That's IT, We're Switching To Comcast

Verizon once again took it upon themselves to cancel today's service appointment, because they tested our line remotely (who knows when?!) and found everything to be in good working order. We had no Internet connection for six hours yesterday, and today they said that we should have called them then and complained. Um, WHY would I sit on hold for an hour to tell them that we're having the same problem we've been having for weeks, when we ALREADY had an appointment scheduled with them today?? If I'd known they were going to cancel our service request even after we explained the situation and specifically asked them not to, then yeah, I would have called.

Marcus was none too friendly with them this morning. The problem is that our Internet connection keeps going out and coming back randomly, and their response was essentially, "We can't come out unless the connection is out at the moment you make the complaint, the moment we check the line before your appointment (whenever THAT is), and the moment we arrive at your door." Since the problem is intermittent, can't be predicted, and often happens in the middle of the night (we frequently wake up to find that we have no Internet), what the hell are we supposed to do? Keep paying full price for a service that doesn't work half the time and that they refuse to fix?

So, yeah. Marcus is calling Comcast today to see if we can get the guy to come out on Friday. Verizon has been one long, ugly fail for far too long.

Just One More Day

The Verizon guy is due to come by tomorrow. Hopefully we'll get this Internet thing straightened out then and I can get back to blogging regularly (and so I can finally research the answers to my last Pregnant Lady Quiz!). Right now my only dependable online access is at work, which doesn't help much.

In the wonderful world of trying to conceive, I think that I'm going to concede to Fertility Friend; I don't think anymore that this was an anovulatory cycle. Perhaps it was just a less progesterone-y cycle. Despite the lack of post-ov symptoms, my usual luteal temperature pattern (temperature spike at 6 dpo, then a rocky downward trend leading inevitably to the premenstrual plunge) is spot on. I suppose I should be grateful for the fact that I can now recognize what a failed chart looks like a week before my period is due; I haven't tested even once and I don't think that I'm going to. My chart looks exactly like it always does.

On a sadder note (don't I always have one?), one of the women who lost her pregnancy last month managed to get pregnant again immediately, and just as quickly lost the second one. Two miscarriages in two months. The stuff of fucking nightmares.

I cleaned up cat puke three times today. How was everyone else's weekend?

Verizon Hates Us

Forgive my recent absence. Our Internet access has been really iffy and Verizon doesn't seem to be as interested in fixing the problem as they are in charging us for a service that doesn't work. Hopefully we can get this taken care of soon. In the meantime, hang on, friends.

Powerless

I had a terrifying experience last night. Marcus and I are temporarily sleeping on the futon in the living room until our new mattress and boxspring are delivered (we don't have a date yet, but hopefully next week). I woke up several times during the night due to the cats being absolutely delighted over our presence; I guess they thought we were having a sleepover.

Anyway, despite the fact that my slumber was being constantly interrupted by an overactive kitten, I found it quite easy to fall asleep almost instantly after each disturbance. After squirting the kitten with water yet again for pouncing on my feet, I closed my eyes and almost immediately started to dream - or at least kind of hallucinate. It was awful. I didn't see anything, but there was a threatening chorus of robotic voices loudly declaring something in my head (I don't remember what) and it was freaking me out, so I opened my eyes...

...and found that I could not move a muscle.

Holy crap, it was terrible. The dream-voices stopped the moment I opened my eyes. I could see the living room clearly enough by the light coming in from our front porch, and I could hear myself breathing very heavily, very panicky. I was awake. But I could not move. I was paralysed.

After a few long seconds I closed my eyes again, waited another second or two, and then jerked my arms violently. I was okay again.

I Googled it today and it seems that it was a random occurrence of sleep paralysis, which happens when you wake up, but your brain still thinks that you're asleep and so continues to shut off all or part of your voluntary motor function. It's not all that uncommon and can be accompanied by hallucinations like mine was.

That was not cool, brain. Not cool at all.

Bad Dreams

Marcus doesn't have to work today, so I got up alone. As I was getting dressed, he mumbled sleepily, "How did you sleep?"

"I dreamt that my brother was dead."

He sat straight up in bed, suddenly awake. "So did I."

I looked at him. "How did he die?"

"He was shot."

I sat down on the bed with him, put a hand on his shoulder, kissed him. "I have to go to work," I said.

"How did he die in your dream?" he asked.

"I don't know. He was killed in the line of duty. I don't know any more than that."

..............

I'm in a bad mood. It's not the first time that I've dreamed about the death of someone I love, and I know it won't be the last time. But dreams like that just make me think about all of the fucked-up, terrible dreams I've had over the years. The ones that are much, much, much worse than the one I had last night. You wouldn't think that there COULD be a dream much worse than that of my little brother, a 22-year-old rookie cop, being murdered...but there are. Oh, yes.

An Uninvited Guest

It's been an eventful few days since my last update. In the course of that single weekend, I've had to evacuate my home, give away my kitties (temporarily, but my heart hurts just the same), and go back to living in a tiny room in my parents' house - only, instead of having the small space to myself, I have to share it with another full-grown human being (my husband, of course).

The reason? Mold. There is black mold growing in the basement bathroom, and our appointment to have it sampled and tested is not until Saturday. Since we have no way of knowing until then whether it is mold of the toxic variety, we are playing it safe, which means that my house will lie empty and cold for Christmas.

There are three things that upset me most about this situation. In no particular order, they are:

• Money. Mold remediation is not at all inexpensive.
• My cats. They are staying with a friend and I miss them terribly. A couple times I've mistaken the sound of the children in my mom's daycare downstairs to be the sound of Rocky chirping or meowing, before remembering that they aren't there. I've also got a rather immature fear that Rocky and Charlie are going to end up loving their caretakers more than they love me.
• My little passenger. I have no way of knowing how, if at all, the spores in my house could have affected her development. There just isn't any hard data out there on this sort of thing. I've found all sorts of terrifying anecdotes, but that's it.

The best I can hope for, as far as peace of mind goes, is that the mold is confirmed as something more harmless, rather than the nasty stuff. We'll see how it goes.