May 27

Maybe I’ll Stick with Dogs

The mother person had her gallbladder removed last Thursday, and then we had a three day weekend which meant Dad was out needing stuff more than normal. I’m fucking exhausted.

Last week was crazy because I so much stuff to do for other people. The week before that was crazy, too. Add to that I’m trying to adjust to new medication. I am so fucking tired.

I sneaked off yesterday evening to the Viking’s house and slept. Seriously, I hadn’t seen the man in three weeks, and all I can do is sleep. I need four more days of that.

I hear my mommy friends talk about all the shit they do to be mommies, and my brain liquifies. I do about 75% of the mommy stuff, maybe 60%, and it is damn near killing me. On bad days you hear mommies screaming at their children to get in the freaking car, or they tell you have it so easy as a childless adult. (We really do.) If you mention being a parent being to much work they all tell you something deep about you changes and you need less sleep and your entire soul naturally becomes okay with devoting itself to another tiny, human-like being. Some times their eyes glaze over a little and they get a faint distant look in their face like I imagine a heroin addict would when they get a fix.

I know for a fact holiday weekends are a stressful, clusterfuck of extra work for mommies. I’ve seen it and even tried to help. THERE IS NO HELPING. Shit is going to go down no matter what.

I don’t care what mommies say. I’m an asshole. I want a rest. I don’t want to fight with a tiny-sized almost human about sharing or hair styles or why they can’t stab their younger siblings. SHIT IN THE TOILET. Seriously little human-like being. You’ve figured out all the remotes, the cellphones, and the Ipads, but shitting in the toilet after you’ve reached a certain age is too complicated?

I want sleep. I love sleep. And sex, I’m a big fan of sex. This is why I’m sticking to dogs. At least when they shit on the living room floor they don’t know how to take a picture of it, use filters, and put it on Instagram.

Share

May 21

We Take Care of the Things We Love

First blog post in a long time blah blah blah, life blah blah. You guys get it.

 

We take care of the things we love.

Yesterday, I was driving and I realized I take the best care of the things I love. If I loved myself and my body more, I would take care of it better.

Sounds simple, right? Bullshit.

This baby corgi bunny? I would take care of him because I would lubs him forever and ever.

This baby corgi bunny? I would take care of him because I would lubs him forever and ever.

Let me tell you a story about last Tuesday.

Last Tuesday I saw my therapist and my shrink. I hadn’t been seeing my therapist like I should because I was too busy. I found out I’ve lost thirteen pounds in about 5 months. I was finally honest to my shrink about how badly things had been going and something need to change with my medicine. I had started water aerobics again. All good stuff, all hope.

The story lies in what lead me there.

I was in a bad, bad place. I hated my life. The only time I was happy was when I was with the Viking. Every morning I woke up wishing my day was over. Things would flash in my head that scared me. Part of me wanted to destroy everything including myself. If I had super powers, I would have become a super villain. I was angry and hurting and hopeless.

I was having panic attacks almost daily. One night, I woke up with a panic attack so bad I would have thought I was dying had I not know. This was at the Viking’s house, the place I feel the happiest and safest in the world. I had to crawl out from under the arm of the man who carries my heart to sit in his living room and work through feeling like I was going to die. I had several more panic in the middle of different nights, and they SUCK, but that one is the worst to me.

My medicine was not working. It hadn’t been for three or four months. I should have talked to my doctor. I didn’t. I thought it was just me and my life. It wasn’t worth the effort. I wasn’t worth the effort.

I take care of the things I love.

I’ve started and stopped attempts at more healthful living more times than I can count. I go strong for a little while then I falter and start to loathe myself. I start because I look at my body and hate it. I blame my body and myself for so many of my short comings. Me/body is too weak not to be crazy. Me/body lacks willpower. Me/body is not beautiful or worthy.

I’ve lost the most weight I have in years. I think that is because, while I still didn’t think me/body was worth much, the Viking does. He loves me and my body. I can see myself through his love and, more importantly to a woman who has always felt like no man would want her body, his desire, and me/body feels maybe I have more worth than I originally thought.

I’m back into water aerobics. I’m doing it because I feel better, stronger, and have more worth when I go. I’m doing it because the ladies there are awesome and socializing with others outside of my family helps me escape my head. These are the reasons I’m willing to admit readily to myself.

The Viking bought me a cruise. Seriously, he bought me a vacation for after he finishes his MBA. I feel like a wonderful princess, and it is far more than I deserve. A few days later, Mom told me I was going to feel awkward at the pool on the ship because I am so big.  Yep. Awesome. If I’m completely honest, one of the reasons I’m at water aerobics is because I want to lose weight before the cruise. It is RIDICULOUS, because I have two months until the cruise. I wouldn’t lose any significant amount of weight before then, AND I don’t need to lose weight to enjoy myself. I’m working on turning that to wanting to be fitter so I can be more active and enjoy the cruise more.

I take care of the things I love. I need to love me, even me/body, to take care of it.

What would happen to our country if instead of fat shaming or pushes to fix our broken selves, we focused on learning to love ourselves/ our bodies and caring for them because they are precious to us?

 

Share

Apr 03

I Just Forget Sometimes

I haven’t been around. I’ve been taking care of business. I’ve also been trying very hard to keep up my New Year’s goal of giving up guilt. I’m learning to understand I can only do so much and forgive myself the things I don’t do.

It’s a lot fucking harder than you would think.

My life right now is taking care of my parents and the Viking. I hate not writing with every atom in my body. I hate neglecting this blog. I can only do so much. My family needs me right now, and at the end of the day, I normally am too tired to read or play video games, much less try to be creative.  I can hate the sacrifices, but I can’t hate myself.

I see the Viking every chance I get. I refuse to give him, us, up. Sometimes I feel the stress of life seeping into our time, too. It frustrates me. I’m trying to breathe deep and accept that it will happen, and he will love me through it.

I began to give up her

The woman is good

My bff and photographer Tina C. Davis is good

Pretty in Pink

Pretty in Pink

mouth open pin up

Tina Davis of Tina C. Davis Photography is AMAZING

I get so wrapped up in trying to do for everyone and everyday bullshit, I lose me. I get tired. I feel frumpy, uninteresting, not good enough. I wonder why the Viking would ever be with me. I begin to feel like I am nothing but the sad woman who splits her time between doctor’s offices and Wal-Mart.

I am not what I am doing.

I am not who I am in relationships with.

I am ME.

Me is a super firecracker of a woman. Me is an intelligent, sharp witted, loving woman even when she spends most of her life in slumptastic clothing and trying not to yell at old people and meth heads in the Super Wal-Mart. I am the woman who takes risks with her heart because pain heals but regret is deadly. I am the woman who can genuinely love someone, even if I only know them for a few minutes, because I know giving love makes you stronger and richer, not weaker and poorer. I am the woman who dares to be vulnerable because being vulnerable is scary and sometimes you get hurt but when you show the world the real you, all of the real you, you know the good people you find will be accept you for all the bits of you.

I’m a fucking badass.

I just forget sometimes and that is okay.

 

 

(If you ever need someone to help you see your beauty, seriously, Tina has a gift. She works out of OKC. Give her a look-up. She’s changed my life many times.)

Share

Feb 04

Benedict SexyPants

I have nothing notable going on. Um, I worked out today to try get rid of cramps and train for the 5k I want to do. I wrote some last night. I plan on writing more tonight. I miss the Viking fiercely, and it’s been less than three weeks since I last saw him. My general well being is good.

<.<   >.>  ^i^ (Eyes looking side to side then a shrug)

I should dig deep within myself to find something profound and word worthy, but fuck that noise. I like it. It won’t last long. I am going to try to start writing my blogs on a regular basis again. Except Saturday, I refuse to make promises about Saturday because those are my Viking days.

My brain is back to rolling around quickly, and I’m getting bored. It is fabulous. It means I’m not completely absorbed by some crisis or depression. It means it is time to get back to work. I had something worked out in my brain for the next phase in the novella I’m writing. I remember I really liked it, and it added another layer to the story. Of course, I only sort of remember what it is. If I still smoked, I would light a cigarette and pace about a bit talking to myself. I don’t smoke anymore.

Oh, I want to keep live bees in a box at the Viking’s house. They would help the planet and plants and crap, and I could steal their honey and wax and make all the things. Maybe next spring…

I could try pacing and talking to myself without the cigarette, but it seem like it would be as effective. I should have probably written everything down, but I didn’t realize at the time I was about to enter a profound depression then life would go nuts for several months. Had I realized that, I would have probably written it down.

I’ve been watching a lot of British television so the voice I primarily think in has British sounding word choices and pacing. It is better than when I watch a lot of Modern Family. My thinking voice turns into a slightly unstable Colombian when excited when I watch several episodes of Modern Family. I think part of my brain might actually be a slightly unstable Colombian.

I might have forgotten where I was going with one element of my story, but I got into therapy. It seems like a good trade off. I think what I’m doing is considered counseling and not therapy. I don’t care what its called, it works. I go and spend an hour a week or every two weeks and talk to the same person about where I am and where I am going. She tells me stories to help me realize things. I can’t explain why it is helpful. I just know it is.

I feel the most sane I have in my life since I asked for help with being something less than sane.

We talk a lot about the fact so much of our ideals of perfection are total bullshit. We talk about how the game of image and fitting in is total bullshit.

It really is a game, the game of image. There is this strange drive to control our image and to fit our selves into these pieces and move around the board. Some of us are really good at it. Some people are given really good boards and good pieces. They are attractive or the right kind of smart or wealthy or have enough common sense to fit in well. Some people just get okay boards. I’m pretty sure my board and pieces came from Goodwill. The board is a bit broken and several of my pieces are missing.

I used to frustrate people because I wasn’t better at pretending to be normal, like I just didn’t want to fit in. In junior high and high school I would have sold organs to fit in and be normal. I just never quite got the hang of it.

Now, as I get older, I realize more and more, how very few people who play the game of image well are actually what they project. I wonder if they ever get to have anything genuine. I wonder if they are any happier than me.  I sometimes think I’m luckier for failing out of the game early in life because it seems to suck the life out of people.

What do I know?

 

Share

Jan 31

The Anti-Goal and Other Fabulous Things

Last week I finally finished the Viking’s wonky blanket. It felt wonderful to actually complete something. It felt even more wonderful when I realized he probably really liked it.

Now let's hope it doesn't fall apart. I might buy him some superglue

Now let’s hope it doesn’t fall apart. I might buy him some superglue.

Random side note: I found these pictures on my phone while I was dealing with the blanket photo. I think they are kind of awesome.

 

Now, down to the real business, I had a discussion with Tina and my therapist (the two used to pretty much be one in the same, but I got an actual therapist at Tina’s behest), and I decided some things. Mostly, screw New Year’s resolutions.

My goal is to make an effort to be happy, really genuinely happy. I’m going to work to be healthier. I don’t just mean weight, I mean as a person.

I set myself up for failure by giving myself these artificial goals I never reach. I gather guilt to myself like a mother duck does her babies. I need to learn to release that. I still want to have goals, but they need to be mine, and they need to come without guilt. If I want to be physically more healthy, I need to not worry about counting the food that goes in my mouth or the minutes I work out. I need to reevaluate the way I view food. That will bring far more change to my life than counting calories. Instead of freaking out about how much I weigh or hating my body, I need to change my relationship with my body. I need to work out to take care of this beautiful part of me. I need to exercise out of love for myself, not out of hate and shame for what I am.

I need to stop apologizing for stupid shit. No, I’m not sorry I have emotions. We are supposed to have them. (I do believe apologizing if my reactions to my emotions unduly hurt someone. We are responsible for our emotions and our reactions to them, but we only apologize when we use them to hurt others.) I’m not apologizing for being crazy. I have health issues. I don’t expect a heart patient to apologize for their condition. I shouldn’t apologize for mine. No more shame for my emotional baggage. Everyone has it, and I’m trying to deal with it as healthfully as I can.

My therapist said something about building up a wall around ourselves with “I’m sorry.” I trap myself into believing I am fundamentally flawed with apologizing for who I am. Fuck that noise. I will apologize for what I do. I will apologize for hurting others, but I will not apologize for who I am. 

I will never be perfect.

I’ll fuck up.

No more guilt

Just love

 

Share

Jan 22

Then My Dog Called Me an Asshole with Her Face

This dog. She is very effective at communication with her face

This dog. She is very effective at communication with her face

Okay, it might have been almost a month since I wrote a blog last. I have a really good excuse. Mostly my life went insane again. There were hospital stays (not mine), near death experiences (not mine), and small nervous breakdowns (that one is mine.) Everything is fine now, mostly, but it was pretty bad.

I did learn the doctor gave me the medicine I take at night for a reason. I stopped taking it because I was either staying in the hospital or only home for a short time and didn’t feel comfortable taking medicine that puts me in a light coma for a few hours. By the end of the two weeks of hospitaling, I was having panic attacks every evening and had started my fabulous behavior of picking at wounds. I felt completely sane, calm, cool, and collected. I’ve only missed the medicine once since I got home.

The Viking said something about being amazed that I handled the stress. When I told him about the sore thing, he just shrugged and told me he still thought I handled it well. I plan on keeping him forever. I’m deeply ashamed of the behavior. I feel like it is disgusting and extremely insane. I almost can’t talk about it. He didn’t judge me or think I was gross; he simply accepted it as part of me.

Anyway, there is a 5k run called the Color Run, and I really want to do it. Participating in a 5k has been a dream of mine for several years now, and this one seems like the most fun of all of them. I decided I will find the ticket money somewhere, because I’m doing it this year. I have no illusion of running it. Right now, I would be happy to walk it at a decent pace without having to sit for a few minutes. I just want to finish it. I’ve given up a lot of pieces of myself this past year to take care of things. I’ve quit a lot of things. I want this to be something I do for me. I want this to be a goal I actually complete.

Normal people with my track record of deciding to do things like work out or various other self improvement measure and failing miserably generally stop attempting them, or at least announcing them. Not me. I haven’t decided if it is my flair for life or some twisted insanity. Maybe a flair for insanity? I just feel like the only thing more unbearable than failing at things is giving up on trying.

So, I downloaded a Couch to 5K app (C25K) on my phone. I decided I was going to start yesterday so I put on my hoodie and put my girl dog on her leash. We got to the park and my car told me it was 29 degrees outside. I was determined, so I got us out of the car and started down the path. I stopped to tug on my clothes to get some more warmth somehow, and I glanced down at my dog. She was shivering and calling me an asshole with her eyes. She made me carry her back into the house.

I ended up working out on our stationary bike. I hurt before I was even off the bike. I treated my sore muscles with chocolate wine.  I thought it sounded like a good plan.

Good for what ails you.

Good for what ails you.

Share

Dec 24

Merry Imperfect Christmas

Slowly  over the years I’ve taken the reins for my house’s Christmas. My sister hosts the family get together because she and my bro-in-law are amazing, and they breed incredible children, but there are still things my parents and I do. We have our little fiber optic tree, and we have gifts we get and wrap. This year all of our responsibilities fell on me.

Okay, let’s be honest, I took them over with zeal because OHMYGAWD the Viking is coming to family Christmas, and ZOMG it was going to be awesome, no matter what anybody else wanted. I also just love Christmas. It is about love, family, and all of those other sappy things I’m secretly into even though most of the time I am just a centimeter from yelling at everyone.

This year no one else in my house was really into it.  I was/am fighting an uphill battle., but it is Christmas, dangit, and it WILL be awesome. Last night, I baked sugar cookies with icing just because Bionic Mom wanted them and wrapped presents. At four am I looked at the fruits of my labor and nearly lost it.

My cookies are kind of ugly. They are vaguely Christmas tree shaped. I forgot to get food coloring so the icing was a strange beige color, and I seriously messed up the consistency. Most of the presents are terribly wrapped. I think some people are born with the skill to wrap presents. Not me. My gifts always look like stoned monkeys wrapped them

ugly presents

The gap in the paper on the bottom box is awesome. The one on top is wrapping paper wrapped around it and secured with packing tape

The presents themselves all of a sudden felt all wrong. To be honest, I sort of panicked when it came to pick out presents for my older niece and nephew. Their main presents were gift cards, but we still get them small things to open. At four am, my choices were abysmal, and everyone was going to think I’m a terrible person. I went to bed sad.

Today, the cookies are still ugly, but they taste so good, I don’t even care. The presents are still all wrong, but everyone knows I’m a strange gift giver who sometimes fails miserably and I can’t wrap to save my life. It is time my nieces and nephew learn it to. I hope they know I love them. Their tia will always be imperfect but she will always love them will all of her slightly askew heart. It has to be enough.

I also brought some of my ugly cookies to the library where my friends were working. It made me happy. I also saw Bionic Mom’s presents again. I saved our 2013 baby animal calendar for some strange reason. I realized I could wrap her three small boxes in pictures from it. They turned out beautifully. It made me happy.

Look at those baby faces! I felt a little brilliant and crafty.

Look at those baby faces! I felt a little brilliant and crafty.

I wish I could say there was a Christmas Eve miracle, and elves danced happily through out our house. They didn’t. It was still nice, though, as nice as it could be.

I can’t make people be happy. I can’t force to feel festive. Nothing will ever go perfectly. Tomorrow everyone might hate their presents. All I can control is myself. I tried. I did the best I could. I love my family, and I did everything in my power to give them the chance to take something to be happy about. It’s completely imperfect. Nothing is ever perfect, though, so I’m going to keep on trying as long as it at least makes me happy. It’s enough.

 

Share

Dec 03

They Should Never Let Me Outside

So, I had to take Dad to the hospital Monday night. He’s fine. While we were there was this little girl who looked like Hermione Granger. I kept staring at her side eye. Even I am socially adept enough to know it is creepy to walk up to an eleven year-old in an ER and say “Holy Shiv! You look just like Hermione Granger!” I’m sure she gets it all the time, and it is sort of a bad time.

Today, I had to run all of the errands after yesterday of doing all the cleaning. I was hurting. I was in sweat pants and a t-shirt. My hair was gross. I felt uck. I almost just lost it in the Wal-Marts, but I didn’t. I missed being pretty. I cried when I got home because I was tired and hungry and in a rush for my eye appointment. The entire drive to Norman, I was stressing until it dawned on me: waiting on my glasses to be done gave me an excuse to wander around Barnes and Noble.

Before I left home, I had changed from sweat pants and a t-shirt into a skirt and a different  t-shirt. My hair still looked terrible and I found myself sighing about looking like crap on my one trip into a store that isn’t Wal-Mart or CVS. I realized I had a make up stash in my purse. I decided I couldn’t be too fail at being a woman if I had an eye make-up/lipstick stash in my purse for emergencies.

One final bit of business. I saw this shit at Barnes and Nobles:

WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!?!?

WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!?!?

The creepy fucking elf now wants birthdays, too. This is your doing. Soon, you will be under yearlong elf surveillance, and y’all won’t have anyone to blame but yourselves. I warned you. You have been warned.

Share

Nov 30

Let’s Not Analyze This

I made this:

Evil Elf on a Shelf

Behind that creepy smile lies pure evil, and not the fun kind.

These things creep me out. I know I have no right to have an opinion on anything having to do with children since I haven’t had one, but these things freak me the fuck out. This isn’t about the children, it is about the creepy damn doll that meant to spy on you at night.

Seriously.

I know it is more because I am damaged in some strange way, but all I see is evil.

 

Merry Christmas

Share

Nov 23

Winning (the White Trash Drinking League and Foul Language)

I can’t go into detail about this past week because it involves Bionic Mom way too much, and she would not be happy to have details written here for all four of my readers to see. I will say the woman is handling everything like a damn champ, and I am still very proud of her.

So, here is what I have to say about this week: fuck. Fuck. FUCK. Fuckitty, fuck, fuck, fuck.

It is noon 50 on Saturday afternoon and I am taking a margarita for my back pain. Techinically, it isn’t a margarita. It is a flavored wine product in a box mixed to taste like a margarita.

This was my haul the other day at the liquor store. Tiny, Tiny Wine bottles

This was my haul the other day at the liquor store. Tiny, Tiny Wine bottles

Yep. I am that awesome to get tiny bottles of wine and margarita-flavored wine product in a box with a spigot.

I decided it was also a good way to keep from having to run errands in this crappy weather. If I’m a little drunk, they won’t want to risk their cars for whatever bullshit they need.

Thursday night I had a break down. I don’t feel like I am enough to handle life right now. I hate that I hate that someone always needs something. I hate that I hate that I get catty and pissy because they seem not to care that I am worn out and won’t just make my life easier. I hate feeling like the world’s biggest douche bag. Thursday, in the middle of some super drama, I told my mom I was all she had so we had to make it work. Fuck.

I did get a flu shot. That counts, right?

On an unrelated note: I really can’t be the universes biggest douche bag. That honor belongs to Oklahoma Governor Mary. She decided to cancel all National Guard Benefits to Oklahoma Guard families to prevent any chance of a gay couple maybe getting them. Oklahoma Guardsmen and women have fought hard for this country and this state. They have bled overseas and rescued us when we needed them. Fallin has decided to spit on all of their service and disgrace all of our state because of petty bigotry.  The woman has been an asshat since the moment she took office, but this is a a step too far. Shame on you Mary Fallin.

Time for more flavored wine product.

Share