Welcome to my world!

My life's been crazy since my Daddy moved in with me immediately after my mother's death in October 2010. My one and only kiddo headed to college at Carolina at the end of August. So...I lived on my own, for the first time in my life, for a total of a blissful six weeks. Then, I started the parenting gig with my dad. He's a combination of a grouchy old man, a surly teenager and a temperamental toddler. Needless to say, I get very close to the brink of insanity sometimes. I get through life by finding the humor in difficult circumstances. And for some reason, I wind up in the weirdest situations. I couldn't make this stuff up. So I wind up having lots and lots crazy adventures which make great stories to share with my friends. Writing about my life is so therapeutic. My ramblings range from funny to sad to angry (full of cuss words) to sweet. While my focus is dealing with the trials and tribulations of being a parent to my Daddy, I have lots of random, totally unrelated posts. Whatever's on my mind. I love to make people laugh, and I'm happy to think my readers will get my strange sense of humor. And maybe, people who are in my situation will be encouraged. That's all I can hope for...

Wednesday, May 16, 2012


Major progress at my rental house.  Information overload.  But strangely enough, I've been endowed with clarity.  Maybe all those years of audit experience has paid off.  The "awww, shucks" routine never fails.  Since I hate conflict, but more than that, the hard sell, the high-pressure sleazy attempt at charm never works on me.  Actually, it's counterproductive.  And I shouldn't admit it, but I take perverse pleasure in baiting the miscreant sales shits.  When I see that lust for lucre in their beady eyes, I mention "my Daddy's trust."  Gets 'em every time.  Never mind that it ain't no big thang, and there were practical reasons for starting it.  Seriously.  I'm definitely NOT a Trust Fund Baby.  Wouldn't wanna be.  And as it stands with Kiddo, I'm thinking of leaving it all to Lucy.  I'm not rich by any means, not alive, anyway.  But I do have a good bit in my retirement accounts, and a nice, fat life insurance policy.  Which I'm on the verge of assigning to a revocable trust.  Maybe that'll command some respect.  What I should do, however, is cancel the policy and use the premium to take a nice trip.  Or something.

I've had a bad week.  Or two.  But it's gonna get better.  I've booked a trip to see my best girl, Mel.  She's booked the room, and our flights are set, and our only plans are to jump on the bed, and talk all night until we fall asleep.  We'll hit the hotel bar and take some provocative pictures with random men, half our age, and text them to her husband.  There's a funny story about my last visit, but I'm too tired to tell it now. 

Oh, well.  Nothing more to say.  Except good night.


That's me.  Fortunately, I don't have time to dwell on it.  I'm jumping into contractor mode.  I'm meeting the electrician, locksmith, floor installer, countertop man, and interior designer at my rental house two hours from now.  Long story about the interior designer, but suffice it to say that he's just going to tell the electrician where to install the recessed lighting.  One box of lighting fixtures from Amazon arrived yesterday, and the others should be here today.  I have exactly 10 days to get all this done.

Besides the jobs I'm hiring out, I'm going to tackle waxing and buffing the hardwood floors throughout the house, installing the new cabinet hardware, planting the flowerboxes and clearing out the former flowerbeds which have morphed into jungles.  I have to empty the attic, but first, repair the pull down stairs.  Remove an antique bed which remains.  Wash the windows, inside and out, and give the house a thorough cleaning.  By then, it'll be time to mow again.  And since Kiddo and I are on the outs, I don't plan to ask him for one iota of help.  It's not worth the conflict.

I might write about that sitch later, if I can, but for now, it's just too painful.  Being a mom can be excruciatingly difficult, and I'm just so exhausted.  And he's only been home from college for 9 days.  I feel like an utter failure.  Once I get through these next two weeks, I'll try to find a remedy, but for now, we both need some time to think.  So he's at his dad's for now.

On top of all this, Lucy has turned into a neurotic mess.  I think I'm going to have to take her to the vet.  I think she's picked up on all the stress and angst her mama (that'd be me) is experiencing.  Poor dog.

Better run.  Time's a-wastin'. 

Sunday, May 13, 2012

An Homage to Mama

(CBS News) In virtually every language in every corner of the world, the first sound a baby makes that can be called a word is MAMMA. In ancient Latin MAMMA became the word for breast - our first source of nurture, comfort and love - and for all humankind a source imagery and medical challenge across the centuries. Our Cover Story is reported now by Tracy Smith:


I saw this on CBS Sunday Morning today.  I'm not much for routines, but this is the one constant in my week.  At 8:00 sharp, I head to the living room.  Like clockwork, The Daddler has fetched the newspaper, fed the dog, let her out and back in, made his coffee, and microwaved his muffin.  When he finishes that, he heads to his master suite for ablutions.  A little while later, he appears.  Fresh as a daisy, looking quite dapper in his Sunday best.  He sidles up to my sofa and sits on the edge, so I can check his collar to be sure the back of his tie doesn't show.  I tug on it, and pat his shoulders, and tell him he looks nice. 

Then I ask him how much he wants to put in the offering plate.  He has a system, and I'm on the verge of figuring it out.  A normal Sunday is $25.  The first of the month is $100.  Today was $50.  I think maybe holidays merit a little extra.  I wait for a commercial break, and head down the hall to retrieve his checkbook from my office.  I write the check and fill out the offering envelope, which he's placed on the coffee table next to my spot on the sofa.  When I finish, I hand it to him.  He checks it, then licks the flap to seal it.  He tucks it into his Bible, and then, he reads the Parade magazine from the paper.  Meanwhile, we're watching CBS Sunday Morning, and I'm doing the crossword puzzle, and he putters around.  He puts on his suit coat, and takes Lucy out for a trip to the back yard.  They come back in and he gives her a treat.  At precisely 9:37, he picks up his bible, puts the remote control on the coffee table for me, and says, "I'm goin'."

It's a sweet little routine.  Comforting.  And this morning, it meant so much to me, since it was my second year without my mother.  And to make matters worse, Kiddo and I had butted heads the day before.  I remember asking The D last year if he still missed his mother.  He said, "Every day."  Wow.

I guess there's nothing else to say.

Friday, May 11, 2012

My Latest Misadventure

My walking date with the CraigsList killer exercise buddy last week was postponed.  Rescheduled for this morning.  I arrived promptly at the appointed time and place.  Saw a guy standing in the parking lot, looking around.  Asked him if his name was Kris.  Nope.  Walked into the  the visitors' center and took a look.  No one.  Went back outside.  I'd been pretty clear about the location.  And we'd emailed right before I left home.  Another guy walked by.  Not him.  My friend Melanie called and we talked a few minutes.  I hung up when I saw someone who must surely have been Kris approaching.  No dice. 

By then, he was 15 minutes late.  I tried to log on to email on my phone, but it's been weird lately, so I couldn't manage to do that.  We hadn't exchanged phone numbers.  So I kept waiting.  Another guy walked up.  I asked if his name was Kris.  He said, "It is, if you want it to be."  Great.  I explained that I was meeting a friend of a friend (sounded better than blind date) to walk and that I hadn't met him before.  He said he had a friend named Chris, with a C, and that he thought Chris might be interested in me.  Which I thought was presumptious.  He proceeded to take my picture and text it to his buddy.  Bold.  Then he told me that I was in good shape and very attractive.  Thanks.  Glad you approve.

He told me not to leave.  That he'd be right back after he called Chris.  About that time, another Kris candidate walked up and I propositioned approached him.  He said he was meeting some other people.  They magically appeared, and I struck up a convo with the woman.  While I was explaining my predicament, a goofy man wearing a headband walked toward us, and I said, "If Headband Man is Kris, do NOT tell him I'm waiting for him."  Get this.  She said, "That's my husband."  Major fail.  Damn, I hate it when I do that.

I made a feeble effort to recover and told her the headband was a little dorky, but in a cute way.  He said he had to wear it to keep the sweat out of his eyes.  They didn't seem to0 offended.  Around that time, Chris' wingman appeared and said Chris wanted to text me.  I don't think so.

I decided to cut my losses and hit the trail.  I ran most of the 1.67 miles (with a couple short walking breaks).  Headed home.  Had email from Kris asking where I was.  Another one saying he was in a loveless marriage and wanted a lover.  He sent three pictures.  In one, he wasn't wearing a shirt (he shoulda been).  Another one had him in front of a red Mustang.  Again, sans shirt.  The third one was an album cover featuring him.  It looked mysteriously Photo-Shopped.  Whoa.  I dodged a bullet.  I wish I could post these pictures here, because words can't describe it, but that might be mean spirited.  You can be sure, however, that I'll be emailing them to all my friends.

For now, though, I'm going to get outside and do some gardening and enjoy the beautiful day.  And thank my lucky stars...

Thursday, May 10, 2012


I'm stricken with it.  I'm not sure what's wrong with me.  My sleep schedule is out of whack.  Severely.  That's the downside of not having a real job with real hours.  My inability to focus doesn't help, either.

All my life I've been very goal-oriented.  Extremely responsible and conscientious.  With self-discipline in spades.  How in the world would I have passed the CPA exam, otherwise?  Won the sixth grade spelling bee.  Started my own business.  Spent 20 years being a good employee with lots of responsibilities and a nice paycheck, all the while, being a mom to Kiddo.

I think the key was motivation.  Plus, I was too busy to question the direction of my life.  There's something about hitting your 40s that makes you step back and take stock.  Major transitions can really throw a monkey wrench in your best laid plans.  And boy, oh, boy, I've had lots of monkey wrenches to contend with over the last two years.  Divorce from my husband of 23 years.  Kiddo leaving home and moving 750 miles away to college.  My mother dying six weeks later.  Bringing my father home to live with me.  Six months later, buying a bigger house and moving all the detritus I'd accumulated from 20 years in one home, plus all the stuff from my mother and daddy's house.

Don't get me wrong.  I'm not feeling sorry for myself.  Au contraire.  I'm relieved to have had all this thrust on me.  Because it would've taken more courage than I could've mustered to make the changes I've had to make.  And as hard as it's been, I've learned so much about myself.  I've made plenty of mistakes along the way, but unfortunately, I'm a kinesthetic learner.  In other words, I have to learn by doing.  Call me headstrong (immature?), but all the lecturing or preaching in the world won't change my opinions.  When I do learn a lesson, though, I've got it.

Contrary to popular belief, the expression, That which does not kill us makes us stronger was not originated by Kelly Clarkson.  It's credited to Friedrich Nietzsche, the German philosopher.  He was a real Debbie Downer.  He's famous for saying God is dead.  He was the father of nihilism.  Which is the belief that life is without objective meaning or purpose and has no intrinsic value.  I have a feeling that if Freddie'd had a car back then, he'd have one of my favorite bumper stickers on it.  "Life's a bitch, and then you die."  Not that I feel that way very often.  Now and then, though, it sums up my attitude.

Ok, enough seriousness.  I'm going to get busy.  Since I was up half the night from a really scary panic attack (really crazy pains in my torso - bad enough for me to wake Kiddo and tell him I might need him to drive me to the ER), I have some major catching up to do.  I slept until 11:30 this morning.  Or was it 1:30 this afternoon?  I'm not sure.  I was in a fog.  Just now emerging from it.  But it feels like three in the afternoon instead of 9:30 p.m. 

On the bright side, Kiddo was sweet about my episode and he mowed the lawn today, without my having to ask him.  Asked me if I wanted something from Swanky's for dinner.

So I'm gonna start a load of clothes, heat up some soup, and watch my new favorite TV show, Scandal.  Maybe play a little Words with Friends.  I've been in a major slump with that.  Not that it means anything...

Saturday, May 5, 2012

Racquetball, Part III

Wow.  I am still sore.  Very, very sore.  I don't think that's a result of the racquetball, since I'm not good enough to get the full benefit.  However, I did produce a couple kill shots!  My friend said I'm not ready for a league, though.  She said they don't have one for beginners.

My sore muscles are from the shared workout with her personal trainer.  He really pushed us, but in a nice, low-key way.  Nothing like Sergeant Tony at USMC Boot Camp.  We did some machines, then lifted barbells.  Had to lift it up and over my head, just a little behind it.  It works the shoulders that way.  I think the anatomical word is delts.  Short for deltoids.  I was afraid that I'd either drop the barbell on my head or fall backwards.  He assured me I wouldn't.  Easy for him to say!

Then, we had to push a sled (like those things football players use), but with our hands, not our shoulders.  Since I have freakishly strong quads, I excelled at that.  Plus, it was the only thing we did that was equally strenuous.  She had heavier weights on the other things.  Since it was the same, my competitive nature kicked in and believe it or not, I actually out-performed her on that.  We each pushed it as far as we could around the track, and then traded off when we couldn't push another inch.  I kept thinking we were done, and then the trainer dude would tell me to do it again.  I think I'll wear Spanx next time since he had a bird's eye view of my butt. 

Not that it matters, really, because I'm no cougar.  Not that he'd be interested.  I doubt he's a Wrinkle Chaser.  I learned that funny phrase from Hot in Cleveland.  That, and Chubby Chaser.  Funny show.  But Mr. Personal Trainer also teaches raquetball lessons.  Turns out, I can schedule sessions with him at the gym without joining.  So I might do that. 

On another exercise note, I think I scared off my walking buddy.  Maybe he is a serial killer and figured I'd be too risky since I was on to him.  He conveniently had a conference call at the last minute.  Oh, well.  But I did accidentally use my personal email account to respond to him, rather than going through Craig's List. And my email address is my whole name.  And since my last name has an unusual spelling, it wouldn't be hard to track me down.  You can find out lots about someone just from their last name.  Where they live; how big their house is, including how many bedrooms and bathrooms, whether it has a fireplace, etc.; whether they paid their taxes on time; even their age and some pictures sometimes.  Funny thing, there's someone with the same unusually spelled name as mine and she's 74 years old. 

All this info is out there on the property tax assessor's website, "The Google" (in case you didn't know, this is reference to our former prez, The W), Google Image Search, and the insidious Big Brother, a/k/a FaceBook.  Crazy thing.  The other day, I made a six minute video using my cell phone.  I was following The Daddler and urging him to kiss Lucy, The Dog.  On the mouth.  I told I thought Mother was in the dog, since they have the same eyes and all.  It was reminiscent of the time I chased him with Sly, the snake.  So cute.  But extremely silly.  I only intended to show it to Deb, but lo and behold, it wound up on FB.  I have no idea how that happened, but I got some sort of email to say someone had commented on it.  I immediately went online and deleted it, and set my privacy settings to the max.

An aside re FB.  Their Initial Public Offering (IPO) date is around the middle of this month.  And it's priced at a nearly 100 times earnings.  That's an outragous P/E ratio.  I think it'll be like Groupon and Zynga.  Their stock dropped way below the original issue price.  And since I hate FB, I'd never buy it.  I'm thinking of closing my account, except other apps hold you hostage to it.  Since I have an account for The D, I could still do my snooping research using his account.  But I digress.

I had a nightmare last night.  I dreamed that for some strange reason, I was stalking an ex-BF.  I snuck into his house and took a shower.  I was getting dressed when he walked in.  With a woman, who I presumed was his GF.  He thought fast (he's really smart), and called me Consuela and told me to be sure get the cobwebs in the laundry room.  I was soooo embarrassed.  I remember thinking I'd probably ruined my chances with him.  I think this dream was fueled by a tv show I saw last night.

If that weren't bad enough, I left my radio on all night, and early this morning, it was on a gardening show which incorporated itself into my dreams.  The host was discussing how much/often to water plants and shrubs when it gets so hot and dry in the summer.  I had the idea of starting a lawn and garden watering service.  I remember when I worked full time and I had to go out in the yard to water the plants and move the sprinkler around for hours, while getting swarmed with mosquitoes.  Forgetting the sprinkler and having to go outside late at night to turn it off.  Back to my dream.  I was trying to get the host to give me some referrals for my new biz, and he explained to me that if someone were going to pay me to water their yard, they'd probably just buy a sprinkler system.  Good point.  For some reason, I was horribly upset by the certain failure of my latest get-rich-quick scheme.

Oh, this has nothing to do with any of this, but I can't seem to quit thinking about my latest mishap.  I went to a little shop in one of those older strip malls with a tiny parking lot.  I was backing out when all of a sudden, boom, I'd backed into a car.  My first thought was, Shit, my insurance...  I pulled back into my spot and got out of the car to assess the damage.  It was a white Honda and the bumper had a place where the paint was scraped off.  No dent, thank goodness.  There was a man standing outside the shop.  I asked if it was his car.  It wasn't.  I asked him if he knew who it belonged to.  He didn't.  He told me I should just leave, and that he didn't see anything.  I wanted to do the right thing, though, so I went back into the shop and asked if anyone there had a white Honda Accord.  Nope.  They said it might belong to someone in the shop next door.  So I walked over to the beauty supply place and I was about to go in, but the door was locked (you had to ring the doorbell to get in), and I stopped.  Thought about my insurance again.  And the fact that there was no dent.  And there were other scrapes besides the one I'd inflicted.  I was torn, but my rationalization won out and I got back in my car.  I had to cut my wheel really hard to keep from doing a repeat performance.  That's when I realized that the Accord was parked at the curb instead of in a parking spot.  The owner must be really lazy.  Deserved to be hit.  That was probably why there were so many other scratches.  Thank heavens The D wasn't in the car with me.  He already thinks I'm an incompetent driver.  Which I am.

Still, I was very conflicted.  Which is why I'm still thinking about it.  My next car will have one of those cameras in the back.  Better yet, I'm just going to take a taxi everywhere.  With the money I'll save on doing without a car, I'm sure I'd come out ahead.  Also, the bus comes right by my house.  Maybe I could be a school bus monitor and ride for free.

Well, I should get busy.  My surrogate mother-in-law is home alone this week.  Her husband and daughter are on a trip to Europe.  So as soon as I finish mowing the lawn and watering the plants, I'm going to head over to her house.  We're going to watch Ladies in Lavender.  It's a very sweet movie set in Cornwall.  Judy Dench and Maggie Smith are in it.  I love them.  The great thing is that it involves a character who doesn't speak English.  Just Polish.  Which is her native language.  Actually, it's Lithuanian, but her husband is Polish, so she learned to speak it when they married.  I think she'll love the movie.  First, I have to find my DVD.  We're going to order pizza and have a gay old time.  Yabba Dabba Do!

On the mother-in-law note, the F in FF now stands for Former.  Not Fantasy.  The fantasy thing is over.  We're still friends, but I've given up the ship.  I'm moving on.  Not that I want to get back out there, but I do have my COBRA expiration to consider.  I've got a year to figure something out.  Hmmm, do you see a theme here?  Insurance is a big motivator for me.  Actually, the great thing is that since The Daddler is retired from the military, I'm eligible for USAA insurance.  Which is much cheaper than what I have currently.  For homeowners' and car insurance, anyway.  They also provide health insurance, so I'm going to get a quote on that.  That'll take the pressure off, as far as finding someone with good health insurance to marry.  Plus, I have a feeling I'll be more likely to find my Prince Charming when I quit starting every conversation with an eligible men with an interrogation about his employee-sponsored health insurance.  I'll still examine their teeth, however.

Ok, that's enough.  I'm gonna go now.  Over and out...     

Wednesday, May 2, 2012

Racquetball, Part II

I was amused to see the interesting comment on my last post.  I was accused of being naive.  At the same time, of being cunning enough to use the ruse of looking for an "exercise buddy" in a feeble attempt to find a buddy of some other sort.

I thought I explained my goofy rationale (is that an oxymoron?)  And that, by considering the possibility that my prospective EB might have ulterior motives, demonstrated that I am anything but naive.

But, the proof is in the pudding.  And since I have an early morning date to actually exercise, I should sign off.

Before I go, though, I'd like to address that interesting comment.  For me, it does help to have another person to actually get me to exercise.  And even though I don't feel the need to justify this, I wish you'd google "accountability partners exercise."  And let me know what you think.

P.S.  Don't be so cynical.  Dude.

Racquetball and more

I haven't played since college.  For some reason yesterday, I thought of a former co-worker who started playing a few years ago.  I called her to ask about it, and she sweetly invited me to play tonight at her gym.  As I recall, it was a great workout, and it wasn't nearly as hard as tennis.  I suppose because you don't have to chase the ball all over creation.  Also, I think you don't need as much arm strength (the ball is really bouncy) and that the important thing is using geometry.  Like billiards, I suppose.

I'm sure I'll be abysmal, but my friend is extremely patient.  She used to review the tax returns I prepared, and that speaks volumes.

I'm on a quest to get out of the house and get in shape.  But I refuse to join a gym.  I hate those places.  And I'm not crazy about the vapid people in them.  Besides, the couple of times I joined one, I fizzled out after a couple weeks.

What I really need is to find a few exercise partners.  Unfortunately, I have a hard time coordinating schedules with my friends.  Location can be a problem, too, since I hate to drive very far to work out.  Walking and running by myself gets pretty boring, though, especially since I can't seem to find my MP3.  It's here somewhere.

I ran an ad on Craig's List a couple of weeks ago.  I just said I wanted to find people in my neighborhood to do a little walking and running, and maybe work up to a 5K.  I did a women's walk/run thing a couple years ago at Shelby Farms, and it was good, except there were way too many people.  And after the run, it took forever to get out of the park because the traffic was so bad. 

Back to my ad.  This morning, I got an email in response to my CL ad.  From someone who wants to walk with me.  Wanted to know if I was "M or F."  Which gave me a pretty good idea that he was M.  Which he is.  He said he's flexible in the mornings, so I suggested a time and a place.  He suggested an earlier time (ugh), and then, "btw," said he'd love to see a "pic."

I almost bailed, but then I thought better of it, and emailed back that I wasn't obese and that I could walk a 15 minute mile, so he'd just have to take his chances.  I also explained that I was just interested in walking, and that I thought this was feeling eerily like Match.com.  And that I was aware of Craig's List Killers, so he should know I was into martial arts and that I always packed heat.  I figured that would be the end of that, but he emailed back that he wasn't looking for a match, and that he was harmless.  We'll see. I'm meeting him in a public park, and I haven't given him any personal info.  Except that I'm "F." I think I'll take his picture on my cell phone and text it to a friend before we start out.  With his full knowledge.  Then he'll think twice if he has any sinister motives.  You can't be too careful.  Well, actually you can.  In which case, you'd just sit at home all the time.  And believe me, that's no fun.  Unfortunately, I know from experience lately.

Something doesn't add up, though.  Men don't usually like to walk.  And actually, he said he loves to walk.  Maybe he's obese...   Which is neither here nor there as long as he can keep up with me.

I suppose the worst case scenario is that he's an obese serial killer.  Best case is that I will have found a new exercise buddy.  I've done my risk/reward analysis, and I'm willing to give it a shot.  Stay tuned... 

Tuesday, May 1, 2012


an abnormal fear of spiders

I have it.  Give me a snake any old day.  A roach, even.  But a spider - no thank you.  I have nighmares about them.

Last night, I was curled up on the sofa with Lucy, catching up on back episodes of Survivor.  Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw Beulah, the bulimic cat, skulking through the den.  She usually doesn't appear when the dog is around.  So I turned to look, and I did a double take when I saw that the cat was actually a spider.  Not as big as the cat, but pretty darned big, for a spider.  Enough for me to see with my peripheral vision.  I launched into Fight or Flight mode.  As much as I want to run and hide and get someone else to handle the crisis, I know through experience that if you don't take care of a bug or spider, you will encounter it again.  And since I lived for years with an absentee husband with Jainist tendencies, I've learned to run to the roar.

When faced with this situation, I seem to follow the same pattern of attack.  First, I look for a shoe.  It has to have a hard, flat sole.  Maybe that's why I tend to leave my shoes all over the house.  If the interloper is too big or looks prone to hop (spiders are bad about that), I switch to the Vacuum Cleaner tactic.  Again, I never put it away.  Maybe that's a subconcious thing for me. 

If the enemy retreats into a safe place, under a heavy appliance or piece of furniture, I stand as still as I can, lying in wait for it to emerge.  If that doesn't happen pretty soon, I flush it out with bug spray.  Fortunately, I always put that away, so I know right where to find it.  I guess the mom thing cancelled out my nearly total inability to be organized - bug spray and kiddos don't mix.

The chemical warfare almost always guarantees victory for me.  Unfortunately, ant and roach spray doesn't seem to bother spiders.  But it flushes them out of their hiding place.  Then I attack.

Last night, I was in vacuum cleaner mode and ran over the spider with my weapon, but he survived.  Luckily, I realized that the housekeeper had been using the hose to suck the air out of the space bags I'd filled with comfortors and winter clothing, which was why there was no suction on the sweeper part.  I tried to pull out the hose, but it was wedged into the slot.  So I grabbed the suction end, and like a fencer wielding an epee, I lunged.  And won.  I kept the vacuum cleaner going until I retrieved a ziploc and rubber band to seal up the end of the hose.  First, I squirted a good dose of bug spray into it.

I didn't dream about spiders last night, but I think that would've been better.  I had one of those horrible nightmares which causes me to wake up sweating and hyperventilating.  It makes me afraid to go to sleep tonight.  Maybe I'll stay up.