"Dear mum, couldn't stand the solitude any longer. Gone off to see the world. Don't be worried, I'll be back soon. Love Bilbo xxx"

This was the note supposedly left in the first record of  a garden gnome gone missing. I didn't realize this idea has been around since the time I was born; seems fitting. I'm thinking of leaving it myself and busting out of here but don't know where I'd go and it's hard to take a 6 year-old boy around the world when he should be in school. Twelve years and it's on!


I'd love to travel the world but here's the problem - there's really no place on Earth a person can spill the beans about EVERYTHING without getting into some sort of trouble and I've got some stuff to get off my chest. Where's the best place to hide? Right out in the open.  

This is not a challenge. Please don't try to find me, because you might, and that would be very unfortunate because I'd have to filter through all of this to take out anything inappropriate. No fun. Game over. 

Don't search for who loves Modest Mouse and Chuck Palahniuk, works in dialysis and has a Step Mother-in-Law who thinks "Bipolar" is an adequate cause of death. (It probably is but she has no idea and needs to keep her fucking mouth shut.) Don't look for a person who is shiny and happy (more than you could imagine) one minute and wants to throw herself off a cliff the next. This person does not exist. This is all a dream. Pretend that everything you read here is someone's fiction and we'll be cool. Oh, and as one of my blogging sisters likes to say, "don't be a dick".


This blog is likely to be short lived and probably just something to do in place of all the other things I should be doing (read: laundry, dishes, "mom stuff", work). It's been a rough year and I'm out of my mind with boredom from being home. I've managed to use 160 hours of PTO in the last 3 months between a small surgery for endometriosis, my mother dying and a car accident that ROCKED my brain. I'm currently dealing with the brain thing. And supposed to write myself notes like the Memento guy, only not so bad. Not really bad at all, if it doesn't bother you not to remember what you were planning to do or what word you were looking for. :( I don't feel like writing myself notes though. Talking to myself is getting old.


I'm taking 3 medications for the headache, which is comparable to when I had dry socket from having wisdom teeth extracted and refusal to obey the (what's the word?) "golden rule" of not smoking afterward. One of them is rough on my stomach and kidneys (indomethacin), the other is incredibly addictive (percocet) and the last isn't doing anything, as far as I can tell, aside from making me a little dizzy (propanol). I probably should be taking  mood stabilizers to get through the crap I've got to deal with. It'd make my husband happy, though he doesn't know it, and I might miss less work due to chronic pelvic pain and now a near chronic post-concussion headache and maybe even smile more but we're trying to have a baby (10 months of nothing so far), the one that I know works for me (lamictal) is horrible on the liver and I refuse to take lithium (read: denial, denial, denial). Usually, I can maintain a stable, happy psyche with yoga and good food but I keep getting knocks that hold me back. I spent 2+ years virtually incapacitated by a back injury a while back that still flares up from time to time, my brother died, now I've got pelvic congestion and endometriosis, a dead mom and a massive fucking headache. There's nothing more depressing to me than being mentally unsettled and physically inactive. It kills me. 


Seriously.


I need out. Out of the house. Out of my mind.