It's official.  I have lived in this godforsaken apartment longer than I've lived anywhere else in the last six years.  And I have unfortunately discovered that the constant relocation has become an addiction for me.  This apartment is where I've experienced the worst living conditions in my life, so that doesn't help.  But about six months ago, I felt the urge to move.  The urge has festered and multiplied and now I am dying to get out of here.  There is no end in sight, though.  Not till we are due to move off of the island, which is another year and a half away.

I love Okinawa and I'm not done experiencing this country, culture and island, but I'd happily receive new orders to send us somewhere else just to get out of this apartment and preferably into a house with a yard and my cat and a good five feet or more in between us and our neighbors.

I'm also feeling bitter about the specifics of military life in Okinawa - the lack of American shopping, the censorship of our TV and movies, the limitations of Naval medicine...  Very upsetting.

Obviously, today I'm just feeling bitter about it all.

Now that it has had time to sink in and I've had plenty of opportunity to process my thoughts...  I think I'm ready to talk about dementia and what it means for my family.

6,269 miles apart, my grandma and I manage to talk on the phone daily.  She is my wisest and closest friend.  She is also my mother's sole caregiver.  The impact of my mom's condition is undoubtedly the most devastating for my grandma.

My mom raised my brother and me alone.  That is to say, she raised us without assistance from our fathers - not to say that she raised us without assistance.  My grandma has always been in my life, most times in a closer manner than my mother herself.  Not that my mom and I weren't close.  We were.  I was just incredibly fortunate and had two really strong, wonderful women in my life.  My grandma is the greatest woman I know, and my mom was smart and strong and independent.  Out of two lousy relationships with a child from each and debt to her eyebrows, she pressed on, working hard and doing the best she could, making sure my brother and I were never aware when we went without.  She fought her way out of debt and became really one of the most financially stable people I know, but even when she was a slave to her credit card bills, she did things to delight my brother and me.  I remember one year she got a tax refund and gave my brother and me $100 each, took us to Toys "R" Us, and let us each push our own shopping cart.  She did things like that for us as often as she could.  In a really hard time, she once sold our washer and dryer to pay the bills, but I'd never have realized it if she hadn't told me as an adult.

She was my rock.  Looking back I am infinitely grateful that I had her as long as I did and that I made some of the choices I did.  In junior high, she gave me an option to save the contents of my savings account for my 16th birthday for a nice car, or to take a vacation to the east coast.  Of course, not really caring about my 16th birthday so far in advance, I chose the vacation.  We had a blast.  We went to Boston, New York City, and Washington, D.C. for 10 days.  We walked the freedom trail and shopped Filene's Basement in Boston, saw Ellis Island and a Broadway show in New York, and took tours of the monuments and historical places in Washington, D.C.  It was incredible and I loved every minute of it.  Another tax refund one year, she spent on a two week vacation to a place called Pajaro Dunes on the central coast of California.  We rented a vacation home and the whole family enjoyed a blissfully relaxing stay there.  She bought us annual passes to Disneyland and frequently we would drive there for an impromptu weekend.  She always supported me and my decisions.  She came with Mark and me to Las Vegas for Marine Corps Balls, she shuttled me (and Mark) to and from Camp Pendleton, and she included us in everything.

Despite spending my "car savings" on a trip, she bought me my first car, and helped me track down the car of my dreams.  She took me up to Roseville, California and drove home my brand new shiny red 1972 Volkswagen Karmann Ghia with me laughing in the passenger seat all the way.

She let me transfer to a home studies program to finish high school early and then supported my college education (which I definitely took for granted).  She let me move out when I was 17, she helped me to fill my very first apartment with cozy things.

She paid almost entirely for my wedding, and when I moved away to southern California to be with Mark, I can't tell you how many times we overdrew our checking account and I'd call her crying and ashamed and disappointed in my own mistakes.  She always promptly went to the bank and deposited money into our account, without a second thought.  My cat got sick and I was distraught, she gave me her credit card to cover Miss Kitty's emergency surgery and pet hospital stay.

Though the most recent of these things were only about four years ago, I have grown up a lot in that time.  I have come to terms with reality, especially as far as finances go.  Not to say that I no longer make mistakes by any means.  But when I do make mistakes, nobody "bails me out".  I am fortunate to have my grandma to discuss my errors with, but beyond that I pretty much have come to the realization that things always have a way of working themselves out, eventually.  Recently I've been better about things, but there have definitely been rough patches.

So many times during my mother's decline, I have found myself MAD at her.  I realize now, with great guilt, my anger was misdirected.  But I genuinely thought she was letting something get to her.  We went through the motions.  She had started being less social.  Complaining of back pain, then migraines.  Slacking off about work.  Eventually she got laid off, then spent all of her time in bed.  It was like she was sulking.  Depressed?  Empty nest syndrome?  Anxiety?  Something physical - maybe her Fibromyalgia?  Menopause?  Chemical imbalance?

Her behavior was erratic.  She was not herself at all.  It was frustrating.  I would go into her room while we were visiting, throw open her curtains and let the sunlight in.  She'd wince on her bed and throw something over her eyes to block the light out.  I'd sit on the side of her bed and bounce up and down and talk loudly.  Something, ANYTHING, to get a reaction.  Nothing.  She wouldn't cry, she wouldn't yell at me, she wouldn't hit me, nothing.  It was incredibly frustrating.  I remember telling her, "Mom, there is something REALLY wrong with you.  Don't let it win, you have to fight!  You're stronger than this!  Where ARE you??"  She just stared at me blankly, not really offering much of a response.  She was waiting for me to leave the room so she could go back to sleep.  She just stopped caring.  It was like talking to a wall.

My mom, with her long-standing great financial habits, suddenly was ignoring credit card bills, letting them literally stack up month after month on her bed.  She cashed out her retirement money and blew it all.  She was forgetting things like crazy.  Several times last year she had to be reminded what Cadence's name was and that Mark had deployed to Afghanistan.

One day over the phone while we were talking about her memory loss and unexplainable behavior, I said to my grandma, "It's like she has Alzheimer's Disease."  I wish I'd never said it.  Not that she actually HAS Alzheimer's now, but she's got undefined dementia, which is something like it.  It's not really the sort of thing you want to be right about.

Her lack of health insurance and the battle that my grandma fought for her to start receiving disability benefits meant it took nearly four years for this diagnosis.  She's been showing signs of something being the matter since 2004, when her physical pain started.  In my mind I can see brain cells just being destroyed without reason for the past six years while we all felt so bitter towards her.  So many times I yelled at her.  So many times I was ANGRY with her for being the way she was.  So many times I said to her "I miss you too, mom," and thought to myself that she'd never understand how I missed her.  And she won't.

At least one family member that I know of went so far as to say that my mom was "faking it."  I can't imagine anybody faking something so devastating and carrying on such a charade for so long.  I secretly hope that family member feels shame for implying such a thing, but I know that people as selfish as that could never fully understand anything like this.

There are two things that I consider the worst parts of it all:

1. My mom didn't deserve this.  Not that ANYBODY "deserves" it, but I can think of so many people who lived their lives recklessly and made horrible decisions.  Drugs, excessive alcohol, smoking, promiscuity, etc...  And they're fine.  Still alive and kicking and making as stupid decisions as ever.  My mom lived her life healthily.  She made good decisions, she took care of herself and her children, she didn't break laws, she was honest...  Why her?  And I don't want some ridiculous religious reason, either.  I want to know WHY her.  How is that fair?  Why bother to live your life a certain way if the outcome of your health is just a roulette wheel?
2. I will never get my mom back.  There are medications available to ATTEMPT to SLOW the progress of her dementia down, but no real treatment.  The strong, wonderful woman I used to look up to has been reduced to an adult with the behavior habits of a three-year-old and it will never get any better.  Only worse.

Remind me to NEVER fiddle with my template again.

WTF is up with the obnoxious and ugly bulleted "share" list that is appearing with each blog entry? That's not cool, and I can't figure out how to shut it off. Stupid Blogger.

They've changed our status back from TCCOR-3 to TCCOR-4.  Morakot is heading away from Okinawa.  We are getting a decent amount of wind, and periodically some rain...  But not much else.

If there is one thing that irritates the SHIT out of me, it's hypocrisy.  I hate self-righteous losers who can't manage to climb down off of their high horses, but more than that, I hate self-righteous losers who can't manage to climb down off their high horses while they scold other people for the same offense.  It's even worse when they are scolding people who aren't even guilty.

I'm really getting sick of nay-sayers.  Everybody who catches wind of my plans to start school next week gives me this boggly-eyed response, like going to school is absolutely ridiculous when I am expecting a baby.

My head is throbbing.  My ears won't pop.  My throat aches.  My chest is sore.

This week sucked!

This is a common sight in Okinawa.  People walking around in surgical masks.  At first, the concept was trivial to me, because it seemed...  well, odd.  Honestly, who walks around wearing a surgical mask all day?  It's almost a tad creepy at first when you notice someone wearing a surgical mask out in public and then there's the language barrier which prevents you from having the opportunity to ask them why.  But after some research I understand that it is common practice here to avoid the spreading of germs from the mask-wearer to "healthy" folk.  And that makes it seem downright polite.  And significantly less bizarre.  If only people in America were so considerate, hm?  It's pretty clear that not everyone wears the masks in Japan, otherwise we'd not be in our current predicament.  I'd be fine and dandy and Amaris wouldn't be up all night coughing and crying and "sounding like a dying cow," as Mark so eloquently put it sometime after midnight last night when the poor girl was alternating between coughing and moaning miserably.  But in Japan's defense, I'm fairly certain that this particular germ currently running rampant through our house is all thanks to other Americans on the bases.  Who obviously don't wear surgical masks when they are sick because they're afraid to look like Michael Jackson.

I knew she'd get me sick.  And she didn't disappoint.

I am easily annoyed.  But honestly, enough's enough.

I feel completely irritated.  How in the world do people further their educations without losing their minds?

I have come to a realization.  I hate my kitchen.  It makes me sad to say that, but I really think that I do.  My kitchen is an unhappy place.  No windows, just fluorescent lighting.  No happy colors, just stainless steel countertops and sink, and drab blue tile walls.  The floors and cabinets are even worse.  Beige, off-white, industrial and BLAH.

I am not being overdramatic when I say it's beautiful here.  This morning I watched from my balcony the most amazing cloud formation reacting to the day's new sunlight.  And I was totally breath-taken.  Seriously.  I could barely manage to grab my camera and snap a few pictures of it.

Mark requested a big block of leave for Christmas.  December 19-January 2.  His leave request was approved and all was fine.  Until today when they basically cancelled it without real warning.

Everybody else gets half a day off after they've had duty for "recovery". Why is it that Mark never winds up getting what "everybody else" does?

I have not heard from Mark in 20 hours, now. He called a little after 8PM last night to check in and tell me that he missed me and my pork chops (more on that later). Then he never called again and he didn't come home around noon like most of the guys in his shop do when they've been on overnight duty.

Since we arrived here, Mark has had duty 3 times. First was the night before he had to go to the rifle range and that prevented him from getting his half-day off. Then was the Friday after Thanksgiving, and obviously he'd have already had the time off afterwards. And now last night. He said he might not get his half day this time either because they were "really busy", but I figured he'd still at least CALL in between and let me know some sort of an update. I've checked my phone all day long to no avail. He has not called, nor has he answered any of my 3 phone calls today. I'm getting annoyed. I just don't get why HE is always the overworked one. Anybody else would have taken their half day and left regardless of anything that needed to be done.

Long gone are the days of Port Hueneme duty. Duty there consisted of him having to carry around a rather annoying cell phone and check the building twice a day for a week, once every 2-3 months or so. Duty there was cake. Duty here, similarly to San Angelo, means that he has to stay at the barracks once a month, and gets to sleep a whole 4 hours, if he's lucky. It ticks me off that they obligate even the married Marines to this task, rather than just the Marines who are actually living in the barracks. I don't see them sending single Marines to keep an eye on the building we live in.

So I'm irritated.

Okay, back to the pork chops. Night before last I made pork chops for dinner that made Mark say, "OH MY GOD." Pork chops never get an "oh my God" in this house. We tend to find them boring and even a little tough and dry. Enter "Awesome Honey Pecan Pork Chops".

Ingredients:

• 4 3/4" thick boneless pork chops
• 1/2 cup all-purpose flour for coating
• salt and pepper to taste
• 2 tablespoons butter
• 1/4 cup honey
• 1/4 cup chopped pecans

Directions:

1. In a shallow dish, mix together flour, salt and pepper. Dredge pork cutlets in the flour mixture.
2. In a large skillet, melt butter over medium-high heat. Add chops, and brown both sides. Transfer to a warm plate.
3. Mix honey and pecans into the pan drippings. Heat through, stirring constantly. Pour sauce over cutlets.

Yes. You should try them. Seriously. I'll bet if I put them in a bento box, Mark would find Bento completely irresistible.

Thank you, oven. And thank you, shallow pie pan. You have both made my day a little hotter and more rotten. My left pinky and ring finger will NEVER forgive you.

I hope you know that. And I hope you're satisfied. For SHAME!

I am trying really hard to not lose it this afternoon. I thought for sure the guys in charge of the rifle range this week would send Mark home at a decent hour. I was positive. But clearly I was wrong, as here we sit, 5PM. No sign of him yet. Trick or Treat officially begins in one hour here on base, and Amaris is running around in nothing but a bad mood and a diaper. I don't have enough here to occupy her time anymore. It's really frustrating. Our house has government furniture, the computer, some kitchen junk, a TV, and food. As far as toys go... We have like 6 Hot Wheels, 2 barbies, a couple of iPet toys from Burger King, and a couple of stuffed animals. That's it. Oh - and a toy that is suited for a 6 month old. For some reason Amaris thinks it is rad beyond all reason. But not now. Right now she is just upset about being bored. So am I.

My elbow is killing me because there is a huge insect bite on it that I mysteriously got yesterday morning. Probably while I was blogging angstily. Anyways it has swelled up and made my arm incredibly sore. The rest of my body is just sore in general. My shoulders and neck especially.

If Mark's not home soon we'll miss trick-or-treating. I'm already at a loss for dinner since the meal I'd planned on requires ingredients we don't have.

I quit this job!

Last night, as I was picking apart the chicken for my procrastination-friendly chicken noodle soup (we decided to have it Monday night instead of Sunday night when time got away from us and we knew Mark would have to get up at 2AM), I realized the floor was a little bit wet around my slippers.

Groan. I had just fought with the sink for like an hour to get dishes in the dishwasher. And I think at that point, the sink STILL hadn't drained from that whole ordeal. Now I get to stand in water too. Joy of joys.

I finished what I was doing, left the soup on the stove, and then Mark called to let me know he was heading home from work. Yesterday was his latest work day so far at this duty station - they kept him past 6PM! Anyways I called maintenance as soon as I got off the phone with him and told them we were having all sorts of plumbing issues. They said they'd label it emergency and send someone out ASAP, possibly even that night.

They didn't come last night. They called me this morning bright and early and said someone would be here in about 20 minutes. So I got up out of bed (for the second time - I got up and packed Mark's lunch at 2:30 this morning and got him a bowl of cereal before he left at 3) and unloaded the dishwasher, which basically served as an oversized drying rack last night after the water started flooding from the bottom. The maintenance guys got here and fiddled with the sink for a while and finally came and said it was all fixed. I hadn't heard them do anything with the dishwasher, so I said, "even the dishwasher?" "Yes, all fixed." "Oh, okay, great thanks!"

They left and I turned on the dishwasher to test them. My sink works like a dream, but sure enough, the dishwasher still leaks. I am annoyed. Maintenance sucks.

I feel like this month has officially lasted... FOREVER. I don't think October is ever going to end. I keep seeing the dry-erase calendar on the fridge and it still says October. I want to re-write it. My iCal still says October. I keep thinking it must be time to flip ahead and why isn't Jimmy doing it automatically yet? I am cranky and perpetually in need of a nap. My patience is running even thinner than usual lately. I must be coming up on my third trimester.

I'm still riding the "this crib situation sucks" train. I've determined that to ship the crib from my friend to me would cost almost $65. And then Wal Mart went out of stock on it. I don't have the money to buy it right now anyways, but that just irritates me. The two other stores I can order it from online (Target and Babycenter) both want more than Wal Mart wants for it. I went to a baby shower this weekend and all of the moms there were talking about how useless and overrated the changing table is. I'm trying to remember, am I just crazy? Up until Amaris was like a year old and we retired the changing table (mostly because we'd badly mistreated it and it was no longer in one piece, quite literally) I am pretty sure I used that thing several times a day. Useless? Really? I don't think it was. I have been adamantly looking to find one for baby girl. Now I am wondering if I am being frivolous. I already have a changing pad, and the only surface it has to sit on currently (the government loaner chest of drawers) is far too high up to safely (and comfortably) change an infant's diaper.

And why is it that everywhere I live, I end up having drainage problems? Like, seriously, what is it about me and clogged drains?? It's really starting to piss me off. When we moved into our first apartment, there was some weird something about the plumbing in the bathroom, I can't remember exactly what the issue was but it was stupid. And then the sink had no garbage disposal, so I had to get used to throwing away all of my usual "sink garbage". Then we moved into an apartment in Port Hueneme that had a garbage disposal. But for some reason is ALWAYS clogged on us. We seriously had the maintenance guy over to fix it so frequently that I started to think I should offer him room and board. We moved out to our house in Camarillo and the shower NEVER drained properly. You'd take an average shower and by the end of it you'd be standing in 3-5" of soapy, dirty water. It was GROSS. The shower had to be literally scrubbed every time anyone was done using it, and to scrub it you had to wait like an hour so that it would be drained first. That was bad pipes and couldn't be fixed. Our on-base house in Port Hueneme after they decided the houses in Camarillo weren't worth fixing and may as well be demolished was really nice and I don't recall any notable drainage problems there. Of course we only lived there like 5 months. Our house in San Angelo had slow drains periodically in the master bathroom. I rolled my eyes and probably said something about de ja vous the first time it happened.

Here at this house, things have been fine, up till last week when my garbage disposal decided to become completely worthless, and the kitchen sink started "throwing up" everything that I put down there. You run the water for more than a minute or so and the sink starts filling up. I am so irritated. I've run the disposal at least 20 times, used the plunger, and yesterday used a Drano "foaming pipe snake". No dice. There is no keeping a sink clean when it has this issue. And apparently there is no fixing such a sink, either. It is so frustrating. I should call maintenance but I know by the time they get out here to clean it I will have done one of the following:

1. Fixed it myself
2. Jumped off the balcony in despair
3. Given up on cooking and cleaning and filled the sink with all sorts of filth, and then topped it with a big tarp in utter embarrassment

I'm in frequent pain latley and getting really tired of constantly being kicked in the crotch or jabbed in the ribs. I really don't remember Amaris being so violent in-utero. I hope that baby girl is getting out all of her pent-up frustrations now and that she'll be born a very calm, peaceful version of herself. And that she will stay that way.

Hmpf. It isn't taking much lately to make me bitter.