26 colored candles

Make a wish, Little One.

I think it's supposed to be bad luck to tell my wish?

I suppose everyone knows what I want, anyway.

*blows out candles*

The cherry blossoms are blooming, by the way.

As things change

The phone rang a minute ago: "Hey, hon!" came Adam's voice, cheerful, "Just called to say happy birthday."
"Thank you," I smiled.
"So, how ya doing?"
I shrugged. "Tired, a little depressed, a little in pain."
"Yeah, I know how you feel," he said. "I quit smoking this morning!"
I blinked. "You...quit smoking."
"Yeah!"
"Just like that? You quit?"
"Yup," he said happily. (Actually, he's quit before, several times, and done perfectly well -- he's one of those people who does it for the habit, I think, not the addiction. But whenever he's started again, it was because of the habit and not the addiction).
He laughed. "If you think I was bad last night, wait till you see me tonight!"
Oh yes, I thought. Last night. Oh, gods.
We said goodbye and hung up, and I put my head in my hands.
Last night was very bad. When I came home from work, I saw that the downstairs had been stripped of carpeting. Nothing but concrete, dirt and nails. To get the stink of dog piss out, of course, but so soon?
After Adam came home, his parents immediately demanded that he fix this, fix that, do this, do that, we're lazy and don't want to move, it's your job, kid. Forget anything you want to do. Adam grew angrier by the minute, until around ten-thirty, I had to close the bedroom door and my ears against a roaring screaming match between him and his mother, about why the downstairs, his sanctuary, had been ripped apart, made unsafe, laid bare and cold, so soon. Libby, of course, as she does, threw every guilt-trip in the book, called up all her trump cards, especially the "I had cancer surgery, I'm in pain, I deserve more than you" card that she's been using since January. The screaming got so loud and deep that I actually curled up all the way under the blankets, my head smothered by a pillow.
Later, half asleep, I heard him come to bed, heard him trying not to cry, heard him whisper desperately that he loved me. He confessed that things were better, that they'd both been wrong and they'd both been right about various arguments -- and then, the inevitability of moving out. We have no time left. Next week, we start packing boxes, slowly, a weekend at a time. We must leave by June.
And the screaming hid fear, of course. We are afraid. Adam has lived here for twenty years and of course the last time, he was eight and too young to really comprehend the full intensity of moving to a new home. And I, of course, too comfortable now, not ready to be violently uprooted just because someone else wants to leave. And yes, that's a truth -- Libby wants to leave, leave now, and we must be caught in her hurricane. Never mind anything else.
But this morning, after the alarm went off an six-thirty, he and I held each other and decided that it's okay. This is not our home anymore. Fuck this place; we are leaving. It doesn't matter. We'll be moving out no matter what, getting a house of our own. Just us. Us and our stuff. A place to put all our stuff. Think about that. I am thinking, very happily.
And yet, of course, I feel pure terror and panic, the kind that comes with a rapidly changing life: What if we can't find a house in the next couple of weeks? What if we find a house and then we can't get a mortgage because of one thing or another? Something bad will happen. Something will hurt us.
And of course, I can't think like that. No matter what, we will be fine. Charlotte and Billy have already said that in the worst case scenario, the guest room is, and always will be, our room. But we'll be fine. We will find a house, not perfect but something we like and can live with; I think we will work something out with a lender and will be peaceful at least for a while.
And if my spirit really is a jinni, I hope to gods the wish comes true.
Well, at least he quit smoking. It's a start.
Happy birthday to me.

That's a lot of tea

Note to self: Don't drink half a liter of Rooibos tea in less than an hour and expect to not have to run to the bathroom every five minutes.
Proves just how hooked I am on the stuff.
Also, I found this lovely gem.Quite possibly the most wonderful thing I have seen since I discovered a Yerba Mate skin cream.
Anyone want to buy the Rooibos Tea Facial Serum for me as a birthday present? *crickets*
No? Okay. I'll wait till I can get it myself.

Is Rooibos a CNS stimulant?

Got the Green Rooibos today. The taste is more herbal than the Red. It's still got a honey flavor, but instead of red berries, I taste green herbs. It's good, though, it's very smooth and soft.

However...

Something odd is happening. I think it's from the tea. All of a sudden, my entire brain has become, figuratively, razor sharp; but my muscles are so loose and relaxed that I'm wondering if this may be a treatment for cerebral palsy: Because mine has improved quite a bit all of a sudden.
I guess if you don't have something like CP, you might not fully understand -- it's like a rush of air conditioning under the skin. Nerves are sparking to life as muscles are stretching loose after having been permanently clenched and stiff.
I actually get this feeling, on a temporary basis, every time I take a central nervous stimulant, like caffeine, or my Strattera. It's been on and off since late 2001. I've gotten more than twice the amount of control in my left side, but it waxes and wanes, really -- it's not as thorough as I'd like it to be. I still have CP. But I have better control now. It's a huge blessing, honestly.
But I never thought Rooibos could do it. Rooibos has no caffeine. And I haven't had any coffee or anything that could be a stimulant, so it must be the tea. My attention span, concentration, and alertness are twice what they are normally. My senses are sharp. Everything is bright and intense. This makes very little sense. There is that extraordinary rush of cool, loose sensation all down my left side, all those muscles and nerves waking and dancing and stretching and yes, breathing. I feel like a bird, hollow bones, sharp eyes, sharp ears. Then again, every day I have been steeping a teabag and then pouring the water into a liter bottle of water and adding more water -- and drinking half of that in just the morning. That is a lot of tea.
I need someone else to experiment with me, tell me I'm not alone. How can a tea make dead parts of the brain come alive? It's not a drug, not a chemical. Is it?

The wedding invitations are here...

Now we just have to make mailing address labels. I've got most of everyone's addresses, except just a few *coughBanecough* so everything is starting to fall into place. Yes, the bridesmaids will be wearing pale blue, and the theme colors will be blue, silver and white. No, I don't have a middle name, legally. I use Rose as a power name. Also, it sounds good as an unofficial middle name.
I'm feeling... good.

On tonight's episode of "Lost"

*eyes bulge*
AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!
AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!

Wow.
Whew.
Well... maybe the mysterious magical island has, um, ways of bringing people back from the dead. You know, like in X-Files and Buffy, when people died all the time and came back a week later.

House hunting. Wedding prepping.

Ideally:
Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a basement, hopefully a yard. Near a Metro station. Under $250K. That shouldn't be too difficult, right?

Tomorrow, we meet with a professional wedding photographer, Paul Fleming. I love the work on his website, which was why I picked him out of the few choices I had. I actually like the idea of a professional. We were just going to give everyone little cameras. This is much better. And I need to call back that judge we spoke with, to make an appointment so she can actually perform the ceremony. So much to do, absoloutely no free time. Hooray!