Nowhere to Run

One of the side effects of this ABA schedule is that there's always someone about to come over. Which means that I can never really let my house devolve into the comfortable cluttered mess that makes me so happy--that same mess gives me an absolute complex and heart palpitations if it gets invaded. We have far too much crap in a too-little house, and I lack the energy to get the house really tidy, so we're always somewhere in the middle (cleared surfaces, big piles of crap in the corners) and I am totally stressed out IN MY OWN HOUSE. Not to mention my issues with people trying to be helpful and putting things away in the wrong places. Basically, if you come over to my house unannounced and you're not JP, Jo, or LH (all of whose housekeeping tendencies are more like mine), I will fall over and start twitching.

I think I might have a partial solution: Build a deck for a yurt over in the corner of the yard. Where the snobby neighbors can see it and be totally appalled but it'll be out of everyone else's view--well, except for the sullen axe-murderer candidate whose cabin overlooks our driveway. He's unfriendly so fuck him. Either Leelo and the therapy crew could do their thing there, or I could use it as a refuge/batik studio/yoga area (I am hoping to lure a yoga instructor and another student or two over here during afternoons when Leelo's in session, seeing as I'm not supposed to leave).

The really enticing part about the yurt is that we wouldn't have to get a permit since yurts are temporary structures The snobby neighbors would just have to buck up and get used to living next to eco-leaning freaks. They've already commented about the fact that we let our grass die in the summer. I know at least one of them was born and raised in the neighborhood--how they can be so ignorant about water (over)use in this parched land is beyond me. Their lawn is the size of an olympic swimming pool, and just as useful to a family of five. Malicious me thinks they use their lawn less than they normally would since it looks down into our yard and there's an off chance that we might try to talk to them.

Fuck. The Frantic Fish is eyeing me again, as best she can from inside her grubby little tank. She is going to get adopted out, along with the hot tub that came with our house and hasn't been used since September.

I have promised Iz that we'll try to make it a "Yes, Isobel" day. In contrast to yesterday, which was almost 100% "No Isobel," and "Maybe Later, Isobel." Who the fark cares if her mom is totally slogged. This means we'll be watching a whole lot of videos, and cooking too. Strangely, this past weekend while Seymour was patiently and altruistically watching the sprogs, Iz decided she wanted to read by herself for almost the entire time. By the time I came back she had memorized most of an entire book of Mother Goose rhymes. Her teacher A says she's plowed through a good portion of the school's books already. I wonder why she doesn't read like this around me as much? She prefers to nag for videos, or have me read to her. I am going to introduce her to When We Were Very Young so she can go around like I did chanting "James James Morrison Morrison Weatherby George Dupree..."

So far Leelo hasn't had any side effects from all the supplements/meds. His cheeks smell a bit like stale urine--maybe that's the smell of dead/dying yeast? He is recently scrubbed, so maybe he's been diddling and then rubbing his face, but I doubt it--his diapers seem secure around the waist.

The supplement regimen is going okay. It takes at least 20 minutes longer to give him each meal, what with all the dispensing, dosing, and mixing--so I've been even more late for everything than usual. If he refuses to drink or eat all of something that's been dosed, them I'm just screwed since I don't know how much of the supplement he's ingested and can't re-dose. Also, he isn't that excited about his current meal selections, so I have to buckle him into his highchair and place him in front of TiVo if I want him to try anything new. Eventually he forgets to look at what's on his plate and just starts shovelling it in--but this takes at least 40 minutes.

Also: it's really great that he finally tried the dried blueberries, but I just realized that they were the only fruit besides bananas that came out positive on his allergies test. Whoops! Well, he seems to be mouthing the dried raspberries. And hey now, he's actually drinking an Amazake hazelnut/rice shake. Wake the guards!

Watched silly movie But I'm a Cheerleader last night. Great soundtrack (April March, Dressy Bessy, etc.)! I will buy it! Oh wait, there is no soundtrack CD and I already deleted the movie so I can't rewind the credits. Goddammit. Ah well, I will watch the next selection, Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. Holy shit on a shingle, that is Elrond/Agent Smith in the Dolly Parton wig crooning "I've Been to Paradise but I've Never Been to Me." Um, he's just not very pretty. Sorry, Hugo. Guy Pearce seemed so funny last time I saw it; this time his every lip-purse and hip-wag looks studied. But it was verging on wee hours and I am just fuck-all grouchy-assed these days.

Today I swear to start putting real effort into a low-cholesterol diet. I would prefer to avoid the quad- and quintuple-bypass heart surgeries that my dad and his brother just had. So, this morning I bid a fond, lingering farewell to my beloved fried eggs with steamed rice. Perhaps we'll meet again when I inevitably slip and go on a high-cholesterol bender.