Saturday, January 30, 2010

I Never Thought I'd Be Defending Barbie

But she at least has her freakishly tiny waist in the right place. I was following some Twitter chatter earlier about the shapewear at YummieTummie, and went to check it out, because you know, I likes a smooth midriff as well as the next person. I just couldn't get past this picture. Yeah, you wanna look at that.

Skinny Tank Removes Your Ribs!

See? Skinny Tank removes your ribs! To easily compare that freaky photo to a more realistic image, just click the link and look at the photos directly below the Skinny Tank picture.

I don't know about anyone else, but in my torso, there are ribs in that spot. And they don't bend. And my waist curves inward at the same spot on each side of my torso. And my head is not wider than my waistline. And so on. Maybe I'll buy a Skinny Tank just to see what happens.

Friday, January 22, 2010

And Then, Every Once In A While, We Dance

So after the angst-fest last night, I logged into World of Warcraft. Because there, depending on my persona-du-jour, I can fight evil with a crossbow and pet wolf, explode badness with magic spells, protect my friends with frozen armor, or best of all, heal the world. And my kidneys don't hurt, and I can turn flips when I jump...and, um, I can jump. After Alex went to bed, I started doing mage stuff...you know, turning bad dudes into pigs or sheep, and freezing monsters in blocks of ice to immobilize them while I explode them with the power of my mind. It's a darn fine form of escapism, especially when you're surrounded by and smothered with the enfeeblement of real life and the limitations of the actual human body...and you can't go outside.

A few minutes in, one of my guild-mates asked if I'd like to run through a dungeon with her, and I happily agreed, and we started looking for others to fill out our party. It was about this time that Alex woke up, saw that I was doing something without him, and insisted on coming along. Not much use in arguing, and fortunately, we have amazing, wonderful, compassionate and understanding friends in-game who don't care if the hunter takes a few extra seconds to mark a target or send his razorback into the fight (yeah, his pet is a wild boar--what else would it be?). In other words, they're willing to carry their friends when needed, with no complaints. I asked if it was OK if he joined, and of course was told yes.

It was a largely uneventful run--I don't think anyone died, and it was lots of fun for everyone. We even stopped and took a victory screenshot at the end after downing the big boss. Because we are soooo dorky.

Poor Ingvar Had A Bad Day

That's Alex's hunter on the left, then our bud Drifty, that's Alex's ferocious pig, Jasmine, right behind my squishy little mage-self with my glowing stick of death, and over on the right is a warrior you do not wanna run into if you harbor any bad intentions, because she will shout you to death.

It was after all this, when I'd said my goodbyes and offered my thanks to my fine friends, that I looked over and saw this:

We've Decided to Dance All the Bad Guys to Death.

And I smiled.

Somewhere, deep inside, beyond the overwhelming sadness and confusion, there was a whimsical, joyful spark in my husband. Something that felt, just for a moment and in a virtual world, like dancing. And while his spike-helmeted avatar busted his MJ moves, my heart danced a little, as well.

Sometimes it's the very small things, the tiny moments.

Thursday, January 21, 2010

MeMeMeMeeeeee...

Can I just talk about myself for a minute? Oh, wait, this is a blog. That's what we do here. Never mind.

I don't like what I'm becoming. I'm losing my patience, my compassion, and at times, it seems, my humanity. I'm seeing myself harden to the constant demands of my ill spouse, because no matter how many times I respond, there will always be more, and more, and more. There has to be a self-defense mechanism in the face of the constant demand on me, and I seem to have defaulted to a terribly unattractive one. I'm irritable, short-tempered, and LOUD. I'm becoming bitter, hard...cold. I think I had a passing urge to vote Republican.

I need a break from all this. I know it, my doctor knows it, everyone who's had any interaction with me in the last month, including the poor kid at Sonic who failed to make my Route 44 Diet Dr. Pepper with "easy ice" like I asked, knows it. "Here, ma'am, I'll make you another one, maybe even slip some Xanax in there for you, just please stop crying in the drive-thru." That's an easy call to make, especially if, when being in my presence for more than 5 minutes, you experience tears, self-pity, and desperation. "Hey, umm...have you thought about maybe, uh, getting away for a bit? You know, just until your, um, essence of nutbar fades just a tiny bit?"

I'm in total agreement with that sentiment. I would LOVE to go away somewhere. Anywhere. Or just to be alone in my own home, for that matter. For even an hour. But it's just not possible. I can't get into another room, and I mean that literally--I cannot go to another room--without bringing along a sad, confused, demanding shadow. I've managed a lone trip to the grocery store, but I only pulled that off by resorting to trickery, and the ensuing guilt kind of made it not worth it. Plus, I was grocery shopping. Not exactly a massage or a mani-pedi.

Why am I even whining about this? Maybe just to get it out. Or to see if maybe anyone has any real for actual, even temporary solutions. Mainly, I think I'm trying to just stop and recognize what's going on, so that perhaps I can halt, or at least slow, this gradual calcifying of my spirit. I used to be fairly happy with who I was, and I'd like to be again. Maybe a miracle will happen. Maybe an amazing and benevolent doctor will find this case study so fascinating that he or she will actually care about our outcome. Maybe Hezekiah Walker will call me up with some inspiration. Maybe Oprah will give me a German cuckoo clock.

You never know.