.  It's a statuary owl.  You know, the concrete kind that people stick in the backyard?  Nolan had one of these when I moved in after we got married.  My first thought back then?  What's my big, dumb, blond, 28 year-old husband doing with the statue of an owl in the backyard?

Well, as you can imagine, there's a story.

 LJ ate two posts yesterday.  Two LONG ones.  That brasses me off on a level previously only held by people who pull out in front of me in heavy traffic.

Anyway.  I thought Monday sucked out loud.  I can say that now, having perspective, and I know unequivocally and beyond a shadow of a doubt that yes, indeed, Monday did suck.

I got a raging headache from eating things I know that I shoudn't.  NO MORE DEVIATIONS.  NO sugar.  I don't care if people say I'm weird or not.  'Eff 'em and feed 'em fish heads,' my sweetly eloquent husband says.

BIL's father died.  He was a sweet man.  We're going to Denver on Sunday for the funeral.  It's a 16 hour drive round trip, or $1600 in airfare.  We drive.  Be back Tuesday.

And when did I get to the age that I go to more funerals than weddings?  Seriously.  I take it back.  I WANT to buy blenders and sit through wooden readings of 1 Cornthians 13.  Please.  

My week has been consumed with trying to sell this house or making decisions on the other one.  I swear if the flooring lady calls ONE MORE TIME, I will end her.  She's old, too.  I could totally take her.  BAM.  Just a clothesline and an elbow drop, and she's done.  (I'm kidding.  Sorta.  Mostly.)

I made videos of the interior rooms of the old house, more for me and the boys than for anyone else, but if I get ambitious, I might post them.  Gotta keep the stalkers happy.  *waves at the stalkers*

Playwrighting.  Arriving late and leaving early and not contibuting while you're there is not going to get a play written.  (It's a fabulous premise this semester, but I'm not writing it.  Completely fabulous, and could be flipping hysterical...  Still not writing it.  There was some action on Google docs yesterday, so that's encouraging.)

Caliga.  Still adore Caliga.  Still.  Though, Pansy's getting so very tired of being a captive.  I think she's going to make her move soon.  I hope she lives.  She wants to play with the new vampire friend!  And hug on Cormac.  What a sweetheart.  He doesn't even know it, which is, I think, the best part.  Lots of scenes going on right now.  Super fun.  *Huggles the people*

As for Michael, his life is so sweet and perfect that I find myself JEALOUS OF MY OWN FICTIONAL CHARACTER.  

Clearly, I need therapy.  Will I go?  No, for I am too busy freaking out about picking out cabinet pulls for the house.  Somebody shoot me, please.  Or maybe just come to Amarillo and help.  I'll buy you lunch and keep you entertained while you're here.

I was supposed to meet with Steph today.  It snowed three inches last night.  I hate driving on snow. (Celeste, Jessica, Mallory and Vicky can call me a wimp.  I'm not an excellent driver when there's NO white stuff all over.)  It was 65 earlier this week and now it's freezing.  That always makes my body freak out. Pick a temperature, y'all.  Either one.  I'm fine with either.

Gotta get the munchkins up for school.  Darn it.  I have a cute kid story, too.  Maybe later.