I could use some good vibes today.

I go in this afternoon for that needle biopsy of the lump. I’m not thrilled about the concept of being stuck in the tit with a giant needle, but that’s just pain, and I can deal with pain. No, I’m afraid of the results.

Rationally, I know that it’s probably nothing.

Emotionally, however, even though I’ve tried to squash it and talk myself out of it, I’m still afraid. I’m scared because my mom had cancer at a relatively young age (although what, 20 years older than I am now? Mom?) that also didn’t show up on the X-rays. I’m scared because one of my friends had it in both sides at exactly my age, and I had to watch her go through it twice.

I’m afraid of ghosts at this point, but the potential is still there, and that’s what’s worrying me. I spent a long night last night thinking about trying to treat cancer with hardly any leave built up on my job. I worried about not being able to care for the kids. I worried about not being able to keep up with my business. Is this a good time to change jobs, or would I become uninsurable mid-treatment?

I’m driving myself in today because it is just a quick procedure after all, but it occurred to me that if I do need a ride home, every single one of my friends happen to be out of town today. My parents and my new boyfriend and my business partner are all up the hill; Marci’s across the other hills, JJ is building a house somewhere down south, my landlord’s run off to Georgia, and Dennis is working with Cowboy who knows where. Who would I call? A taxi?

I’m a little ticked at myself for being so emotional about it too. Dealing with physical things stoically is sort of what I do, but if I can’t have a private freak out in my own journal, where can I? I know intellectually that it will be fine; that I’ll just drive myself back on in to work and finish the day, but the fear’s still there. And it will eat at me until I get the test results back; this is going to be a long weekend.

Maybe I’ll ignore John’s grounding long enough to take the kids to the movies and take my mind off of it. Maybe I’ll start my garden. At least we have a baseball game on Saturday and a job that I have to drag the kids to — if I keep my mental idle time at a minimum, I’ll be better off.

Oh, speaking of baseball, Seamus finally had his first game last night — the previous two were rained out. And he got a hit on his very first pitch of the season! And on the second time at-bat too! Sure, he was tagged out both times, but that’s a huge improvement for a kid that got maybe four hits last year. He’s number three in the line-up this year! Although I’m not sure why they have him stuck out in right field, but the little girl on second base choked, so maybe he’ll play that position next time.

They lost, but not by much, and they were playing his old (undefeated) team from last season. This is the first real game that he’s lost, and I was happy to see that it’s every bit as fun as winning.

Yay, baseball!

Edited to add: crap, now they’ve cancelled the biopsy and want to run an MRI first. Tomorrow. So I have more time to stress about things, goody. Let’s just get this over with!

I am about to commit the cardinal journaling sin of being pissed at one’s workplace and documenting it. Will it help if I email my entry to myself to post tonight? Doubt it.

So.

Meeting in Sac today; no big deal. I was on the road and on my way when the mother of California storms came crashing down upon me. It was no hurricane, sure, but when visibility all of a sudden drops to ten yards with the wipers on high and idiot drivers fail to slow down, things become unsafe rather quickly.

I picked a truck and followed him slowly, because I couldn’t see smaller vehicles. And I pulled off at the next exit, which is where I fuel up anyway.

And of course, I picked the pump that wasn’t working and had to try twice and then run in to bitch at the cashier for not putting a sign on it, while fending off a sideways downpour. A sidepour, I guess.

When I (finally) got done with that and drove back to get on the highway, I suddenly felt awfully good about merely being wet and pissed. I could see the road from the overpass, and it wasn’t moving.

In fact, it looked just exactly like I’d narrowly missed being in a big ol’ wreck, because I could see it from there and lights and sirens were on their way.

I said to hell with that and turned around and headed for home. New guy checked on the internet for me and said yep, the highway was closed one exit north of me, and the storm was getting uglier.

I called the boss to let him know that there was no way I was going to make it to the meeting. And he had the nerve to give me shit for it! Like a meet-n-greet with some big shots that I will never deal with is worth risking life (and truck) for? I think not! I threw the safety issue in their faces, because that’s the corporate ace in the hole for us lowly types. We’d best not pull that card out often, but it sure as hell shuts them up when we do flash it.

I’m soaked to the skin from the knees down, which is sort of a feat in boots, but at least I’m in my own office and not stuck in traffic or upside down or something.

It’s like having a baby; if you wait until the right time, you’re never going to do it. There is no right time, conditions are not ever perfect, and you just drive on with what you’ve got and hope for the best.

He and I both have all sorts of external stressors going on. They’re fairly heavy loads to lay on new lovers. But he says he can handle mine and I can handle his.

His stories are his to tell, but mine are mine to splash all over the internet if I so choose. You know about my Grampa, who’s actually doing pretty well. He’s been getting up and dressed every day and is planning on going out to play bridge on his usual Wednesday this week. They’ve called in Hospice, which will smooth the road when they actually need that service.

My other stressor is the whole lump thing. It’s been a bit of a roller coaster. My boob-squishing results were negative and my surgeon convinced me that everything was normal. Normal, but go in for an ultrasound just to be sure.

An ultrasound that I can plainly see a lump on. Yeah, not so much with the reassuring. The tech said that she was sure it was just a lymph node, but when I get a message on my machine that cheerfully says that they’ve scheduled me for a biopsy, I’m all over the worrying again. That will be on Thursday, and if I want my hand held, he has volunteered. I don’t know if I’ll need it yet, or if I want a new boyfriend to have to face that with me.

Having someone’s arms to run to is so very reassuring. It’s having a center of calm in a tropical storm of a life, and I think he feels the same way. We’re getting to know each other better all the time, and I have yet to spot any red flags. I’ve only clicked so well with someone twice before in my life; I married one of those and lived with the other one. I’m not saying that this will turn into that, because the dice have no memory, but I like it and I’m appreciating him for all I can.

So yes, it was a nice weekend.

How funny that I don’t want to write when things are going well, but I’m all over the complaining and bitching when everything’s in the crapper. So, in the interest of proving that I have not dropped off the face of the earth, been kidnapped by a misguided attention-whore, or fallen in the well, here are things that are going well:

Work: I don’t like to write about work, but I will do the happy dance about getting a raise. Money is good, and a raise clearly indicates that they have no real idea about what I do all day. It’s not a huge raise, but hey; at least it’s not a firing or even a scowl and a lecture.

Business: More fun to write about, because who’s going to fire me for it? Me? I think not. I’m a very cool boss.

Once I have underlings, all will change.

“You! Get your feet off of the desk and get to work!”

Sorry, just practicing to be a slave driver there.

Did it work?

Did I startle you at least?

Should I get to the freakin’ point already? Good idea.

Anyway, I finally got a request for a proposal for that survey. You know, the one for which I went to school on my own dime more than a year ago, but then got cheated out of the bid process? Turns out the guys that did it were hilariously inadequate, and the client wants me to do it right. Right on!

Except I’ve never done one before, or submitted a formal proposal, so there’s a serious learning curve going on with that. I had a wild-assed ballpark figure in my head. Good thing I kept it in my head, because once I counted buildings and crunched numbers, it’s looking like it will be at least twice that. Some 300 hours worth of work if they accept my bid, all of which will have to be done at times that I’m not on my day job. Good thing daylight runs late in the summer.

I was all set to turn it in today, but while I was stuck behind the damn train this morning, I pulled it out and found a typo. So tomorrow I’ll turn it in and hope that they don’t laugh me out of the office. I’m also nervous that they’ll accept it and my first survey job is going to be this monster. Way to start small there!

Relationships: Wow, it’s early to call this that, but I think that’s what I’ve got a hold of here. Also going well, with lots of talking (since I do have the kids this week) and getting to know one another. I suspect that we’ll both have to keep the brakes on the emotions. I for one, am not ready to dive completely in yet. Still, no red flags and I’m enjoying the ride. And so is he, which is cool.

Kids: Er, actually the kids are driving me batshit. Both happen to be grounded right now for school-related issues. But baseball season has begun, so at least there’s that to look forward to.

And the weather’s beautiful and spring is here and I’m in an inexplicable good mood. OK, probably easily explained. The spark is back in my life. Fun to live, not so much to read about, but you’ll hear no apologies from me!

This upcoming weekend is a trip to Pismo that I’ve been looking forward to for a few months.

Did I say, “is?” Excuse me, I meant, “was.”

My poor landlady, who is one-half of the couple that has introduced me to this particular four-wheeling crowd, is in the hospital. At first they suspected heart problems, but now they’re thinking that she may have had a seizure. She’s doing OK, but I doubt that she’ll be well enough to take a road trip in three days.

I don’t exactly feel comfortable enough with these people to go on my own, although they’re all terribly nice. The Jeffs are going too, but since Big Jeff is bringing all of his DJ equipment and two women that I’ve never met, I was really planning on hanging around with the other half of the crowd. Camping is not supposed to be about blasting music and karaoke, but more of a drinking around the campfire sort of thing. So I’m not going if Marv and Connie don’t go.

I’m not at all unhappy about blowing it off; I was kind of hoping that the weather would be annoying enough to justify flaking anyway. After all, I can go down there and be the fifth wheel in a crowd of couples, or I can stay home and spend some time with my own new man. Yeah, the choice is pretty obvious there, isn’t it? (He couldn’t go; I asked.)

JJ can ride down with Big Jeff. After I called to warn him, he obviously called Big Jeff, who then called to give me shit. He said that we didn’t have to camp with the other people, but that would be worse from my end. Why would I want to go watch the boys get it on with strange women? Does not sound like my idea of a fun weekend, even if I didn’t have something better to do waiting at home.

And the icing on the cake is that I get to go to Seamus’ actual first game (last night’s was rained out.) I didn’t want to miss any of his games anyway. So I shall stay home, work on my business, be a baseball mom, and spend some time with my new squeeze. Sounds like an ideal weekend to me!

I typically keep to the superficial in this here thing. Superficial is easier, and hell, I’m pretty damn shallow sometimes anyway.

If I have hard stuff on my mind, as often as not, I’ll just clam up about it. Denial is my buzzword, after all.

So it’s hard to write this, as if writing it would make it truer.

My Grampa is dying.

He’s 91 and in and out of the hospital. He’s had all of the bypasses that he can stand. He has lymphoma, but that won’t be what kills him. He’s wasting away to nothing before our eyes. He had a heart attack last week, and nobody even called me because the hospital just sent him home to be more comfortable. He could have a week or a month or a year, but we really don’t think it will be a year.

He’s fine with this. He had an outstanding run, but now he’s tired and ready to move on. He’s been preparing the rest of us for his dying. On our cruise to Alaska, he brought it up and I burst into tears, but now I’m becoming more and more accepting. This is what he wants. He’s been swearing that he wouldn’t see 92.

The only catch is Gramma. This has been really hard on her, especially with all of the roller coaster ups and downs, in and out of the hospital, on death’s door and then playing bridge. It’s exhausting her, and from what Mom says, she’s getting ready for it to be over too. They’re just tired.

I found myself thinking about writing his eulogy this weekend. I don’t know that I’ll be the one to do that; for all I know, he’s already got one all ready to go. And even if I did write one, would I be able to read it without falling apart? But I’ve been thinking about him a lot, and phrases keep floating around in my head. We’ve become close in the last few years and I am the writer in the family, so I think I may try to do him justice. Don’t know if I’ll be able to, but I’ll try.

Between this and a spark being relit in me, I don?t know which way to turn. It’s all very overwhelming, but I suspect that I may have someone around to hold my hand when the time comes, and that’s invaluable.

So life goes on, no matter what you do.

It’s my kid pick-up night and not coincidentally, pizza night. We like pizza night. We have a coupon!

But their father offers to take one kid for the night to facilitate Opening Day logistics. I say no, thinking of pizza. I will pick up the kid and the uniform.

Then my wheels start turning.

I’ve been getting to know him over the phone, and feeling disappointed that it will be a whole ten days before we have the opportunity to meet in person. The ex doesn’t care and will bring the kids to the ball field on Saturday.

So I make a phone call. He does some rearranging of his own schedule.

And at 8 PM, I’m sitting in the good Mexican place’s parking lot, watching for Dodge headlights. I never noticed before just how many Fords are in this blighted town.

But there’s a Dodge, and I know it’s him even though I didn’t think to ask what color to look for.

He kisses me on the cheek hello, and I go meet the galumphing dog that he had to bring with him.

The first thing I notice is that his eyes are surrounded by smile lines. That doesn’t show in the pictures, but you can hear it in his voice, so it’s not news, just reassurance.

We sit by the window so we can keep an eye on the dog. We talk, tripping over each other at first, until the kitchen staff have closed down, made us sing Happy Birthday to another table, and are hanging out waiting for us all to go home.

I ask him to come have a beer with me, warning him that I don’t have anything that he’ll consider good. He grins, and says he’ll make do.

He meets the dog, who instantly adores him. Dog is not a good judge of character and loves everyone, but I like that anyway.

We sit and talk for more hours. The more we talk, the more we find in common, and obscure things too, like a fondness for old Pontiacs. We scoot closer and closer to each other.

He’s kind and funny and makes my gut flip. He’s interested in a relationship and I believe that I am too. I’m comfortable with him.

And we start something. I don’t know just what yet, but I like it, and I’m looking forward to spending more time with him.

Since I like this man and I’d like to meet him, my thoughts have been on first dates lately. Where, how to suggest, and some good and bad ones I’ve had in the past; that sort of thing.

The last time I was doing this internet dating thing, most of my meetings were at coffee shops or cafes. This time, although there haven’t been that many, Starbucks seems to be the ideal place. You can get something to keep your hands busy, it’s crowded enough to be very public, there’s one in every town, they don’t care if you linger, and it’s easy enough to cut the date off when you’re done with your coffee or suggest that you take it to dinner. Enough people do this that the baristas totally know what you’re up to. The last one gave me the sympathetic eye, which I totally should have taken as a sign. They know their blind dates, those baristas.

But I don’t really drink coffee, and this sounds just a little mundane and stereotypical. I may suggest it with this new guy, but there’s so much pressure to having no entertainment but conversation. With someone that you really like, that’s fine, but it can be so excruciatingly nerve wracking when you’re not really clicking that sometimes it would just be better to have something else to focus on. Not something so distracting that you can’t pay attention to the other person; after all, that’s what you’re there for, but a built-in escape route. So a rock concert would be right out.

I’m actually considering using the trip I need to make anyway to the Huge Adult Beverage Store as a crutch. We’ve discussed that place before; he’s really into fancy beers, and like many religious converts, seems to want to spread the joy. I think he would be happy to educate me on the finer points of carbonated beverages, and really, I need a nice bottle of Irish Whiskey anyway for my upcoming trip.

So, shopping as a first date? It could work — if we decide that we’re really not doing it for each other, then shake hands at the checkout line and call it a day. If more investigation is required, then move on over to a nearby restaurant or coffeehouse. And if it goes really well, then obviously, sampling of the purchases is required.

This may be moot, as I don’t know that he’s ready to take the meeting plunge. I’ve noticed that men tend to be a little shy sometimes, and he’s admitted that he’s nervous about meeting and wants to get to know me first. And I’m in no hurry, but this particular trip needs to happen for me before my camping trip, so if he’s not ready, it will have to be somewhere else. Hell, he may have a favorite place too. Just  not in the desolated woods please!

I think Murphy has a hand in it, but every time I get well and truly fed up with online dating, I seem to meet someone nice.

Last time I threw my hands up in disgust, Sarge came along not two weeks later. True, that was a real-life sort of thing, but he at least washed some of the general dating-bitterness taste from my mouth.

And this time wasn’t any different. I got pissed and took my ad down but still browsed out of sheer nosiness. And the very next day, a guy popped on that was really interesting, so I emailed him. I told him that my profile wasn’t active but that I’d turn it back on for him for the day so he could see who he was talking to. I didn’t expect a response, since I’ve been thoroughly trained by now not to, but he surprised me.

We’ve been emailing for the last couple of weeks and finally got it together for our first phone call today. Three hours flew by like a shot—and he says he’s not a big phone person either. We just really hit it off, on the phone, at least.

He’s a little farther away than is ideal for me and moving still farther, but I like him enough to ignore that part for now. He’s intelligent and funny and very outdoorsy and just my kind of guy. He says he’s really shy in person, so we’ll do some more talking before we get to that point, which is on the healthy side anyway.

I like this; I could use a little spark in my life, even if it’s just a potential of one for now. And if it doesn’t work out that way, well, maybe some of my optimism has crept back in. This could be fun.

Today is my small son’s birthday, although we celebrated it on Sunday.

I know it’s stereotypical for a parent to moan about how old their kids are getting, and how old that makes them feel, but this particular kid’s age has been my milestone for life. For some reason, I usually pick around this time of year to think about where I am and where I’m going, and I relate it to his age (he’s eight today.)

It might be because my “real life” started about the same time as his. I found out that I was pregnant with him the same month that I finally drug myself out of the house and got a good job — the start of the career that I’m in now, as a matter of fact.

And a bare two years later, when Seamus was 18 months old, was when I packed up and moved out and began my life in earnest. He doesn’t remember a time when his father and I lived together, and that’s a good thing.

And he’s been such a little guy for so long. I considered him small for longer than my older son, just because he is the younger one, and got to hold onto the baby status longer.

But he’s not that little any more. He can read like crazy, he loves Little League, and he’s much better at karate than I am. He’s developed his own sense of self, and I like who he’s becoming.

Being the younger boy, he’s had a lot of hand-me-downs in his life. Even if he gets something new, his four-years-older brother has usually got to experience having the same thing first. He has really wanted some music implement of his own, both because he likes music and so he can be more like his brother.

But I went one better this year, and got him something that John doesn’t even have. I got him an iPod Shuffle, and he’s over the moon for it. Sure, I could have got him a cheaper MP3 player, but the cool factor was part of the present. He’s thrilled to death, and listens to it every chance he gets. In fact, he’s becoming a bit of a turd about rubbing it in and gloating that he has one to his friends, but I think we can control that.

It’s nice to see a present so successful at least.

Happy Birthday, kiddo.