Mean, Terrible, Awful. Mom.

Phew.

2009-12-17T13:45:00.002-05:00

I vented, and I feel better.
I feel better without having hurt any one's feelings.
Today, I am having one of those days that is good for no particular reason. I think it may be related to the fact that I let things out of my head. Maybe it is related to the forgiveness. Maybe it's the fact that my life, while not extravagant, is good. I have love.
That's good enough.

Help

2009-12-16T21:33:00.003-05:00

This has quickly just become my place to come and vent. The closest thing I have to a friendly ear, these days.

I'm angry, perhaps more than I should be under these circumstances. I know I have rage issues, that sometimes I just stew and stew until I explode. I know it's wrong, and cruel to those who love me, but at the same time, it's the only way I know how to deal with anger.

When I ask for help, don't agree, then play video games until you fall asleep at your desk. If I ask for help doing half of the dishes, don't ask me how many I want you to do. Just eyeball it. If you volunteer to do all of the dishes, don't leave stuff on the stove, or the counter. If I get up with you every morning because I love you enough to want to help you have a good start to your day, don't leave me seething at night so that I can't focus on any of the tasks I am left with and unable to sleep.

When I obviously want to yell and scream, either give me a reason to, or give me a reason to not want to. Don't leave me seething, because I will go to bed angry and wake up angrier. When I tell you I'm not feeling well, and sleeping entirely too much, don't expect me to just go about doing all of the chores while you relax after a day at work. Especially when said day at work is commonly so boring and lackadaisical that you hide in the bathroom to play sudoku.

It takes more thank "Thank you for making breakfast," and "Thank you for making dinner" to show appreciation. I know that's more than a lot of people get, but I have also gotten more from you. If you are going to start slipping into shitty habits, don't get pissy when I stop folding the laundry as soon as it comes out of the dryer.

I'm really trying. I'm really trying not to backslide into being a miserable person who doesn't care if they have a sink full of dishes for two days. I have come so far, and I don't want to backslide, so stop giving me reasons to.

Letting it go.

2009-12-10T14:32:00.002-05:00

A friend of mine suggested that in order to deal with all of my problems, that I should write them down and put them in a God Box. You write down your problems, and give them to God. I don't know if I am comfortable with that, but I do think I can write them down. I can give them to you, and let them be gone.

I'm angry. I'm angry that my (very nearly) ex-husband is stonewalling me about the money he owes me. I'm angry that he left and is getting to live the easy life. I'm angry that he hurt me for so many years, and that I am still letting him treat me like shit.
I'm angry that my boyfriend doesn't talk to his father the way his father wants them to talk. I'm angry that every day I have to explain to his father why he hates his job.
I'm angry that I didn't fight for my job, that I let one ego maniacal ass ruin my career.

I'm frustrated. I'm frustrated at having to prop up the man I love every single day. I am frustrated that my strength is waning from constant use. I'm frustrated by the fact that I can't seem to catch a break. I'm frustrated that I don't know how to get the exercise I need for my mental well-being out here in the wilderness. I'm frustrated by the fact that I so easily accept my own excuses. I'm frustrated by the fact that one of my hard drives failed, and I have so many pieces of my life that I didn't back up, pictures of times that I will never recover.

I'm jealous. I'm jealous of all the people who can afford a festive Christmas this year. I am jealous of all the people who can go out and buy presents for their loved ones. I'm jealous of everyone who can get in their cars, and go. I'm jealous of all the people who have the successes I denied for myself.

I'm sad. Some part of me, no matter how small is always sad.

I'm happy. I have a best friend and lover who adores me. I have a son who even at nine years old loves to snuggle with me and watch a movie. I have a father who loves me, and wants the best for me, no matter how aggravating he can be. I have a home to live in, and food to eat. I have friends, even if they are all on the other side of a computer screen. I have love.

---

I think my friend may have been right.

Unease.

2009-11-16T05:39:00.002-05:00

Bioguy has another son.
---

A few months ago, I got a message from a girl on myspace, claiming she was pregnant with another spawn for Bioguy. I kind of shook it off, as she was pretty trashy. I sent her the info she asked for, and left it at that.

I would peek back at her page on occasion, to see if she had the baby and whatnot. When she did, well, it looked like Darth Boy, a lot. I tried to reason it out of possibility. I mean, Bioguy isn't doing anything for Darth Boy, so surely he has learned his lesson right?

Wrong.

Now there are two boys who are never going to have a proper father, and while that is plenty sad, I'm sitting here jealous.
Jealous because my son finally has the brother he has been begging me for, and it's not a son of mine.

Just... ugh.

It is the wrong hour for anything...

2009-11-08T05:52:00.002-05:00

I'm sitting here, having all of these feelings that feel inappropriate to share with people on facebook, or my old livejournal, and I feel like I have nowhere to go. Then I find myself on a blog where I have left comments, that linked back here. It was almost like a sign, reminding me that I did have a place, a place where no one would ask me about what I said (because no one reads this, heh.)

I have this incredible feeling of dread, and I don't know what started it. It's happened before, usually spun off of depression, but I don't really show any other signs of depression. (Okay, maybe the fact that I am writing this at almost 6 in the morning defies that statement.)

I just don't know what to do. I'm not particularly upset over anything, and there hasn't been a major upset in my life. I need to understand, because when I don't, these feelings just suck me in. I don't want to drown, despair is no longer a major part in my life, and I don't want it to be.

So many things are right in my life at this moment. So many things are full of happiness. So why aren't I?

Let's just call it all off, shall we?

2009-07-28T03:03:00.002-04:00

As much as I wanted to cancel the 24th, it seems the next day is where things got truly disgusting.

So, do we remember how I mentioned that the boyfriend broke his finger on the job? Well, he did. Then they fired him. Supposedly it was because the whole thing was a safety issue, but who in the world is going to turn off something they're not working on so that they can work on the thing they did turn off? Ugh.

So now he's out of work, and he can't get something new until after the surgery to repair his finger, and the necessary healing period. FUN.

Now it's just after three in the morning, and he's going to be up in three hours for a slew of doctor visits. Unfortunately this week I won't be going with him, because the first one is earlier than I'd like to wake up Darth Boy for.

Oh, also, about five hours ago, I broke my damned glasses. That's the second pair in about six months. Yay me!

Not a morning person.

2009-07-24T05:42:00.004-04:00

Today is cancelled.
July 24th and I are no longer on speaking terms, and it's only a quarter to six in the morning.

It's a two pot of coffee kind of day, which doesn't mean the same for me as it does for most people. You see, I only really drink a cup of coffee every now and then, and today I won't be drinking any. It's a two pot kind of day, because the first pot game out full of grounds.

Please, oh please, let everything go up from here.

Strength

2009-07-23T21:56:00.002-04:00

I started writing this post in my head while my boyfriend was being X-Ray-ed at the Orthopaedist this afternoon. Last weekend he broke one of his knuckles on a conveyor at work. I've spent the days between trying to reassure him. He's the kind of guy who worries endlessly, afraid that he'll lose his job. He's very emotional, and it can be hard to talk him down out of his emotional tree sometimes. I hate doctors, and have had to sit in two waiting rooms this week, watching him deal with snarly receptionists, and seeing the defeat in his eyes. He's not the kind of person to just take things easy, and having even just that one finger out of commission is driving him batty, and in turn, driving me batty. I know I can't do any more for him than I already am, but now we both feel useless.

After today's appointment, it turns out he needs surgery to repair the break, and he is devastated. I'm not the optimistic sort, but right now I have to be. He's worrying and I am having to fight any worries I have. It's not a big deal, just a little work to make sure things heal, but he acts like he's going to lose his finger, and I am having to support him. Alone. It's times like this that I wish we had more of a social network, people who could listen to me talk about what is happening, and people he could talk to so that I wasn't his only friendly ear.

Red, Orange, colorized impact

2009-07-16T04:04:00.002-04:00

We've been working to limit or exclude Red #40 from LF's diet. (You know what, from here on out let's call him Darth Boy, that is so much more like him these days.) As I was saying, Darth Boy is quite active. I find that too much one on one time with him is exhausting, as he is a chatterbox in the extreme, and always bouncing around. I enjoy that my darling little Padawan is not lethargic or sedentary, but OOOOOH BOY, I just can't always handle it.

We noticed as summer vacation was underway, that he seemed especially rambunctious. Like, crawling the walls rambunctious. Mr. Sasspants (I think that works as a name for the boyfriend. Shush, I like it!) fingered the Kool-Aid right off the bat. We've been a little more health conscious than I have ever really been before, and was willing to see if we could pin it down as the culprit. Tazo make this herbal blend called Passion, that I like iced, and Darth Boy likes in just about any form he can get it. I bought extra stores of it and a large gallon pitcher, to start keeping it around in greater quantity especially since I am the sole maker of the beverages for our house.

It's been a week, and we are living with a different child. He is no longer getting out of his chair as much during dinner (which irked me like you could only imagine.) His attention span seems improved, and we couldn't be more relieved. It's going to take a lot more effort from me, now that I can't just tell him to make himself a pitcher of something to drink when he's thirsty and eyeing the good stuff. I think I can handle it, for the sake of my own mental well being, anyway.

Subject lines aggravate my first line anxiety

2009-07-12T09:17:00.003-04:00

When I get up early, and the boyfriend is at work, I read blogs. I read pages and pages, then follow a link and read more pages. I meet more and more people each weekend, I read their tales of joy and sadness, of humor and humility. I read, and I am in awe.

I don't think I have anything at all to say, anything any more compelling or interesting than any of the people I have come across, and that seems terribly sad to me. I'm here anyway. I've come to the party and will stand here against the wall and watch. Someday I'll get the hang of being a part of things, I hope.
----
I said that my life has changed, and it has. When I started this blog I was married, and I let my job as wife and mother dictate who I was. My best friend and roommate was the only person who knew how to find the real me behind the facade.

The facade started crumbling shortly after I started this blog, so I abandoned it. My husband was a liar who broke my heart repeatedly, until I was beaten down so much that I called it quits. I had my job, and my son, and an apartment that we were being evicted from. I was going to survive. I told him to go on and run back to his parents without me. To let me live my life without all of his BS. I told him to just go, and to leave me alone.

I was lonely, and lost. I had plans, terrible plans. I was going to move nearer to a married man and continue the affair we were having. I was going to give up on my life in New York and just be some lousy mistress. I threw my morality to the wind and was going to accept what was readily available. I am too insecure to be alone.
I met a boy in a chat room. I told myself it was too soon. My friends told me that it couldn't be too soon, because my marriage was over long before my separation became physical. I met a boy.

I learned that I deserved better than what I had been living with, I was taught that I was worth more than just being some man's side thing. I was forced to face that I was breaking my own beliefs about commitment and love in order to accept a situation I didn't deserve. I decided not to move to Chicago. I moved in with my father instead. The boy I met was the only person willing to help me gather the majority of my things in the time I had. He was the only one who understood how badly I was struggling to just keep going.

I quit my job.
I moved in with him, to avoid the constant barrage of criticism from my father.
And to love, and be loved.

My family tells me I sound happy now. My friends notice the addition of smiles to my pictures.

I'm happy. I'm happy and still kind of lonely. Not for love, of course, but for camaraderie. I've left my friends and family behind, and now I need a place to belong.

When I wake up early, I read blogs...

It's been a long road

2009-07-05T08:30:00.004-04:00

In the past few months, I've tried more than once to regain this blog. I'd try for an hour or two, and give up. It's not that important, I'd think, and just let it go. I was wrong, though, to me this is kind of important.

I've watched and read, lurked and de-lurked, on so many blogs for so long. I'd laugh and cry with them, and hide in obscurity, with no voice of my own. This changes now.

I'm cleaning out the old place, and things are so very different now. We'll revisit Little Fascist, though he's hardly little anymore, and not so much a fascist these days either. We'll get to talk about all of the things I have been through, the things LF and I have lived through together.

We'll talk about my impending divorce, and my hopes for the relationship I fell into entirely too soon. I'll talk, and maybe someone will listen. I'll de-lurk more often, and maybe become friends with these people I know so well, who have never really met me.

I'll give it a good honest try, and hope for the best. That's how you all started out too, right?

2005-09-03T05:03:00.000-04:00

Little Fascist and Spenard

Since moving to the new apartment we've gotten kittens. They've been a lot of fun, we had a small tragedy, but we've found that we really are cat people. Especially Little Fascist. All day he runs around chasing Fergus, Ilulissat, and Spenard. The only one that ever gets caught is Spenard. Poor thing, he's the youngest of the three, and so "He's a baby mommy, I hold him like a baby!" Fergus is entirely too large for him to carry, and is immune to this kind of annoyance, but LF has other tricks up his sleeve. Oh, yes! So poor Fergus (who only wants food, sleep, and lubbins) is subject to being laid on, pushed around, and prodded with plastic golf clubs. Ilulissat gets the least physical contact, because she gets clawsy. So they play with jingle balls, the plastic rings from milk jugs, and her catnip kite. Except when he manages to zip her into the beach cooler, hide her under a plastic box, and lock her in the cabinet. He's gotten a bit better, but good greif, it's taking a lot to get it through to him that he has to be careful. Any suggestions, oh great blogosphere?

Fabulousness

2005-08-31T04:34:00.000-04:00

I know, I've been a naughty blogger. I just ran out of ideas, and really didn't care to wrack my brains. I do apologize. Now that that's through, let's get to the point of this post.

I read this post, and of course considered commenting, which never seems to work for me. Then it struck that I also had a story to tell, and so I moseyed myself on over here to set it up for you, my adoring public.

Little Fascist was always taught that his "bits" were a penis and testicles. It only made sense that way, really. I have this worry that when I tell him "creative truths" they will somehow corrupt him. Which brings us to the tale I came here to share.

Yesterday we took Little Fascist bowling. He's been fascinated by it ever since his first time, and now that The Roomie is league bowling, it gives them both a chance to work on their abilities. The alley where we do our bowling is a short train ride from our house, and is next to a White Castle, of all things. We do our bowling, have some "little hamburgers" then hit the super drug store to see if there is anything fun.

We walk in, and LF starts running down the cosmetics aisle. I tell him he is too young for such products and to follow The Roomie. He asks me if it (cosmetics) is just for girls. I stop. I think. What does one say when their 5 year old asks something like that? Especially someone like myself, whose best friend in high school was transgendered? I muster up all the courage I can and I say to him "Make-up is only for girls and very fabulous boys." Loudly enough that a woman turns around, looks at me and chuckles.

It worked, didn't it?

LF and the lefty factor.

2005-04-16T20:34:00.000-04:00

I am not left handed by nature. I taught myself to write backwards in high school to irk teachers, and learned that in your brain, backwards and left handed are done the same for a right handed person. Now I write more legibly than some natural lefties I've known. In my family, left hand dominance is common. Out of my mother and her 4 siblings there is one, and out of my father and his four siblings there is one. I also have a left handed brother, and a left handed cousin. I have left handed friends, and LF's biodude was left handed. When LF showed signs of being left handed as a baby I was assured that it didn't mean anything. The first time he picked up a crayon and touched it to the paper, I was sure. Being as lefty savvy as I assumed I was, I didn't worry about the challenges ahead in teaching LF to write his letters and draw his shapes. If anything, this thinking made the actual teaching process harder. I may have started earlier, in hopes of having him ready for school had I not been so cinfident in my own left handed ability. It turns out that we are far from even making a semi-straight line. His letter "A" is all squiggly, as though penned by someone who had more than one too many drinks. I remember the challenges my mother had with my own left handed brother, and now I worry about him falling behind his classmates in kindergarten because things will be harder for him. I try to allow myself the luxury of thinking that things will be fine, and that there are plenty of left handed kids that do fine. Unfortunately, worrying is one of my strongest faults. I wonder how other parents do it. So, blogosphere, do any of you have lefty kids? How do you help them out?

A little about the Little Fascist....

2005-04-06T15:09:00.000-04:00

Little Fascist at the Park of Terror.

I never thought about making a post with his information, I guess in all the fun I just forgot all about it! Thanks to Ladybird for reminding me! Little Fascist is almost 4 1/2 now, and not in school. He does start school this fall, which scares the pants off of this mean mommy! He's left handed, loves superheroes, and has a "thing" for waitresses. He thoroughly enjoys watching Supernanny, because he likes to watch other kids misbehave. He likes to go shopping, loves shoes, has lived in three states, was born in a hospital in such a crummy neighborhood that his grandfather's van was broken into twice while I was in labor, and is subway savvy.

I also suppose now would be a good time to give you an idea about me, Mean Mommy. I think it's fabulously threatening with uppercase M's. Oh, now don't go closing the window, it's not bad, really! I had LF 10 days after my 18th birthday. His bioguy and I were crazy punk rock teenagers in New York City (though bioguy lived in Texas until he met me) and we weren't going to slow down too much just because we had a baby. We took him out all the time after he was two weeks old, and he had a lot of cool people around him in the beginning. As time went on I became less "PUNK RAWK!!!!!!!!" Bioguy and I parted ways when the powers that be threw Skabby into the mix and I fell for him. Bioguy became bitter, immature, and lazy. We've not seen him in 18 months or so now, and that is just fine with us. I do not abuse LF. I know someone was thinking it, and that's okay. I am mean though, I do terrible things that no mother should do, but I just can't help it really. If LF is throwing a fit at the park I turn and tell him that he can stay there, and I'll be going home. It's mean, but it works. If we weren't all cuddly and affectionate all the time I might be worried that I was damaging the poor kid. I don't go home without him. This may not be the kindest form of discipline, but it works for us. I also apologize any time I feel I went over the line with him. Sometimes a joke goes too far, and that is in order. No parent is perfect. I also call myself a Mean Mommy because I am not afraid to say "no." With so many kids running amok these days I think "no" is a necessary evil. It's healthier for him to go without sometimes. Without toys, or candy, or other frivolous items. He is not denied food, or love, or necessities. Really, I am just trying my best at this thing we do when we have children. Rest assured that my child shared in my quirky sense of humor, and is not being scarred by my hiding from him while he is in the restroom. We're having fun, and he is as well adjusted as any person from my lineage can be. So please, relax. Being mean isn't as bad as you thought it was. Now, please enjoy the rest of your visit, and do come again, we really like having you around!

Little Fascist carries the Plague

2005-04-06T03:33:00.000-04:00

That's right, he has a cold. He normally fights off illness, and is rarely sick at all unless he caught it from me. I thought it might be allergies, but its less sneeze and more phlegmy cough. We're now blowing through boxes of tissues (only the ones in the boxes with the pictures of "The Incredibles" though, as superhero colds can only be subdued by supers, of course) and tearing our way though those amazing triaminic cough strips. It is here that I announce my love for Triaminic brand medicines. Like most children, LF hates medicine. That's just how it is. When he was two years old he got sick and needed fever reducer. We ran to the store and I hoped that he was old enough for chewables, and he was. Since then he gives us no trouble with ibuprofen. Then he got a cold. We scoured the store for cold medicines and stumbled upon the Triaminic chewable cold medicines. He was too young to take them, according to the box, but we were desperate and decided to try it anyway. It worked, he was now taking cold medicine with no fuss. Then, this past year, he gets sick again. The neighborhood drugstore is all out of all kinds of Triaminic chewables so we try the liquid stuff. No good. So we just rought it out through that cold. This time around, however, there are these new strips that actually work for COUGHS and not just everything else. So we shell out the $7.50 for a box of 16 of these bad boys and tear into one... he takes it, sweet pete he took it. Now his cough is drying down and his nose in drying up. Unfortunately, his sleep schedule is now all wacky, and he is still kicking around in his room. Ugh. We're fighting the plague though, and this time we might win.

A little bit strange.

2005-03-31T14:14:00.000-05:00

Little Fascist is a strange kid. I accepted this point a long time ago, yet he still finds ways to make sure I don't forget it. I know that other kids have strange quirks too, and this is comforting. LF shares similar quirks, and while that should mean it's not that strange, but it really is. What brought all of this along? A few days ago my dearest spawn decided that he was afraid of slides. Surely there are other children who are afraid of playground equipment, even I was afraid of jungle gyms for my entire childhood, but not 6 months ago LF couldn't get enough slide time at the park. He would slide for hours, he even helped littler kids manage the slide on their own. Now, however, every bit of playground equipment sends him into shreiks of terror. He'll play ball with some kids, he'll play on the cement seal, he'll even jump off of the benches. Swing, no. Slide, definitely not. On top of all of this, he contracted my fear of things flying toward him. Every ball goes uncaught as he steps aside or cowers from it, but once it's on the ground he has no problem grabbing it and pitching it at anyone willing to catch it. He may be odd, but so am I.

Ah, eggs!

2005-03-25T20:17:00.000-05:00

We're not a religious people, we don't really practice one way or another, but something about holidays has a strong hold on me. When LF was small, I was so sure I was just going to eliminate the holidays I felt were unnecessary. It didn't last, because LF has an Auntie who loves him dearly and would not allow me to deny him the joys of candy related holidays. When I married Skabby, he decided to take it upon himself to insure that LF got to observe every major holiday that he grew up with. I eventually gave in, and this year we are doing our first ever egg hunt with actual eggs. I was so excited about coloring eggs that we did it on Tuesday. He was just tickled that the eggs came out of the dyes a different color, while I focused on making neat stripes and such with the dyes. I'm really a kid when you get down to it. Last weekend we stuffed the plastic eggs with candy and money, and three weeks ago I put together his Easter bucket. As much as I fought these holidays, they really are a lot of fun. I've always been gung-ho about Christmas, but to me everything else lost its magic a long time ago. Now that I do see what he was missing, I try to show him the best parts of all the various holiday's, while trying to teach him that the whole point of celebrating these things isn't about faith, it's about spending time together and having a good time. My family crumbled a few years ago, and gone are all the traditions we had in my youth, but today I am making my own and hopefully LF will remember them as fondly as I do.

Someone ought to call the Mommy Police

2005-03-17T15:49:00.000-05:00

What kind of mother manages to ruin every package of Jiffy Pop that lands in her hands? I am the only person I know who has NEVER managed to make that small swirl of foil bulge larger than a Rome apple. The kernels that do manage to pop are always burned, and I am left feeling as though it is time to hand in my Mommy License. Sure, I do all the cool mom things, like drawing superhero logos on sponges for bath time, and making green pancakes, but Jiffy Pop always seems to drop me down a few notches on the Parental Skill Meter. Skabby always manages these things, as though it was one of the more important lessons at Boy Camp, yet, my best friend has his BC Diploma and is as bad with that aluminum monstrosity as I am. I think it's time we get a microwave...

A busy time

2005-02-05T13:11:00.000-05:00

All of us over here at Mean Mommy's place are busy moving to a new neighborhood. We've not forgotten about blogland, we've just had a hard time thinking of things to talk about that are no move related.

Mattercard

2005-01-31T16:25:00.000-05:00

A mattercard is what LF uses to board the buses and trains. It is your standard Metrocard (its a farecard used on the public transportation here in NYC) without any balance on it. Most times he is happy to just hold mine, but on some days he can be found digging for his mattercard before getting on the bus. On days like this I humor him, and swipe it backwards at the turnstile, telling him it's broken so he still walks under the bar. Other days I let him take mine out of the bus Metrocard reader and carry it in his zippered pocket. When I complain about living here, and talk about leaving, I never take into account how LF will handle the lack of mattercards. No mattercards, no trains, no buses. We'll become a family with a car again, and stuck at home when Skabby is out, because I never found a need for a license... I don't think he would miss it that much, but then again, maybe he will. The first time we moved away he was too young to remember all of the cool ways of getting around, and now I am not sure I want to take him away from it all before he learns to navigate it himself.

So very strange...

2005-01-29T21:22:00.000-05:00

Little Fascist gets many of his traits from me. Not that he looks like me, because I am forever hearing about how he looks like my sister, but quirks and things that make everyone comment on how odd he is. Sometimes his oddities even make me tell him how strange he is. Tonight, while waiting on Skabby to return from the video rental place, LF was playing with his newly cherished Woody doll. Stupiddog starts barking and LF shoves Woody under the covers then shouts "They're cannibals!" Even though I know he got that from Toy Story, I still can't get over that of all things to shout it's got to be cannibals. He definitely gets that bit of oddity from me.

Maybe we should call him Uncle Fun?

2005-01-28T15:30:00.000-05:00

Uncle Fun? I don't know what to call him since "Uncle Dennis" seems to make Little Fascist quiver with fear. However, since the beloved Auntie moved, Uncle Dennis is our only remaining babysitter. Tonight being the first time in the history of our relationship that both me and Skabby have plans, but not together and WITHOUT Little Fascist, we are left in need of a sitter. Being the mean mommy that I am, I am going to go out and enjoy the company of other mean mommies while LF screams his four year old head off at home. I will do so with minimal guilt, and yet still answer the phone if he calls me. I am a mean mommy, but I don't want to be the meanest mommy.

Stepping Out!

2005-01-27T13:20:00.000-05:00

I am a recovering blog lurker.

Spending tens of minutes a day reading blogs, I always thought that I would one day have one of my own. "What would I put in a blog that anyone could want to read?" The question was my focus, and not blogging itself. So I have now thrown open the blog door and stand here before you... I hope you brought yourself a gameboy, the entertainment may take a while to get going.