Nothing is Real. And Nothing to Get Hung About.

Luke stopped at home to pick up his stuff for Daddy's for the weekend, and was exuberant to rush into the house and find me a) here at all and b) awake in the dining room. Despite my best efforts to shout "STAY AWAY FROM ME!" he hugged me with tear-jerking enthusiasm, saying that he'd written a note on a piece of paper, having given it to his teacher, to pray that I wouldn't have to go to the hospital today. He doesn't like to admit it, but it scares him a lot when I take my all-too-frequent trips to the hospital, and believe me, I narrowly escaped it this time. He said he needed an extra-big hug when he left with The Other Grandma (the Jack Daniel's slinger) for the weekend. Thank GOD I don't have to take care of a child this weekend and can recuperate in relative peace, as every time I cough, I wince in the pain of my busted tailbone. One. Hot. Mess.

It started out with a little case of the sniffles a few days ago. Now I have bacterial pneumonia. My oxygen saturation was at 90% on room air today, which isn't terrific, but it was enough air flowing through the lungs not to require me hooked up to oxygen. Stosh asked me *how* I felt, given he said I "didn't look all that bad." (High praise, since I was in my pajamas and didn't do my hair and was wearing my dorky hat and had glazed over eyes. I had to point out how swollen and icky looking my right eye still looked from last week's me vs. bathtub whacking pass-out incident.) I told him I felt like shit. He listened to me, and said, "You're right. You sound like crap." But I must say, since the 103 fever broke into the 99's, and the cough got baby-shit green productive (TMI), and the antibiotics and steroids are starting to work, I feel marginally less-like-death. I've been up since 5:00 am, when I woke up and heard my lungs creaking like an old door, barely able to breathe until I reached for my albuterol inhaler in the dark.

I have a dinner planned with Super Juls on Monday night, that I hope to at least be 75% for, and school Tuesday, therapy later in the week...just so much on the agenda that I don't have time for this. I had a grand plan of going back to my favorite AA meeting tomorrow night with my high school best friend, and we set up child care and everything for her baby with my mom, but I'm too sick to make it, so alas, it'll have to wait until the next weekend I have neither Luke nor band. I should be on a plane checking in on my sick best male friend, who's in trouble, and I can't do that either. I feel helpless.

Ma and I spent the morning at the hospital/medical offices building dodging anyone and everyone who might be associated with the HQ of Balderdash & Verities, who at this point CLEARLY have absolutely NOTHING better to do than nitpick the fine-haired details of my life and loves. I just want to go to grad school and raise my boy and get healthy and be left alone to get better, not to be made worse, either physically or psychologically. Pneumonia is sidetracking me now, and appointments with my Stephen minister had to be cancelled, I haven't been able to practice my new drum tunes for church (partly because of how much it hurts to sit on my drum throne and partly because of the pneumonia), blah blah blah.

Granted, the head of HQ did say that I was the most interesting character to ever walk through the doors, but really, am I *that* interesting? To me, anyway, it's all just semantics. It's just "stuff." It's over. Move on. Instead of turning this into a giant pissing contest of who did whom wrong first and whose sin was worse than the other's is irrelevant. I'm quite busy rebuilding my life AGAIN and trying to get where I want and need to go, and I left there with one true friend, who I want in my life forever. That's about it. My former so-called superior spent 1 hour, 24 minutes and 31 seconds on my blog on company time this morning, followed by another 7 minutes right before lunch. That's just bullshit.

Some might accuse me of cross-obsession about this particular person who is stalking my blog. Why did I employ blog-tracking software to begin with? Because I was scared of my ex-boyfriend. It's a natural component of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Chris was many things, but dumb was not one of them. If he's still reading the blog, he's at least, and it's not difficult, figured out how to browse it anonymously, or at least from an IP that my host doesn't recognize and I can't take the time to research. Quite frankly, I'm still scared of him and what he's capable of, and I wish to GOD I could warn any woman in his path about what a jerk he is.

I'm not boasting when I say that I firmly agree that I was, in all likelihood, the most interesting character to ever work for Balderdash & Verities. But that's exactly what I am: a character. the main character in a years-long battle with life.

This blog, Rhythms from the Offbeat Drummer, could be an online diary of sorts. It could be a play-by-play of my entire life, out there for the whole internet to read. Sometimes there is a point to the story and sometimes, ultimately, the point is nothing at all. The stories are vibrant, colorful, vivid and imaginative, well-told and quoted. But what in this entire blog, on this giant websphere, is truth and what is fiction? What is conjecture and what is factual? What is balderdash and what are verities? I have a degree in creative writing. Hence, only I know.

Yes, my real name is Andrea Miklasz. What I write, what I express, is my own personal creativity and opinions. Those of you who read me regularly and are my close friends can easily and readily separate the bullshit versus the truth. Those of you who *Think* you know me well will have to guess.

Through insider information, I found out that personal internet use at Balderdash & Verities has been totally banned, and that if certain parties want to read my blog, they'll have to do it at home and clock out of work, or do it on their own, not the company's time, and that no one at the company has the right to spy on a former employee's personal life. Clearly broken down, my blog stalker spent an additional 31 minutes on my blog at her 2nd job last night, emailing more of my posts to people and reading my missives (including one I wrote about actor Daniel Craig in 2008 or something-whoa going back in the archives, I see!). I can't stop her from spying on my blog at her 2nd job or at home, though I can track those as well, but at least I feel free to write again, without worrying about being blackmailed. A small victory for me and a larger victory for personal privacy of bloggers in general, who want to be read but don't want to be harassed.

Hooray for personal privacy and a large victory for the little blogger girl!

I was assured that no one at Balderdash & Verities was out to get my on anything, and that calms my soul and re-opens my heart to posting my thoughts and feelings again, instead of drowning in a sea of doubt and fright of "Oh my, what will they find next to use against me?" The answer is nothing. It is all none of their business.

Now back to our regular story telling! :) :)