Tired? Who, Me?

Tired doesn't even begin to convey the deep, bone-weariness I'm experiencing right now. It's been a hell of a week so far. However, because I'm a whiny sort of bitch, I felt the need to moan and snarl to everyone out there. Warning: this has the potential to be a snarky post.

Let's start with Monday, shall we?

Hubster, Emma, and I left the house at 5:15 a.m. to head to Mom's house first (to drop off Emma for the day - she's too big for her pen, and our furniture would be turned into matchsticks if we left her running around without us here), and then hit the road to go to the prison. I had called ahead to make sure the block was on regular operation (no lockdowns, riots, escapes, or pissed-off CO's), so I was sure everything would go as planned. We got there on time, saw Bill waiting for me, and I was about to get out of the truck when Hubster asked if I knew his new phone number (since we got the BlackBerries, we also got new numbers). I told him I didn't know it or need it, but he insisted and wrote it on a piece of paper. I stuck it in my pocket and headed into the prison.

Things went just fine - Bill dropped me off at C Facility, telling me that he was going to be working in another part of the prison for most of the morning. He gave me the phone number where he could be reached, and I headed into the block. After getting my siren and keys, I entered the yard. Hm. Something was wrong.

There were NO INMATES. NONE. NADA. Shit.

There were, however, a bunch of CO's wandering around the yard, with a group of them standing in front of the chapel. Great, I thought - maybe there was a stabbing or disturbance of some kind, and they'll be letting the guys go in a few minutes. I walked up to the chapel doors and was about to open them when I asked one of the CO's what was going on. Then I heard the dreaded words - RIOT TRAINING. I asked when the inmates would be released and was told in two or three hours. Then, as I was unlocking the door so I could phone Bill for a ride back out of the prison and call Hubster (thank goodness I took the phone number), another CO with a lollipop in his mouth came up and told me that I'd have to leave - that they were using live grenades and loaded AK-47's. I just stared at him, told him I'd leave when I was done making my phone calls, and slammed the door in his face. I bet GI Joe doesn't walk around the inmates with a lollipop sticking out of his mouth. Think jokes - prison jokes - about a man with a hard stick-like thing in his mouth.

I tried Hubster first and got his voice mail. Huh? He told me he would have his phone on and would listen for a call. Then I tried Bill. I got his voice mail, too. What the fuck? After about 15 minutes of frantic phoning, I finally got ahold of both of them. It turns out that Hubster was already in the parking lot waiting for me, and Bill... well, who knows where he was. I hung up the phone, looked around, and burst into tears. I hadn't realized how badly I wanted to see my boys, and once again, I wasn't being allowed to. It wasn't the long drive, or the uselessness of it all - I wanted to spend time with them. So I locked up and trudged back out to the front of the block to await Bill.

Since I had to drive back to Sacramento today for a doctor's appointment, I asked Bill if we could hold the class this morning. He said he would check to see if there were any conflicts and to call him after 4:00 p.m. I called him - several times. I've yet to hear from him, and now he's gone on vacation until the 14th. Then I called the office to see if a ducket had been filed. My boys were doing a sweat this morning at 8:00 a.m. I know if they heard that I wanted to have the class this morning, they would have scheduled their sweat for another time. Shit. Double shit. Now I have to wait for two weeks, and that marks the beginning of my last four classes with them. It's horribly depressing.

Yesterday, as usual, I was wiped out from the drive. I slept for a good portion of the day. Fast forward to today.

Our drive to the doctor's was uneventful. I told Hubster that on the way home, I wanted to stop at the Harley Davidson store in Livermore to get the stuff I needed for my class. We got to Lathrop, and he noticed a really large HD store on the side of the freeway. "Want to stop there instead?", he asked me. I told him to pull off the freeway, and we parked in front of a gleaming store with a shitload of new bikes in front and even more inside. Heaven. What's more, the name of the dealership is "Eagle's Nest". That's the name of our new home. Tell me that isn't a sign.

After entering the store, I was directed upstairs for the clothing. The gentleman helping me was extremely knowledgeable and fitted me with boots, gloves, and a helmet in record time. Then I found out that if you buy a new bike, they give you their riding course free. It's something pretty new - used to be if you bought a Harley, you'd better know how to ride. This course is more comprehensive than the one I'm signed up for, with two days of class and more riding time. You also take your DMV test at the end of class and get your license right then and there. Of course, I had to look at the bikes.

I'm sure you all know I was going to buy a Vespa, but the Sportster wasn't that much more than a Vespa. I took one look at a deep purple one, sat on it, stood it up, and fell in love. I think I'll be going back to buy that bad boy and take their course instead. I can see it now - I'm turning into a leather biker babe (well, the leather and biker parts are accurate). Wait until one of my boys hears this. He builds custom bikes and will be thrilled all to shit. Even Hubster is excited about it. I think he wants to learn how to ride it himself. Fine. He can learn how to ride, but he's going to have to buy his own bike. Harley even has a few models which offer his and hers bikes. The Sportster is one of them.

So now we're home, and I'm so tired that I can barely see straight. Even though I'm sure I'll get rotten produce hurled at me for saying this, I have to tell you that I'm one of the few who didn't vote because I never do. In fact, I've voted only once in my life, and that was when I first became old enough to do so. All the same, I'm really disappointed that Prop 8 passed. I just don't understand the mindset of people who fear gay and lesbian couples being granted the same benefits and privileges all people in love who marry are given. It's stupid, and I'm ashamed that in this state, the state that's supposed to be the bellwether for everyone else, the state where The Summer of Love happened, the state that everybody else around the country makes fun of for our colorful residents and open lifestyles, would quash such a basic right. I'm also sorry that prostitution wasn't decriminalized (San Francisco only, but it's a start). I say, make it legal and check the girls often for HIV and other STD's. It would cut down on the number of johns who become sick, would protect the girls, and might get them away from pimps who beat and otherwise mistreat them. I am glad, however, that the one about animal mistreatment (was that Prop 2?) passed. I couldn't even watch the commercials - they were so heartbreaking that I sobbed when they came on.

One thing I'm VERY happy about - my shows are back to normal, and there are no more boring political commercials to suffer through. I'm always a realist. Take off People's Court for election coverage? What the hell is wrong with the people who do programming?

So now, I'm going to go curl up on the Monster (Emma is passed out for the evening - the grands wear her out), read a little, knit a little, and most likely fall asleep. Then I'll wake up at some ungodly hour, eat something for dinner, and go back to sleep. I really need more sleep - my body is beginning to scream from all the abusive treatment I'm doling out to it.

Oh... I'm receiving a shipment of a new base yarn from Jenny Boully (of Woolly Boully) dyed in the most delicious colorways. It should be here by Saturday. Tomorrow is a heavy work day, and we have a ton of stuff to get listed. To all of you who ordered during the sale, your packages go out tomorrow. I've barely been home and awake long enough to get your orders packaged up. Thank you for being patient. I've got a shitload of new artists' work to photograph, and the website has to be finished (wait until you see it!) before the ad hits on the 15th. It's not that far away.

One last bit of bitchery: Hubster will be gone all next week on a business trip. He's going to Raleigh, North Carolina. It's the first time in all the years we've been married that he'll be gone, and I'm barely able to keep myself together. I'm so used to him being with me that I don't know what I'll do with myself. The days will be long; the nights, longer. I hate it when he leaves for the day; now he'll be gone a week. I'm already in mourning. I'm sure that sounds silly to those of you who have normal lives and go off to work each day, or who are used to a spouse leaving for work while you stay home. I'm not used to that. I'm not happy about it. I burst into tears last night when I was talking to him about it, and I know I'll blubber like a total ass when I drop him off at the airport. Sigh.

So off to sleepyland I go. I'm barely able to see the screen now.

That's after I have a ciggie and a cuppa, though. Can't go to sleep without having had those two bastions of healthy living.