I am so tired… I think I slept a grand total of two hours last night. It’s been so long since I’ve slept any longer that the hours and days all meld into one another. So it could have been two hours, it could have been close to four. Judging by my energy level (or lack thereof) I’m guessing it was the former. I tell myself, daily, that I’ll catch on sleep one of these days. The reality is that I suspect that won’t happen unless and until I have that nervous breakdown I so desperately deserve.
Christmas is just three days away and I am not even close to ready. I’ve truly dropped the ball this year. My house is only half decorated, my outside lights… well let’s not even go there, I haven’t baked a SINGLE cookie, not a present is wrapped and my laundry piles have grown to such monstrous proportions that I could probably lose a small child in one of them.
I’ve reached the “cut corners wherever you can” stage. I’ll start with the laundry. I’ll fish out enough clothes, underwear, socks and PJ’s for everyone for the next oh… let’s say five days (Yes I am THAT behind… looking sheepish…)and I’ll wash them. The rest will be “hidden”. Now wait a minute, don’t give me a load of crap. We’ve ALL hidden things in a pinch. If you say you haven’t you’re a liar or simply not normal. :)
After I hide the offending, undone laundry, which I will curse ferociously the day after Christmas, I’ll apply some FlyLady techniques to the house. The next three days are going to be a whirlwind of fifteen minute clean ups, 27 fling boogies and sink shinings. IF I’m lucky I may be able to sit down and RELAX after dinner on Christmas Eve. IF… I’m lucky. Sigh…
I need a little Christmas, right this very minute…
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Friday, December 16, 2011
That moment...
...when someone gets way too close to the truth.
I am all too aware of my own faults. I'm my own worse critic. And apparently I hide behind worthless platitudes, cute sayings, horoscopes and other assorted crap all meant to make me feel better. (I'm paraphrasing a bit here.)
Nice, huh? But, if I'm being honest, somewhere in there lies the truth. The proverbial nail on the head was thus hit when it was also pointed out that I must be hurting, feeling lost and not sure which way is up. Well... duh! Ya' think?
That's sort of to be expected. I mean... OK... so it has been two years since all of this nonsense started. And I've been on my own for quite some time. One would think that I'd be at least almost over it all by now. But I'm not even close to almost over it.
I am hurting less than I was six months ago. I'm not feeling as lost as I did last Christmas. And I'm fairly certain I am traveling upward or at least in that general direction. I expect I'll fall a few times between now and whatever it is that is next for me. I'm absolutely sure I'll make some mistakes along the way. But I'm also sure that I'll survive.
I am all too aware of my own faults. I'm my own worse critic. And apparently I hide behind worthless platitudes, cute sayings, horoscopes and other assorted crap all meant to make me feel better. (I'm paraphrasing a bit here.)
Nice, huh? But, if I'm being honest, somewhere in there lies the truth. The proverbial nail on the head was thus hit when it was also pointed out that I must be hurting, feeling lost and not sure which way is up. Well... duh! Ya' think?
That's sort of to be expected. I mean... OK... so it has been two years since all of this nonsense started. And I've been on my own for quite some time. One would think that I'd be at least almost over it all by now. But I'm not even close to almost over it.
I am hurting less than I was six months ago. I'm not feeling as lost as I did last Christmas. And I'm fairly certain I am traveling upward or at least in that general direction. I expect I'll fall a few times between now and whatever it is that is next for me. I'm absolutely sure I'll make some mistakes along the way. But I'm also sure that I'll survive.
Thursday, December 8, 2011
What the HELL is wrong with this country???
Firefighters stand by and watch a family’s home and memories burn to the ground over a seventy-five dollar unpaid fee. The absurdity of that should boggle the minds of any reasonable, quasi-intelligent human being.
Eleven year old boys are hanging themselves rather than endure yet another day of torture at the hands of their peers. Yes you read that right. Hanging themselves. No child should ever be made to feel so badly about themselves that they resort to such a horrific “solution”. And no parent should ever have to find their child like that.
Mothers are killing their babies, whether accidentally or intentionally, so they can go out and party instead of doing the job God entrusted them with. Many then get away with it! They murder their flesh and blood for a night out on the town and then they get away with it!!!! WHAT???? That is ludicrous!!!
And then there is this bit of brilliance (sarcasm intended)... this is one that raises my blood pressure through the roof…
On March 2nd 2011 the Supreme Court ruled that hateful protests at military funerals are protected under the First Amendment. These protests may include signs with vile messages such as “Thank God for Dead Soldiers”, “God is America’s Terror” and “God Hates Your Tears”. But hey, it’s ok. The First Amendment protects their right to voice their opinion. You want to know what I have to say to that??
F**K that.
I don’t give a rat’s patootie about their First Amendment rights. What about the family of the fallen soldier?? What about their rights?? Do they not have a right to mourn their loved one in private?? Are their rights not violated when they are faced, on one of the worst days of their lives, with these vile sub-humans and their detestable signs??
No matter your opinion on “the war”, our soldiers deserve nothing less than our full support and respect. While everyone is entitled to an opinion and I respect that. And I accept that others may not have the same value system and beliefs as I do. And whether I agree with them, or find their opinion vile and heinous, I support their right to voice that opinion… in a proper venue and at the proper time.
A funeral, any funeral, but most certainly the funeral of one of our fallen soldiers, is NOT a proper venue!! Period.
I do find some solace in that these so called Christians make themselves look like such world class dickheads; and that the lot of them can’t have more than a few working brain cells between them; that most intelligent people see them for what they are. And I, an intelligent person, have a suggestion for them….
How about you shove your obnoxious signs up your uptight asses and then kindly remove your revolting selves from the planet earth?
Eleven year old boys are hanging themselves rather than endure yet another day of torture at the hands of their peers. Yes you read that right. Hanging themselves. No child should ever be made to feel so badly about themselves that they resort to such a horrific “solution”. And no parent should ever have to find their child like that.
Mothers are killing their babies, whether accidentally or intentionally, so they can go out and party instead of doing the job God entrusted them with. Many then get away with it! They murder their flesh and blood for a night out on the town and then they get away with it!!!! WHAT???? That is ludicrous!!!
And then there is this bit of brilliance (sarcasm intended)... this is one that raises my blood pressure through the roof…
On March 2nd 2011 the Supreme Court ruled that hateful protests at military funerals are protected under the First Amendment. These protests may include signs with vile messages such as “Thank God for Dead Soldiers”, “God is America’s Terror” and “God Hates Your Tears”. But hey, it’s ok. The First Amendment protects their right to voice their opinion. You want to know what I have to say to that??
F**K that.
I don’t give a rat’s patootie about their First Amendment rights. What about the family of the fallen soldier?? What about their rights?? Do they not have a right to mourn their loved one in private?? Are their rights not violated when they are faced, on one of the worst days of their lives, with these vile sub-humans and their detestable signs??
No matter your opinion on “the war”, our soldiers deserve nothing less than our full support and respect. While everyone is entitled to an opinion and I respect that. And I accept that others may not have the same value system and beliefs as I do. And whether I agree with them, or find their opinion vile and heinous, I support their right to voice that opinion… in a proper venue and at the proper time.
A funeral, any funeral, but most certainly the funeral of one of our fallen soldiers, is NOT a proper venue!! Period.
I do find some solace in that these so called Christians make themselves look like such world class dickheads; and that the lot of them can’t have more than a few working brain cells between them; that most intelligent people see them for what they are. And I, an intelligent person, have a suggestion for them….
How about you shove your obnoxious signs up your uptight asses and then kindly remove your revolting selves from the planet earth?
Monday, November 21, 2011
Writer's block...
This is probably the 50th (AT LEAST) blog I've tried to write in the last several months. I find I get these great ideas for blogs while I'm driving with Kenny crooning at me from the speakers. At full volume of course. Unfortunately writing or typing while driving is not something I'm talented at and I'm pretty sure there's a legality issue.
Try as I might to hang onto the ideas no sooner do I sit down in front of my computer and I've got... nothing. I start typing and the words that I'm able to painstakingly extract from my brain make little to no sense or sound like the ramblings of a five year old.
Write what you know. I read that advice somewhere. I believe it was in an old text book. But don't quote me on that. It was a long time ago and I've remembered, and tried to live by, that advice ever since.
So... what do I know? I know how to change a diaper. I could probably complete the task blindfolded. I know how to cook fairly well. The kids are all still alive. However, I doubt anyone wants to hear about the finer points of diaper changing and my cooking skills are certainly nothing to write about.
I could write about the silly, sometimes pathetic, things that I think about. But I'd like to avoid a stint on the psych ward. I could spill out all of my deepest fears and most secret dreams. But... I'm not that brave.
I could write about a loneliness, often so profound, that it leaves me with a physical ache. And that would be depressing. I don't need any help with that emotion. I could write about being so physically and mentally exhausted that I often have no idea what time of day it is. But you've heard that before...
I could write about fear. I could tell you that I don't think I have ever been this afraid in my entire life. At least not for this length of time. I can say with near certainty that I exist in a constant state of anxiety. Sometimes it's a nervousness that is just below the surface. I'm able to control it with self soothing techniques. Often without anyone being aware of what I'm doing. Sometimes it's more dominant and quite difficult to hide. I sweat. I get the shakes and I feel physically sick to my stomach. It's a feeling I do not like and one I fear. Which exasperates the anxiety and creates a never ending, vicious cycle.
Again... I am able to write about all of these things. And I'd likely bore everyone to tears. Which must sound presumptuous. "Bore everyone to tears", as if I'm some blogging Goddess that everyone reads regularly and waits with baited breath for each new post. Ha! I'm honestly not that full of myself. I likely get more out of my blogging than anyone else does. And that's really all that matters. If I keep it all in I run the risk of self destructing.
Many of our fears are tissue-paper-thin, and a single courageous step would carry us clear through them. ~Brendan Francis
Try as I might to hang onto the ideas no sooner do I sit down in front of my computer and I've got... nothing. I start typing and the words that I'm able to painstakingly extract from my brain make little to no sense or sound like the ramblings of a five year old.
Write what you know. I read that advice somewhere. I believe it was in an old text book. But don't quote me on that. It was a long time ago and I've remembered, and tried to live by, that advice ever since.
So... what do I know? I know how to change a diaper. I could probably complete the task blindfolded. I know how to cook fairly well. The kids are all still alive. However, I doubt anyone wants to hear about the finer points of diaper changing and my cooking skills are certainly nothing to write about.
I could write about the silly, sometimes pathetic, things that I think about. But I'd like to avoid a stint on the psych ward. I could spill out all of my deepest fears and most secret dreams. But... I'm not that brave.
I could write about a loneliness, often so profound, that it leaves me with a physical ache. And that would be depressing. I don't need any help with that emotion. I could write about being so physically and mentally exhausted that I often have no idea what time of day it is. But you've heard that before...
I could write about fear. I could tell you that I don't think I have ever been this afraid in my entire life. At least not for this length of time. I can say with near certainty that I exist in a constant state of anxiety. Sometimes it's a nervousness that is just below the surface. I'm able to control it with self soothing techniques. Often without anyone being aware of what I'm doing. Sometimes it's more dominant and quite difficult to hide. I sweat. I get the shakes and I feel physically sick to my stomach. It's a feeling I do not like and one I fear. Which exasperates the anxiety and creates a never ending, vicious cycle.
Again... I am able to write about all of these things. And I'd likely bore everyone to tears. Which must sound presumptuous. "Bore everyone to tears", as if I'm some blogging Goddess that everyone reads regularly and waits with baited breath for each new post. Ha! I'm honestly not that full of myself. I likely get more out of my blogging than anyone else does. And that's really all that matters. If I keep it all in I run the risk of self destructing.
Many of our fears are tissue-paper-thin, and a single courageous step would carry us clear through them. ~Brendan Francis
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