10/15/2010

On the first day of training to be a volunteer with Oak Tree Corner, we did an exercise where we had to come up with different ways to say someone died. Passed on, passed away, went to Heaven, pushing up daisies, sleeping with the fishes...these are all examples of things people say instead of, "so and so died." Obviously, ones like "passed on" are used more often than "sleeping with the fishes," unless, of course, you're living in some sort of Sopranos world, in which case you might say that a lot. But I digress.

There's a point to the exercise. Kids find death just as confusing as adults, but the difference is, kids are very literal. If you tell a kid that someone who died went to Heaven, the kid might think they're coming back some day. Like Heaven is just somewhere people go on vacation. So we're taught to say someone died, not someone passed away.

After I did this exercise, I began to notice more and more that no one ever wants to say died or dead. It sounds too harsh. Too final. If you look at the obituary page, it's full of "passed aways."

I don't know why I'm talking about all that. Stalling, maybe. What I'm trying to say is that my grandma died on Friday, but I don't want to say died because dead is forever and that, well, that totally sucks.

My mom called me at work on Thursday to tell me my grandma had a fever and they thought she might have pneumonia. Later on, I found out that they might soon be calling hospice in. And I spent the majority of that afternoon running to the bathroom to cry in the stall.

My parents picked Joe and I up Thursday evening so we could go to the nursing home. My aunt and uncle were waiting for us. They'd already been in to see grandma, and since their eyes were red-rimmed from crying, I knew things weren't good. We went back to her room. She was lying in her bed, propped up by pillows so she wouldn't fall out, and she wouldn't wake up at all. She looked so small.

My dad spoke to her nurse and then we met back up with my aunt and uncle. The words, "end of life," were used. My mom called my other aunt, told her to come see grandma, but not by herself. Still, we thought we had days yet, to say goodbye.

Mom called me Friday morning. I already had the day off of work, so I was still lying in bed. She told me that she and Dad were meeting hospice people at the nursing home because Grandma still had a fever and wasn't getting any better.

I got up, got dressed, and was about to take Max out when my phone rang again. My heart jumped into my throat when I saw it was my mom calling. I choked out a hello and knew, knew before my mom even said it, that she had died.

I tried Joe's cell phone, but he was at work so he didn't see it, and I was getting angrier and angrier with myself because I couldn't find his work number. "Idiot," I thought. "Why isn't it in your cell phone?"

Finally, I emailed him and asked him to call me. My phone rang almost instantly and I wondered if I'd even be able to talk. I didn't know how to say the words: Grandma died. But when I answered, all he said was, "Do I need to come home?" and I managed to squeak out a "yeah," and he was on his way.

It was a strange day. I mean, obviously. What a stupid thing to say. Of course it was strange. But Joe came home and I cried. He made me eat breakfast. I cried. We watched The Daily Show. I cried. I talked to my mom and cried and showered and cried and did I mention I cried? My head ached from crying, but by the time we went to my parents', I had mostly composed myself. We met with the pastor to go over the funeral service and we looked through pictures of my grandma. We told stories and drank wine and ate pizza.

Yesterday, I walked in the Making Strides Against Breast Cancer Walk and we took my sister to dinner and watched football and drank beer and ate junk food and it was almost like I was a normal person again. Look at me, I'm joking with the waitress and reading my Google Reader and cooking banana bread and watching Jurassic Park and you'd never know my heart broke wide open just two days ago. Don't worry, though, I found all the pieces and I think I remember how they go together. Just might take me some time, is all.

The One Where I Say "Vagina" and "For Real" A LOT.

Last night, I picked Joe up from the airport because he was finally, FINALLY back from San Diego, the big jerk. He saw all sorts of sights, like Breckin Meyer eating and Jeffster singing and Ray Bradbury being awesome and Coronado Island ("It belongs...in a MUSEUM") and the weather was perfect blah blah blah.

Whatever. So we got Potbelly for dinner and somehow the blog The Wind in Your Vagina (that's right) came up. Don't ask me how The Wind in Your Vagina comes up in conversation, it just does. Ever since Joe found out I read a blog called The Wind in Your Vagina, he thinks it's the FUNNIEST THING EVER. I just said vagina a lot. Anyway. When it came up, I was all, "he quit his blog today!" and Joe was like, "why?" and I was all, "I don't know, but Ashley is MAD," which is true. Ashley is mad.

Then I told Joe that I think that dude might be quitting his blog to concentrate on writing For Real things. Not that blogging isn't For Real writing. It is for a lot of people. But for myself, blogging is not For Real writing. I never For Real write on my blog. I open Blogger, I type some nonsense, I spell check (most of the time), I publish, and I pretend I'm writing. It's an easy out. If I'm blogging, I can still tell myself I'm writing and then I don't have to, you know, TRY. Because trying takes a lot of time. And effort. And I'm low on motivation.

So I got to thinking that maybe I could For Real write on my blog. Or, if not, I could at least concentrate more on For Real writing in my spare time instead of concentrating on Facebook or whatever. I'm not quitting my blog, though. I couldn't, because I think Ashley would stab me in the face.

woke up today, to everything gray

I am in A Mood but I'm working really hard to get out of it. I always get really cranky on Mondays because I'm upset that the weekend is over, even though it happens EVERY WEEK, so you'd think I'd be used to it by now. You'd be wrong, though. As it is, I'm struggling not to punch my coworkers in the face just because they have the AUDACITY to speak to me. I keep thinking, "snap out of it, Crankypants," every time I get all snarky with someone in my head, and really, it's the thought that counts SO BACK OFF.

It makes it even harder (heh) to get back to work when the weekend was such a good one. We visited Lampl and Jon on Friday, since they are soon leaving us for sunny Florida, and although the night started off innocently with margaritas and burritos at Chipotle, it soon moved to buying random beer at the grocery (WARNING: do not buy beer just because it has Bigfoot on it and you think it'll be funny because it tastes like . . . well, Sasquatch ass) and ended with a lot of screeching into the microphone during Rock Band and a late night run though Taco Bell. I knew things were not going to end well when it was my turn to sing and I realized I was seeing two sets of lyrics, and so I had to squint to make out the words to Any Way You Want It. I mean, luckily, I know most of those words ANYWAY (you want it) so crisis averted. I ended up singing it twice, for some reason, and I'm still not sure how that happened.

Needless to say, I did nothing productive on Saturday and ended up lying around in my pajamas for most of the day lamenting the fact that OH, I AM NOW SO OLD. I look forward to celebrating getting even older next weekend with the Reds and giant beers. So I will be spending much of next Sunday in my pajamas being completely unproductive, is what I'm saying.

don't you be a traffic light

Did you know that today is the most depressing day of the year? Not only that, apparently it's the most depressing day in ALL OF HISTORY. Which, you know, OK? I don't really buy that. Most depressing day of the year -- I'll give you that. It's cold, it's gloomy, blah blah Christmas credit card bills are due, blah blah something something, but they're trying to say that, in all of history, today is the MOST DEPRESSING DAY EVER? I'm all for hyperbole, Britain, but I have to call shenanigans on this one. Maybe they're trying some sort of reverse psychology or something. They're all, "Hmm, let us TELL everyone today is the most depressing day in all of history and then when it's not so bad, people will be HAPPY. Or pissed. But mostly HAPPY." Tricky Brits.

I don't feel particularly depressed today, although it IS flipping cold and I am at work, but so far it feels about the same as any other cold January workday. I feel pretty energetic actually. I've been getting up early every other morning to let Jillian Michaels try and kill me and I'm sorry to say that it has actually been pretty beneficial. Sure, my knee hurts like hell and it means less sleep, but I'm all ALERT at work, which hardly ever happens. Not only that, but I'm even more productive than usual. Earlier, I could hardly even sit still in my chair and sure, I could blame it on The Ting Tings or the two giant cups of coffee I drank this morning, but I prefer to give the credit to Jillian. Mostly because I'm afraid if I don't, she'll hunt me down and make me do walking push-ups until my arms fall off. And I need my arms. I use them almost every day.

So, this morning, while I was being productive (obviously), I ran across this article: How to Avoid Wasting Time on Facebook. To me, this seems ridiculous, because what is Facebook FOR, if not for wasting time. The article offers such helpful advice as "bring a timer with you to the computer." Um, what? Don't ever do that. You will get made fun of. Loser. It also says to avoid games, maybe because the author of this article has never had the joy of playing Scrabulous Wordscraper. Or they hate life. Either way, as a former how-to-article-writer, all I have to say is FOR SHAME, Mr./Ms. Article Writer. You do a disservice to all Internet time-wasters. Good day.

I SAID GOOD DAY.

I'm a black belt in gift-wrapping.

Sometimes I think it's funny when I'm in my boss's office, and she sends me an email, to race it back to my desk. I almost always win. Other times, she'll come into my office and be all, "I sent you an email," and then we stare at Outlook until it appears. Sometimes I get scared because there might be an email from Heidi visible. Not that we're all that inappropriate at work, but every now and then we start to discuss Britney Spears and then someone says, "if that happens, I'll poop my pants," and you know what? I don't want my boss thinking that either Heidi or I poop our pants on a regular basis. Or any basis, really. I realize the whole racing email thing is not very funny, but my work environment has recently (ha, recently) become a hotbed of rumor and intrigue and so I have to make my own fun. Which would be a lot easier if they'd give back access to the YouTubes.

Today begins the GREAT PAYROLL/HR SOFTWARE CONVERSION OF 2008. I say begins, but really we've been working on this for what feels like a trillion years. That's why I was in Rockville last week and that's why I haven't had time to blog lately, because recently they've actually been expecting me to do some work. What's weird is that, other than this conversion, I don't have much to do. And considering that layoffs around here have been often and plentiful, I'm thinking I won't be hanging onto this job for too long once everything from the conversion clusterfuck has been fixed.

Other than that, I've been spending my time trying to get into the Christmas spirit, which was totally working the other night when I found some Christmas music on the radio but then Deliliah came on and ruined everything. I hate her so hard. I can't help it. She makes me feel Grinchy like no one else does, unless Dane Cook comes out with a Christmas comedy special or something.

Here's what, though. Last night during the tail end of Ugly Betty, what should we see? Why, a preview for A Muppets Christmas. A BRAND NEW MUPPETS CHRISTMAS SPECIAL. If a Santa-hat-wearing Animal can't get you in the Christmas spirit, nothing can. Suck it, Deliliah.

Now you wouldn't believe me if I told you, but I could run like the wind blows.

Heidi and I went running last night instead of going to the gym. My legs are sore today. They felt all rubbery and Gumby-like last night. I'm not sure which I prefer.

I thought I had more to say about that, but I don't.

Wow, good story, Jennie.

I'm feeling a little off, Internets. September is sucking hardcore so far, but I guess it could be worse. It can ALWAYS be worse. Wake me up when it's over. Anyway. Happy Wednesday!

Heh.