Then it got bigger. As years went on it got to about the size of a pencil eraser. I started cutting it off with finger nail clippers or a knife or my teeth. It grew back every time.

Then it got one of those things you’re supposed to watch out for – an irregular border. It never changed color, so I wasn’t real worried that it was skin cancer. Maybe a little, but not real worried. Besides, you can just get those “frozen off” right?

So I tried a take-home freeze kit from the drugstore. Not only was it smelly and painful, but it worked worse than just cutting the damn thing off!

Then I read an ad in a newsletter about how to “permanently remove unsightly moles and warts, without any harsh medical procedures or painful over-the-counter products!” I actually saw it a bunch of times before I decided to at least take a look.

The website went on and on about how great it was and had all these testimonials and went on and on. Now, I hate hype but it wasn’t that expensive and had a money-back guarantee. Doesn’t everything, right?

So I bought the e-book, read it, and almost went for the money back right then and there. The solution was just too simple to actually work. So I didn’t even try it.

But eventually I figured that I’d spent the money so I should give it a try before I completely wrote it off. After maybe a week or two of a band-aid on my arm covering my home-made paste, it was gone. That was May of 2006. Almost 2 years later and I can barely remember which arm it was on!

If you know someone who might want to safely remove warts or moles have them send me an email or drop a comment on this page or
read more. I’ll be happy to talk more about it.

• touchup paint kitchen
• clean garage
• clean library

coop

• find baby sitter for work days
• choose activities
• website
  • get content current
  • set up user levels
  • shopping cart system
  • calendar plugin
  • document sharing
  • get section headings straight

So my brain acts like I’m doing things and thinking about what’s going on and trying to reason things out, which is difficult at times. When I wake up (or usually when I’m woken up) I have to switch gears, clear the dream out and get real-world functions going again. Since my brain has been active, I usually feel more tired after 6-8 hours of dreaming sleep than if I just crash for 3-5.

After 3-5 hours sleep I’ve had one sleep cycle completed, and my brain/body are still in recharge mode. There’s no time yet for imagination or brain play. Simply recharge the batteries and get moving again. When awoken from a short sleep, I may be physically tired still, but my brain gets going much more easily. Almost as if it’s on “standby” from yesterday and just powers back into whatever I need to do.

Even as a kid, I had a hard time falling asleep at bed time. I would stay awake for hours in bed. My parents tried all sorts of thing, back rubs, meditation music, guided imagery (not that I knew what that was at the time) and so on. The only thing that worked was for me to be tired when I went to bed. (Imagine that). In college, once I was allowed to decide my own sleep schedule, I would get tired around 2am, sleep till 6 (and get up for corps stuff), then either go to class or re-bag for an hour or 2. Then a nap from 7ish-10ish in the evening, then up till 2 again. So I would sleep 3-5 hours a couple times a day, got my 8 hours (usually) and was fine.

Having kids means, among other things, I don’t get to choose when I wake up. I guess I could choose to wake up earlier than them and start my day then, but I choose to stay up late with the house to myself and take my personal time from whenever Allison goes to sleep until I get tired. Lately I’ve been getting tired before midnight, which means I get 6-8 hours sleep and have time to dream. So I’m more tired on those mornings than if I crash hard around 2am. Granted I feel like I have more energy during the day, but those first groggy moments in the morning can affect my mood for quite a while.

sidebar — I didn’t really need much caffeine in my life until I was watching 2 children during the day. But it sure elevates my mood on those “dad’s grumpy” mornings.

It’s a nice place – up on the hill a little, real steep backyard with a nice deck, decent neighborhood etc. Needs a little work (new shingles and floor covering) but we can do that once we move in. We were going to take November to move in and fix it up, but we got an offer to sublet our current place in Nov. So, rather than risk not subletting and getting stuck with a mortage and a lease, we decided just to move in like Sr. Speedy Gonzales.

I’m excited about having a place of our own. No more money tossed out on rent. Now it’s tossed out on interest. But we’ll get to paint and decorate and re-shingle and install hard wood floors and stuff. I have big plans to redo the wooden retaining walls with cement blocks and pavers, but that’s probably a couple years off.

We’ll miss the park, and the location of our current place. But the house was just too good an opportunity to pass up. At least that’s what I’m thinking now. Who knows, maybe like most things that are too good, there’s a reason for it.

For now, I’m ready for the move. No, I’m not. It’s going to suck and we’ll be unsettled for at least a month. The current plan is to:

1. rip out the carpets and wall paper in 2 of the 3 main floor bedrooms (its a split entry with the main floor upstairs and a 1/2 finished basement 1/2 garage on the lower),
2. repaint and install new carpet,
3. move in to those rooms,
4. get everything else into the garage/basement (this much has to be done by 3nov… yay.)
5. repaint the family room
6. rip out the carpet there
7. intall new bamboo floors (like hardwood really)
8. move stuff upstairs and set up like we actually live there.

Then eventually we’ll redecorate the kitchen, and then re-carpet / paint the other bedroom, then ditto for the downstairs room (oh, and it will need a de-humidifer)

Then there’s the chimney that’s not connected to anything, and the floor vents that are covered over. We might discover a fireplace behind the wall, or a place where a stove vented.

Yeah. The retaining walls might be a little ways off.

Bootsie was the smartest of many, many cats that have lived at my home. Mostly at my parent’s home, where cats were always around. He was smart enough to expect certain outcomes from his actions. One of the first things he ever did was headbutt the bag of dog food while standing on the couch. When it fell over, he hopped down to the floor and looked for the spilled food. The bag was still shut, and he was pissed that there was no food. He had to go upstairs to see his old apartment empty before he would stay the night with us. Things like that.

He was also an annoying shit. He would howl the entire time he was caged on car trips, and most of the time if he was loose. “Surely no animal can howl like that for 8 hours straight.” No, he will go hoarse before then, but still try to let us know how pissed he was. After going outside, he would come in and gorge, then purge. I cleaned up almost as much cat puke as Sammy (the dog) did. And he would yowl if his water bowl had dog drool in it.

Apparantly the puking and constant thirst were signs that his kidneys were failing. Over the last week, he quit eating, lost several pounds, and became lethargic. Those are pretty much the only signs that I believe show an animal (or human) is actually sick.

They were end stage signs for Bootsie. With near total kidney failure and little hope of recovery and the prospect of I.V. fluids for the rest of his life, I decided to have him put down. And chicken-shit me didn’t say goodbye, and I wasn’t there when they did it. I just paid the bill and left.

Part of my tries to say “It was just a cat. Cat’s die. I didn’t like him much anyway.” Part of me calls that first part a liar. I’ve had plenty of cats die. And get eaten, or crushed, or just disapear. But this was the first time the cat was solely my responsibility. And he died.

He used to go on walks with us. He’d see me take off with Sammy on a walk, and follow/lead/yowl/lead us around the block. I never called him “my cat” though. He was “the cat that lives with us” or “the cat we’ve been watching for XX years.” Maybe if I took mental ownership of him I would have taken better care of him. Or noticed that he was sick sooner. Or something.

Godammit, Bootsie.

must stop. sleep good. Civ bad.
blink.
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