Anyway, the snow isn't bad, but, instead, very pretty. A dusting. New Jersey saying, it's still winter, you know. Don't get ahead of yourself. And? New Jersey is also saying, "See? Sometimes it's pretty here. Sometimes it's beautiful. Enjoy it."
New Jersey is talking to me. I just entered a whole new level of lameness.
Also, I finally got the news about the MRI and it wasn't good. Lots more testing, but it seems I'll have a diagnosis in a little less than a month. I don't really want to be specific (to the two of you, max, reading this), but just want to say it'll be fine. Ultimately, fine. Manageable.
I haven't really enjoyed telling anyone about this and having to defend my symptoms. "No, really. It really is a bit serious. My fatigue isn't fake. My back ache isn't fake. I'm not faking. I'm not lazy. Oh, yea? Eff you, then. YEA? EFF YOU!!!" That last bit, ok the whole thing, was in my head. Never said it, just felt it. The reactions to my news have ranged to optimistic denial, which is nice, but I don't know what to say to it, to complete freaking out (my mom). I'm tired of it already and haven't really told any of my friends. Maybe telling them makes it more real. And I don't want it to be real, really.
I desperately want the energy to get the last of the goddamned boxes from our move last year out of the garage, moved to the basement, then gone through carefully. I desperately want the energy to paint our rooms upstairs, remove the ugly wallpaper from our bathroom downstairs, and maybe, maybe even start a garden this spring. A true vegetable garden for the kids. And for our very own rodent, Niffy. We have our own groundhog in the backyard that my daughter named Niffy. She's good with the names, that one.
It goes without saying that more than those things, I desperately want the energy to do right by my kids. To do more with them. To be there for them. To play with them. Instead, lately, I drudge through my day. I usually end up laying on the floor of the playroom with my son while he plays around me, pleading with me to play with him more. Two year olds can be so needy. All I can say about this (and forgive the cursing) is, Fuck.
I also want the energy to be able to make some money teaching. That would have to wait a couple of years due to my son, but I want to be able to do that. We have a contact at the Rutger's chemistry department and they need lecturers. I'd like to do that. And then work on this Phebe project. Sadly, that's last. She needs to be higher on the list, dammit. But she doesn't pay. A teaching job would pay. And I would be more useful.
I enjoy thinking about her a lot, though. My latest thing on her, totally fantastical, granted, is that she was a Patriot spy in her Loyalist household. That she helped her brother, a General in the Continental Army, to foil the British plans in Long Island. There's a link on the side from the reenactor's website. They reenact her brother's militia unit. I have no idea how to say that, really. This is fantastical. But I enjoy thinking about it. My own private romance and intrigue novel.
Must run start the day. I should probably shower at some point. More details later, I hope. We'll be travelling the end of this week until Monday, so I won't have anything to say about her this week. Maybe next.