M is for Mumma

I've been back in touch with my mother for the past..... little while. I dunno how long. Not very, but weirdly, it feels like a long time. I guess because she's my mother, and I've known her my whole life.


It's awkward talking about her. A part of me can't forgive her. After all that time, and all that stuff that I have forgiven her for, I guess I'm just worn out. I'm not really still angry, so much as afraid to build a relationship with her.

But she's my mom. I want to. I love her. I miss her. Secret Life of the American Teenager (yes, I watch that show. No, you aren't allowed to laugh at me. I watch a lot of TV that I don't usually admit to watching) said something on it's last episode about how abused children still want to love their parents. I relate. I love my mother, and I want a relationship with her. But I'm so scared. And I'm still so hurt. Not angry, but offended. I guess I'm taking it personally.

No one else wants to hear about her, or about how I'm trying to fix things. Everyone else I talk to is either like "she's bad news" or else "so what? it's your mom. of course you talk. it's not worth mentioning that you talked to your mother today."

I guess no one gets it. I expected Jeffrey to, because he and his dad had an issue too at one point. But he doesn't. He doesn't forgive my mother, want to hear about her, want anything to do with her. Fine. But I do. He doesn't understand. I expected Chelsea to understant too, but I think she's too busy. I don't even know if I've tried to talk to her about it. She's go-go-go-go-go maybe even more than I am. I guess I don't want to bother her with my lukewarm ness.

I don't know what I want to do. I'm really digging this phone-relationship that we have. We talk once in a while, and that's that. No pressure because that's all there is: phone calls. and they aren't scheduled. She can't let me down. But as much as I really like the lack-of-pressure of this arrangement, as part of me really wants a mom-hug. And phones just don't allow it.

She comes home this weekend. She's out of rehab right now, and in a sober house, which I guess is some sort of halfway-house for sobriety. Then this weekend, she moves home. I'm excited for her. I'm scared. I miss her. I don't forgive her.

I don't even know what I feel right now. I'm glad she's coming home, but I don't trust her to take care of herself at home, and I'd really rather her take care of herself than try and do something she's not ready for. But maybe she is ready. I can't see her. I don't know. I'm so confused. I definitely want her in my life, but I don't know what role I want her in. I don't think I'll ever be able to respect her as a parent again. But I do love her and want her in my life. I just..... don't know.

L is for Long Time Ago

Almost two years ago I wrote a letter to my sister that I just couldn't send. I was doing a lot of that at the time. Writing and filing away letters. It was before my blog, before anything, and it was my coping method. It worked to calm me down, I guess, but it didn't really do much more. It didn't help me do anything BUT calm down. This blog has done a lot more for me, getting comments, and also responses privately, that have given me great advice.

I have a lot of those old letters sitting around. Not long after I wrote those, I discovered Accentuate Writers Forum ( <3 ) and through that, Unsent Letters. You'll see the link to it sitting over in my blogroll. I don't know if you've checked it out, but you should. It's a whole collection of exactly what my coping method was. Letters that weren't sent.

I submitted a letter that I had written to Amanda, but I changed the names. I never heard back about my submission, and assumed it was rejected. I know Unsent Letters as a whole, had been put on the back burner for a while, because the woman who runs it had bitten off more than she could chew with it. She also runs the writers forum, and Twin Trinity Media which was putting out a few other books, and a few blogs of her own, and has a family and has numerous health issues, and I think I'm forgetting a few hundred other things she does. How she manages to do even half of that, I don't know. So Unsent Letters got put on the back of the pile, and I knew that, but I thought my story had been read before that.

I just received an email a few days ago from them saying what amounted to "do you still want us to consider this letter, after it's been so long?" and I didn't know what to say. In the past, I think I actually casually mentioned that I didn't want my letter read, if it hadn't been already. I had said that because I couldn't remember what I had written. I knew vaguely what it was about, but I have at least 6 letters to Amanda written in that same approximate time frame, all holding different details. Which was the one that I had sent in? Was it one that someone outside the family, who didn't know any of it would understand? Was it one someone could relate to?

So when I got that email, it was like little gift. Apparently my "please disregard" was forgotten and I had a new shot at reading it. I opened it, scared. And I read it. And I started crying, because even thought I remember writing it (or ones like it), I had forgotten how much I felt at the time.

I told her that I would love to have my letter considered still. It's exactly what it needs to be. If it's not accepted, I'm alright with that. But I'm also really glad I wrote it, that the letter was saved and set aside. It's a very important letter to me, reminding me of where I was two years ago.

I regret changing the names to fake ones. I used "Amy" and "Laura" instead of "Amanda" and "Lauren". The names are close, but they just.... I dunno. I want the letter to have our names on it. I didn't even sign my name. I just signed it "E."

The letter sis more than just remind me of what I felt, but it made me more aware of who and where I am now, and how little has changed, even though it feels like so much has. My worries haven't changed much. My feelings about the situations even less. But then, some things have changed. I'm not so spineless and I'm a lot more independant. I think I've grown up a lot since I wrote that letter (which is funny, because at the time, I felt like I was more-or-less done growing up. I didn't realize I was so naive until I read that letter. And I'm sure two years from now I'll have this realization again, and yet I still feel so much LESS naive than some of the people I see walking around. It's strange to me, how I have always felt so much more aware of things than other people, and yet never aware enough.)

Write. Every day. and save it. Because someday, a few years from now, it'll really make a point to you. And I think this will happen to me for the rest of my life.

K is for Krayzee

What? You think I spelled it wrong? Nope. That's exactly how it's spelled, or at least, I find that people are so nuts that even spelling "crazy" seems too normal for them.

I got to work two minutes late at 4:02. I get my drawer counted and set up, and I'm taking my first order. We're about halfway through when a blond woman walks past the line, and SHOVES my customer aside. She throws an open burger at me, but I try to catch it, miss, and it lands on the counter. "I just came through drive-thru and every fucking time I come in here its like this. Why the hell can't you get my order right, bitch?" she doesn't stop talking but I inturrupt her. "I'm sorry, what's wrong with it, and I'll make you a new one."
"Onions! You didn't put enough damn onions on it. I asked for extra onions, and you're ripping me off. I paid for extra onions."

Now, first of all, extra onions are free, so you didn't pay for extras. Second of all, small sandwiches come with two rings of onion. I'm looking at at least 6. I didn't say that though. Instead I said "alright, extra onions. What sort of sandwich was it?"
"A fucking cheeseburger. I'll have you shut down if you don't make me a new one right now."
"A single or a double cheeseburger?"
"Just a cheeseburger! You know what? I want my money back."
"Alright let me get my manager."
"What are you calling me a liar? I work in law enforcement. I'm a cop. I can get you shut down like THAT!"
"I can't open my drawer without my managers key. If you want your money back, I need to get him."
"Well then tell one of these other idiots to make me my fucking sandwich."

I get my manager, and wait while this is sorted out. Once she finally leaves (oddly enough, without her money OR her sandwich.) I finish taking the order I had stated already. "Sorry about that." I said. and he said "What are you sorry for? You weren't the one who shoved me. Crazy people."

The whole night went on like that. She was not the only person to threaten to shut us down. I also had one customer threaten to have me fired because it took too long (about a minute) to get her drinks done (4 sprites and a shake) and I had one threaten to hit me because I wouldn't give her free food/pay for it myself.

The whole night was ridiculous, or rather Krayzee.

Note: there were some good things. One of my regular customers (who I had previously just thought was overweight because I couldn't really see her figure in her clothes. Turns out she was pregnant) came in with her new baby girl. So tiny and beautiful

J is for Jumping Ahead

My engagement to Jeffrey is a long one. We knew that from the start. Our tentative-wedding-date keeps getting pushed back further and further. We simply cannot afford a wedding right now.

But lately, with my stress levels off the charts, I've been really needing to focus on the happiest things in my life. One of the thing in my life that is absolutely fantastic is my relationship with Jeffrey. Since we're both busy, we aren't spending as much time together as we want to. Since I can't focus on actually BEING with him, I've, instead, been focusing on our wedding.

Some of it I find boring (seriously, who gets chair-covers?) some of it I can't even justify vaguely fantasizing about without talking to him (location, food, music?) but some of it, I can totally justify looking at.

Stop. Pause, Step back. I've been planning my wedding since I was 12, or maybe earlier. Why is it that now that I'm engaged, I feel the need to justify looking at wedding things? Whatever.

Back to the topic at hand.

Why the HELL are weddings so expensive? Who can justify spending several thousand dollars on a DRESS? I fell in love, the other day, with a dress. I will not be getting this glorious dress because it costs $1000. I can't do it. Even if I had the money, I wouldn't do it. Surely it doesn't cost that much to make the dress. The materials aren't that pricey, and how much time really goes into making the dress?

I've discovered something though. Prom dresses are a lot cheaper than wedding dresses. EVEN when they are the same style, by the same designer, with the same fabrics. I don't have the links anymore but I did find a case where that happened. They even used the exact same picture on the website. The prom dress was somewhere in the $200-300 range, and the wedding dress was about $1000. It was hilarious (but also saddening) So now I'm looking for white prom dresses. Besides, I don't want a train on my dress, and that's easier to find in prom dresses than bridal gowns.

Weirdness about me? I won't wear a second-hand wedding-dress unless I know who else has worn it. I would wear a dress if it was passed down from someone in my family, if one were to exist (I don't think anyone has their dress anymore but whatever). But wedding dresses are..... memories. Keep sakes. I guess I'm a little superstitious. I don't want to wear someone else's memories. It seems in poor taste.

I also fell in love with flowers, but those aren't as dramatically expensive.

I is for Internal Dialogue

This post is hard for me to write. It means admitting things about myself that I'd rather just sweep under the rug. But I started this blog as a place for me to just get some things off my chest. A place to cry to when I needed to cry. So this is... that. And because this is so personal, there will be a rather liberal use of swears.

Lately, I've really been hating myself, and I don't want to say it, because then what? Is everyone supposed to tell me "oh you're so great"? Will that help? No, not really. Not even a little. People say that crap to me all the time. That's not it.

It's hard to explain, really. I hate myself because I've never DONE anything. Nothing worth being proud of, or at least, nothing I'm supposed to be proud of. Nothing anyone else is proud of. Everyone reminds me how I'm "overcoming" my situation. No. Stop it. That's TOTAL CRAP. Everyone has shit to deal with. I don't want to be "better than expected, given the life I had" I want to be actually, real "good." Good at something, compared to anyone, everyone. Does that make sense?

Children of alcoholics are more likely to become alcoholics themselves. Fine, whatever. BUT I DON'T WANT people to praise me for NOT BEING AN ALCOHOLIC. Lots of people aren't drinkers. I want people to compliment me for doing a good job, rather than for not doing a bad job. And I don't want people to compliment me for doing a mediocre job either. That's shit. If I do average when you expect me to do badly, well yeah, it's good I didn't do badly, but it's not worth complimenting me on either. You're either really good, in which case you deserve a compliment, or else you aren't. There are no "you're maybe sorta good."

So, I tried to be a super hero. I want so badly to be a super hero, for someone. Turns out, I am just average. I'm not cut out for super-herodom. I wanted to be that girl who was a full-time straight-A college student, working 40 hours a week, running her own household, paying her own way through school and keeping up with her own bills, and I wanted all that while still having time to spend with my fiance.

I tried it. I gave it my best.

And I failed. Right now, I'm the girl whose only working 30 hours a week instead fo 40, and still can't get straight As. I'm looking like a B+ student right now. My bills are paid, but I needed help paying for college. I haven't spent quality time with Jeffrey in FOREVER, and if it weren't for him, it would be a mess too. I haven't done the dishes or the laundry in ages.

I hate myself for it. I can look at it logically, and see that, while I'm not being amazing, I'm still doing pretty good, still doing alright, not failing, but it feels like failure. I'm not doing what I want. I'm not doing anything worth being proud of. LOTS of people go to college. Lots of people work and get decent grades. A degree doesn't even mean anything anymore. It doesn't mean you're smart; I've met a lot of dumb people with degrees. It doesn't mean you're hard-working; if all you do is school, it's not hard at all. It doesn't even mean you're going to get a good job.

I'm so damn tired of being not good enough. What the hell. I've given up on doing the things that mean the most to me (time with Jeffrey and writing my book) so that I could have this. So that I could go to school and have my job and be something special that everyone can look at. And now, I have nothing.

H is for Home (or lack there of)

When I moved into my apartment last month, I was so excited. Glad to finally have my own space again, my own home. Somewhere that I simply loved, was proud of. The apartment is everything I wanted in on. Counter space in a kitchen (not even a kitchenette, but an actual kitchen), a good sized bedroom, and a bigger living room. The bathroom is pretty big, so far as bathrooms go. I have 4 closets.

But after living there for a month, unpacking, settling, it still doesn't feel like "home" to me. My apartment in Radford last year felt like home. I don't know what I'm doing differently. Is it because we aren't totally settled yet? Because our pictures aren't up on the walls? Is it because I haven't spent enough time there to really let it grow on me? Is it because when I am there, Jeffrey and I never sit down and do stuff together, it's always one of us or the other doing stuff? Is it because my upstairs neighbor is super-loud so I hear everything going on in their life, and it doesn't feel private, like my own corner?

I don't know what it is. I don't know why my home isn't... homey. I want it. I want to sit on my couch and feel totally at home there. Totally comfortable. I just don't. I wonder why, I think about how to fix it. We planned on living in this apartment for two years. It's the perfect location. 5 different school DISTRICTS within a one hour commute, for when Jeffrey gets his teachers certification, it's near-enough the highway that we can get on it easily, but far enough that we aren't listening to it. It's right near my college. Right near the mall. Right near several grocery stores. Everything is right there. It's perfect.... but it's not. And I don't know why. and it bothers me.

G is for Grade level

In the district I grew up in, you had to be 5 years old before September 1st to start kindergarten. My sister was born in early September. We have a cousin, born exactly a month before, meaning, despite being the same age, they were always in different grades. This caused a fair few arguments between them.

But that wasn’t the real problem. The real problem is the kindergarten curriculum. ABCs, how to count to 100, and her colors. My sister was 6 years old. She was reading at a 3rd grade level, and doing double-digit addition and subtraction, and bring home coloring sheets with the directions "Color the A green."

We tried to get her bumped up a grade. Socially, she was advanced as well from a couple years in pre-school, as well as having several other kids in the neighborhood her own age. The school said no. They no longer allow students to be bumped up grades, not matter how advanced they were. (When I was in kindergarten, they tried to bump me up, however I was not socially ready for it.)

Since then, she has consistently been a grade or two above her classmates in school.

In September, she started 7th grade. A few months ago, she was switched to a home-schooling program. Last week, she was about to start regular school, but because she was in a home school program, they had to test her grade level.

Thursday, my sister finally started 8th grade. The same grade my cousin is in. I’m glad she’s finally not SO far ahead.

I’m also nervous. That means she starts highschool next September. Oh. My. God. I’m not ready for that.

F is for Food

I was going to write about Friends. But so far I've seen three A-Z Challenge posts about friends. I can never ever thank my friends enough for just existing, but I also feel ridiculous writing another post that has been written so much already. And I really don't have much to say on the family-front. What other F-words do I have in my life right now?

Food. I love cooking. I love eating. I miss both. If I had my way, I'd cook a meal or two every day, and baked goods whenever we ran out.

Unfortunately, I don't have enough time to do that. I can cook here and there at random, based on how much time I have, and how much energy. I made french toast last night, when I got home at 10PM. Quick, easy, delicious, and relatively healthy.

Does anyone have any recipe suggestions for foods I can make that take less than 15 minutes? If I could make a meal in only 15 minutes, I might be able to do it more often, which would be good for my mental health (I love cooking) good for my budget (I'm living off a lot of expensive microwave food) and good for my health (see: microwave food).

Recipes?

E is for Eurovision

It turns out that when I find something I like, I get a bit fanatical. A few years ago I started getting into Eurovision. For those who don't know, it's a song contest. European countries who want to participate choose a song, and in May they all get together, and perform live, and... it's a contest so there are winners and greatness all around.

The countries have all chosen their songs now, and released their official music videos. I'm really disappointed that most of the music videos are the singers performing on stage. I mean, I LOVE seeing them perform live, but that's what the contest is for. This pre-contest build up is about.... pre-contest build up. I was looking forward to the videos. Oh well I guess.


Last year, I was certain from the moment I saw it, that Lena was going to win it for Germany. The song was catchy, cute, and any girl who had ever had a crush on a boy could relate. And the singer, well she was just adorable.There was no question in my mind that it was the winner. It wasn't my favorite song, but it was the obvious choice. (For the record, I was supporting Moldova, and am still not over how low they ranked in the final.)

This year, Germany has my favorite entry, with the same singer who won last year, but the song isn't a winner. It just wont make it.

This year, I'm fairly sure Ireland's Jedward will win, with a song called Lipstick. I'm not as certain about it as I was last year about Satellite being the winning song, but I'm still pretty certain. Let me make it abundantly clear that I CANNOT STAND THIS SONG, and that I think the singer (and their hair!) look ridiculous. Just... no thanks.

A part of me wants to bet on it. Last year, I regretted not betting on Lena when I was completely certain she would win (really, I could have made a small fortune!). Another part of me thinks betting on it isn't a good idea. I'm not as certain of the outcome, and, the real issue, if I bet on Jedward, than I would be hoping for them to win, even with a crappy song. I don't want them to win, and I don't even want to lend them my sideways "well if you win I can make some money" sort of support.

D is for "Day late." It's also for dreams

D is a day late, because I didn't have anything to write about. But now I do. And E will be on time today as well.


D is for Dreams. You know, the kind you have at night when you're sleeping. Not the hopes for the future (though those are good too!)


I have been having the wackiest dreams since we moved into our new apartment. I mean, yeah, dreams are weird and strange things happen in them, but the characters in my dreams are always physically accurate. People in my dreams don't fly and cat's don't bark. Magical powers? Rarely, and always appear as special magical abilities, rather than the norm in what world I dream in.

But since we moved into our new apartment, all sorts of weird, unrealistic stuff has been cropping up in my dreams. Last night was the first time I can ever remember having a flying dream. I've heard they're common, but I can't remember having one before. But last night I was flying all over the place, rescuing kittens. A few nights ago, turtles were speaking English like it was no big deal. These things don't happen in my dreams. My dreams are more like I'm seeing through the eyes of some normal person, but the person isn't me (usually). I am inside the body of a 5 year old with two older brothers, and the dream is just a segment of that child's life. Certainly that isn't my life, and that 5 year old isn't me, even though she is. It's like that. That's what my dreams have always been.

Sometimes, after I've just read a book, or written something, I'll put myself in that world, and if in that world, flying people are normal, THEN I might have flying people in my dream. But that's rare. And I haven't had the time lately to read or write.

I'm wondering if it's something in the air, or just my body reacting weird to sleeping in a new place. I dunno. But the dreams confuse me so much that it wakes me up. "Melody, why are you flying people don't fly?" and I wake up. Maybe I'm just not sleeping deeply enough.

Ah well. This was a crap post. Sorry guys!

C is for..... everything!

C is for Crazy, which I am. C is also for the Classes I take, and C is for Chelsea, my best friend. C is for coffee and chocolate, and cream. It's for custody. For children. For College. For Creativity.

I don't know what to write about today. There are so MANY things I could write about. Of all those C words, Custody is the one that jumps out at me the most, but my feelings on it right now are so.... vague. So up in the air, that I don't know what to do.

Two and a half weeks ago, I was looking up what the requirements were for foster homes, and what the rules were about fostering a child from another state. I was contemplating my schedule, seeing what I could change and how it would work. I was re-writing budgets, and mentally re-arranging furniture to make room for my sister in my home.

Something vague happened and she ended up out of her foster home. She was sent to a temporary foster home for the night. That's normal-ish. She woke up the next day and was brought to the DCF office, to wait while they looked for a permanent foster home for her. Again, normal.

No one wanted her.

No foster family would take in a girl with several hospitalizations in the past year. So that night, she went to another temporary house, and the next day, back to the office. And again the day after. And the day after.

Our mother couldn't take her. Her father wouldn't take her. My aunt can't handle her. My father doesn't meet the requirements. Our grandparents can't. Who else does she have left? Just me. So here I was. 20 years old and trying to get temporary custody of a 13 year old.

I was trying to figure out how to squeeze her in between my classes, or how to fix my work schedule so I had time to help her. Or at least time to give her a good morning and good night hug. It just wasn't working. I couldn't figure it out. Every time I found a solution to a problem, another one cropped up.

Do I make enough money to feed her? Pay her electric bill? Do I have the space for her? Does a futon couch count as a bed for her? Is the living room a suitable sleeping arrangement? Can our closet hold her clothes? How will I get her to school? Or will DCF insist on her having her home schooled like she is now? Will she be okay home alone all day? Does she need a private tutor?

and the kicker: I'm 20 years old. Will I be able to make her look at me as a guardian, or just a sister? Do I know enough to do a decent job at steering her in the right direction, for now?

Before I managed to find a suitable answer to my questions, they found a foster home. I was relieved, in a way that I now feel guilty for. I don't think I'm ready to be a parent. I already don't know how I did it when I was at home. Certainly, 20 years old isn't old enough to parent a teenager. Her foster family don't speak much English, and its lonely with no one to talk to in the house. But she's somewhere at least. I can't imagine how much emotional pain she must have been in, and is still in, knowing that, at 13, no one wanted her. I know how much it hurt me when my mom kicked me out at 16. But I still had one other parent to take care of me. She had no one. And I was older. She's in that awful stage that is the beginning of being a teenager. God, I hated being 13.

My mother gets out of her thing (more on that lateR) in a few weeks, and will get my sister out of foster care. The other is still with the family who will adopt her. That's the plan right now.

B is for Book

A few months ago, I found a desktop planner thing that I had for YEARS and never used. I started using it. I fell in love with it. It was GREAT to be able to keep a good to-do list, and it actually kept me going on the things I needed to do. I guess the joy I got crossing things off or something. I don't know. Whatever it was, it worked.

Then I started school. The planner is the size of a full sheet of paper, like a notebook. I could carry it around with me of course, but it was too big for me to just whip it out and cross things off as I did them throughout my day. It wasn't convenient anymore to keep on my desk because I was always on the go. I started looking online for a small planner that would fit inside my purse. I just wanted a do-to list type thing. Not an appointment book where I blocked off sections of time for every task. Apparently, you can't buy those. You either buy a small notebook, or you deal with the timer-style planner, or you don't carry a planner.I would have gotten a small notebook, if small notebooks existed in hard-cover. But they don't. Small notebooks are ALWAYS soft cover, or at least, all the ones I could find were. I would not and could not use a softcover anything. No matter how often I clean it, my purse is a small disaster, and a soft cover notebook would get torn to shreds. (In fact, other soft cover books I've carried, have gotten torn up.)

I had to make my own, if I wanted a hard cover small book. I formatted pages in word, I found cardboard for the covers, I looked up ways to home-bind books, and FINALLY weeks after I decided to do this, It's finished. T

I would put up pictures, but the colors of it DO NOT MATCH and it's ugly. I bound it with a dark red ribbon, and the cover is highlighter-blue. Eventually I plan on buying new ribbon, and changing the cover color, but for now its functional, the pages are how I like them, and the cover is solid. That's what counts. It's great! I'm happy.


And that's my post for "B" so starting tomorrow I'll be all caught up for C! Yay!

A-Z Challenge

I've just signed up for the A-Z Challenge, which, for those who are too lazy to click the link (don't worry, I'd be one of those lazies if I wasn't typing this) is a challenge to write a blog post whose subject starts with the letter of the day, every day of April except sundays.

"But today is april second! You missed a day already!"

Yes, not sorta.... The reason my post is late is the subject of my A-post anyways.

And thesubject is "Abdomen"

I've been sick twice this week. The first time, it was a chest cold, and I got over that fast enough. This time, it was a very very strange pain in my, you guessed it, abdomen. It felt vaguely like a sore throat, only in my stomach. That same burn-y feeling, pain. It didn't come with any nausea, but it hurt like hell.

It came on really suddenly, when I was at work. One moment I was standing around, washing trays. It was so sudden and such a sharp pain that I gasped. I doubled over. I thought "It came on suddenly, maybe it'll leave just as suddenly." but after 45-minutes of walking around bent in half I decided I needed to go home. I didn't feel sick. I just hurt, and I felt silly as crap asking my boss to send me home because of it. But walking bent over wasn't working. I was dropping things, and spilling things. I was a mess.

When I called Jeffrey, he thought it was appendicitis, rushed me to the hospital, and did some weird press-on-my-belly test that apparently doctors and triage nurses do. I didn't have appendicitis, so we didn't go into the hospital. We went home.

It was so bad, that I ended up crying after a while. I just couldn't handle it. Jeffrey decided that it might be an ulcer. His mom said it might be some stomach or intestinal virus. I didn't care. I just wanted it to stop..... and then it did. It just went numb. It was the weirdest thing. Totally completely couldn't feel anything. It was like a giant hole in the middle of my abdomen. Gone. It was the weirdest thing ever. You never realize how much you are aware of your stomach until you suddenly aren't.

I went to bed. What else could I do with a numb stomach? I didn't want to eat, in case it was a virus (didn't want what I ate coming out in an unpleasant way) and if it was an ulcer, those hurt more a while after you eat. And the numbness just freaked me out.

I woke up this morning feeling normal. A but hungry, but my stomach just felt like a stomach. Nothing weird has happened to it all day. No pain, no numbness. Just normal. So we're good.