I’m so sorry for your pain. Wish I had more than sympathy and internet hugs to offer, but since that’s what I do have, consider them sent in sincerity and abundance.
I’m really getting sick of new tactic of conservatives to constantly berate and attack anyone who doesn’t give them money as “intolerant” and “against freedom of speech”.
I can choose not to give the Salvation Army money and encourage people to donate to other charities that aren’t evilly anti-gay without being a hateful person. You, meanwhile, apparently can’t breathe without being a hateful person. You do not have a right to my fucking money, asshole.
My favourite little frying pan has a dent in the side from where I dropped it when I picked it up and touched the hot part of the handle. Oh well.
You’re not wallowing; you’re grieving. I think dreams like that, as painful as they are, serve a very healthy purpose - they put us right in touch with our pain and force us to feel it and deal with it, when it would be so much easier to just stay strong and not really confront how hurt we are. I’m sorry you’re hurting so much, too. I wish I could say something to make you feel better.
Ok, it was only my cat, but he was my best bud in the world, and in my darkest days, my only reason not to blow my brains out. He quite literally kept me alive.
More than seven years later, I cherish every dream where I get to see him again.
If you have ever lost someone close, and that doesn’t make you cry, you’re not human.
So very sorry, purple.
To try to cheer you up, I wish I could come up with the rather profane and blasphemous song lyrics I made up earlier today while driving out doing normal not-holiday shopping (in the middle of the day! outside of OMG SALE hours!), complaining about the traffic and everything, but all I can remember is (to the tune of “O Holy Night”) “Oh holy fuck, why are the lines so daaaamned long, it is the day where we all shop a ton…” I only had a few more lines, anyway.
Please don’t do this. People express their feelings in different ways, and not crying, no matter about what, does not make someone not human.
I know you were comforting Purplehorseshoe, but you were doing it in public. I have been accused, more than once, of having no feelings because I did not express them for others to see, so I am probably too sensitive to this kind of well-meant remark. I suspect I am not the only one.
Roddy
Some of aren’t unfortunately. I had one grandfather die in bed next to me when I was only 4 or 5 years old and saw my dad die of a massive coronary just before my 7th birthday soon after I’d faced an illness that nearly killed me, not to mention whatever permanent damage there might have been.
When that much happens to you at that young an age, you tend not to feel things the same way that other people do if you feel at all. It’s only now, decades later that I can even begin to get a sense of how the rest of the world sees things and while at times I think it’s beautiful, I can’t say that I’m altogether comfortable with it.
Eh, I’ve been around here long enough that I feel comfortable saying, lay offa Chimera. I say that not clicking on the link, cuz I can’t take anything that might make me cry more.
My post sounds Scottich there up thread. For which I’m apologizin’
I can think of worse sins.
Well, OK. You might have a point after all. 
To the tune of What do you do with a drunken sailor, and there is a tradition on the navy for the midnight log posting to be done in verse on New Years. Back when mrAru was doing an emergency room rotation for his EMS class:
What do you do with a sucking chest wound?
What do you do with a sucking chest wound?
What do you do with a sucking chest wound?
Cover it with petro gauze and transport
Early in the morning.
I think he had 6 or 8 patients on that particular New Years, I know he had a cute one about drunken vomiting that I wish I could remember.
And one from my goddaughters one year when the California wildfires were on the news a bit too much. To the tune of here we go a wassailing.
Here we go a wassailing
among the trees so brown
Here we go a wandering
no rain has fallen down
Fire and flame unto you
and a crispy bambi too
<continue disrespectfully:D>
Huggs and chocolate to **PHS. ** Cat Whisperer is right, you aren’t wallowing, you are grieving. Everyone grieves in their own way and on their own schedule.
More chocolate to Morgyn and Lynn. I love that site. With those instructions, I am considering trying my hand at Tiramisu. According to the comments I can use pasturized egg yokes from the grocery store.
I didn’t learn to cook when I was growing up, so when I was poor, I didn’t try to cook because if I screwed it up, I didn’t have dinner. Besides, cooking is kinda expensive and I didn’t know how to do it, so I mostly lived on salads and microwave food. When I had a kitchen and stuff in the drawers, I didn’t try to cook because I didn’t know how and I was used to microwave food and I lived in BFE, so if I forgot something for a meal, it would be a half hour drive to get it.
Agrees with everyone that the above sure does read like a bunch of excuses. So, anyhow, I’m learning to cook. So far, learning Latin has been easier. I don’t get burned if I screw up conjunctions, and all it takes to clean up after studying Latin is to put the books/discs away.
My method of mixing powder with liquids has always been to put some of the liquid in a jar, drop the powder in, put the lid on and give it a good shake, then pour that into the large container of liquid and stir it around. This seems to stop the powder from getting lumpy.
Yesterday, I learned that there was a good reason that I was taught to do this with a glass jar that had a screw top. Yesterday, I also learned to get all of my cooking tools out before hand. I couldn’t find an empty jar in the kitchen and was in a hurry…so put some of the boiling giblet stock and some baking powder in a plastic storage container, put the snap top on and gave it a shake. I really cannot tell you what a bad idea that was. Trust me, don’t do this. Really.
An update, not on my burns but on my friend S. He was extubated today and is mostly awake. They did an MRI to reassess the brain damage; no results yet. However, they asked S. his birth date and who the President is, and he could answer both. Good signs!
And hugs to you, purplehorseshoe.
I hate my neighbors. It’s a mother, and three adult children: the daughter (and her 3-4 yr old son); the good son; and bike-thief son.
At this very moment I hate them because their music is too loud. Well, the bass is too loud. I can feel it in my house with all the door and windows shut.
Three of the last 4 weekends we’ve been woken up by the police (or by other neighbors asking if we knew why the police were next door) because bike-thief son apparently violated his parole and they want him. We didn’t know he was on parole. We just suspected he was a bike thief because shortly after they moved in, most of the bikes in the neighborhood were stolen.
Everyone else in the family seems kind of scared of the bike-thief son. When he was living their regularly before and the music was loud, he wouldn’t turn it town. I talked to the mom and she basically told me there was nothing she could do.
The police have asked us to call the non-emergency number if saw the parolee. I am temped to do that tonight in order to get the music dealt with, but I haven’t actually seen him, so I would be lying. I wish they would get evicted.
I’m sorry you’re hurting. I’ve had similar dreams about my father since he died. You’re trying to process his death, and any sort of healing is going to involve pain, sometimes a lot of it. Eventually, you’ll be able to look back at the good times, and be able to smile. Right now, though, you’re trying to recover from a serious blow to your identity, it’s like having a broken leg.
I don’t know of any way to make it hurt less, other than going off by yourself and howling and crying and waiting for time to heal you.
Baking powder?
I do wish some of my ancestors could make up their minds where their parents were born. Annoying to have one state listed on one census and another listed on another for the same parent.
Had to tag-team argue with my father today.
Remember me saying that my mother wanted a smart phone? Well, she doesn’t want any old phone. She wants an iPhone. That’s what every member of my younger sister’s family has, and all of my mother’s friends.
So dad calls me up today and is looking at switching over to some god unknown cellular company and getting her a phone. Fucking company has three smartphones available. A Huawei, an LG and a Samsung. But I have never heard of any of these models. They all run Android, but the versions are fairly old.
“Dad, don’t do this to us. We don’t want to spend the next two years listening to her complain about her phone and how it wasn’t the one she wanted.” Kept hammering the point that she wanted an iphone, and yeah, you can get a 4 or 4S for free with a contract.
Get off the phone, call my older sister. She’s as alarmed as I am over this bullshit old unknown android thing. We’d never hear the end of it. So she calls him. Shows him that they can get a 5C on Sprint (which they’re currently on) for $48 from Best Buy. Tells him he better pick up a screen protector and a case, so plan on walking out of the store $100-150 lighter. But walking out with a working phone that she wants, that is the exact model that her 13 year old granddaughter has. She calls me when she’s done, so I can call him.
Yes dad, it’s what she wants. Yeah, you’re going to pay through the nose for the plan. But she demanded it and said she would pay for it, so just give her the bill when it comes. Her granddaughter (who she spends a lot of time with) can show her how to use it. The screen will look exactly like an iPad, which every blessed member of her family has. Just go out WITH HER, let her pick out the color and buy the damned thing.
Hoping that sinks in and he does as he’s told.
Yeah, I knew that someone was going to pick that up, but too late to edit. Did I remember to mention that I’m not a good cook? I meant corn startch.
Its all white powder, right???
I was probably remembering that time that one of my strays got skunked and I mixed up some peroxide, baking soda and liquid soap in a plastic jug with a screw top lid. When you are warned that something needs to be mixed in a large bowl, don’t put it in a jar/jug and shake it around.
At least that foamy explosion was outside and didn’t burn me. The neighbors were very entertained, stinky cat in the trap…not so much.
Flatlined, may I suggest trying your hand at pasta or rice again (simple recipes, check the mumper’s blog, there’s a couple of mine which are so easy they barely count as recipes, and if something goes wrong you can throw cats and dogs at me) before going for tiramisu?
EllenG, I don’t think I’d even recognize his work, but I begin by finding his lastname irritating. I know that’s not his fault, but I keep hearing people pronouncing int Bubble, Bublé, Booble… that thing should come with a pronunciation guide!
Last time I dreamed about Dad I happened to be at home, so I took a trip to a spot nearby that was always a favorite for us both, la Foz de Arbayún, a short but spectacular river canyon. I used to be terrified of getting close to the edge of the outlook site (it’s about 100m/yd down), but the place is gorgeous and at the right time there’s blackberries (the edible kind, not the Doper). We’d stop there whenever possible on our way back home from places further north. I’ve never cried about his death, but that’s one of the places where I miss him/remember him more strongly; there my brain knows he’s not right behind me waiting to hand me that jacket I haven’t donned before leaving the car but my guts are convinced otherwise.
My Rev. Grandpa had one from seminary:
God bless my underwear,
My only pair!
In the washer, and the clothesline
And while covering my derriere!