[.l.o.s.t././.i.n././.t.r.a.n.s.l.a.t.i.o.n.]

So, my younger brother, whom I love despite his many major character flaws and despite his apparent hatred of me, was asked by my Dad – at my behest – if he’d like to come to my birthday/housewarming party (which is March twenty-first, for those of you interested in coming). Why did I ask him through my Dad? Well, first of all because since my phone died I lost his phone number in the process, which means that I couldn’t ask him directly myself. I wasn’t about to ask Dad to give me his number, either, because I know how my brother would react if he found out that Dad supplied his number to me. Second, I miss my brother. Like I said, I love him. He’s not easy to love, nor does he make it easy to love him, but that hasn’t stopped me for one second. He’s my blood. When we were little kids we had a great sibling relationship. I was always standing up for him because that’s what older siblings do, especially (at least in my experience, but then again that’s limited) big sisters. If someone threatened him and I found out about it, boy were they in trouble because they had to deal with me. And, yeah, I was a geek even then, but I could hold my own, which I did many a time.

Last summer we started to develop a friendship again. Then because of some stupid miscommunication he got pissed off at me and decided that he didn’t want anything to do with me again. He told me to lose his number and not talk to him, which I did, albeit by accident with the first part of it. It hurt. It was hard not calling him, but I respected his wishes (because that’s what I do) and didn’t call him again. I know that he’s got issues. I don’t care. I just wish that I didn’t seem to fumble every time I get a chance to be his friend, to be his sister. The thing is that when he needed me the most I proved that I could and would be there for him because I was. Even after the initial crisis was over, I showed up and stood by him and our Dad because it was important to him to have the support of family. Even though I didn’t agree with what he did in the first place, the thing that landed his ass in a sling, I saw that he realized that the whole thing had been a massive fuck up on his part. That meant a lot to me as well as to our Dad.

Dad told me tonight that he’s asked my brother to give him a yes or no answer by March fourteenth, which is a week before the party. The thing is that I expected my brother to just say no outright, but he didn’t. He didn’t say yes, either, but more importantly he didn’t dismiss it. He’s thinking about it. 

I honestly hope that he says yes and actually follows through and shows up. It’ll be interesting to introduce my brother to my friends. I know he doesn’t like loud noise, so this could get interesting. We’ll see. But my fingers are crossed with all hope on a positive outcome. Rebuilding the bridge would mean a lot, at least to me, and I think at some level it would mean a lot to him, too.

(ephemeral)

I’ve been notably inactive on this blog. Hence, when I thought about it and had a spare minute (or sixty, as sleep is not my friend right now) I decided to take the time to write at least a little something.

Steve and I have been in the process of moving for the last few weeks. Most of that (as in except for what is technically yesterday as it’s four in the morning or so now) was sorting, packing, making runs to The Salvation Army to donate stuff, making runs to Half-Price Books or Planet Replay to sell things, and giving some stuff to a needy family. Part of it was actually, as I mentioned, moving – complete with real movers!

The new apartment is fucking awesome, if I do say so myself. I have plans for this place. The funny thing is that I really liked this particular unit, which is the model unit, the one that they showed us when trying to convince us to move in. We were slated for a handicapped unit because, other than the model (which they didn’t want to rent out for obvious reasons), they didn’t have anything else open. However, yesterday when I saw it, I hated it. The countertops were mismatched, the doors were one way on half the unit and another on the other half, there was no walk-in shower, and the layout was smaller and different than promised. All in all, I wasn’t going to have it at just that. There was something else, however. It didn’t feel right. It felt as if there was an air of gloom or sadness or a pall of depression that hung over the place. It was like the apartment we’re leaving now, in that sense. So I bitched, which bothered Steve, but in the end he called. I told him that the worst that would happen is that they moved us into the model, which is precisely what happened.

It’s big and airy and cheerful. :)

My biggest issue of late is sleep. Rather, I should say, it’s the lack thereof. Dr. Wallia set me up with a sleep specialist (like Dr. Arnecilla and Dr. Mandalapu each did a few years ago) and I have yet to call them because they haven’t called me. I know what’s going to happen with this. First, there’s an office visit. We’ll discuss sleep hygiene, which he’ll say that I’m doing it right (I’ve been over this I don’t know how many times and have perfected it to an art). Then we’ll go over all the sleep meds I’ve ever taken, how well or how ineffective each was. We’ll discuss combinations of medications, which will have the same course as single medications. Then he’ll ask me to do a sleep study, which I’ll oblige him because maybe it’ll provide him with clues the other doctors missed.

It’s just so damn tedious. I hate sleeping away from home, too. And multi-night sleep studies are the worst, so I’m praying that we don’t run into that. I did that for one sleep study and for the narcolepsy sleep series. Thankfully, I seem to have outgown the narcoleptic issue, despite the occassional "nap attack", as my Dad used to call them.

I’ve determined that I’m going back to school – not this fall, but next fall. I’ve been talking to admissions counselors at a few different schools, but I have my heart pretty much set on UT and then continuing at South Texas College of Law. I can’t wait to get my JD degree and actually take the state bar exam! Okay, so that’s years off. Hell, I still have to take my LSAT! I’m really excited about the whole law thing and think I’ve found my calling. I know it’s funny when I think about it. Both my mom and Dad used to say to me that I should think about law when I was a little kid. I used to come up with arguments for every angle of a conversation and play them out with them (more my Dad than mom because he was more logical and harder to best in a game of mental chess). It used to drive my mom up the wall and most of the time I’d run circles around her.

I really think that this will put me in a place, like it did last summer (which clenched my decision and steered me in the direction of law in the first place) when my brother beat up my Dad due to being off his medications for his various psychiatric issues. I worked my ass off in that case and pretty much built his defense from the ground up. I also got my Dad’s lawyer and my brother’s lawyer to agree – before court began – to a common desired outcome after presenting them with all the evidence, precedents, and documentation that I managed to gather. Eventually even the prosecution gave way to what we wanted because of the work I did. When it was presented to the judge, she asked to speak to me and asked me if I’d ever considered a career in the legal field.

I guess having gone to the High School for Law Enforcement and Criminal Justice (before mom died) was more than just some way for me to garner revenge against mom for having turned down my invitation to the High School for Performing and Visual Arts.

(ephemeral) 

I don’t know why I’m feeling the way I am. I’ve hit a depressive low is the most likely answer. Then again, with the news that I might/probably really, truly have systemic lupus has kind of left me feeling like I’m at the end of my rope. I mean what else can go wrong with me? I’m a fucking invalid – and I don’t just mean that in the sense that I’m sick, both with a mental illness and several physical ones, but that I’m not valid anymore because of these things. I don’t matter. I’m a drain. I’m a burden. I’m worthless.

I wrote something earlier this morning – way earlier. It was a Google Document that I shared with my husband in regard, at least in part, to this sinking feeling that I have. I feel as though it’s affecting him and I. I feel the fire’s gone out. I feel it’s my fault.

I’ve never been one to stay down for long, but this is driving me crazy. I guess it’s time for me to do things – anything, really – to get my mind off of it. Walking up and down stairs is a pain, physically, because my joints all hurt like hell, but I think I’ll work on cleaning up our room, at least somewhat, and start working on the mountain of clothes that need to be put away or something. I’m also going to take care of myself a little, clean up and try to cheer up via that. It sometimes works. I’ve got to reply to Candice about the state job she found. I need to reply to the invitation to bid on a project that someone requested. I should look through the freelancing site and see if I find anything I want to bid on and cross my fingers. I wish the other things there hadn’t fallen through, but whatever. What’s past and done is past and done and over.

I feel like I’m dragging my hubby down. And I can’t and shouldn’t do that. I need to stop it. Somehow.

(ephemeral) 

REFUSED TO NOT ONLY PUT HIS HAND ON HIS HEART DURING THE PLEDGE OF ALLEGIANCE, BUT REFUSED TO SAY THE PLEDGE…..how in the hell can a man like this expect to be our next Commander-in-Chief?! I cannot trust his motives!

Now. . . .

John McCain . . .

In light of the recent appeals court ruling in California, with respect to the Pledge of Allegiance, the following recollection from Senator John McCain is very appropriate:
‘The Pledge of Allegiance’ – by Senator John McCain
‘As you may know, I spent five and one half years as a prisoner of war during the Vietnam War. In the early years of our imprisonment, the NVA kept us in solitary confinement or two or three to a cell. In 1971 the NVA moved us from these conditions of isolation into large rooms with as many as 30 to 40 men to a room.
This was, as you can imagine, a wonderful change and was a direct result of the efforts of millions of Americans on behalf of a few hundred POWs 10,000 miles from home.
One of the men who moved into my room was a young man named Mike Christian.
Mike came from a small town near Selma , Alabama . He didn’t wear a pair of shoes until he was 13 years old. At 17, he enlisted in the US Navy. He later earned a commission by going to Officer Training School Then he became a Naval Flight Officer and was shot down and captured in 1967. Mike had a keen and deep appreciation of the opportunities this country and our military provide for people who want to work and want to succeed.
As part of the change in treatment, the Vietnamese allowed some prisoners to receive packages from home. In some of these packages were handkerchiefs, scarves and other items of clothing.
Mike got himself a bamboo needle. Over a period of a couple of months, he created an American flag and sewed on the inside of his shirt.
Every afternoon, before we had a bowl of soup, we would hang Mike’s shirt on the wall of the cell and say the Pledge of Allegiance.
I know the Pledge of Allegiance may not seem the most important part of our day now, but I can assure you that in that stark cell it was indeed the most important and meaningful event.
One day the Vietnamese searched our cell, as they did periodically, and discovered Mike’s shirt with the flag sewn inside, and removed it.
That evening they returned, opened the door of the cell, and for the benefit of all of us, beat Mike Christian severely for the next couple of hours. Then, they opened the door of the cell and threw him in. We cleaned him up as well as we could.
The cell in which we lived had a concrete slab in the middle on which we slept Four naked light bulbs hung in each corner of the room.
As I said, we tried to clean up Mike as well as we could. After the excitement died down, I looked in the corner of the room, and sitting there beneath that dim light bulb with a piece of red cloth, another shirt and his bamboo needle, was my friend, Mike Christian. He was sitting there with his eyes almost shut from the beating he had received, making another American flag. He was not making the flag because it made Mike Christian feel better. He was making that flag because he knew how important it was to us to be able to Pledge our allegiance to our flag and country.
So the next time you say the Pledge of Allegiance, you must never forget the sacrifice and courage that thousands of Americans have made to build our nation and promote freedom around the world. You must remember our duty, our honor, and our country.’
‘I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America and to the republic for which it stands, one nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.’

(ephemeral)

I might be going to work for them although some of the feedback I got well post the second person I spoke to kind of put me in a funk. I know that my J2E skills are lacking and I still rely on tutorials when I have to mess with it when I work on a contract. The thing is that I always manange to get everything to work, the client to be happy, and I learn something to add to my catalog.

My therapist would remind me at this point in time that I’m hard on myself and that I need to losen up and not take the criticism so roughly. For some reason, I just can’t. I guess it’s that when I first was contacted about the position and did the first interview, I was quite excited. I knew WHO was contacting me and WHAT that meant and I was honored, a little blown away that little-ol’-me would be catching their interest, and that they might actually want to really talk to me about working for them.

I’d had therapy between the times I talked to the first person and the second person at Alfresco and realized that I was having a bad Asperger’s day and that my weak point, my verbal skills and social interaction skills, were going to be utilized. It made me nervous. I felt as though I flubbed up some very basic things when talking to the second person at Alfresco. The e-mail I received later confirmed that. I just couldn’t explain things verbally.

I said that I was willing to send code and some of my portfolio of the sites that I’ve worked on, but then I realized that because of Interzone and the projects I worked on there, a number of the NDAs and Binding Arbitration Agreements that were attached to my contracts that I can’t send the overwhelming majority of things I’ve done. Then again, most of them were in what Interzone targeted: the porn industry – and those guys like their privacy. The rest of my catalog is consisted of small sites that don’t all use a CMS behind them. The first site I ever fully developed and implemented was Warehouse23 when I was at Steve Jackson Games and their Retail Sales Manager and Assistant to the President. You can find out all about the Warehouse23 launch, Jackie and I completing it, and everything else by looking through the 1998 archives on the main SJG site.

I think I’m going to contact the first person I spoke to at Alfresco and see what I can do. I’m learning the J2E right now and Rob Landley is going to tutor me hardcore over the next two weekeneds so that I get it all down tight. I’m looking forward to actually, finally getting Java/J2E fully under my belt even if I don’t get the job at Alfresco, so . . .

I think I’ll call now. Maybe it would just be best to get this off my chest.

(ephemeral)