My Glass is Half Full of Sour Milk

I had a brief moment today when it seemed like I was almost getting sick of feeling sorry for myself, so I’d better hurry up and get my whining in now. Here goes:

  • Donald Trump is taking away the possibility of me living near my  family by dismantling Obamacare and nominating a Secretary of Education who believes special needs education is not a worthwhile investment. I can’t insure Max in the U.S. without Obamacare’s pre-existing condition clause, and he is blossoming in his specially-calibrated, generously funded spot in German preschool.
  • Because Trump is such a schmuck and so much needs to be done about it, my recommendation for wonton soup is not getting the wide audience that it deserves (I am an asshole in lots of ways but I don’t go around posting recipes when what we need are riots.)
  • Max was in the hospital again last weekend. It was especially tough on Tobias, who took him to the ER and watched him get heart-stopping medicine while I was obliviously enjoying my Saturday morning yoga class.
  • Tobias deserves some self-care but I am being a chit about his 3-night solo ski trip this weekend. I already had 60 minutes of yoga this month; I should be cool about this, right? I’m not.
  • We were tired and stressed so we missed our appointment with the social services office about being foster parents to a refugee kid. Not only does this put us out of the running for being helpful in that way, it also makes me wonder what the fuck we were thinking. We can’t even make it to the first appointment? How out of touch are we about how we’re doing? But then I get mad at myself for thinking that way because lots of people are way worse off than we are, they’ve worked incredibly hard to get to Germany and we have an extra bedroom… there’s really no good reason that we shouldn’t be pitching in. We couldn’t even get off our asses to go to one meeting?! Jesus. Selfish fucks. See also: ski vacation, energy for and ski vacation, wife response.
  • Max had an EEG last Tuesday and I still haven’t been able to get the results, and when I explain that I would appreciate a quick response in light of his upcoming electro-cardiology appointment, recent cardiac emergency, and the possible link between seizure activity and tachycardia episodes, it sounds like, “Please fast tell me, fast heart problem, maybe head problem, too, ok?” and if there is a single ounce of smugness when the administrative assistant takes my fourth message and assures me that if there were a serious problem the doctor would have already called me, it makes me so fucking frustrated I can feel my cheeks swelling from the blood pressure surge because, despite having set myself up for language and culture and general understanding problems, I DO NOT LIKE TO BE PATRONIZED and, unfortunately, when I complain about the EEG result issue to Tobias and he offers to call, ‘patronization’ is the category his offer falls into. I’ve always been a shitty patient, now I’m a shitty advocate, a failing mother, and a bitchy wife. Not all of the time, maybe, but too often.
  • All of this is making it very difficult to enjoy Nutella on rice cakes, and that was difficult enough when Obama was president. That did not need to get harder.

Waah, waah, I have to decide between socialized medicine and enough space for a countertop toaster. Meanwhile my Lithuanian friends are coming to visit and our weekend planning was interrupted by a quick discussion of wether or not her parents are ok, given that Nato just sent German troops to Lithuania in case Russia invades.

Luckily, this blog doesn’t really count as journalism so I can safely say FUCK YOU, PUTIN, AND FUCK YOU, TRUMP. I might not be all sunshine and roses right now but I’m a hell of a lot better off than you two miserable bastards.

I might have to protest you, but you have to BE you.





Tune in next week for wonton recipes and an apology about saying fuck so much.

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