Is it wrong to want someone to die?

Not the "I hate you and I never want to see you again!" type of die. Not the petty crap that just doesn't matter and is moronic. I'm speaking of death as solace. Death as refuge from the sad state that the world has put you in through no effort and no consequence of your own doing. Is that wrong to wish someone could die, if only to be released from whatever "in between" they currently inhabit?

I feel quite miserable saying this, and very much like a bad person. I'm not sure how to comprehend how my God would feel about me saying this, though I hope He would feel it not inhumane. It's a grace that I'm scared to hope for, a blessing in disguise that one should be freed from whatever suffering I perceive there to be.

My Gramma (that's Grandma/Grandmother for the rest of you) is in the throes of Alzheimer's. I don't remember when Gramma was just a little incoherent, just forgot the little things. I remember the Gramma that had the pound cakes ready each Christmas by the dozens. The gramma that didn't have to look at any recipe (except the dumplings, I believe) to know how to cook it. The gramma that never missed a beat when Papa took to poking fun at her. I only briefly remember the Gramma that was miserable one Christmas because Papa was gone (and had been for a number of years, wounds stay fresher when you revisit them often). I remember hearing Gramma say she no longer wanted to live, and apologizing in the next breath for being difficult on Christmas. I remember my Mom getting her to get cleaned up, and us eating fried chicken before we left for home. I remember sitting and watching the Food network for 6 hours that day. But I don't remember the meanness, or the incoherence, or the blank looks that they say she has now. I just remember she started sleeping a lot. Quite frankly, I don't want to remember the reality of "now". I much prefer the reality of then. They say she's mean. They say she sleeps all the time. They say she's done with life. They say that when she is awake she no longer knows. So yes, I wish her freedom for her.

I don't want Gramma to die, but I don't want Gramma to live like this. I have a little secret hope that wherever she is there's some happiness. I remember that Gramma used to yell out in her sleep (and occasionally beat the hell outta Papa, which was funny then) because people were trying to get her. I hope she's not stuck there. I hope she doesn't ever have to go to that place that causes those fears. Even if it's delusion, I like to think her in a field of flowers or a kitchen, doing what Gramma does. That's where I picture her grayness, her gone-ness. I don't like to think of her as lost.

I read that it kills you by infection, or by making your body forget how to function, which causes the infection. No one says it's hospitable, or gracious, or even forgiving. I wonder if it's wrong to wish someone freedom, to wish someone happiness, like I do her. I'll never wish anyone to suffer, even if it means holding on for myself. That body no longer holds my Gramma to me. She's been gone awhile now. I've not been to see her in a few years, either be omission, or scheduling, or unconscious design of either myself or my parents. To some that makes me a bad person. To hell with them. I don't want to hurt her by making her endure time with a person she doesn't know, I don't want to scare her. And I'm selfish enough to admit I don't want to go through that either.

I don't think it's wrong to wish for a person to be free when it's love that's driving that. It's wishing for an end to suffering. I don't want her to die, but I don't want her to live like this. I just want her to be happy, whether it be in her field of flowers and my gray-ness, or with my God and Papa going for Sunday drives in the Town Car (but only if it's after a good, southern dinner).

This is my Monday conundrum.

Wow....

"I also put a glob between my cheeks and no problems ever! " We are such an odd bunch in this world of multisport. That comment is regarding how to avoid chafing and the beauty that is Desitin and Aquaphor. I just read it and had to laugh. We discuss these things publicly, we have no shame in "lubing up" where others can see us, and we have frequent discussions about the myriad ways that our bodies react to what we're putting them through.

It's no wonder people think we're a special sort of weird. I don't know that I'd have it any other way......

Exciting

I'm excited. Things are new. Two of the walls in my living room are now "smurf poop" blue. It's a color I've affectionately renamed. It's also the color of a little Aleve pill, so there's some real-world reference. It makes me smile to look at, it's sure different than the "dirty white" (I've been informed that it's supposed to be called "eggshell"...dirty white sounds more realistic).

It's a tactile change to go with some more subtle changes I'm making. I just want to be happy and do the things that make me happy again. If that means standing up for myself, so be it. If it means walking away from something that's important, but harmful, then so be it.

Things are new. I am me. I am smiling. I've not done this in awhile.

Wahooooooooo

I got my lazy ass up and went to swim practice this morning. I ALSO went to yoga last night with NB and a couple of girls. It was great to stretch and get bendy. Also great to spend a little bit with the girls yammering at El Torito with some Patron Perfect margaritas.

I hurt like a sunuvabich at the moment, my back and arms are worthless. But it feels so good to know that I did something that I wanted to do this morning and something that I am good at. (Or, rather, I am good at if I do it more than once every three months..)

I'm probably heading in a few minutes to buy paint and possibly change part of this house. I'm on a roll. Things they are a changin'....it's time to get my head outta my ass.

Random bitching.

I've gotten away from posting so much. I've honestly gotten away from caring so much. I'm not hardly working out, I'm working entirely too much still. I'm as stressed out as I can get. And quite frankly, I've gotten hell for what I've written and found myself being skittish about putting up my real thoughts on here, because of how they're read. That's not my intent. I started it originally so people could keep track of that race. I kept it going as a way to track what I was doing and a place to vent. I'm not interested in censoring my thoughts, feelings or opinions. I don't like hearing immediate feedback on it either.

So there are other outlets I suppose. Or maybe there aren't and I just am not dealing with any of it. Either way, I'm pissed off at the world. I know it could be worse, sure. I've got the house, the bills, the dogs, the bikes, the jobs, etc. But I want more. I want to not feeling like a damn salmon half the time, or like I'm the only one that knows what the hell is going on with the computer, or like I'm the only one that can be relied on, or that I'm the only one doing anything. Hell, I'm one person. ONE. Maybe there are others that can be super mom, super friend, super co-worker, super spreadsheet guru, super drinker and super athlete and super girlfriend. It's not me. Yeah, I'm selfish, but I'm sick of being the cruise director, the travel agent, the geek squad, the responsibility and the financial planner. I'm sick of it. SICK. OF. IT.

Maybe I want to be coddled, I want to be loved, I want to be needed. I want my damn happily ever after and I want to walk into work, feel important, feel needed and feel like I love my job. Not like my boyfriend (boyfriend, really?) hates me, my boss is annoyed with me, the client hates me, the roommate is annoyed with me and the dogs would rather be with anyone else BUT me. I'm feeling a failure at the house and the job and the life and even the sports. And you know what? I don't want to hear about how I'm not any of those things. So I don't want to be coddled and I don't want to be needed and I don't want to be everything to everyone. I can't. I won't.

I think I'm the definition of depression and anger. I know I'm the definition of PMS. I've recently been the definition of poor decisions as well. I'm the friggin' trifecta of joy, aren't I? I promise that if you reply, if you give me hell, if you immediately ask how I'm doing, what I'm doing, when I'm going, where I'm going, who's going to be there, what we did, how I feel or what I want or how to freaking do something, I'm going to scream, cry and take it all out on you. Yeah, it could be worse. It could always be worse. But right now it could be a hell of a lot better.

Just. Go. Away. I'm sick of trying to be who I am. I'm not even sure anymore what that is, but I'm pretty sure I'm not doing a very good job of it right now. I just want a break and I want to be happy. And screaming, crying, having this rough patch of crap over with. I'm almost 30 and I'm sick of being stuck in the middle of the beginning of my life.

The Spreadsheets are coming...the Spreadsheets are coming...

16 columns, 54 rows, one page, 63 manual inputs per page, 8 separate data sources, 5 cross-checks back to those sources, 11 additional formulas inside the page that display, another 12 that do not display - SIXTEEN TIMES. A historical accounting and explanation of the future projections encompassing a total of $132M.

Over 1,000 numbers I manually typed, and I erred on 15 total. That's less than 1.5% error. Two transposed numbers and 12 left over from an earlier version with a different methodology.

On all but 3 out of the 16, the calculations are within $1. The outliers have an additional component with a margin of error still at or below 1% ($200 - $15k).

Not too bad for a wordsmith, eh? And yet, to quote, "no one cares. Just fix it and send it, now." In essence, no one cares how much I did RIGHT. It only matters that it's not perfect. In this environment, I am destined to fail.

Kiss my ass. That's <1.5%.

Update: One of the "margins of error" was actually an incorrect calculation. Surprise, surprise. Failing to net out a couple of large amounts throws off part of the calculation. So yeah, still within a margin of error, as long as it's attributed to the right part of the calculation. When it SHOULD say ~9.7% and it actually says ~17%...others can look at it and know it's wrong somewhere. I, on the other hand, was looking at the totals, not the things that auto-calculate. Damnit. I can't win for trying.

Chaos.

The chaos has continued. Struggling to keep it going.

Ran 5.25mi yesterday. First run since early August. (I did jog a couple of miles earlier this week with Derreck...so that counts too.) It was super windy, and like all of my runs it certainly wasn't fast. But I very much enjoyed it. Hoping I can keep that going a bit. 5.25mi, 1:00:00.

This week's goal: working on the balance of my life a bit more.....making time for ME.

Supposed to head to Vegas on Thurs/Fri for Silverman. Hoping I can get it arranged and taken care of.