Always saying goodbye

under the rose tree, originally uploaded by negahdron.

Are you getting tired of reading this blog? I am. Every time there is a new post, it is about some sad thing. Today's sad thing is that Bree went to a new home. Bree wanted to be alpha dog and was always fighting with Dolly. Dolly is almost 13 and clearly is not going to be the one to go away. Bree's new home is temporary too. It is a rescue place (which makes me feel like Bree has been rescued from us, like we're terrible people) and there are 8 permanent dogs, 9 rescue dogs. Bree will go to a home where she can be an agility star. The rescue home also has sheep in case Bree would like to learn to herd something besides flying birds.
Bree was funny. She was cuddly. She was vocal, playful, fast, smart, talented, eager to please, and full of love.
And I miss her.
I miss you, Breely.
Gimme kiss?
Blech. Sheesh! Help!
Good girl.

In all my packing, I only forgot one thing...

But he was very important! What will I do??

Re: Tuesday, June 5

I'm moving to California.

A dog by any other name

There's this little thing that has been bugging me. I come across it a lot lately. There's this trend in children's books where animals have been anthropomorphized... but the dog hasn't. The dog is still a dog. So not okay. I understand anthropomorphizing animals for children's books. It works. But then there cannot be pets. If you want there to be pets, you have to use humans as the main characters. It's just really weirding me out. I'm disturbed by the whole thing.

Technofailures

I got nothing done today. It doesn't have much to do with the fact that I'm blogging right now. It has much more to do with this:
System goes down, cannot work
Files being sent out for some sort of authority processing, cannot work on those files.
Printer refuses to print.
New toner cartridge is broken.
Need a new mouse.
Keyboard stops working.
Mess with cables-- terminal turns off.
Keyboard still not working.
Remove barcode scanner.
Tangle feet in cords because IT guy undid all my twist ties.

Oh, and all the book carts are being used.
Yeah.

Okay then

I think I'll just let this article speak for itself.

http://www.appleinsider.com/articles/07/09/25/inmates_suit_claims_o_j_simpson_is_hitman_for_steve_jobs.html

While We're on the Subject

of articles, here's another that you really ought to read. Long, but totally worth it.

http://www.time.com/time/world/article/0,8599,1655415,00.html

A Wrinkle in Time

I don't mean to only ever blog about death, but here is a very nice article:

http://www.nytimes.com/2007/09/08/books/07cnd-lengle.html?ref=arts

At Peace

Rabbity Intrusion 2, originally uploaded by lynn_nord.

Coriander has been sick for almost a month. Then she stopped eating completely and the doctors didn't know what was wrong with her. So the other night while she was in my dad's lap, she took her last breath. She was such a good bunny. Pretty, sweet, smart, bunny-soft. Full of personality. You'd think with a houseful of animals, there'd hardly be time to miss a small little rabbit. But I miss her.

The Way I See It #225

(This is my favorite from the Starbucks' cups)

People don't read enough. And what reading we do is cursory, without absorbing the subtleties and nuances that lie deep within--Wow, you've stopped paying attention, haven't you? People can't even read a coffee cup without drifting off.

--David Shore, creator and executive producer
of the television drama House

Goodbye Goats

We sold the goats. I miss them. Look at that face! How could you not miss it? So they didn't eat as many weeds as we planned. So we never bred them. They were cute and pretty good company. At least they went together. At least they are going to be mamas and give milk to a family. Stubborn little brats that they were, they are such social animals and so comical. Someday I will have a goat again. Goodbye Hannah-bee. Goodbye Geneva Girl.

Identity Crisis

Bunny ball, originally uploaded by negahdron.

So, Coriander Carrot Cake is going through an identity crisis. Not only has she just been spayed (hello, change) but we thought she was going to be neutered. That's right. The pet store originally told us that she was a girl, but Emily was sure she felt...well...parts. So, we went on with life as if she was a boy. A he. Him. Cori. Coriander the boy. Now it's Coriander the girl. This will be somewhat of an adjustment. I suppose that she has always known that she is a girl and it's really just us that will have to get used to the idea. BTW, she's much bigger than she was when I took this picture. Isn't she adorable?

Get me out of here!

I need a new job. I can't stand being here! It's tedious. Boring. Ick. How on earth have these people been here for 20 years? I've been here just over a year and I think I'm going to scream. But what could I find that is better? I love my afternoon job, as far as jobs go. But this-- this well paying, easy, boring desk job has got to go. Is it the lack of variety of tasks? Is it the detail work? Is it the people? Is is the fact that I'll never finish anything? All I know is that I'm really quite over it.

Mexico Adventure Part I

I missed my flight. I worked weeks to find the perfect flight and time to arrive. Window seats, short flights, perfect arrival time... And then I missed my flight. (Okay, but it was on the ground and I was at the airport, so grrr.) So basically I got up at 3:50 this morning so that I could go the airport, run around to different concourses crying my head off trying to figure out how to get there, leave the airport unsatisfied and come home and sleep. That's my idea of how to start a perfect vacation. Well, now instead of flying through Denver to Cancun, I'll be flying Denver, LA, DC, Cancun.... All night long. And a window seat? I hardly think so. There goes my extra night of sunsets, being with my best friend, settling in before sight-seeing...
But you know what? At least I get to be there. My $2000 will not have been spent completely in vain. Extra adventures so far have included calling MCI to add international calling (they're located in the Philippines?!) so that I then could call the Iberostar to say please, please, let my party know I won't be there today. I attempted no spanish on this call. Once you attempt spanish, they take off at a million miles an hour and you're lucky to pick out one word! Easier in person, but on the phone? Anyway, after about 8 minutes, we figured it out. I hope. I can only hope.
And now, I'm off to the airport to try this again. Life is so... not perfect sometimes.

choice words not listed here

I’m hurt. I’m hurt and it is manifesting in anger. First it was secondhand, in a way. I was mostly hurt because someone hurt one that I love. It was personal on a level even then, because it was hard to avoid hurting all involved. But it has become more personal. This person has decided to block me completely from his life and I have done nothing to deserve that, except be associated with a person he apparently finds it painful to remember. (Which is his own blankety-blank-blank fault.) He is not just blocking me from his life, he is erasing me from it. Any footprint I have left, he is dusting away. And how much more painful must this process be for the one who was closer to him? That thought pains me even more. He is insensitive and immature. I had not thought him to be. Well, if he is such, then good riddance. But the cleansing hurts, and he is not even aware.

Pathetic

This is so embarrassing, I don't know why I feel the need to blog it. Two days ago, I was watching Coriander (oh, that's the baby bunny) hop around the living room and it inspired me to a sudden episode of touch-your-toes. (Give that chicken fat back to the chicken!) My enthusiasm was so great that now, two days later, I'm in great pain. I think I pulled muscles in the back of both my legs. My hamstrings, I guess. How pathetic is that? I was actually pretty proud of myself for being able to touch my toes with such ease... but it was probably only momentum that was getting me there. Now I pay. Know a lot of people who have pulled hamstrings touching their toes in their living rooms? I'm just here to make you feel better about yourself.

Spring

I must say, even though my last two posts have been not-exactly-uplifting, I'm uberhappy that it's spring. I love winter, but that time in between winter and spring can be described as follows: ICK, BLECH, UGH. Grey, muddy, slushy, brown. Late April to Early June is wonderful. Green, flowery, sunny, warm. And there are baby calves. Mmmm. It's like ice cream. I will myself not to think about the perils of summer, which are sure to come, as they never fail to do. No, I shall revel in the spring and enjoy gambolling on the farm, photographing the earth come to life.

I can never get GMH poems to copy in the right format, but here is what he has to say on Spring:

NOTHING is so beautiful as spring --
When weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush;
Thrush's eggs look little low heavens, and thrush
Through the echoing timber does so rinse and wring
The ear, it strikes like lightnings to hear him sing;
The glassy peartree leaves and blooms, they brush
The descending blue; that blue is all in a rush
With richness; the racing lambs too have fair their fling.

What is all this juice and all this joy?
A strain of the earth's sweet being in the beginning
In Eden garden. -- Have, get, before it cloy,
Before it cloud, Christ, lord, and sour with sinning,
Innocent mind and Mayday in girl and boy,
Most, O maid's child, thy choice and worthy the winning.

Gerard Manley Hopkins

Pain.

Pain. I'm in so much pain. Do you know what I think? Pain does not make you stronger. It just makes you hurt. I don't really think that. Pain does make you stronger. I've got a pretty high pain threshold and it's probably because I am in pain everyday. If I was just sitting around minding my own business and then suddenly one day I was in this much pain, just out of the blue, you know, I think I would cry like a baby and rush myself to the emergency room. But I don't. I go to work and I go to youthgroup and I go home. I do things with my friends, I sign on for extra things at church, I go hiking. Nonetheless, I am certainly capable of recognizing this as an abnormal amount of pain. Normally, at this point in the posting, I would worry that I'm whining. I'm not worried about that. No. Because I feel like I've been run over by a truck and while I was trying to stand up, some thugs came and beat me and left me for dead and while I was lying there I started to come down with the flu. Everything is touching me. Chairs, doorknobs, counters... They're pushing on me. Why do they do that? It hurts! This does not mean that I do not want people to touch me. When I am sick, beaten, and have been run over, I think I want a hug. Or a back rub (gentle, please). Or a hand on my arm (palms are better than fingers, thanks). Do I ice or use heat? Both? If I've already taken four ibuprofen, can I take two Excedrin? The rheumatologist I want to see isn't taking new patients. Not convenient. This is the worst bout of pain I've had in memory and I will take this opportunity to rant about it. My apologies to those reading it, but for heaven's sake-- Enough is enough, already.

I probably need some icecream and a puppy. I think it's worth a try.

Some kind of unidentified feeling

Well, I'm just here to tell you (in case you hadn't noticed all by yourself) that I have nothing to say. I'm very boring. Nothing at all is going on my life. If there were anything to write about, my sister writes it first, and better. I'm in pain all the time, but even my sister is in worse pain more of the time. I can't even be miserable as well as she can. I'm just run-of-the-mill in pretty much every way imaginable. I'm short, I'm overweight, I have talents but they're nothing extraordinary. I'm a follower, a helper, a copy-cat. I know this entry sounds like I'm depressed, but I'm not. And I know that wasn't perfect grammar, but I don't care. The things I care about right now are people coming into my office uninvited, cute animal noses, sleeping, aching, babies, grilled cheese on sourdough, trees, weight, touch, and rain.
And now I have to go back to my aching, being sleepy, and doing my boring job.
This is not depression-- do not be confused. This is near-apathy plus frustration. That's all.
And by the way, it is not raining. It is snowing.

My Broken Heart

Question of the Hour: Am I single or in a relationship? Those who think you know me well would think this is an easy question. I'm single. I've always been single. Can you imagine me as anything but? (Ahem, say yes.) However, if you are one of my facebook friends, you may have been recently notified that my relationship status has changed from in a relationship (insert heart here) to single (insert broken heart here).

I'm here to set the record straight.

Today I'm feeling single. That's a perfectly normal way to feel since I am, in fact, single. I just happen to be feeling it a little more acutely today. So, I was messing with my facebook account and decided to set my relationship status to "In a relationship with Absolutely Nobody." (He's fabulous, really, I can't wait for you to meet him.) Facebook then tried to find Mr. Nobody's profile so that that you could follow a link to his page and be his friend. To no avail, for Absolutely Nobody doesn't exist (there's a philosophical discussion for you), at least in the endless world that is facebook. Therefore, they find it adequate to list me as simply in a relationship. Well! That's no fun! I can't have real, flesh and blood, available men thinking that I'm in a relationship! So, I changed my status back to boring old (factual) single. I deleted the mini-feed information that was informing me of those volatile and traumatic, not to mention sudden, changes in my life, and went on my merry way. (Not married way. Too bad.)
Oh, did I mention that my status said : "Katie is single. Very, very single." What? I was just stating fact.

This evening I decided to check my email and was informed of three new messages waiting for me on facebook. Three! (That's a lot for a single gal.) And from people that don't normally send messages. And they were messages, not just writing on my wall, which meant they were possibly of a sensitive nature. My curiosity was stirred enough that I willed myself to brave our slow connection (currently at its highest speed of 26.4 Kbps) and see what the heck was going on. Well, I had to laugh. Three very caring individuals wondered how they had missed that I was dating someone. Perfectly good question, considering I see two of those three about twice a week. The third friend offered to call the guy all the way from Costa Rica to harass him for being a jerk (and some other choice words). Amazing. I didn't even know some of these people paid any attention whatsoever to my facebook page. But one little change on my profile, and I've got a past with a man who doesn't deserve me.
Well, that took some straightening out. I've assured my dear friends that I have always been, do remain, and will be for the foreseeable future... Single.
My status now says: "Katie is single. Very, very single. And she was never dating anyone. Ignore Facebook! It lies!"

So thank you, Facebook, for my first whirlwind romance and for a relatively painless first breakup. Sigh.

Dr. Emily

MY SISTER GOT INTO VET SCHOOL!!!!
Okay, so I knew she would, but she didn't know that she would. The dean just called her up to tell her.
YAY!

Fear

Here is my fear: I will turn into my mother. Oh, I know it's cliched. But I only fear it for one thing: My mother has stopped reading.

Just stopped! The most avid reader I ever knew has ceased to read, and thus... to breathe? Apparently not, but how is this so?
She has lots and lots of books, asks me to get things out of the library for her, even still attends her book club. (Though really, the book club members pretend to have read a book, start to artificially comment on a tiny aspect of said book, and then listen as one member stretches to relate this aspect to something he can argue about, most likely the evils of all things french. But they all get dinner out of it.)
Anyhow, she doesn't read. I suggest books to her all the time. But she says, "No, I won't read it. I just can't sit still. I only read books that I really, really want to read."
Has she forgotten what it is to read? To live in a book? To starve for hours and deprive yourself of using the bathroom because you positively cannot put the book down? To cry at the end of a book and then cry some more because the book is over? To grieve for an actual loss when you close the book?
What if, one day, I stop reading? I worry for my little customers. I sell books to little children and they love them. They read and read. But so many people I know read when they were children and then stopped. After middle school, they never read again. My dad is one of them. He is always telling us what a reader he was, how he soaked up every bit of information he could get his hands on as a child. What happened? I'm trying to instill a life-long love here. Will I fail? It's not worth nothing, I know. Even if they only read one good book, that one is worth it.

I'm starting to lose it, I think. Now that I read so many young adult and juvenile level books to keep up with our stock, I can hardly read an adult book. An adult book takes me ages and I'm always impressed at the sheer number of words on a page. Is this the down-hill slope? Old age here I come.
My sister just recently read Gone With the Wind, a book I own but don't have the gumption to up and start. But whenever I hand her a picture book to look at, she complains about the number of words. She can't put that much effort into a book. Hmm. She's at an interview for vet school today, and I know she'll do well and be accepted to WSU with no problem. But it makes you wonder. If a picture book were a suffering animal, she'd have no problem with all those words, I guess.

Ah, dear.

"So much of what I see reminds me of something I read in a book, when shouldn't it be the other way around?"- Kathleen Kelly

City girl -- Country Girl

I feel the need to blog. But I really have nothing to say. I'm feeling antsy today and it's not turning into creative energy. Actually, I just want to spend money. I've been very good for almost two months and now I want to buy some things. Just makeup. And earrings. And books. But see, the makeup I will buy in a few weeks when the free gift is good. And the earrings will actually be a present to myself for reaching one of my goals in weight loss. And books, well... they're not for me anyway. Those come out of my gift budget. I've got to look at that budget again. Don't I know that technically I haven't even paid for 1/2 of my mexico trip? I do not need that cute new 9 west purse I saw. Gosh, I'm such a girl. It's ridiculous. All said and done I'd really rather be out fishing or sitting in the field with a new calf in my lap sucking on my hand. But I do like to dress up and go out sometimes. I mean, am I supposed to meet a man while haying? Highly unlikely. And dressing up for me means putting on my nicer jeans and a more flattering shirt, actually brushing my hair and putting eye shadow on. Anyway, I bet most city girls have not been tromping out amongst the cow pies in their dankso clogs.

Isn't this entry compelling? I bet you're dying to come back and see what else I have to say...

Stay tuned.

Not cut out for Urban life

So Keith Urban tickets go on sale tomorrow. And there is no way I can afford such a ticket. The Wreckers are opening (!!!) and it's going to be a fab concert. (Though I'm starting to wonder what our obsession with concerts is.) My favorite morning radio show was giving away front row tickets this morning and, though this never happens, they actually tried to give them away during my commute! So I called. And miracle of miracles I got through. Me! I switched off my radio so I could hear and was all set to jump through their hoops... Oh what hoops! It was just a Keith Urban music montage and I was to name all the songs in order. Five songs. One of them was playing backwards. Do you want to know what I heard? Mud. Pure mud. They recognized my disability of not having heard the montage earlier... but still. They also seem to have accused me of having my radio on, but I'm not totally positive of that acusation because, as I said, everything sounded like mud. Ugh. So I lose. No tickets. FRONT ROW! Nope. And there goes my only chance to win tickets for the next, like, five years. Statistics would show. To top it off, the show hung up on me. Other people get things for just calling and saying something that strikes the producer's fancy. I was in the middle of a sentence... Click. They're still my favorite morning show, though.
Sigh.

OH and did I mention that along with not winning front row seats I also did not win a meet and greet pass?! BACKSTAGE people. No goodlooking man with an australian accent for me.

Wise Up or Candy Heart Truths

Candy hearts can be tricky little devils. You can pass them off as nothing-- it's not like you wrote those little sayings or put them in a box so that they happen to spell out love, true love.

It is equally as easy to read into them all your hopes and dreams. If only the one you gave them to would see the significance. Hello, they're heart shaped. And did he even notice the sayings before pouring the whole box into his mouth as once? So they are jr. high level sentiments. You were just trying to talk to him on his own level.

And then, what if you receive candy hearts? You and every other person he knows, male and female. Well, still. He did include you. And they are hearts. And that one did say "true love" which is so obviously not jr. high. Then there was that one odd one, "fax me". Fax me? Really? Maybe he's not the romantic you thought. Oh, isn't that awkward side of him cute? Wait, he didn't write that!

Valentine's Day is just a crock if your single.
Only a candy heart could sum it up so well: "Wise Up."

*This hypothetical (key word, folks) situation brought to you by Necco. Eww.

February

This morning I walked out to a fresh blanket of snow, and it was so lovely! I'd nearly forgotten how nice it could be. Everything was gorgeous. It was very wet snow and the bushes that line our driveway were resting their heads on the cold, black pavement.
I've been enjoying February the last few days, actually. It's not all that cold, just grey and foggy. I like it all dark like this. Yesterday at 11:45 a.m., the street lights outside my office window were still glowing cheerfully.
Of course, when I mentioned this to my liberal friends, they freaked out and started ranting about the energy crisis and global warming and... for heavens sake. I think they need to read a little more literature and not so much current issue/political junk. If you spend all your time fretting about how things are going away you will not even have the chance to enjoy them while they're here. I understand where they're coming from, but they were certainly not looking at my life like a nice old painting like I was. So unsentimental.
I suppose they'd be satisified to know that today, dark as it is, there is no cheer from the street lights. They are just cold metal posts in the cold metal world. And the snow has melted.
Didn't this start out as a happy post?

Frigid

I'm so cold! Do you know how cold I am? My toes will not get warm. They are little icecicles. Last night I actually had to wear a hat to bed. A hat! With socks, longjohns, sweats, a hot water bottle, and four blankets. And a cat. I almost got warm enough to sleep, then. Brrrr.

See these boots? I do not care that they are Uggs. I have never wanted Uggs. No. But these are So Stinkin' Cute.

Do you know how much they cost? $200. (And one of the high schoolers in my youth group got some for Christmas. Hmm.)

Do I want cute boots that will get all dirty and will very soon be too warm and will make me look way to young, or do I want to go to Mexico?

Well, as long as we're speaking strictly in wants I want both, of course!

You really want to know?

In case there was any question as to what kind what kind of day I'm having, here is one more peek:

One of my favorite cats is lying on my family room floor, dying.

That is pretty much all I have to say.

Hate to say I told you so...

Hah! It was my medicine or, actually, the lack thereof. I should say it is, since I am currently sitting at my second job wishing someone were here so I could go home. Not that I would. I'm too much in need of the money. I'll be just as dizzy at 5:00 as I am now. So driving whenever--whatever. Advice: Do not stop taking a medication without asking your doctor. That's a stupid thing to do. You will pay. You are not supposed to go off of things cold-turkey. I've gotten in trouble everytime I've done it. It makes the drs and nurses grouchy at you because you call in all whiney and then they have to make it all better. Wow, isn't this the most coherant and interesting post ever? Yeah, I'm feelin' it. Anyway, now they are trying to get my RX preapproved by my insurance company so that I can afford it and won't stop taking it again just because I don't want to go fork over $180. Hmm. ("Dizzy, I'm so dizzy my head is spinning. Like a whirlpool it never ends...") Good thing there aren't any customers in here. Or bosses. I can't get a darn thing done. Work that should have taken an hour this morning took me 2 1/2. Gracious. I'm going to go eat my warm-turkey sandwich before it becomes cold-turkey. This is not "Shut-up-Katie-Funny." I think this is just "Hush up now, girl, and go read a book."

Morning Nutrition

For all the nutrition I've poured into my body this morning, I just can't imagine why I don't feel well. I mean, I started with a chocolate chip granola bar, had a mug of hot chocolate, then had a krispy kreme (my boss's fault, really) and some mnms (my boss, again). Just look at all that dairy. And um, wheat. And hey, coco-bean. Bean. That's a vegetable, right? Right.... I brought water today, but I left it in the car. I was all distracted trying to call a radio station to win Rascal Flatts tickets. I didn't get through. And now I have no water. (The water here tastes like hose water which is fine, when it's coming out of a hose in the back yard in the middle of summer.) My co-worker has given me a satsuma for which I am quite grateful because, you know, oranges go quite well with chocolate...
I'm still going to blame the not-feeling-well on the fact that I'm out of one of my prescriptions. Yeah. That's it.

Updated...

So, I updated my template and am kind of unhappy with it. So bear with me as I mess around with it. I mean, I know, you all are on pins and needles waiting for this page to be perfect. I'll do what I can to please my public. Mm hmm. Right, so... (this short post now has the word "so" no less than four times).

Ouija Theory

Many parts of life (or maybe just finding a seat) are (is) much like being the planchette on a ouija board. (Before you attack my use of “a” rather than “an” see the pronunciation of ouija.) Think about it: You walk into a please-seat-yourself restaurant and how do you decide where to sit? You stop and sit when it feels right. It’s the same on a bus, in the staff lunch room, in a new classroom, at church, etc. Until you’ve established your routine sitting spot and unless you have some OCDish thing about sitting in corners so that you can see everyone but they can’t see you (I don’t know anybody like that… ahem…), this is generally how seating happens. You come to rest. Hover, hover, hover… rest. The only question is: What does it all mean? Ooooooh. Next time you end up at a table with a nasty waiter and dirty silverware, or the kid behind you is kicking your seat you just blame it on the evil spirits that guided your little ouija-rear to that chair.

Whatever, it’s all theory and I’ve never even seen an Ouija board. (Not to mention that fact that I don't believe it at all. Disclaimer in case anyone random reads this and decides to tell me all about how the spirits move them. The Spirit moves me, but itain't those spirits and itain't like that.)

PS: Ouija (registered trademark of Parker Brothers), not to be confused with ouji, the Japanese fashion. I do not find the problem of seating to be like Japanese fashion. Japanese fashion is a problem all in itself.

Sleepy

I'm so sleepy. All the time, really. That's not okay! Do you know that you should not blink l-o-n-g blinks on the road or close your eyes at every stoplight? It just doesn't seem safe! Do you know that it's probably not a good idea to nod off at your desk every morning? I actually get a decent amount of sleep. At least 7 hours a night on average. More than that usually. But I don't sleep well. I toss and turn a lot. My cat wakes me up early. And beyond that, there's this little thing about fibromyalgia called "non-restorative" sleep. Basically it means you sleep but it doesn't help. Pretty convenient, huh? No. Not so much. So I'm sleepy. And achy. Ick.