Anxiety

been thinking about getting some couseling at a church or soemthing, somewhere free.  I'm right there, right on the edge.  I've got many people crying on my shoulder.  I cannot comfort them, just listen and shoulder what burden I can.  I'm stressed from my job, I'm stressed from hatring my job.  I'm stressed over our small business.  I'm stressed because shawn comes home looking for things to be upset about if he already isn't and exhales air that makes me upset.

I'm stressed about money, weight gain, loan payments, lack of sleep, too much whiskey.  I'm stressed because the perswon who told me a deep dark secret months ago now wants it known to another certain person.  And this person has asked me to be there for moral support, to speak when this person is crying too much to speak.  We have to keep this tight, from leaking outward to other people.  There is so much shame.  Do I have the strength for this person?  I cry over what happened.  I cry because I can't fix it.  I cry because of things to come.

I've been crying for 20 minuets.  I cannot stop.

God, if you're out there, listening....
I just want my life to be simple.  Less complicated.  Simple.

The Day My Mom Asked, "Why Not Me Instead?"

My mom and her brother Darrell have watched everyone around them die.  And they are only in their mid-fifties.  For a couple or three years now, Darrell has been managing with skin cancer on his face that we suspect has moved into his brain.  And now Mom has to watch him die.

After the last MRI and Darrell's refusal to have another surgery, Mom called me everyday for two straight weeks, crying.  Everyone else has succumbed to heart attacks, illnesses, and cancer, cancer, cancer.  There is so much cancer.

"Just leave me one!" Mom cried.

Darrell and Mom cried together over the time they've lost.  He was sorry for his grudges, for having missed me & my sister grow up.  I was sorry too, however I never held it against him.  I brushed his hair after his last surgery and it must've took an hour but ended up being quite comical as I yanked on hair matted with dried blood and Darrell yelped so loudly the entire floor woke up.

I hadn't seen Darrell since.  Last Saturday we drove to my cousin's house where he is staying and I finally got to see Darrell again.  My cousin, Tammy, who I was meeting for the first time graciously opened her home to my uncle.  I told her how glad I was to finally meet her, I felt like I knew her.  She said Darrell brags on me all the time.  I joked that I didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Darrell and I are a lot alike in some aspects.  We talk constantly and have little filter.  My mom cries that she can't imagine him not being here, that she's going to miss him so much.  I tell her not to get depressed over something that hasn't happened yet.  There's still time for a miracle.  But my faith has waned.

Are our prayers falling on deaf ears?  Surely, there must be more than 2 on this earth that would agree it would be good if Darrell were healed.  If any two on earth are in agreement....

Mom continues to pray without ceasing.  She is like a child.  She truly does have a childlike faith.  I admire her so much for it.  I also envy her.  If it were not for her faith, she may have been crushed by all the deaths and endless funerals already.  I know I certainly would have.

I've been listening to a song called "I Will Wait" by Mumford & Sons.  It encourages me to believe that those who have gone before us are kneeling down and waiting for the rest of us.  At least that's my take on the song.  Raise my hands, paint my spirit gold.

I so look forward to meeting my grandfather.  I can't wait to see my grandmother, pre-cancerous.  I hope my uncle will be healed.  But I know he will wait for us if he is not.

A Lifetime

FRIDAY  "You'll never what I'm doing!!" I exclaimed to my mom over the phone as I taped an envelope.  This particular envelope was special because it was our last payment to the hospital.  We'd been paying on this bill, $50 per months so long that I cannot even remember what it was for.  Previously, we paid $50 per month on an ER visit I'd had after a bout with pneumonia.  I didn't have insurance & it wound up costing us over $3000.  As soon as it was paid, Shawn went into for something and left us with the current three year gig of paying that same $50 per month.

"I've just accepted that we'll pay $50 for the rest of our lives," I said to my mom.  "I'm sure as soon as this in the mail, something will happen."  I was joking.  I was not inviting bad karma.  I was totally and completely joking.  Period.

SATURDAY  I dropped the envelope into a mailbox and drove down the street for Zoe's yearly shots.  We'd known for a long time something had been wrong with her hind legs but I hadn't mentioned that yet.  Dr. Gosney rotated Zoe's legs and said she needed surgery on her knees.  Zoe had luxating patella, a condition in which the ligaments stretch and the knee slides across instead of settling in where it needs to be.  Eventually, the ligaments could stretch too much, causing great pain.  Or the ACL could rupture, causing lameness in the legs. 

Shawn and I thought our dog was a little fat & simply needed to walk her more to fix her odd walk.  I was emotional.  I spoke to the woman at the desk and after being quoted a price of $2350.00 for the surgery, I began to cry, right there in the veterinary clinic.

I took Zoe to the car and cried a few minuets to try & get it out of my system before hitting the interstate.  I pulled into our drive way and sobbed hard before getting out of the car.  My shoulders shook and I wheezed.  Where would we get this money!  Shawn's self-employed now, it's not like we have steady cash coming in.

I broke the news to Shawn & we headed to bank, figuring we could get a loan payment for around $50 or close to what the hospital bill was.  Then, I decided, it would be as if nothing changed.

The payment turned out to be more around the figure of $77 per month.  I also decided I would work Saturdays to try to get the loan paid down as quickly as possible.  Now is not the time to have extra payments floating about. 

I cried all weekend.  I was exhausted.  We lost two pets int he last year and I could not bear the thought of something bad happening.  The recovery would surely prove to be stressful.  I'll be eaten alive with guilt being at work all day as Zoe will lie in her bed, unable to walk.

MONDAY  After speaking with my dad, I decided to get Zoe a second opinion.  I didn't feel right about it all.  Dr. Gosney announced, "Surgery!" and dumbfounded, I said, "OK!"  The more I thought about it, the more it bothered me.  The second opinion confirmed what had to be done, only this doctor spent a helluva lot more time with me, explaining everything in great detail. 

Apparently this is very common in small dogs, particularly Chihuahuas.  Zoe's extra weight isn't helping the knee problem, even though we've been walking her everyday.  The surgery is now scheduled for Thursday.  I figure Zoe will be on pain meds for Friday so I can feel it out over the weekend. 

I asked my parents to pray about all this because I don't have as close a relationship with The Big Guy as they do.  I did pray on Sunday though.  I literally dropped to my knees on the kitchen floor and prayed and begged and wept over my dog.

"I know she's not your child, but you treat her like one.  We'll do whatever needs to be done," Shawn said.  I only wished I had not yet used up my week's vacation.  I feel desperate to have it back.  Zoe feels about me much in the same way I feel about her.  If I leave the room, she comes and finds me and waits very patiently until I am done and we can finally play together.  This has to go well.  After the last year, I beleive I'd just about break in two if something happened.  It has to go well.

Cousins

When I was a very young child, my family would have huge family gatherings.  There were people & children everywhere.  There were piles of gifts and the scent of Christmas dinner filling the entire house.  Maybe it was simply childhood memories, exagerated.  Maybe it just seemed like there were more people than there actually was. 

My grandmother died and the huge, or seemingly huge gatherings were no more.  My parents and my sister had Christmas and Thanksgiving in our home.  Just the four of us.  My mother and her brother had a falling out that lasting for many years.

I watch movies and television shows where people have brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles and oodles of cousins.  The main characters hang out with their siblings and cousins like they are friends.  I become jealous of this.  I want it all back.  I want to relive the massive Easters where we'd hunt all over a massive backyard of a farm for chocoaltes, candy, and if you were really lucky, a dollar.

I want what these people on TV have. 

When my uncle developed skin cancer, it was bitter sweet.  He and mom reconciled.  After a double surgery, his long, coarse hair had become matted after not having been brushed or washed for a week.  I brushed it, careful as I was, for an hour.  It was quite comical, actually.  He yelped out loudly in a quite hospital as I worked through the mangled mess and laughed.  He laughed because I was laughing.  We talked about movies, old times, my cousins.

And I thought maybe I was getting a tiny part of all that back.  I thought maybe my uncle would recover, that I myself would reconcile with my cousins and reconnect with my uncle.  It was never meant to be.  My uncle told me tales of booze and drugs concerning certain ones, and he himself would soon to succumb to the cancer.  He will presently soon be discussing the results of a PET scan with a neurologist, or a neurosurgeon--he can never keep it straight.

When I was a child I so looked forward to visits with my uncle and my cousins.  It was ripped from me in the form of bitterness a strong will to never forgive or forget.  I regained a teeny tiny piece of those memories reformed into adulthood and were once again stolen by the C Word.  I have not seen my uncle in many months.  The last I saw of my cousins was when he had his surgery a couple years ago.

How I long for those days of my youth.  Even when the eldest cousin was mean to me, I long for those days.  I miss them.  I miss my family.  What they show on TV is not real, I am aware of that.  My cousins are many, many miles away busy with their own families and jobs and lives. 

I am busy here myself with own life and my two shots of whiskey, which have gone striaght to my head, by the way.  And I am still quite jealous of those of TV.

Pacing

"I understand now why people drink.  It's makes everything go away."

I said that one night well past my bedtime, fully aware that my alarm clock was set for 4:30 am for work the next day.  Shawn and I hadn't been in business for even a month.  Technically it wasn't a business yet; we were still setting up equipment.  It was nothing--and I mean nothing--but problems from the very beginning.  We were putting in hours at our jobs and even more hours at the shop.

Shawn was showing a side of himself that very few people have seen.  If something went wrong, then something bigger went wrong, and then something that should be easy went horribly wrong, he would snap and take it out on me in a terribly mean way.

At least he was always only verbal.  Unless you count the time he slammed a drill to the concrete floor while screaming and cussing that it was my fault for buying the wrong size bolt.  But it's not just him.  I once threw a remote control, sending pieces of plastic and batteries flying in all directions.  He'd badgered me to come to a charity benefit that he'd provided for.  I was dripping snot, oozing of a cold and had been running all over town that morning in the cold rain for something he needed.  I did not feel like going, nor that my presence was absolutely necessary.  And I felt like he cared more about an appearance than how I felt.  He became very angry with me, making snide remarks and saying that I didn't care.  So I threw the remote control.

When he worked for Kenny, he would come home, furious every single day.  He'd stomp around, pace with the heavy step of a work boot, cuss and shout.  I thought maybe once he got away from that job, he'd be a little better, a little happier.  Or at least a little less angry all the time.  It's very difficult to live with a person that's angry, no--furious for 98% of the time that they're awake.

But instead he became so much worse.  He now calls me in the middle of the day to bitch about what's going wrong.  Almost every day.  He tells me again when he comes home, and again after supper.  Then he loudly tells the same story to someone on the phone.  He still stomps around, throws fits and cusses and shouts, only with more gusto. 

I used to be afraid of alcohol to a degree.  I have Irish and alcoholism on either side of my parents so a child born out of this, logically should stay away from booze or settle or tiny sips from time to time.  Sometime around the middle of the day, I look forward to bedtime.  At least at bedtime, I can enjoy a half hour to an hour of pure numbness.  I can watch something on TV and actually enjoy it.  I can laugh at my dogs.  I am careful to not get so drunk that I couldn't save myself (or my critters, for that matter) in a fire, I just get a little....numb.

It surprised even me that I could become so good at hiding my emotions.  For someone who goes around with a thin filter and telling it like it is, I really have become quite good at waiting till I take a shower to let it out.  It's not like I'm holding back, striving to get into the privacy of the bathroom.  Sometimes I want to cry and bawl & scream but nothing happens.  Sometimes I think I'm OK, but once in the seclusion of a private room with background noise I fall apart and fall to the floor in a heap of tears.

Every once in a long while I get the chance to escape from everything, truly escape and not into booze.  It's not a Carribean vacation, of course, simply a small distraction.  I cooked for my mother-in-law for her birthday & she and I must have talked for an hour.  For that entire hour I had forgotten about my job, my other job, my lack of money, my surplus of worry, my anxiety, my anger and my sadness.  For that hour, I was not numb but engaged.

Oh, good.  Look at the clock.  It'll be getting close to bedtime soon again and I can once again can slip into my drug induced forgetfulness.
And make it all go away.

The Proverbial Let 'Em Have It

You can't walk up to a junkie and say, "Stop being a loser."  It won't do any good.  As much as I want to, I can't do that.  I'm not a trouble maker, I'm no shit starter.
At least, that's what I tell myself.
No matter what others' opinions may be.

It's not like this person grew up in the ghetto or anything.  This person had a nice home, a good family--the kind you read about in books.  It's hard to watch this person destroy everything around them, including their neglected family.  It's hard to watch an actual train wreck.  You know there's nothing you can do.  How does one person stop a full sized train?

And the funny thing is, you know this train is grounded, was well built, and is riding along on a secure track.  Somewhere along the way, the wheels must have hit a rock and somehow gotten off track.  It shakes and rattles, shaking and rattling all its passengers along the way.

I want to take the train by the throat and shake it!  See what you are doing to yourself and everyone who loves you.  They don't even love you as much as they once did because of what you have done!  Take care of your passengers and your own self before you lose everything you hold dear!  But you no longer care about everything you once held dear.  You are so far gone, you've forgotten your very role in life.

If only it were so easy to be a train.  A crew could come along and clean up this horrible mess, take it away, never to be seen again.

I was seething on the way to work.  I'd finally allowed myself to reflect on it all after repressing it for many days.  My hands shook as I gripped the steering wheel and my foot pressed harder into the acceleration pedal.  Once again, as I always do, I went over and over and over and over and over in my head what I could say and do.  I did what I always do:  I stewed.

What would Jesus do?
I have not the foggiest clue.  I could ask Him, but I never hear anything back.  Years ago, I could not imagine this happening to someone so close to me, someone I love so much, yet dislike so much as well.

What would Jesus do, indeed.
If I allow myself to think on it, I suppose He would be loving, forgiving, always praying.

That's not in my nature, I don't think.  My first, natural reaction is to become very angry.  And as to not upset those around me, to not break others' hearts, I keep my mouth shut.  After all, if talking was going help this person, it wouldn't be necessary to do so now, today.

God gets angry.  It's an emotion He put in us.  We are made in His image.  I suppose God is more capable of controlling His anger than I am.  On the other hand, He does intend to destroy the entire planet at some point, one sinner at a time.

I don't understand why I know all these things.  What am I supposed to do with all of this hurtful information?  I worry, I get angry, I feel frustrated.

I feel that is all I can do because I do not have the power to save this person.  I put it out of my mind and go one with life.  I pray this person will lose everything because maybe that will make them see, open their eyes, and finally, FINALLY hit a true Rock Bottom.

It will either make or break this person.  I worry about this person breaking.  But if it would make this person, how sweet it could be for everyone involved.

Of course my negative nature fears it would break them and everyone around them, including me and all those I hold close.

Jesus.  What should I do?

The Best Things In Life Are Free

About once a month I buy a Quick Pick for the big lottery draw.  The next day, I am not shocked that I haven't won 11 million dollars, and yet stupidly, seriously disappointed.  I know money cannot buy happiness.  I mean, look at Paris Hilton, born into gobs of money and she looks very unhappy.  You never see the poor thing smile, ever.  I am very aware, however of the fact that money like that could buy me out of the things that make me unhappy.  Job, bills, money concerns.  And that's enough to keep me buying my once monthly lotto ticket.

Ignorance is Bliss Part 968

Why do people keep telling me things I do not want to hear?  The first thing, months ago, was a necessity.  This person REALLY need to tell someone trustworthy.  I get that.  I cannot fix it, but I can listen.  Sometimes, that is all one can do, sometimes it is all that is asked.

This new thing involves someone's marriage and I do not want to get involved.  At all!  Yes, from the outside, I can see the obvious problems but it is not my place to intervene.  I cannot fix this problem.  One person is hurting watching the other person hurt and is also afraid this person is insanely depressed. 

What am I supposed to do?!  Sometimes I think I might be happier on a deserted island, ignorant to everything that goes on in the world of humans.  I can't fix this marriage, I cannot offer advice (or my head might be chopped off) and I cannot console this person speaking to me about it because I have nothing to offer.

I told this person to offer as much support as possible to the person we are concerned for.  These people probably will not go to counseling.  And should you suggest it, you'd be screamed at like the Queen of Hearts.  "Off with her head!"

I'm no therapist.  All I can do is listen.  And sometimes that's enough.

Sometimes it isn't.

Credit Where Credit is Due

One day I told Shawn very calmly, "You're personal maid had quit.  She ran out into the street screaming.  So would you mind to throw out your Pepsi cans, ashtrays, and whiskey glasses?"

And I have to say Shawn really has been trying to pick up after himself.  The next morning I walked into the office.  This is a shared space but when I walk in, all I see is uncontrolled chaos.  Is there a controlled sort?  I dunno, it sounded good at the moment.  There is trash, stacks of papers, notebooks, scraps of papers, ashes, ashes, ashes, about a million Pepsi cans, half full (because the bottom is half is apparently, undrinkable) a full ashtray, tools, wires and all sorts of other miscellaneous things and items.

It stresses me out.

So the following morning I walked into the office and saw.....  A desk.  There was a desk under all that chaos!  He had picked up every scrap of paper, can and miscellaneous item and put it....somewhere.  Who cares where he put it all!  I could lay out my notebook onto the desk!

I left a very nice note for him, thanking him for the clean up.  It really changed my mood and attitude for the entire day!

The following week, the area of our living room that had somehow become a dumping ground for his projects had been touched by magic.  You see, Shawn's workshop is the garage.  It is also, the living room, den, office, front yard and back yard.  I come home to relax and sit amongst anxiety and stress.  My sould craves organization and neatness!!!!

So I walk in with groceries and the table where we eat--we have not eaten there for a year because it is filled with projects--was...it was...dare I tell?  YOU COULD SEE IT!  The cheap vinyl table cloth was 100% visible!  And the cheap built in hutch was empty!  Every scrap of metal, wire, tool, and box was gone.  IT WAS JUST GONE!!!

Shawn came home.  "Did you see the living room?" he asked slyly.
"Yeah," I answered.
"Do ya like it?"
"Yeah."

So I decided I would ask a few things.
I began by asking, "Did you see the toilet?"
"Yeah."
"And the tub?"
"Yeah."
"Did you see the trash can?"
"Yeah."
"And the laundry?"

And so on.  I swear, guys do one little thing they ought to be doing anyway and expect such great praise.  Where's my trophy for cleaning the toilet?  Do I get a cookie for running the vacuum?  Where's my great applause for picking up the groceries?  Huh?!

A friend of mine had actually talked her man into doing some light housework because she would be gone for a while.  While she was visiting her sister, the man texted her every 5 to 7 minuets to let her know he had done a chore.

I TOOK OUT THE TRASH
I SWEPT KITCHEN
I WIPED COUNTER

And so on.  This went on for a couple of hours.  When my friend was done with her visit, she stopped off at the local trophy store and had a special plaque made for her man.

HA HA!!  Surely you knew I was kidding about that one!

Drunk Blogging

I am thoroughly embarrassed for my drunk blogging.  Sometimes I do believe that little Facebook mistake may have cost me and it is embarrassing when I vent & I am too lazy to start a new, hidden blog.  I honestly have no idea who can read this, who saw that I listed this blog with facebook long ago & deleted it.

Oh well.  That's what I get for drunk blogging.

The day after my last drunken post, I was offered a token of appreciation at work, a gesture of thanks.  And of course, now I feel like a complete asshole.  That's what I get for drunk blogging.  I know I said that already; I'm not currently drunk, just trying to make a point to myself and the rest of the dummies out there.

The only problem with this is that I am the kind of person who views such a token like, "OK, what are you up to?  What's the catch?"  Because I learned the hard way that you cannot trust anyone for any reason, I am always very suspicious.  And that's just sad.

I suppose most people, whether you work in the home or outside of it, or work two full time jobs both in and out of the home, you tend to feel unappreciated, taken for granted.  This is most certainly true when you're doing both.  To clean up only to have it dirty again, or cluttered, or soiled seems utterly meaningless.  When you do the same things day after day, year after year, only to be right back where you started at the beginning of each new day is down right depressing.

I had made the decision that I would no longer be picking up after people at work, constantly going behind them.  And yet, it still lingers at home. After all, this is why God put me on this earth, isn't it?

I often used to think that I had no life goals, no dreams.  I now have figured out what I want in my life:  Simplicity. 

I can life without the chaos, the clutter, the messes that cause anxiety.  "Can" is an operative word here.  I "would like to" is more appropriate.  But as I see it, that may never happen until I am dead.  And that's just sad.

In Spite of Everything...

Besides everything going on at home, accompanying the fact that my stomach sometimes knots up as I turn down our street, I have family issues going as well.  I harbor secrets I dare not tell, anger & bitterness I cannot share.  I swell with compassion for several--literally several--of our close family members dying slowly and methodically of cancer. 

And besides all this, I have my job.

I sometimes wonder if I had a penis, if that would make a difference.  After all, it took me six years to make per hour what another had accomplished in only two. 

I learned by accident and confronted with deep resentment.  My boss told me things, lot of things, in an effort to smooth things over.  And that's all it was, just to smooth things over.  I could have argued.  I could have pointed out that I am smarter than this.  I could have asked, "Do you really expect me to buy that?"  I have been around, you know.

Months ago, after a mini break down of sorts, he once asked me, "Would you maybe be happier somewhere else?"

Well......yeah.  Why?  You know of anything?

You know of a job that isn't blistering hot in the summer?  Something that doesn't suck the life out of me just from unbearable heat?  Do you happen to know of an open position that doesn't require me to wear three sweaters in the winter?  Something that doesn't dry out the skin on my hands until it cracks and bleeds?  Do you have in mind something that doesn't have me dealing with human feces?  Or maybe a job where the scent of human urine festering in the warm Texas months is merely an idea?

But of course I never say these things.  I never do. 

I was always taught to take pride in my work, whatever it may be, no matter how much I hated it.  If you didn't take a certain amount of pride in your work, your boss might just go out and find someone who will.  It's hard, though when you feel passed over, another number, an expendable asset.  (It's been pointed out to me than a Mexican could be hired within the hour to replace me)  It's very difficult when you're having fluff being blown right into your face just so someone else can save their own face.  I've strived to save the company money, did the things no one else would do, do the work when people just plain forgot.  And yet, I do not fall into that pool of favorites. 

I throw fits, and there are some others who throw fits.  Some get defended.  I remain as always, one to be reminded, unwarranted, that I have an attitude problem.  If you think constantly reminding me of something that's as plain as the nose on my face is gonna make me change, you've got another thing coming.  Why should we blow off her fit and not mine? 

Apparently, I swim in the wrong pool.
Sometimes it is the phrase, "Well, that person has a lot going on at home." 
Don't we all?

And yet, I am uneducated.  There are few jobs out there.  My boss is fully aware of this, and also completely aware that a well trained monkey could do my job.  Not in so many words, but if you carefully read between the lines you could almost hear him saying, Who are you to question whether I pay you less no matter what you do?  I'll just hire another uneducated cretin like yourself to fill the position if you don't like it.

And so it goes.  I suppose if we were all so blatantly mellow, the world might be a better place with fewer wars. 

Or would it?

I have rearranged my entire life & existence because Shawn has always wanted his own business.  I have done eBay (even though I hate it with a passion of passions) for ten years, on and off.  I have dealt with items and junk and sellable things strewn from one end of the house to the other.  This is a deplorable act for a neat freak.

I have picked up after, lost sleep and weekends.  I have cleaned, rearranged, driven to & fro.  I have developed what I suspect are the tiniest beginning of stomach ulcers or cancer--why not?  I have cried and taken handfuls of Advil.  I have worked volunteer overtime doing the things that no one wants to do.  I have accepted the fact that hillbillies have invaded my front yard and the back.

And what do I get for it?

Yelled at, screamed to, and cussed upon.  I do not look forward to coming home.  I dread the weekend.  I'm sick of eBay & festivals.  I'm tired of living with a pressure cooker with an unpredictable mood.  Though lately it's been fairly predictable:  Angry and more angry. 

I "joke" that I may very well hurl myself off a bridge.  I fear God has given me all I can handle.  I may take up drinking as a hobby.  I can certainly understand why some people fall down that slippery slope. 

I can no longer handle the stress, the constant upset, the never ending of things not working, running out of time, and something broken. 

I'd like one day--JUST ONE FREAKING DAY--without something going wrong, without being upset about something.  Seems the only time I am not upset is when I am sleeping.  Perhaps I'll take up a voluntary addiction to pain medications like so many others.

....Just to escape the pressure for a little while.

The devil roams about like a lion, seeking who he may devour.  I feel as though I've been chewed on thoroughly.  Not yet devoured.  I supposed there's a glimmer of hope somewhere in there, though I have yet to see it.

I was put on this planet for one reason alone.  God created me for the sole purpose to do for Shawn & what he wants.  At least it feels that way.  If that isn't the case then I really have no idea why God made me at all.  Sometimes I wish He hadn't.  If I had been aborted, I could have grown up in Heaven.  No tears, no weeping, no pain, emotional or physical.

If Shawn had not taken my vehicle after I'd come home from work, I might have already driven off in search of a tall bridge.

Ignorance is Bliss

Shawn quit his job & we started our own business.  I'm still working my job but we are equally overworked, under-rested, and totally and completely freaked out.  Then, stuff piles on.  If you are human, you know about stuff.

Nine years ago Shawn bought a baby cocketiel.  He visited the bird every day at the small pet store after work and it bonded with him pretty quickly.  The store thought the bird was male because it was a bright white all over with two vivid orange dots on either side of the face.  We named the bird Lulu, regardless.

Then, Lulu began to lay eggs.  Lots and lots of eggs, year round.  I complained about his bird nonstop.  I never felt like it was right keep such an animal, a creature that could fly anywhere in the land, crammed into a cage.  It would be like locking me in the living room for all my life.  I hated the mess that Lulu saddled me with.  Poop, bird seed, bread crumbs, more poop.  It was a never ending battle for me.

But I found ways to connect with Lulu, in spite of all that.  She really loved the Andy Griffith theme song.  I whistled it when I did dished along with other old TV shows and hymns.  She danced on top of a little box I set in the cage, she made sharp, happy noises whenever I whistled.  Shawn couldn't whistle.  Even though Lulu hissed at me when I changed her water bowl, at least we had those songs.

Lulu also barked like a dog when someone came over.  She learned to bark from Prissy, who we lost a year ago to severe arthritis.  The dogs always look to Lulu to see if a stranger is on his way through the window.

On Thursday, Shawn noticed that Lulu was getting ready to lay an egg.  He thought it looked a bit red & swollen, but assumed it was normal.  He mentioned it to me when I came home & I said it was normal to look a little swollen and I noticed a broken egg on the cage's floor.  It was probably fine.

Around 8:30 pm, I bent to close the curtain at Lulu's window and just happen to look up at her.  Something was wrong.  Seriously wrong.  Lulu was perched on the top rung of her ladder.  Her breathing was labored and her egg hole was....just wrong.  It looked like something had come out that should not have come out.  I wasn't sure what I was looking at, but I knew it wasn't good.

We hit the internet and posted a photo on a forum.  I stood at Lulu's cage for a while before I went to bed.  "I am so sorry," I whispered.  I knew she had to be in pain.  I quietly whistled Andy Griffith twice, and figured it would be for the last time.

I lay in bed for an hour that night.  I was sure poor Lulu would be dead in the morning.  While I lay in the bed, Shawn later told me he had done his own research online.  He found out about egg binding, which I'll get to later.  He was certain Lulu would not make it through the night.

The next morning, I went straight to the cage and there sat Lulu, still on the top rung.  Her breathing was slow.  There was something extra poking out from the egg hole and poo slowly dripped down.  "I'm so sorry sweetie," I cried.  I couldn't stand it that there was nothing--NOTHING!--that I could do to ease her pain.  I could not do the obvious, I just couldn't.

I set the alarm clock for Shawn & went to work.  I told Liz about it.  I was crying.  I had foolishly forgotten that I was speaking to The Show About Me.  Liz had once had a bird and when I shared my pain with her, this is what I received:  "Me me me me, me-me...me and me, me me.  Me me me, oh and me-me, me me."

Once again, Liz sees an opportunity to see how her own story relates to this and she can talk about it for six hours.  Clearly, I would receive no consolation here.

9:30 am.  Shawn shows up at my job.  I hug him outside and we both cry until we're shaking.  "I'm so sorry I couldn't be there with you," I sobbed.

Here's what happened:  The vet took Lulu and gently cupped her in his hands and his eyes widened as he viewed the bird's under side.  "This isn't good," he said.  "I know it isn't good..." Shawn replied.

No one at the pet store instructed us on how to handle a female bird because everyone was certain that Lulu was a male.  We never knew such a thing could even happen, that it was possible.  Females tend to lay eggs in the spring & the fall.  Their bodies use calcium to create the egg shell.  When a bird such as Lulu lays eggs like a chicken, it depletes their body's supply of calcium.  In this case, a calcium supplement should be provided.  Of course, we had no idea that we should have been doing that.  There's nothing out there to tell you that you should be doing that.  We had no idea we even should have searched a thing online!

With the calcium deficiency, the egg can become lodged in the uterus.  The bird will normally break her pelvis trying to extract the egg.  This normally, in most normal cases causes almost instant death, as far as I am told.  The bird cannot survive this process.

So the doctor says, this isn't good.  "This is her uterus.  This is her bladder.  This is her kidney," the doctor explains to Shawn.

I stop here because I do not know how to type out the sort of anguish this brings to an animal person.  To know that our Lulu had sat there like this with three major organs hanging outside of her body for that many hours, still alive....It's difficult to put into words.

Shawn blamed himself and of course I tell him that he didn't know any better (regarding him noticing the redness & swelling Thursday morning).  When I had noticed Lulu, well after the clinics had closed, I wasn't exactly sure what I was looking at.  Deep down I was hoping it was just some sort of afterbirth, maybe something I never noticed before or didn't know about.  But I knew she was in pain.  I knew what I was looking at wasn't going to last long.

The vet placed a needle into Lulu's wing and pushed the plunger.


The house is oddly quiet now.  I hear a sound that is EXACTLY like Lulu gnawing on her cuddle bone.  I think to myself, "Ah, that's just Lulu on her cuddle bone."  Then I peer from the kitchen to the empty space in the window.

I opened the cabinet that needs grease on the hinges.  In my mind, I hear it squeal, followed by Lulu's reaction to the shrill noise.  No....it was just in my mind.  I never realized how much I'd miss that bird until she was gone.  Yeah, I complained about her all the time, but I do the same with close family members.

I didn't sing when I did the dishes. I didn't whistle, either.  I think it would have been easier if she'd merely gotten sick & died.  It might have easier to know that she wasn't in that kind of pain.  It might have been easier if it wasn't the result of something ignorant we could have prevented.

One year ago, almost to the day, we had to put down our 13 or 14 year old dog, Prissy.  She was healthy.  Had the blood of a healthy puppy; the vet had never seen anything like it, ever.  If we knew that jumping down off the furniture would damage her back so badly over the years, we could have prevented that horrible day.  Same with Lulu.  We just didn't know.  "Sucks," Shawn muttered.  "Another perfectly healthy animal."

Whoever said ignorance is bliss?

We wondered why this poor bird was even alive Friday morning.  "I guess we raise some tough-shit animals," I sighed.

                                                      Prissy examines Lulu after a shower

Paul (of you know, The Bible) said, "I am content whether I have or I have not."  He also stated that he learned how to be content.  I wish I could be more like Paul.  I had the chance to slow down a bit today and it only made me notice how incredibly lonely I am.  The fact that my blog is who I talk to it just well, pathetic.

Shawn has quit his full time to run the business full time.  I'm fine with it, I really am.  I was the one who pushed him to do so when he was conflicted about it.  But naturally, there's extra worry, more concern, bundles of stress.  We don't see each other much, which means we also do not have time to nit pick & argue.  That's a good thing.  But again, it's also terribly lonely.

Last week someone close to me told me something very painful.  I am the only one who has to share in this long kept secret.  It nearly ripped me in two.  I stood in the shower the next day, sobbing so hard that my entire body was shaking.  "God," I cried, "I'm not strong enough for this!  I'm not!"  I had felt like God spoke back to me with...."No.  You're not strong enough.  But I am."

I'm starting to second myself and what I felt like I had heard.  Why is it that one day I feel big enough to take on the entire world, and the next....feel as small as a mouse waiting to be crushed?

Because This Makes Me Smile

Too Much Caffeine

About yesterday...  I have not been sleeping much lately.  It's caught up with me.  To count act this, I upped my caffeine intake yesterday from 2 cups of coffee to pretty much everything in the world containing caffeine. 

Total for the day:
2 cups of coffe
about a half gallon of diet pepsi
one crystal light energy drink
one Starbucks espresso double shot
2 more cups of coffee

With each drink I would wait 30 minuets for it to enter my blood stream and discover that it did squat for my energy levels.  I'm scared of harder drugs for energy so I just upped the caffeine all day.  It did some funky things to my concentration though. 

After I read the story about Justice the dog, I thought about it a lot at work.  I planned out what I might write.  It was articulate, well thought out and very smart.  After dumping gallons of coffee and stuff into my body, however I would type something--anything--and it might appear ont he screen as so:  dhgtyw

You see my problem.  Also, I had remembered only this morning a funny way to describe my anger.  In nerd terms, the Jedi Masters would never have accepted me as a student, even as a baby.  I was very angry as a baby.

I also wanted to vent a little about a co-worker and somehow work that into my Justice The Dog story but I wasn't sure how to fit it in.  This portion of the program will now be dedicated to:

Liz:  The Story About ME!  (nominated for 5 Emmys!)

I decided to stop talking to Liz unless necessary for work.  She had become a poison.  I caught myself gossiping to her about another employee who wore to work a fish net style shirt (the kind of thing you use a bathing suit cover up) over a bra.  And nothing else.  I know it's hot in the dry cleaners, but come on!

Have I really become this person?  So I decided to act real busy instead.  One day this week I had just about had it with another employee "forgetting" everything and I needed to blow off some steam before I got real mean with this person so I ran to Liz and told her how sick I was of going behind this person and doing half their job!!!!

"Oh, that's just like when Sally says this and does that and I really don't care about you're problem because you just spoke so now it's my turn and blah blah blah nobody is listening anymore because all I ever talk is my problems and issues and stories!"

Um, no.  This isn't anything like you're problem with Sally.  Not at all.  I said a comment to wrap it up and walked away.  What was I thinking?

In other news, I remembered this morning why I had stopped writing.  I feel as though I have to write about my opinion on everything in the entire world and suddenly remembered that no one cares!  I will never be Dave Barry and I will not be able to write about everything and make everyone laugh.

No one cares about my weight issues and food issues.  No one cares about my opinion on trans-gendered folks winning beauty competitions.  No one cares about that stuff because I don't care about that stuff regarding other people!  For some reason I feel like I need to change the world because I found out about certain foods that just might change the world.  You know what?  I'm not the only one who knows about whole grain bread!  I do not need to list everything I eat and explain my emotional eating.  Thsi is America--pretty much everyone does that anyways!

So I'll probably be taking another long extended break from writing.  My puppy is whining (I swear she sounds like a small child) because I am currently ignoring her because I am involved in this stupid blog.

To wrap it up here, I leave you with this:  All the thousands of milligrams of caffeine I sucked down yesterday did eventually kick in.  Right at bedtime.

Cheers!

Mike Tyson

This is Mike Tyson.
When we got the puppy, Evil the Cat had to be kicked outside, therefore, her food also had to be kicked out.  Mike Tyson would come around and eat all of Evil's food.  I would bang on the window and throw rocks in his direction (to scare him, not to hit him).  I was determined not to feed the entire population of stray cats.

Mike Tyson was a HUGE cat when we first met.  His body was big and his balls swung when he walked.  Then he mewed.  And it was the sound of a three month old kitten.  So I named him Mike Tyson.

I had a dream that Shawn had admonished me for not feeding this cat.  "You of all people!  Such an animal lover!" he'd said.  The dream was so realistic, I thought it had actually happened when I woke up.

Mike Tyson refused to be afraid of me.  He'd caught on pretty early in the game that I wasn't actually trying to hit him with small sticks and rocks.  He began to befriend me by sitting on the window sill and running the length of his mammoth body along the glass.

He slowly started to approach me and rub against my legs.  I rubbed his neck and ears and he mewed like a feline version of how the real Mike Tyson might.

A true Tom, I see this cat inconsistently.  He recently came by for a visit and Evil hissed and growled from the front porch.  Mike Tyson lay on the step below my feet and rolled onto his back, showing his belly.  I rubbed his tummy like a dog and thought it was so odd for this dirty, now too thin, stray to be showing his under belly.

I ran off Evil for a few minuets and coaxed Mike Tyson to eat a little.  I may not see him for another week or two, but I look forward to hearing his odd mew and experiencing this weird, unadulterated trust for a complete stranger.

Just Blow Up The Whole Damn Thing!

I'm a very angry person.  I get angry about everything.  Even when I see people "misusing" or "overusing" quotation marks, it makes me angry.  I had, for a time resolved to not read the newspaper or watch the news on TV because of all the crap int he world.  It all left me feeling angry & helpless and even more angry because I couldn't do anything about anything.

But that was all a while back and I am back to feeling angry & helpless.  I do not wish to feel this way and I do not understand why everyone else doesn't feel this way.  Look at this injustice!  Look at this hurting!  Why doesn't it make you shake with anger?

The problem with the news is that most of the time, happy-go-lucky news doesn't make for interesting news.  And so, most of it is bad news.  In today's paper:

Upon reading this, several things happened to me all at once.  The backs of my eyeballs stung.  My stomach churned & knotted up--not like nausea, more like when someone says something hurtful to me & I want to haul off & clock them in the jaw.  A very vivid image appeared in the recesses of my brain.  It was almost like a dream.  I watching through my own eyes as I beat these "males" with a baseball bat.

If left to my own devices, I could become a very violent vigilantly.  I would want to drive to Dallas and find these people and proceed to beat the snot out of each one.  But I cannot.  I was at work at the time and I had no idea who these people are or how to find them.  This frustrated me to the point of having shaking hands. 

Another thing that angered me tot he point of shaking:  These people will probably get little, if any, punishment.  Recent history teaches us that cruelty & neglect to animals results in little effect from the law because it's "just animals". 

Let me point out that recent history also teaches us that folks like Jeffery Dauhmer practiced torture and killing on small animals before using his skills on people.  Would you like for your children to inhabit a neighborhood with these people who set dogs on fire?  What is the matter with you??!!  Are you not as angry as I am that these violators of nature will most likely go unpunished?!!

I was thinking to myself that the best punishment for these people would eb to douse them with lighter fluid, let a match, then let them try to put each others' flames out while a crowd jeers and laughs at them.


This is exactly what is wrong with man.  Man is a horrible, horrible creature and I don't know why God created us.  The Bible states that God will eventually get fed up with us, destroy the earth and heaven, and create a new one.  Well?  What's taking so long?  God flooded the entire planet because the people were bad.  Were they half as bad are they are today?

Another injustice that pisses me off is that is you commit rape and are not caught within 5 years, the statute of limitations runs out, meaning you can commit this crime and totally get away with it.  Meanwhile, a backlog of something like 25,000 rape kits gathers dust in Detroit.  Who here understands why a crime goes ignored if you get away with it for 5 years?

About a year ago, a man placed a baby in a microwave and turned it on.  The child survived so the man threw the baby against the wall.

In Ethiopia (I beleive it was) a baby had its arms & legs chopped off and he was left to bleed out on a dirt road.  His albino limbs would later be sold ont he black market for the making of magic potions.

A 4 month old baby girl was sexually assualted and her pelvis shattered.

Mothers are forever loading their children into cars before sweeping them into a river.

Animals of all kinds are being neglected, abused, starved on purpose.
Children are beaten, starved, bullied to the point of suicide.

Jesus.  Just end it already.  The animals will love You and exalt You.  Men cause only destruction and grief.  I do not mean men as the way a feminist would say, I mean men, as in all types of humans.  We are the scum of the earth.  This planet was beautiful until man was created.  Where is God?  Why are You allowing all this to happen?  Wipe us men all off the face of the earth and perhaps it could be beautiful again.

Isolated Madness

I'm not drunk. 

Let's just say I'm a little bit relaxed.  I was going to write a little about what's been going on just a vent a bit.  But let's face it, unless it's something really smart or really funny, it's not worth writing about.  Let alone worth reading.  Besides, who cares about your little problems anyway?

My work friend, Patti moved to the uttermost northern part of the country where it's still winter by our standards.  And I am left in a place where spring last approximately 12 days.  For real. 

I married a workaholic and I don't want to worry my mother so I really have no one to talk to.  I keep everything bottled up until one day I arrive home from the grocery store, slide down the refrigerator door to the lineoleum and cry for twenty minuets.  Or go into a small fury of rage and slam a cardboard box onto the floor over and over and over and kick it into the wall into it is no longer a box but a satisfying crumbled mass that says, "Misty was here and she was upset".

But I'm OK, really.  I tried taking on Liz, Patti's sister.  Oh how many times I've tried to be her friend but she's so frickin' slef-absorbed it's a wonder she doesn't have her own pull of gravity.  If you try to tell her story--about anything at all--she will immediately innturupt you with her story, which somehow fits in with what you were trying to say.  And you never, ever get to finish your story.  Ever.

Liz has called Jennifer The Show About Nothing, an ommage to Seinfeld.  This in relation tot he fact that poor Jennifer, as sweet as she is, can tell dozens of stories of go no where and end up being about, well, nothing.  If Jennifer is The Show About Nothing, then Liz is most certainly The Show About Me.

I have become very accostomed to being alone and it annoys me very much to be around people anymore.  Of course that could just be a sign of aging or either my own personality (which in fact, invloves hating pretty everyone and the sound of their voices).

My own personal hell would include a giant Wal-mart crammed with people and there would be no exit.  Also, the bathroom in this room of hell are disgusting.

I spent most of my birthday alone, frustrated and I had no grand dinner.  Shawn demanded that we go later in the afternoon but by then I had gorged on a gigantic Cinnabon (TM, of course) and I was so irritated that I wasn't the least bit hungry.  Although, that could have been due to the 1,000 calories or so located inside the said Cinnabon.  Life needs icing, indeed.

My 11 month old puppy suddenly refuses to go pee in the proper location after 9 months of training.  People said 2 motnhs was too young to begin potty training a dog.  I conjured up images of 1 year old children naming presidents and states when shown a picture or map.  My dog is as smart as most human babies I've known so it made good sense to me.

Unfortunately, my smartish dog has become a stubborn teenager who refuses to cooperate.  Also, she's gotten kind of fat and refuses to walk because it is immparitive that she sniff and tatse every single item along the sidewalk.  I was hoping to get the weight of before the concret is a cool Texas 100 degrees.  Don't see that happening.

I bought a pair of jeans just before Christmas because everything I owned had holes in them.  The pants fit in the store, I swear!  But holidays and birthday came and went.  Bouts of frustration and depression eating had come and gone.  Two weeks ago the jeans were snug, but doable.  Yesterday I litterally suffered as I walked around work feeling like a sausage being crammed into a casing much too small.

I dreaded using the restroom because it meant peeling the pants down sweat covered legs, then attempting to roll them back up and chunks of lard jutted out on either side of the legs.  I caught a glimpse of myself int he mirror.  I had hiked up my shirt and began to jump and down in a futile attempt to raise the pants.  My belly protruded from my body like a woman six months into a pregnancy and jutted out as though it were trying to escape my body altogether.

So I caught a glimpse of the tragedy in the mirror.  From the side.  "You are such a fat fuck," I muttered. 

Now, normally, I do not beleive in using the F word in written format (though it spews from my tongue too regurly) unless it's completely and utterly necessary.  To paint the ugly image of how I felt when I caught myself in the mirror, I do deem this necessary.

Some days I am fine.  Some days I wake up and wish I hadn't.  Some days I wake up crying and I allow myself to cry whenever I am alone so it doesn't come out in the check-out at the Wal-Mart.  Some days I merely throw things and some days I will myself to be mellow and say it just doesn't matter.  God created me for one sole purpose and that is to do for others.  That is, clean up after them, do the things they forgot, and take out the trash.  After all, someone has to get the poopie stains out of the suits of businessmen.

Alright.  I may be a little drunk