Tonight I found this picture 
from two years ago. I so do not look like this right now. I have gained too much weight since then. So. The Plan. Go back to the several hours of cardio a day, because it was so very very worth it. I felt good, I looked better than I do now, and I felt better in general and about myself. I’ve got a long shitty road ahead of me. However, it was very much worth it. I’m looking forward to this.
These days I want to pull my old raggedy torn blanket over myself and curl in a ball and sleep until I feel better, which may take weeks, and I don’t care that it may take long.
Leaving the house is hard. Groceries are a pain in the ass to go get because I have to interact with people.
Getting the boy ready for school is hard.
Cleaning the house and doing general maintenance on it and on myself is hard.
These things shouldn’t be hard. And I’m tired of having people tell me to just be positive.
My friend Chris said, “Telling a person with depression to just be positive is like telling a person with a broken leg to walk it off.” He’s right. For someone so far in the hole telling them to just be positive is like telling someone to move a mountain with their mind.
I’ll be fine. I’m frustrated and scared and overwhelmed and tired and at the same time can’t seem to sit still all the time every single day. I’ll be fine, but in the meantime I need an old torn blanket I can hide under and someone to tell me that it’s okay to feel like shit sometimes.
I don’t understand how I can feel so alone and so annoyed with company. How can I feel lonely yet want everyone in the world to just get the fuck out of my face?
Hey, folks. This is what I’ve been up to. I dyed my hair pink, yes indeedy.
Now? Now it’s purple.
and very, very damaged from all the bleach, bless its heart. This may be it for me with all the wacky colors, I think after this fades I’m going to either go back to my natural color or dye it with a gentle red, and no more bleaching.
I made a shop on etsy and have bee slowly adding things. It took me forever to do because I’m insecure and if I don’t have anything in there, then I can’t freak out if nothing sells. http://www.etsy.com/shop/kimberlyhughes Take a look, okay? Okay. If you see something in there you think is neat, please link it to your friends. Word of mouth, pay my bills, all that. ;)
It’s 3 a.m. and my 4yo just woke me up my screaming “MOM!” until I woke up and ran into her room to see what was wrong. She called for me because her blanket wasn’t all the way on her person. I put it back on her and she fell right back asleep. In the murky darkness, I slammed my little toe so hard on the open door that I thought I broke it. Really, that whispered, “Son of a BITCH!” was coming out whether I wanted it to or not.
I wonder how other people feel about growing older. I am fine as long as I don’t think about it. As long as I forget that we’re all mortal.
Do they stand in their showers, heads down to brace against the water pressuring down on their necks, lathering their stomachs which are now lumpy? I used to have a flat stomach (thank you, eating disorder) and once I mentioned to my then-boyfriend that I thought I needed to lose a few more pounds.
“You don’t need to lose any weight,” he told me, “putting my hand around your waist is like holding a beer can.”
How odd, and yet how comforting that was. What a strange compliment, one that didn’t seem all that strange to me at all.
Now I stand in the shower, head bowed, water pounding down on the back of my neck.
I run my hands over my soapy body; my stomach, much decidedly less like a beer can and more like bread dough. The price of children, the price of age, the price of laziness, “I’ve got highways for stretchmarks, see where I’ve grown?”
My breasts have written a formal letter to gravity, stating that they are no longer friends, and could they please have their CD they lent gravity back?
My legs are stout and muscled, like always. Like tree trunks. Like walking every day after school for hours and hours with Rebekah. They remember the way they are supposed to be molded, so they stay that way. For now.
My hands, they hurt. They hurt so much. Curling them into almost-fists are painful and I think arthritis, arthritis, arthritis. It runs in my family and I can barely grasp and carry the weight of something in my left hand. I have my grandmother’s hands. I used to love her hands. I still do. I regret that I do not visit, that I live too far away now to make a simple quick trip. That my children do not know the gentle people who raised me.
I think, when I am old, I will regret that I took more showers than baths.
I will regret not running as often as I could.
I will regret not getting on the floor to play with my kids as much as I could have.
I will regret not flying kites more.
I will regret not digging my toes in the mud more.
Most of all, I think I will regret the fact that I regretted so much.
I will wash my hair, and my arms and my lumpy tummy when I am old. My legs will be like tree trunks. I will try to be more comfortable in my own skin.
I started having a horrid migraine last night, and usually when I get a bad migraine I can just sleep it off. Last night was an exception; it was difficult to fall asleep and harder still to stay that way. I woke up with it still in full force and drove Trent to his doctor’s appointment 15 miles away with daggers behind my eyeballs.
On the way back home I stopped off at a fast food joint and picked up some food since I felt like I had been beaten to a pulp from the inside out. I’m still recovering from surgery (more on that later); that, and the combined migraine made me unwilling to make lunch.
The rest of the day consisted of me on the couch in the living room, with the drapes closed and the lights off. I napped on and off while the kids colored and played with legos and part of the time watching kids shows.
I got absolutely nothing done today, and I kept feeling guilty for it. Each time, I reminded myself that even though I clean every single day I have a four year old and a six year old that dirty the place up almost as soon as I can clean it, and that the mess would still be there tomorrow. So today I got nothing done and worked hard about not feeling bad about not working hard.
Is there such a thing as taking a day off without guilt? A day where you let the kids veg out and the dishes stay dirty in the sink and clothes don’t get washed or put away and it’s perfectly fine?
On surgery: July 16th, I went to bed around 8:30 or 9:00. Everything was perfectly fine until I woke up around 2a.m. with a band of pain wrapped around my chest. I thought maybe it was just indigestion or something so I took some pepto and went back to bed and waited for it to pass so I could go back to sleep. I changed positions about eight million times. I got up. I sat on the couch, I laid on the couch, I sat in a chair, I went back to bed and tossed and turned some more. As time went by, the pain intensified and by 5:30 a.m. I decided that they could laugh me out of the emergency room with indigestion for all I cared, I just wanted the pain to go away. Off to the ER I went. I told them where it hurt and they told me not to set down and rushed me back to have a look. They ran an EKG, started an IV and gave me morphine, took some blood work, and left. I tried breathing techniques to ease the pain. I tried laying on my side, finally I sat up hunched over with my legs crossed, which seemed to help a bit. When the doctor came back he saw me and said he didn’t know if I was having heart problems or if it was a bad case of indigestion, but the way I was sitting made him think it was something else. He had me lean forward and smacked me on the kidneys, and that didn’t have any effect. He then had me lay down and said, “Okay, I am going to have you breathe out and then I will push on your right side. When I push, I want you to breathe in slowly.” As soon as I started to breathe in he pushed down and I choked out a loud, “OH GOD!” I think I started to cry for a little bit because I’m obviously a giant pussy, and he apologized profusely. He left to get an ultrasound machine and a nurse came in and gave me two doses of something stronger than morphine. I don’t know what it was called, I didn’t know they even made something stronger than morphine, but as soon as it started working, I’m pretty sure I loved everybody. The doc came back and poked around with the ultrasound machine and said that my gallbladder was enlarged, and they were going to send me off to get a better look. Later a lady came with a wheelchair and scooted me off to a dim room for more ultrasound pictures.
A nurse came in and said that a surgeon would come talk to me in a little while. I called my mom who lives roughly three hours away and told her what was going on and she said she was on her way. When the surgeon came, she said the ultrasound pictures weren’t very clear but she could count at least 18 gallstones. She said that they don’t normally just remove the stones since they would probably come back, so they were going to remove my gallbladder. By the time I was ready for surgery, mom had the kids and kept an eye on me. They were waiting in my room for me when I was wheeled in. The kids looked a little nervous, but I told them everything was okay and they hung out for a bit and then mom took them back to my place. The next day at noon they sent me home. I almost wanted to stay another night. “No! You don’t understand! Someone is watching my children, the air conditioning here is awesome, I have peace and quiet and people keep bringing me things! It’s like vacation!” They sent me home with paperwork on How To Care For Yourself After An Appendectomy (on every piece of paperwork) which is a little off, considering I had my gallbladder removed. I keep wanting to type gallbalder. I’m sure the procedures are just very similar but it’s not something that inspires confidence.
Hey doc, if you’re just going to remove random organs while you’re in there, next time take some stomach fat while you’re at it, okay? It’ll make your job easier while you’re fishing around in there looking for scrap, and I’ll look better in a bathing suit. We all win, here.
Back in 2009, when I decided to start being myself and laughing at myself and all things beautiful, I decided that I’d start posting some neat links I’d found around the internet because my bookmark list fills up fast and then I never look at them again. I’ve decided to actually do that now! Wow!
Up first, we have: http://design-milk.com/bacterioptica-chandelier-by-madlab/ “the chandelier is made of Petri dishes, metal rods and 15,000 feet of fiber optics. Inside the Petri dishes each family member placed some bacteria.”
Some of these are quite lovely. Some heartfelt. Definitely worth a look. http://dearphotograph.com/Take a picture of a picture from the past in the present.
I picked up the keys to the new place today, and went by to clean.
They gave me two identical keys, saying that they only went to the back door, and they don’t have keys to the front deadbolts. I got no key to the basement door, which opens to ground level, they told me that they never had a key to it, and that it doesn’t open very well. None of this was mentioned when I was looking at the place, or when I signed the lease.
I asked when the washer and dryer would be put in, since that’s one of the first things I asked about when I called to inquire about the place. They told me today there wasn’t any provided, just the hookups for them. I distinctly remember asking if they were included, since it’s such a big deal to me and going to a laundromat is a huge pain in the ass. Perhaps she just misunderstood me when I asked her about them, and thought I meant a place for them to go. I called a place in town that sells refurbs, and I can get them for $125 a piece. Not happy about having to pay more money.
The house needs to be repainted. It looks like there are those cheap wall panels put up over what was there, and they’ve painted over it a bajillion times. The surface isn’t smooth and they never scraped any paint off, just added layers. Some of the other places I’ve rented from will at least pay for the paint or knock some money off of the rent for being the one to paint it for them. I have to buy the paint and supplies and paint it myself, and if I pick a color they don’t like, I have to repaint before I move.
Most of the windows open, but several have no screens and one has the storm window that is barely attached to the frame. Which doesn’t help when trying to get rid of the smell….
The previous tenants were on vacation and had a bunch of deer meat in the freezer when the breaker blew. They came back to the stinkiest house ever. When I was shown the place, they told me that they had cleaned several times, checked under the fridge in case anything had dripped down into a pan, scrubbed and cleaned some more and basically were just waiting for whatever smell that hung around to fade. They had placed charcoal and vinegar in the fridge in bowls, and bowls of vinegar throughout the house. When I signed the lease, I asked the actual owner about it instead of his secretary. He said they he had seen way worse and if the smell didn’t go away by the time I was supposed to move in, they would have professionals come in and take care of it.
When I went over there to clean some more, the smell was still very strong. I placed bowls of ground coffee around the kitchen and in the fridge to help absorb the smell. I moved the stove, which is right next to the fridge, which is what you would have to do if you were checking and/or cleaning under the fridge. Under it, I found a sticky floor and dust. And cat toys. The thing hasn’t been moved for months. I moved the fridge and there was the same amount of dust under it. When I opened the fridge door I noticed that it stuck a bit and glanced at the white sealing strip…at the bottom there’s some sticky red, smelly goo. Deer goo. The rubber strip at the bottom is drenched in deer goo. To clean it, I will have to peel the rubber strip off and soak it in bleach water, and scrub it after that to get it all off. God knows where else the stuff is hiding. I’m going to have to take the damn fridge apart and try to figure out where this shit is hiding.
I’m wondering what the fuck I got myself into. I’m really resentful towards the landlord. I’m a little resentful toward the previous occupants. While I’ve been packing the house I’m in now, I’ve scrubbed the walls. I moved the washer and dryer, the fridge, and the stove and swept under them and mopped. I’ve cleaned the oven. I’m going to steam clean the carpets before I go. Where the hell is integrity anymore? I realize the landlord himself probably doesn’t go clean or even look at his own rentals much, but goddamn it, I would. If you own rental property, your houses are your product. Take a little pride in what you do.
Do you know how to get people to read your blog? You post at stupid o’clock in the middle of the night. That totally gets you traffic, since people aren’t busy sleeping. Way to go, me.
I’m grateful to the people I know in real life, through twitter, or through this blog who haven’t told me they’re sick to death of listening to me complain about my life. Sometimes I feel like I’ve complained more than I have a right to. I’m thankful to those of you who possibly bite your tongue and let me rant. Some of you have been way more helpful and supportive than you might possibly realize. Yes, you.
I’m grateful to my brother, who forced me (gently, and with much love) to leave my comfort zone and meet some of his friends, who became my friends also. I’m thankful that I met each of you, and I wouldn’t trade anything for having met you. I’m glad that I got to know your kindness, your humor and your caring. Know that even though I’m far away, and can’t see you much that I still wish that I could. I love you.
I’m thankful that I have Rebekah in my life again, and though things are crazy right now and both of us are busy as hell, I miss you and I miss being kids together. Thank you for listening to me, and giving me your professional advice on how batshit things were.
I’m grateful to the airmen during my overnight layover in Baltimore, during my stressful flight back home from Italy. I was physically sick from lack of sleep, and weary to the bone in every way possible. One let us watch Transformers on his laptop to keep the kids entertained so that I could sit still for a minute; thank you. To the very young airman who drew my son a picture of a Goomba to keep him entertained, (and then let him keep it) while I held my daughter, thank you. I nearly wept at the look of confusion and askance on your face when you drew a severe frown on the character and asked Trent what letter of the alphabet it looked like, thinking he would answer “U” or “V” and he said “That looks like my daddy.” And to the airman who let the kids pick some of his extra snacks, and told Lilly how awesome she was when the two year old picked Pocky, thank you.
I’m so thankful that my mom drove all the way to Kansas City to pick me up from the airport. Moms tend to be overbearing, but I didn’t know I could feel such a sense of relief and comfort knowing that I had finally come to a place where I could just lay quiet a while after everything that had happened. I’m lucky and very loved, and she let us stay in her home for as long as we needed.
To Samantha, Matt, Andy, Jordan, Rich, and Connie: thank you so much for helping me feel welcome, loved, and supported in a town where I’m a stranger. Thank you for being wonderful, lovely friends. Thank you guys for being you, and for letting me be me.
Amanda, thank you for commenting on my blog that first time, for following me on twitter, and for not macing me right in the face when I saw you at the thrift store and I nearly yelled, “Oh hey, I follow you on twitter!” Thank you for being lovely. Thank you for inviting me over. Thank you for being a crafty inspiration. Thank you for the invitation for tea, even though I haven’t taken you up on it yet.
Thank you all for being so very patient with me, for giving me space when I needed it, comfort when I craved it, love whether I deserved it or not, an ear and a shoulder, and for inviting me out to various places. Even when I can’t go, it’s a great feeling to be asked. And thank you for still asking even when I’m not up to it sometimes.
Lastly, I’m grateful to Dragon Ball, for teaching me that sometimes to get stronger you have to have the crap knocked out of you.
Ok, that last part was a joke, but if anyone has some spare senzu beans, I’ll totally take them if you’re giving them out.
Over 9000,
Kim
When I first moved to Warrensburg, I moved into the first apartment I was shown. I chose it because it was fairly cheap, it was a newer building, and even though it was only two bedrooms (I gave the kids the master bedroom), it was cute and clean. Since it’s a newer complex, and small, it doesn’t take a lot of money to keep the place running. It’s on the edge of town, so there’s not a lot of traffic, the train is a distant, non-invasive noise, and you can see the stars clearly. The back yard is huge, although not shaded, and trash and lawn are included in my rental payment. I’ve also fallen in love with the dishwasher. I only pay $425, which is incredibly cheap for a place in Warrensburg and very good for my limited budget. The fact that it’s very hard to find more than two bedrooms for a decent price in Warrensburg is baffling to me. When I lived in Pittsburg, I lived in a huge three bedroom /two bath house right next to campus for only $525. I loved that place, by the way. Pittsburg is also bigger and has a lot more people and commerce. One would imagine rent would be cheaper in a place like Farmville Warrensburg, MO. My lease is currently up, and after the original first year contract I pay month by month on my lease. I decided to poke around for a new place, because even though the location is ideal, it’s small and the kiddos miss having a dog; pets aren’t allowed here. Also I’m not a huge fan of apartment living, I much prefer an actual house. We currently have two upstairs neighbors and one next door, and I feel bad when my kids get rowdy and loud. I want them to be able to have fun and play without worrying if we’re pissing off one of the people in the apartment. Thank god we’re on the bottom level. I can imagine that all the running would drive someone living on a floor below us mad.
Last week there was a for rent sign in an apartment complex much like mine, on my street. I called Friday, because those apartments are run by a different landlord and allow pets. She said that they had already been rented out and couldn’t think of any landlords that she knew that were pet friendly, and said that there weren’t many here in town that allowed pets. (I’d noticed) She told me to call a different guy that also runs an insurance company and had some houses that might be available and he sometimes had some that allowed pets. I called and got his office manager who gave me details on the place and the address. She told me I could drive by and see if I liked it and to give her a call if I wanted to be shown the house. I went by and looked in the windows, and though the outside needs some paint, the inside is in good condition. They were already closed by then and Monday was a government holiday so they were closed again. I called this morning and made an appointment for later in the day to see the place.
I mentioned on Twitter, and possibly on here too, that the next place I lived had to have a clothesline, a place for a garden, and a compost. This place has all three. Excite! I’ve been growing vegetables at home, but inside in pots. The house even has some tomatoes started in the backyard that someone else had planted. Already a plus. There are peony bushes scattered here and there, which is lovely since it reminds me of my childhood days at my grandma’s house. The house has a screened-in porch, two big bedrooms, an extra room that could be a bedroom if I wanted it to be (yay, each kid can have their own room!) and a basement. Basement is a plus. It boasts excellent window contraptions at the tops of the doors, and though the layout is a little wonky, it’s definitely got some personality.
The bathroom is smaller than I care for. The rooms need a coat or two of paint, which the landlord said he would have done. When the previous tenants lived there, they were on vacation when a breaker blew, with a bunch of deer meat in the freezer. There’s a pretty horrid stench in the kitchen and they’ve tried nearly everything to get it out, and the office manager said that she would have professionals come in to take care of it before I got moved in, should I be approved/chosen/whatever/there is no renter only ZUUL. It will definitely be taken care of before anyone moves in. There is a washer and a dryer included, which is good because I’ve done the whole laundromat thing *before* I had kids that were stain machines, I can’t imagine it now. The dryer will get no use, I am a green machine.
I was shown the house at 2:00 this afternoon, she left an application to rent with me, and I filled it out and took it back to the office. By 4:00, the landlord had already called me back. He said that he has had three other applications for the same place, one of which he had for several weeks, but he didn’t feel the lady was right for it, so he waited.
He told me he was familiar with the apartments where I am now, and that they are new and clean and why on earth would you want to move in to an older house? I told him that we could use the extra space, that I like houses over apartments, that the shaded back yard is perfect for the kids, it’s already got a clothesline, a basement for the bad weather that we tend to get.
After chatting chatting is such a stupid word. After talking with him for a bit, he told me that he thought I was the right fit for the place and that I could move in as early as the 10th if I wanted.
Cons: it’s an older place. It has higher ceilings. It will cost more to heat and cool. There is no dishwasher. The basement is a little musty. It’s $550 a month, which is a little high for me right now.
Sort of cons but not really:
trash isn’t paid for. This shouldn’t be a big deal, since I recycle and will be composting.
They mow the back part of the lawn because there’s a two car garage that they use for storage, so they mow where it sits and everything behind. I’m responsible for mowing the front part. I don’t mind this. My grandpa used to have a couple of push blade mowers when I was younger, I don’t know why people don’t use these now, except for they’re possibly lazy. If you don’t know what these are, they’re basically a DNA helix made of metal blades with wheels on each side, and a bar with a handle. No gas required. I could find one on ebay for fairly cheap probably, and a quick glance at amazon shows that even the new ones (new ones! they still make these!) are only around $90.
Both kids are really excited about the place. They really want this, and it makes the decision easier. I’m up trying to decide the best course of action. Do I stay here where rent is cheaper? Do I move and give the kids an actual house ? With a garden and a clothesline and a compost and one step closer to being just that much more self-sufficient? Trent was already running around the yard picking up random sticks and putting them in a pile, tidying, before we even knew if we’d get the place.
It’s mine if I want it. And I do. I want to garden with my kids. I want to show them what it’s like to grow something healthy, without chemicals. I want them to realize the value that this earth has to offer, and teach them that if they’re kind to it, it’ll take care of them. I want them to be proud of hard work and the feel of earth meshed between fingers. I am so thankful for my grandparents for helping my mother raise my brother and me. I miss my grandpa’s gardens, I miss the fresh veggies and fruits, and I miss the smell of the sweat drenched overalls he used to wear to work outside combined with Off bug spray.
I guess in the end, it’s not really that hard of a decision.
