I went to the circus once when I was ten years old. I never went back. I enjoyed the human performers but I hated everything else. An elephant was strapped down to give rides. This was her whole existence. She would allow children to her back and walk in a slow circle. The only other part of her life involved living in a train car until she would again be tied to another pole in another city.
It makes me angry and sad at the same time. It frustrates me beyond belief because I could never do anything for that elephant. She deserved to be running around in gigantic grass fields. She deserved to know life beyond a train car window.
I remember seeing a large cat in a cage and I felt so sorry for it. What could I do for him? I couldn't buy him or set him free. And what's more, I could never do anything for any of the animals forced to live in the circus. I'd always longed for a job with meaning, but what am I supposed to do, quit and save the entire world? I would barely make a noticeable dent.
We watched "The Rise of the Planet of the Apes" a couple days ago on DVD. Awesome prequel and done quite well. (If only the sequels were half as good) A virus wipes out most of humanity while a race of apes develops the world. I told Shawn it would serve us right if something like that happened. For what we've done to the animals and their planet, for testing on them, and forcing them to be kiddie play things.
Why did God give us charge over the animals? Surely He would have known how the majority of us would have treated the critters? It ought to be the other way around. Animals do not sexually abuse their young. They do not torture. They do not pollute and invent dangerous drugs.
But what can I do? I feel like I cannot do anything except be frustrated over it, saddened, and deeply angered.
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Sunday, December 25, 2011
What A Terrible World
It's Christmas morning. I flipped on the TV for background noise while I played with the puppy. A new commercial for The Human Society came on. A boxer with a disfigured face was shown. His face was mutilated from years of dog fights. A cow was seen being pushed over with a fork lift. A horse that was forced to starve was shown. I have seen skinny horses before, but never one so pitifully thin.
The first images made me cringe but when the video of the cow being pushed with a fork lift was shown, I began to bawl. My tears fell on the puppy in my lap and she stood up on my leg and began to furiously lick my jaw. I just sat there and cried.
I hate this world, I thought. Why are we allowed to go on and live? If you look around, the cruel out number the humane. The greedy seem to out number the generous. If you don't believe me, visit a mall or a mega retailer two days before Christmas. We shoot each other over sneakers and pepper spray each other over a sale. A sale! You have a weapon so use it to take what you want instead of inflicting pain unnecessarily. Don't shoot someone so you can buy sneakers. Use the gun as a threat and just take the darn sneakers!
In the newspaper I read of a four year old that was beaten to death. His body had various stages of healing bruises. I read about a baby girl--a baby!--that was sexually assaulted and left with a broken pelvis.
Why are we allowed to live? Such a beautiful world, destroyed by humanity. Crushed by the ugly human spirit. Why doesn't God destroy it now? Honestly, I don't want to be here if things get much worse. I get so angry when I see & read about these things. I cry because there's nothing--NOTHING--I can do to change things. People are still cruel. Disgusting men still assault tiny babies and beat children, allow animals to starve.
My hands shake with anger and also with pure frustration because I sit here and can do nothing about it.
Why does God wait so long for things to get so bad? How much worse is He going to allow us to act before bringing down His fist?
The first images made me cringe but when the video of the cow being pushed with a fork lift was shown, I began to bawl. My tears fell on the puppy in my lap and she stood up on my leg and began to furiously lick my jaw. I just sat there and cried.
I hate this world, I thought. Why are we allowed to go on and live? If you look around, the cruel out number the humane. The greedy seem to out number the generous. If you don't believe me, visit a mall or a mega retailer two days before Christmas. We shoot each other over sneakers and pepper spray each other over a sale. A sale! You have a weapon so use it to take what you want instead of inflicting pain unnecessarily. Don't shoot someone so you can buy sneakers. Use the gun as a threat and just take the darn sneakers!
In the newspaper I read of a four year old that was beaten to death. His body had various stages of healing bruises. I read about a baby girl--a baby!--that was sexually assaulted and left with a broken pelvis.
Why are we allowed to live? Such a beautiful world, destroyed by humanity. Crushed by the ugly human spirit. Why doesn't God destroy it now? Honestly, I don't want to be here if things get much worse. I get so angry when I see & read about these things. I cry because there's nothing--NOTHING--I can do to change things. People are still cruel. Disgusting men still assault tiny babies and beat children, allow animals to starve.
My hands shake with anger and also with pure frustration because I sit here and can do nothing about it.
Why does God wait so long for things to get so bad? How much worse is He going to allow us to act before bringing down His fist?
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
What Christmas Has Become
I don't have time to be sitting here, typing. I wanted to write it while the details were fresh in my mind.
I've caught myself thinking, in secret, "I hate Christmas." This statement does not actually, literally mean that I hate Christmas. I hate what it is today. I went to the grocery store on Monday and the parking lot was packed. It was raining and I had to hike a quarter mile from my parking space to the store. A typical seven minuet drive can take up to twenty minuets due to the shoppers on the road, all on the hunt for that one special, perfect gift.
Bah humbug. Yeah, you heard me. When I was a child, it was much more simple. All my family, extended cousins included, would gather at my grandmother's house for warmth, fellowship, shredded wrapping paper and mounds of food. All it is anymore is time spent in the car, in line, waiting, searching, sorting, wrapping....
At Wal-Mart today I had actual groceries to get as well as a handful of gifts; a few pounds of candy for my Aunt Louise who is stuck in a nursing home, a couple gift cards. I picked a non-threatening line and awaited to check out my items. I waited. And waited. And waited some more. I anxiously tore at the package of my nicotine gum and feigned patience.
The lady in front of me scrutinized every price of every item. She claimed those specific tomatoes were listed as $1.84 and not $1.87 as they had rung up.
LADY, HERE'S THREE CENTS; HERE'S FIVE DOLLARS NOW LET'S GO!!!!!!!
I was not aware until it was finally my turn what was the main cause for the slow progression of the check out line. The cashier had one normal arm and one tiny, short arm. Do not misunderstand me. I do not fault this woman for her abnormality. I fault stupid Wal-Mart for placing this poor woman as a cashier approximately 11 days from Christmas. In hindsight, there is an older fellow who also has a similar abnormality and he pushes a broom up and down the ailes. It works great for him and Wal-Mart.
For this reason, I stood in line for twenty minuets (or six hours). Next, I hit the mall to pick up an order I had placed for Mom to help her out (for Shawn's God-awful jeans size--the freak) and to pick up more gift cards for my four nieces.
Dear God, the mall. There's a reason I never go in there. By the time I was done, it was raining good and hard and I had developed pit stains from pushing through the mobs. On the way home, the thoughts of what Christmas used to be and what it has become tumbled in my mind.
An old mix CD played in the stereo and out of the blue, unexpected, Sarah McLaughlin began to sing, "This, this is Christ the King...."
As I drove what we affectionately call The Back Loop, I began to sob. This was not just any cry. This was the kind of cry that produces seriously high-pitched inhales, gasping for breath, and weeping. Once home, it was over. The front of my shirt was wet. The feeling of overwhelm had vanished as the members of Linkin Park played "New Divide" over the speakers.
Make lunches, feed the dogs, the cat, separate the receipts and mark the budget, put away laundry, mark the purchase orders for the business, meet Gloria and her husband for a business dinner at 7 o'clock..... I rallied my brain to reset because I had one million things to get done and only a few short hours to do them in.
Because this is what Christmas has become....
I've caught myself thinking, in secret, "I hate Christmas." This statement does not actually, literally mean that I hate Christmas. I hate what it is today. I went to the grocery store on Monday and the parking lot was packed. It was raining and I had to hike a quarter mile from my parking space to the store. A typical seven minuet drive can take up to twenty minuets due to the shoppers on the road, all on the hunt for that one special, perfect gift.
Bah humbug. Yeah, you heard me. When I was a child, it was much more simple. All my family, extended cousins included, would gather at my grandmother's house for warmth, fellowship, shredded wrapping paper and mounds of food. All it is anymore is time spent in the car, in line, waiting, searching, sorting, wrapping....
At Wal-Mart today I had actual groceries to get as well as a handful of gifts; a few pounds of candy for my Aunt Louise who is stuck in a nursing home, a couple gift cards. I picked a non-threatening line and awaited to check out my items. I waited. And waited. And waited some more. I anxiously tore at the package of my nicotine gum and feigned patience.
The lady in front of me scrutinized every price of every item. She claimed those specific tomatoes were listed as $1.84 and not $1.87 as they had rung up.
LADY, HERE'S THREE CENTS; HERE'S FIVE DOLLARS NOW LET'S GO!!!!!!!
I was not aware until it was finally my turn what was the main cause for the slow progression of the check out line. The cashier had one normal arm and one tiny, short arm. Do not misunderstand me. I do not fault this woman for her abnormality. I fault stupid Wal-Mart for placing this poor woman as a cashier approximately 11 days from Christmas. In hindsight, there is an older fellow who also has a similar abnormality and he pushes a broom up and down the ailes. It works great for him and Wal-Mart.
For this reason, I stood in line for twenty minuets (or six hours). Next, I hit the mall to pick up an order I had placed for Mom to help her out (for Shawn's God-awful jeans size--the freak) and to pick up more gift cards for my four nieces.
Dear God, the mall. There's a reason I never go in there. By the time I was done, it was raining good and hard and I had developed pit stains from pushing through the mobs. On the way home, the thoughts of what Christmas used to be and what it has become tumbled in my mind.
An old mix CD played in the stereo and out of the blue, unexpected, Sarah McLaughlin began to sing, "This, this is Christ the King...."
As I drove what we affectionately call The Back Loop, I began to sob. This was not just any cry. This was the kind of cry that produces seriously high-pitched inhales, gasping for breath, and weeping. Once home, it was over. The front of my shirt was wet. The feeling of overwhelm had vanished as the members of Linkin Park played "New Divide" over the speakers.
Make lunches, feed the dogs, the cat, separate the receipts and mark the budget, put away laundry, mark the purchase orders for the business, meet Gloria and her husband for a business dinner at 7 o'clock..... I rallied my brain to reset because I had one million things to get done and only a few short hours to do them in.
Because this is what Christmas has become....
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Old Chums
I ran into a girl I went to high school with yesterday at Wal-Mart, child in tow of course. She asked how I was. She seemed so happy. I don't mean happy, like when someone wins a prize on Wheel of Fortune, I mean....happy.
So what do say when an old chum asks how you are? You certainly don't tell them the truth. What am I going to say, that I hate my life, I despise my job, my house is cold and I'm stressed to the max? I don't think so. No, you would say what I had said. "Great! Everything's great!" You say the same thing at the check out when the cashier asks.
Because no one actually wants to know how you are. You don't tell the cashier you've had constipation or diarrhea. No, you give the standard answer to be polite.
"Great, fine. How are you doing?"
I bought $7 in scratch off lottery tickets today, hoping to win my way out of my current situation (as there are zero jobs locally). I've NEVER spent more than $2 at a time or within the same week on lottery. Once--only one--did I spend $3 on a ticket.
I didn't even win a dollar back. I felt a tremendous amount of guilt as I pondered that I had just spent $7 of grocery money and pissed it away like it was nothing. But I'm fine, thanks. How are you doing?
So what do say when an old chum asks how you are? You certainly don't tell them the truth. What am I going to say, that I hate my life, I despise my job, my house is cold and I'm stressed to the max? I don't think so. No, you would say what I had said. "Great! Everything's great!" You say the same thing at the check out when the cashier asks.
Because no one actually wants to know how you are. You don't tell the cashier you've had constipation or diarrhea. No, you give the standard answer to be polite.
"Great, fine. How are you doing?"
I bought $7 in scratch off lottery tickets today, hoping to win my way out of my current situation (as there are zero jobs locally). I've NEVER spent more than $2 at a time or within the same week on lottery. Once--only one--did I spend $3 on a ticket.
I didn't even win a dollar back. I felt a tremendous amount of guilt as I pondered that I had just spent $7 of grocery money and pissed it away like it was nothing. But I'm fine, thanks. How are you doing?
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
A Sea of Me
Darrell stopped his treatments. He went to Wimberly to be with his boys and their families. It's a three hour drive. Mom's a mess. I called her last night and she cried over the phone for forty minuets. It's strange how he entered our lives again and will probably be taken away just as quickly. Stage four is bad news for a cancer patient not wanting to continue treatment.
"Little kids do this!" Mom lamented. It's hard to understand unless you've been through it I suppose.
Nonetheless, I've been wrapped up in a big negative sea of me lately, despite my outward appearance. Maybe it's lack of sunshine or heat. Maybe all this stuff is just getting to me... Because someone was too busy to actually drive and only drive, my car was smashed up & I was forced to get this Jeep Grand Cherokee because it was well, available and cheap. Lucky me, I get to get used to driving this Mega Beast during the height of the Christmas shopping season.
People find out it has leather seats and go, "Ooooooooo!" Let me tell you, those suckers are COLD in the morning. And my laundry and groceries slide around with each turn and lane change.
There's things I want, tangible and intangible. I don't know how to get them. I'm cold and I hate my frickin' job. I wish I had more time to drive to and fro and spend that time with loved ones that are dying, either from old age or sickness.
I wish we had a gigantic shed in which for Shawn to put his business, a new house with warm rooms and carpets that weren't soaked in dog urine. I wish Shawn would quit smoking. I wish he could quit his job and do the business full time, bring me along so I could quit my stupid, cold, dirty job.
I wish everyone in my family didn't have cancer.
Three cousins: Stomach, bone, and testicular cancer, respectively.
Both grandmothers: Brain and breast cancer, respectively
Great Aunt: Skin cancer multiple times (no matter how she protected herself) and now lung cancer
Uncle: Skin cancer
I know I'm forgetting someone or a couple of someones. It's getting difficult to keep up and remember.
My Aunt Louise is sitting in a nursing home just waiting to die. I don't have enough hours in the week to make the long drive to see her. When I do get a free afternoon, I'm so exhausted I don't want to do anything but the bare minimum. I'm so tired of being tired all the time.
I bought a lottery ticket for tonight. I rarely buy lottery tickets. I don't need $20 million.... Just enough to put us in house in the country so Shawn can move all his equipment there and work from the backyard. Just enough so he can quit his job and focus on this business.
.....and maybe a little left over so I can trade the Mega Beast for a nice used sedan.
"Little kids do this!" Mom lamented. It's hard to understand unless you've been through it I suppose.
Nonetheless, I've been wrapped up in a big negative sea of me lately, despite my outward appearance. Maybe it's lack of sunshine or heat. Maybe all this stuff is just getting to me... Because someone was too busy to actually drive and only drive, my car was smashed up & I was forced to get this Jeep Grand Cherokee because it was well, available and cheap. Lucky me, I get to get used to driving this Mega Beast during the height of the Christmas shopping season.
People find out it has leather seats and go, "Ooooooooo!" Let me tell you, those suckers are COLD in the morning. And my laundry and groceries slide around with each turn and lane change.
There's things I want, tangible and intangible. I don't know how to get them. I'm cold and I hate my frickin' job. I wish I had more time to drive to and fro and spend that time with loved ones that are dying, either from old age or sickness.
I wish we had a gigantic shed in which for Shawn to put his business, a new house with warm rooms and carpets that weren't soaked in dog urine. I wish Shawn would quit smoking. I wish he could quit his job and do the business full time, bring me along so I could quit my stupid, cold, dirty job.
I wish everyone in my family didn't have cancer.
Three cousins: Stomach, bone, and testicular cancer, respectively.
Both grandmothers: Brain and breast cancer, respectively
Great Aunt: Skin cancer multiple times (no matter how she protected herself) and now lung cancer
Uncle: Skin cancer
I know I'm forgetting someone or a couple of someones. It's getting difficult to keep up and remember.
My Aunt Louise is sitting in a nursing home just waiting to die. I don't have enough hours in the week to make the long drive to see her. When I do get a free afternoon, I'm so exhausted I don't want to do anything but the bare minimum. I'm so tired of being tired all the time.
I bought a lottery ticket for tonight. I rarely buy lottery tickets. I don't need $20 million.... Just enough to put us in house in the country so Shawn can move all his equipment there and work from the backyard. Just enough so he can quit his job and focus on this business.
.....and maybe a little left over so I can trade the Mega Beast for a nice used sedan.
Saturday, December 3, 2011
I'm Too Exhausted to Title This
Today was an interesting day. Mom's birthday is Monday. I have no slacks that fit in case of a sudden funeral. I am down to three pair of jeans, all of which have holes or patches covering holes. So I asked Mom if she'd like to go shopping with me & I would take her to lunch for her birthday (since I didn't buy a gift).
Right off the bat, Shawn had issues again at the shop so I attempted to install the old software to see if that might work better. It didn't. Mom & I left Shawn in a state of despair. I myself was in a state of despair. Mom was also in a state of despair due to everyone in the family having cancer.
Shawn told me to go "have fun and enjoy the day". Yuck. I hate shopping and I didn't want to do it. In the first store fatigue/caffeine crash hit me pretty hard, followed by the frustration of finding pants of any given variety made for someone who is five feet tall (they don't exist). Finally, after many, many stores I found two pair of jeans that I wasn't in love with but could maybe develop a friendly relationship with.
I found a pair of slacks that fit but were about 8 inches too long. Good thing I'm in good with a professional seamstress. It's good to know people. I spent the $100 that I took out of savings. I figured it was my car that was wrecked and "sold" to the insurance people. I figured I deserved to spend that money even though I detest clothing shopping and abhor spending money. Yeah me.
Once home, more issues. I apologized to Mom profusely for how the day went. We were inteding to see my uncle who just had a second round of chemo yesterday. Mom said he really likes me. "Really?!" I said. I'm not a real likable person, you see. The personality of my uncle closely resembles my own. Me thinks we are a bit cynical about life in general.
I spent four more hours at the shop with Shawn and spent most of the time trying not cry. I read an email previously that announced to my fragile heart that yet another family member had been diagnosed with lung cancer. I bawled immediately and tried to hold it together while I lent Shawn a hand and tried to remain in a standing position while chugging back diet sodas.
FINALLY, FINALLY, FINALLY, FINALLY, that stupid machine cut something! I could not be inside for the smoke. I left coughing, hacking, gripping my inhaler and sat on the sidewalk in the dark and the rain and just bawled. It was mixed. I might say I was crying out of pure happiness but I was so exhausted it was a mixed emotion.
Once home, I got the full scoop on the lung cancer and it turns out that it's teeny tiny spot, very treatable. It put my mind at ease a little but of course never 100%
With our family history I am nearly destined to get either cancer or a heart attack. Thank the Lord I quit smoking and (almost) red meat. I gotta take better care of myself. Shawn wants me to see if there's some kind of cancer gene test. So what if there is? Either they tell me I'll get it or not. They can't prevent it. Either I get it or I don't. And if I worry about I'll make myself sick just from worrying about it. So I don't.
Christmas is in three weeks and even though I've already decided that everyone is getting a gift card (the gift that says, "Here! You do it!") I feel like I don't have an ounce of energy to spare for this event. And still, I fantasize about spending three days baking cookies and making treats for everyone I know.
Maybe next year....
Right off the bat, Shawn had issues again at the shop so I attempted to install the old software to see if that might work better. It didn't. Mom & I left Shawn in a state of despair. I myself was in a state of despair. Mom was also in a state of despair due to everyone in the family having cancer.
Shawn told me to go "have fun and enjoy the day". Yuck. I hate shopping and I didn't want to do it. In the first store fatigue/caffeine crash hit me pretty hard, followed by the frustration of finding pants of any given variety made for someone who is five feet tall (they don't exist). Finally, after many, many stores I found two pair of jeans that I wasn't in love with but could maybe develop a friendly relationship with.
I found a pair of slacks that fit but were about 8 inches too long. Good thing I'm in good with a professional seamstress. It's good to know people. I spent the $100 that I took out of savings. I figured it was my car that was wrecked and "sold" to the insurance people. I figured I deserved to spend that money even though I detest clothing shopping and abhor spending money. Yeah me.
Once home, more issues. I apologized to Mom profusely for how the day went. We were inteding to see my uncle who just had a second round of chemo yesterday. Mom said he really likes me. "Really?!" I said. I'm not a real likable person, you see. The personality of my uncle closely resembles my own. Me thinks we are a bit cynical about life in general.
I spent four more hours at the shop with Shawn and spent most of the time trying not cry. I read an email previously that announced to my fragile heart that yet another family member had been diagnosed with lung cancer. I bawled immediately and tried to hold it together while I lent Shawn a hand and tried to remain in a standing position while chugging back diet sodas.
FINALLY, FINALLY, FINALLY, FINALLY, that stupid machine cut something! I could not be inside for the smoke. I left coughing, hacking, gripping my inhaler and sat on the sidewalk in the dark and the rain and just bawled. It was mixed. I might say I was crying out of pure happiness but I was so exhausted it was a mixed emotion.
Once home, I got the full scoop on the lung cancer and it turns out that it's teeny tiny spot, very treatable. It put my mind at ease a little but of course never 100%
With our family history I am nearly destined to get either cancer or a heart attack. Thank the Lord I quit smoking and (almost) red meat. I gotta take better care of myself. Shawn wants me to see if there's some kind of cancer gene test. So what if there is? Either they tell me I'll get it or not. They can't prevent it. Either I get it or I don't. And if I worry about I'll make myself sick just from worrying about it. So I don't.
Christmas is in three weeks and even though I've already decided that everyone is getting a gift card (the gift that says, "Here! You do it!") I feel like I don't have an ounce of energy to spare for this event. And still, I fantasize about spending three days baking cookies and making treats for everyone I know.
Maybe next year....
Friday, December 2, 2011
Pushing On.....
I missed Jimmy's funeral all because I didn't have a car. I might have caught a ride with my uncle for the forty minuet drive but he got sick. And I didn't have anything appropriate to wear anyways so I never called him.
Jimmy had been in hospice for the last two months. The cancer had spread to his bones and his liver was failing near the end. For several weeks he would wake up and think he was back in Vietnam. His wife, Judy practically lived at the VA for the last 2 months. I felt so awful for missing the funeral....
I picked up the Jeep from our mechanic. I must be a heretic because everyone loves it but me. It drives like a semi truck. I've never driven anything but little bubble cars. My short, squatty legs aren't built for anything else. At red lights, I'm so petrified that my foot will slip off the brake pedal. It'll start to cramp up and the muscle in my leg gets tight. It takes longer to slow down, to stop and I don't know where the rear end in that thing is when I make lane changes (a red Nissan honked and told me so!).
Shawn asked me, "Do you really not like it or are you just not used to it?" Does it really matter? I'm kinda stuck here. "It runs," I told him. '"It get me from here to there."
Shawn & I have been at odds. His temper is outta control and he's taking it out on me a lot. Things have been going wrong and there have been so many disasters. He told me he was stressed out. I told him I was just as stressed out only I had someone screaming at me & blaming things on me that weren't my fault added to the mix.
I lost three pounds in just in a few days. (usually that would take a month so I know it's due to stress and not eating properly) I'm guzzling coffee just to keep going for a few more hours. Time is a precious thing these days and it seems everyone I bump into is doing everything they can to spend it for me. If only I had an extra two hours per day, along with two more hours of viable energy to go with it....
Going into to all this....If I had an inkling of how stressful all this would be, I probably would not have done it. I say that but I suppose I don't really mean it. This is Shawn's dream; not mine. It's easy for me to say things like that. I am emotionally and physically drained. Spent.
I'm so tired. I tired of being angry. I'm tired of crying because something isn't going right or because someone screamed at me out of a personal frustration. My body hurts. I'm just so tired....
I wish people would stop telling me that it'll get better, that there's a light at the end of the tunnel. They tell me God only gives you what you can handle. If that's true, why does anyone commit suicide? For once, just once, I wish someone would say, "You're right. Everything is shit right now." Maybe there is a light at the end of the tunnel....at the end a long, liquor-induced nap.
Boy, I could really go for a nap.
Jimmy had been in hospice for the last two months. The cancer had spread to his bones and his liver was failing near the end. For several weeks he would wake up and think he was back in Vietnam. His wife, Judy practically lived at the VA for the last 2 months. I felt so awful for missing the funeral....
I picked up the Jeep from our mechanic. I must be a heretic because everyone loves it but me. It drives like a semi truck. I've never driven anything but little bubble cars. My short, squatty legs aren't built for anything else. At red lights, I'm so petrified that my foot will slip off the brake pedal. It'll start to cramp up and the muscle in my leg gets tight. It takes longer to slow down, to stop and I don't know where the rear end in that thing is when I make lane changes (a red Nissan honked and told me so!).
Shawn asked me, "Do you really not like it or are you just not used to it?" Does it really matter? I'm kinda stuck here. "It runs," I told him. '"It get me from here to there."
Shawn & I have been at odds. His temper is outta control and he's taking it out on me a lot. Things have been going wrong and there have been so many disasters. He told me he was stressed out. I told him I was just as stressed out only I had someone screaming at me & blaming things on me that weren't my fault added to the mix.
I lost three pounds in just in a few days. (usually that would take a month so I know it's due to stress and not eating properly) I'm guzzling coffee just to keep going for a few more hours. Time is a precious thing these days and it seems everyone I bump into is doing everything they can to spend it for me. If only I had an extra two hours per day, along with two more hours of viable energy to go with it....
Going into to all this....If I had an inkling of how stressful all this would be, I probably would not have done it. I say that but I suppose I don't really mean it. This is Shawn's dream; not mine. It's easy for me to say things like that. I am emotionally and physically drained. Spent.
I'm so tired. I tired of being angry. I'm tired of crying because something isn't going right or because someone screamed at me out of a personal frustration. My body hurts. I'm just so tired....
I wish people would stop telling me that it'll get better, that there's a light at the end of the tunnel. They tell me God only gives you what you can handle. If that's true, why does anyone commit suicide? For once, just once, I wish someone would say, "You're right. Everything is shit right now." Maybe there is a light at the end of the tunnel....at the end a long, liquor-induced nap.
Boy, I could really go for a nap.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
There Might Be A Light
Yesterday I was able to get a computer guy over to the shop. He and his wife came, left, came back with an older dumbed down computer (though suped up for the processor) and HE FIXED IT! HE FIXED IT, HE FIXED IT, HE FIXED IT!!!!!!
Both were actually very interested in what Shawn could do. The husband needs a new sign for his store. The wife was interested in customized decor. WHOO-HOO!!!!!
I called our mechanic the day after Thanksgiving and left a message on his machine. He called and said he'd get the struts on & we can take a look at the Jeep Grand Cherokee on Monday. I MIGHT HAVE A RIDE SOON!!!!! That's a good thing because we'll be needing groceries & laundry very soon. (There's no room for these things in Shawn's truck)
I did lose 5 of the 6 pounds I had gained over vacation (probably all due to being so friggin' stressed out) but I think I may have gained it back over the last three days. Both our moms sent us home with enough food for six months. I froze most of it but I've been eating like a crazed pig for three days. Oh well.
The Jeep will most likely suck up more gas money but we don't really have a choice right now. And Shawn's truck is old and worn. We've spent nearly $300 on gas in his truck alone and it's not even the 30th yet.
I sure hope this business takes off with rapid speed. We're gonna need it. We cannot even afford to get the gas turned on in the shop so there's no heat and winter is well on its way.
But yes, even the most negative person can fully admit that the tide is indeed turning.....
Both were actually very interested in what Shawn could do. The husband needs a new sign for his store. The wife was interested in customized decor. WHOO-HOO!!!!!
I called our mechanic the day after Thanksgiving and left a message on his machine. He called and said he'd get the struts on & we can take a look at the Jeep Grand Cherokee on Monday. I MIGHT HAVE A RIDE SOON!!!!! That's a good thing because we'll be needing groceries & laundry very soon. (There's no room for these things in Shawn's truck)
I did lose 5 of the 6 pounds I had gained over vacation (probably all due to being so friggin' stressed out) but I think I may have gained it back over the last three days. Both our moms sent us home with enough food for six months. I froze most of it but I've been eating like a crazed pig for three days. Oh well.
The Jeep will most likely suck up more gas money but we don't really have a choice right now. And Shawn's truck is old and worn. We've spent nearly $300 on gas in his truck alone and it's not even the 30th yet.
I sure hope this business takes off with rapid speed. We're gonna need it. We cannot even afford to get the gas turned on in the shop so there's no heat and winter is well on its way.
But yes, even the most negative person can fully admit that the tide is indeed turning.....
Friday, November 25, 2011
Tick Tock
Christopher Titus is a stand up comedian whose mother was schizophrenic. There's evidence that such a disease is hereditary and can manifest itself within the child well into adulthood. "Tick, Tock!" Titus says. "Crazy's comin'!!" As if there's some sort of timer counting down tot he exact moment when it hits.
I know the feeling.
Shawn got a small used oven for his powder coating and showed up at my job to pick me up. Then his truck would not start. We placed the oven inside the building and I attempted to back the work place delivery van back into place. It would not start. My boss, a coworker & Shawn all stuck their hands under the hood.
My boss' truck was still running as he was going to take Shawn & me home. "Allan," I called out. "Do you want me to shut off your truck?"
"NO!!" It's the only thing running!" Allan hollered.
"Don't touch it!" Shawn screamed (with a smile). I'd already had a running gag that everything that went wrong was because I had touched it. I had used Patti's cell phone a few days earlier and then it wouldn't work. Because I touched it.
Shawn's brother-in-law helped out with replacing a starter. In the back of my mind was the $450 we had just spent on Shawn's truck 2 weeks ago.
Tick, tock.
Shawn had thought he had the computer issue figured out. He spent the entire morning watching the instructional DVD that came with the PlasmaCAM. I attempted to recreate was on the DVD. Understand first that in the DVD, the computer being used in the example is from 1998, quite literally. The computer we are using was purchased a few weeks ago in the year 2011. This is the manual you receive with the purchase of a $7000 machine. I suppose they cannot spring for an update, what with the economy and all.
The menus in the BIOS configuration or whatever, simply did not exist and I was running out Friday. What computer repair place is going to make a service call on a Saturday?
Tick, tock.
Our super trustworthy mechanic has a Jeep Cherokee that the owner had surrendered due to lack of payment for repairs. However the mechanic had closed the shop for the day after Thanksgiving. What a great time to be without a car!
The weekend is a terrible time to need computer repairs, to be without a car, and just sucks in general.
Tick, tock.
Maybe crazy has already come & I just haven't realized it yet. After all, crazy people don't know they're crazy.
I know the feeling.
Shawn got a small used oven for his powder coating and showed up at my job to pick me up. Then his truck would not start. We placed the oven inside the building and I attempted to back the work place delivery van back into place. It would not start. My boss, a coworker & Shawn all stuck their hands under the hood.
My boss' truck was still running as he was going to take Shawn & me home. "Allan," I called out. "Do you want me to shut off your truck?"
"NO!!" It's the only thing running!" Allan hollered.
"Don't touch it!" Shawn screamed (with a smile). I'd already had a running gag that everything that went wrong was because I had touched it. I had used Patti's cell phone a few days earlier and then it wouldn't work. Because I touched it.
Shawn's brother-in-law helped out with replacing a starter. In the back of my mind was the $450 we had just spent on Shawn's truck 2 weeks ago.
Tick, tock.
Shawn had thought he had the computer issue figured out. He spent the entire morning watching the instructional DVD that came with the PlasmaCAM. I attempted to recreate was on the DVD. Understand first that in the DVD, the computer being used in the example is from 1998, quite literally. The computer we are using was purchased a few weeks ago in the year 2011. This is the manual you receive with the purchase of a $7000 machine. I suppose they cannot spring for an update, what with the economy and all.
The menus in the BIOS configuration or whatever, simply did not exist and I was running out Friday. What computer repair place is going to make a service call on a Saturday?
Tick, tock.
Our super trustworthy mechanic has a Jeep Cherokee that the owner had surrendered due to lack of payment for repairs. However the mechanic had closed the shop for the day after Thanksgiving. What a great time to be without a car!
The weekend is a terrible time to need computer repairs, to be without a car, and just sucks in general.
Tick, tock.
Maybe crazy has already come & I just haven't realized it yet. After all, crazy people don't know they're crazy.
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Letters
I wrote a letter to the newspaper:
I was almost home when my car was struck by another driver. The driver was not looking forward at all, ran a stop sign and totaled my car. At least that’s what her insurance company deemed it--totaled.
I pay my insurance premiums each and every month. My insurance company works for me and now I am forced to work with another insurance company. They tried to trick me and swindle me and eventually gave me a price for my car that was not acceptable. Of course if I stop paying my premiums, my company would drop me instantly. But what happens when it is their time to pay?
I have never been treated so disrespectfully in my life. The insurance company yanked away the rental car they had provided me the day I picked up the check, the day before Thanksgiving. I cannot afford a car payment and so now I am forced to buy whatever used garbage I can find for the measly amount paid to me by the insurance company. And in a hurry.
I took care of my car, inside and out and in a single second, all that was gone. We work hard for the things we have and the insurance companies take it all away with one trick, one signature, one lousy dollar amount. It is an industry fueled by greed and perks.
As a nation, as hard working folks who pay their bills and do everything they're supposed to do, I say we band together and join forces to see that something be done about the legalized swindlers. Occupy Insurance Companies. Now there’s a worthy cause.
I also am working on a letter the insurance adjuster. I haven't sent it yet & may revise it but you get the idea:
Dear Ms. Jensen,
At some point in our conversations you said to me, “I’m not that kind of person,” implying that I was accusing you of something underhanded. Apparently you are. In our veryfirst phone conversation you tried to trick me into having the car released, knowing that was my only bargaining chip. And I should not have to bargain for the price of my car. I have always paid my own insurance premiums but when it comes time for the insurance company to pay up, we customers always are forced to take the short end of the stick.
Your first offer was a downright insult. And you pulled the rental the day I picked up the check, the day before Thanksgiving. How vindictive of you. I am assuming you did this because you found me rude. I was not going to allow myself to be treated as doormat. I had to fight for a second offer that I was not happy with and as far as I am concerned, you were just as rude to me as I was to you.
You cannot tell me that you don’t receive bonuses. Why would such a large company fed by money expect you to save them cash if you were making an hourly rate? I’d expect that you see many perks and incentives to do your job well. And in their eyes, I suppose you do. Well done.
As I write this, it is Thanksgiving Day. I have no car and not nearly enough money to get a decent one. I cannot afford a car payment so I am forced to buy whatever I find for under $8,000. I do not even have the time or the means to shop for a car and this is all because one young lady could not look forward while driving. It is also because insurance companies spout out a ridiculous number & we are forced to take it.
You people take away everything that is owed to a person with a single signature. You trick people and swindle them and somehow it’s all legal. I don’t see how you people wake up each morning and feel good about yourselves. And you expect us to trust you! That’s the most laughable thing I’ve ever heard.
I wish we had never met and I hope we never meet again. I also hope that someday you are in a position similar to mine and you have to fight for everything you have and someone else is sitting at a desk, ready to take it away. Perhaps then you will learn the meaning of the word “empathy”.
I was almost home when my car was struck by another driver. The driver was not looking forward at all, ran a stop sign and totaled my car. At least that’s what her insurance company deemed it--totaled.
I pay my insurance premiums each and every month. My insurance company works for me and now I am forced to work with another insurance company. They tried to trick me and swindle me and eventually gave me a price for my car that was not acceptable. Of course if I stop paying my premiums, my company would drop me instantly. But what happens when it is their time to pay?
I have never been treated so disrespectfully in my life. The insurance company yanked away the rental car they had provided me the day I picked up the check, the day before Thanksgiving. I cannot afford a car payment and so now I am forced to buy whatever used garbage I can find for the measly amount paid to me by the insurance company. And in a hurry.
I took care of my car, inside and out and in a single second, all that was gone. We work hard for the things we have and the insurance companies take it all away with one trick, one signature, one lousy dollar amount. It is an industry fueled by greed and perks.
As a nation, as hard working folks who pay their bills and do everything they're supposed to do, I say we band together and join forces to see that something be done about the legalized swindlers. Occupy Insurance Companies. Now there’s a worthy cause.
I also am working on a letter the insurance adjuster. I haven't sent it yet & may revise it but you get the idea:
Dear Ms. Jensen,
At some point in our conversations you said to me, “I’m not that kind of person,” implying that I was accusing you of something underhanded. Apparently you are. In our veryfirst phone conversation you tried to trick me into having the car released, knowing that was my only bargaining chip. And I should not have to bargain for the price of my car. I have always paid my own insurance premiums but when it comes time for the insurance company to pay up, we customers always are forced to take the short end of the stick.
Your first offer was a downright insult. And you pulled the rental the day I picked up the check, the day before Thanksgiving. How vindictive of you. I am assuming you did this because you found me rude. I was not going to allow myself to be treated as doormat. I had to fight for a second offer that I was not happy with and as far as I am concerned, you were just as rude to me as I was to you.
You cannot tell me that you don’t receive bonuses. Why would such a large company fed by money expect you to save them cash if you were making an hourly rate? I’d expect that you see many perks and incentives to do your job well. And in their eyes, I suppose you do. Well done.
As I write this, it is Thanksgiving Day. I have no car and not nearly enough money to get a decent one. I cannot afford a car payment so I am forced to buy whatever I find for under $8,000. I do not even have the time or the means to shop for a car and this is all because one young lady could not look forward while driving. It is also because insurance companies spout out a ridiculous number & we are forced to take it.
You people take away everything that is owed to a person with a single signature. You trick people and swindle them and somehow it’s all legal. I don’t see how you people wake up each morning and feel good about yourselves. And you expect us to trust you! That’s the most laughable thing I’ve ever heard.
I wish we had never met and I hope we never meet again. I also hope that someday you are in a position similar to mine and you have to fight for everything you have and someone else is sitting at a desk, ready to take it away. Perhaps then you will learn the meaning of the word “empathy”.
Dog Eat Dog
Everything is shit. Just when I start thinking, "This has to go right because everything else has gone wrong", something else goes so majorly wrong. The insurance company screwed me regardless of how many steps I took to protect myself. That adjuster can choke on her year end bonus. I don' see how people like that wake up in the morning & feel good about themselves. I have no car & can't afford a car payment. I have to go out & just buy whatever we find.
So far, there is nothing out there in good condition for under $8,000. I took care of my car & I got shit for it. It was 7 years old and had only 72,000 miles on it. I'm realizing by yesterday's shopping venture that is not normal for that old of a car.
There are major problems with the PlasmaCAM and I cannot contact tech support because it's freaking Thanksgiving. I hate computer shit. By Tuesday night I was broken. I was hyperventalating, shaking violently, crying uncontrolablly. After my late night shower, I collapsed on the floor in a naked, wet heap and buried my face in the towel and just bawled.
I haven't wanted a cigarette this bad since I first quit. Everyone smells like cigarettes. God, I need a cigarette. Shawn gets to smoke. Why can't I smoke? It's not fair that I can't smoke!!!!!
Today is Thanksgivving and I don't have a car. The insurance pulled the rental as soon as I picked up the check & signed over the title to my Mazda. Cute. Real cute.
If all this shit is to prepare me for something bigger, to make me stronger for something else....God help me when that something else comes along. It's enough to make you want to take a handful of pills.
Readers, please look straight ahead AT THE FUCKING ROAD when you drive. And when you are about to run into something PUT ON THE FUCKING BRAKES!!!
I hope someday the insurance adjuster goes through soemthing similare to what I have been going through. ANd I hope she is forced to bend over and be sodomized financially.
I feel like Murphy's Law has vomited on both me & Shawn.
I nearly got hit taking back the rental. It was, after all, the day before Thanksgiving around 5pm. Someone was changing lanes and took it for granted that my lane was open but I was in it. I stomped on the brake, nearly standing up in my seat, pushed my hand on the horn hard enough to draw everyone's attention. Dear God, just let me get this stupid expensive rental car back to the place without wrecking it. That's all I need.
I told Patti on Wednesday what had happened in great detail. She came in for a hug. "If you hug me, I'm gonna cry," I said. "That's OK!" she said. Patti squeezed me hard & I began to sob. My face was already swollen, puffy, red. I'd woke up crying and my eyes looked like I'd been in a fight. Technically, I had.
Lucy is losing weight again. Zoe thinks we've abandoned her. I haven't pooped, slept, or eaten much since all this started.
All I have to say at this point is that this all had better be fucking worth it.
I'm so disgusted and fed up.
So far, there is nothing out there in good condition for under $8,000. I took care of my car & I got shit for it. It was 7 years old and had only 72,000 miles on it. I'm realizing by yesterday's shopping venture that is not normal for that old of a car.
There are major problems with the PlasmaCAM and I cannot contact tech support because it's freaking Thanksgiving. I hate computer shit. By Tuesday night I was broken. I was hyperventalating, shaking violently, crying uncontrolablly. After my late night shower, I collapsed on the floor in a naked, wet heap and buried my face in the towel and just bawled.
I haven't wanted a cigarette this bad since I first quit. Everyone smells like cigarettes. God, I need a cigarette. Shawn gets to smoke. Why can't I smoke? It's not fair that I can't smoke!!!!!
Today is Thanksgivving and I don't have a car. The insurance pulled the rental as soon as I picked up the check & signed over the title to my Mazda. Cute. Real cute.
If all this shit is to prepare me for something bigger, to make me stronger for something else....God help me when that something else comes along. It's enough to make you want to take a handful of pills.
Readers, please look straight ahead AT THE FUCKING ROAD when you drive. And when you are about to run into something PUT ON THE FUCKING BRAKES!!!
I hope someday the insurance adjuster goes through soemthing similare to what I have been going through. ANd I hope she is forced to bend over and be sodomized financially.
I feel like Murphy's Law has vomited on both me & Shawn.
I nearly got hit taking back the rental. It was, after all, the day before Thanksgiving around 5pm. Someone was changing lanes and took it for granted that my lane was open but I was in it. I stomped on the brake, nearly standing up in my seat, pushed my hand on the horn hard enough to draw everyone's attention. Dear God, just let me get this stupid expensive rental car back to the place without wrecking it. That's all I need.
I told Patti on Wednesday what had happened in great detail. She came in for a hug. "If you hug me, I'm gonna cry," I said. "That's OK!" she said. Patti squeezed me hard & I began to sob. My face was already swollen, puffy, red. I'd woke up crying and my eyes looked like I'd been in a fight. Technically, I had.
Lucy is losing weight again. Zoe thinks we've abandoned her. I haven't pooped, slept, or eaten much since all this started.
All I have to say at this point is that this all had better be fucking worth it.
I'm so disgusted and fed up.
Saturday, November 19, 2011
Watch Out For The Other Guy Part Two
"I'll be sure to look out for the other guy when riding with you!" Shawn joked. We cleared out all my belongings from the car and into Shawn's truck. The Little Red Rocket car was dead. Or at least dying. I wasn't sure yet.
I called my insurance first and the lady I spoke with was so sweet and kind. She put us through a three-way call with the other driver's insurance so she could help me. I was even in a rental the next day. Mom was in town on Friday and went with us to the tow yard so I could take photos. She was a little freaked out when she saw the car. The night before she was almost crying. "If something happened to you right now I couldn't handle it!" She has a lot on her plate. Last year she lost a cousin to stomach cancer. Another cousin has been in the VA, hanging by a thread for weeks with, of course, cancer. Her brother, her last surviving immediate family, will be moving in with her and Dad as he undergoes chemo therapy and radiation for....you guessed it. The C Word runs prevalent in our family. She lost her mother to brain cancer when I was just seven years old.
So you can imagine her heart dropping to her gut when she called and Shawn told her I'd been in (another) car accident.
The issues at hand right now are dealing with getting the shop in order so Shawn can produce a product along with the missing knowledge of whether or not we'll have to deal with car shopping to go along side of this great feat.
The problem I have with all of this is that I didn't intend to smash up my car. I did not make the mistake. So why should I have to settle for a used car that I have no idea how it was cared for? I cared for my vehicle and kept it clean. I was always diligent about the oil and brakes and fluids. I had a brand new inspection sticker, a brand new registration sticker and a full tank of gas. Who is going to pay for a new one?
Why should I settle for an unknown used car when I could have a newish car or my own car?! The blue book value of my car is $9,100. Originally we paid $14,000 for the Mazda 3 and as far as I am concerned, the insurance should give me enough to cover the cost of another newish Mazda 3. But they will not because insurance is nothing more than legalized swindling. And there's nothing you can do about it. I paid my insurance premiums. That other chick paid her insurance premiums AND she was quite capable of driving away. Why should I be the one to deal with the many hassles and arguings and freaking nightmares that make up the establishment of the dreaded insurance company?
She made the mistake. She ought to spend an entire weekend at the car lots. Alight, so now I am simply being bitter. It's just the worst timing ever! So I decided to be more positive about it. If I do have to get another car, perhaps I can get one that has never been smoked in. The trunk button didn't work and the blinkers stuck anyways. The driver's side door was leaking and there was a cigarette burn in the seat from Shawn taking the car to school so many nights.
On the other hand, if it is able to be fixed I won't have to deal the dreaded sharks at the car lots. I hate car salesman almost as much as I hate lawyers. If it doesn't drive well afterward, we can sell the car later when we the business is steaming ahead and I have more free time.
It appears that I am in a quandary. Shawn's been trying to be more positive, so will I.
Last night is a good example. We stopped by the shop and he explained to me a horrible problem withthe electrical. As he poked around in back, I sat and cried quietly. Later, in the parking lot of Lowe's, we decided to eat at Wes' Burgers for dinner. I had a menu at home that said they were open till 10 on Fridays and Saturdays. It was only 8 o'clock. I told Shawn if we got there and they were closed, I was going to get out of the car and just completely freak out.
"Right on Main Street, huh?" he asked.
"Yep!" I answered and let out a loud, sinister laugh. "MWA-HA-HA!"
Of course, when we arrived at Wes' the sign had been changed and now they are only open till 3pm Monday through Friday. "What kinda hell restaurant closes at three on a Friday?!" I exclaimed.
"Are you ready?" Shawn asked as I pulled onto Third Street.
"For what?" I asked.
Shawn then proceeded to throw a fit like someone having a violent seizure.
Drained emotionally and physically, tired of problems and upsets, I looked at Shawn in the gleam of late night street lamps, and I laughed.
Then we went to a freakin' Arbys!
In short, I am thankful to God that I was not hurt. Yes, I am irritated that I had just gotten gas and that this just HAD to happen RIGHT NOW and if I had not gotten gas I would have missed that chick by five minuets. My neck was pretty sore Friday but I told no one. I figured it would eventually go away and by Saturday morning it was only a little sore.
God was looking out for me and I truly believe all this has been a mere test, along with the 76,925 other tests we'd had the previous two weeks. God is trying to make me stronger for whatever reason. And yeah, I do believe we'll laugh about this one day. One day when the business is rocking and rolling, we'll tell the story of the nightmares and in the midst of all that, Misty got hot by a stop sign runner! MAW-HA-HA!!!!!
And yet we still prevailed.
I was thinking last night, as I sat on a stool in an empty building, tears running down my face, I am not strong. After hearing the problems with the electrical, I felt as though the entire world must be against us. That, and some forces beyond this world. Perhaps after all is said and done I can look up to the Heavens and say (and mean it) I am strong.
And yes, I did apologize to that chick for my initial reaction. For those of you that wondered.....
I called my insurance first and the lady I spoke with was so sweet and kind. She put us through a three-way call with the other driver's insurance so she could help me. I was even in a rental the next day. Mom was in town on Friday and went with us to the tow yard so I could take photos. She was a little freaked out when she saw the car. The night before she was almost crying. "If something happened to you right now I couldn't handle it!" She has a lot on her plate. Last year she lost a cousin to stomach cancer. Another cousin has been in the VA, hanging by a thread for weeks with, of course, cancer. Her brother, her last surviving immediate family, will be moving in with her and Dad as he undergoes chemo therapy and radiation for....you guessed it. The C Word runs prevalent in our family. She lost her mother to brain cancer when I was just seven years old.
So you can imagine her heart dropping to her gut when she called and Shawn told her I'd been in (another) car accident.
The issues at hand right now are dealing with getting the shop in order so Shawn can produce a product along with the missing knowledge of whether or not we'll have to deal with car shopping to go along side of this great feat.
The problem I have with all of this is that I didn't intend to smash up my car. I did not make the mistake. So why should I have to settle for a used car that I have no idea how it was cared for? I cared for my vehicle and kept it clean. I was always diligent about the oil and brakes and fluids. I had a brand new inspection sticker, a brand new registration sticker and a full tank of gas. Who is going to pay for a new one?
Why should I settle for an unknown used car when I could have a newish car or my own car?! The blue book value of my car is $9,100. Originally we paid $14,000 for the Mazda 3 and as far as I am concerned, the insurance should give me enough to cover the cost of another newish Mazda 3. But they will not because insurance is nothing more than legalized swindling. And there's nothing you can do about it. I paid my insurance premiums. That other chick paid her insurance premiums AND she was quite capable of driving away. Why should I be the one to deal with the many hassles and arguings and freaking nightmares that make up the establishment of the dreaded insurance company?
She made the mistake. She ought to spend an entire weekend at the car lots. Alight, so now I am simply being bitter. It's just the worst timing ever! So I decided to be more positive about it. If I do have to get another car, perhaps I can get one that has never been smoked in. The trunk button didn't work and the blinkers stuck anyways. The driver's side door was leaking and there was a cigarette burn in the seat from Shawn taking the car to school so many nights.
On the other hand, if it is able to be fixed I won't have to deal the dreaded sharks at the car lots. I hate car salesman almost as much as I hate lawyers. If it doesn't drive well afterward, we can sell the car later when we the business is steaming ahead and I have more free time.
It appears that I am in a quandary. Shawn's been trying to be more positive, so will I.
Last night is a good example. We stopped by the shop and he explained to me a horrible problem withthe electrical. As he poked around in back, I sat and cried quietly. Later, in the parking lot of Lowe's, we decided to eat at Wes' Burgers for dinner. I had a menu at home that said they were open till 10 on Fridays and Saturdays. It was only 8 o'clock. I told Shawn if we got there and they were closed, I was going to get out of the car and just completely freak out.
"Right on Main Street, huh?" he asked.
"Yep!" I answered and let out a loud, sinister laugh. "MWA-HA-HA!"
Of course, when we arrived at Wes' the sign had been changed and now they are only open till 3pm Monday through Friday. "What kinda hell restaurant closes at three on a Friday?!" I exclaimed.
"Are you ready?" Shawn asked as I pulled onto Third Street.
"For what?" I asked.
Shawn then proceeded to throw a fit like someone having a violent seizure.
Drained emotionally and physically, tired of problems and upsets, I looked at Shawn in the gleam of late night street lamps, and I laughed.
Then we went to a freakin' Arbys!
In short, I am thankful to God that I was not hurt. Yes, I am irritated that I had just gotten gas and that this just HAD to happen RIGHT NOW and if I had not gotten gas I would have missed that chick by five minuets. My neck was pretty sore Friday but I told no one. I figured it would eventually go away and by Saturday morning it was only a little sore.
God was looking out for me and I truly believe all this has been a mere test, along with the 76,925 other tests we'd had the previous two weeks. God is trying to make me stronger for whatever reason. And yeah, I do believe we'll laugh about this one day. One day when the business is rocking and rolling, we'll tell the story of the nightmares and in the midst of all that, Misty got hot by a stop sign runner! MAW-HA-HA!!!!!
And yet we still prevailed.
I was thinking last night, as I sat on a stool in an empty building, tears running down my face, I am not strong. After hearing the problems with the electrical, I felt as though the entire world must be against us. That, and some forces beyond this world. Perhaps after all is said and done I can look up to the Heavens and say (and mean it) I am strong.
And yes, I did apologize to that chick for my initial reaction. For those of you that wondered.....
Watch Out For The Other Guy Part One
"You're so lucky," Shawn said.
I looked at my car, crumpled on one side and sitting in my neighbors lawn. I looked up at Shawn and replied in a sarcastic manner, "Yeah. I'm the luckiest girl int he world."
Six and a half years ago, I had been at my job a five full days when I landed myself downtown. A Dodge RAM pickup ran a stop sign. I pressed my foot to the brake as hard as I could, the tires squealed on the pavement. Oh, God. I'm not gonna stop, I thought.
Impact. My seat belt pulled taught and my body went forward. The front of my Geo Metro crumpled like a wad of discarded paper. The truck pulled forward and a lady came out of house, running toward me, screaming, "ARE YOU OK?!"
The driver of the truck never budged. I could not open my driver door so I crawled out through the window which was previously rolled down. Fluids ran all over the street from under my car as I lit a cigarette.
The driver was a young restricted one who was no supposed to drive without an adult yet. The passenger was another girl in a white button shirt and too-short plaid skirt. High-schoolers, in other words. The girl never got out of the truck to check on me, or asked if I was OK. She never apologized and in fact, told the police officer (who was on his period that day; he was a real dick to me) that I was driving too fast! Me! I was not, but even if I was, it would not matter because she drove through the stop sign like it never existed.
Regardless, the cop didn't even ticket the girl. I suppose her skirt was just the right length.
The insurance gave us $2000 for the car which was fine because we only paid $2200 for the plastic car. Shawn really wanted to see me in something new, to paranoid to have me breaking down without a big strong man to care for me. God bless that man, he really does look out for me, no matter how cynical I become.
Time was almost up on my two week car rental the insurance had provided when late one night, someone lost control on a raining road and took out all the shiny new Mazda Tributes lined up in front of the dealership. Those vehicles would be repaired and made into loaners as the current loaners were being sold. We snatched one up for a fair price with only 8,000 miles.
My very first newish car! I was so proud of it and washed it every single week. A month after signing our names tot he loan papers, my neighbor backed into the driver's side door, with Shawn in it. The insurance company were real jerks, the body work people were real jerks. They painted the used door on my newish car the wrong color. We argued (again) to get it right. A few years later the seal on the door broke down, whistled in the wind and let rain water seep in. Sigh.
Present Day.
Shawn and I are working like hell to get the new business going. This is not merely another eBay venture. We have a rented space, equipment, machinery, and huge mortgage payment after refinancing to obtain the cash. We've both been scrambling like mad to get things done and everything has been a total nightmare. Nothing has been easy. Even something as routine as getting the water turned on has been a complete hassle. We've had trials and tribulations regarding every step and turn thus far.
Thursday, Shawn was home. He'd been vomiting all morning. Oh, God! He doesn't have time to be sick. I don't have time to get sick! On the way home I filled my nearly empty gas tank and was thankful I had gotten off work early. I had so much to do!
I was head south on 1st street with no stop sign for my side. I had just turned so I wasn't driving very fast at all. A black car approached from my left. The blue car had a stop sign and I took it for granted she would stop. I saw something large in my peripheral vision and turned. The front of the black car was inches away from me.
Within a one or two second time frame, my mind raced. I never realized my mind could work so ridiculously fast. Hit the car horn. Too late. She's gonna hit you. Speed up? Brake? Too late. You're gonna get hit. There's nothing you can do.
The car was sent forward. My body was sent forward and my head went down. The noise from my mouth surprised me. It was a sharp, "OH!" I looked up. I was facing the wrong direction. And sitting in someone's front lawn.
Now, I would like to say that my first thought was, "Thank you God that I am alright." But I ashamed to admit that it was not. I have a fight or flight response to most situations and that's exactly what came out of me. The black Honda Civic had parked a few feet away. I flung open my driver door and jumped out the car hollering, "WHERE WERE YOU LOOKING??!!!!!!"
It's a natural response for someone hard wired not to walked on like a door mat. "I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry!" A young lady was running up to me as I sat in the car muttering over and over, "I don't have time for this!" She had a lit cigarette in her hand.
"You need to step back with cigarette!" I snapped harshly. "I recently quit!" She immediately took three gigantic steps back saying, "I'm sorry!" She was crying.
I could have easily snatched that smoke from her hand and taken a long, deep, soothing, delicious drag. I knew this would pass. It always did. I popped two fresh pieces of nicotine gum and was fine within a minuet. Well, "fine" would not describe what I was feeling.
Britanny and I made sure we were both alright, I ended up consoling her, believe it or not. "I'm OK, and you're OK. This stuff is just stuff and it can fixed or replaced. It's no big deal." This was her first accident and I told her there was a first time for everything. I explained to her I would call the police, we'd file a report and that wouldn't be a big deal either.
I called Shawn and asked for the number of the police. He later told me I loved how nonchalant I was about it all over the phone. A few minuets later he pulled up and surveyed the situation. The brunt of the force was taken in the backseat. My rear end spun and popped up on the curb. The tire dug into the dirt and slid, creating a nice skid mark in the lawn. The other tire bent inward as it was dragged upward onto the curb.
Shawn said, "That's how they flip in NASCAR. You're so lucky you weren't going faster; you would've flipped." He also noted the stop sign in the other side of the intersection. If my car hadn't dug into the dirt that was the lawn (it hasn't rained in months) I might've slid right into the stop sign pole, creating a hit from the other side.
The police and a tow came. The chick did not make excuses with the cop; told him she just blew right threw the stop sign. She apologized to me a few thousand times and was pretty freaked out about it. Once my hands stopped shaking and the adrenaline had began to subside, I was OK, but still pretty irked this had happened, now, today.
It they totalled the car, we'd have to go car shopping with half the amount the car had cost. We drained our savings sending Shawn to school and with the refinance, the option of a car loan is nonexistent. If they fixed the car, it would never drive the same.
It's funny the things that go through your mind while waiting on the police and the tow truck. The day before I was telling Patti about how wrong everything was going with the business. Between having to deal with all that, work, and my every day things, I was on the verge of losing it. "There is a light at the end of your tunnel, Misty," she said. "I think there's a BIG light at the end!"
"I think someone's turned off the electricity to the tunnel," I replied. Each night that week, I felt SO guilty for not spending time with my newish puppy. We had a night time routine and we played and she'd sit on my lap and lick hand and nibble my fingers. Teething is a bitch! Each night as I put her in the bathroom for bed, I say to her, "Tomorrow will be better."
Indeed.
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Karma
This morning at work I was patting down pants that had come in yesterday for today's load. I felt folded paper in one pair of khaki pants. I tossed it on my spotting board and realized it was a bank envelope and a rebate check of some kind.
I opened the envelope and quickly thumbed through the hundreds and fifties to count $950. For the purposes of this story, $950 will herein be referred to as ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS.
Understand one thing: I am generally an honest person. I don't lie because I learned early on in life that I"m terrible at it and I feel guilty for years over it. I'm also usually very sympathetic to others' situations. With that said, I now had a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other.
I'd be lying if I said I wasn't tempted. But it only lasted about a minuet. I knew I couldn't keep that money. I took it upstairs to my boss and told him what was in the We Always Check Your Pockets envelope. I didn't want it to get lost or taken by another employee. Not to say that one of my coworkers would take it, but anyone can easily tempted by ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS.
After I came back downstairs, I honestly thought I might puke all over the floor. I felt downright sick! I mean, I gave away ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS!!!! What kind of a careless moron leaves that kind of wad in their pocket and doesn't even call the store about it???!!!
Later that morning, I learned the woman was really nonchalant about it which made me reconsider what I had done. "I shoulda kept it!" I laughed. Allan, the boss had told me that he specifically gave her my name (though she didn't ask for me) and if she didn't reward me, that I should let him know. He wanted to give me a little something if she didn't. I argued and he cut me off saying that "No good deed goes unrewarded," or something like that.
The woman told the clerk that gave her the envelope that she would come back later and leave some money for me. OK, here's Patti's take on this, "She had $950 in cash, why not leave her something now? Why come back later?" Of course I blew it off, not expecting the woman to come back except to pick up her clean clothes. I didn't do this for a reward, otherwise I would have just kept the whole wad. You get what I'm saying. And I didn't do this so I could brag about what a great person I am because ALL DAY I've been debating with myself that I should have just stuffed in the dryer vent for later. If the lady never came back--I didn't know a darn thing. If she did--OH! Look! There it is, in the dryer!
Of course all that is against my nature. It's just not me at all. And pretending something like that would be lying and whenever I lie, a neon billboard lights up on my forehead and flashes I'M LYING.
So, I don't really expect the woman to come back with anything and I'm not telling Allan anything either. The clerks can do that so I won't even have to get involved. I think the reason Allan wants to step up is because it's good for business. Suppose this woman goes around telling everyone how honest we are about what we find in the pockets. I don't want any extra hours, though. HA HA!
"It'll come back to you," one coworker said to me. I've heard it said that what you give up will come back to you ten fold. I'm waiting for ten grand to just fall out of the sky at any moment now.
So that was my day. I found ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS.
And I gave it back.
UPDATE/EDIT
This morning I came in to find an envelope at my station with $50 inside. How cool is that? I mean, after giving up ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS everything began to look like money. Every clothing care label, every green leaf that blew in the door, every wadded up receipt..... And from what I've heard, this lady (or at least her husband) has more money than most of us.
My boss gave me a little something too; going back to that customer service thing I guess. I *almost* felt the back of my eyes sting. It was the gesture that meant so much to me, really. The money came at a great time, a much needed time and I really am glad I did the right thing. Telling the story to Shawn I joked, "I don't know if you'll be mad at me or proud of me...."
HA HA!
I opened the envelope and quickly thumbed through the hundreds and fifties to count $950. For the purposes of this story, $950 will herein be referred to as ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS.
Understand one thing: I am generally an honest person. I don't lie because I learned early on in life that I"m terrible at it and I feel guilty for years over it. I'm also usually very sympathetic to others' situations. With that said, I now had a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other.
I'd be lying if I said I wasn't tempted. But it only lasted about a minuet. I knew I couldn't keep that money. I took it upstairs to my boss and told him what was in the We Always Check Your Pockets envelope. I didn't want it to get lost or taken by another employee. Not to say that one of my coworkers would take it, but anyone can easily tempted by ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS.
After I came back downstairs, I honestly thought I might puke all over the floor. I felt downright sick! I mean, I gave away ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS!!!! What kind of a careless moron leaves that kind of wad in their pocket and doesn't even call the store about it???!!!
Later that morning, I learned the woman was really nonchalant about it which made me reconsider what I had done. "I shoulda kept it!" I laughed. Allan, the boss had told me that he specifically gave her my name (though she didn't ask for me) and if she didn't reward me, that I should let him know. He wanted to give me a little something if she didn't. I argued and he cut me off saying that "No good deed goes unrewarded," or something like that.
The woman told the clerk that gave her the envelope that she would come back later and leave some money for me. OK, here's Patti's take on this, "She had $950 in cash, why not leave her something now? Why come back later?" Of course I blew it off, not expecting the woman to come back except to pick up her clean clothes. I didn't do this for a reward, otherwise I would have just kept the whole wad. You get what I'm saying. And I didn't do this so I could brag about what a great person I am because ALL DAY I've been debating with myself that I should have just stuffed in the dryer vent for later. If the lady never came back--I didn't know a darn thing. If she did--OH! Look! There it is, in the dryer!
Of course all that is against my nature. It's just not me at all. And pretending something like that would be lying and whenever I lie, a neon billboard lights up on my forehead and flashes I'M LYING.
So, I don't really expect the woman to come back with anything and I'm not telling Allan anything either. The clerks can do that so I won't even have to get involved. I think the reason Allan wants to step up is because it's good for business. Suppose this woman goes around telling everyone how honest we are about what we find in the pockets. I don't want any extra hours, though. HA HA!
"It'll come back to you," one coworker said to me. I've heard it said that what you give up will come back to you ten fold. I'm waiting for ten grand to just fall out of the sky at any moment now.
So that was my day. I found ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS.
And I gave it back.
UPDATE/EDIT
This morning I came in to find an envelope at my station with $50 inside. How cool is that? I mean, after giving up ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS everything began to look like money. Every clothing care label, every green leaf that blew in the door, every wadded up receipt..... And from what I've heard, this lady (or at least her husband) has more money than most of us.
My boss gave me a little something too; going back to that customer service thing I guess. I *almost* felt the back of my eyes sting. It was the gesture that meant so much to me, really. The money came at a great time, a much needed time and I really am glad I did the right thing. Telling the story to Shawn I joked, "I don't know if you'll be mad at me or proud of me...."
HA HA!
Sunday, October 23, 2011
I don't have kids; lookit some pet photos, why doncha?
Drought
Friday, September 23, 2011
Crap Shoot
Our store won the Reader's Choice Award that they hold in the local newspaper every year. The boss decided to have a fajita buffet at work as a reward for us workers and to be honest, I half way considered calling in sick.
Any more, I don't like eating foods when I don't have a nutritional label to go with it. I do not like having to guess how many calories are in the meal. Should I go hungry the rest of the day to compensate? Did I eat 2,000 calories in that one meal? It's a total crap shoot.
I had two fajitas, as small as I could make them, a bit of rice (white rice, naturally) and two sopapias (with honey, of course). I had one and thought that good enough. I had my taste of pastry. I didn't need another. But that monster in the back of my mind said to me, "But when are you going to eat another sopapia? Will it be another four years?"
So of course, I had to have another. My calorie estimate was around 1300 for that one sitting. I may have over estimated, but better to go over than under, then over eat entirely for the day and not even realize it.
At least tomorrow I can cook my ground turkey. The package gives me all the information I need. I know exactly how many calories I am taking in.
Blunder for the week: I found sugar free, fat free pudding in cheesecake flavor.
It isn't very good. I for one am totally and completely shocked.
(I am never sure if sarcasm can be read or just heard aloud)
Any more, I don't like eating foods when I don't have a nutritional label to go with it. I do not like having to guess how many calories are in the meal. Should I go hungry the rest of the day to compensate? Did I eat 2,000 calories in that one meal? It's a total crap shoot.
I had two fajitas, as small as I could make them, a bit of rice (white rice, naturally) and two sopapias (with honey, of course). I had one and thought that good enough. I had my taste of pastry. I didn't need another. But that monster in the back of my mind said to me, "But when are you going to eat another sopapia? Will it be another four years?"
So of course, I had to have another. My calorie estimate was around 1300 for that one sitting. I may have over estimated, but better to go over than under, then over eat entirely for the day and not even realize it.
At least tomorrow I can cook my ground turkey. The package gives me all the information I need. I know exactly how many calories I am taking in.
Blunder for the week: I found sugar free, fat free pudding in cheesecake flavor.
It isn't very good. I for one am totally and completely shocked.
(I am never sure if sarcasm can be read or just heard aloud)
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Pitiful Puppy
Shawn dropped off Zoe this morning so she could be spayed. He said as they carried her away all he could see was her face staring back at him over the shoulder of a stranger. And she cried and whimpered.
Better Shawn than me. I couldn't have taken that!
Zoe is resting in her "room", being the bathroom that is never used. She seems OK, but sore as she cannot seem to get comfortable. They told me she should be about back to normal tomorrow. Poor little dog. She was mad at me for taking away the food & water last night. She peed three times in 30 minuets just to pay me back.
Shawn and I both feel like big fat meanies.
Better Shawn than me. I couldn't have taken that!
Zoe is resting in her "room", being the bathroom that is never used. She seems OK, but sore as she cannot seem to get comfortable. They told me she should be about back to normal tomorrow. Poor little dog. She was mad at me for taking away the food & water last night. She peed three times in 30 minuets just to pay me back.
Shawn and I both feel like big fat meanies.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Boredom at a Whole New Level
I was so proud of myself yesterday. I went to bed with the number 1300 on my white board. I felt like I'd eaten all night long. It's easy when you eat the right things. Sugar free Jell-O, popcorn, veggies--I DID eat all night long! 1300 calories. I could easily do this every day. It was actually easy yesterday. Easy!
Today was another birthday at work and we got breakfast tacos. I've grown to hate those things. I imagine they taste good, they should be good, but they are not. And usually I sit down to have one or two or three, depending on the leftovers. And I usually feel really bad about it because it didn't even taste good. I imagine a soft fresh made tortilla with spicy sausage and fresh eggs, smothered in real cheddar cheese.
Instead, what you get a greasy tortilla with powdered eggs and what I've come to call "sausage". I'm not sure what it is but you rarely see any stray dogs or cats near the taco shack. Their bacon is actually little chunks of ham and the cheese is nasty, over-processed American Cheese. You know, square cheese.
I didn't even want a taco. It just sounded nasty to me and I was afraid if I ate one it would make me sleepy & I was determined to get out of there early. I did have one. But it was not the very second the bag was placed on the table. It was an hour later. And it wasn't very good. The eggs were weird. The "sausage" was chewy. And thank goodness there was no cheese to scrape off.
I worked hard and fast from the time that I walked through that big back door. We finished early and I clocked out at 12:30 and after working 6.5 hours. Once home, I discovered that everything had already been done. I had done all the chores and there were no groceries to put away. I sorted laundry last night and had washed the dishes. Hmm.
Lucy sat in the head rest of the chair and watched the street in case it might run away. I alternated watching a really boring movie and Zoe. I have to watch Zoe. I watch her to make sure she doesn't pee on the carpet, or eat the individual cheap yarns that make up the carpet. I have to watch her so she doesn't irritate Lucy past her tolerance level. The only time they get along is when the mail arrives and they agree that whoever is on the porch should suffer and die.
I had no to do list. I had no new cool movies to watch. I just watched Zoe. I needed something constructive to do so I uploaded some photos to the 'ol blog and found out that waiting for them to upload is way more boring than what I was doing.
I thought getting off early was what I'd wanted. I had literally prayed for it. And now I'm bored. Although I'd rather be here being bored than at work in the relentless heat. OK then. So what now?
Today was another birthday at work and we got breakfast tacos. I've grown to hate those things. I imagine they taste good, they should be good, but they are not. And usually I sit down to have one or two or three, depending on the leftovers. And I usually feel really bad about it because it didn't even taste good. I imagine a soft fresh made tortilla with spicy sausage and fresh eggs, smothered in real cheddar cheese.
Instead, what you get a greasy tortilla with powdered eggs and what I've come to call "sausage". I'm not sure what it is but you rarely see any stray dogs or cats near the taco shack. Their bacon is actually little chunks of ham and the cheese is nasty, over-processed American Cheese. You know, square cheese.
I didn't even want a taco. It just sounded nasty to me and I was afraid if I ate one it would make me sleepy & I was determined to get out of there early. I did have one. But it was not the very second the bag was placed on the table. It was an hour later. And it wasn't very good. The eggs were weird. The "sausage" was chewy. And thank goodness there was no cheese to scrape off.
I worked hard and fast from the time that I walked through that big back door. We finished early and I clocked out at 12:30 and after working 6.5 hours. Once home, I discovered that everything had already been done. I had done all the chores and there were no groceries to put away. I sorted laundry last night and had washed the dishes. Hmm.
Lucy sat in the head rest of the chair and watched the street in case it might run away. I alternated watching a really boring movie and Zoe. I have to watch Zoe. I watch her to make sure she doesn't pee on the carpet, or eat the individual cheap yarns that make up the carpet. I have to watch her so she doesn't irritate Lucy past her tolerance level. The only time they get along is when the mail arrives and they agree that whoever is on the porch should suffer and die.
I had no to do list. I had no new cool movies to watch. I just watched Zoe. I needed something constructive to do so I uploaded some photos to the 'ol blog and found out that waiting for them to upload is way more boring than what I was doing.
I thought getting off early was what I'd wanted. I had literally prayed for it. And now I'm bored. Although I'd rather be here being bored than at work in the relentless heat. OK then. So what now?
Shutterbug
(Look closely. Zoe is on my butt, using a cheek as a chin rest)
They were beautiful, in layers, even. The top layer moved slowly, the middle seemed to stay put. The lowest layer moved quickly to Waco where the rain always goes and building is usually brought to its knees. I wish I could have captured in digital "film" what the clouds were doing that afternoon. The leaves blew around on the concrete and it sounded like rain falling from Heaven. You could almost smell it in the clean air.
It did not rain.
Couple weeks ago, I peeled up my toenail. Not on purpose, of course. Why would anyone do that on purpose? I don't have any juicy information for anyone. No, I stupidly opened a door over my foot and it lifted the nail from the flesh that it grew from. It's much better now, thank you.
Saturday, September 10, 2011
One Fourteen
"How much you weigh? About One Fifteen?" a coworker asked this as I stepped on the digital scale at work, meant for weighing bulk orders for customers. The number read 114.
"One Fourteen," I replied. "But I think it's wrong. My pants are too tight for one fourteen." I was after all, up a notch on my already stretched out belt. (I hated that. Two weeks ago I was one a good notch of my belt. And I moved up.)
I weighed 114 first thing in the morning too. That's important to know because at work, I'd just been to the bathroom. I'd been constipated all week, probably from my happy binge over Labor Day weekend. At work, it suddenly hit me and I don't mean to be crude, but it was a lot. I figured I'd lost at least a pound, maybe two just by using the bathroom.
And there the number sat. One Fourteen.
Later that afternoon I took Zoe for her first round of big girl shots. The vet lined up three needles saying, "You're about to become a teenager!"
Two hours later Zoe was hurting pretty badly. She was lethargic and favoring her right side terribly. I picked her up to place her on the couch next to me and she cried that horrible noise. It starts out like a "Heh," but has high pitched under tones and a heavy breath behind it. I remember it so well from Prissy's last days. If I even accidentally brushed my hand against her back, she cried out. Then I cried, telling her that I was sorry, over and over.
I spent a few hours crying over her, trying not to cry, trying to hide it. Eventually Shawn wrapped me in his arms as I spilled my guts to him.
"I don't mean to be silly. I know she's OK but it's that awful cry, that awful noise. It brings back so much and I just can't listen to it; I can't hear it! I love her so much; I don't wanna see her hurting!"
It brought back WAY too many memories that are only months old. It was too soon for me to hear that painful cry and it truly broke my heart all over again. Towards late evening, it was clear Zoe was feeling a little better. She seemed sleepy but was biting gently at my hands and chomping down on Shawn's. I was finally hungry and not wanting to cut, cook, fix, or at all involve myself into making something to eat, I grabbed one of Shawn's microwave pork sandwiches. It's like a McRib, but with very little sauce and rubbery bread. And it was horrible.
Chalk that up to experience. When I get upset, I put very little thought into what I eat. I may eat whatever I think will make me feel better, or merely whatever is easy. In this case it was both and it just left me disappointed and over my limit for daily calories.
Saturday. It was the same today as I grabbed a box of cereal at the store and ate half of it in one sitting. Even as I took the box to the living room, I KNEW I should have measured it into a bowl. But I didn't. And so I ingested over 700 calories during on TV program. When am I going to learn?
"One Fourteen," I replied. "But I think it's wrong. My pants are too tight for one fourteen." I was after all, up a notch on my already stretched out belt. (I hated that. Two weeks ago I was one a good notch of my belt. And I moved up.)
I weighed 114 first thing in the morning too. That's important to know because at work, I'd just been to the bathroom. I'd been constipated all week, probably from my happy binge over Labor Day weekend. At work, it suddenly hit me and I don't mean to be crude, but it was a lot. I figured I'd lost at least a pound, maybe two just by using the bathroom.
And there the number sat. One Fourteen.
Later that afternoon I took Zoe for her first round of big girl shots. The vet lined up three needles saying, "You're about to become a teenager!"
Two hours later Zoe was hurting pretty badly. She was lethargic and favoring her right side terribly. I picked her up to place her on the couch next to me and she cried that horrible noise. It starts out like a "Heh," but has high pitched under tones and a heavy breath behind it. I remember it so well from Prissy's last days. If I even accidentally brushed my hand against her back, she cried out. Then I cried, telling her that I was sorry, over and over.
I spent a few hours crying over her, trying not to cry, trying to hide it. Eventually Shawn wrapped me in his arms as I spilled my guts to him.
"I don't mean to be silly. I know she's OK but it's that awful cry, that awful noise. It brings back so much and I just can't listen to it; I can't hear it! I love her so much; I don't wanna see her hurting!"
It brought back WAY too many memories that are only months old. It was too soon for me to hear that painful cry and it truly broke my heart all over again. Towards late evening, it was clear Zoe was feeling a little better. She seemed sleepy but was biting gently at my hands and chomping down on Shawn's. I was finally hungry and not wanting to cut, cook, fix, or at all involve myself into making something to eat, I grabbed one of Shawn's microwave pork sandwiches. It's like a McRib, but with very little sauce and rubbery bread. And it was horrible.
Chalk that up to experience. When I get upset, I put very little thought into what I eat. I may eat whatever I think will make me feel better, or merely whatever is easy. In this case it was both and it just left me disappointed and over my limit for daily calories.
Saturday. It was the same today as I grabbed a box of cereal at the store and ate half of it in one sitting. Even as I took the box to the living room, I KNEW I should have measured it into a bowl. But I didn't. And so I ingested over 700 calories during on TV program. When am I going to learn?
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Laboring for Labor Day ...or What Made MIsty Slow Down
4:30 AM Uh. I hate 4:30 AM. God did not create this time of day. The devil created 4:30 AM. I'd gotten spoiled over a three day weekend. I'd much rather prefer to get up a little before the sun and watch the sun come up gradually as the sky changes colors from black to all sorts of things.
4:30 AM only means I have to get up because I have to be somewhere. Early.
The weekend was really wonderful. No, I didn't got out of town or to a fair as everyone might expect. Usually I fear that I'll get bored and become depressed but I did not. I was a little irritated that I was forced to move more slowly due to the fact that I had peeled back a toe nail but I got a little of everything.
I got some chores and errands done, I relaxed and watched movies. I played with my dogs. I ate what I wanted to eat and a lot of it! (And I didn't keep score)
A major reason for my uplifted mood might have something to do with the weather. For the first time in months we were out of one-hundred and something temperatures. And it was so nice! I let Zoe play outside several times a day for as long as I could breathe. The dead grass, trees, bushes, flowers, leaves and everything else that once green has played a major role in my asthma. But the breeze was cool and the air was crisp and the dogs just loved it.
Work, of course has been ultra busy due to the store being closed for a day and all it does is make we wish every weekend could be a three day weekend. I've started back to my strict 1500 calorie plan and I've stuck easily to my veggies and healthy snacks. It's actually been easy being so busy. I rediscovered sugar free strawberry Jell-O and my sweet addiction is satisfied once more.
This past weekend has only got me longing for the week off when Shawn's finishes school. I am actually looking forward to cleaning out my car!
4:30 AM only means I have to get up because I have to be somewhere. Early.
The weekend was really wonderful. No, I didn't got out of town or to a fair as everyone might expect. Usually I fear that I'll get bored and become depressed but I did not. I was a little irritated that I was forced to move more slowly due to the fact that I had peeled back a toe nail but I got a little of everything.
I got some chores and errands done, I relaxed and watched movies. I played with my dogs. I ate what I wanted to eat and a lot of it! (And I didn't keep score)
A major reason for my uplifted mood might have something to do with the weather. For the first time in months we were out of one-hundred and something temperatures. And it was so nice! I let Zoe play outside several times a day for as long as I could breathe. The dead grass, trees, bushes, flowers, leaves and everything else that once green has played a major role in my asthma. But the breeze was cool and the air was crisp and the dogs just loved it.
Work, of course has been ultra busy due to the store being closed for a day and all it does is make we wish every weekend could be a three day weekend. I've started back to my strict 1500 calorie plan and I've stuck easily to my veggies and healthy snacks. It's actually been easy being so busy. I rediscovered sugar free strawberry Jell-O and my sweet addiction is satisfied once more.
This past weekend has only got me longing for the week off when Shawn's finishes school. I am actually looking forward to cleaning out my car!
Monday, September 5, 2011
Purgatory
I was being punished for my behavior the day before. I wasn’t rude outwardly, but inside I wanted to scratch out the eyes of the idiot cashier who apparently thought I was trying to pull a fast one on Wal-Mart with a couple of coupons. And they weren’t even computer printed coupons--I had peeled them from the packages themselves. I wasn’t having a good day and I could not act properly in my mind.
It was 5:30 am on Friday morning. I was looking forward to the long Labor Day weekend for weeks. Three whole days off! I slipped on my flip flops to take the laundry to the car and promptly opened up the front door across my left foot. I fell to my knees and fought the urge to cry as I did, in fact, cry. I hobbled my laundry basket to the car and back again.
In the light, I could see my middle toenail was purple and bleeding. It was completely lifted from the toe itself except at the base where it grew out. I was being punished, I’d decided. From then on, each journey between machines at work, to and from the front counter seemed like miles. My band-aided toe in my loosened sneaker throbbed and I just wanted to go home, even though I kept reminded myself of the many errands I had awaiting me after I clocked out.
“What happened to you?” was the question I was asked first. And once it was asked once, I knew I would hear it at least twelve more times from each of my coworkers, or at least the ones who spoke fluent English. I was asked at the tobacco shop where the clerk I had gotten to know knew specifically which cigarettes Shawn preferred to smoke. I was asked at all sorts of places and got strange pathetic smiles from total strangers as though I had a brace around my back leading up to my neck.
It was telltale sign of weakness and not a soul at work witnessed me cry. At some point I was putting on a sock and winced, my eyes filled with water as I told Shawn I hated to be such a weenie about it. “You’re not a weenie!” he exclaimed. “They do this to torture people with bamboo shoots. If I gave your toe a good thump, you’d tell me everything I needed to know.”
Once home and car unloaded, I contemplated going to Jack in the Box. It was once a secret desire of mine. It was once a favorite treat. I had vicariously tucked away a coupon in my wallet, never intend ding to use it. I got in the car and drove the two miles, got my 1500 calorie snack. I felt like I had deserved it. I had toughed out the day in sneakers, standing on my feet all day. I hauled cartons of soda, limping out of the Family Dollar to the car, after all.
As I ate it, I found that it wasn’t very good. The fries tasted of old, dirty grease and I just kept eating it. It was nasty and I kept eating. Why did I keep eating? I ate that way for the rest of the day. I figured I had blown it so why bother to count?
But I did count. And by the time I went to bed, I had consumed 3000 calories as written on my white board on the fridge. I erased it so I wouldn’t see it the next day.
I had prepared for the long weekend by stocking up on healthy snacks, stuff that was healthy but seemed naughty. I thought I could do well although I a little panic stricken with all the free time in my hands.
By the time I went to bed on Friday, I felt too full. I almost wished I could throw up so I’d feel some relief. I was so sick and so full. Why did I eat so much?
The next day I visited my Aunt Louise for the first time in six months, hung out with my parents as my mom cooked up chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes and homemade gravy. I’d eaten very little that morning in preparation for that meal. “Go ahead--EAT!” my mother jabbed from across the table. “I can’t drive on a full stomach and all sleepy, Mom,” I told her. They sent me home with three steaks and the remainder of the potatoes and gravy. Sigh.
I picked up BBQ sandwiches because God knows when I’d be back again and I know how much Shawn loves them. That little grease stained paper bag filled my car with a wonderful aroma, mixing with the fried steak and gravy.
Once it was all in the fridge, panic over came me. There was so much food in the fridge. Chicken from a couple days before, a bag of half eaten Cheetos, steaks, gravy, BBQ….
I decided that I no longer cared. This would be the ending weekend and after this I would get very serious about it all. I even got a pint of ice cream this morning, along with a bottle of Magic Shell. I’ve been eating as if I am trying to gain weight. I’m not proud of it, but I am enjoying my favorite foods, watching my favorite programs on TV and simply enjoying this wonderful weekend.
After all, I've got three months to prepare for Thanksgiving. Maybe by then, I can have my Mom's gravy and enjoy it without feeling guilty.
It was 5:30 am on Friday morning. I was looking forward to the long Labor Day weekend for weeks. Three whole days off! I slipped on my flip flops to take the laundry to the car and promptly opened up the front door across my left foot. I fell to my knees and fought the urge to cry as I did, in fact, cry. I hobbled my laundry basket to the car and back again.
In the light, I could see my middle toenail was purple and bleeding. It was completely lifted from the toe itself except at the base where it grew out. I was being punished, I’d decided. From then on, each journey between machines at work, to and from the front counter seemed like miles. My band-aided toe in my loosened sneaker throbbed and I just wanted to go home, even though I kept reminded myself of the many errands I had awaiting me after I clocked out.
“What happened to you?” was the question I was asked first. And once it was asked once, I knew I would hear it at least twelve more times from each of my coworkers, or at least the ones who spoke fluent English. I was asked at the tobacco shop where the clerk I had gotten to know knew specifically which cigarettes Shawn preferred to smoke. I was asked at all sorts of places and got strange pathetic smiles from total strangers as though I had a brace around my back leading up to my neck.
It was telltale sign of weakness and not a soul at work witnessed me cry. At some point I was putting on a sock and winced, my eyes filled with water as I told Shawn I hated to be such a weenie about it. “You’re not a weenie!” he exclaimed. “They do this to torture people with bamboo shoots. If I gave your toe a good thump, you’d tell me everything I needed to know.”
Once home and car unloaded, I contemplated going to Jack in the Box. It was once a secret desire of mine. It was once a favorite treat. I had vicariously tucked away a coupon in my wallet, never intend ding to use it. I got in the car and drove the two miles, got my 1500 calorie snack. I felt like I had deserved it. I had toughed out the day in sneakers, standing on my feet all day. I hauled cartons of soda, limping out of the Family Dollar to the car, after all.
As I ate it, I found that it wasn’t very good. The fries tasted of old, dirty grease and I just kept eating it. It was nasty and I kept eating. Why did I keep eating? I ate that way for the rest of the day. I figured I had blown it so why bother to count?
But I did count. And by the time I went to bed, I had consumed 3000 calories as written on my white board on the fridge. I erased it so I wouldn’t see it the next day.
I had prepared for the long weekend by stocking up on healthy snacks, stuff that was healthy but seemed naughty. I thought I could do well although I a little panic stricken with all the free time in my hands.
By the time I went to bed on Friday, I felt too full. I almost wished I could throw up so I’d feel some relief. I was so sick and so full. Why did I eat so much?
The next day I visited my Aunt Louise for the first time in six months, hung out with my parents as my mom cooked up chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes and homemade gravy. I’d eaten very little that morning in preparation for that meal. “Go ahead--EAT!” my mother jabbed from across the table. “I can’t drive on a full stomach and all sleepy, Mom,” I told her. They sent me home with three steaks and the remainder of the potatoes and gravy. Sigh.
I picked up BBQ sandwiches because God knows when I’d be back again and I know how much Shawn loves them. That little grease stained paper bag filled my car with a wonderful aroma, mixing with the fried steak and gravy.
Once it was all in the fridge, panic over came me. There was so much food in the fridge. Chicken from a couple days before, a bag of half eaten Cheetos, steaks, gravy, BBQ….
I decided that I no longer cared. This would be the ending weekend and after this I would get very serious about it all. I even got a pint of ice cream this morning, along with a bottle of Magic Shell. I’ve been eating as if I am trying to gain weight. I’m not proud of it, but I am enjoying my favorite foods, watching my favorite programs on TV and simply enjoying this wonderful weekend.
After all, I've got three months to prepare for Thanksgiving. Maybe by then, I can have my Mom's gravy and enjoy it without feeling guilty.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Browinie Goodness
I tried the Fiber One 90 calorie brownie today. The individual wrapping appeared very large, but once opened, I quickly discovered the brownie inside was half the size of the package. As if there's not enough wasted plastic in our landfills. My first taste told me it was low calorie. Jello is low calorie. This was....bland.
It reminded me of when I was younger and my mother would bring home these odd cookies and snacks in a green package labeled as Snackwells. Your first bite told you it was totally devoid of fat or sugar, the things that make cookies and cake so desirable. I hated those Snackwells cookies. And now I had a whole box of brownie wanna be's.
There was no chewy center or flaky, crunchy top. There was merely an odd after taste of whatever it is they use to try to make the thing taste good. I miss brownies. I had become jealous of Patti when she told me she'd baked up a pan of the evil chocolate cakes, for everyone to enjoy over the weekend. Patti stopped and froze, rolled her eyes. "I ate the entire pan." She rolled her eyes again.
"Over the weekend?" I asked.
"On Saturday."
My poor mother tried, to instill healthy eating habits without creating a complex. She kept healthful snacks around, but gave us the choice. Dad, on the other hand, ate whatever he damn well pleased with no fear of consequence so there was always plenty of junk food around. I rarely blame my parents for how I am, but in this case, yes I will blame my father for my unhealthy love of Cheetos.
Mom was once borderline anorexic. If she had not stopped what she was doing, she would have quickly spiraled into a frail waif instead of merely appearing thin. She said Dad kept telling her to eat, over and over. She got so sick of hearing him, she finally decided to eat a little. She never got fat again and that was 30 years ago.
My sister and I grew up on quick meals of frozen pizza, mac & cheese from a box, and canned biscuits with gravy. My parents worked so I relied on my sister to cook something that didn't come in the form of a Hot Pocket. My sister is working on the latter part of her thirties and still can't cook, God bless her. My parents did the best they could and when both work, one can faithfully rely on packaged foods to help keep everyone fed.
My mother did cook on the weekends, large farm-style dinners with mashed potatoes, battered & fried meats and gravy. It's not like she never cooked and she felt we deserved a reward type meal for having eaten out of packages for the week. All too often, I rewarded myself a little too much.
And now I am paying for it.
It reminded me of when I was younger and my mother would bring home these odd cookies and snacks in a green package labeled as Snackwells. Your first bite told you it was totally devoid of fat or sugar, the things that make cookies and cake so desirable. I hated those Snackwells cookies. And now I had a whole box of brownie wanna be's.
There was no chewy center or flaky, crunchy top. There was merely an odd after taste of whatever it is they use to try to make the thing taste good. I miss brownies. I had become jealous of Patti when she told me she'd baked up a pan of the evil chocolate cakes, for everyone to enjoy over the weekend. Patti stopped and froze, rolled her eyes. "I ate the entire pan." She rolled her eyes again.
"Over the weekend?" I asked.
"On Saturday."
My poor mother tried, to instill healthy eating habits without creating a complex. She kept healthful snacks around, but gave us the choice. Dad, on the other hand, ate whatever he damn well pleased with no fear of consequence so there was always plenty of junk food around. I rarely blame my parents for how I am, but in this case, yes I will blame my father for my unhealthy love of Cheetos.
Mom was once borderline anorexic. If she had not stopped what she was doing, she would have quickly spiraled into a frail waif instead of merely appearing thin. She said Dad kept telling her to eat, over and over. She got so sick of hearing him, she finally decided to eat a little. She never got fat again and that was 30 years ago.
My sister and I grew up on quick meals of frozen pizza, mac & cheese from a box, and canned biscuits with gravy. My parents worked so I relied on my sister to cook something that didn't come in the form of a Hot Pocket. My sister is working on the latter part of her thirties and still can't cook, God bless her. My parents did the best they could and when both work, one can faithfully rely on packaged foods to help keep everyone fed.
My mother did cook on the weekends, large farm-style dinners with mashed potatoes, battered & fried meats and gravy. It's not like she never cooked and she felt we deserved a reward type meal for having eaten out of packages for the week. All too often, I rewarded myself a little too much.
And now I am paying for it.
Blowing It
7-11 is right next door to my place of work. This is not usually a problem for me because I am so frugal (read: cheap) The manager lets us get free fountain drinks and in return we wash their rugs for free and my co-workers each spend about $2 per day in there. The lottery addicts spend much more per day.
Patti, weighing in at 186, sat munching on an apple. "What's with the donuts?" I asked, after eyeballing a small box on the break table. "They came from 7-11. They just gave them to us," she replied.
In response to this news, I shouted, "CRAP!"
"I know," Patti replied. "I was tempted too."
I sat down and ate one. I've been doing good all week; I deserved it, didn't I? Then I had another. 520 calories, more fat & sugar than I care to have in a single day and I had officially blown it. The plan was to live on healthy food and eat light all week and have a small reward on Saturday. I blew it. I was so disappointed in myself. How could I have done this? I knew how angry I would be if I'd allowed myself to do this so why did I do it?
As far as donuts go, these were not that good. And it was only 10:00. That meant that I would have to seriously control myself for the next eleven hours. It's not so bad in that sense if I blow it in the evening. I go to bed at nine so there's little time to fret about blowing it even more. I sit here, hungry but I will not allow myself to eat. I brushed my teeth so that if I craved something, I would instinctively gravitate away from that something because mixing with the taste of mint would be horrible.
I had a small sandwich a couple hours before the donuts so at 10:00 I'd already met half my day's quota for calories. Could I make it? I wondered. I rarely do anyway. Even when eating healthy good-for-you foods, I usually get up to 1700. That is unacceptable.
I should go out right now & go buy a giant bag of sugar free mints. I hate the taste of mint and it might be the key to controlling myself. Maybe I'll just switch my nicotine gum to mint flavored....
Patti, weighing in at 186, sat munching on an apple. "What's with the donuts?" I asked, after eyeballing a small box on the break table. "They came from 7-11. They just gave them to us," she replied.
In response to this news, I shouted, "CRAP!"
"I know," Patti replied. "I was tempted too."
I sat down and ate one. I've been doing good all week; I deserved it, didn't I? Then I had another. 520 calories, more fat & sugar than I care to have in a single day and I had officially blown it. The plan was to live on healthy food and eat light all week and have a small reward on Saturday. I blew it. I was so disappointed in myself. How could I have done this? I knew how angry I would be if I'd allowed myself to do this so why did I do it?
As far as donuts go, these were not that good. And it was only 10:00. That meant that I would have to seriously control myself for the next eleven hours. It's not so bad in that sense if I blow it in the evening. I go to bed at nine so there's little time to fret about blowing it even more. I sit here, hungry but I will not allow myself to eat. I brushed my teeth so that if I craved something, I would instinctively gravitate away from that something because mixing with the taste of mint would be horrible.
I had a small sandwich a couple hours before the donuts so at 10:00 I'd already met half my day's quota for calories. Could I make it? I wondered. I rarely do anyway. Even when eating healthy good-for-you foods, I usually get up to 1700. That is unacceptable.
I should go out right now & go buy a giant bag of sugar free mints. I hate the taste of mint and it might be the key to controlling myself. Maybe I'll just switch my nicotine gum to mint flavored....
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
It Came Up In Me
I listen to a lot of Joyce Meyer, that's no secret to anyone listening in here. It keeps my mind busy at work and I figure so much positive reinforcement ought to be a good thing. I tend to feel jealous though, when Meyer talks about hearing from God.
I don't hear from God. I'm not super religious, I don't even go to church, I am ashamed to say. But I talk to God all day. Not in the traditional sense of getting on my knees. I haven't gotten on my knees in a very long time. I talk to God as I insert my contact lenses, as I drive to work, as I load the machines at work, and especially on the interstate. I say please and thank you about 6,000 per day. I never hear anything back.
Yesterday, I was listening to Meyer speaking of relationships, about how we go into a relationship saying, "You're supposed to make ME happy," when it should be the other way around. Shawn & I do not spend a lot of time together & it puts a strain on our realationship, especially when I feel as though all I am doing is doing for him. So I says to God, "Show me ways I can be more loving toward Shawn."
The ceiling did not open up and light did not shine down upon me. A booming voice from the heavens did not shake my ear drums. But I got a small thought in the back of my head. It wasn't a man's voice, it was my own voice, my own thought. And it occurred to me that if the Holy Spirit lives in, it could be God speaking to me. Why not?
I received an answer. "Forgive him for being absent minded."
And that was it. There was nothing else; I heard no harps playing or angels singing. Was this God speaking to me? Well, I can tell you one thing for sure--it was not a thought I would think up on my own.
Shawn's absent mindedness is a HUGE problem for me. I can't figure out why some people just leave stuff lying around and not put things in the place where they belong. I don't understand how someone can be comfortable leaving 47 cans of Pepsi on their nightstand, desk, kitchen counter, and every other place in between. I could write a book on the subject on how I don't get all this. It always makes me feel as though he just leaves this stuff for me to do.
It happens at work too. People leave trash on the floor, on the break table. I take it so personally, as though they're simply leaving their trash for me to come along and clean it up. Why would you do that? Why would you just leave things for another person to do?! IT'S INFURIATING!!!!!
"Forgive him for his absent mindedness."
So what did I do? As soon as I got home, I discovered a fork stuck to the bottom of the sink. It had coagulated and hardened Hot Pocket remains. Out loud I said to no one in particular, "Asshole! There's a bowl of water right there!!" I unstuck the fork and threw it into the dirty bowl so the fork could soak.
This morning I was complaining to myself in my own mind about how tired I felt all the time. No matter what I ate, how I slept, how much I rested, how much I moved around, I was (am) tired. All the time. At the moment I listening to Meyer talk about how Moses' people wandered around the dessert for 40 years because of their lousy attitude. That's why God kept them out there, she says, because they were always complaining, always blaming, always wanting to run back to Egypt where they thought things might be easier than out here. (Did anyone tell them it was because of their attitude, or were they just left clueless about their behavior?)
Then another quiet thought came up in me. "Maybe you're tired because of your attitude."
It was true. That morning I had spent a great deal of time being agitated and frustrated with the misdeeds and mistakes of my imperfect coworkers. I was dealing with their slowness and mistakes, and I was telling everybody about sick & tired of it I was. Sick and tired. Yes, exactly.
I have tried & tried & tried to change my attitude. That's why I listen to so much blooming Joyce Meyer at work. You say, "Well, that's the problem! YOU are the one that's trying to do it!" I have given it to God numerous times, more than I can count and I don't know how else to go about it. No, I don't read the Bible because it doesn't keep my attention for very long. I don't understand how reading random scriptures will change my attitude and give me enough energy to get off my lazy behind.
It has occurred to me in the past that I could "study" peace by looking up one scripture on peace each day. That won't require much energy and perhaps it will manifest some changes in me. Yes, of course I want to be zapped. Yes of course I want a drive-through break through. Who doesn't?
I don't hear from God. I'm not super religious, I don't even go to church, I am ashamed to say. But I talk to God all day. Not in the traditional sense of getting on my knees. I haven't gotten on my knees in a very long time. I talk to God as I insert my contact lenses, as I drive to work, as I load the machines at work, and especially on the interstate. I say please and thank you about 6,000 per day. I never hear anything back.
Yesterday, I was listening to Meyer speaking of relationships, about how we go into a relationship saying, "You're supposed to make ME happy," when it should be the other way around. Shawn & I do not spend a lot of time together & it puts a strain on our realationship, especially when I feel as though all I am doing is doing for him. So I says to God, "Show me ways I can be more loving toward Shawn."
The ceiling did not open up and light did not shine down upon me. A booming voice from the heavens did not shake my ear drums. But I got a small thought in the back of my head. It wasn't a man's voice, it was my own voice, my own thought. And it occurred to me that if the Holy Spirit lives in, it could be God speaking to me. Why not?
I received an answer. "Forgive him for being absent minded."
And that was it. There was nothing else; I heard no harps playing or angels singing. Was this God speaking to me? Well, I can tell you one thing for sure--it was not a thought I would think up on my own.
Shawn's absent mindedness is a HUGE problem for me. I can't figure out why some people just leave stuff lying around and not put things in the place where they belong. I don't understand how someone can be comfortable leaving 47 cans of Pepsi on their nightstand, desk, kitchen counter, and every other place in between. I could write a book on the subject on how I don't get all this. It always makes me feel as though he just leaves this stuff for me to do.
It happens at work too. People leave trash on the floor, on the break table. I take it so personally, as though they're simply leaving their trash for me to come along and clean it up. Why would you do that? Why would you just leave things for another person to do?! IT'S INFURIATING!!!!!
"Forgive him for his absent mindedness."
So what did I do? As soon as I got home, I discovered a fork stuck to the bottom of the sink. It had coagulated and hardened Hot Pocket remains. Out loud I said to no one in particular, "Asshole! There's a bowl of water right there!!" I unstuck the fork and threw it into the dirty bowl so the fork could soak.
This morning I was complaining to myself in my own mind about how tired I felt all the time. No matter what I ate, how I slept, how much I rested, how much I moved around, I was (am) tired. All the time. At the moment I listening to Meyer talk about how Moses' people wandered around the dessert for 40 years because of their lousy attitude. That's why God kept them out there, she says, because they were always complaining, always blaming, always wanting to run back to Egypt where they thought things might be easier than out here. (Did anyone tell them it was because of their attitude, or were they just left clueless about their behavior?)
Then another quiet thought came up in me. "Maybe you're tired because of your attitude."
It was true. That morning I had spent a great deal of time being agitated and frustrated with the misdeeds and mistakes of my imperfect coworkers. I was dealing with their slowness and mistakes, and I was telling everybody about sick & tired of it I was. Sick and tired. Yes, exactly.
I have tried & tried & tried to change my attitude. That's why I listen to so much blooming Joyce Meyer at work. You say, "Well, that's the problem! YOU are the one that's trying to do it!" I have given it to God numerous times, more than I can count and I don't know how else to go about it. No, I don't read the Bible because it doesn't keep my attention for very long. I don't understand how reading random scriptures will change my attitude and give me enough energy to get off my lazy behind.
It has occurred to me in the past that I could "study" peace by looking up one scripture on peace each day. That won't require much energy and perhaps it will manifest some changes in me. Yes, of course I want to be zapped. Yes of course I want a drive-through break through. Who doesn't?
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Purging
As previously noted, I've been reading Unbearable Lightness by Portia de Rossi. de Rossi describes what she is feeling like I've never heard anyone describe. I guess mainly because most are pretty uncomfortable talking about such things. She describes purging as an honest woman should. Loud, messy, runny nose and eyes, and vessels that pop around the eyes from immense pressure, displaying a tell-tale form of evidence.
I'm very glad to hear that I wasn't the only one who experienced this. Like de Rossi, I had also heard of these other women who could vomit by force by an almost sheer will to do it. Quietly, without turning red in the face and eyes, without water dripping from eyes and nose, these women could quietly puke and merely wipe their mouths.
As a teenager, I just found it to be a lot of work. Forcing yourself to throw up is much different than vomiting by means of illness. It hurts more, burns the throat and the taste that lingers is so much more than a teaspoon of shame. It was something I had done that no one knew about. I never even told my husband about it. Why is it important now? That was fifteen years ago. It doesn't matter now.
I was so ashamed of everything I had eaten, even if was dinner--which is a required meal of the day. I couldn't just shove a finger down my thorat, I had to stick it in there and jiggle things, again and again, gagging, fighting the urge to gag, fighting my natural instinct to stop. It isn't natural to do this; the body knows this and fights against it. I'd dry heave for a while until something came up. Then the rest came up in small bits, splattering the toilet, creating an awful mess and more work.
My teeth always felt weird afterward, ever after I'd brushed my teeth. It felt like I'd been eating candy all night after hours of trick-or-treating. As a teenager, I wanted to do it more, but I couldn't bring myself to do it any longer. It was painful, hard to hide in a small, old house with barely more than wooden paneling seperating the rooms. It was no coincidence that I always showered immediately after dinner.
After much snacking or a large dinner, I'd resolved to doing better the next day, or working harder. It was only one of 5,000 promises I'd make to myself and break.
As an adult, it was easy not to purge because somewhere between adolescence and adulthood, I'd learned what constant vomiting will do to your esophogaus and teeth. I value those parts of my body. It would do me no good to have my esophogous ripped apart by stomach acid, nor to have my teeth rot out of my head.
So today, as a full fledged (apparently) adult, I promise myself to eat less tomorrow, to work harder, to not sit on my ass in front of the television.
Make that five-thousand and one.
(speel check knot working todday & i'm very lazzy--sory for esophogous. Snuffle-esophogous)
I'm very glad to hear that I wasn't the only one who experienced this. Like de Rossi, I had also heard of these other women who could vomit by force by an almost sheer will to do it. Quietly, without turning red in the face and eyes, without water dripping from eyes and nose, these women could quietly puke and merely wipe their mouths.
As a teenager, I just found it to be a lot of work. Forcing yourself to throw up is much different than vomiting by means of illness. It hurts more, burns the throat and the taste that lingers is so much more than a teaspoon of shame. It was something I had done that no one knew about. I never even told my husband about it. Why is it important now? That was fifteen years ago. It doesn't matter now.
I was so ashamed of everything I had eaten, even if was dinner--which is a required meal of the day. I couldn't just shove a finger down my thorat, I had to stick it in there and jiggle things, again and again, gagging, fighting the urge to gag, fighting my natural instinct to stop. It isn't natural to do this; the body knows this and fights against it. I'd dry heave for a while until something came up. Then the rest came up in small bits, splattering the toilet, creating an awful mess and more work.
My teeth always felt weird afterward, ever after I'd brushed my teeth. It felt like I'd been eating candy all night after hours of trick-or-treating. As a teenager, I wanted to do it more, but I couldn't bring myself to do it any longer. It was painful, hard to hide in a small, old house with barely more than wooden paneling seperating the rooms. It was no coincidence that I always showered immediately after dinner.
After much snacking or a large dinner, I'd resolved to doing better the next day, or working harder. It was only one of 5,000 promises I'd make to myself and break.
As an adult, it was easy not to purge because somewhere between adolescence and adulthood, I'd learned what constant vomiting will do to your esophogaus and teeth. I value those parts of my body. It would do me no good to have my esophogous ripped apart by stomach acid, nor to have my teeth rot out of my head.
So today, as a full fledged (apparently) adult, I promise myself to eat less tomorrow, to work harder, to not sit on my ass in front of the television.
Make that five-thousand and one.
(speel check knot working todday & i'm very lazzy--sory for esophogous. Snuffle-esophogous)
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