So I started a new job. I work at a pizza delivery place. What can I say about it? It's awesome! I love it. For the first time in a long time I'm enjoying 90% of my life. That's pretty damn good for me.
I'm no longer caught up on the crush that has dominated a good portion of my life for more than a few months. I got bold and asked him point blank if he was ever going to ask me and he said no, then basically insulted me. The sad part is, he didn't know he insulted me. He's the outdoorsy type and he assumed that because I choose not to partake in outdoorsy things like hiking and fishing and the like that I'm not into the outdoors. And something about me being disorganized and a homebody... Whatever, the point was that he insulted me and then made it sound like if I liked all the things he likes, he would ask me out. Even though I kinda do like most of the things he likes, I don't feel like I should have to prove myself to get a date. Either you like me enough to take a chance or you don't and he doesn't. Simple as that. It was the part where he insulted me that killed the attraction for me though. I can't be attracted to someone that insults me. A small part of me wonders from time to time if he will one day realize that he insulted me.... A bigger part of me realizes either he won't, or he won't care.
I'm back to getting my random migraines again. I have pinpointed the problem though. They appear nearly everytime I speak with my former mother in law.It's something about the act that I have to put on when I speak to her and the fact that most of the time I'm restraining myself from shouting "Why are you telling me this? I couldn't care less!" at her. They way she yells at my nieces and sometimes my children bothers the crap out of me. The fact that in this day and age, she still has no problem lashing out and striking them causes me constant turmoil. Now I can't say anything about my nieces, but as for my kids, I've already told them. if she lays a hand on them, they are to lay one right back. The kind of hitting she does is categorized as child abuse in some places. And it's not always with her hand, a lot of the time she uses a wooden spoon or whatever is handy. My Sister in law is a good good woman. She has way more patience than I do. I would not be able to sit still if my mother were screaming and sometimes cursing at my children and sometimes more often than not resorting to hitting them. I just wouldn't.
There's also certain personality traits that annoy me to no end. A wise woman would find a way to cut this woman out of her life completely, but I'm far from a wise woman. Far Far FAR from one. This woman is my children's grandmother, cutting her out of my life would mean cutting her out of theirs and that's not something I'm willing to do. That's not something I think I'm able to do.
My ex plans on moving to South Carolina this summer. That's fine. But his mother lives around the corner from where he lives currently and shes not doing well financially wise. If he moves the SC, and leaves her in the apartment she's in, her next closest contact is going to me and I don't' have it in me to be her next closest contact. I just don't. Most conversations reduce me to battling with a migraine so bad I could burst into tears any second from the pain. I got one today that took a Tramadol and two Tylenol to tame. So basically I'm over drugging myself to deal with the angst she raises in me. That's no bueno.
I was at church tonight and one of my church sister even said I look tired. I am tired. I'm tired of everything that has the power to make me feel like less of who I am. Little by little the bad things in my life are clawing for more space and sadly they are starting to win. When I get stressed several things happen. One, I eat. I've always been a stress eater, No matter what I do I don't see that changing. The second is I get sick. I am currently battling the cold of the century. The third thing is generally, my stomach begins to knot up and everything goes to hell. It will hurt when I eat which will cause me not to eat which will cause others to worry about me which will cause me to eat to make them stop worrying, which will lead to my stomach hurting and the vicious cylce starts over again.
I am finally getting my life on basic track. Other than the thing with my xmil, everything is going very well...I just need that one thing to change. And there's nothing I can ask for help. If I mention it to my Dr. She will send me to a therapist who will drug me. I so don't want to be drugged anymore. I have actually at this point held sanity and happiness in my hands and I don't want to let it go. I don't ever want to let it slip away from me. I am grabbing at it with both hands and I;m not letting go.
As usual it kinda helps to blog it out. Another thought running free. To be thought about later. I'm cheating tonight. I'm self medicating with vodka. I know I shouldn't but tonight, I think it'll be okay. Goodnight bloggers. See ya in a few days I guess since that seems to be my time scale at the moment.
Stay frosty!!
Friday, March 21, 2014
Saturday, March 15, 2014
Citified little twit
That is exactly what I've become. Bats scare me when they used to fascinate me. I was that weird kid in my family that actually thought something that could fly in a general straight line while being pretty much blind was wicked cool. I admit that sleeping outside wasn't one of my favorite activities but I wasn't opposed to it, only at sleep away camp because I seriously was ALWAYS stuck with the girl that collected farts like she was starting a collection, wanted to stay up all damn night talking when we knew we had to be up in the morning, or who just didn't wash... anything. Who would have a good experience at camp living with those girls.
I did learn some good trade skills though. I can cook over a campfire. I don't eat them but I can make one hell of a S'more. I can sing a variety of Girl Scout themed camp songs really badly, and I learned to identify a few of the plants that would kill me if I were ever to be dropped off in the woods by myself.
Would I survive more than a couple of days if that happened? It's iffy. I know that moss grows on the north side of trees and that the sun moves from east to west so I would probably take those two things into account and start walking. If I can find a stream, I can fish. If it ever came down to survival, I could learn to clean one of those bad boys or at the very least stick it on a stick over a fire and roast it until it was edible. I can't hunt. I know that much. I will probably never learn to. Knowing me, I would pretty much try to find the water. I'm a water baby, when I find it, I'm fine.
When I was a kid, my family owned a lake house and my cousins and I had a good time exploring. Well, my country cousins anyway. I have two sets. Ones that grew up in the country, lived in the country and loved the country, and the other grew up in the city, visited the country onec in a blue moon, and generally hated the country. I was born in the city but came to the country every summer, every winter, pretty much anytime my mom had a vacation that would not be wasted by spending eight hours in a car to drive to said country. My grandfather taught me the basics of shooting and I used to walk outside their house when I was young barefoot across the empty fields to look at the deer that grazed. When I was small they weren't scared of me and I know that somewhere there used to be a picture of me maybe about five or six sitting on the field with deer all around me. As I got older and the visits got few and farther between, they wouldn't let me come near me but by then most things in the country bored, scared, or annoyed me.
My country cousins also abandoned me. I was a citified twit. I was actually called this. In my normal life I had water from bottles and paved roads, electricity everywhere and my entertainment came from a brightly lit box that had movie pictures. Their life included drinking water from the stream (yes we did that in the 80's and they did that probably through the 2000's) running and hiking every weekend and sleeping outdoors in hammocks that were pretty much large sheets tied up between trees. And since the channels were rarely cartoons in that area (You had to have a satellite dish to get more than the local channels 3 and 4 and back then satellite dishes were huge and expensive DirectTV hadn't been founded yet so very few people had them.) they spent most of their times outdoors.
Now my cousins, THEY could survive if you plopped them in unknown woods. Hell you'd come back for them and they probably would have built a house, started a farm, an irrigation system, and been featured in better treehouses and streams by the time you went back for them.
And I was always and continue to be jealous as shit of them.
In an unrelated but kind of related conversation I had the other night, I was told that I wouldn't enjoy a week long hike. That it would be painful for me and it just wasn't my lifestyle. To be honest, I was mad that the person I was talking to that thought that about me, but then I began to wonder, is that really the image I project? Do people really not see the little girl inside of me that enjoyed that stuff? Have I really built such a wall around her that not even she can see the stars anymore? That's horrible. I think this summer, on the rare weekends that I may be off, I'm going to try and rent a cabin on the local lake here and introduce my girls to the kid I used to be. They're going to learn that the world isn't necessarily connected by WiFi signals and cell towers.
They're too young and there aren't any around here but I would really like to camp out by a lake with a waterfall so that I could have the experience of bathing beneath one. Maybe when I get out west.
It's weird when someone says one thing that causes you to think about the person you've become over the person you used to be. It's even more disturbing when that same person causes you to actually not like the person you are now because you miss the person you were.
I have some thinking and some planning to do but not right this second because I have work tonight (I never thought I would get to say that again) and I have to figure out why the bottom of my abdomen hurts like all holy hell. I went to bed with it and honestly don't even remember going to bed. I just woke up in bed and don't remember getting in or laying down. It's okay though, tonight is mostly sitting. So I'll pop a Tram or some tylenol and be okily dokily!
Stay Frosty Bloggers!
I did learn some good trade skills though. I can cook over a campfire. I don't eat them but I can make one hell of a S'more. I can sing a variety of Girl Scout themed camp songs really badly, and I learned to identify a few of the plants that would kill me if I were ever to be dropped off in the woods by myself.
Would I survive more than a couple of days if that happened? It's iffy. I know that moss grows on the north side of trees and that the sun moves from east to west so I would probably take those two things into account and start walking. If I can find a stream, I can fish. If it ever came down to survival, I could learn to clean one of those bad boys or at the very least stick it on a stick over a fire and roast it until it was edible. I can't hunt. I know that much. I will probably never learn to. Knowing me, I would pretty much try to find the water. I'm a water baby, when I find it, I'm fine.
When I was a kid, my family owned a lake house and my cousins and I had a good time exploring. Well, my country cousins anyway. I have two sets. Ones that grew up in the country, lived in the country and loved the country, and the other grew up in the city, visited the country onec in a blue moon, and generally hated the country. I was born in the city but came to the country every summer, every winter, pretty much anytime my mom had a vacation that would not be wasted by spending eight hours in a car to drive to said country. My grandfather taught me the basics of shooting and I used to walk outside their house when I was young barefoot across the empty fields to look at the deer that grazed. When I was small they weren't scared of me and I know that somewhere there used to be a picture of me maybe about five or six sitting on the field with deer all around me. As I got older and the visits got few and farther between, they wouldn't let me come near me but by then most things in the country bored, scared, or annoyed me.
My country cousins also abandoned me. I was a citified twit. I was actually called this. In my normal life I had water from bottles and paved roads, electricity everywhere and my entertainment came from a brightly lit box that had movie pictures. Their life included drinking water from the stream (yes we did that in the 80's and they did that probably through the 2000's) running and hiking every weekend and sleeping outdoors in hammocks that were pretty much large sheets tied up between trees. And since the channels were rarely cartoons in that area (You had to have a satellite dish to get more than the local channels 3 and 4 and back then satellite dishes were huge and expensive DirectTV hadn't been founded yet so very few people had them.) they spent most of their times outdoors.
Now my cousins, THEY could survive if you plopped them in unknown woods. Hell you'd come back for them and they probably would have built a house, started a farm, an irrigation system, and been featured in better treehouses and streams by the time you went back for them.
And I was always and continue to be jealous as shit of them.
In an unrelated but kind of related conversation I had the other night, I was told that I wouldn't enjoy a week long hike. That it would be painful for me and it just wasn't my lifestyle. To be honest, I was mad that the person I was talking to that thought that about me, but then I began to wonder, is that really the image I project? Do people really not see the little girl inside of me that enjoyed that stuff? Have I really built such a wall around her that not even she can see the stars anymore? That's horrible. I think this summer, on the rare weekends that I may be off, I'm going to try and rent a cabin on the local lake here and introduce my girls to the kid I used to be. They're going to learn that the world isn't necessarily connected by WiFi signals and cell towers.
They're too young and there aren't any around here but I would really like to camp out by a lake with a waterfall so that I could have the experience of bathing beneath one. Maybe when I get out west.
It's weird when someone says one thing that causes you to think about the person you've become over the person you used to be. It's even more disturbing when that same person causes you to actually not like the person you are now because you miss the person you were.
I have some thinking and some planning to do but not right this second because I have work tonight (I never thought I would get to say that again) and I have to figure out why the bottom of my abdomen hurts like all holy hell. I went to bed with it and honestly don't even remember going to bed. I just woke up in bed and don't remember getting in or laying down. It's okay though, tonight is mostly sitting. So I'll pop a Tram or some tylenol and be okily dokily!
Stay Frosty Bloggers!
Tuesday, March 11, 2014
Children are parrots...
So be careful what you say. I know for a fact that I am guilty of not so clean language. Okay, that's a lie. I am guilty of some truly bad language and have been known to prove that there are dirtier mouths than drunken sailors when I'm mad. And honestly, I never thought it was that bad.
Until I had children.
For the first few years of my kids lives... I can say that because I literally had my kids back to back to back. '99, '00, and '01... I wasn't the mom that I should have been. I drank, I swore, I drove like a bat out of hell (I still kinda do but they're older so the impression has been made, I'm just keeping up with the standard I set.) I was definitely NOT Donna Reed at all. More like... well a foul mouth teen with kids. Come to think of it, my husband was in the navy and never there. When he was there he fed them sugar and had an endless string of friends in and out of the house matched only by the endless string of video games. I would have been a shoe in for Teen Mom back in the day... Too bad MTV was still actually showing music back then....
Anyway, I was not a prime example of a mom and this became abundantly clear when my children began to talk.
While driving up and down hwy 64 in Newport News Virginia I was the one that could always be counted on to be cussing out the slower drivers and trying hard to get around them. You might remember my 'R' blog on Road rage... One day I was trapped behind the slowest of drivers. I could not believe that this person was going just that slow. So of course I was mad and apparently little Jojo must have sensed this because out of nowhere, he yells "Move oudda my damb way mudder fudder!" I almost stopped clean in the middle of the highway. Needless to say I made the decision right then and there to watch my mouth around my children.
Yeah...
Next up was my big girl Kay. We had no road rage incidents around her. (I got in a really bad car accident while pregnant with her and that really mellowed me out for a LONG time.) So there were no sudden outbursts in the car. No Kay chose her venue very well for her first swear. Both Hubs and I were home and had a very religious couple over just hanging out, right? Kay is toddling around and stubs her toes on the table. It was a pure accident. What does my baby do? She looks down at her toes and then throws her head back and screams, "FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCK!" The couple was shocked, I was shocked, R was shocked. The problem was IDK what the couple was thinking but R kept saying that she couldn't say that and we had to discipline her but my recurring statement was that she used it right. You can't punish a child for saying that when she had the context spot on can you? I mean can you? To this day I still don't know the answer to that one. Rest assured one day I will figure out the answer and punish Kay accordingly but 13 years later, I still don't know. The very religious couple? Yeah they NEVER came over again. I decided that night that even if I hurt myself, I would curb my language around my children.
Uh huh...
And just to round out the pot of bad words my kids say, we have Liv. Again hers was in the right context so can you really punish her?? This was just after we'd gotten to SoCal and we living in Serra Mesa. R had already gone off to Miss. to help build his ship and I was alone with all three kids so it was before the summer when I had to send the boy away so he could breathe. I remember vividly because it was one of those moments that stays very clearly in your mind. Livy was not too steady on her legs having only taken her first steps a couple of months before and Kay was a bit of a meanie. Kay pushed Liv down (It was intentional, she used both hands) Liv to her credit got right back and didn't cry but then turned around and told Kay "Fuh Doo!"
I didn't bother to make a life decision about my language then. It just wasn't worth it. Now as the years have passed, I don't swear as much. as I used to. When I have a headache I don't monitor myself but mostly my Fucks have become Frick or Frack, My shits have become ish, my Damns have become dang or darn and the compound words are really funny as they pretty much come out as any matching syllable on my tongue at the moment.
So the point here is seriously watch what you say around your kids. They are parrots and you never know when they are going to say what they've heard. If you're lucky, it's around you and you can tell them no or stand there like an idiot a la me. but if you are unlucky, others could be the audience for what they say. As for me, my world is doomed. Have I already scared my kids? Yes probably for life. Have I scarred any other people's kids? Not sure but probably. Will this cycle of language continue into my years of being a grandma and scar my grand children? Probably yes. But like I said, I'm just keeping up with the standard I;ve already set...
Don't be a victim like me... End the swearing cycle now!
LOL. It was almost 80 here today. I had to roll the windows down. Now I'm drinking ice cold Kool-aid. Stay frosty Peeps!!
Until I had children.
For the first few years of my kids lives... I can say that because I literally had my kids back to back to back. '99, '00, and '01... I wasn't the mom that I should have been. I drank, I swore, I drove like a bat out of hell (I still kinda do but they're older so the impression has been made, I'm just keeping up with the standard I set.) I was definitely NOT Donna Reed at all. More like... well a foul mouth teen with kids. Come to think of it, my husband was in the navy and never there. When he was there he fed them sugar and had an endless string of friends in and out of the house matched only by the endless string of video games. I would have been a shoe in for Teen Mom back in the day... Too bad MTV was still actually showing music back then....
Anyway, I was not a prime example of a mom and this became abundantly clear when my children began to talk.
While driving up and down hwy 64 in Newport News Virginia I was the one that could always be counted on to be cussing out the slower drivers and trying hard to get around them. You might remember my 'R' blog on Road rage... One day I was trapped behind the slowest of drivers. I could not believe that this person was going just that slow. So of course I was mad and apparently little Jojo must have sensed this because out of nowhere, he yells "Move oudda my damb way mudder fudder!" I almost stopped clean in the middle of the highway. Needless to say I made the decision right then and there to watch my mouth around my children.
Yeah...
Next up was my big girl Kay. We had no road rage incidents around her. (I got in a really bad car accident while pregnant with her and that really mellowed me out for a LONG time.) So there were no sudden outbursts in the car. No Kay chose her venue very well for her first swear. Both Hubs and I were home and had a very religious couple over just hanging out, right? Kay is toddling around and stubs her toes on the table. It was a pure accident. What does my baby do? She looks down at her toes and then throws her head back and screams, "FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCK!" The couple was shocked, I was shocked, R was shocked. The problem was IDK what the couple was thinking but R kept saying that she couldn't say that and we had to discipline her but my recurring statement was that she used it right. You can't punish a child for saying that when she had the context spot on can you? I mean can you? To this day I still don't know the answer to that one. Rest assured one day I will figure out the answer and punish Kay accordingly but 13 years later, I still don't know. The very religious couple? Yeah they NEVER came over again. I decided that night that even if I hurt myself, I would curb my language around my children.
Uh huh...
And just to round out the pot of bad words my kids say, we have Liv. Again hers was in the right context so can you really punish her?? This was just after we'd gotten to SoCal and we living in Serra Mesa. R had already gone off to Miss. to help build his ship and I was alone with all three kids so it was before the summer when I had to send the boy away so he could breathe. I remember vividly because it was one of those moments that stays very clearly in your mind. Livy was not too steady on her legs having only taken her first steps a couple of months before and Kay was a bit of a meanie. Kay pushed Liv down (It was intentional, she used both hands) Liv to her credit got right back and didn't cry but then turned around and told Kay "Fuh Doo!"
I didn't bother to make a life decision about my language then. It just wasn't worth it. Now as the years have passed, I don't swear as much. as I used to. When I have a headache I don't monitor myself but mostly my Fucks have become Frick or Frack, My shits have become ish, my Damns have become dang or darn and the compound words are really funny as they pretty much come out as any matching syllable on my tongue at the moment.
So the point here is seriously watch what you say around your kids. They are parrots and you never know when they are going to say what they've heard. If you're lucky, it's around you and you can tell them no or stand there like an idiot a la me. but if you are unlucky, others could be the audience for what they say. As for me, my world is doomed. Have I already scared my kids? Yes probably for life. Have I scarred any other people's kids? Not sure but probably. Will this cycle of language continue into my years of being a grandma and scar my grand children? Probably yes. But like I said, I'm just keeping up with the standard I;ve already set...
Don't be a victim like me... End the swearing cycle now!
LOL. It was almost 80 here today. I had to roll the windows down. Now I'm drinking ice cold Kool-aid. Stay frosty Peeps!!
Thursday, March 06, 2014
I think I'm going insane.
I'm up, I'm down, I pull myself up and I sink back down. I walk around my house and all I do is sigh.
Just once, I would love for my emotions to be on a stable ground without having to take drastic measures. When I say something to my doctor, she recommends counseling. Now that would be fine if every single therapist I speak to about my moods says that my massive moods swings are because I basically live in a fantasy world.
Okay so yeah I do, I will admit that one free and clear. I have lived in my own private fantasy world for years now. In that world, I am loved by not only my friends; all of them all of the time. No one takes advantage of me, no one pays attention to me ONLY when they need to vent on me or lay their problems at my feet. No one expects me to be the stalwart little soldier who stands tall and doesn't cry that I'm expected to be in reality. I'm not saying that I am the center of attention in that world because I'm not. Really I never see myself as that; I never want to be that. I've never wanted people catering to my every desire or making sure that above anything else, I had what I wanted. That's not my style but in the happy bright world, I do have what I want and need at no expense to others. And they have what they need at no expense to me.
Here in the real world, I'm loved, I know I am. But it's a fractured kind of love. My kids love me but honestly, sometimes I think if I were to drop dead tomorrow, they'd miss me but they'd be okay. And that's crazy because isn't that what every parent wants for their child?? To know that if something happened to them that second, their kids would be able to survive? I want that but I don't. It's very confusing. My mom loves me, I know she does. I'm her only child and I have had her undivided attention for years upon years. That's where we have a fissure though. I'm the only. Whereas other parents have a couple of kids and refuse to let the younger grow up, My mom has had no one to let go of therefore, no matter what I do, a piece of me is still a sixteen year old kid who doesn't know how to survive without being told what to to do, how to do it, and when or why. I get around it. It's reality. I have friends who love me but that's where we have another fissure. I have friends that love me for me. They don't care if I'm up or down, if I'm down or out. If I'm up, they roll for the ride and when I'm down they try like hell to make waves to get me up again. But I also have friends who really honestly couldn't give a rats ass about me unless they need something from me. Most notably the ones that call me to tell me about ALL the crap they are going through but when the point in the conversation is reached where they ask me if I'm okay comes up... they have to go. Everytime. I can't tell any of my other friends about these friends because then they tell me to drop said friends and said friends were there for me when other people weren't so really, isn't it my turn to take one for the team and listen?
Here in reality, no one loves me the way a man should love a woman. Here in reality, I get up every day and see my kids and listen to my girls jabber about people at school and when they think I'm not in hearing range, jabber about the boys they like. I would give my eye teeth to go back to a time as easy as elementary school. To pass a note in class that says Do you like me? Check yes or no.
In my dream world, that guy always checks yes and no matter what we walk off into the sunset. I don't know if we stay happy in the sunset or we date for a bit then break up and stay good friends but dammit at least he walked into the sunset with me. At least he kissed me. At least he gave me a chance.
My book is finally being published. I can't tell you how over the moon I am about that. It has literally been a lifelong dream to be published. and now it;s coming true but you know what? As happy as I should be about that, I find that I'm worried about how it will be received. Will people look at it in the bookstore, maybe read the back and then put it back? Or will they read the back and think "Oh wow, this sounds awesome" and buy it, and read it, and convince others to buy it, and read it and so on and so forth?
The stress of all of that is enough to crack the shiny surface alone. Add the other stuff and really? Is it a wonder I prefer to live in the world where I'm a best selling author with the guy who walked into the sunset with me?
So back to the therapist/ counselor/ psychiatrist. They insist that I live in this world but I need to come out of that world and stay here in reality and you know what? They can help with that with fruity tasting behavioral pills that make the voices go away. They make me see this reality as the only reality
And that depresses me even more. So they up the meds and I'm basically a puppet who laughs if the mood seems to be jovial, who is caring if that's what needed but basically silent and waiting for the cue card to tell her what the say/do/feel all the rest of times. I don't write, I don't edit I don't even read when I do the meds and zombie out.
Does anyone else struggle with their psyche the way I do mine. I feel like I'm in a never ending battle to stay sane and not climb a clocktower.
And if I see this damn shadow dart past me again I swear I'm going to lose my mind. I have been seeing it for days now!
What the hell is wrong with me??
Just once, I would love for my emotions to be on a stable ground without having to take drastic measures. When I say something to my doctor, she recommends counseling. Now that would be fine if every single therapist I speak to about my moods says that my massive moods swings are because I basically live in a fantasy world.
Okay so yeah I do, I will admit that one free and clear. I have lived in my own private fantasy world for years now. In that world, I am loved by not only my friends; all of them all of the time. No one takes advantage of me, no one pays attention to me ONLY when they need to vent on me or lay their problems at my feet. No one expects me to be the stalwart little soldier who stands tall and doesn't cry that I'm expected to be in reality. I'm not saying that I am the center of attention in that world because I'm not. Really I never see myself as that; I never want to be that. I've never wanted people catering to my every desire or making sure that above anything else, I had what I wanted. That's not my style but in the happy bright world, I do have what I want and need at no expense to others. And they have what they need at no expense to me.
Here in the real world, I'm loved, I know I am. But it's a fractured kind of love. My kids love me but honestly, sometimes I think if I were to drop dead tomorrow, they'd miss me but they'd be okay. And that's crazy because isn't that what every parent wants for their child?? To know that if something happened to them that second, their kids would be able to survive? I want that but I don't. It's very confusing. My mom loves me, I know she does. I'm her only child and I have had her undivided attention for years upon years. That's where we have a fissure though. I'm the only. Whereas other parents have a couple of kids and refuse to let the younger grow up, My mom has had no one to let go of therefore, no matter what I do, a piece of me is still a sixteen year old kid who doesn't know how to survive without being told what to to do, how to do it, and when or why. I get around it. It's reality. I have friends who love me but that's where we have another fissure. I have friends that love me for me. They don't care if I'm up or down, if I'm down or out. If I'm up, they roll for the ride and when I'm down they try like hell to make waves to get me up again. But I also have friends who really honestly couldn't give a rats ass about me unless they need something from me. Most notably the ones that call me to tell me about ALL the crap they are going through but when the point in the conversation is reached where they ask me if I'm okay comes up... they have to go. Everytime. I can't tell any of my other friends about these friends because then they tell me to drop said friends and said friends were there for me when other people weren't so really, isn't it my turn to take one for the team and listen?
Here in reality, no one loves me the way a man should love a woman. Here in reality, I get up every day and see my kids and listen to my girls jabber about people at school and when they think I'm not in hearing range, jabber about the boys they like. I would give my eye teeth to go back to a time as easy as elementary school. To pass a note in class that says Do you like me? Check yes or no.
In my dream world, that guy always checks yes and no matter what we walk off into the sunset. I don't know if we stay happy in the sunset or we date for a bit then break up and stay good friends but dammit at least he walked into the sunset with me. At least he kissed me. At least he gave me a chance.
My book is finally being published. I can't tell you how over the moon I am about that. It has literally been a lifelong dream to be published. and now it;s coming true but you know what? As happy as I should be about that, I find that I'm worried about how it will be received. Will people look at it in the bookstore, maybe read the back and then put it back? Or will they read the back and think "Oh wow, this sounds awesome" and buy it, and read it, and convince others to buy it, and read it and so on and so forth?
The stress of all of that is enough to crack the shiny surface alone. Add the other stuff and really? Is it a wonder I prefer to live in the world where I'm a best selling author with the guy who walked into the sunset with me?
So back to the therapist/ counselor/ psychiatrist. They insist that I live in this world but I need to come out of that world and stay here in reality and you know what? They can help with that with fruity tasting behavioral pills that make the voices go away. They make me see this reality as the only reality
And that depresses me even more. So they up the meds and I'm basically a puppet who laughs if the mood seems to be jovial, who is caring if that's what needed but basically silent and waiting for the cue card to tell her what the say/do/feel all the rest of times. I don't write, I don't edit I don't even read when I do the meds and zombie out.
Does anyone else struggle with their psyche the way I do mine. I feel like I'm in a never ending battle to stay sane and not climb a clocktower.
And if I see this damn shadow dart past me again I swear I'm going to lose my mind. I have been seeing it for days now!
What the hell is wrong with me??
Monday, March 03, 2014
So Ancestry...
Ancestry is a funny thing. There are people walking this Earth today that can trace their families back to roots so deep they can come up with vikings or maybe even apostles... (That would be supremely cool. Can you imagine if someone could trace their line back and come up with an ancestor that was Jesus's younger brother?? I mean that's going on the basis that Mary and Joseph had more children. I don't know, I never really paid attention in bible school.) But on the same flip of the coin, there are some unfortunate people out there that might be able to go back as far as a grandmother or maybe even a great gram but not much farther than that.
I am one of those people that fall somewhere in the middle. Now on my mother's side, we know that her fathers (Both the one that raised her and the one that is her biological; they were brothers. Don't even try to understand) were from a family with 8 living children Dunno how many didn't survive or were stillborn. Aside from my biological Maternal Grandfather's children (Poppa was a rolling stone where) we know where all of their families are more or less. We know where My great Grandmother and Great Grandfather are from. I think their parents (my great greats) were slaves so that's pretty much where that buck stops. My mother's biological mother was from South Carolina. She had brothers and sisters and they are all deceased I think. The only other part of my knowledge about My Grandmother Grace is that she had two brother named Murray and Bubba. I remember thinking that this was extremely funny when I was a child. The grandmother that raised my mother (Seriously, I warned you not to try... just listen to the pretty banjos duel) I know very little about other than her mother was full blooded Native American. I'm not worried about finding out about that side of my family however because almost literally 15+ members of that side of Facebook popped up on Facebook within a week or more of each other so if I ever need to know, I can ask any one of them. We're tight like that.
Where I run into problems is with my fathers side of the family. Quite literally it is nothing but a series of dead ends.
First off, no one has any idea whatsoever who my father's father is. They said that my grandmother was a big wig around town (And a little loose) so she could not be unmarried with a baby. From everything I was told, she went over her best friends house, had the baby, and walked away. But not before naming him. Again from everything I was told, she had a friend who was in the Navy who was named Kerry Wilson and he told her to give the baby his name. Now I'm pretty sure that if this is true, the man meant just the last name. I'm pretty sure that if the baby wasn't his (Which we don't actually know that it wasn't) he didn't mean for my grandmother to name the baby Kerry Wilson Jr. If he was sane, I'm pretty definite that he did not mean to pull out of Lake Charles and leave a child named directly after him behind. And maybe he did. As far as I know, we may never know.
So there's a brick wall. Pretty sure that brick wall may be there after even my kids grow old and die. The other side of this very tall, very claustrophobic brick room I find myself in is that any and every single trace there ever was about my grandmother has completely disappeared. This year will make 22 years since she passed away, I think. They say that I went to her funeral when I was 3. That means 22 years since I turn 35 this year. From what we know (meaning what my father knows) she was a principal in Lake Charles, Louisiana. Someone once told me that there was a statue of her there.
But here's the thing, The two schools that we have down that she was a principal; one no longer exists and the other said they have never had a Pharrie Mae as a principal. I even called the Lake Charles Parish School board. No one ever got back to me but I doubt they have her on their rolls either. The church she supposedly went to: building is there, no one ever picks up the phone. Not sure if they are in existence anymore. No clue where she is burried, no clue where her house was, There are more leads in the first three seconds of a game of CLUE than there are to finding my Paternal Grandparents.
It's mind boggling. I look like my father so the genes are definitely strong. I have pictures of Pharrie Mae so I know that whoever the man is, my father has GOT to be a dead ringer for the man. He does not in any way look like his mother.
This is Pharrie Mae holding me when I was a baby:
And this is my father when he was younger...:
It's very easy to say Stay Frosty here cause it's friggen cold today so I'm going to leave you with I hope you are warm and toasty wherever you are. Hugs!
I am one of those people that fall somewhere in the middle. Now on my mother's side, we know that her fathers (Both the one that raised her and the one that is her biological; they were brothers. Don't even try to understand) were from a family with 8 living children Dunno how many didn't survive or were stillborn. Aside from my biological Maternal Grandfather's children (Poppa was a rolling stone where) we know where all of their families are more or less. We know where My great Grandmother and Great Grandfather are from. I think their parents (my great greats) were slaves so that's pretty much where that buck stops. My mother's biological mother was from South Carolina. She had brothers and sisters and they are all deceased I think. The only other part of my knowledge about My Grandmother Grace is that she had two brother named Murray and Bubba. I remember thinking that this was extremely funny when I was a child. The grandmother that raised my mother (Seriously, I warned you not to try... just listen to the pretty banjos duel) I know very little about other than her mother was full blooded Native American. I'm not worried about finding out about that side of my family however because almost literally 15+ members of that side of Facebook popped up on Facebook within a week or more of each other so if I ever need to know, I can ask any one of them. We're tight like that.
Where I run into problems is with my fathers side of the family. Quite literally it is nothing but a series of dead ends.
First off, no one has any idea whatsoever who my father's father is. They said that my grandmother was a big wig around town (And a little loose) so she could not be unmarried with a baby. From everything I was told, she went over her best friends house, had the baby, and walked away. But not before naming him. Again from everything I was told, she had a friend who was in the Navy who was named Kerry Wilson and he told her to give the baby his name. Now I'm pretty sure that if this is true, the man meant just the last name. I'm pretty sure that if the baby wasn't his (Which we don't actually know that it wasn't) he didn't mean for my grandmother to name the baby Kerry Wilson Jr. If he was sane, I'm pretty definite that he did not mean to pull out of Lake Charles and leave a child named directly after him behind. And maybe he did. As far as I know, we may never know.
So there's a brick wall. Pretty sure that brick wall may be there after even my kids grow old and die. The other side of this very tall, very claustrophobic brick room I find myself in is that any and every single trace there ever was about my grandmother has completely disappeared. This year will make 22 years since she passed away, I think. They say that I went to her funeral when I was 3. That means 22 years since I turn 35 this year. From what we know (meaning what my father knows) she was a principal in Lake Charles, Louisiana. Someone once told me that there was a statue of her there.
But here's the thing, The two schools that we have down that she was a principal; one no longer exists and the other said they have never had a Pharrie Mae as a principal. I even called the Lake Charles Parish School board. No one ever got back to me but I doubt they have her on their rolls either. The church she supposedly went to: building is there, no one ever picks up the phone. Not sure if they are in existence anymore. No clue where she is burried, no clue where her house was, There are more leads in the first three seconds of a game of CLUE than there are to finding my Paternal Grandparents.
It's mind boggling. I look like my father so the genes are definitely strong. I have pictures of Pharrie Mae so I know that whoever the man is, my father has GOT to be a dead ringer for the man. He does not in any way look like his mother.
This is Pharrie Mae holding me when I was a baby:
And this is my father when he was younger...:
Okay, maybe he has her cheeks but that ALL I see...
Do you have any idea how frustrating is it not to know where half of you comes from? To think daily that somewhere out there, there may be a whole slew of people that look like you, talk like you, act like you...? No matter what I do if they are out there, they seem to always be behind that fuzzy fuzzy screen of grey smoke and I can't reach through it to find them.
And before anyone suggests Ancestry.com, been there. Tried that. Total bomb. And a complete waste of the two hundred I spent. The first hundred being for the first month and the second hundred because I forgot to cancel the damn thing on time...
I may try again one day. Well, no, there's no may. I have all but decided that if I have to take a trip down to Lake Charles, Louisiana myself and search I'm going to find her. I will search out every school, I will peruse every graveyard, and I will look at every statue. Pharrie Mae Washington has had to have left SOME traces behind. She cannot just wash away that cleanly.
I've had my rant for the day I guess. I'm going to step down from my soapbox...
It's very easy to say Stay Frosty here cause it's friggen cold today so I'm going to leave you with I hope you are warm and toasty wherever you are. Hugs!
Saturday, March 01, 2014
Car care and the Noob... Among other things...
So I'm a noob at some things, I admit that free and clear but I know that most things simply require a little common sense. If it leaks, make it stop leaking. If it steams or smells like it;s burning, cool it down.
My grandfather had this saying that I'm pretty sure a million old people say all the time. "If it moves and shouldn't; use duct tape. If it should move and doesn't; Wd-40." You have no idea how much those words have helped me in the last few years of my life. I mean I'm pretty sure that he didn't mean duct tape something so that you couldn't tell what you were fixing nor do I think he meant drown it in a can of lubricant and let it marinate but then sometime you have to go a little apeshit on stuff like that. Or at least I do. I'm like that.
My window washer fluid drips. No, not drips... drains. In the past week I have been through two huge bottles of washer fluid and I finally figured out where the leak is coming from. Yay me! I just have to wait for the little bit I put in to find the leak to drain so I can plug that hole and go about my business.
And while I was at it, I got tired of eyeing the clear/orangeish bottle that had the thermometer picture on it. For days now, I have been looking at it and wondering why it looked empty. I mentioned it to someone but they said, no it was full. It was orange slash red. I wasn't convinced so today, I opened that bad boy up and stuck my finger in. Dry as a bone. No wonder my baby smelled like she was burning up everytime I drove!! She was. She was gasping for a bit of coolness and I was denying her! I mean I noticed that she went from cold to middle of the gauge rather quickly for an old car, but I stupidly (For a week) figured that if it didn't go past that little boat, I was good. So this morning, I hit the internet (God bless whoever created the internet) and found out what anitfreeze/coolant I could put in. Thankfully that was an easy fix. Hopefully the burning smell will go away as my baby isn't thirsty. I got her a gas treatment as a lollipop. Maybe she'll forgive me. I hope she will. I only wish I had the lifts to drive her up on so I could see under her.
I don't want to be that girl that doesn't know anything about cars. That got me in trouble the first time. I saw the check engine light and I said something but no one took me seriously. I convinced myself that I didn't know what the hell I was thinking I knew and I let it go. The result was me stranded on the side of the highway watching as my stationwagon turned into a hatchback Yugo. That was not fun and I told myself, never EVER again. And I'm going to hold myself to that. If I have to bug every mechanic I can find, I will know about my baby. All her knocks and purrs will be a language that I will understand.
More importantly, I am going to start urging my children to learn about cars. Someone asked me about my engine the other day and I said Shiny. I don't want to pass that to my kids.
I'll admit, having a car is like having another child. It's a lot of work and if you don't treat it right it will have a temper tantrum and leave you looking stupid.
But enough about my car.
Did I ever mention that I love my friends? I really do. Just when I've worked myself up into a dizzying frenzy over what most possibly is nothing, they come in and they prove to me that it was just that... Nothing.
Lately, and for no reason that I can ascertain, I have been having very... weird dreams. Well not weird. Sexual. I guess they would be the female version of a man's wet dream? I don't know. I know that they have been increasingly alarming me because in them, I am doing/getting my favorite sexual act-- Cunnungulis. (I don't much like the act of sex. It really seems like a lot of grunting, groaning and putting square pegs in round holes and such. I probably should talk to someone medical about it, but I'm pretty sure that it stems from my rape in college. It wasn't my first sexual experience but it was the first where I was fully cognizant of what was going on. It's just since then, I find that if I can everything... over with by the time it reaches that point, I'm much happier. Several friends tell me that just because I haven't had the right experience but not even I know how to define the right experience so...) Anyway... in the dreams, I am being--- for lack of a better word--- eaten out and everything is good until I look down in my dream and *SHOCK* it's my ex husband.
Really truly freaking out with no hope of coming back down to Earth now right? How can I tell someone this and they not think I still have feelings for him?? I don't have feelings for him. Yes he was my husband but he was really more like a roommate with benefits. It sounds cold but there was never love between us, just good sex. (Or what I think was good sex. I don't really have much to compare him to...)
So I mentioned it to my best friend and she very calmly and concisely brought me back to the ground where I need to be. She explained that I'm in a drought so to speak and seeing my ex in my dreams is my body remembering a time when at least the physical part of me was happy. Case closed. It didn't mean that subconsciously I was showing feelings for my ex despite what more than a couple of people around me have said. So I'm not freaked out now. It's all good. I love my friends. If I'm a mylar balloon that floating way up high and dangerously close to popping in thin air, they are the counterweights that pull me back down to a safe flying height every time.
In other news, I was wrong when I assumed that the audiobook contract that I was sent was a mistake in whole and not meant to be sent to me. They mean for me to be in audiobook as well as print the name of the cook was just wrong on the contract, but seeing as how it's in MS Word format, that was just a backspace and retype move I could do. NOw I just have to sign then, get them notarized and we're all good. I hope we are able to get started soon. I'm really excited. I hope people want to buy my book.
Okay, so I need to get up and get out of here. Things to do, people to see. I want to go to the movies. There's a couple out there that I'd like to see. I also need to work on that whole going to the movies alone phobia. I always think people are looking at me thinking that I couldn't get a date or a friend to come along with me. Stupid I know but that's me. Even when I look like I don't care what people might think about me, I do and I exaggerate... a lot. I always do. LOL. It's fun being me.
But not really. Not all the time.
But when I bounce back it's awesome being me!
God I am so bipolar sometimes!
Ciao bloggies!! Stay frosty!!
My grandfather had this saying that I'm pretty sure a million old people say all the time. "If it moves and shouldn't; use duct tape. If it should move and doesn't; Wd-40." You have no idea how much those words have helped me in the last few years of my life. I mean I'm pretty sure that he didn't mean duct tape something so that you couldn't tell what you were fixing nor do I think he meant drown it in a can of lubricant and let it marinate but then sometime you have to go a little apeshit on stuff like that. Or at least I do. I'm like that.
My window washer fluid drips. No, not drips... drains. In the past week I have been through two huge bottles of washer fluid and I finally figured out where the leak is coming from. Yay me! I just have to wait for the little bit I put in to find the leak to drain so I can plug that hole and go about my business.
And while I was at it, I got tired of eyeing the clear/orangeish bottle that had the thermometer picture on it. For days now, I have been looking at it and wondering why it looked empty. I mentioned it to someone but they said, no it was full. It was orange slash red. I wasn't convinced so today, I opened that bad boy up and stuck my finger in. Dry as a bone. No wonder my baby smelled like she was burning up everytime I drove!! She was. She was gasping for a bit of coolness and I was denying her! I mean I noticed that she went from cold to middle of the gauge rather quickly for an old car, but I stupidly (For a week) figured that if it didn't go past that little boat, I was good. So this morning, I hit the internet (God bless whoever created the internet) and found out what anitfreeze/coolant I could put in. Thankfully that was an easy fix. Hopefully the burning smell will go away as my baby isn't thirsty. I got her a gas treatment as a lollipop. Maybe she'll forgive me. I hope she will. I only wish I had the lifts to drive her up on so I could see under her.
I don't want to be that girl that doesn't know anything about cars. That got me in trouble the first time. I saw the check engine light and I said something but no one took me seriously. I convinced myself that I didn't know what the hell I was thinking I knew and I let it go. The result was me stranded on the side of the highway watching as my stationwagon turned into a hatchback Yugo. That was not fun and I told myself, never EVER again. And I'm going to hold myself to that. If I have to bug every mechanic I can find, I will know about my baby. All her knocks and purrs will be a language that I will understand.
More importantly, I am going to start urging my children to learn about cars. Someone asked me about my engine the other day and I said Shiny. I don't want to pass that to my kids.
I'll admit, having a car is like having another child. It's a lot of work and if you don't treat it right it will have a temper tantrum and leave you looking stupid.
But enough about my car.
Did I ever mention that I love my friends? I really do. Just when I've worked myself up into a dizzying frenzy over what most possibly is nothing, they come in and they prove to me that it was just that... Nothing.
Lately, and for no reason that I can ascertain, I have been having very... weird dreams. Well not weird. Sexual. I guess they would be the female version of a man's wet dream? I don't know. I know that they have been increasingly alarming me because in them, I am doing/getting my favorite sexual act-- Cunnungulis. (I don't much like the act of sex. It really seems like a lot of grunting, groaning and putting square pegs in round holes and such. I probably should talk to someone medical about it, but I'm pretty sure that it stems from my rape in college. It wasn't my first sexual experience but it was the first where I was fully cognizant of what was going on. It's just since then, I find that if I can everything... over with by the time it reaches that point, I'm much happier. Several friends tell me that just because I haven't had the right experience but not even I know how to define the right experience so...) Anyway... in the dreams, I am being--- for lack of a better word--- eaten out and everything is good until I look down in my dream and *SHOCK* it's my ex husband.
Really truly freaking out with no hope of coming back down to Earth now right? How can I tell someone this and they not think I still have feelings for him?? I don't have feelings for him. Yes he was my husband but he was really more like a roommate with benefits. It sounds cold but there was never love between us, just good sex. (Or what I think was good sex. I don't really have much to compare him to...)
So I mentioned it to my best friend and she very calmly and concisely brought me back to the ground where I need to be. She explained that I'm in a drought so to speak and seeing my ex in my dreams is my body remembering a time when at least the physical part of me was happy. Case closed. It didn't mean that subconsciously I was showing feelings for my ex despite what more than a couple of people around me have said. So I'm not freaked out now. It's all good. I love my friends. If I'm a mylar balloon that floating way up high and dangerously close to popping in thin air, they are the counterweights that pull me back down to a safe flying height every time.
In other news, I was wrong when I assumed that the audiobook contract that I was sent was a mistake in whole and not meant to be sent to me. They mean for me to be in audiobook as well as print the name of the cook was just wrong on the contract, but seeing as how it's in MS Word format, that was just a backspace and retype move I could do. NOw I just have to sign then, get them notarized and we're all good. I hope we are able to get started soon. I'm really excited. I hope people want to buy my book.
Okay, so I need to get up and get out of here. Things to do, people to see. I want to go to the movies. There's a couple out there that I'd like to see. I also need to work on that whole going to the movies alone phobia. I always think people are looking at me thinking that I couldn't get a date or a friend to come along with me. Stupid I know but that's me. Even when I look like I don't care what people might think about me, I do and I exaggerate... a lot. I always do. LOL. It's fun being me.
But not really. Not all the time.
But when I bounce back it's awesome being me!
God I am so bipolar sometimes!
Ciao bloggies!! Stay frosty!!
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