Urban Dictionary describes a "courtesy flush" as:
A flush in the middle of the toilet-sitting process in order to reduce the aroma...usually performed on a "foreign throne" as a courtesy to the owner of said throne... in other words, to be polite and not stink up the host's crapper too much.
I've visted every women's restroom in our office at one time or another in the (nearly) two years I have worked there. I understand that the things that happen in there are not always pleasant. Sometimes the things that happen in there are quite frightening and could probably send the most chemically-sedated employee into a sudden panic attack. I take no issue with discussing bodily functions and am typically quite free about my thoughts and opinions of them.
Thus the reason for this post.
I understand that sometimes you just canNOT WAIT until you go home. Sometimes you just have no choice in the matter. By all means...do what ya gotta do, ladies.
HOWEVER.
I will never understand those that do not appreciate the value of a good courtesy flush. Do unto others what you'd have them do unto you...right?
Amen.
Today I had no choice but to be stuck with the stench of someone that chose to come and interrupt my little restroom break with a nose-hair burning, make-me-gag-and-lose-my-lunch explosion into the toilet in the stall next to me. Seriously, though...it takes THREE seconds to do a itty bitty courtesy flush and relieve me from my pain as I frantically try to yank up my pantyhose, wash my hands and run out of there before fainting from holding my breathe because you ate something for lunch that OBVIOUSLY did not agree with you.
I'll give her the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps the idea of the courtesy flush is unknown to her. Perhaps she has never even considered such a thing. Perhaps she doesn't think it's "that bad".
Sweetheart, it is that bad.
We have people going all "green" everywhere and worrying about what they are doing to the environment and there are princesses like you polluting it left and right.
Perhaps I should set up a training class. We actually do have a "learning and development" team at our office. Maybe I should suggest some classes for things that will really benefit the morale and overall positivity vibe of the company.
New class Monday:
Courtesy Flushes 101
by Melinda.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Saturday, February 23, 2008
How to Turn Me On
When you wake up at 2am and I'm staring at you dead in the face because you are snoring so loudly that I was actually DREAMING about it...
Say to me, "Was I snoring and it woke you up? I'll turn over so you can sleep, Baby."
That's real love people.
Real love.
Say to me, "Was I snoring and it woke you up? I'll turn over so you can sleep, Baby."
That's real love people.
Real love.
Morning Madness
For Your Entertainment:
Be sure to watch all of them--there are some good tips.
You never know when you may need to know how to peel a potato in 5 seconds.
Be sure to watch all of them--there are some good tips.
You never know when you may need to know how to peel a potato in 5 seconds.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Redneck Romance
Couple finds love 'in all the wrong places'
Thursday, February 14, 2008 4:15 PM EST
*Names have been changed
All love stories have a beginning. For Mitchell Cornell and Linda Lee Wheeler, their story began at the ************ County Detention Center.
"I was in county jail," he said. "She was in county jail."
"In 2005," she added. Since Cornell had a detail job that would allow him to move about the jail facility, he was able to catch a glimpse of Wheeler.
"I looked up at her and something in her eyes just melted me," he said. "We fell in love writing letters to each other in jail."
"Our song is 'Looking for Love in All the Wrong Places,'" he said. "And we found it." Both agreed that their time incarcerated led to their marriage.
"If I wasn't there and she wasn't there, then we wouldn't be where we are today," he said.
"We couldn't wait any longer," he said. "We had to be one."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This post is just to prove how "in the sticks" I really live.
It gets even better.
This was on the front page of the "bi-weekly" paper.
As the highlight article.
Thursday, February 14, 2008 4:15 PM EST
*Names have been changed
All love stories have a beginning. For Mitchell Cornell and Linda Lee Wheeler, their story began at the ************ County Detention Center.
"I was in county jail," he said. "She was in county jail."
"In 2005," she added. Since Cornell had a detail job that would allow him to move about the jail facility, he was able to catch a glimpse of Wheeler.
"I looked up at her and something in her eyes just melted me," he said. "We fell in love writing letters to each other in jail."
"Our song is 'Looking for Love in All the Wrong Places,'" he said. "And we found it." Both agreed that their time incarcerated led to their marriage.
"If I wasn't there and she wasn't there, then we wouldn't be where we are today," he said.
"We couldn't wait any longer," he said. "We had to be one."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This post is just to prove how "in the sticks" I really live.
It gets even better.
This was on the front page of the "bi-weekly" paper.
As the highlight article.
Saturday, February 16, 2008
RIP Rock-Scissors-Paper
I shall miss you dearly.It's official--I can no longer play rock-scissors-paper with my husband.
Those of you who know me may be assuming that this little revelation came to me because I LOSE when playing this game with Corey. Although completely well-founded, this assumption is altogether wrong, my FRIENDS.
I'm the world's GREATEST sport as long as I'm winning. It's when i start to lose that I get upset. I've been known to cheat a little (here and there) in order to stay ahead in the game. My theory is this: girls always win. If the girl is losing, then she's gotta do what she's gotta do in order to win. The husband should let the girl win but not let her know that he did so. I understand that this is unfair and selfish and that it labels me as a cheater. I don't care. Call me what you want. I'll call myself the World's Greatest Winner.
I know that when you are around someone for a substantial amount of time (especially when you are married to that person and are around them for 17 hours out of a 24 hour day) you tend to pick up on that person's thoughts / reactions. I'm sure this is totally normal. I typically CAN finish the ends of my closest friends' sentences and quite often actually do. Don't worry--they do this to me as well. Turnabout is fair play. (Yes, sometimes fairness does matter.)
Me being the Queen of Dorkiness and my husband being the King, we have a natural tendency to follow similar thought patterns anyway. We get a big kick out of it when we same the same thing at the same time or think each others' thoughts. This is not to mention the countless times that we hear someone say something and we bust out with the corresponding lyrics to some wacked-out 80's song that no one but us probably even remembers.
But this, my friends, is an all-time low. All enjoyment that I used to get from rock-scissors-paper has been lost. You can't really play this game if you have the same thoughts as your husband. It's like playing with yourself. (Clean thoughts here, ppl.) Yes, you never really lose. But you never really WIN either. It's so disheartening to me to think that we can no longer make a split decision based on this game because it in itself could take HOURS.
We even tried to "trick" each other. You know...try to break the normal thought pattern and just pull something CRAZY like doing rock instead of paper when you really wanted to do rock. It didn't work. We both tried to trick each other in the same way at the same time.
I suppose this means that we have to make decisions based upon logic, reason, and conclusion. Perhaps this is the last step in officially becoming a REAL grown up. I am fighting it every step of the way.
I still refuse to give up my blanket.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
The Wrath of Hell Has Befallen our Home
Don't let this face fool you. She 'aint as sweet as she looks.
Since we first adopted our adorable little Daisy, we have had successfully imprisoned her in the kitchen while we are at work during the potty training phase to avoid daily carpet cleaning. She's actually done very well at using the potty pad while we are at work, rarely going off of the pad.
Every day when we arrive home and unlock the door Daisy is waiting on the other side to come barreling through to greet us. As annoying as this is when you are trying to get in, we have not complained because the other option is to leave her unattended and free throughout the house for nine hours until we return. Besides, her waiting at the door means she is happy to see us, right?
Today something was different.
We first noticed that there was no scratching or whining coming from the other side of the door. Corey unlocked it and walked into the kitchen. No Daisy. We looked around the kitchen slowly...no Daisy. We called her name...silence. We walked over the baby gate that barracades her into the kitchen and saw what we used to refer to the living room scattered with books, baskets, panties (yes, she is a crotch sniffer) and toys. That is when we saw Daisy. She was as happy as she ever is, panting and excited to see us.
sigh.
We walked around the house relunctantly expecting to see piles of dog crap and pee spots randomly "disposed". We found one turd under the sewing machine that Corey's grandmother gave me. No pee spots (thank goodness)--just that one lone turd. I suppose we should consider ourselves fortunate. At least she did USE the pad instead of the carpet when given the option.
What this means is that we know that Daisy is able to jump the gate and we are now at the point of no return. There is no more locking her up. She also learned how to jump onto the bed today as well. I suppose most people would consider these milestones. We lovingly refer to them as catastrophes.
Changing Tides
Even as a little girl in pigtails, I've dreamed of living on the ocean. And I don't mean by the ocean. I mean ON the ocean. In a house fashioned in such a way that whenever I got the urge I could just dive out into the rolling waves and swim away.
At that time, I suppose it was because I just wanted to escape from everything...everyone. You know that feeling--like you just want to swim away and leave everything behind. I suppose it's natural when you have a lot to run away from and not a lot to hold on to.
I tried to break away from it all. I swam and swam...
With each labored stroke, the waves would force me back to right where I began. I didn't seem to be going anywhere. Swimming against the tide can be quite draining, really.
And then, like water disappearing into the sand, everything changes--life changes. My eyes were opened and I could finally see that I had MADE this decision to struggle against these waves. I could also make the decision to stroke with them.
I don't know what it really was that made me see it; I only remember the exhaustion. I knew then that I had to stop trying to fight against everything. I began to melt into the ocean that I had always looked at as both my fence and my freedom. I came to understand that just as the water changes (conforming to everything around it) so does life.
I was in control of ME again. I began to breathe. I have to pick my battles--knowing that some things in life I will have to fight for...nothing good comes easy, right?
"Don't sweat the small stuff," someone once told me. I rolled my eyes when I heard him say it. Now, a smile comes across my face every time I think about it--because really, most of it is small stuff.
Swim with the ripples; fight against the tides.
At that time, I suppose it was because I just wanted to escape from everything...everyone. You know that feeling--like you just want to swim away and leave everything behind. I suppose it's natural when you have a lot to run away from and not a lot to hold on to.
I tried to break away from it all. I swam and swam...
With each labored stroke, the waves would force me back to right where I began. I didn't seem to be going anywhere. Swimming against the tide can be quite draining, really.
And then, like water disappearing into the sand, everything changes--life changes. My eyes were opened and I could finally see that I had MADE this decision to struggle against these waves. I could also make the decision to stroke with them.
I don't know what it really was that made me see it; I only remember the exhaustion. I knew then that I had to stop trying to fight against everything. I began to melt into the ocean that I had always looked at as both my fence and my freedom. I came to understand that just as the water changes (conforming to everything around it) so does life.
I was in control of ME again. I began to breathe. I have to pick my battles--knowing that some things in life I will have to fight for...nothing good comes easy, right?
"Don't sweat the small stuff," someone once told me. I rolled my eyes when I heard him say it. Now, a smile comes across my face every time I think about it--because really, most of it is small stuff.
Swim with the ripples; fight against the tides.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
She Lost Jesus Because of the Weiner Poopie
You have to check this out.
I got this from one of my favorite bloggers, Heather @ Dooce
Watch it over and over again.
This just gets better EVERY time.
FOLLOW UP: The note was actually left by her granddaughter. The note was a joke, but Jean Mansel takes everything seriously and called the news. Jean is very unhappy about the situation and she doesn't think it was funny at all!
Monday, February 11, 2008
How to Get More Hits for Your Blog
How to get more hits for your blog
1 - Write a title that says "How to get more hits for your blog" so it'll get picked up by search engines;
2 - Give out self-evident advice, like Post more often, the more you post the more visitors you're likely to get;
3 - Give out contradictory pieces of advice that annul each other, like Write what other people want to read, not what you want to express... But! Feel really excited about it, people really respond to enthusiasm!
4 - Say something vague, like Try to make good posts, and they will come. As opposed to what you've been doing.
5 - Tell people to join BlogExplosion type of scams, where people pledge to visit each other's blogs. Who needs self-respect, when you can have lots more visitors who only show up out of duty, or so you will visit them back? Getting hits is all that matters. Or better still, manipulate your own site meter manually, so you get exactly the amount of hits you desire each day, given to you by the person who loves you the most: yourself. Eliminate the middle man, I say!
1 - Write a title that says "How to get more hits for your blog" so it'll get picked up by search engines;
2 - Give out self-evident advice, like Post more often, the more you post the more visitors you're likely to get;
3 - Give out contradictory pieces of advice that annul each other, like Write what other people want to read, not what you want to express... But! Feel really excited about it, people really respond to enthusiasm!
4 - Say something vague, like Try to make good posts, and they will come. As opposed to what you've been doing.
5 - Tell people to join BlogExplosion type of scams, where people pledge to visit each other's blogs. Who needs self-respect, when you can have lots more visitors who only show up out of duty, or so you will visit them back? Getting hits is all that matters. Or better still, manipulate your own site meter manually, so you get exactly the amount of hits you desire each day, given to you by the person who loves you the most: yourself. Eliminate the middle man, I say!
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Can You Disagree with People You Love and Still Love Them for Who They Are?
This question has been in the forefront of my mind lately.
In my mind and in my opinion, the answer to this question is a definite YES. You can also disagree with them on certain things and not be trying to force your opinion on them. In turn, allowing them to have their own opinion.
I believe that two adults should be able to discuss both sides of the matter even if in disagreement and come out of it with the agreement that you agree to disagree, if nothing else. If I ever post something and you don't agree--by all means share your point with me. This doesn't mean that I'll debate issues, necessarily. This just means that we are sharing each others' thoughts and opinions.
I love all of my friends. Yet, each one has different opinions and thoughts. If they were all the same how boring would that be?! Realizing that my opinions on certain matters may touch people in the wrong way...I've always had to keep my mouth shut when certain comments were made regarding certain issues. I suppose I will always have to do that to an extent.
However, if someone directly or even indirectly asks me a question regarding an issue...I feel that person is opening a door to discuss the matter and that it is alright for me to give my opinion. Not doing so would be,. as a matter of fact, not allowing me to have my own opinion, correct?
That to me is common sense. If you ask a question you should expect an answer. Isn't that how it usually goes?
On another note...please never assume that you know or understand where I stand on something WITHOUT asking me. Some may think that because of my religious stand that I have certain opinions / thoughts. Does your religion tell you what opinions and thoughts to have about everything??? Neither does mine.
I'm my own person and I have my own mind. If you don't know how I feel about something please do not assume. If something troubles you or you wonder where I stand on something, please just ask.
I'll answer. :)
In my mind and in my opinion, the answer to this question is a definite YES. You can also disagree with them on certain things and not be trying to force your opinion on them. In turn, allowing them to have their own opinion.
I believe that two adults should be able to discuss both sides of the matter even if in disagreement and come out of it with the agreement that you agree to disagree, if nothing else. If I ever post something and you don't agree--by all means share your point with me. This doesn't mean that I'll debate issues, necessarily. This just means that we are sharing each others' thoughts and opinions.
I love all of my friends. Yet, each one has different opinions and thoughts. If they were all the same how boring would that be?! Realizing that my opinions on certain matters may touch people in the wrong way...I've always had to keep my mouth shut when certain comments were made regarding certain issues. I suppose I will always have to do that to an extent.
However, if someone directly or even indirectly asks me a question regarding an issue...I feel that person is opening a door to discuss the matter and that it is alright for me to give my opinion. Not doing so would be,. as a matter of fact, not allowing me to have my own opinion, correct?
That to me is common sense. If you ask a question you should expect an answer. Isn't that how it usually goes?
On another note...please never assume that you know or understand where I stand on something WITHOUT asking me. Some may think that because of my religious stand that I have certain opinions / thoughts. Does your religion tell you what opinions and thoughts to have about everything??? Neither does mine.
I'm my own person and I have my own mind. If you don't know how I feel about something please do not assume. If something troubles you or you wonder where I stand on something, please just ask.
I'll answer. :)
The Ditch
Note: This was something I wrote while living at my parents after a walk around "the block". There were so many things that brought back memories from my childhood. This ditch was one of them.
"You can do it if we can do it."
"I can't do it because I'm a girl...you aren't girls."
"You said girls can do the same things boys can do."
"We can."
"Then try it, Mindy. Just do it and you won't be ascared anymore."
"Afraid. It's not ascared. Just who said I was afraid?"
He tilted his head and smiled and I heard everything he was silently saying to me. I was terrified. Nevertheless, there was no way these boys were going to see how afraid I was...I had to do it now. My eyes cut over to my little brother--now standing with his bike on the opposite side of the ditch with three neighborhood boys.
Younger and smaller in size, he was still my strength. As tiny as he was, there was little he was afraid of--my pillar of courage. Looking at him, I knew that I had no reason not to try. If he was able to do this...so was I. Somewhere inside I just had find an ounce of that faith he had in me.Closing my eyes I took a quick, deep breath and my fingertips brushed against the orange tassels as I grasped the handlebars of my bicycle. Time itself seemed to slow. Still unsure of myself (but being stubborn to a fault), I had now made up my mind and there was no turning back.
My heart beat loudly in my ears and a cold sweat broke out around my neck as my right foot left the ground. Hearing the whispers and giggles of the boys on the other side of the ditch, I began to peddle as fast as I could. They failed to realize that their mockery was all of the encouragement I needed.
I approached the bank and knew that there was no turning back now. It was now or never. Concentrating fully on keeping my balance, I didn't seem to notice when the bicycle wheels sped down into the trickle of water in the ditch below.
"Just keep going...you can't fall in front of them...it's almost over," I thought to myself as I started to roll up the other side. At that moment, I somehow lost my footing and a panic whirled over me as I did a search-and-find for the pedals below. Regaining my composure and realizing that I was back on flat ground again, my head whirled around to the group of boys now only feet away.
A smile spread broadly across my sun kissed cheeks. Beaming with pride and tossing my long chestnut ponytails over my shoulders, I turned to ride back home down the long country road. I felt the cool mud drying on my thighs against the wind and I heard nothing but the clackers on my spokes as my head bobbed with their rhythm like a metronome. Shortly, I heard my brothers' voice from behind me.
"Hey."
"Ya?"
"Hold on." Dragging my foot in the stones, I stopped along side of the road's shoulder to wait for him.
"I knew you could do it," he said, as he whirled around and headed back to the creek. Really, I knew I could too.
"You can do it if we can do it."
"I can't do it because I'm a girl...you aren't girls."
"You said girls can do the same things boys can do."
"We can."
"Then try it, Mindy. Just do it and you won't be ascared anymore."
"Afraid. It's not ascared. Just who said I was afraid?"
He tilted his head and smiled and I heard everything he was silently saying to me. I was terrified. Nevertheless, there was no way these boys were going to see how afraid I was...I had to do it now. My eyes cut over to my little brother--now standing with his bike on the opposite side of the ditch with three neighborhood boys.
Younger and smaller in size, he was still my strength. As tiny as he was, there was little he was afraid of--my pillar of courage. Looking at him, I knew that I had no reason not to try. If he was able to do this...so was I. Somewhere inside I just had find an ounce of that faith he had in me.Closing my eyes I took a quick, deep breath and my fingertips brushed against the orange tassels as I grasped the handlebars of my bicycle. Time itself seemed to slow. Still unsure of myself (but being stubborn to a fault), I had now made up my mind and there was no turning back.
My heart beat loudly in my ears and a cold sweat broke out around my neck as my right foot left the ground. Hearing the whispers and giggles of the boys on the other side of the ditch, I began to peddle as fast as I could. They failed to realize that their mockery was all of the encouragement I needed.
I approached the bank and knew that there was no turning back now. It was now or never. Concentrating fully on keeping my balance, I didn't seem to notice when the bicycle wheels sped down into the trickle of water in the ditch below.
"Just keep going...you can't fall in front of them...it's almost over," I thought to myself as I started to roll up the other side. At that moment, I somehow lost my footing and a panic whirled over me as I did a search-and-find for the pedals below. Regaining my composure and realizing that I was back on flat ground again, my head whirled around to the group of boys now only feet away.
A smile spread broadly across my sun kissed cheeks. Beaming with pride and tossing my long chestnut ponytails over my shoulders, I turned to ride back home down the long country road. I felt the cool mud drying on my thighs against the wind and I heard nothing but the clackers on my spokes as my head bobbed with their rhythm like a metronome. Shortly, I heard my brothers' voice from behind me.
"Hey."
"Ya?"
"Hold on." Dragging my foot in the stones, I stopped along side of the road's shoulder to wait for him.
"I knew you could do it," he said, as he whirled around and headed back to the creek. Really, I knew I could too.
I was thinking the other night about all of the children I have cared for throughout the years and I started to wonder: exactly HOW MANY were there??? And because I am a bona fide dork by nature, I have compiled a list...alphabetically.
Here it is:
Aaron (3) Adam Alex Alexandra Alexis Amber April Ashley Austin
Braden Braeden Brandon Brian Brittany (2)
Caleb (2) Calice Chance Chelsea Clay Cortney Courtney
Daniel Darnell Desiree Destiny Donovan Drew
Emma
Garrett
Jack (2) Jaclyn Jacob (2) Jaden Jeff Joey (2) John Jonathan Jordan (3) Josh Joshua Justice Justin (2)
Kaleb Kara Karly Kayla Kalee Kristan Kyle Kylie
Lauren Lexi (2) Lucas
Mackenzie Maelyn Malik Mallory Marcus Mariah Mark Mekayla Michael (2) Morgan
Natalie Nathaniel Nicolas Nikki
Paige Rachel Riley
Rochelle Ryan
Sarah Shanelle Sheri Skylar
Tory Tyler (3)
Wesley
Zarah
That is 94 kids.
NINETY-FOUR. I can't even believe there were that many.And yes, I remember each and every one of them, too. Sad thing is…most of them were too young to ever remember me. I just keep thinking that somehow I influenced their lives in some positive way.Either that or I could have really screwed them up. Kudos to all teachers/daycare providers/caregivers. It's a tough thing to give so much of yourself to so many children not knowing if/how/when you could have or ever will affect them. I really miss it.
EDIT: I wrote this before moving to South Carolina. While I lived there, I worked as a toddler teacher at the Sunshine House in West Columbia. I took care of at least another 40 or 50 kids while I was there and I love them all just as dearly. I still keep in touch with several of their parents and get to watch them grow up through pictures. It's not the same, but at least it's something. And I'm grateful for it.
Here it is:
Aaron (3) Adam Alex Alexandra Alexis Amber April Ashley Austin
Braden Braeden Brandon Brian Brittany (2)
Caleb (2) Calice Chance Chelsea Clay Cortney Courtney
Daniel Darnell Desiree Destiny Donovan Drew
Emma
Garrett
Jack (2) Jaclyn Jacob (2) Jaden Jeff Joey (2) John Jonathan Jordan (3) Josh Joshua Justice Justin (2)
Kaleb Kara Karly Kayla Kalee Kristan Kyle Kylie
Lauren Lexi (2) Lucas
Mackenzie Maelyn Malik Mallory Marcus Mariah Mark Mekayla Michael (2) Morgan
Natalie Nathaniel Nicolas Nikki
Paige Rachel Riley
Rochelle Ryan
Sarah Shanelle Sheri Skylar
Tory Tyler (3)
Wesley
Zarah
That is 94 kids.
NINETY-FOUR. I can't even believe there were that many.And yes, I remember each and every one of them, too. Sad thing is…most of them were too young to ever remember me. I just keep thinking that somehow I influenced their lives in some positive way.Either that or I could have really screwed them up. Kudos to all teachers/daycare providers/caregivers. It's a tough thing to give so much of yourself to so many children not knowing if/how/when you could have or ever will affect them. I really miss it.
EDIT: I wrote this before moving to South Carolina. While I lived there, I worked as a toddler teacher at the Sunshine House in West Columbia. I took care of at least another 40 or 50 kids while I was there and I love them all just as dearly. I still keep in touch with several of their parents and get to watch them grow up through pictures. It's not the same, but at least it's something. And I'm grateful for it.
Letters
Note: This is something I wrote a while back--It is still not finished... it may never be.
I've always loved getting REAL mail. You remember it, right? Paper, envelope, ink, stamp, and sealed with a kiss? The "before-email" kind that was delivered by the postman into the mailbox right in front of your house? With all of today's technology it seems to arrive less and less these days. It all seems so unfortunate to me.
The arrival of miscellaneous magazines, pamphlets, and brochures may seem an annoyance to many, but to me the mail has always been like receiving a surprise package daily. I openly welcome all sorts. O, but letters! There is just something poetic and lovely about handwritten letters, a secret sealed tightly with a postmark in the corner.
I still remember the first time I ever received a letter that was just for me. I was about seven years old if I remember correctly. The two page letter was held together with a silver staple in the corner and sent to me from my Aunt "Carrie" (that's what we'll call her for sake of this post) in Florida, my mother's eldest sister. It was beautifully wrapped in a lavender envelope with a heart stamp and "Miss Melinda C********" scrawled in her handwriting that I would soon come to recognize at first glance.
I would squeal with delight when I saw my name, whirling as I took it into my tiny hands and ran to my bedroom to devour that letter within seconds. I felt like Cinderella receiving her invitation to the ball. I held onto that letter for years and guarded it as one of my most beloved possessions.
Eventually the fragile folds began to tear and many of the words were smeared and stained beyond recognition. I'm not sure what happened to that letter in the end. Perhaps it was accidentally thrown away, hidden secretly within a book, or maybe it is stashed inside a box awaiting my discovery in future years. I would love to see it again someday.
The letters from my Aunt "Carrie" began arriving once a month like clockwork. They came in pairs. Side by side, one for my mother and one just for me. This is mainly how I communicated with my aunt for most of my life (she living four states away and my mother being terrified of airplanes). There were occasional telephone calls on birthdays, holidays, here and there...enough to put a voice to the letters. But most of our relationship was penned and perfect. Perhaps that was part of what became the problem in later years. However, at that time it was my very own personal storybook.
She would always begin by asking how I was and what was going on in my life. What seemed simple and predictable to a stranger's eye was exactly what was comforting to me. I would reply with detailed accounts of playground drama and current booklists compiled from my endless trips to the closet library that was nestled between two buildings in our tiny little village. I would pour my heart out about things I'm sure she found senseless and miniscule yet sweet and endearing. Never having children of her own, I'm sure my childhood ordeals and mishaps were a welcome change in her stressful adult world.
The frequency of the letters began to taper off as the years passed on. Perhaps my aunt had become busier in her own life...perhaps I didn't answer fast enough because of mine. Whatever the cause, we came to know each other less and less. When I was about thirteen years old, the letters nearly ceased. The relationship between my mother and I had turned from bitter to sour. Puberty was taking its toll on me as I tried to discover who I was away from my mother and her visions for me. My mother and my Aunt "Carrie" were quite close, almost having a mother/daughter relationship of their own.
Mother would tell my aunt about my misbehaving and outbursts and my aunt would make comments about disrespect and ungratefulness. I had overheard many of their conversations and "stumbled" across several letters of such content. I remember even then not understanding. I remember the hurt--the disappointment. Granted, I knew that my behavior was at best disruptive at times...but what I was really yearning for than anything was for someone to just love me for who I was and for who I was trying so desperately to become. How can someone that I shared my most intimate thoughts with know so little of me to take someone else's word at face value with such a futile attempt at understanding?
True, my mother was her sister, but I was her niece as well. Aunt "Carrie" knew both of us well. Surely (being a logic-driven woman) she knew that if I was misbehaving in such ways that there had to be a reason for it. Perhaps there is a fine line between being sympathetic for one's sister and being blinded by it.Still...how could she not know that there are two sides to every story? How can an adult that had herself lived a life of both heartache and passion not understand my need to find out who I was? How could she not see through this fog? I didn't understand my own life happenings let alone try to understand the "why's" and "how's" of this situation. Slowly but surely, the ties between my aunt and I had been entirely cut. And my heart ached.
(unfinished)
I've always loved getting REAL mail. You remember it, right? Paper, envelope, ink, stamp, and sealed with a kiss? The "before-email" kind that was delivered by the postman into the mailbox right in front of your house? With all of today's technology it seems to arrive less and less these days. It all seems so unfortunate to me.
The arrival of miscellaneous magazines, pamphlets, and brochures may seem an annoyance to many, but to me the mail has always been like receiving a surprise package daily. I openly welcome all sorts. O, but letters! There is just something poetic and lovely about handwritten letters, a secret sealed tightly with a postmark in the corner.
I still remember the first time I ever received a letter that was just for me. I was about seven years old if I remember correctly. The two page letter was held together with a silver staple in the corner and sent to me from my Aunt "Carrie" (that's what we'll call her for sake of this post) in Florida, my mother's eldest sister. It was beautifully wrapped in a lavender envelope with a heart stamp and "Miss Melinda C********" scrawled in her handwriting that I would soon come to recognize at first glance.
I would squeal with delight when I saw my name, whirling as I took it into my tiny hands and ran to my bedroom to devour that letter within seconds. I felt like Cinderella receiving her invitation to the ball. I held onto that letter for years and guarded it as one of my most beloved possessions.
Eventually the fragile folds began to tear and many of the words were smeared and stained beyond recognition. I'm not sure what happened to that letter in the end. Perhaps it was accidentally thrown away, hidden secretly within a book, or maybe it is stashed inside a box awaiting my discovery in future years. I would love to see it again someday.
The letters from my Aunt "Carrie" began arriving once a month like clockwork. They came in pairs. Side by side, one for my mother and one just for me. This is mainly how I communicated with my aunt for most of my life (she living four states away and my mother being terrified of airplanes). There were occasional telephone calls on birthdays, holidays, here and there...enough to put a voice to the letters. But most of our relationship was penned and perfect. Perhaps that was part of what became the problem in later years. However, at that time it was my very own personal storybook.
She would always begin by asking how I was and what was going on in my life. What seemed simple and predictable to a stranger's eye was exactly what was comforting to me. I would reply with detailed accounts of playground drama and current booklists compiled from my endless trips to the closet library that was nestled between two buildings in our tiny little village. I would pour my heart out about things I'm sure she found senseless and miniscule yet sweet and endearing. Never having children of her own, I'm sure my childhood ordeals and mishaps were a welcome change in her stressful adult world.
The frequency of the letters began to taper off as the years passed on. Perhaps my aunt had become busier in her own life...perhaps I didn't answer fast enough because of mine. Whatever the cause, we came to know each other less and less. When I was about thirteen years old, the letters nearly ceased. The relationship between my mother and I had turned from bitter to sour. Puberty was taking its toll on me as I tried to discover who I was away from my mother and her visions for me. My mother and my Aunt "Carrie" were quite close, almost having a mother/daughter relationship of their own.
Mother would tell my aunt about my misbehaving and outbursts and my aunt would make comments about disrespect and ungratefulness. I had overheard many of their conversations and "stumbled" across several letters of such content. I remember even then not understanding. I remember the hurt--the disappointment. Granted, I knew that my behavior was at best disruptive at times...but what I was really yearning for than anything was for someone to just love me for who I was and for who I was trying so desperately to become. How can someone that I shared my most intimate thoughts with know so little of me to take someone else's word at face value with such a futile attempt at understanding?
True, my mother was her sister, but I was her niece as well. Aunt "Carrie" knew both of us well. Surely (being a logic-driven woman) she knew that if I was misbehaving in such ways that there had to be a reason for it. Perhaps there is a fine line between being sympathetic for one's sister and being blinded by it.Still...how could she not know that there are two sides to every story? How can an adult that had herself lived a life of both heartache and passion not understand my need to find out who I was? How could she not see through this fog? I didn't understand my own life happenings let alone try to understand the "why's" and "how's" of this situation. Slowly but surely, the ties between my aunt and I had been entirely cut. And my heart ached.
(unfinished)
For All the Loves I've Lost Before
First boyfriend: CHAD.
Chad was my grandmother's neighbor in Kentucky. He was a cute lil tan boy with dark hair and a southern accent that made me melt like BUTTER. He had a little brother named "Shelby." For years (because of the accent) I thought that child's name was "ShAll-Be." Heh. Technically, he wasn't my boyfriend...but in my world we were madly in love. I met him when I was five and had a crush on him until he moved when I was 13. Rarely did I even speak to Chad. Mostly I just sat and stared at him.
Lesson: Some things are just fun to look at and that is O.K.
Second boyfriend: JOSHUA.
Joshua was my first kiss and my first husband. We were married by a fellow first grader underneath the big slide on the playground during recess. Cheryl M. (another classmate) was my maid of honor. (She was also the girl that peed her pants noted in my list of "101 Things About Me.") We were married for all of two weeks when he then dumped me to marry Cheryl. Homewreckers.
Lesson: You can't always trust your friends.
Third boyfriend: MARK Third grade.
Mr. Brenneman's class. Cute boy. Girl sees cute boy and goes ga-ga. Boy likes girl's smile and goes ga-ga. Girl realizes quickly that the kids will put "Mark and Mindy" together for fun jokes. Girl says she doesn't care because they are all losers. Boy does care and writes a note to girl stating: "I have to break up with you because my mom says I can't have a girlfriend." I didn't believe him then and I still don't buy that excuse. He just didn't like being called "Mork."
Lesson: A man's pride is a funny thing.
Fourth boyfriend:PATRICK.
Patrick was the cutest boy in the sixth grade and every girl wanted to be his girlfriend. I was relentless. I would write him letters and ask him to be my boyfriend. Over. And. Over. Nowadays, I probably would have been on some kind of list that the teachers keep hidden in their desk for all of the children they are "concerned" about....list de la child stalkers. Eventually Patrick caved one day during sixth period English and agreed to be my boyfriend. The very letter in which he accepted my proposal was intercepted by the teacher and read aloud to the entire class. Patrick broke up with me the next morning before school. Talk about your long-term relationship.
Lesson: By all means...PLEASE be too proud to beg.
Fifth boyfriend: BRIAN. Eighth grade.
Technically my first REAL boyfriend. He asked me to be HIS girlfriend. (After the Patrick incident, I'd given up on asking boys to go out with me to save myself the humiliation.) We would sit after school before my cheerleading practice started and look at each other and hold hands. Occasionally we would have conversations.
"So you have cheer practice?"
"Yeah."
"That should be fun."
"Yeah...(insert giant pause) We're learning a new dance today."
"Cool."
He tried to kiss me once and I slapped him in the face. He never tried to kiss me again. I broke up with him like a month later when he gave me his sister's necklace and her Madonna "Like a Virgin" tape for my birthday.
(The tape that later my father found and pulled the tape out and threw away.)
Lesson: Sometimes you goof up and put your own selfish needs first. Sometimes ppl just do the best that they can and you have to accept that.
Sixth boyfriend: DOUG. Ninth grade.
Doug was a boy that I met while working at the band booth at the county fair. (Y'all can keep your "band booth" comments to yourselves, thanks.) He came to the counter for three days in a row while I was working. On the third day he finally found the guts to ask for my phone number. Ours was a telephone-only relationship and my mother made me stop talking to him because she thought it was "inappropriate". She said that it wasn't necessary for a girl to do a thing like that and it didn't matter anyway because it was only "puppy love". SOOOOOOOO...I stopped taking his calls. I ran into Doug about three years later while I was working at my first job and he was INCREDIBLY HOT. Man. He really was. I said, "hey" to him and talked to him a little while but that was about it because I was dating boyfriend 7 at the time and was madly in love.
Lesson: Crushes are fun even if your mother doesn't think they are "appropriate".
Seventh boyfriend: MAR. Twelfth grade
My first LOVE and my first real kiss. He was my secret boyfriend that I referred to earlier in my post about talking in my sleep. My parents wouldn't let me go out with him because his mother was white and his father was black. (Or at least that was the excuse they gave me.) I thought he was so cute and sweet as pie and I wasn't having any part of her telling me no this time. She couldn't keep me in a shell forever, I told her. I had never even actually DATED anyone before and she wasn't even giving him a chance.
She continued to say fight me on it so I did the most "logical" thing that I could think of at the time: I snuck around behind her back to see him when I was supposed to be at my sign language class. I was head-over-heels in love and as those of you who know me can testify--I'm a very passionate person. This is sometimes great…sometimes tragic.
However, this didn't help the already-bad situation that I had at home, needlesstosay, but I knew that she didn't have a leg to stand on and I was persistent. (So I had a rebellious year.) We dated for like nine months I believe. We never really officially "broke up". We just kind of "grew apart" when he started college. (Sigh.) I may never know or understand what really happened, but he was my first real love…and we'll always have that.
Lesson: Sometimes the grass is so green that you can't see the weeds. Sometimes ppl just push you away and you don't know why--it doesn't always mean they were doing this with bad intentions or that you were a "bad girlfriend".
Eighth boyfriend: LARRY aka @#$%&
Ages 19-29. I hate to mention him here and taint my beautiful blog but he IS a part of my history and I have to acknowledge that.
"You can't change what you don't acknowledge." *Gracias, Dr. Phil*
Larry and I worked at the same place but different hours and we would pass each other going to and from work. When I started to date him I was living in my car and sleeping in my car trunk at nights. The back of the back seat would fold down and I would sleep in there with a blanket draped over the opening. Hey, it worked. It kept me warm in Ohio during the middle of winter.
In late March of that year, my parents had given into my constant begging and allowed me to sleep at their house for the time being. That was like being in prison. I wasn't allowed to speak to anyone, be around anyone, nor go anywhere in the house aside from the bedroom in which I was given to rest my head at night and the living room as my mother nor my brother were in there. I had been dealing with that for about two months when Larry came to me and said that he would be moving into a new apartment. He asked me to move in with him. In my mind (AT THAT TIME) it seemed like the best idea. We were together for 10 1/2 years. Larry was the first man I lived with. He was the first man that I married.
Larry was also the first man that ever hit me, beat me, cursed at me, told me how horrible of a person I was and that I deserved whatever was thrown at me, strangled me, shoved me down flights of stairs, yanked me by my hair, punched me, stood on me, knocked me out, shoved my hand through glass, dented my cornea, busted up my spine, suffocated me, threw me against walls, and threatened me with my life. He was also the first man that I ever had a restraining order against and the first man that I divorced.
Sidenote: If it weren't for me having raised his son...and being completely in love with that child...I wouldn't have stayed as long as I did. Think about what it would feel like to leave the child you've raised for as far as he can remember and THEN tell me that I should have left when it started. Jordan was my heart.
Lesson: Trust your gut instincts. Believe ppl when they show you who they are. You are who you are…not who people try to make you out to be.
There you have it--the list.
EDIT: There was also the boy that I "showed things" to...but I never really went out with him. We were eleven. I just showed him things and he showed me things and then he named his dog after me.
Chad was my grandmother's neighbor in Kentucky. He was a cute lil tan boy with dark hair and a southern accent that made me melt like BUTTER. He had a little brother named "Shelby." For years (because of the accent) I thought that child's name was "ShAll-Be." Heh. Technically, he wasn't my boyfriend...but in my world we were madly in love. I met him when I was five and had a crush on him until he moved when I was 13. Rarely did I even speak to Chad. Mostly I just sat and stared at him.
Lesson: Some things are just fun to look at and that is O.K.
Second boyfriend: JOSHUA.
Joshua was my first kiss and my first husband. We were married by a fellow first grader underneath the big slide on the playground during recess. Cheryl M. (another classmate) was my maid of honor. (She was also the girl that peed her pants noted in my list of "101 Things About Me.") We were married for all of two weeks when he then dumped me to marry Cheryl. Homewreckers.
Lesson: You can't always trust your friends.
Third boyfriend: MARK Third grade.
Mr. Brenneman's class. Cute boy. Girl sees cute boy and goes ga-ga. Boy likes girl's smile and goes ga-ga. Girl realizes quickly that the kids will put "Mark and Mindy" together for fun jokes. Girl says she doesn't care because they are all losers. Boy does care and writes a note to girl stating: "I have to break up with you because my mom says I can't have a girlfriend." I didn't believe him then and I still don't buy that excuse. He just didn't like being called "Mork."
Lesson: A man's pride is a funny thing.
Fourth boyfriend:PATRICK.
Patrick was the cutest boy in the sixth grade and every girl wanted to be his girlfriend. I was relentless. I would write him letters and ask him to be my boyfriend. Over. And. Over. Nowadays, I probably would have been on some kind of list that the teachers keep hidden in their desk for all of the children they are "concerned" about....list de la child stalkers. Eventually Patrick caved one day during sixth period English and agreed to be my boyfriend. The very letter in which he accepted my proposal was intercepted by the teacher and read aloud to the entire class. Patrick broke up with me the next morning before school. Talk about your long-term relationship.
Lesson: By all means...PLEASE be too proud to beg.
Fifth boyfriend: BRIAN. Eighth grade.
Technically my first REAL boyfriend. He asked me to be HIS girlfriend. (After the Patrick incident, I'd given up on asking boys to go out with me to save myself the humiliation.) We would sit after school before my cheerleading practice started and look at each other and hold hands. Occasionally we would have conversations.
"So you have cheer practice?"
"Yeah."
"That should be fun."
"Yeah...(insert giant pause) We're learning a new dance today."
"Cool."
He tried to kiss me once and I slapped him in the face. He never tried to kiss me again. I broke up with him like a month later when he gave me his sister's necklace and her Madonna "Like a Virgin" tape for my birthday.
(The tape that later my father found and pulled the tape out and threw away.)
Lesson: Sometimes you goof up and put your own selfish needs first. Sometimes ppl just do the best that they can and you have to accept that.
Sixth boyfriend: DOUG. Ninth grade.
Doug was a boy that I met while working at the band booth at the county fair. (Y'all can keep your "band booth" comments to yourselves, thanks.) He came to the counter for three days in a row while I was working. On the third day he finally found the guts to ask for my phone number. Ours was a telephone-only relationship and my mother made me stop talking to him because she thought it was "inappropriate". She said that it wasn't necessary for a girl to do a thing like that and it didn't matter anyway because it was only "puppy love". SOOOOOOOO...I stopped taking his calls. I ran into Doug about three years later while I was working at my first job and he was INCREDIBLY HOT. Man. He really was. I said, "hey" to him and talked to him a little while but that was about it because I was dating boyfriend 7 at the time and was madly in love.
Lesson: Crushes are fun even if your mother doesn't think they are "appropriate".
Seventh boyfriend: MAR. Twelfth grade
My first LOVE and my first real kiss. He was my secret boyfriend that I referred to earlier in my post about talking in my sleep. My parents wouldn't let me go out with him because his mother was white and his father was black. (Or at least that was the excuse they gave me.) I thought he was so cute and sweet as pie and I wasn't having any part of her telling me no this time. She couldn't keep me in a shell forever, I told her. I had never even actually DATED anyone before and she wasn't even giving him a chance.
She continued to say fight me on it so I did the most "logical" thing that I could think of at the time: I snuck around behind her back to see him when I was supposed to be at my sign language class. I was head-over-heels in love and as those of you who know me can testify--I'm a very passionate person. This is sometimes great…sometimes tragic.
However, this didn't help the already-bad situation that I had at home, needlesstosay, but I knew that she didn't have a leg to stand on and I was persistent. (So I had a rebellious year.) We dated for like nine months I believe. We never really officially "broke up". We just kind of "grew apart" when he started college. (Sigh.) I may never know or understand what really happened, but he was my first real love…and we'll always have that.
Lesson: Sometimes the grass is so green that you can't see the weeds. Sometimes ppl just push you away and you don't know why--it doesn't always mean they were doing this with bad intentions or that you were a "bad girlfriend".
Eighth boyfriend: LARRY aka @#$%&
Ages 19-29. I hate to mention him here and taint my beautiful blog but he IS a part of my history and I have to acknowledge that.
"You can't change what you don't acknowledge." *Gracias, Dr. Phil*
Larry and I worked at the same place but different hours and we would pass each other going to and from work. When I started to date him I was living in my car and sleeping in my car trunk at nights. The back of the back seat would fold down and I would sleep in there with a blanket draped over the opening. Hey, it worked. It kept me warm in Ohio during the middle of winter.
In late March of that year, my parents had given into my constant begging and allowed me to sleep at their house for the time being. That was like being in prison. I wasn't allowed to speak to anyone, be around anyone, nor go anywhere in the house aside from the bedroom in which I was given to rest my head at night and the living room as my mother nor my brother were in there. I had been dealing with that for about two months when Larry came to me and said that he would be moving into a new apartment. He asked me to move in with him. In my mind (AT THAT TIME) it seemed like the best idea. We were together for 10 1/2 years. Larry was the first man I lived with. He was the first man that I married.
Larry was also the first man that ever hit me, beat me, cursed at me, told me how horrible of a person I was and that I deserved whatever was thrown at me, strangled me, shoved me down flights of stairs, yanked me by my hair, punched me, stood on me, knocked me out, shoved my hand through glass, dented my cornea, busted up my spine, suffocated me, threw me against walls, and threatened me with my life. He was also the first man that I ever had a restraining order against and the first man that I divorced.
Sidenote: If it weren't for me having raised his son...and being completely in love with that child...I wouldn't have stayed as long as I did. Think about what it would feel like to leave the child you've raised for as far as he can remember and THEN tell me that I should have left when it started. Jordan was my heart.
Lesson: Trust your gut instincts. Believe ppl when they show you who they are. You are who you are…not who people try to make you out to be.
There you have it--the list.
EDIT: There was also the boy that I "showed things" to...but I never really went out with him. We were eleven. I just showed him things and he showed me things and then he named his dog after me.
Still Alive in SC
Note: Written Jan 06
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Ok...I know that I've been really slack about updating. You must understand that it's been crazy busy here for me lately. Here is a quick lunch-break update on what's been going on with me:
1. I am getting baptized on Feb. 25!!! YAY! Finally, right? :) I am super excited. It's been a LONG road but surely worth the wait. Now if only they would let me wear a snowsuit to get dunked so no one can see my fat. heh.
2. I am still working at "The Sunshine House". I won't be there for long--thank GOD UP ABOVE. I absolutely love and adore the kids and the job itself is fulfilling, don't get me wrong. It's the adults that I could do without...not to mention the pay. I was happy to HAVE a job but I do not understand why daycare pays so little in the South??? That completely baffles me. However, I won't be there for much longer because of #3.
3. I am going to be moving in April to Georgia to be closer to my Corey. :) I'm excited to be able to see him more often...however, at the same time in credibly nervous about moving AGAIN and uprooting myself and having to find another job and everything just kind of stresses me out. I am a "comfort" person.
4. I have decided to wait until I move to Georgia to buy a car because there are ppl there that know more about cars than I do. It doesn't take much for one to know more. I have no clue what to look for. I don't know what is a good deal and what isn't. I'll take my saved stash and find something when I get there. They "know people" too which always helps. Maybe they'll find me a good deal.
I’m excited and nervous all at the same time. I’m starting a new life with a new family, a new job and a new family. What more could a girl want?
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Ok...I know that I've been really slack about updating. You must understand that it's been crazy busy here for me lately. Here is a quick lunch-break update on what's been going on with me:
1. I am getting baptized on Feb. 25!!! YAY! Finally, right? :) I am super excited. It's been a LONG road but surely worth the wait. Now if only they would let me wear a snowsuit to get dunked so no one can see my fat. heh.
2. I am still working at "The Sunshine House". I won't be there for long--thank GOD UP ABOVE. I absolutely love and adore the kids and the job itself is fulfilling, don't get me wrong. It's the adults that I could do without...not to mention the pay. I was happy to HAVE a job but I do not understand why daycare pays so little in the South??? That completely baffles me. However, I won't be there for much longer because of #3.
3. I am going to be moving in April to Georgia to be closer to my Corey. :) I'm excited to be able to see him more often...however, at the same time in credibly nervous about moving AGAIN and uprooting myself and having to find another job and everything just kind of stresses me out. I am a "comfort" person.
4. I have decided to wait until I move to Georgia to buy a car because there are ppl there that know more about cars than I do. It doesn't take much for one to know more. I have no clue what to look for. I don't know what is a good deal and what isn't. I'll take my saved stash and find something when I get there. They "know people" too which always helps. Maybe they'll find me a good deal.
I’m excited and nervous all at the same time. I’m starting a new life with a new family, a new job and a new family. What more could a girl want?
I've Got the Money, Honey. You've Got the Time
Note: This was written in July of 05 soon after my arrival to South Carolina. There was so much drama upon my arrival---I didn't post for two months.
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Remember me???????
I haven't posted much lately because I couldn't see the post on this monitor. I think I have it figured out now, so here goes nothing.
I got a new job...FINALLY. It's not for lack of trying, but it's taken me nearly 2 months. Granted...the first week I was here (arriving on a Tues. and having that interview on Wed.) I was pretty much just settling in. The week after that we headed for Tennessee to visit a sick friend who later turned out to be a super con-artist....
Needless-to-say, I really didn't start looking until the third week I was here. Since then, there has been another trip to Tennessee and a good friend of Gail's (Rudy) had to be hospitalized for a stroke. (She is doing better...slowly but surely.) It's been an active 2 months I must say. I've been keeping busy in one way or another but had just started to feel a little worthless when this job came along. Thank goodness. I was close to crawling in a hole again...no one wants that.
I am the new head toddler teacher at "The Sunshine House" down the street. I should start on Tuesday. YAY! I'm very excited. The pay is decent--not great, but I can't be picky at this point--and I get my own room and free reign. I will have two assistants and I can make my own daily plans based on the Creative Curriculum program.
It's probably only about 120 feet from the front door of Gail's apartment, so transportation and gas is not an issue. THAT is a real blessing, for sure. Not that Gail minded, but it's nice to not have to worry about the car and getting back and forth and everything.
Being away from Ohio has proved to be a little sad for me--something I didn't expect. I'm sure it's just the familiarity of it all, but sometimes I get a little homesick now and then. I really didn't see it coming as I was so anxious to get away from there. I DO love it here in South Carolina, however. The people are very welcoming. My congregation is great (esp. the PO). It's difficult for me to put it all into words. Yes, I do miss Ohio sometimes. I suppose I'll always have a fondness for the place I was born and raised. What is so surprising to me though is that SC really feels like home now. There has been a lot of sadness and heartache happening around here (just as there was back home) but there has been so much love and happiness surrounding me as well.
That's something different to me. It's a change that I welcome it with open arms. I suppose that is what home REALLY is. Knowing that no matter what happens there will always be love around the corner. There has been SO many things happening around here that I could have written about...now that I know how to change this so that I can actually see the words as I am typing them, I will post more often for sure. Until next time...
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Remember me???????
I haven't posted much lately because I couldn't see the post on this monitor. I think I have it figured out now, so here goes nothing.
I got a new job...FINALLY. It's not for lack of trying, but it's taken me nearly 2 months. Granted...the first week I was here (arriving on a Tues. and having that interview on Wed.) I was pretty much just settling in. The week after that we headed for Tennessee to visit a sick friend who later turned out to be a super con-artist....
Needless-to-say, I really didn't start looking until the third week I was here. Since then, there has been another trip to Tennessee and a good friend of Gail's (Rudy) had to be hospitalized for a stroke. (She is doing better...slowly but surely.) It's been an active 2 months I must say. I've been keeping busy in one way or another but had just started to feel a little worthless when this job came along. Thank goodness. I was close to crawling in a hole again...no one wants that.
I am the new head toddler teacher at "The Sunshine House" down the street. I should start on Tuesday. YAY! I'm very excited. The pay is decent--not great, but I can't be picky at this point--and I get my own room and free reign. I will have two assistants and I can make my own daily plans based on the Creative Curriculum program.
It's probably only about 120 feet from the front door of Gail's apartment, so transportation and gas is not an issue. THAT is a real blessing, for sure. Not that Gail minded, but it's nice to not have to worry about the car and getting back and forth and everything.
Being away from Ohio has proved to be a little sad for me--something I didn't expect. I'm sure it's just the familiarity of it all, but sometimes I get a little homesick now and then. I really didn't see it coming as I was so anxious to get away from there. I DO love it here in South Carolina, however. The people are very welcoming. My congregation is great (esp. the PO). It's difficult for me to put it all into words. Yes, I do miss Ohio sometimes. I suppose I'll always have a fondness for the place I was born and raised. What is so surprising to me though is that SC really feels like home now. There has been a lot of sadness and heartache happening around here (just as there was back home) but there has been so much love and happiness surrounding me as well.
That's something different to me. It's a change that I welcome it with open arms. I suppose that is what home REALLY is. Knowing that no matter what happens there will always be love around the corner. There has been SO many things happening around here that I could have written about...now that I know how to change this so that I can actually see the words as I am typing them, I will post more often for sure. Until next time...
South Carolina Look Out
Notes: self-explanatory...I hope.
I know, I know. Before you all start in on me---I've been BUSY! :P I have been meaning to update, I really have. The last week of April was consumed by my parents' trip to Pennsylvania and moving. It took uber concentration on my part to even get through that last week. Here is the scoop: Everything went well regarding my departure—I was quite worried about delay and what could happen if things did not go AS PLANNED. This really would have been, well....a catastrophe. :D As common as catastrophe is in my life, I don't torture myself with sending it an open invitation.
The actual court hearing itself only lasted like 15 minutes. I thought to myself: All of that stressing and all of those sleepless nights in preparation for 15 minutes of my life. It's silly when I think about it now yet at the time all of the panic and anxiety attacks seemed perfectly logical. (I've never claimed to be logical nor level-headed.) Move = Left approximately 1:45 am. (I'd decided to leave at night as traffic would be much better.)
I was pulled over 15 minutes from leaving my mother’s house. The cop was I think a bit scared of me and my rental car crammed to the “T” with everything that I currently own. (He didn’t even come around to the driver’s side of the car.) He asked me why I had so many things in the car—what was going on. I explained the situation to him (in entirely too much detail, mind you) as to why I was leaving the state and the days’ previous events.
He asked me to slow down a little and wished me luck. He probably thought I’d turn psycho on him if he got too close. And he was alone.
I was out of Ohio and into KY @ 3:15am. Cincinnati has to be one of the WORST cities on earth to drive in. Don't go there to find out--take my word on it. I wouldn't send even my worst enemy (aka mother) there. I have never been so happy to see the Ohio bridge in all of my life. I entered KY and breathed a sigh of relief.
It was a little unfortunate that it was dark throughout most of my journey through KY...I remember how pretty it is from all of my childhood trips to my grandparents' house (my father's parents). The most beautiful thing that I saw in KY--the biggest moon I've ever seen. I must have been really high in elevation because the moon was so big that it looked like I could reach right out of the window and touch it. It was absolutely amazing I tell you.
The funniest thing in KY=the Colonel Sander's Museum. Ummmmmmmm WHAT exactly could the Colonel Sanders Museum CONTAIN???? Some chicken legs and a photo of the homestead? --sheeze. If I would have had time I would have taken a tour and graced you all with some lovely photos. However, I had a schedule to maintain.
As I rolled into Tennessee @ 6:15am (EXACTLY 3 hrs later--check me out) the sun decided to peek out to wake me up juuust as I began to get tired. Tennessee is BEAUTIFUL I must say. The mountains there are probably among the most beautiful things I've ever seen. My eyes literally welled with tears the second I saw them. I woke a few people up that day to share my joy...I'm not sure they were as happy as I was...LOL.
Complaints on Tennessee: ppl that can't decide what speed they want to go and a state that can't figure out what speed limit they want to set. The stinking speed limit changed like every 5 miles and I had no idea 90% of the time if I was going the correct speed limit or not---I just kind of um, went with the flow...if you want to call it a flow. It was more like spuratic jolts. heh.
Tennesee really just kind of rolled right into North Carolina...and slowly I headed out of the mountains and into the hills. Soon I was in South Carolina...I think I entered around 10am? Something like that, anyway. South Carolina smells like Ohio. The smell of the land there was a nice welcome for me.
I called everyone that was worried about me and let them know that I had arrived to SC alive thus far. SC is a really friendly state and the lady at the gas station where I stopped to pee (only 4 times the ENTIRE trip--just a note for you critics and a record for me) was sooooo nice and we had a friendly little chat. I think she nearly gave me her phone number...or asked for mine.
Complaints: two types of drivers in SC:
1. Ppl that want to cut you off at the last minute and
2. Ppl that can't decide if they really want to push their accelerator or not. ANYWAYYYYY.
I arrived @ Miss Gail's at 11:30 am and was literally attacked at the door. We jumped around and hugged for a while and then we unloaded and returned the car...the end.
I will tell you about my journey since then at a later date...I must watch Extreme Home Makeover. A girl MUST have priorities.
I know, I know. Before you all start in on me---I've been BUSY! :P I have been meaning to update, I really have. The last week of April was consumed by my parents' trip to Pennsylvania and moving. It took uber concentration on my part to even get through that last week. Here is the scoop: Everything went well regarding my departure—I was quite worried about delay and what could happen if things did not go AS PLANNED. This really would have been, well....a catastrophe. :D As common as catastrophe is in my life, I don't torture myself with sending it an open invitation.
The actual court hearing itself only lasted like 15 minutes. I thought to myself: All of that stressing and all of those sleepless nights in preparation for 15 minutes of my life. It's silly when I think about it now yet at the time all of the panic and anxiety attacks seemed perfectly logical. (I've never claimed to be logical nor level-headed.) Move = Left approximately 1:45 am. (I'd decided to leave at night as traffic would be much better.)
I was pulled over 15 minutes from leaving my mother’s house. The cop was I think a bit scared of me and my rental car crammed to the “T” with everything that I currently own. (He didn’t even come around to the driver’s side of the car.) He asked me why I had so many things in the car—what was going on. I explained the situation to him (in entirely too much detail, mind you) as to why I was leaving the state and the days’ previous events.
He asked me to slow down a little and wished me luck. He probably thought I’d turn psycho on him if he got too close. And he was alone.
I was out of Ohio and into KY @ 3:15am. Cincinnati has to be one of the WORST cities on earth to drive in. Don't go there to find out--take my word on it. I wouldn't send even my worst enemy (aka mother) there. I have never been so happy to see the Ohio bridge in all of my life. I entered KY and breathed a sigh of relief.
It was a little unfortunate that it was dark throughout most of my journey through KY...I remember how pretty it is from all of my childhood trips to my grandparents' house (my father's parents). The most beautiful thing that I saw in KY--the biggest moon I've ever seen. I must have been really high in elevation because the moon was so big that it looked like I could reach right out of the window and touch it. It was absolutely amazing I tell you.
The funniest thing in KY=the Colonel Sander's Museum. Ummmmmmmm WHAT exactly could the Colonel Sanders Museum CONTAIN???? Some chicken legs and a photo of the homestead? --sheeze. If I would have had time I would have taken a tour and graced you all with some lovely photos. However, I had a schedule to maintain.
As I rolled into Tennessee @ 6:15am (EXACTLY 3 hrs later--check me out) the sun decided to peek out to wake me up juuust as I began to get tired. Tennessee is BEAUTIFUL I must say. The mountains there are probably among the most beautiful things I've ever seen. My eyes literally welled with tears the second I saw them. I woke a few people up that day to share my joy...I'm not sure they were as happy as I was...LOL.
Complaints on Tennessee: ppl that can't decide what speed they want to go and a state that can't figure out what speed limit they want to set. The stinking speed limit changed like every 5 miles and I had no idea 90% of the time if I was going the correct speed limit or not---I just kind of um, went with the flow...if you want to call it a flow. It was more like spuratic jolts. heh.
Tennesee really just kind of rolled right into North Carolina...and slowly I headed out of the mountains and into the hills. Soon I was in South Carolina...I think I entered around 10am? Something like that, anyway. South Carolina smells like Ohio. The smell of the land there was a nice welcome for me.
I called everyone that was worried about me and let them know that I had arrived to SC alive thus far. SC is a really friendly state and the lady at the gas station where I stopped to pee (only 4 times the ENTIRE trip--just a note for you critics and a record for me) was sooooo nice and we had a friendly little chat. I think she nearly gave me her phone number...or asked for mine.
Complaints: two types of drivers in SC:
1. Ppl that want to cut you off at the last minute and
2. Ppl that can't decide if they really want to push their accelerator or not. ANYWAYYYYY.
I arrived @ Miss Gail's at 11:30 am and was literally attacked at the door. We jumped around and hugged for a while and then we unloaded and returned the car...the end.
I will tell you about my journey since then at a later date...I must watch Extreme Home Makeover. A girl MUST have priorities.
Grandma Strikes Again
Note: Yet another post about Grandma. These are funny to me from remembering the events when they happened...but sad at the same time to think that she probably doesn't even remember this...or me for that matter. Perhaps one day we will be able to look back at these stories and laugh at her craziness together. :)
Yesterday was my mother's birthday. (BTW, none of my natural born family are JW's...only me.)My darling grandmother sent a package and it was delivered to our house @ approximately 9:30am. I proceeded to take the package to my mother and she said, "Oh great, it's from my mother. This ought to be interesting."
I leaned back in the recliner and got comfortable. This is entertainment at it's finest, folks. Inside of the box there was a birthday bag and two cards. TWO. Why…we didn’t know. I sat as my mother opened the first one.
"Happy Birthday...Love, Mom." Okay…this was expected. She then opened the second one. "Happy Birthday...Love, Chester." For those of you that don't know...Chester is my grandmother's shih-tzu. You heard me correctly. Chester is a dog. A dog that celebrates holidays and picks out cards for said holidays, nonetheless. I was still laughing about the card from the canine when Mom opened her present.
Candles…Buckeyes...yum.... a little ceramic birthday cake...alright....bath and body set...and then there was the "big" present. It was in a yellow box SEALED WITH FIRST AID TAPE. If you know my grandmother, it's even funnier. (Inside was this candle holder burner thing...but that was besides the point...and not nearly as funny.)
My grandmother called later to say, "Happy Birthday" to my mother and she asked if she received the card from Chester. She said he picked it out. She goes on to tell my mother that she had Chester waiting in the cab and she would show him cards and he picked out the one he liked. Oy.
One bark for no….two barks for yes. (My grandmother speaks dog--see previous "Grandma" posts.) Grandma went on to say how FRIENDLY the girl at the Hallmark store is.
"Every time I go these she is so nice and SO helpful! I just tell her who I am shopping for and she walks with me all around the store!"
Sure she does, Grandma. She knows a sucker when she sees one.
Yesterday was my mother's birthday. (BTW, none of my natural born family are JW's...only me.)My darling grandmother sent a package and it was delivered to our house @ approximately 9:30am. I proceeded to take the package to my mother and she said, "Oh great, it's from my mother. This ought to be interesting."
I leaned back in the recliner and got comfortable. This is entertainment at it's finest, folks. Inside of the box there was a birthday bag and two cards. TWO. Why…we didn’t know. I sat as my mother opened the first one.
"Happy Birthday...Love, Mom." Okay…this was expected. She then opened the second one. "Happy Birthday...Love, Chester." For those of you that don't know...Chester is my grandmother's shih-tzu. You heard me correctly. Chester is a dog. A dog that celebrates holidays and picks out cards for said holidays, nonetheless. I was still laughing about the card from the canine when Mom opened her present.
Candles…Buckeyes...yum.... a little ceramic birthday cake...alright....bath and body set...and then there was the "big" present. It was in a yellow box SEALED WITH FIRST AID TAPE. If you know my grandmother, it's even funnier. (Inside was this candle holder burner thing...but that was besides the point...and not nearly as funny.)
My grandmother called later to say, "Happy Birthday" to my mother and she asked if she received the card from Chester. She said he picked it out. She goes on to tell my mother that she had Chester waiting in the cab and she would show him cards and he picked out the one he liked. Oy.
One bark for no….two barks for yes. (My grandmother speaks dog--see previous "Grandma" posts.) Grandma went on to say how FRIENDLY the girl at the Hallmark store is.
"Every time I go these she is so nice and SO helpful! I just tell her who I am shopping for and she walks with me all around the store!"
Sure she does, Grandma. She knows a sucker when she sees one.
Entertainment a la Northwest Ohio
I was sitting here this morning, approximately 9:30 am.
As I was going about my morning online routine of: email, blog readings and updates, logging in of various messengers, (insert interruption by phone call from crazy grandmother), and checking email #2 and thinking about what the day will bring (as if there are many choices here in Nowhereland)...the EARTH LITERALLY SHOOK.
In Ohio. Panic of course was my immediate response. How ELSE would I react? If you expected any less of a reaction...nice to meet you. I'm Melinda.
I leaped from the computer chair (incidentally nearly taking the freaking kneecap off of my knee on the keyboard shelf --followed by a few choice words) and limped to the front door and attempted to open it. One wouldn't think that this would be so difficult a task, however, my mother has this blasted two-sided doorsock that prevents the door from wanting to budge. (Let alone the key basket on the doorknob and the wreath that refuses to stay where it should.)
Once the wreath was on the ground, the basket removed, deadbolt unlocked, doorsock pryed out, knee bruised, and two fingernails busted, I swung open the door to find out what kind of natural disaster we were dealing with. I saw a tree. Now trees themselves are far from rare in Ohio. However, seeing a gargantuan 100 + year old maple lying in the middle of the highway is something...new.
My neighbor had decided after the major ice storm we faced in January that it would probably be smart to cut down the half-dead tree that sat in front of his house. During the storm that very tree nearly fell on our house.
There were about 5-6 guys around 20-25 years old scurrying about like lil cockroaches in Carhartt jackets attempting to hurriedly clear the tree from the highway. Hurry up boys. Cars drive there. (Isn’'t this against the law?)
Yes. I stood there for a while…watching them as if it were some sort of theatrical production put on just for me and my own personal entertainment. It’s amazing what you define as entertainment in the country. If it would have been warmer I would have grabbed a chair.
As I was going about my morning online routine of: email, blog readings and updates, logging in of various messengers, (insert interruption by phone call from crazy grandmother), and checking email #2 and thinking about what the day will bring (as if there are many choices here in Nowhereland)...the EARTH LITERALLY SHOOK.
In Ohio. Panic of course was my immediate response. How ELSE would I react? If you expected any less of a reaction...nice to meet you. I'm Melinda.
I leaped from the computer chair (incidentally nearly taking the freaking kneecap off of my knee on the keyboard shelf --followed by a few choice words) and limped to the front door and attempted to open it. One wouldn't think that this would be so difficult a task, however, my mother has this blasted two-sided doorsock that prevents the door from wanting to budge. (Let alone the key basket on the doorknob and the wreath that refuses to stay where it should.)
Once the wreath was on the ground, the basket removed, deadbolt unlocked, doorsock pryed out, knee bruised, and two fingernails busted, I swung open the door to find out what kind of natural disaster we were dealing with. I saw a tree. Now trees themselves are far from rare in Ohio. However, seeing a gargantuan 100 + year old maple lying in the middle of the highway is something...new.
My neighbor had decided after the major ice storm we faced in January that it would probably be smart to cut down the half-dead tree that sat in front of his house. During the storm that very tree nearly fell on our house.
There were about 5-6 guys around 20-25 years old scurrying about like lil cockroaches in Carhartt jackets attempting to hurriedly clear the tree from the highway. Hurry up boys. Cars drive there. (Isn’'t this against the law?)
Yes. I stood there for a while…watching them as if it were some sort of theatrical production put on just for me and my own personal entertainment. It’s amazing what you define as entertainment in the country. If it would have been warmer I would have grabbed a chair.
My New Favorite Quote
"I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel." - Maya Angelou
Grandma Speaks Dog
Grandma has a shih-tzu named Chester. Chester's ancient...and fat. AND BY FAT I MEAN THAT HE CAN BARELY WALK-- bless his "lil" heart.
(BTW, that is my favorite southern saying. You can say ANYTHING bad about ANYONE as long as you follow it with that little phrase.)
I, in an unthought splurt from my mouth (I know...that NEVER happens) suggested that she get a leash for him and she can drive around town with him on her little automated scooter...she thinks it's an absolutely fabulous idea.
So if you just happen to be in Newark, Ohio and see a really old little lady with two different color eyes driving around with a fat dog panting and wobbling along side of a scooter....it's my sweet little grandma.
Tell her I said, "hi". Ask her to show you her living room.
Chester is a cute dog and well behaved...but he is SPOILED ROTTEN. Grandma thinks he is her child and treats him as such. You may not think this is really abnormal--many ppl are this way with their animals...as I was with mine. But even I had limitations. She called me yesterday and the insanity has reached an all-time low. She proceeded to tell me that she had a very long conversation with Chester. She told him that he would get what he wanted more often if only he would "take the time to learn how to talk".....hm.
She continues.
She says that her conversation with him explaining his ignorance of the english language has actually worked. Chester can now speak and she can understand him. Now when Chester wants to go outside, he says, "UG! UG!" (high voice). When he wants to come back in, he says, "UG. UG." (low voice). And finally, (and probably the most important to Chester) when he wants to eat, he says, "UUUG UUUG UUUG" (three times...high...then low...then high).
*Wonders to self, "Did Chester really learn ENGLISH...or did Grandma learn DOG?"*
For a split second, I thought my appendix was going to burst. I was trying not to laugh in her ear(because you see...she was totally and completely serious). I almost peed right there on the phone on my mother's sofa. Poor, poor Grandma. PLEASE LET THE NEW SYSTEM COME BEFORE I GET THAT OLD. I don't ever want to be that nutty...and I'm really NOT that far off. Keep me in your prayers. Insanity is hereditary, I hear.
(BTW, that is my favorite southern saying. You can say ANYTHING bad about ANYONE as long as you follow it with that little phrase.)
I, in an unthought splurt from my mouth (I know...that NEVER happens) suggested that she get a leash for him and she can drive around town with him on her little automated scooter...she thinks it's an absolutely fabulous idea.
So if you just happen to be in Newark, Ohio and see a really old little lady with two different color eyes driving around with a fat dog panting and wobbling along side of a scooter....it's my sweet little grandma.
Tell her I said, "hi". Ask her to show you her living room.
Chester is a cute dog and well behaved...but he is SPOILED ROTTEN. Grandma thinks he is her child and treats him as such. You may not think this is really abnormal--many ppl are this way with their animals...as I was with mine. But even I had limitations. She called me yesterday and the insanity has reached an all-time low. She proceeded to tell me that she had a very long conversation with Chester. She told him that he would get what he wanted more often if only he would "take the time to learn how to talk".....hm.
She continues.
She says that her conversation with him explaining his ignorance of the english language has actually worked. Chester can now speak and she can understand him. Now when Chester wants to go outside, he says, "UG! UG!" (high voice). When he wants to come back in, he says, "UG. UG." (low voice). And finally, (and probably the most important to Chester) when he wants to eat, he says, "UUUG UUUG UUUG" (three times...high...then low...then high).
*Wonders to self, "Did Chester really learn ENGLISH...or did Grandma learn DOG?"*
For a split second, I thought my appendix was going to burst. I was trying not to laugh in her ear(because you see...she was totally and completely serious). I almost peed right there on the phone on my mother's sofa. Poor, poor Grandma. PLEASE LET THE NEW SYSTEM COME BEFORE I GET THAT OLD. I don't ever want to be that nutty...and I'm really NOT that far off. Keep me in your prayers. Insanity is hereditary, I hear.
Grandma. Part Deux.
Note: This was written before we all realized that Grandma had alzheimer's. It's probably not as funny now as it was then. Who am I kidding...sure it is. THIS insanity had nothing to do with the disease. She's always been like this. The alzheimer's just "upped" the frequency.
My grandmother is really, really old. I'm not exactly sure how old she is, but I think she's aroung 95 years old.
Keep this in mind as you read this post.
Grandma is exactly 1/2 Scottish (paternal) and 1/2 French (maternal). About 20 years ago she began to read up on her Scottish ancestry/culture and has been obsessed ever since. She even became Episcopalian for this reason. ("All good Scots are Episcopalian," don't you know.)
(She ignores the French blood--she says the French are "uppity and crazy" and she does "not take after that side of the family" ...)
Her house looks like someone barfed up the family tartan in every corner. Plaid pillows, blankets, pictures, books, scarves...you name it; she has it and is proud of it. Keep in mind that the family tartan is RED AND FOREST GREEN.
One day not very long ago, Grandma decided to paint her living room.
She thought to herself, "How lovely it would be to paint it bubblegum blue and it will seem like I'm outside looking at the sky--even if I'm not."
So she did.
She got herself up on a ladder and began to paint her glorious sky. She painted the ceiling first and was content with her masterpiece so she decided to paint all of the walls and trim. That's when she fell and BROKE...HER...HIP.
After recovering from her hip replacement...Grandma still was longing for her living room to be finished. So she PROCEEDED TO GET UP WITH HER CANE AND FINISH PAINTING IT. She did this like three weeks after her surgery.
Oy.
In the end, she finished the job and is exceedingly proud of her blue Slush Puppy splattered living room. I get sea sick just thinking about it.
Maybe she isn't crazy--she's just dizzy from her living room.
My grandmother is really, really old. I'm not exactly sure how old she is, but I think she's aroung 95 years old.
Keep this in mind as you read this post.
Grandma is exactly 1/2 Scottish (paternal) and 1/2 French (maternal). About 20 years ago she began to read up on her Scottish ancestry/culture and has been obsessed ever since. She even became Episcopalian for this reason. ("All good Scots are Episcopalian," don't you know.)
(She ignores the French blood--she says the French are "uppity and crazy" and she does "not take after that side of the family" ...)
Her house looks like someone barfed up the family tartan in every corner. Plaid pillows, blankets, pictures, books, scarves...you name it; she has it and is proud of it. Keep in mind that the family tartan is RED AND FOREST GREEN.
One day not very long ago, Grandma decided to paint her living room.
She thought to herself, "How lovely it would be to paint it bubblegum blue and it will seem like I'm outside looking at the sky--even if I'm not."
So she did.
She got herself up on a ladder and began to paint her glorious sky. She painted the ceiling first and was content with her masterpiece so she decided to paint all of the walls and trim. That's when she fell and BROKE...HER...HIP.
After recovering from her hip replacement...Grandma still was longing for her living room to be finished. So she PROCEEDED TO GET UP WITH HER CANE AND FINISH PAINTING IT. She did this like three weeks after her surgery.
Oy.
In the end, she finished the job and is exceedingly proud of her blue Slush Puppy splattered living room. I get sea sick just thinking about it.
Maybe she isn't crazy--she's just dizzy from her living room.
Morning Ramblings
It's 5am.
I've been up for about two hours now. I can't seem to sleep. I don't know what my deal is...I get a couple of nights of decent sleep and then BAM...nothing. I know it's probably stress, but I need it to go away.
I received a letter from the attorney's office yesterday and I'm sure that is weighing heavy on my mind. I have to make an appointment to go in and sign the paperwork. I am relieved in a sense, yes...but it also stresses me out. And then taxes are coming due and I have no freaking job and limited funds to pay them.
I got into a lil tiff with someone that I really care about just before bed last night and that never, ever helps. It's not like I plan these things. They just seem to happen---and it's always at night when it gets quiet and I am lying there thinking about everything.
The silence used to be so comforting to me. Now what used to be a comfort is more of a monster that I dread facing. I hate it and avoid it at all costs but it never fails to find me. And it's so frightening--facing the things in my mind. I need to get it all sorted out. I try to move on...get it out of my head. Put the past behind me and move on to the future, right?
That little phrase is easier said than done, trust me.
I KNOW that I shouldn't focus on the "what if's", but they are all that I can even think about right now. I'm so used to having a plan. Even if I didn't have a set one...at least I had all of the paths considered. If one didn't work out, I'd just backtrack and take another route.
What if I can't make it on my own? What if things don't work out and I've uprooted myself just to find failure? What if I fail myself? What if I fail all of those that have worked so hard to help me?
Everyone has their own set of problems and I know this. I'm just used to being the one that fixes things. I can't even be that to myself right now...and I know that I can't be that to anyone else either. I have so many people going out of their way to help me, support me, care for me, love me...and all that I can give them is headaches.
I REALLY try to not throw my sob stories on them but I have no real support system aside from them and they are literally all that I have--aside from Jehovah, of course. I know he's tired of hearing me. I wish and want SO badly to just be able to get beyond this and be able to help my friends out with their problems the way that they have helped me. That is what is driving me nuts. I CAN'T seem to do it. I try to pretend. I try to make everyone think I am okay so that they all have one less thing to worry about. I'm just not very good at hiding how I feel and it sucks. Yes, it sucks.
I KNOW that I'm not much fun to be around right now. I know this oh too well. And I also know that I'm not much of a support to anyone. How can I be when I can barely pull myself out of bed some days? It's like the want is there but not the know-how. I also know that I CAN'T take their problems away. It's not that I'm even attempting to do so. I just can't seem to help, either. And when you have this handful of people giving their all to you and you can't give anything back...it makes you feel like more of a nuisance than a friend.
Ack. Anyway...maybe now that this is out of my head I can try to sleep for a little while before I try to call into the meeting.
Sweet dreams.
I've been up for about two hours now. I can't seem to sleep. I don't know what my deal is...I get a couple of nights of decent sleep and then BAM...nothing. I know it's probably stress, but I need it to go away.
I received a letter from the attorney's office yesterday and I'm sure that is weighing heavy on my mind. I have to make an appointment to go in and sign the paperwork. I am relieved in a sense, yes...but it also stresses me out. And then taxes are coming due and I have no freaking job and limited funds to pay them.
I got into a lil tiff with someone that I really care about just before bed last night and that never, ever helps. It's not like I plan these things. They just seem to happen---and it's always at night when it gets quiet and I am lying there thinking about everything.
The silence used to be so comforting to me. Now what used to be a comfort is more of a monster that I dread facing. I hate it and avoid it at all costs but it never fails to find me. And it's so frightening--facing the things in my mind. I need to get it all sorted out. I try to move on...get it out of my head. Put the past behind me and move on to the future, right?
That little phrase is easier said than done, trust me.
I KNOW that I shouldn't focus on the "what if's", but they are all that I can even think about right now. I'm so used to having a plan. Even if I didn't have a set one...at least I had all of the paths considered. If one didn't work out, I'd just backtrack and take another route.
What if I can't make it on my own? What if things don't work out and I've uprooted myself just to find failure? What if I fail myself? What if I fail all of those that have worked so hard to help me?
Everyone has their own set of problems and I know this. I'm just used to being the one that fixes things. I can't even be that to myself right now...and I know that I can't be that to anyone else either. I have so many people going out of their way to help me, support me, care for me, love me...and all that I can give them is headaches.
I REALLY try to not throw my sob stories on them but I have no real support system aside from them and they are literally all that I have--aside from Jehovah, of course. I know he's tired of hearing me. I wish and want SO badly to just be able to get beyond this and be able to help my friends out with their problems the way that they have helped me. That is what is driving me nuts. I CAN'T seem to do it. I try to pretend. I try to make everyone think I am okay so that they all have one less thing to worry about. I'm just not very good at hiding how I feel and it sucks. Yes, it sucks.
I KNOW that I'm not much fun to be around right now. I know this oh too well. And I also know that I'm not much of a support to anyone. How can I be when I can barely pull myself out of bed some days? It's like the want is there but not the know-how. I also know that I CAN'T take their problems away. It's not that I'm even attempting to do so. I just can't seem to help, either. And when you have this handful of people giving their all to you and you can't give anything back...it makes you feel like more of a nuisance than a friend.
Ack. Anyway...maybe now that this is out of my head I can try to sleep for a little while before I try to call into the meeting.
Sweet dreams.
I Forget What Book this Was From...
Come to the edge.”
“We can't. We're afraid.”
“Come to the edge.”
“We can't. We will fall!”
“Come to the edge.”
And they came.
And he pushed them.
And they flew.
“We can't. We're afraid.”
“Come to the edge.”
“We can't. We will fall!”
“Come to the edge.”
And they came.
And he pushed them.
And they flew.
Mantra
I Needed This
Your presence is a present to the world.
You are unique and one of a kind.
Your life can be what you want it to be.
Take the days just one at a time.
Count your blessings, not your troubles.
You will make it through whatever comes along.
Within you are so many answers.
Understand, have courage, be strong.
Do not put limits on yourself.
So many dreams are waiting to be realized.
Decisions are too important to leave to chance.
Reach for your peak, your goal and you prize.
Nothing wastes more energy than worrying.
The longer one carries a problem the heavier it gets.
Do not take things too seriously.
Live a life of serenity, not a life of regrets.
Remember that a little love goes a long way.
Remember that a lot … goes forever.
Remember that friendship is a wise investment.
Life’s treasure are people together.
Realize that it is never too late.
Do ordinary things in an extraordinary way.
Have hearth and hope and happiness.
Take the time to wish upon a start.
Your presence is a present to the world.
You are unique and one of a kind.
Your life can be what you want it to be.
Take the days just one at a time.
Count your blessings, not your troubles.
You will make it through whatever comes along.
Within you are so many answers.
Understand, have courage, be strong.
Do not put limits on yourself.
So many dreams are waiting to be realized.
Decisions are too important to leave to chance.
Reach for your peak, your goal and you prize.
Nothing wastes more energy than worrying.
The longer one carries a problem the heavier it gets.
Do not take things too seriously.
Live a life of serenity, not a life of regrets.
Remember that a little love goes a long way.
Remember that a lot … goes forever.
Remember that friendship is a wise investment.
Life’s treasure are people together.
Realize that it is never too late.
Do ordinary things in an extraordinary way.
Have hearth and hope and happiness.
Take the time to wish upon a start.
Warning: Aunt Flo is Visiting.
History: This was written while I still lived in Ohio and was awaiting my divorce from @#%&*@#. I had planned to be moving soon and was only awaiting the legalities. I obviously was losing my patience.
She popped in around 11:30 just like clockwork. Such a dependable gal, she is. Don't get me wrong--I'm happy to see her. Well, as happy as one can be. I'm grateful that she's being friendly. We had a big blow out two months ago when she visited...she even threatened me with my life.
Pushy broad.
I called my new (and hopefully speedier-with-a-better-secretary) attorney this afternoon to let him know that I'd be in to pick up my paperwork around 4pm. They were away at lunch so I'm hoping that they received the message.
On another note, the day to my departure is sneaking up on me faster than I expected. You know, I wonder if my mother even wonders why I have my suitcases packed. People just don't live out of suitcases if they are planning on staying around for long. In all honesty, she probably hasn't even noticed. If she HAS noticed--she hasn't cared enough to ask, so I think I'm still in the "safe zone". Whew. I SO dread the day that she finds out---I need a back-up plan for that day...a safe house. *Puts Tristan's # into cell phone on touch dial--in case of emergency.*
Speaking of Tristan...she's supposed to come and snatch me away from Gloom City and Queen Criticism sometime this week. I'm going to stay at her house one day (and go to the meeting with her) and then she will bring me back the next day. I'm just itching to get away. I'd probably agree to stay in someone's garage overnight at this point. Ok no, maybe not...'tis a little chilly in Ohio in February. heh. However, a garage has to be warmer than a car trunk and I've done THAT before.
She popped in around 11:30 just like clockwork. Such a dependable gal, she is. Don't get me wrong--I'm happy to see her. Well, as happy as one can be. I'm grateful that she's being friendly. We had a big blow out two months ago when she visited...she even threatened me with my life.
Pushy broad.
I called my new (and hopefully speedier-with-a-better-secretary) attorney this afternoon to let him know that I'd be in to pick up my paperwork around 4pm. They were away at lunch so I'm hoping that they received the message.
On another note, the day to my departure is sneaking up on me faster than I expected. You know, I wonder if my mother even wonders why I have my suitcases packed. People just don't live out of suitcases if they are planning on staying around for long. In all honesty, she probably hasn't even noticed. If she HAS noticed--she hasn't cared enough to ask, so I think I'm still in the "safe zone". Whew. I SO dread the day that she finds out---I need a back-up plan for that day...a safe house. *Puts Tristan's # into cell phone on touch dial--in case of emergency.*
Speaking of Tristan...she's supposed to come and snatch me away from Gloom City and Queen Criticism sometime this week. I'm going to stay at her house one day (and go to the meeting with her) and then she will bring me back the next day. I'm just itching to get away. I'd probably agree to stay in someone's garage overnight at this point. Ok no, maybe not...'tis a little chilly in Ohio in February. heh. However, a garage has to be warmer than a car trunk and I've done THAT before.
Friday, February 1, 2008
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