Word of the Day: ad hoc I've not written in over two weeks. I've been busy and angry with work and quite distracted indeed. I've also been knitting and reading, and watching Naruto on Cartoon Network. When I was at work one day I started writing [because I finished the book I was reading]. Here's what I wrote: 23 July 2006 I hate knitting. I hate it but I love it. I get so frustrated sometimes, not just with knitting but with everything. I tried to knit a paid of booties for little Fletcher, Chris' nearly born son, last night, but I was tired and JD kept talking to me and the yarn was difficult to learn to handle and it was hot and my right shoulder hurt like a moe. See what I mean? However, I remember there used to be a time when I didn't get angry or frustrated, I would just get over it. My question to myself is was I stifiling emotions when I just got over stuff? Because now I can barely restrain myself from flying off the handle when I get frustrated [or angry, to tell the truth]. I have no idea what happened or if I even remember things correctly. I just feel badly for JD since he takes the brunt of my idiotic behavior. I try not to go off on him or be angry for stupid reasons, but it never works. Wait--something clicked in my head. I think that it might be a freedom thing. Being angry and frustrated and showing that I am so makes me feel good, free. When I was with my parents, I never could act angry or frustrated with anything because it wasn't allowed. My father thought there never should be any reason for me to feel angry about anything, especially anything he said or did. And now, now that I don't have anyone to fear, no one to ground me or not to let me go to play practice, now I'm free to express and act upon those feelings. I take advantage of this freedom regularly and in abundance. Now I just wonder if my little diagnosis of myself is halfway legitimate or if I just liek to blame my imperfections on my father, because he seems to be every reason I'm wrong as a person. So, like I said, I was trying to knit some booties for babeh Fletcher. I remember when I first started knitting I had said that I was going to knit him a blanket, but as I researched that it turned out to be too much money for me to buy all the yarn. So--'Booties,' I thought. 'They're small and I could make about ten pair from a skien of yarn.' And it's the same sentiment. There's a pattern for a little red hat with horns I considered making him since, being Chris' son, I consider him Satan's spawn, but then I thought we'd dress Patrick as a devil for Halloween this year and I'd make it for him. So I'll probably not make it for anybody, knowing me. I'm at work right now, and it sucks. It's really slow for the next week or so, and I'm by myself. I'm going to have to pick another book to read while I'm here since I've finished Harry Potter again. Maybe a little Jane Austen, some Jane Eyre, perhaps a little 1984. Yeah, that's good work reading, 1984 is. Any road, I'm getting more and more frustrated [lol] with the situation. They keep tempting me with the prospect of going back to accounting, which is what I want, but it seems that Monica refuses to give me up to the back office. How is she supposed to be finding someone to be her AM lead if I'm working by myself and not training anyone? That, more than anything, is the reason why I'm frustrated. There's no moving towards my goal [and also Theresa's goal] when I'm working by myself. I'm the first one to tell anyone that I like to work for my money, but right now I'm being paid to read books and write in my journal. I just feel that they're wasting me and my help in accounting, but that falls on Monica's shoulders because, and it might be plain, I surely don't mind reading and writing anything, work or not. If they don't feel like using me to their full advantage, namely three days in accounting and two days at the desk either alone or training, I do not feel it's my place to correct their way of thinking. I do want to mention that the way things are run here are rediculous, undeniably. JD thinks that his mother is going to move to Houston for good after her next surgery. Well, not anymore he doesn't because he told her we needed about six more months to save enough money to be okay [that's still not enough time in my opinion, but JD's confident we'll be able to do it by then, so I am as well]. She agreed to stay with us for that long before going to Houston. We've started buying kitchen and bathroom stuff again. We already had plates, silverware, glasses, pots and pans, and some miscellaneous kitchen utensils, but now we've listed what we need and are starting to buy a piece here and there. I have to admit, I'm nervous about moving out on our own. That was what I wrote at work. I wrote a page front and back and nearly three quarters of a second page in about two hours. At work. I think it's horrible that I have enough time to read nearly all of the Harry Potter books at work in the first place, and do it in around a month or a little more, to top it off. It's shameful. And what's more, everyone sees me reading at the desk, and not one person's said, 'Hey, you need to find something else to do, something pertaining to the hotel.' Not a soul has set me to task for it. I'm just baffled to no end, and I can ramble on and on about this for hours. I won't, but believe me, I can. I know I haven't written about Patrick for a while, nor have I posted pictures. The reason for the former is that I haven't had time, for the latter is that I'm lazy. However, I'll try and mention everything I can think of regarding my beautiful little boy. He's getting tall and big. I don't know exactly how tall and how big, but I know he is. And he's talking. A whole lot. He can say: Mommy, Daddy, hot, cold, cup, bye, uh-oh, dog, box, pillow, and more but JD and I can't think of more. I think really only the two of us and JD's mom and sister can understand him, though. He'll be eighteen months, a year and a half old, on the sixteenth. He still fits in most of his twelve month clothes, but the eighteen month clothes are fitting him more better. He follows simple directions, like 'Patrick, will you bring me the bucket?' or 'Patrick, put this is the trash can, please.' He's starting to give hugs and kisses freely, and he'll say bye to me when I leave for work in the morning. He is absolutely fearless and loves to climb on things and jump off. He's hurt his head so many times, but I guess he hasn't started remembering things like that for more than a little while yet. He looks so freakin cute when he sleeps. He sleeps like JD, sprawled out all over the place with his mouth open. He absolutely love dogs, and when you mention the word dog or when he sees a dog or a picture of one, he sticks his tongue out and pants and says, 'Dough, dough.' I don't think he's got the 'g' sound down quite yet. He know where is belly is, his ears are, his head is, and his nose and eyes as well, and he'll show you where yours are if you ask him to. He's the most beautiful, intelligent, daring, loving little person in the world. Of course. So I don't know if it's just down here in South Texas, but all the Circle K's down here recently turned into Stripes. Who's ever heard of a Stripes convenience store? We went to Houston for JD's mom's surgery and there were Circle K's all over the place, and when we came back they were all this new thing. Whodawhat? And now, come pictures: This was at UD's graduation, one of the only pictures I took. Patrick's eating a stick he grew quite fond of and JD's kissing Patrick. Patrick got in the trash can himself, I think. He stayed in there for a good while, too. My mom thought it was hilarious. On JD's birthday, he gave Patrick a stylehawk. We had just bought him this little beach looking shirt with flowers and skulls and crossbones on it, so Patrick looked hott. As you can see.