Well, my last entry was on my birthday. Some well meaning friends drop in from time to time to inquire how I am doing, and yet I still decline to post any updates.

For those of you checking up on me, thank you, from the bottom of my heart. Your occassional notes do not go unnoticed. I'm simply maxed out and pretty much totally bitter at life right now. But your kindnesses have touched me, and helped more than you know. So again, thank you.

That being said, I'll try to update ya'll in the 30 minutes or so that I have before I have to haul hubby to PT.

About hubby. It's been 8 months and 5 days or so since his accident. He still has an open wound on the front of his leg that just will not close up. He has now gotten the lovely news that his whole ankle joint has either collapsed, or is collapsing, and he is looking at yet another surgery, this time to run a steel rod up through his heel and into his leg bones, to fuse the ankle. This will be the only way to help him get over all the pain he has. He is still in excrutiating pain, everyday, and has actually regressed to the point of screaming, literally, most nights. His list of doctors now includes: Orthopedic surgeon, plastic surgeon, infectious disease specialist, pain management specialist, podiatrist, psychiatrist, and physical therapist. There are always at least two appointments a week, not including PT three times a week. This shit IS SO FUCKING OLD.

My school: I made it through spring semester ( my big return to school). I basically sneered at my counsellor, who had so kindly told me that I should only take one class, and that I would be lucky to pass that one. I ended up taking three classes, 9 units, and got A's in all three. In fact, I was the highest overall grade, and highest final exam score, in two of the three. So Mr. Counsellor, bite me.

I took one class during summer school. An intensive, mind frying, fucking intermediate algebra class - a 4 month course compressed into 5 short weeks. And math is not my forte'. The counsellor who signed my admit form told me "Are you sure you want to do this, after not having a math class for 20 years? You will likely fail." WTF? I though counsellors were not only supposed to be honest, but they were supposed to be supportive when you insist on being stubborn??? Well, whatever. I struggled through, I hated the teacher at first. I worked endless fucking hours on homework.....and I managed to *barely* pull off an A in the class. So again, Ms. Counsellor, BITE ME.

So now, in my arrogance and confidence that I am INVINCIBLE, I have signed up for 19 fucking units in the fall. Am I crazy? Yeah. Do I think I can do it? Well....I did, now, not so sure. We shall see. I intend to hit up first class of each and then see what I may drop. I've got three classes I think will likely be a cake walk: Yoga, History of American modern music, and Introduction to computer applications. The second half of my online history course, which is not necessarily easy, but I know how to work it and keep my grade good. The other that are in question are Psych1A(online), Criminal Law, and Criminal Procedures. If any one of these classes requires a term paper, then something, or more than one somethings, is gonna have to go. Bleh.

On top of this, now that I've committed to the workload from hell, I just know that a month into it, they will schedule his next surgery. Fuckers.

However, I am not worrying about that just yet. They already said they won't consider that surgery until the stupid wound closes, so until that happens, he won't be going under the knife.

Ack..I am running out of time here. 10 minutes to go.

So, I am on vacation and about 6 weeks or so ago we mentioned to the stepson that while I was on vacation, we really wanted to have the grandson down here. Well, he agreed and yadda yadda, and now, conveniently, he manages to evade all phone calls, skirts the issue, has every excuse in the book and then has the balls to take the boy camping and is unreachable. So for the last week, I've been getting progressively more bitter, because the bastard is breaking my heart, yet again. So no grandson, and no fourth birthday participation with him.

Stepdaughter has also helped to add to my dose of bitter. In June she called all frantic, having to move and needing $200 to help with her new deposit, which she swore, she would pay back on July 7 when her school grant money came. I told her I only loaned the money, because I knew she could pay it back before I would run short and be late on some bills. She swore up and down this wouldn't be a problem, so I didn't hesitate. July 7 came and went, and we didn't hear from her. So hubby called her, and she got quite snippy when he asked where the check was. (Mind you, I felt bad for her needing money so much, I sent her $300 and only asked that she re-pay the $200.) She claimed then her grant money didn't come in until Aug 13. So I was late on several bills in July. Then I find out at work, from a co-worker who has two daughters at the same university, getting the SAME FUCKING GRANTS, that their grant checks came in on July 7. Since I heard that, we have been leaving little girl voice mail, just asking her to call, etc...No mention of the money. She has yet to call back, not one single time. J, we raised you better than that. At least have the courtesy to return a call. At least have the courtesy to tell me you don't have the money, instead of leaving me holding the bag on all this shit. Damn, I swear. Bitter, bitter.

In other news, the drug addicted HepC brother in law ended up in all sorts of trouble in Oregon. He finally got approved for SSI, and got a back payment lump sum check of about 22k. Which he spent or lost in 2 weeks time. He now has nothing left. And then he had the audacity to hitch a ride to a community near here, and found himself in the company of the Hell's Angels who tried to kill his traveling companion(that scumbag is still in ICU on life support) and they wanted to kill BIL (HAHAHAH Kill BILL). BIL ended up getting away from there, after a week of much trauma and drama, and flagged down a peace officer (one of mine, no less) who we had take him to the local greyhound. We ended up going up there and babysitting him in the middle of the night until we could put him on a bus. With solemn promises he would get himself home, and when the 1st of the month came, he would send us a check to re-pay us, because this would leave us short. Well, guess what.

He doesn't have the FUCKING MONEY.

No more. I wash my hands of him, the son, and the daughter. I care not for anyone of them. Son has called his dad maybe a total of 5 times in eight months, daugher maybe 10 times total. And always, these kids are only calling to return a call, or to ask for money. Daughter has seen her dad twice since this happened, once in the hospital on her way home during Thanksgiving, and once in April. Son managed to make it down here, for about a 2 hour visit, one time. That's it. Eight months, and a couple short 2 hour visits. Phone calls only when they need money. Or to return a call. Nothing ever self-initiated. Never an inquiry on how either of us are doing. Ever. Well, fuck you both. See if there's any Christmas this year.

Speaking of Christmas, guess what tomorrow is?

My 10th wedding anniversary. Now, tell me, why is it that I am severely depressed over the fact that not only has he not acknowledged it once, but that I am also distressed by the fact that one would think 10 years is a major milestone, especially in this society in today's day and age of instant marriage/instant divorce. After all we've been through in the last year, after all I have been through to help him and still try to keep my sanity (which is rapidly waning), why is it that this man, who can walk with a walker, and who has access to transportation (in the form of insurance sponsored taxis) when I am not around, why is it that this man doesn't think it important or significant to acknowledge our 10 years together or simply my devotion to him, my dedication to him, any acknowledgement of what I have gone through for him these last eight months? The last eight months have been more difficult, more of a challenge, more unstable, than all of the last 10 years put together. Why on earth does he think that none of this matters? But yet, that's his thinking. About a month ago he saw an add for the three stone anniversary ring (you know, the really pretty one) at some jewelers. And he said "I want to get you that." My reply was "I would really like that a lot!"

His current response to the state of our anniversary affairs is "I have no way to get there."

Ballsack and poppycock. If you really wanted to do this for me, if you really, truly wanted to show how much I mean to you, you'd find a way. Get a friend to take you. Take the cab. Have the medivan take you by the mall on the way home from some appointment. But no. You have no way to get there.

And I have really no love left in my heart for anyone. It's all dying or pretty much dead. I lay in bed most days wishing I had the balls to end it all. I've gained 27 pounds in a month. None of my clothes fit. My attitude is I cant be bothered with dieting, as food seems to be my only comfort now. Fucking great.

So, my few internet friends who actually happen to check in on me, this is how I am. Angry, bitter, disillusioned. Still desperately trying to maintain some semblance of sanity so I can make it through yet another semester of school. Hoping I can just get through one day to the next. Mad at the world and trying desperately not to be.

Other than that, I'm doing pretty good.

How you doin?