I had forgotten that I even needed to blog until 11:48 pm last night. By then I decided to just to work on my book.

I can’t sleep. My sinuses are bothering me and my body and brain feel taut like a wire pulled tight. I don’t think I’m snapping tight, just tight enough that I feel like if something hit me at the right angle I would vibrate and make a tone. It’s not exactly pleasant. I feel like if I stretched a certain way my body would relax enough to rest.

Then there would still be my brain. I have had so much on my mind lately I’ve been bumbling about. I feel dotty. I have a million different things in a million different directions going on in my head. I feel a little bit like I’m going mad. I also suspect I’m being a bit melodramatic. I feel like I’ve been going, going, going, and now I’m just taut.

I feel like I worry a lot or I’m scared a lot. The truth is most of the worry and fear is passing but the ghosts are still there. Its like the void from those worries and fears haven’t filled back up yet with different emotions so I put random things in there and worry and stress about them. It’s stupid but normal. I’m pretty sure if I don’t keep my mind tightly regulated, I have mini-panic attacks. I don’t like this so much.

I’ve had issues settling down to write, but when I do, the writing goes well.

Now, I don’t believe I’m one of those crazy ass brilliant writers that writes world changing stuff but believes spiders are secretly plotting to take over the world. My writing is not nearly good enough for me to be crazy or eccentric or however you want to put it. The best I could get away with is moody. I need to either write better stuff or be not crazy. Those are my choices.

I don’t know. I don’t know if any of this makes any sense, or if I should just got to bed.

Damnit, now I’m hungry.

So, I ate something and realized I’ve had way too much caffeine. Oi. Maybe someday instead of making me seem like a raving looney, my caffeine od’s will open up all time and space to me and reveal the secrets of the universe. Right now, they just make me seem nuts.

This is the story that I was going to link.

I know a lot of you didn’t TL;DR that so, basically a department store, Debenhams, in the UK has decided to stop doing a lot of Photoshop manipulations on their adverts. They won’t change the body shape (slim, lengthen, or whatever) or whiten teeth of their models anymore. They will use it to fix stray hair, photo problems, and such.

I think this is wonderful. Last time I posted something about Photoshopping in advertising Tina called and yelled at me. I’m only exaggerating a little. She was yelling, but not at me per say, and I understand why.

Random interrupting cartoon interrupts.

Okay, so there is this HUGE anti-Photoshop movement in separate parts of society. The first are the snobby photographers who act like Photoshop is cheating. While I believe it does allow for a photographer with less technical camera skills have better quality photos, it doesn’t mean these photographers have less skills, their skill happen to be with Photoshop. Lack of talent and lack of artistic sensibility will show no matter how much digital manipulation that is thrown at a photo. To me, a photographer denying Photoshop is like me refusing a computer and only using a typewriter or pen and paper. This is new technology of my art. I’m not going to go scratching out words on papyrus because spell check is cheating. Frel that. Frell that with a big fracking stick.

The second group are people sick of seeing digitally manipulated images of models used to sell a product.  First, Tina pointed out to me, don’t blame the photographer/graphic designer. Those pictures are the product the company wants to use, so they make them. That is why this one store making this stand is so wonderful. Tina explained to me photographers have two different sets of photos: their art, and the ones they produce for clients.

Photographer/graphic designers have a powerful need to eat like space cowboys and the rest of us. They take pictures that people want to buy. These are the photos with the perfect skin, hair, teeth. I’m lucky because my best friend is a photographer. I realized one day when she was showing me photos of myself, I was looking at these pictures with the filters of my own self loathing, not through her artist’s eyes. I learned to stop seeing pictures of me as me. I look at them as someone else. She shows me what is beautiful about this someone else, and, man, most of the time, she was dead on. There is something beautiful about that woman even with her double chin, arm fat, strange shaped huge ears. Slowly, I begin to realize that beautiful woman is me. It changes my life a little each time we do it. It happens because I turn over all of my trust to her, and I allow her to show me what she sees. I wish every person on Earth could do this, but so few of us are willing to be that vulnerable and trusting. So few of us are willing to try to turn off our self-loathing filters. It is a gift and a blessing.

Anyway, since most people can’t have this extremely personal and world altering thing, they want pictures with all of their “flaws” Photoshopped out. It is what they want. It is how a photographer affords to stay in business.

Where I start having issues is when companies demand things that are unrealistic. Images affect us. We, unfortunately, live in a world that drives us to be this fracked up standard of perfect that is completely unattainable, and probably flipping awful if we got it, without adding truly fake stuff on to it. No 16 year-old girl, who works out 4 hours a day and eats nothing but lettuce, should have her body slimmed on Photoshop. Seriously? If a professional model, who are already completely unattainable by most mere mortals, can’t cut it for an advertising exec, something is seriously flipping wrong.

So, lesson here: be nice to your photographer/graphic designer. They are trying to feed themselves.  Someday, find a photographer you trust, trust them, and let them show you your beauty. Finally, get pissy at the companies that demand the harmful digital manipulation.

This is almost a year old, but when I look at this, I remember how beautiful I am. Tina gave that to me.

For those of you who are all TL:DR (too long; didn’t read), basically a man sends a woman who he doesn’t know, but found on a dating app, a picture of his dangly bits. She tells him she didn’t think it was cool, and he starts to be verbally abusive. She gets pissed, finds him on Facebook, and threatens to send a picture of the entire conversation to his mother.

Women in the conversation rejoice. Some of the men, on the other hand, can’t figure out what the big deal is.

First of all, this isn’t a “men are stupid” conversation. Men aren’t stupid. Things are tricky, and this particular incident is complex, and I think it is important to discuss.

Most grown ass men know better than to send a strange woman an unsolicited picture of their man bits. It is the exact same thing as walking up to a woman and dropping flashing your junk. It’s not appropriate or effective. It won’t get you sex, but it might get you arrested. It’s illegal for a reason. It’s sexual assault. This part is not complex.

Things are different if you are involved with a woman in some way. Rule of thumb: follow her lead. If she sends you racy pics or requests them then it is okay. If she indicates it is not okay and you over stepped a boundary on accident, apologize and move on.

This guy doesn’t do that, though. The woman clearly indicates his advances are unwelcome, and he acts aggressively and become abusive. At some point in time in everyone’s dating life, they will mess up and overstep a boundary. Hell, we will do it in every single relationship in our lives. Handling it well is what matters. How this guy handles it is more than bad, it is predatory, abusive, and soo not okay. Most grown ass men get this, or maybe I’m spoiled by knowing a lot of great grown ass men.

This is true for all dating interactions. If either gender makes an advance and it is rejected, move on with grace. I’ve been shot down. It sucks. I didn’t call the guys names or keep pushing. Woman and sex are not prey to be hunted. Most grown ass men know this. Sometimes the rejections have nothing to do with the person doing the advancing.

Now, on the other hand, playing hard to get is stupid. We need to stop it. We need to stop it RIGHT NOW. It encourages this hunting behavior. Also, it’s just stupid. If you have to play a game to get someone’s attention then there is something flawed there.

Most importantly… Talk about this stuff. If we are ever going to make things better we need to talk to each other.

I got home and things went nuts. Things are going to be fine, but we had a stressful night. I might have to get a job soon. I’m not upset. We do what we have to do to take care of our families. I’m just a little frustrated because my writing just exploded. I can still write while working, I just won’t have the luxury of being able to run the hours that are most conducive to my creativity. Honestly, though, I think everything will be fine.

I do know for certain that I have two weeks of my life as it is right now before I have to start trying to run normal hours.

I’m going to use those weeks for everything they are worth.

I won’t get my draft of my book done. My goal is to get as far along as I can. Every night needs to be productive. I have to use this time to every possible advantage. Talk about a motivator.

I’ve decided to work out a tiny bit every day. It helps me deal with the stress. The work outs are pathetically small, but I’m not exhausted or in pain afterwards. I just feel more relaxed and my body feels stronger. Also, 10 minutes a day on a recumbent bike is a lot less of a hassle than an hour that is involved in getting ready, driving to the park, walking, and driving home. I’m much more likely to keep it up, and I’m going to tell myself something is better than nothing, even if it isn’t strictly true.

I’m making a deal with myself. I’m not going to let fear, stress, intimidation, or any of those other things I normally let wiggle into my head affect me for two weeks. I’m going to do my best to be the woman I want to be, the woman who gets shit DONE, and I will do it no matter what. Besides, I had my mini-breakdown last night. Tina and the Viking reminded me I’m awesome and can handle anything.

I’m kind of curious about what happens.

I pray I don’t disappoint myself. I can’t let me disappoint myself. I WON’T disappoint myself.  I believe I can do wonderful things. I believe I can be successful. I know I can do it. Dear God, please let me not disappoint myself. Oi…

Is there more coffee somewhere?

My positivity is my defense mechanism. When things are scary or uncertain, I try to find the best of every situation. I acknowledge the ways things can go horribly wrong, but I focus on doing everything I can to make sure things go well. My favorite saying is “don’t go borrowing trouble.” I have to do this at times in my life, otherwise the pain, fear, and darkness will swallow me, and I don’t find that acceptable.

We had several rough days after two weeks of rough days. Things are getting better now. I knew they would.

A completely unrelated but awesome photo Tina took

I’ve had a headache pretty steady since the middle of May. It’s allergies and sinuses. Most of the time I can live with it. Yesterday, I woke up to the worst nosebleed I’ve ever had. I got light headed and dizzy and had to sit with my head hanging out my bathtub. I finally got it stopped, took some medicine, ate some crackers to keep from vomiting, and went to back to sleep. I was barely asleep an hour later when I rolled over in bed and the damn thing started gushing again. I took care of it again. I felt like hell. My stomach hurt. My head hurts. I was tired. I just felt weak and exhausted. Then my mom came in and talked to me about her emotional stuff.

I realized part of me is jealous. I have been fighting so hard to stay positive and keep things together. Sometimes, since we’ve gotten home, I feel like I’ve been completely alone. I have to stay positive or I will get paralyzed and all these threads I’m trying to keep together will unravel. Its a lot of pressure. If my writing hadn’t been going so well, I don’t know if I could have handled it.

So, yesterday, I end up at the Wal-Mart (of course) feeling completely fucking terrible, worried my stomach will explode at any moment because it’s mad about all of the blood, because we are in desperate need of graham crackers, cheap hot dogs for the dogs, and Little Debbies. I know people “cowboy up” all the time. I know I’m not special. I was loading my groceries in the car telling myself how big of a pansy ass I was being. People go through far more without feeling so sorry for themselves. I just wanted one person to care that I was miserable. I felt like a terrible weak human being for wanting that.

Now, a day later I realize it is a natural human thing. Somehow, when someone else acknowledges our struggle, it makes the struggle more manageable. I’ve decided to not feel like a wuss for feeling something so human.

Anyway, I got home and went through the motions through the rest of the night. I tried to write but I was too distracted. I start having a full blown pity party for myself. It was a pretty awesome pity party with balloons and everything. As said party was wrapping up, I moved my foot across my hardwood floor to move my chair back and get a massive splinter in my foot.

I spent an hour trying to work the damn thing out of my foot. It was about a half an inch long and wedged through some of the toughest skin in my foot. Anyway, I got it out, bandaged my foot, and cleaned up the blood trail I had left through my house, for the third time in one day. For some reason, the ridiculousness of it all made me laugh. Some days are so bad you just have to laugh at them. Yesterday was one of those days.

Today, I have a headache and my foot hurts like a mother. I’m tired. I also have a much better grasp of those threads I was holding on to. Sometimes, I think, you just need to get right to the edge of completely losing it and then laugh at it. It makes everything else so much more manageable.

 PS.  My Friend Amy T. linked this to me to cheer me up. So flipping cute:

This shouldn’t come as a surprise. I spent nearly two weeks under almost constant stress without being able to take my Prozac properly. I hadn’t had a good night sleep since before Mother’s Day. I hurt my shoulder, and I’ve had a headache since Saturday. My hormones are whacked out. I was not myself. Yesterday, I had to focus really hard on not crying in Wal-Mart. I think I’ve been depressed for at least two weeks now.

The kicker: I had no clue until yesterday. You would think I would get better at noticing these things. Yesterday was baaad. It was bad enough for me to realize what was up.

This morning, I woke up and felt more like me. I started taking my medicine like I should when we got home a week ago, so I think it is kicking in, and recognizing what it is always makes depression a bit more manageable. Yesterday, I felt completely over whelmed, stupid, ugly, disgusting, and like a terrible human being. I had no idea how I was going to handle it all.

Today, things seem a lot more manageable.  I’m excited for my writing again. I have a lot less fear. I’m a lot less edgy.

I don’t know if this will last. This could be one of those temporary reprieves that I get in the middle of a major downturn. I hope not. Things got rough and scary. I made a stupid mistake about not taking my medicine, but I can also see the hope.  Even if it is just a breather, I’ll take it.

I still need a nap.

So my feet swelled up like parade balloons. It has almost never happens to me. I tried to convince the Viking’s best friend that it was because I was stressed so my ankles made themselves look bigger and more intimidating like a puffer fish or a cat. He didn’t buy it.

I really have nothing interesting to say. I’m just too tired. I know that makes me a pansy. I’m going to leave you with a cute picture.

This is happiness.

After the two weeks my family had and the week my state had, coming home is a powerful thing. Home is a powerful thing. Not just my bed and my good computer, but my safe place makes my home. Everyone who lives here finally being here all at once again makes it home.

I am thankful for home.

You grow more comfortable with discussions about bodily functions.

My dad has always had a flagrant disregard for the concept of polite conversation. Now, it is even worse. I have be party to more fart and poop conversations than I ever want to go through in my life. This isn’t the normal “when was your last bowel movement” conversations. This man brought up his lack of pooping at least twenty times a day and when he finally did go, you would think he saved a bus full of children, puppies, and nuns.

Oh, and he thought it was funny to make jokes every ten seconds about my snoring and flatulence when the Viking was in the room last Friday. Awesome.

You begin squirreling away food like winter is coming.

I have stashes of food. I have a little cubbyhole with a desk and a couch bed thingy. It is my nest. I live here. Yes, I fully acknowledge that it isn’t sane, but I’m living in a hospital. Stop judging me.

Bitch, you touch my muffin, I might stab your ass.

Your ‘give a fuck’ about your appearance is < zero

I smell funny. I am wearing  badly mismatched clothes. Sometimes I leave the hospital room without shoes. I don’t have a ponytail holder so my hair is tacked up messily with three little hair clips I found. I stick my cell phone in my bra strap before I go anywhere. I’m a red hot mess, and I give less than zero fucks about it.

Sleep should be claimed whenever it can be.

Here is the thing about hospitals: they wake your shit up all the time. Last night we had some radiology guys bust in like the motherfucking SWAT team at 3am. I think I woke up and screamed at them.

I have become the master of  the “screw y’all I’m sleeping” nap. If my dad is settled and I have been fed, my ass curls up and sleeps. Who know when you will get to sleep again and for how long.

Most of your day is spent doing nothing, but the second you try to do something, someone comes in or needs something.

I started this blog post at noon, and it’s now 8:49pm. I’ve had a solid twenty minutes to work on it. I’m a little frightened.

You find yourself playing stupid online games.

My Farmville 2 farm is bitching, and I’m unashamed. Don’t judge me. It is something to do that it doesn’t matter if I have to walk away from. I can’t do that with an MMO, and sometimes I get pissy about having to put down a book. I will walk my ass away from some digital chickens without remorse.

The outside world become like legend.

Okay, straight up, my sister and brother in law have been saints. I simply would not have made it through this without them. They keep offering to let me go over to their house to do silly things like showering and laundry while they stay with Dad, but honestly, I would rather nap. I’ve left this place four times. Once to go home for two days last weekend, once to go to the Target for medicine for my snotty head, and twice because Tina and the Viking picked my ass up and brought me into public.

Leaving sounds daunting. Things could happen here. Also, what the hell is the outside world?

(Lesson of the story: if you know someone in my position, go pick their asses up. Don’t give them an option. If things are calm with their loved one, make them leave with you.)

“Maybe Tomorrow” becomes a sick and twisted phrase to instill hope and then rip it away.

Typical conversation with nurse I haven’t seen in a few days:

Nurse: Y’all are still here?

Me: Yep

Nurse: How is he doing?

Me: (Abbreviated status report, normally including a comment about him being a pain in the ass)

Nurse: Well, maybe he will be better enough to go home tomorrow.

Fuckers.

You learn your medical equipment.

I can read a monitor like no one’s business. I know how to silence the damn beeping IV machine. I am a master at putting on those legs squeezy thingies.

On a side note, I grossed out a cardiac rehabilitation nurse today by noting how the blood in a transfusion bag looks like tomato soup. I count  it as a win.

You learn that nurses and aides are the most wonderful people on Earth.

Good nurses and aides make the all the difference in how your day or night goes.

Finally:

I have bitched, whined, complained, and thrown mini-tantrums about everything for the entire time, but I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. You take care of family. I mean real family, not so much the people you share DNA with but the people who care for and love you. Also, margaritas help relax the hospital stress.

Okay, well I have some digital sheep to feed.

I have felt strange since yesterday because my focus is still on my father. It seems small and selfish, but he is my father. He is well. We hope to finally be going home tomorrow.

That is one part of me.

The other part of me is watching news and combing the news about Sunday and Monday. I’m in awe of my state.

Okay, let me tell you somethings, I hate certain things about my state. I just do. The things right about this state, though, are so very good. I believe deep in their hearts, Oklahomans are good.

I love this state. We live through some terrible and tough things, but we do it together.

I still can’t wrap my brain around the damage. News about the two schools hurts my heart. The footage of the damage is unreal. I looks like another planet. If I wouldn’t have had my one experience with tornado clean up I would have no perspective what so ever. Tornado damage is just that different than anything I have ever seen.

Things are gone. People are giving. People are helping. We are asking if all of our loved ones are okay. We thank god when they are and comfort when things aren’t. (Everyone of mine are okay. I won’t feel safe about the Viking until I see him in person, but I don’t know when that will happen.)  We wonder how we can help and what happens next. This is our new normal for a little while.

Thank you for showing me my faith in the goodness of people is correct.