Drinking is not funny, and yet everything is a joke

I have written articles about excessive alcohol consumption.

My dad's brother died at 48 from cirrhosis of the liver and his father was an abusive alcoholic. 

I'm pretty aware of the dangers of drinking.

I became very cognizant of my alcohol usage at age 21 after I drank WAY too much vodka and had a 5-day hangover. 

I stick to wine and beer, with an occasional margarita or strawberry daiquiri. 

I have no more than 2 glasses. 

Most nights, if I have a beer, it is a half-beer that D and I split. 

I'm also aware that D and I have been drinking more than we ever have as a result of the pandemic. 

Initial research suggests he and I are in very good company and a lot of it. 

My antidepressant is working overtime of late. 

The pandemic is part of it, sure, but my dad's health issues are what has left me reeling. My dad's health issues in combination with the pandemic and being terrified to be near him because his body cannot handle anything else. I cannot risk his health because it is terribly fragile at the moment. 

Nothing is funny right now. 

Everyone drinking more than usual. Everyone more isolated than usual. My dad's health. My emotional health. 

And yet it all feels like a joke; the year of near constant feeling like we're being punked by circumstances beyond our control. 

I can make fun of my liquor store run and stay vigilant to not go overboard, to always be aware that it wouldn't take much to slip over the ledge into addiction. 

That many, many people do something to deal temporarily with an issue and then that "fix" becomes the next real problem. 

Our entire society, maybe our entire world, is doing that now. 

Surviving and knowing that the steps we're taking may be the steps of future unraveling.

On the banana peel / How God is like the Trump Administration

My dad is 78 years old, and my mom is 82. The average life expectancy in the US is 78.87 years (2019).

As my mom said the other day, she's got "one foot on the banana peel."

At this point, with dad having cancer surgery, chemo/radiation, and as of yesterday, emergency surgery for a twisted bowel obstruction, he's got one foot on the peel and is doing a little jig. 

It has made me aware of how I hear of other people going through "hard stuff" and think to myself, "How do they manage that?"

The answer is complex:

1. You go through what you have to because what choice do you have?

2. I think a lot of the time you aren't aware you're going through it until it is done. (Except me, who recognizes we're going through a hot mess at the moment.)

The other night, when mom and dad were in the ER, and we didn't yet know what the diagnosis was, I laid in bed and had angry conversations with God.

Well, not really with God.

God is not my sugar daddy. I don't plead for stuff. I don't wish for things. For my own sanity, I cannot have an anthropomorphized God in my life because he/she/it makes me furious. 

My anger at that instant was directed at people who do the whole "God is good" song and dance when they get the answer they want (no cancer or whatever). But they don't do the "God is an asshole" thing when the answer is not what they want. Then they do the "God's got this" thing.

I'm not poking fun of them because if this gets them through the muck, then have at it. 

But it doesn't get ME through the muck. It just makes me think that God is like the Trump Administration--taking ALL the credit for the good stuff and none of the blame for the bad stuff. 

After lying in bed for several hours, I finally decided that for my own mental health I had to look at Dad's situation as just nature happening. His aging body doing what aging bodies do. Nature is not good nor bad; it simply is, and it does what it does. It is much more calming for me to think this way about my family's shared existence at this time. 

Of course, while all this is going on, I've been interviewing people who have been throwing around preachy moralizing at me, and it is aggravating as hell. 

I'm the doubting Thomas who never gets to put his hand in Jesus' side. I'm the Paul who doesn't have the conversion. And I'm the Carrie who resents other people throwing their "God is good" and "God's got this" into my face even though I know they have good intentions. 

The road to hell is paved with those.

A great year to practice dostadning

Every year I practice dostadning which is also known as Swedish death cleaning. 

Of course, I'm not doing it because I am dying (that I know of) or that I think I'm going to die soon, but clutter makes me anxious. I am the opposite of a hoarder. 

D often worries this time of year that, when I'm on one of my tears, I might throw him and the children out. 

With this being my natural tendency when the whole Marie Kondo trend came along, it was easy for me to do her version because I have long asked myself questions like, "Do I love this item?" and "Do I actually use this item?"

Last week, I cleaned out nearly every room in the house. The storage closet. The furnace room. The litter box room. 

I made one huge run to Goodwill and have my trunk full of other items that I've cleaned out from the garage. I threw away small grocery bags full of junk and cut tons of boxes into small pieces to recycle. 

As much work as this has been, it has occurred to me that our level of stuff is minimal compared to others considering that neither I nor D like to shop and I am habitual about sorting, donating, and dostadning(ing). Plus, for years I have consigned the kids' toys and old clothes as a way to clean out and make a little money to pay for their seasonal needs. 

Of course, as soon as I did all this cleaning, I was gifted some items that are thoughtful but that I have no need for (like another coffee mug). 

[Which reminds me that I haven't cleaned out the mug cabinet....]

It seems to me like 2020 is a good year to clean out clutter....whether that be in one's house or in one's mind or in one's priorities. There's nothing like a global pandemic to help a person put everything into perspective. 

This was one of the reasons I unfriended a hefty dose of individuals on social media. Because they caused me aggravation and unhappiness. They didn't spark joy for me, and I honestly don't have a relationship with them anyway. Just because they are a neighbor or a parent of a kid my kid used to play with ages ago doesn't mean I actually need to be "friends" (however loose that word is when it comes to social media). 

If there is something or someone you don't love, don't need, or doesn't have much meaning to you, 2020 is probably all the excuse you need to clean it/them out. 

The gratefulness that comes with delaying gratification

I have two parents who modeled for me the internal power that comes with delaying gratification. 

I don't know if this stemmed from their own experiences as being one of five or six children in their respective families of origin. I don't know if it stemmed from both being brought up relatively poor. I don't know if it was because of their Catholic faith. I don't know if they simply have personalities that made delaying gratification easier. 

Whatever the reason, my parents modeled an ability to look long-term, weigh decisions carefully, and not get everything they may have wanted when they wanted it. My brother and I did not get everything we wanted when we wanted it. My parents were pretty good at saying "no."

Now, at the time, I hated this. I didn't understand why we couldn't get call-waiting back when that was a newfangled feature on landlines. I didn't understand why we couldn't get MTV when all my friends had it. I didn't understand why my parents wouldn't buy me the name brand shoes I wanted. 

But my parents lived within their means and valued education over all else. One of the greatest gifts they gave me as a result of delaying our familial gratification was a college education with no loans or debt for any of us. 

Because they said no, as an adult I appreciated and respected delaying my gratification. This doesn't mean I LIKED it. Delaying gratification sucks, more or less. 

When D and I got engaged, I told him we would not marry until he finished his master's degree. He had been sitting on his thesis for a while, and I was determined he would finish it. So we set our wedding date 18 months out. We didn't get an apartment together but lived in our parents' homes to save money for a down payment on a house. We decided to live only on his salary and get whatever house we could afford on that so that we could save everything I made. 

All of these decisions were efforts in delaying gratification for a bigger and hopefully better outcome. If he completed his master's, he would hopefully make more money long term. It would hopefully provide more stability. If we lived with our parents, we could save more money for a down-payment. If we lived on one salary, it would make it possible for us to save a lot and me to stay home with our children without too much adjustment down the line if we ever had a family. 

But delaying gratification means not getting exactly what you want and definitely not when you want it. Living with our parents was not fun for two madly in love people who just wanted to have lots of sex with each other. Living on one salary meant we had to budget and give up getting material things we might have gotten on two salaries. (But it did allow me to have the money to put towards a master's degree.)

Ultimately, being taught to delay my gratification made me a person who is able to take a long view and not get my panties in a twist if I can't have stuff instantaneously. 

It makes it easier for me to not lose my mind by not having Thanksgiving (and likely Christmas) with extended family (or even closer family). 

Delaying gratification actually gives me a greater sense of gratefulness for all the other holidays I have completely taken for granted because we just did those without thinking. Being together for Thanksgiving and Christmas is just.what.we.did. 

There is an ache because we can't do the "normal," but that ache is also what drives my sense of thankfulness. If we decided to all be together, I wouldn't have that ache, which means I wouldn't have that poignant feeling of appreciating the abundance of the past and hoping that next year, perhaps because we have erred on the side of extreme caution, we can all safely be together again without anyone missing.  

The movie "Speed," except a virus is driving the bus

A former coworker of mine now works at a local hospital. She posted that the hospital system is experiencing "critical staffing" issues. 

I overheard a conversation where a nurse was saying local medical systems are preparing to freeze non-emergency surgeries because of virus quarantines and illness. 

In small towns/cities where COVID is rampant, there isn't enough room at hospitals for COVID patients. 

Numerous governors are starting to restrict restaurants/bars and activities where groups of people meet and are, at least part of the time, maskless. 

And it all sucks. 

It sucks for the people who can't go out to eat because maybe that was their way of doing something fun when everything sucks.

It sucks for the restaurant industry that has been slammed from every direction.

It sucks for the local economies, which means it sucks for everyone whose tax dollars have to stretch even tighter. 

It sucks for the leaders who have to decide between restricting freedoms and hospitals being completely overwhelmed/more people getting sick and dying. 

It sucks for people who have depression and anxiety.

It sucks for people going through chemo and cancer whose immune systems are already blitzed.

It sucks for people who work from home; it sucks for people who can't work from home.

It sucks for kids in school who have to distance and wear masks; it sucks for kids who aren't in school and have to do online.

IT SUCKS FOR EVERYONE. 

As of Nov 19, the case fatality rate in the US is 2.2 percent. And this sounds great until you multiple 2.2 percent times the number of people who live in the US, which is 330 million people. 

0.022 x 330 million = 7.26 million DEATHS

We are now at 250,000 deaths. So if we multiply that number by 29 we will have almost 7.26 million.

All of our options are BAD. 

There are no good options; there are only BAD options with BAD consequences.

And with this virus, if enough people (and there are enough people) fear it and fear millions of people dying, they are not going to act normally even if leaders do absolutely nothing except sit on their couches and eat bonbons. 

They aren't going to shop or eat out or go anywhere or do much of anything while the virus is running rampant even if my governor and your governor and the president and everyone else says "Everything is fine; go about your business." 

Because they know their friends are getting sick; they know people who are very ill or in the hospital or who have died. 

And while I could be wrong and there could be a mass conspiracy where every nation on the planet and doctors in North and South Dakota have agreed to bury empty coffins and do interviews about how bad everything is virus-wise, I doubt it.

November thankfulness, Days 1-17

Usually, I try to post one thing each day in November that I'm thankful for, and I always try to find the most unusual things I can find.

I do this because it is all too easy to be thankful for the obvious. It doesn't take a whole lot of thought to feel thankful for my family and good health. I try to pay attention to the things that I typically ignore that, though small and seemingly insignificant, bring me pleasure or joy or a sense of wonder.

Though numbered these aren't in any particular order:

1--I'm thankful my uncle, who passed away earlier this year, wanted me to have the V family history and entrusted me with it. He knew I was interested and would take care of it. I hope to one day find out where the family originated, though the local settlers came to KY in 1779 from Pennsylvania. Where did they live before that?

2--I'm thankful for good-smelling candles and hand soaps. I normally do not hoard candles or soaps (or anything if I can help it), but I have found considerable comfort since COVID began lighting candles and smelling nice scents when I wash my hands, which is a lot. 

3--I'm thankful for having time at home with our stupid cats. Normally we are running a lot during the school year, but online school is giving us lots of snuggle time with these goobers. A whole lot of frustration is averted or minimized when you get to see cuteness. 

4--I'm thankful for G's therapist. Though the pandemic took the remarkable strides G made between fall of 2019 and Feb of 2020 and more or less dumped them down the drain, being able to have periodic telehealth appointments with Dr. S helps keep G on track as much as anyone can be on track during a worldwide pandemic.

5--I'm thankful that the pandemic gave me time in the spring to learn how to crochet. I find it very calming. I listen to my audiobook and work with my hands. It is very meditative. I would not have done this were it not for quarantining.

6--I'm thankful that G wanted to clean and rearrange his room yesterday because it launched me into a day of purging. It feels very, very good to get rid of stuff. It feels very good to think about whether items I own are things I actually use or wear. Do I love them? Do they just take up stuff? Are they junk to me? 

7--I'm thankful that I can read. While I may not read 100 books this year, as I did last year, I'll be pretty close. Reading has been hard this year because of my frequent doomscrolling between pandemic news, social unrest news, and election news. Still, I'm glad it provides me a means of some escape.

8--I'm thankful N got her first job this summer. While she has long had a neighborhood pet-sitting business (which her brothers are now doing more than she is), this job has helped build her confidence and real-world experience. 

9--I'm thankful I could sub for someone who had breast cancer surgery. More importantly, I'm thankful I could sub for this person because I hated this person when I was a kid. It reminds me that a childhood perspective can be sometimes flawed and/or limited. It helps remind me that hanging onto childhood animosity can be stupid and limiting. 

10--I'm thankful I was COVID negative, at least as of last Tuesday. I do not know if that will continue to be the case (especially since another uncle died, and I went to the funeral home). We all wore masks and tried to distance, but you never know. 

11--I'm thankful for my OCD because it prepared me to be vigilant during a pandemic. Prior to COVID, I carried 3 hand sanitizers in my bag. Now I carry 4. I had trained myself to not touch my face. OCD generally sucks, but not when it comes to pandemic lifestyle changes. I handwash like a BOSS. 

12--I'm thankful to be listening to music more. I have recently re-upped songs to my playlist that I had forgotten. When everything is "meh," a little Violent Femmes and Beastie Boys send my energy back to middle school levels (at least temporarily; who can sustain that junk at age 47).

13--I'm thankful for texting and Facetime. With COVID rates rising (I originally spelled rats; Freudian, I think), we're trying to keep away from grandparents. It DOES suck to not see them, but I think about pioneers and families that traveled to California from Japan who NEVER SAW THEIR FAMILIES EVER AGAIN. They didn't have reliable mail service; heck, many pioneers didn't know how to write at all. As much as people complain about "kids" not knowing how to delay their gratification, I think we've got an entire society that sucks at it. (Grown-ups, I'm talking to your asses.)

14--I'm thankful for the public library system. They do curbside pickups now, and since reopening have been a lifesaver for me and the kids. I tell them regularly how much I appreciate them making books available.

15--I'm thankful I've let go of this notion that I have to stay "socially connected" to people I really and truly have zero relationship with or who I actually (and actively) dislike. To stay "friends" with someone you genuinely don't like and don't spend time with and who actively makes your life unpleasant when they post stuff is bonafide dumb. It took me entirely too long to recognize that. 

16--I'm thankful I'm don't have to be an "always right" parent. I'm often wrong, and it is much better to admit that (both to myself and my kids). Just because something is "right" for me doesn't mean it is "right" for my kids. It seems like recognizing that before they are adults makes life easier. That doesn't mean we always agree, but we always discuss. 

17--I'm thankful for hand-me-down clothes from my children. I recently acquired an old Stranger Things t-shirt, a pair of leggings, and a perfect cardigan wrap. 

A whole new respect for the electoral process

This semester I'm teaching an American Government class which is the best way to force yourself to relearn all those things about the American government you forgot from middle and high school.  

Working as an election official is also a great opportunity to learn more about elections and how American government works.

Lord knows that working one election makes me an expert in exactly nothing, but I did learn a lot and the experience has helped me better understand how difficult it is to commit election fraud and why people are unlikely to do it. 

For example, at least in my state, if an individual requests an absentee ballot and receives it but doesn't follow directions (and therefore screws it up) or loses/misplaces it, that individual cannot receive another one. 

If a person never receives an absentee ballot, the board of elections can/will cancel the first absentee ballot so the individual can vote in person provided an election officer calls them and verifies everything. However, since the first absentee ballot has now been canceled, even if the individual lied that they never received it and sent it in, with the goal of voting twice, that first ballot will not be accepted/counted. 

In my state, identification has to be shown, although it doesn't HAVE to be a photo id. It can be a passport or social security card or Medicaid card--something with a signature. 

Now, I know some people think not showing a photo id means it is easy for someone to vote multiple times, perhaps by lying and saying they are someone else. Or maybe they stole someone else's Social Security card? 

Here is why this is unlikely:

Poll workers stay the entire day at their election site (they cannot leave the property) which means they have been watching people come to vote all.day.long. In a "normal year" when there isn't a pandemic, fewer people go to smaller precincts which makes it more likely the workers would remember someone coming in twice. In this abnormal year, there were over 100 poll workers, which increases the likelihood that someone would notice a "repeat customer" should that happen. 

Is it possible for someone to go from precinct to precinct to vote multiple times? 

Yes, I guess it is possible, but what would motivate a person to do this given that election fraud is a Class D felony? My assumption is that if someone voted 5 times illegally, they would be charged for 5 Class D felonies, which means they could be looking at 25 years in prison. 

What is the likelihood of someone taking a chance on 25 years in prison to vote 5 additional times? 

Are 5 additional votes going to make a difference? Not likely.

And if only 5 votes are the difference between a candidate winning or losing, there would be a recount, which would mean greater scrutiny of votes. 

Is it possible? Well, sure. We've all heard of stupid criminals, but it is very, very improbable. 

Is it possible that election officials could commit election fraud? 

Each person who works at an election site must swear an oath to follow the US Constitution and their state laws in order to help people to vote. Some areas are able to pay their poll workers, while other areas do not have the funds to do this. 

I arrived at the precinct where I worked at 4:45 am and left that evening at 6:30 pm. My area pays its election officials (which I did not know until I got there that morning). I made around $14/hour before taxes. 

I can assure you that there is NO FREAKING WAY ON THIS EARTH THAT I WOULD COMMIT VOTER FRAUD WHEN I AM BEING PAID SOMEWHERE BETWEEN ZERO DOLLARS AND $14 AN HOUR. 

There is absolutely zero incentive for me to commit fraud. 

Right now, absentee ballots votes are being counted in multiple states, and there are mumblings about fraud. 

Again, as mentioned above, this is not likely. 

Could the election officers who are counting commit fraud?

Possible, but they, too, would commit a felony if they tried to tabulate incorrectly or not tabulate at all. 

Is an election official likely to do this? 

No....because what incentive do they have? If they work for the county clerk in their respective area, they would be committing a felony AND losing their job as a result of committing that felony. 

I sometimes hear mumblings about "illegals" voting, which is unlikely for a very important reason. 

Let's assume someone is living in the country illegally. This individual would want the government to not know where they are, what they are doing, right? 

If I am trying not to be deported, I'm very, very, very unlikely to go register to vote and show my id and, once again, commit a felony. 

All of this is to say that despite conspiracy theories, it makes very little sense for people to commit voter fraud.