Blog Archives

The Octopus in the room

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Ok. I’m going to give this a go.  I am keyboardless and, as well as my fingers fly over an actual keyboard, is how NOT well the touch screen thing works for me.  I’m awful at it.  Which I think is partly the reason my ‘pay as you go’ cell phone terrifies me.  The whole’ touch’ ‘swipe’ thingy combined with auto-correct, back up and do it again thing is like a bizarre millennial hokey pokey.

I didn’t want to open like this, and if I had a keyboard, it would start like this:

I’m scaring my dog.

Then it would go on to say:

She sticks close by, unsure of my current mood.  Or, like yesterday, sticks close, positive of it.

I was alone and having one of the worst spells I’ve had in a while.  Ms. Agnostic hit her knees and prayed “PLEASE don’t let me die right now.  Not today.”

My heart was acting up big time.  I could barely walk Butters.  I took the three steps down to our yard and though, “oh my god, I can’t do this.”

But I had to do it.  She needs me.

It was a quick walk around the yard, and when I came in, I felt like calling an ambulance.  My face was flushed, heart pounding, dizzy.  Yeah, taking the dog out to pee.

I know the difference between a ‘spell’ and my ever-increasing anxiety attacks.  This popped up in my news feed the other day and I thought, “Yes!.”

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Used to be I had a few triggers.  Now, I have an arsenal.  The screaming from the house next door, a weird sound coming from my car, crowds … Any sort of dispute in my ear shot.  Now, add changing lanes in traffic, Butters taking off and barking in the yard.

My poor nails try daily to grow, but I hinder them and their quest.

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I’m alienating friends, scaring off others.  The only time I feel comfortable is at work or with my son.

Even when I DO ‘reach out’ I can’t find the right words and come off as a psycho.

My sleeping pattern is off.  I’ve gained weight, which, is a good thing … But, I haven’t been trying.

top all of this off with my Nannie who has been in the hospital for a while.

I feel like I don’t get to say how much she means to me, because someone might be offended.

I also feel like someone may be offended by sharing my current state of, let’s just say it … Depression.

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I am still quite capable of seeing ‘good’, I just don’t feel capable of participating in it.

Poor little Christmas tree is barely ever lit.  I’m not counting Christmas down in ‘how many sleeps!!’

I’m just here.

And  mostly smiling all day and then scaring the dog when I sit on my bed and cry.

But I did just notice my purse looking like a weird octopus, so I still have that.

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(Cartoon art credit to Hyberbole and a Half … Please don’t sue me.)

 

Why Worry? Because I just do.

I stress.

I stress the heck out.

Over the tiniest of things – and it’s SO very real to me.

“You think too much” is probably one of the most said to me comments.

And yeah, I do, honestly totally believe in this:

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However, I’m also the girl who worries about inanimate objects.

Like the avocado I ate tonight.

Does it LOOK like it wants to be eaten???

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Must have been horrifying for the poor thing!

I posted this on my Facebook this morning:

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I CAN not help it!!!!!

I think being a single mom for so many years just infiltrated this in my bloodstream!

Not having a ‘plan B’

Sometimes not even having a ‘plan A’

So when my ‘check engine’ light went on this weekend, I might as well have been holding a tarantula in my hand whilst looking at a tornado.

Seriously.

Car problems are in my top 5 things I stress and freak out about.

And so, when it’s something similar (ok, EXACTLY LIKE) what I experienced 8 months ago and $700 ago – I freaking worry.

They could find nothing wrong – and I drove my car home – NOT feeling like I’d had a reprieve, but feeling like ‘Murphy’s Law” is in effect and for SURE my engine light is comin’ on again – and the 4 mechanics that drove my car into a gasless situation will suddenly be enlightened by the magic of the false computer readout!

Bottom line, I don’t believe them.  I think it’s gonna happen again when I’m on my own with no witnesses.

But, even so:

Me: You know, there are people in the hospital right now, in waiting rooms of hospitals, that would give anything for my first world problems.

My Honey: Yeah

Me: I don’t want a lot of money – Just ‘Enough’.  So that if an issue comes up, I can handle it.    Someone says their tooth hurts, I can say, “Here! Go to the dentist.” I don’t need jewelry, perfume, fancy clothes – Just … enough

And I mean that.

I’ve worked hard – all my life.  I wish for ‘enough’

Then I see this happen in my room and know …. we could live like this FOREVER if we had ‘enough’ for emergencies.

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I’m SO grateful.

Musings from the laundromat – Unapologetic edition

A friend asked me what was going on and how was I feeling this morning – he said “Your blog post was a big downer …” 

My first reaction to that was that today’s post needed to be a super upbeat, a “I’m SO grateful, joyous” positive post to make up for yesterdays sad one.

But I am not going to do that.

I get tired of apologizing for being human.

I have said before and I’ll say it again, I really don’t tend to edit myself.  Ask me a question, I’ll answer it.  You know where you stand with me.

This bleeds over to my blog.  I keep identities secret, but not my feelings.  And I’m not about to start now.

I received an instant message from a dear friend of mine last night after I published Dirt and destiny, and we typed back and forth and I sat there, on my porch, and I cried.

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It felt SO good and was just what I needed. 

Not maudlin, not sobbing, not gut wrenching ‘why me’ – ‘poor me’ crying … just, cleansing tears. 

Acknowledging that I was sad and scared and unsure.   Letting a long week out onto my cheeks.

She said just the right things.  Things I needed to hear.  That it was okay to want things for myself sometimes too.  To consider myself.  That I deserve to be happy.

I fight this.

I find myself constantly trying to make amends for my past by not allowing the notion that I could deserve to be happy to blossom.

I should clarify – I AM ‘happy’ … we are speaking of ‘happy-ever-after’ happy.

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Once you have come to the above conclusion – once you have found what and who you want, you recognize that there are only so many tomorrows.  And maybe there isn’t even another ‘tomorrow’. 

I’ve also been taught that if there is nothing you can do – do the next right thing.  So, I’ve been to the laundromat, washed the dog – and after this post I’ll clean and find time to rest. 

I’ll read one of the books I’m currently reading and breath. 

I tend to succeed in pushing through tough times.  And when I’m uncertain or worried, I find the light and grow through it. 

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I also have to remember, that my imagination amplifies every situation.  I have to decide how to feel.  And in the end, I always choose happy.

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Dirt and destiny

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It smells of dirt outside.  Fresh garden dirt.  The kind of dirt you don’t mind having under your fingernails as you straighten from a new bed of plants and feel your back begin to ache.  But it’s not my dirt, and my back is fine.  I can’t think where I’m picking up the scent as only desert dirt surrounds me.

One smell though – and my thoughts go into overdrive.  The same with songs.  Names.  Colors.

I love my imagination.  I embrace it.  But the last few days I’m had to tamp it down – like the dirt I imagined only moments ago from my porch.

The week began with wonderment and excitement and hope.  It declined to heart problems and doctors and needles and tests and tears.  And just when I thought the week couldn’t slip any further, it did.

Someone I care deeply about had some unexpected sad news.

When someone I love worries, I worry.  When someone I love is happy, I’m happy for them.  I’m a very intuitive, sensitive, feeling person.  Not to be confused with co-dependent.  Because I’m perfectly capable of finding my own happiness.  It is not contingent on others.

But I digress, as usual.

I’m finding myself in suspended animation – swiping the screen of my ipad to check for news – messages.  My heart, dropping into my stomach when my email advises me that yes, it has updated and no, there is nothing new to show me.

I’ve been feeling selfish too.  Selfish because this recent event could mean that all the wonderment and excitement I felt at the beginning of the week could be delayed, or perhaps, never be.

And that is when I have to tamp down my imagination.

You let me sit and think without information and I’ll create either the best or worst scenario my mind can come up with.  It’s terrible.  Terrible and wonderful at the same time.

I’ve dismissed the worry I had for myself and the hug I shared with my doctor, while tears streamed down my cheeks is a fading memory.

But the love and fear I feel for someone else remains.

I will pray to whatever God will listen to me – and use my imagination to send love and light to  the family that needs it.

I have to decide, again, to let go.  Give another thing I have no control of over to the universe.

Fairy tales will have to wait, even  destiny gets interrupted sometimes.

Writers Remorse

I’ve been pretty careful about skirting around some issues for the purpose of respecting people in my life – or protecting people in my life.  This has been a little frustrating, but par for the course of ‘going public’ with my blog.

Originally I wanted a spot I could write anonymously (other than my journal). A venue where I didn’t have to edit myself.  I had hoped to share and help others with some issues I haven’t addressed yet.  It is what it is though, and I do have to edit myself. 

Yesterday, after my post about my son I felt pretty rotten.  I shared my concerns with a writer friend who told me not to edit it – to stick with what my gut told me to write.

And he was right.  I wrote from my heart and from the place I was in right that second.

So consider this an amendment of sorts.

My son is kind-hearted, funny, loving, intelligent, and good.

My frustrations yesterday had to be looked at.  Examined.  Because the fact that I was having a physical reaction to something that wasn’t even intended to piss me off, definitely deserves to be contemplated.

If I have learned anything in the past few years, it’s that most emotions stem from fear.

I am scared. 

I am fearful that I haven’t done enough, taught enough, instilled enough and the clock is ticking on my sons childhood.

He will be 18 in March of next year. 

I want him to say ‘thank you’ when people do kind things for him.  I want him to see someone obviously up to their elbows in work and offer a helping hand.  I want him to be aware of his surroundings and make sensible choices.  I want my son to know and show gratitude.

I can want these things for him until I’m blue in the face – but I can’t make them so.

I have tried to teach by example.  When I missed his first step, his first laugh, a school assembly, I hoped at least he would grow up knowing the importance of hard work. Knowing that providing for your family is important. 

I’m demonstrative with my gratitude, my love, my compassion.  I want him to see those things in action and have them become a part of who he is.

I’ve never beat him, never told him he was less than and never has he gone without a meal or an article of clothing that he required. 

My son has had the best of me and my time is almost up.

He’s going to be in the worlds kitchen while it’s population is carving, cleaning, juggling tasks.  And I don’t want him behaving the way he did in mine.

I tell myself ‘God doesn’t have grandchildren’.  I also remind myself that it took me a long time before I knew half of what I know today. 

I guess it all boils down to that age-old wish.  I don’t want him to make my mistakes.

But this isn’t about me. 

I could have handled yesterday a lot better. So obviously, at 43 I still have a great deal to learn.  Why be so hard on a 17-year-old?