Pluttification tables**

Sweetheart and Brownie are working on multiplication and division. It hurts my head just to listen to them. I can be incredibly patient about some things, but he has me beat on this one. I think the problem is that they don't teach them the same way we learned. He just told her to "carry the 3," and she asked, "But where am I carrying it?"

**I got the title from a book, but my sister might even not know where.**

Changes

There used to be a blogger who wrote here on a fairly regular basis. Then she went away into a hidey hole for many months. We'll see if this comeback has teeth or not. I'm unwilling to commit beyond trying. If I used to read your blog and comment. I have still been reading. The commenting has been as sparse as the writing.

Things here have not been the greatest. I remain homesick for Atlanta to the point of tears. I have continued to be very unhappy with my job...the kind of unhappy that makes my stomach hurt and puts me near a panic attack during commute time. Both of these things have put strains on my marriage--to the point of discussing the possibility of me moving back to Atlanta without Sweetheart on some kind of trial basis. I hope to avoid further discussions of that sort.

I finally realized that I was unhappy to the point of no return at work when I got in trouble for tardiness. I was generally not more than a few minutes late, but late is late. I mean, who gets pulled into the office for being tardy?? Only people who don't care, are unprofessional, and generally slackers. I don't consider myself to be any of those. It was a wakeup call for me to realize that hitting the snooze button one more time was so important that I was being late on a regular basis. I cared so little about my job and my professional behavior. I also realized that I was uncomfortable at work. Even though I have been there almost 2 years, I never got to the point where things were second nature. I overthought and obsessed over decisions on a daily basis. I questioned myself about things I did and didn't do. I managed to get my ass in gear and update my resume.

I started looking around for a new job, and I have gotten one. I don't think it is the dream job of the century, but I think it is a really good job that will fit me and my strengths well. I will be working in a clinic in the Spine and Neurology departments--assisting the physicians and supervising several other nurses. I turned in my notice yesterday, and the feedback has been interesting. My supervivors have been called, "a trio of monkeys." People seem to wish that they were the ones leaving. Virtually nobody has asked me why I am leaving. The environment at that job is toxic, and there are a few saving graces (the 8 hour shifts, the money and the coworkers), but not enough.

I already feel better about life in general. I know that even good change is hard, and I'm ready for it. I'm ready to work someplace where people appreciate me. I'm ready to work for managers who are less quick to point fingers than they are to help figure out WHY something wrong. I'm ready not to have to take holiday and weekend call. I'm not really ready for the making of less money, but I am looking forward to having less stress. I looking forward to continuing to work hard and to being challenged by my work. However, I am also looking forward to thinking making it to work is a better option than wrecking my car.

I'm hitting post without editing this one. I know it is a bit stream of consciousness, but that's where I am right now.

I have missed blogging and commenting. I hope to be doing more of both.

Random thoughts

Why Am I awake at 1:30 in the morning?

Why do so many people wish to make sure I get Ashes even though I am not religious?

Why doesn't girl scout cookie season last longer?

Why do I have too many cats?

What happens when you un friend someone on Facebook? Do they get a huge note saying I hate them?

Who will make it through to the next phase of American Idol?

What will happen at the next counseling session--I hate the work, but I know it is necessary.

To the guy at the drugstore--

Good for you on the protection, but yes, I did snicker to myself when I saw you buying two packs of Starbursts and a box of condoms.

This blogging thing is a bit weird

I was so diligent for a while, and then not so much. I was actually glad to see it had been just over a month since I blogged. FOr all I knew it could have been three months. I hope a few of you are still out there. If not, I fthink it's good for me to write anyway.

You see, I have hit something of a rock bottom lately, and I haven't been wanting to work, blog, brush my teeth or get out of bed lately. I have been working with a psychiatrist on medication for my anxiety/depression for 2 1/2 years now, and we just can't seem to find the right cocktail.

Lately I have reached a conclusion of some sorts. I am so homesick for Atlanta that I am having trouble functioning. I very willingly and happily left Atlanta to move to Houston to be with my Sweetheart. I left a job I adored, my Poppa. my brother and sister, nieces and nephews who are now doubled in number from the time that I left. I'm not saying this to be a hero--I WANTED to do this--so I did.

I came to a city that feels so conservative to me. I came to a city that I didn't know, and it didn't know me. I have still not made any real friends. I have nobody to have a drink and see a chick movie with. My job is a job not a home-away-from-home. I think on the way to work that having a fender bender would be better than having to show up. I came to a job of Stepmother that has been so much harder than I ever thought it would (and I swear, I knew it would be hard).

Sweetheart knows that I am feeling this way, and couldn't be more supportive. He wants me to be happy--no matter what that means. He is trying so hard to deal with a wife who doesn't want to get out of bed (and not in a good way). However, it is too much responsibility for him to be my only lifeline. He shouldn't be having to figure out how to sell the house to free up money for me to move (even temporarily) back to Atlanta.

I went to a counselor Saturday, and despite not wanting to like her, I did. She had the look of an aging hippie and took off her shoes during the session. She asked questions that seemed pertinent and reasonable to this therapy wise patient. She recognizes that this is the kind of spiral that is tough to pull out of and she laid off the platitudes. She wants to try EMDR--Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing. It is different that the cognitive talk therapy I have done in the past, and I think that's a good thing. She thinks I have triggered a bunch of feelings from my childhood that have made everything worse. Since I started sobbing when she said that, I have to believe there is some truth there.

So, here I go. On a journey that is not going to be fun, but will result in a wiser, saner Sophie in the end. If you guys are still around, I'd love to know it. I'm going to read some blogs for the first time in ages--for all I know you could have been gone just as long as I have. I'm sure my sister has.

Well, so I suck as a blogger

My poor puppy...

...and my poorer bank account.

Spencer went to the vet today to have his leg examined. He had to have surgery on his right leg a couple of years ago, and now it is his left ACL.

Since Spencer is a bit (meaning very) neurotic, he freaks out when we go to the vet. He whines, he cries, he paces in circles. He growls at the dog who comes up to him (off leash even though the signs says to keep your dog on a leash).

Then, we go into the small room where he tries unsuccessfully to climb into my lap in a very small chair. His vet comes out and has grown a beard since last we visited. He takes a quick look at Spencer and agrees with my at home diagnosis. Yes, he should still have surgery even though he is getting up in age. Yes, it is expensive ($1400). No, we don't have a budgeted billing option. All of these things are said with the voice of Joel Osteen the Giant Church pastor here in Houston.

All I can think is "Oh, holy fucking shit." We totally cannot afford this, but what do you do when you have a pet?

In order to take x-rays of my neurotic dog, sedatives were required. Domitor is evidently the drug of choice. I picked up my pooch an hour and a half later, and he was still drugged up. He wobbled to the car, and I had to lift him up into the back seat. He laid his head in the girls' laps (which is another sign of the apocalypse) and fell asleep. I carried him into the house and placed him gently on his bed. He was drooling and his mouth was hanging open. If I hadn't had the girls with me, I swear I would have sat down and cried. I knew he was going to be okay, but it was too much like he was really sick and weak.

He has since perked up, had a drink and a milk bone, and will soon be back to his fucked-up-can-I-go-out-can-I-come-in-can-I-come-in-can-I-go-out insanity. I guess we'll figure something out about the money.