Maybe if I put my goals out for the week, I can actually accomplish them.

Ahem.

1)  To regularly do ROM and stretching exercises with Lola.
2)  To clean Lola's room and restart the "falling asleep in bed" rhythm.
3)  To establish a regular nightitime rhythm with Lola.

I think that's about all I really have time to do.  That's a lot to work on, especially since Lola is the unknown, all-bossy variable...

It gets more and more irritating each day because it's a variation on the same old theme:  It's STILL All About Him.  Where will he live?  What happens if he gets a stroke?

Sorry, dude, but I felt for you for so long and with such a complete and utter lack of feeling on your part that it's hard to muster up any sympathy for you now, especially since it's the fear talking.  You've only been feeling like crap for 3 weeks, but you put me through feeling like crap for 20 YEARS.  I'd say I probably felt bad for maybe the first week, but ever since I actually filed, life has been so beautiful and I feel so much at peace, just knowing that there's going to be an end to this one day.

Can you believe he asked me if we would date after the divorce???  When anybody who reminds me of him automatically gets a thumbs down from me???  I don't think he understands that this is not about him, or even about revenge.  The divorce is, for once, about ME, about what I want to accomplish in MY LIFE, and which I will never be able to accomplish with HIM in it.

So hearing about how he needs me/family to accomplish the things he wants to do just gets him a deep sigh and an uncomfortable pause before I remove myself from his presence.

Because for many years it was all about him to himself, and it was all about him to me.  Now that I've removed myself as a prop, he's floundering --- not out of any great love for me, but out of concern for himself.

What does the future hold for you, boo?  Whatever you want it to.  Divorce means that I don't have to give a damn.

... and I can honestly say that I am so through with this man and this marriage that I wish I had a big fast forward button so that I could make the time go quicker!  He makes it so.  I can't stand the begging, and the pleading and the utter bullshit that comes out of him.  20 years together, and do you think this man will give me the truth?  Not even if his life depended on it.  The truth is really the only thing that would make me reconsider divorce, and it would have to be a pretty darned impressive truth, complete with names, dates, times.  Even so, I might be so disgusted that I run away, but the truth of the matter is, I'm tired.  I'm just so tired of dealing with him that it's not even funny.  I haven't looked at his face head-on in a couple of years, he disgusts me that much.  Hearing that he actually did fuck The Troll just sent that disgust into downright revulsion.

I think he's finally getting that there's no turning back, and there's not going to be a miraculous reconciliation.  I look forward to splitting our assets down the middle.  I can't wait to get my great big chunk of change and go back to school.  I'm not looking forward to dating -- ugh!  Having been with one man my entire life, however, I am curious.

Ah well.  Time to clean off my desk and get ready for some fish tacos and my dee-vorce 'do!

It's all very, very sad.  I finally ousted PIC, and I was okay, I really was.  I felt really, really good.

Then I arrived home and Ian burst past me, not saying anything.  So I followed him to his room.

He was crying, very quietly.  I have not seen my grown child cry since he was maybe 6 or 7.

It's difficult for people who have not been here to understand.  I don't care how much of a dickhead PIC has been to me or the children; he is still their father and they love him.  Not just in an abstract kind of way, but they love him.

Ian doesn't want to talk about it, but he did ask me how and when my father's father died.  I guess that's the connection that he's making, that's it's kind of a death, and that's how he's going to grieve for it.

Jamie was just kind of quiet and shuffled and sniffled all night.

By 10 pm, everyone was in bed and asleep.  It was a very quiet house both tonight and this morning.

Bleah.

I survived the weekend, but barely.  I have been struggling against insomnia since I was a kid, and it only seems to have gotten worse now that I am older.

I can go to sleep (sometimes) but I sleep in fight-or-flight mode.  I heard a noise at 3 am Sunday morning and woke up with my heart pounding out of my chest.

It has become painfully clear to me that I will never have a peaceful night's rest.  I wonder if I'll even have one after the kids are gone, that I'll be so conditioned to listening for bumps in the night that I won't be able to actually rest.

And since my doctor says, "Eat better and exercise" (which is a crock, btw; I was discussing it with a co-worker who not only bikes to school on sunny days and teaches 4 classes -- pump, cycling, medicine ball, and weight-lifting -- and also suffers with insomnia), I'm doomed to either not go to sleep, hear something in the night, or just wake up because I'm having troubling dreams.

I would blame it on the very, very hostile environment I live in, but in speaking with other people in the family, they have the same problems too.  Of course, they don't have all the rules to observe in bed that I do; pretty much, all I can do is either sleep or have sex.  No sleeping if he wants to have sex.  No reading, no playing with any anything because that's rude.  This rule, of course, only applies to me as PIC falls asleep with the iPhone in his hand and checks Twitter compulsively through the night when he's not looking at porn on the laptop.

And did I mention that the fan gives me allergies?  And adult swim gives me the heebie jeebies?  I loathe, detest, and despise Family Guy especially, although it's the second most intelligent out of a batch of really horrible cartoons.  I mean, really, if Family Guy was not a cartoon, who would watch it?  Try to picture all of these characters as real live people -- you'd find them repulsive and disgusting.  King of the Hill is a welcome addition to Adult Swim, but it's only 2 hours out of 9.  Yuck

So starting tonight, I will have to make peace with my insomnia.  I will have to somehow time feeling ready to go to bed enough to actually be able to sleep and not just stare wide-eyed into the darkness for hours.  I'm tired of the 3 am tantrums and ultimatums.  I just want to get some rest.

Jamie has a stomach flu so I kept him home.  I'm not feeling too hot myself, but I am psychosomatic, so I tend to ignore my own symptoms until they get really bad.  If he starts to run fever or throw up I will take him to the doctor.  With 5 confirmed cases of swine flu in Lafayette Parish, we can't be too cautious.  ESPECIALLY with Our Bunny.  I guess I will be going home to disinfect the house and check on him.  I just bought a new bottle of bleach yesterday...

Our Bunny will be attending school during the summer.  Her teacher is very pleased with her progress.  Our Bunny is the shining star of the classroom.  Of course, she is a little overzealous and knows all the answers and wants to share them so the teacher has to hold her back, but she said that the positive effect of this is that some of the more complacent students in the class are now getting competitive and wanting to participate more.  So it's all good for everybody.

... and I am pondering a great many things this morning.  Like, my teeny weeny bladder.  I seem to have been cursed with the family tiny one.  I'd better become a Kegeling fool, especially since Jamie has started to get up in the morning at the same time that I do -- and he fools around in the bathroom for FAR TOO LONG.

And why, if I have Friday afternoons off, do I feel like I have just rushed, rushed, rushed around and accomplished nothing?  Especially on therapy Fridays like today is.

And why did I get off to such a fabulous start with walking only to peter out this week?  I haven't really walked ANY.

I'm contemplating taking Lola to the Children's Museum this weekend.  PIC wants to take her to the circus, and he is more than welcome to take her.  There's only one reason why he wants to go.  You know it, and I know it, so I'm not even going to say it.  And I know this because I have already been to the circus with my children and PIC has not.  The kids are only interested in the souvenirs, and it's so long that they get bored.  The only part she might be halfway interested in is the petting zoo.  So if he takes her to the circus, we can wait on the Children's museum.

Well, I must off.  Take care!  Of Yourselves!  And Each Other!

I have just the worst "face-ache."  My whole T-Zone feels fuzzy, right down to my throat.  I would say swine flu, or psychosomatic response to swine flu, but really, I think it's just lack of sleep.

I've started journaling by hand which makes things both better and worse.  On one hand, the boils need to be lanced.  On the other hand, go over them too much and they trigger my PTSD, which I really believe I have.  I may just start counseling again, although the last time I went, they told me it was pretty useless because it was situational.  Once I leave the situation, I will be a much happier person like *snap!* that.

PIC is going to therapy, but it sounds like his counselor is giving him textbook activities.  I am a little surprised -- this woman is supposed to have all this experience and knowledge, but she's holding his hand like he's in kindergarten.  Ian wrote an analysis of PIC in his biography that he had to turn in, and it was much more on the money.  I fear that all counseling will do is give PIC an excuse to behave badly.  Anybody can behave themselves for an hour, and if the session is anything like the session I had with PIC, he's lying to the counselor as well.  Oh well.  Not *my* concern what mindgames he wants to play with himself.

Off I go... paper work abounds... i WILL  take my desk back...

I tried to learn some life lessons out of last night, but I really could not come up with any.  I didn't learn anything new; it was merely regurgitation of the same old crap.

So what to do on nights like that?

Our Bunny is a sweet baby doll.  She came home yesterday in her extra outfit.  She said, "Mama, I pooped in my pants.  DIRTY LOLA!  So I am wearing my shorts."

She actually didn't really poop in her pants; she tinkled on herself while she was using the potty.  She's like an endearing version of Ian and Jamie mushed together.

Our Bunny has turned 3 -- imagine!  It has been 3 years since she first came into the world.  She had her first audience at 3 days old:  Dr. Accousti, Sam, Dr. DeIulio, and all the nurses at the NICU stopped what they were doing to come by her bedside.  Since then, she thrives on charm.  Everybody who knows our Bunny loves her.  The PT evaluation describes her as an "adorable, almost 36 month old."  I don't believe adorable is a technical term.  Her note from the teacher on the first day says she is "cute and cooperative."  Same for cute.  Both the orthotists told me that Lola is one of their favorites.  Her old PT cried and took us dancing at Vermilionville.
Jamie was like that, too, although he was more love-me-or-hate-me.  I remember going to pick him up and there was always a crowd of kids saying, "Bye Jamie!  Bye Jamie!"  He would turn to look at them and sort of growl because he was always ready to go.
Ian was an old man from the day he was born.  His nickname at the first day care he attended was Paw Paw Ian.

My blog from yesterday has disappeared.  Since I don't know what that means, I won't even try to recap.
Me-Lola went to school yesterday.  She came back and told the people at day care, "I went to big school today -- rowr!"  She's such a funny girl.
She was very tired, however, probably from the stress of a new environment.  She immediately wanted to go to bed, but I convinced her to eat first.  She scarfed down 2 servings of "tatos" without even asking for juice, and it only took 30 minutes for her eyes to close for the evening.
The teacher's log book said that she was "cute and cooperative."  So I guess it was a good day.

Friday the 13th, no less.  Of course, other people's bad luck day should be my good luck day, right?  So that's the happy I am going to focus on.
Tomorrow is Valentine's Day, which is also my father's birthday.  Happy birthday, Papi!
I am currently cleaning off my desk and am amazed at the obvious detritus that I just leave in my wake.  A bottle cap.  3 packs of tartar sauce.  3 or 4 kleenexes.  Numerous paper clips.  Rubber bands.  A plastic fork.  When did I become so oblivious to stuff?
Hopefully, that will end.  My desk will be clean by COB today and I will try to keep it up and be more focused on the litter I leave in my wake.
I'm debating whether to go shopping or to the doctor.  I have had a cold for a week now; the time to get a cortisone shot is now.  I don't "feel bad" except in the evenings, but my cough is getting harder and harder.  I need somebody not afraid to administer drugs.  I don't need many; I just need SOMETHING to give this cold in a kick in the keester and knock it out.
For those of you with valentines, have a lovely Valentine's Day!  May your day be fabulous and filled with love!  Take care!  Of yourselves!  And Each Other!