The deafening roar of silence

I was a stagehand whose love was audio. Even before that, I was good at hearing the noise under the sound, and my second husband counted on me to be his ears in public because he didn’t hear well.

So a few months after I got clean, when an act of domestic violence left me with a ruptured eardrum, I was devastated. It took a while for hearing to return in my left ear, and even then it didn’t all come back. I lost the high frequency sounds on my left side.

Last week, my right ear became all stopped up and I can’t hear much out of it. Like, almost nothing. I’m sort of trapped in a world that’s quieter than it’s supposed to be. I’m struggling to hear my boss at work, I’m struggling to hear the television, I’m struggling to hear those familiar and comforting sounds made when I reposition myself on the couch. Forget hearing any noise beneath the sound, because that’s not happening.

It’s an unfamiliar place for me to be, and I don’t like it. I feel vulnerable, unprepared. I don’t really want to go to the doctor because that takes money away from finishing the house, but it’s starting to look inevitable. The good news is that I’m not far from the ear doctor who repaired my ear all those years ago, when he was still training to be an ear doctor. I overheard his office staff asking when he moved to Dallas, so when I had severe earaches in the left ear I hunted him down and paid his office visit fee. It was worth it. If this right ear doesn’t get better pretty soon, I’ll be coughing up a couple hundred bucks to go see him again, because he is the only one I trust with my ears.

In the meantime, while I wait to see if this is going to resolve itself, I’ll be sticking close to home so I don’t feel as insecure as this just made me feel when I went to the pharmacy to pick up my refills. I really hate the deafening roar of the silence in my right ear.


I’ve still got it

Back in the 90s, there was one of those “you might be a redneck” jokes that said “if your mom can tell the state trooper ‘fuck you, officer’ without dropping the cigarette hanging from her lip… you might be a redneck”. All my friends thought that was hilarious and was based on me and my life. Yes, I could indeed carry on a conversation without ever taking my cigarette out of my mouth (or even using my hand to keep it there). I was a multitasker. Or something.

Well, yesterday at work, I was scrambling around getting the shop cleaned up so I could open, and I found a cigarette and lighter my boss had left under a pile of baskets and papers. Since the shop was a mess and I was running out of time, I decided the cigarette was better than my e-cigarette because

A) I didn’t have time to dig for my e-cig

B) I’d have to use my hand to keep the e-cig going and the shop was a fucking mess so there was no time for that either

So I did what any good redneck would do.

Klassy, no? Turns out, I’ve still got it.

Because obviously

I started moving things down to the new house today. We’re not that close to move-in, but I didn’t want to have to pack and unpack all the things in one freaking day like I usually do when I move.

Side note: I know, it doesn’t have to all be done in one day, but I am my mother’s child, and I can’t help myself.

So when I started unpacking the winter clothes I had stuffed into bags as a temporary measure intended to save my sanity because I could not handle any more clothes avalanches, I realized I didn’t have enough shirt hangers.

Now, I could have used some of those screaming pink hangers I bought for pants, but then what was I going to do if I ran out of those too?

Side note: I always make it a point to try and know exactly who and what I am dealing with. In this case, I’m dealing with me, and I am a shopaholic.

As I sat there debating whether to use the ones I bought for pants to hang my tops, I realized there was a solution.

I could order more hangers. Because 100 screaming pink hangers isn’t enough, I guess.

Soon I will have 150 screaming pink hangers. I went with the kind you can drape pants over. Because I know exactly who and what I am dealing with here, and they can be used for either shirts or pants.

Now, if it were only that simple to solve the problem of what to do with my shoes.

Because obviously.

Ok Mollie, I totally get it now

Miss Mollie has a habit of low-key growling at us when we get too close to her doggie bed while we’re watching teevee at night. We let her, as long as it’s just a low-key growl and she doesnt snarl or bare her teeth; we call it “grumbling”, because we see it as her way of vocalizing her displeasure that we disturbed her after she spent all that time making sure all her things were there and getting comfy.

I just got home from the weekly grocery run, and I haven’t even finished unpacking groceries yet but I need a nap. Stay with me, I promise this non-sequitur has a place here.

I moved Mollie’s bed to the end of the couch and went to stretch out and my head wound up resting on her dog bed

and now I totally get why she doesn’t want to share it. I’ll probably “grumble” at her if she tries to climb up here with me.

Happy Mother’s Day

I know I interact with a lot of moms on here, so happy mothers day to each of you.

I’m sitting here at work, missing my mom. She wasn’t home when I tried to call her on my drive in, but you can bet I left an annoying message on her answering machine. Yes, my mother is a bit of a luddite, and uses an answering machine rather than voice mail. When I get her machine on her birthday, I sing to it. Very badly.

Enough about me, this is supposed to be about my mom.

I can’t find words to express just how fucking amazing my mom is. She pretty much raised us three kids single-handedly as my dad was sick for many years before he passed. She’s not my genetic mom, but you’d never know that by the way she acts and treats us all. My mom taught me to be strong, independent, and polite. She taught me that hard work won’t kill me, and that a clean house helps declutter my mind (although I didn’t turn out quite so OCD about it as she still is). She taught me to question everything, then gets annoyed with me when I question everything.

My mom is a classic case of “still waters run deep”. She isn’t prone to great displays of emotion; yet she feels things very deeply. She’s great at hiding her anger when that is an appropriate response. She’s doesn’t talk or laugh loudly in public. She doesn’t cry much in front of others. She is always gracious and polite, no matter how much she dislikes something or someone.

In spite of all that, if you know my mom, you know what is going on inside. There’s a certain look in her eyes when she’s raging; if the offense is a wrong against someone she loves, the entire world will know she is raging (most especially if it’s her kids being wronged). In the privacy of her own home, she doesn’t hesitate to raise her voice when her children need to be told to “get some act right”. Those of us who know her know when she’s laughing her ass off inside, and when she’s concentrating really hard on something (she has her tells, and I’ll never reveal them while she’s alive, she deserves some secrets). When she doesn’t like something or someone, those who know her can see the sharp points of the icicles hanging from her polite and gracious words.

My mom dealt with a lot when I was young: sick husband, full time job, three kids, a house and 10 acres of land, and my burgeoning addiction. She survived all of it; and somehow, nothing got neglected so that we survived all of it too.

The most amazing thing about my mom is that she never disowned me, no matter how bad the insanity of my addiction got. When I got clean, my mom was right there willing to let me build a new relationship with her. She has been a great help in my recovery, because she still won’t co-sign any of my horseshit; yet she also knows when I just need the comfort of mom for a moment and is always there with it.

My mom is a superhero, and I’ll kick your ass within an inch of its life if you dare to suggest otherwise. (I doubt any of you would, you’re all too kind for that sort of thing, which is why I love you.)

Its starting to look like a kitchen!

The cabinets are installed, they have been wrapped with reclaimed wood, and have been mostly clearcoated.

Obligatory pic of Rude Ass’s ass

We also have our plans for the septic system. Mr B is working on getting them approved by the county so we can get it installed. Which means that there is an end in sight and I’ll actually be able to USE that kitchen someday!

I’m squealing like a girl

My cabinets are here!

Claus has been hard at work for a while now.

I’d say the results are worth the wait.

They’re installing them as I type this post from my perch behind the counter at work and I’m having a hard time stopping myself from telling the boss that “I’m just not feeling it today”.

Soon it will be time to make a final decision on countertops. I really want quartz, but I’m not sure if I can talk Sunshine into it.