Thursday, December 13, 2018
Shit happens
Today on "Meg and Jarvis Take A Walk" I think is the most bizarre experience I have ever had while walking Jarvis. We were walking along a path between a couple small fields. He was sniffing around, as dogs are wont to do, and took interest in a stick. He hasn't really acted on his stick addiction in a very long time. I let him sniff awhile. Then, he did a really weird thing. He put his ear to the ground as if trying to detect a train coming. With his head down, he was smelling the stick. Then, just as I realize it is not a stick, but rather the longest straight piece of shit I have every seen, he goes for a full on roll on the ground as if he was in a pile of snow. I tugged him away. Thankfully, it was a completely petrified log of poo. He managed not to get any of it on him. I checked him for any signs of it and only found some dried leaves. Someone will still be getting a bath. 🤦♀️
Saturday, November 24, 2018
#TwoMinutesLove 2018 Edition
November 1st:
I'm going to give this a shot again this year. Inspired by Shawn's flip of 1984's Two Minutes Hate into Two Minutes Love, I will attempt a positive post each day.
What was great about today? Holding a newborn. His fingers wrapping around one of mine. The soft skin that, no matter how much lotion I use, I will never have again. His funny faces as he deals with gas, pooping, and just the overall newness of it all. The wrinkles in his forehead when his eyebrows go up inquisitively. Or, when his eyebrows furrow like something has him mad. The way he was fighting sleep as if it was the greatest fight of his couple weeks of life.
With the world the way it is, everyone should hold a baby for at least a little while.
#TwoMinutesLove
November 2nd:
I was struggling with what today's post would be, which is sad, considering it's only day two. Then, something showed up in my news feed and I had something to say.
In college, I worked at the Perkins in the suburb where I grew up. One of the cooks, Keith, and I got along pretty well. I can still picture his disgusting, grease covered, baseball cap. We worked together pretty often because he was one of the head night cooks and I was often the closer on weeknights.
We would have super deep discussions. He challenged my way of thought. He appreciated books and classics. We went to see Kenneth Branagh's Hamlet when it came out --- all 4 hours of it.
Life went on and we lost touch. Thanks to Facebook, we were able to be in touch. And now, thanks to Facebook, I found out he died this week. He died much too soon. We still had so many challenging discussions and posts left to do. He may be gone now, but he certainly touched my life.
#TwoMinutesLove
November 3rd:
Today's is short. Colorado can have such amazing skies. There bright blue, cloudless ones. There are the yellow, orange, purple skies of sunrises and sunsets. Storms do their share to add to the array. Then there are the skies with a unique twist of combing types. It's never boring and we're very lucky out here.
#TwoMinutesLove
November 4th:
Oh Mila, what laughter you bring to my life.
Mila has been making videos for quite some time in her short life. They are typically done by her teenage sister - scripts, filming, editing, etc. I find them to be so funny, most of the time. She has a twin sister, Emma, who wasn't really into the whole thing. Now, though, she has started to join in and they have a YouTube channel.
I'm going to give this a shot again this year. Inspired by Shawn's flip of 1984's Two Minutes Hate into Two Minutes Love, I will attempt a positive post each day.
What was great about today? Holding a newborn. His fingers wrapping around one of mine. The soft skin that, no matter how much lotion I use, I will never have again. His funny faces as he deals with gas, pooping, and just the overall newness of it all. The wrinkles in his forehead when his eyebrows go up inquisitively. Or, when his eyebrows furrow like something has him mad. The way he was fighting sleep as if it was the greatest fight of his couple weeks of life.
With the world the way it is, everyone should hold a baby for at least a little while.
#TwoMinutesLove
November 2nd:
I was struggling with what today's post would be, which is sad, considering it's only day two. Then, something showed up in my news feed and I had something to say.
In college, I worked at the Perkins in the suburb where I grew up. One of the cooks, Keith, and I got along pretty well. I can still picture his disgusting, grease covered, baseball cap. We worked together pretty often because he was one of the head night cooks and I was often the closer on weeknights.
We would have super deep discussions. He challenged my way of thought. He appreciated books and classics. We went to see Kenneth Branagh's Hamlet when it came out --- all 4 hours of it.
Life went on and we lost touch. Thanks to Facebook, we were able to be in touch. And now, thanks to Facebook, I found out he died this week. He died much too soon. We still had so many challenging discussions and posts left to do. He may be gone now, but he certainly touched my life.
#TwoMinutesLove
November 3rd:
Today's is short. Colorado can have such amazing skies. There bright blue, cloudless ones. There are the yellow, orange, purple skies of sunrises and sunsets. Storms do their share to add to the array. Then there are the skies with a unique twist of combing types. It's never boring and we're very lucky out here.
#TwoMinutesLove
November 4th:
Oh Mila, what laughter you bring to my life.
Mila has been making videos for quite some time in her short life. They are typically done by her teenage sister - scripts, filming, editing, etc. I find them to be so funny, most of the time. She has a twin sister, Emma, who wasn't really into the whole thing. Now, though, she has started to join in and they have a YouTube channel.
If you need a laugh, watch the videos and find some others over on YouTube.
November 5th:
As far as I’m concerned, our refrigerator is full of awesome. Our magnet collection is huge! But, I just want to focus on the art masterpieces that have a special place in my heart, as well as the fridge. Some from my nieces, some from when Conner was little, a Valentine I made when I was little and John Blanche sent me, and a Yoda from a little girl thanking me for prints I sent her. They brighten our kitchen in a special way.
#TwoMinutesLove
November 6th:
The reasons I exercise my right to vote are because of the struggle of so many to earn it for me. Elections may be divisive, but the right still belongs to all who register.
"Amendment XV Right to Vote Not Denied by Race. The right of citizens of the United States to vote shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or by any State on account of race, color, or previous condition of servitude. The Congress shall have the power to enforce this article by appropriate legislation."
"Amendment XIX. The right of citizens of the United States to vote shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or by any state on account of sex. Congress shall have power to enforce this article by appropriate legislation."
"The Voting Rights Act of 1965, signed into law by President Lyndon B. Johnson, aimed to overcome legal barriers at the state and local levels that prevented African Americans from exercising their right to vote as guaranteed under the 15th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution."
#TwoMinutesLove
November 7th:
So, I need to try to focus on the good that came of yesterday's election results. There is a pretty long list of firsts that came out of the results.
Openly Gay Governor
Lesbian Mother to Congress
Muslim Women to Congress
First Native American Women to Congress
First Female Senator from Tennessee
First Female Senator from Arizona
First Hispanic Woman to Congress from Texas
First Woman Governor in South Dakota
There are so many positives to focus on in the midst of it all.
#TwoMinutesLove
November 8th:
In today's memories feed, a video from 3 years ago that one of my cousins posted popped up. I was really hoping to post the video, but I'm not able to.
One of my cousins is Monica (Monie, as my uncle called her). She has Down Syndrome and is blind. Completely blind from having to have both eyes removed due to medical conditions. She'll be 54 this month. So, at the time of the video she was about 51.
For as long as I can remember, swimming has been a huge part of Monica's life. It could be in Lake Erie; a swimming pool; in the lake at the campground where the family's RV was; absolutely anywhere.
The video is her in a swim competition. Totally unable to see while swimming a race. Think about that. Trying to keep in your lane while blind when others have goggles to help keep their eyes open.
The video isn't long. The race was one pool length. She came in second place. She bobs up and down with one arm in the air, "I DID IT!!! I DID IT!!!" and hugs and wraps her legs around the aid that was in the pool with her.
I watch it and it chokes me up. Not because of Monica's disabilities, but because of what she accomplished. Because, in her finishing, she expressed such a sense of pure jubilation. I think getting to that wall, whether she placed or not, was all she really needed to make herself happy.
#TwoMinutesLove
November 9th:
Today's thoughts are about technology.
When I was young, if you missed an episode of a TV show, you were out of luck until off season re-runs or syndication. Then, VCRs happened, so you had the opportunity to tape a show if you weren't going to be able to watch it when it was broadcast.
Now, we have DVRs; On Demand; and a variety of streaming services. You don't have to miss a thing (almost, I mean, it might not be available on those services).
Anyway, why do I have made love for this technology? When you lose your memory, you can feel like you are out of touch about so many things. One of those things can be your understanding of pop culture.
Thanks to things like streaming services, I've been able to re-watch things from the period I lost. Shawn and I had watched Stranger Things during the year that I ended up losing. When season 2 was going to be coming out, I had no recollection of season 1. I was able to watch season 1 again. It was kind of odd because Shawn would tell me that I had said the same thing or had the same reaction the first time we watched. Apparently my thought processes stayed the same even if the memory of the first time was erased.
We all know technology can be used for ill. But, for me, this is a case of technology being used for good.
#TwoMinutesLove
November 10th:
November is National Adoption Month. I'm not talking about animals this time (but this is National Adoption Weekend for them).
When I started at the rescue, one of my friends was fostering two little boys, brothers in fact. She and her husband walked them through a life in foster care with patience, emotional roller coaster rides, and love. They saw them through to adoption by a family, a family they know. Because friends adopted the boys, Brigitte and her husband are able to continue to watch the boys grow and to walk their lives' journey with them.
Foster parenting and adopting are certainly the most giving and loving paths one may choose to take. It takes a certain kind of love from a special kind of person.
#TwoMinutesLove
Some people, when it comes to fashion, collect purses or jewelry or shoes (fancy, designer shoes). Those are not my things.
I’m a collector of T-shirts and socks and crazy hats. I like to portray fun...when I’m feeling it. There’s something about a Groot hat with a Groot T-shirt and Groot socks that makes a day a bit happier.
Yes, I’ll be 44 in a few months. But, doesn’t a silly hat wearing 44 year old make a better world than a bad combover wearing 45th President?
Pictured, left to right: Silly fleece, Chewbacca, Light-up gingerbread-man (top), Hulk hair and eyebrows (bottom), Grover (top), Bad Hair Day (bottom), and Groot.
#TwoMinutesLove
November 12th:
Today’s post is simple and short.
I woke up to live another day.
#TwoMinutesLove
November 13th:
Today I was standing in line. The guy behind me tells me he’s going to move my hood. I’m weirded out, but thought that it may have been in an awkward position. So I said it was okay.
He read what was on the back of my hoodie. He told me he wanted to see what kind of rescue it was and my hood was blocking the writing.
He asked if it was for animals. Were we saving pets. I told him we were. He said that that’s good work I’m doing.
Sometimes a little awkward recognition can go a long way to make for a better day. #adoptdontshop
#TwoMinutesLove
November 14th:
Colorado was 2nd in the country for voter turnout last week (Next time, we need to try for 1st). Something moved people. People must have recognized the importance of the midterms. This, in my ever so un-humble opinion, seems to show a realization that one’s vote matters. Even though I’m almost as blue as you can get, the franchise belongs to red, blue, purple or any other political color. It is important to use it, important to our democracy (which is a republic, but whatever). So whichever color you voted (I do hope it was blue), I’m glad you did.
#TwoMinutesLove
November 15th:
Today was about catching up with a friend. Checking in with one another is important. "Breaking bread" with one another makes it all the better.
#TwoMinutesLove
November 16th:
Today is about gratitude for fosters of animals. We use fosters for dogs. We also have some for kittens who are very young, bottle feeding young.
We have a really great list of people who are willing to take our dogs. They see a list and pictures of what dogs are coming in and they offer to take them in. No interaction, just their best guess at which dog will work in their environment.
Then, life together happens. The fosters figure out behaviors and personalities that help us find great matches for forever homes. Sometimes the dog and the foster aren't a good match. That isn't ding on the foster's reputation. It just means that the dog's environmental needs aren't in sync with the home environment of the foster. That happens in human relationships, so why not in human relationships with a canine (or other animal).
This probably wasn't worded very well and didn't get my point across. But, animal rescue could not succeed without fosters.
#TwoMinutesLove
November 17th:
Ten years ago I was loading printers; putting in new toner; shredding documents; doing data entry; and making sure people got yard signs all for Obama’s first campaign. Oh, and explaining to people Obama isn’t Muslim.
Also, at the office I met a fascinating person. Someone with a resume as packed as could be with political work, military experience, and so much more. It was amazing to be around him. On election night, he stood on a desk and spoke to a packed office about the significance of the election in political history. He spoke to what it was we accomplished.
A few weeks ago he headed to Cox's Bazar in Bangladesh. To work with the UN once again. He was joining the UN World Food Programme (WFP). He will be spending six months or so heading up the engineering effort as part of the joint Site Maintenance Engineering Project (SMEP).
This project is focused on building better shelter, roads, sanitation, and more. The work is to get 1 million refugees a life of dignity.
Tim and I had very limited real life time together. Facebook is how I keep “tabs” on the many admirable things he does. He, very generously, contributed to a fundraiser my niece was doing to help with an orphanage in Honduras. He did it without even knowing her. I took it as a way to encourage a younger generation to have a broader world view such as his.
Tim, I have the utmost respect and gratitude for all you have done and continue to do.
#TwoMinutesLove
November 18th:
When these two are together, it brings me joy. When Jarvis uses Shawn as a pillow or when they play chase, or tug-o-war, or just when Shawn gives belly rubs, it makes me smile. ❤️ #jarvisismycopilot
#TwoMinutesLove
November 19th:
The brain is a very complex thing.
In 2016, for those who may not know which has to be few since I talk about it a lot, I underwent ElectroConvulsive Therapy (ECT). It jacked up my memory of the whole year. The bulk of the memories I do have are of the people who worked at the facility where I had the treatments.
I never had a bad experience, that I recall. Some nurses were chattier than others. One loved to talk about dogs. Another couple thought I had pretty fascinating tattoos. Many thought I had great socks and t-shirts. My last treatment was Dec. 23rd so the socks and t-shirt were a really big hit.
Anyway, we had a good rapport. Things ended on a high note. I was on the gurney, waiting to head in for my treatment. As I waited, the head nurse was over at the printer and held up a blank sheet of paper. She asked did someone mean to print a blank sheet. I piped up and said something about it being my Christmas Letter and that it was blank since I don't remember anything from the year. People laughed and that's how my ECT experience ended...with laughter.
#TwoMinutesLove
November 20th:
Just after 9/11, Blanchie and I started to give blood at The Red Cross. The last time, Blanchie couldn’t give because her iron was too low when they tested it. So, she sat on the side with the juices and snacks while I finished up.
I got done and joined her. Then I was on the floor with my feet up on a chair, the feel of blood on my face, and no glasses. Next I’m in an ambulance headed to the hospital. I pass out again, get my face stitched up, and off for a CTScan to see what’s up with the passing out because it had to be more than the blood loss. Well, it was mono. It seems donating blood and mono don’t mix.
Some time later The Red Cross wrote me a “Thanks, but no thanks” letter. I wasn’t surprised. But, the letter went on to tell me I couldn’t give ever again because I had some fucked up (my words, not theirs) liver enzymes. I had a sense of relief because I was feeling scared about giving again after the mono debacle.
Years later, The Red Cross wrote me again. They said I could give. There were advancements in testing that meant my liver enzyme issue was okay. But, it didn’t make any advancement in calming my fears. I felt guilty, but my fear was felt more.
Fast forward many years to this summer. There was a shooting of a mom and her three sons not far from where we live. The mom and one son were both severely injured. One son managed to be okay. The third son died. There was a need for blood and a drive was set up. I decided that the world is a fucked up place and kids are dying from senseless violence so it was time to give again.
And I did...with Shawn by my side. I survived - no passing out, no feeling wheezy.
Tonight we did it again. I got an email from Children’s Hospital that they need 20 whole blood donors by the end of the day tomorrow. They were at 3. Tomorrow we couldn’t get down there. I called to see if we could get in today. We could, but we had to pretty much leave right away because of the distance.
We did it. When we got there, 7 more people had donated since the email.
#TwoMinutesLove
November 21st:
Jarvis and I were out for a walk. We came upon a couple of hockey sticks leaning upon a fence. They had the tightly, twisted tape spiraling the stick's end and then the tape wrapping over that. And, BAM!, a flood of memories came rushing to mind.
There's the pot of boiling water for molding the rubber mouth guard. Also, heating the stick blade just enough to increase the curve without drawing the attention of the referee. And, the other kitchen memory was the game night dinner of pasta, I distinctly remember cavatelli.
There were the changes from entirely metal blades, to black plastic, white plastic, and clear plastic coverings. Metal cage face masks moved aside for the super trendy Itech. Our local rink went from a chain link fence around it to plexiglass for a more modern feel.
My 3 brothers played. My sister did for a little bit, but I don't really remember that. There were lots of games and I spent lots of time in the rinks. A rink rat, you may say. I kept track of shots on goal for one team. Sometime worked the light behind the goal to indicate a goal was scored. I even worked in the scorer's box filling out the paperwork.
I haven't thought about this stuff in years. Possibly wouldn't have for years to come if it wasn't for seeing those sticks. They aren't important memories, but they make up part of my youth.
No matter how small or mundane a memory may seem, don't take it for granted. Take it from me, you never know when you will lose even the tiniest trip down memory lane. Random things that come to mind may make you smile for just a little while and who can't use some more random smiles?
#TwoMinutesLove
November 22nd:
Thanksgiving always gets me thinking about food. About food memories. I always think about my mom’s stuffing and gravy. Then I move on to thinking about her Yorkshire pudding and her stuffed flank steak and her peach pie. I’m grateful for her recipes so I can get that taste of home.
Today I got to thinking about how everyone probably has a favorite food from their family. Not everyone is a cook, but maybe it would be good if everyone became one for just one thing. Learn that recipe from your mom or dad or grandparents that speaks to you of happiness - become a master chef of that thing. You’ll have the memory in your hands, your hands working on making that favorite thing, and spreading happiness.
#TwoMinutesLove
November 23rd:
Well, this may be kind of an odd one.
I was watching TV and there was a woman with a crazy top on that was all about boobage. There must have been some tape involved to keep those things under control.
Just a little over 16 years ago I decided it was time to give getting a breast reduction another try. I had insurance that was actually going to cover it. I just needed to do it.
It was an extremely emotional experience. The idea of feeling free from the burden my breasts had been was overwhelming. I found a surgeon who walked me through the experience. He was a gentle man. The compassion he showed me helped more than he can ever know. He went to bat for me when my company's short term disability insurance wasn't going to get me the time off that he deemed appropriate. He was amazing. His surgical skills were top notch. His bedside manner was on par with them.
Obviously surgical skills, diagnostic skills, etc. are so important in the medical profession. However, compassion and gentleness play a part in treatment and healing. If you are able to find a medical team that encompasses all of those things, you are better for it.
#TwoMinutesLove
November 24th:
Once again, I found myself struggling with what to write. I started to think about work friends. Work friends are different than friends or family, but just as important to the passage of time we call life.
I was out walking Jarvis and, as often happens, I started to think. I've been missing my work friends. Missing our weird lunches. There have been McDonald's Diet Cokes and my regular Coke because give me all the calories. Sometimes fries would be added. There's been La Croix, but I won't touch that. Then there are "Meg Sized" pieces of cake. Throw in some avocado. Maybe some Gouda spread/dip from Costco is in the fridge. How about some Nearly Naked Popcorn? Or, on days which are all the things, we order ALL the appetizers from Old Chicago because Tuesdays are a thing, a horrible thing.
Enjoy your work friends and the quirky things you may share with them that aren't like the things you share with anyone else.
#TwoMinutesLove
November 25th:
Today is going to have to be simple.
Find something positive from the day.
#TwoMinutesLove
November 26th:
Animal videos. How awesome are animal videos? There are funny ones, heartwarming ones, unfortunately there are heartbreaking ones (for the sake of this post, we'll ignore those).
Videos with dogs or elephants or maybe even both get me all the time. Sometimes even cats might bring some smiles. Sharing animal videos is one of the high points of the internet. If you're feeling off and meh, an animal video might be just what you need.
#TwoMinutesLove
November 27th:
Today's positive thing is the end result of the events at Walter Reed. With the conflicting reports that led to confusion, the positive thing, in the end, is that there was not really an active shooter.
Now, get your shit together folks.
#TwoMinutesLove
November 28th:
You know what doesn't happen enough lately? Well, at least to me it isn't happening enough.
Laughter. Almost-pee-your-pants-and-hyperventilate laughter. It's so powerful. It helps so much when the shit is hitting the high speed proverbial fan. When there's a ringworm outbreak at work, you have to have a sense of humor. When there's another mass shooting or just the daily news involving the motherfucker "running" this country, you need to run toward humor and embrace it.
So, here you go, some humor. It isn't gut splitting, but it's funny.
November 29th:
Every one should have a Blanchie. Even better than having a Blanchie is having a Blanchie who texts. And, I was glad to have my Blanchie today since I was feeling all kinds of yuck. Texting with Blanchie is like that proverbial box of chocolates in which you never know what you are going to get.
#TwoMinutesLove
November 30th:
I was trying to figure out what note on which to end the #TwoMinutesLove post that made up November. Then, my memories' feed had a post from 3 years ago that seemed pretty good. This isn't the entire post, but the part that I found worth repeating.
"I try to make people happy. I don't mean this in the 'people-pleaser' way. I'm talking about bring a smile to someone's face, let someone know I'm thinking of them. Sometimes, it's a post, an e-mail, others it might be just a little something to say, 'Hey, I saw this and thought of you.' So, I try to do what I can to counteract the yucky parts of my day, the horrors of the world in which we live."
I still try. Maybe I'm not as good at it as I used to be or should be, but I hope I haven't become so consumed with myself that I don't express even a bit of thought towards another. Perhaps when I have more money I will be able to give a physical representation of my thoughts for others. In the meantime, just know that I wish you happiness.
Until next November...
#TwoMinutesLove
November 5th:
As far as I’m concerned, our refrigerator is full of awesome. Our magnet collection is huge! But, I just want to focus on the art masterpieces that have a special place in my heart, as well as the fridge. Some from my nieces, some from when Conner was little, a Valentine I made when I was little and John Blanche sent me, and a Yoda from a little girl thanking me for prints I sent her. They brighten our kitchen in a special way.
#TwoMinutesLove
November 6th:
The reasons I exercise my right to vote are because of the struggle of so many to earn it for me. Elections may be divisive, but the right still belongs to all who register.
"Amendment XV Right to Vote Not Denied by Race. The right of citizens of the United States to vote shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or by any State on account of race, color, or previous condition of servitude. The Congress shall have the power to enforce this article by appropriate legislation."
"Amendment XIX. The right of citizens of the United States to vote shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or by any state on account of sex. Congress shall have power to enforce this article by appropriate legislation."
"The Voting Rights Act of 1965, signed into law by President Lyndon B. Johnson, aimed to overcome legal barriers at the state and local levels that prevented African Americans from exercising their right to vote as guaranteed under the 15th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution."
#TwoMinutesLove
November 7th:
So, I need to try to focus on the good that came of yesterday's election results. There is a pretty long list of firsts that came out of the results.
Openly Gay Governor
Lesbian Mother to Congress
Muslim Women to Congress
First Native American Women to Congress
First Female Senator from Tennessee
First Female Senator from Arizona
First Hispanic Woman to Congress from Texas
First Woman Governor in South Dakota
There are so many positives to focus on in the midst of it all.
#TwoMinutesLove
November 8th:
In today's memories feed, a video from 3 years ago that one of my cousins posted popped up. I was really hoping to post the video, but I'm not able to.
One of my cousins is Monica (Monie, as my uncle called her). She has Down Syndrome and is blind. Completely blind from having to have both eyes removed due to medical conditions. She'll be 54 this month. So, at the time of the video she was about 51.
For as long as I can remember, swimming has been a huge part of Monica's life. It could be in Lake Erie; a swimming pool; in the lake at the campground where the family's RV was; absolutely anywhere.
The video is her in a swim competition. Totally unable to see while swimming a race. Think about that. Trying to keep in your lane while blind when others have goggles to help keep their eyes open.
The video isn't long. The race was one pool length. She came in second place. She bobs up and down with one arm in the air, "I DID IT!!! I DID IT!!!" and hugs and wraps her legs around the aid that was in the pool with her.
I watch it and it chokes me up. Not because of Monica's disabilities, but because of what she accomplished. Because, in her finishing, she expressed such a sense of pure jubilation. I think getting to that wall, whether she placed or not, was all she really needed to make herself happy.
#TwoMinutesLove
November 9th:
Today's thoughts are about technology.
When I was young, if you missed an episode of a TV show, you were out of luck until off season re-runs or syndication. Then, VCRs happened, so you had the opportunity to tape a show if you weren't going to be able to watch it when it was broadcast.
Now, we have DVRs; On Demand; and a variety of streaming services. You don't have to miss a thing (almost, I mean, it might not be available on those services).
Anyway, why do I have made love for this technology? When you lose your memory, you can feel like you are out of touch about so many things. One of those things can be your understanding of pop culture.
Thanks to things like streaming services, I've been able to re-watch things from the period I lost. Shawn and I had watched Stranger Things during the year that I ended up losing. When season 2 was going to be coming out, I had no recollection of season 1. I was able to watch season 1 again. It was kind of odd because Shawn would tell me that I had said the same thing or had the same reaction the first time we watched. Apparently my thought processes stayed the same even if the memory of the first time was erased.
We all know technology can be used for ill. But, for me, this is a case of technology being used for good.
#TwoMinutesLove
November 10th:
November is National Adoption Month. I'm not talking about animals this time (but this is National Adoption Weekend for them).
When I started at the rescue, one of my friends was fostering two little boys, brothers in fact. She and her husband walked them through a life in foster care with patience, emotional roller coaster rides, and love. They saw them through to adoption by a family, a family they know. Because friends adopted the boys, Brigitte and her husband are able to continue to watch the boys grow and to walk their lives' journey with them.
Foster parenting and adopting are certainly the most giving and loving paths one may choose to take. It takes a certain kind of love from a special kind of person.
#TwoMinutesLove
November 11th:
I’m a collector of T-shirts and socks and crazy hats. I like to portray fun...when I’m feeling it. There’s something about a Groot hat with a Groot T-shirt and Groot socks that makes a day a bit happier.
Yes, I’ll be 44 in a few months. But, doesn’t a silly hat wearing 44 year old make a better world than a bad combover wearing 45th President?
Pictured, left to right: Silly fleece, Chewbacca, Light-up gingerbread-man (top), Hulk hair and eyebrows (bottom), Grover (top), Bad Hair Day (bottom), and Groot.
#TwoMinutesLove
Today’s post is simple and short.
I woke up to live another day.
#TwoMinutesLove
November 13th:
Today I was standing in line. The guy behind me tells me he’s going to move my hood. I’m weirded out, but thought that it may have been in an awkward position. So I said it was okay.
He read what was on the back of my hoodie. He told me he wanted to see what kind of rescue it was and my hood was blocking the writing.
He asked if it was for animals. Were we saving pets. I told him we were. He said that that’s good work I’m doing.
Sometimes a little awkward recognition can go a long way to make for a better day. #adoptdontshop
#TwoMinutesLove
November 14th:
Colorado was 2nd in the country for voter turnout last week (Next time, we need to try for 1st). Something moved people. People must have recognized the importance of the midterms. This, in my ever so un-humble opinion, seems to show a realization that one’s vote matters. Even though I’m almost as blue as you can get, the franchise belongs to red, blue, purple or any other political color. It is important to use it, important to our democracy (which is a republic, but whatever). So whichever color you voted (I do hope it was blue), I’m glad you did.
#TwoMinutesLove
November 15th:
Today was about catching up with a friend. Checking in with one another is important. "Breaking bread" with one another makes it all the better.
#TwoMinutesLove
November 16th:
Today is about gratitude for fosters of animals. We use fosters for dogs. We also have some for kittens who are very young, bottle feeding young.
We have a really great list of people who are willing to take our dogs. They see a list and pictures of what dogs are coming in and they offer to take them in. No interaction, just their best guess at which dog will work in their environment.
Then, life together happens. The fosters figure out behaviors and personalities that help us find great matches for forever homes. Sometimes the dog and the foster aren't a good match. That isn't ding on the foster's reputation. It just means that the dog's environmental needs aren't in sync with the home environment of the foster. That happens in human relationships, so why not in human relationships with a canine (or other animal).
This probably wasn't worded very well and didn't get my point across. But, animal rescue could not succeed without fosters.
#TwoMinutesLove
November 17th:
Ten years ago I was loading printers; putting in new toner; shredding documents; doing data entry; and making sure people got yard signs all for Obama’s first campaign. Oh, and explaining to people Obama isn’t Muslim.
Also, at the office I met a fascinating person. Someone with a resume as packed as could be with political work, military experience, and so much more. It was amazing to be around him. On election night, he stood on a desk and spoke to a packed office about the significance of the election in political history. He spoke to what it was we accomplished.
A few weeks ago he headed to Cox's Bazar in Bangladesh. To work with the UN once again. He was joining the UN World Food Programme (WFP). He will be spending six months or so heading up the engineering effort as part of the joint Site Maintenance Engineering Project (SMEP).
This project is focused on building better shelter, roads, sanitation, and more. The work is to get 1 million refugees a life of dignity.
Tim and I had very limited real life time together. Facebook is how I keep “tabs” on the many admirable things he does. He, very generously, contributed to a fundraiser my niece was doing to help with an orphanage in Honduras. He did it without even knowing her. I took it as a way to encourage a younger generation to have a broader world view such as his.
Tim, I have the utmost respect and gratitude for all you have done and continue to do.
#TwoMinutesLove
November 18th:
When these two are together, it brings me joy. When Jarvis uses Shawn as a pillow or when they play chase, or tug-o-war, or just when Shawn gives belly rubs, it makes me smile. ❤️ #jarvisismycopilot
#TwoMinutesLove
November 19th:
The brain is a very complex thing.
In 2016, for those who may not know which has to be few since I talk about it a lot, I underwent ElectroConvulsive Therapy (ECT). It jacked up my memory of the whole year. The bulk of the memories I do have are of the people who worked at the facility where I had the treatments.
I never had a bad experience, that I recall. Some nurses were chattier than others. One loved to talk about dogs. Another couple thought I had pretty fascinating tattoos. Many thought I had great socks and t-shirts. My last treatment was Dec. 23rd so the socks and t-shirt were a really big hit.
Anyway, we had a good rapport. Things ended on a high note. I was on the gurney, waiting to head in for my treatment. As I waited, the head nurse was over at the printer and held up a blank sheet of paper. She asked did someone mean to print a blank sheet. I piped up and said something about it being my Christmas Letter and that it was blank since I don't remember anything from the year. People laughed and that's how my ECT experience ended...with laughter.
#TwoMinutesLove
Just after 9/11, Blanchie and I started to give blood at The Red Cross. The last time, Blanchie couldn’t give because her iron was too low when they tested it. So, she sat on the side with the juices and snacks while I finished up.
I got done and joined her. Then I was on the floor with my feet up on a chair, the feel of blood on my face, and no glasses. Next I’m in an ambulance headed to the hospital. I pass out again, get my face stitched up, and off for a CTScan to see what’s up with the passing out because it had to be more than the blood loss. Well, it was mono. It seems donating blood and mono don’t mix.
Some time later The Red Cross wrote me a “Thanks, but no thanks” letter. I wasn’t surprised. But, the letter went on to tell me I couldn’t give ever again because I had some fucked up (my words, not theirs) liver enzymes. I had a sense of relief because I was feeling scared about giving again after the mono debacle.
Years later, The Red Cross wrote me again. They said I could give. There were advancements in testing that meant my liver enzyme issue was okay. But, it didn’t make any advancement in calming my fears. I felt guilty, but my fear was felt more.
Fast forward many years to this summer. There was a shooting of a mom and her three sons not far from where we live. The mom and one son were both severely injured. One son managed to be okay. The third son died. There was a need for blood and a drive was set up. I decided that the world is a fucked up place and kids are dying from senseless violence so it was time to give again.
And I did...with Shawn by my side. I survived - no passing out, no feeling wheezy.
Tonight we did it again. I got an email from Children’s Hospital that they need 20 whole blood donors by the end of the day tomorrow. They were at 3. Tomorrow we couldn’t get down there. I called to see if we could get in today. We could, but we had to pretty much leave right away because of the distance.
We did it. When we got there, 7 more people had donated since the email.
YAY SCIENCE! Because of it you get to do good things, you get to save lives.
#TwoMinutesLove
November 21st:
Jarvis and I were out for a walk. We came upon a couple of hockey sticks leaning upon a fence. They had the tightly, twisted tape spiraling the stick's end and then the tape wrapping over that. And, BAM!, a flood of memories came rushing to mind.
There's the pot of boiling water for molding the rubber mouth guard. Also, heating the stick blade just enough to increase the curve without drawing the attention of the referee. And, the other kitchen memory was the game night dinner of pasta, I distinctly remember cavatelli.
There were the changes from entirely metal blades, to black plastic, white plastic, and clear plastic coverings. Metal cage face masks moved aside for the super trendy Itech. Our local rink went from a chain link fence around it to plexiglass for a more modern feel.
My 3 brothers played. My sister did for a little bit, but I don't really remember that. There were lots of games and I spent lots of time in the rinks. A rink rat, you may say. I kept track of shots on goal for one team. Sometime worked the light behind the goal to indicate a goal was scored. I even worked in the scorer's box filling out the paperwork.
I haven't thought about this stuff in years. Possibly wouldn't have for years to come if it wasn't for seeing those sticks. They aren't important memories, but they make up part of my youth.
No matter how small or mundane a memory may seem, don't take it for granted. Take it from me, you never know when you will lose even the tiniest trip down memory lane. Random things that come to mind may make you smile for just a little while and who can't use some more random smiles?
#TwoMinutesLove
November 22nd:
Thanksgiving always gets me thinking about food. About food memories. I always think about my mom’s stuffing and gravy. Then I move on to thinking about her Yorkshire pudding and her stuffed flank steak and her peach pie. I’m grateful for her recipes so I can get that taste of home.
Today I got to thinking about how everyone probably has a favorite food from their family. Not everyone is a cook, but maybe it would be good if everyone became one for just one thing. Learn that recipe from your mom or dad or grandparents that speaks to you of happiness - become a master chef of that thing. You’ll have the memory in your hands, your hands working on making that favorite thing, and spreading happiness.
#TwoMinutesLove
November 23rd:
Well, this may be kind of an odd one.
I was watching TV and there was a woman with a crazy top on that was all about boobage. There must have been some tape involved to keep those things under control.
Just a little over 16 years ago I decided it was time to give getting a breast reduction another try. I had insurance that was actually going to cover it. I just needed to do it.
It was an extremely emotional experience. The idea of feeling free from the burden my breasts had been was overwhelming. I found a surgeon who walked me through the experience. He was a gentle man. The compassion he showed me helped more than he can ever know. He went to bat for me when my company's short term disability insurance wasn't going to get me the time off that he deemed appropriate. He was amazing. His surgical skills were top notch. His bedside manner was on par with them.
Obviously surgical skills, diagnostic skills, etc. are so important in the medical profession. However, compassion and gentleness play a part in treatment and healing. If you are able to find a medical team that encompasses all of those things, you are better for it.
#TwoMinutesLove
November 24th:
Once again, I found myself struggling with what to write. I started to think about work friends. Work friends are different than friends or family, but just as important to the passage of time we call life.
I was out walking Jarvis and, as often happens, I started to think. I've been missing my work friends. Missing our weird lunches. There have been McDonald's Diet Cokes and my regular Coke because give me all the calories. Sometimes fries would be added. There's been La Croix, but I won't touch that. Then there are "Meg Sized" pieces of cake. Throw in some avocado. Maybe some Gouda spread/dip from Costco is in the fridge. How about some Nearly Naked Popcorn? Or, on days which are all the things, we order ALL the appetizers from Old Chicago because Tuesdays are a thing, a horrible thing.
Enjoy your work friends and the quirky things you may share with them that aren't like the things you share with anyone else.
#TwoMinutesLove
November 25th:
Today is going to have to be simple.
Find something positive from the day.
#TwoMinutesLove
November 26th:
Animal videos. How awesome are animal videos? There are funny ones, heartwarming ones, unfortunately there are heartbreaking ones (for the sake of this post, we'll ignore those).
Videos with dogs or elephants or maybe even both get me all the time. Sometimes even cats might bring some smiles. Sharing animal videos is one of the high points of the internet. If you're feeling off and meh, an animal video might be just what you need.
#TwoMinutesLove
November 27th:
Today's positive thing is the end result of the events at Walter Reed. With the conflicting reports that led to confusion, the positive thing, in the end, is that there was not really an active shooter.
Now, get your shit together folks.
#TwoMinutesLove
November 28th:
You know what doesn't happen enough lately? Well, at least to me it isn't happening enough.
Laughter. Almost-pee-your-pants-and-hyperventilate laughter. It's so powerful. It helps so much when the shit is hitting the high speed proverbial fan. When there's a ringworm outbreak at work, you have to have a sense of humor. When there's another mass shooting or just the daily news involving the motherfucker "running" this country, you need to run toward humor and embrace it.
So, here you go, some humor. It isn't gut splitting, but it's funny.
Baby is unsure on his feet and steps on trunk from r/babyelephantgifs#TwoMinutesLove
November 29th:
Every one should have a Blanchie. Even better than having a Blanchie is having a Blanchie who texts. And, I was glad to have my Blanchie today since I was feeling all kinds of yuck. Texting with Blanchie is like that proverbial box of chocolates in which you never know what you are going to get.
#TwoMinutesLove
November 30th:
I was trying to figure out what note on which to end the #TwoMinutesLove post that made up November. Then, my memories' feed had a post from 3 years ago that seemed pretty good. This isn't the entire post, but the part that I found worth repeating.
"I try to make people happy. I don't mean this in the 'people-pleaser' way. I'm talking about bring a smile to someone's face, let someone know I'm thinking of them. Sometimes, it's a post, an e-mail, others it might be just a little something to say, 'Hey, I saw this and thought of you.' So, I try to do what I can to counteract the yucky parts of my day, the horrors of the world in which we live."
I still try. Maybe I'm not as good at it as I used to be or should be, but I hope I haven't become so consumed with myself that I don't express even a bit of thought towards another. Perhaps when I have more money I will be able to give a physical representation of my thoughts for others. In the meantime, just know that I wish you happiness.
Until next November...
#TwoMinutesLove
Monday, October 29, 2018
I'm kind of an asshole.
Um....no, I am an asshole. I know some out there think I'm much worse than an asshole. But, for the sake of this post, let's just leave my stats as asshole.
I have worked in the food service industry and the retail industry. Both are industries I think should be mandatory for everyone to work in for at least some time in their lives. I think this because I feel it will make people better customers. The shit you have to put up with in these lines of work should teach you how not treat others when you are on the other side of things. I still believe this to be true...for the most part...except when I fail at it.
On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I work in the office. There is an Einstein Bros. Bagels on my drive. So, I tend to grab a bagel on my way. I have a rewards' account with them. When I buy a bagel, the bar code is scanned to do a check-in and is always a card for payment. Not that long ago, there was a problem with my account and I wasn't getting my points. I was really frustrated about this. So, the next time I went in, I started complaining to the cashier. I was getting more worked up than I should have.
Later, I thought about how ridiculous I had been. I pulled out my past job experience and thought about how the cashier had absolutely nothing to do with my rewards' app. It was so far above his pay grade that no amount of complaining on my part was going to get me anywhere. Even if I would have asked for the manager, it would have been dumb of me because this wasn't an issue management could handle. So, I felt horribly guilty about the way I acted toward the kid.
The next time I was in and the kid was working, I apologized. He didn't remember what had happened, but I told him it wasn't fair of me to behave that way. He thanked me for apologizing even though he didn't recall the situation.
Forward on to last week.
Next to the Einstein Bros. is a Starbucks. I stop in it, too, on my way to the office. Last week, while I was in there, a man and a woman were having a loud argument. It was some road rage/parking lot based fight. The woman was behaving much more ridiculous than the man. She was so loud and purposely drawing the attention of everyone. I had placed my order and was trying to get out of the way of the register. This location has an unusual setup. She was blocking my way. It took me a few attempts at "Excuse me" before she finally got out of the way. The man had gone outside, but she was still carrying on. I was waiting for my drink and my blood pressure was rising. She had gone way overboard. Finally, I just burst. I told her she was being ridiculous and should stop or leave. She then starts in on me about how it was none of my business. I told her she made it my business when blocking my way and with the way she was carrying on with the intention of getting everyone to hear here. I can't remember what else was said, but a barista told her to take it outside. I got my drink end exited. The man was on the phone with the police. They talked to me, but let me go because there wasn't really anything they needed from me. I left.
Later, I was ashamed at how worked up allowed myself to get. Again, it was something ridiculous on my part. I didn't need to interject myself, even if the lady had been blocking my way and yelling to everyone.
A couple days later, when I was back in that Starbucks on my way to work, I apologized to the baristas who had been there that day. I told them there was no call for me getting worked up and raising my voice like that. They said there was no need and that the woman was being inappropriate. But, I still felt it was the right thing to do. No one needs their place of work made uncomfortable. Granted, I wasn't at the level of the lady, but I certainly didn't help matters.
Sometimes, you just really have to take stock of your behavior and recognize that just because someone's job is to "serve" you, your place is not to treat them or their work environment with anger and hostility.
It's a new week with new stops in at Einstein Bros. and Starbucks. Let them be free of me being an asshole.
I have worked in the food service industry and the retail industry. Both are industries I think should be mandatory for everyone to work in for at least some time in their lives. I think this because I feel it will make people better customers. The shit you have to put up with in these lines of work should teach you how not treat others when you are on the other side of things. I still believe this to be true...for the most part...except when I fail at it.
On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I work in the office. There is an Einstein Bros. Bagels on my drive. So, I tend to grab a bagel on my way. I have a rewards' account with them. When I buy a bagel, the bar code is scanned to do a check-in and is always a card for payment. Not that long ago, there was a problem with my account and I wasn't getting my points. I was really frustrated about this. So, the next time I went in, I started complaining to the cashier. I was getting more worked up than I should have.
Later, I thought about how ridiculous I had been. I pulled out my past job experience and thought about how the cashier had absolutely nothing to do with my rewards' app. It was so far above his pay grade that no amount of complaining on my part was going to get me anywhere. Even if I would have asked for the manager, it would have been dumb of me because this wasn't an issue management could handle. So, I felt horribly guilty about the way I acted toward the kid.
The next time I was in and the kid was working, I apologized. He didn't remember what had happened, but I told him it wasn't fair of me to behave that way. He thanked me for apologizing even though he didn't recall the situation.
Forward on to last week.
Next to the Einstein Bros. is a Starbucks. I stop in it, too, on my way to the office. Last week, while I was in there, a man and a woman were having a loud argument. It was some road rage/parking lot based fight. The woman was behaving much more ridiculous than the man. She was so loud and purposely drawing the attention of everyone. I had placed my order and was trying to get out of the way of the register. This location has an unusual setup. She was blocking my way. It took me a few attempts at "Excuse me" before she finally got out of the way. The man had gone outside, but she was still carrying on. I was waiting for my drink and my blood pressure was rising. She had gone way overboard. Finally, I just burst. I told her she was being ridiculous and should stop or leave. She then starts in on me about how it was none of my business. I told her she made it my business when blocking my way and with the way she was carrying on with the intention of getting everyone to hear here. I can't remember what else was said, but a barista told her to take it outside. I got my drink end exited. The man was on the phone with the police. They talked to me, but let me go because there wasn't really anything they needed from me. I left.
Later, I was ashamed at how worked up allowed myself to get. Again, it was something ridiculous on my part. I didn't need to interject myself, even if the lady had been blocking my way and yelling to everyone.
A couple days later, when I was back in that Starbucks on my way to work, I apologized to the baristas who had been there that day. I told them there was no call for me getting worked up and raising my voice like that. They said there was no need and that the woman was being inappropriate. But, I still felt it was the right thing to do. No one needs their place of work made uncomfortable. Granted, I wasn't at the level of the lady, but I certainly didn't help matters.
Sometimes, you just really have to take stock of your behavior and recognize that just because someone's job is to "serve" you, your place is not to treat them or their work environment with anger and hostility.
It's a new week with new stops in at Einstein Bros. and Starbucks. Let them be free of me being an asshole.
Sunday, September 30, 2018
5 people, 1 room
It was almost 27 years ago. It was May. I remember it being May because my cousin's twin daughters were making their First Communion, which typically happens in May, and I was missing the party. I remember it being around Mother's Day. Can I give you an exact date? No. It's all just ballpark.
There was a school's boys lacrosse trip. The coach, the school chaplain, with whom I was quite close, were there. And, obviously the team. There was the only other girl and me, who were the bookkeepers. There was a bus ride. There was a hotel stay. There was drinking in one of the rooms. There were the shakes and nausea I feel from guilt, not from drinking. There was exhaustion from not sleeping. There was a bus ride home. There was a return to school. There was the chaplain coming up to me and asking me if I knew anything about things going on that may have included drinking. There was me telling him there was because I couldn't look him in the eye. There was him being surprised that I was actually involved. There was punishment from the, mine doubled by the anger of the other kids. There was religion class with a game called Scruples being played. There was a kid asking me a made up question in the game of moral dilemmas about whether or not I would drink on a school trip. There were the really pissed girlfriends/dates of some of the guys involved because the guys couldn't go to prom. There was me telling my mom before the school could and dealing with that punishment --- the punishment of the silent treatment, which was far worse than the taking away of my license.
So what?
There's a story in that general list of things that happened. Actually, there are 5 stories. One-fifth of those stories is mine.
I'm going to go with the proverbial renaming of the other girl in this story as Jane. We'll go with Joe, Jack, and John for the guys. And me, I'll stay as I am. So, there's the 5, Jane, Joe, Jack, John, and me.
Jane and I shared a room at the hotel. We were the only females, so that was given. Joe, Jack, and John were sharing a room. People gathered in their room. They were a pretty big deal. Real jocks.
Out came the booze. There were the makings for a generic Screwdriver, a gallon of orange drink mixed with vodka. To continue to keep it a teenage drinking party was some MD 20/20 Banana Red. It may not be good, but it will get you drunk. I don't remember when the other guys left and if they were there for the drinking, but at some point the only people left were the 5 of us.
Joe passed out, which gave me a sense of relief. He was a really built and strong guy. Jack went and pissed in the sink, which is out in the open as is common in middle of the road kinds of hotels and motels. I didn't see his penis, but I was really starting to stress out. I really wanted to go back to our room, but I didn't want to leave Jane, who I knew wasn't going to come with me easily. So, I just laid down on the bed with the passed out Joe. The other bed had Jane, Jack, and John. They were under the bedspread. There was a lot of giggling on Jane's part and some laughing on Jack's and John's.
At some point, Jane and I returned to our room. I did not sleep. I was filled with guilt about being in that room and drinking. I just laid there shaking and nauseous. When it was time to go, I was a hot mess of exhaustion. The others didn't look bad at all. They were experienced with partying and late nights. Then you go back up to the above list with the bus ride home, etc.
Through the years, I have found myself wondering what went on with Jane, Jack, and John. Did my staying in the room protect her from something terrible happening? Did something terrible happen under the covers? Was she drunk to the point of not knowing what she was doing?
As I hear about Kavanaugh and his cronies, I immediately think of Joe, Jack, and John. Then I think about Jane and other girls from high school and what may have happened to them.
There was a school's boys lacrosse trip. The coach, the school chaplain, with whom I was quite close, were there. And, obviously the team. There was the only other girl and me, who were the bookkeepers. There was a bus ride. There was a hotel stay. There was drinking in one of the rooms. There were the shakes and nausea I feel from guilt, not from drinking. There was exhaustion from not sleeping. There was a bus ride home. There was a return to school. There was the chaplain coming up to me and asking me if I knew anything about things going on that may have included drinking. There was me telling him there was because I couldn't look him in the eye. There was him being surprised that I was actually involved. There was punishment from the, mine doubled by the anger of the other kids. There was religion class with a game called Scruples being played. There was a kid asking me a made up question in the game of moral dilemmas about whether or not I would drink on a school trip. There were the really pissed girlfriends/dates of some of the guys involved because the guys couldn't go to prom. There was me telling my mom before the school could and dealing with that punishment --- the punishment of the silent treatment, which was far worse than the taking away of my license.
So what?
There's a story in that general list of things that happened. Actually, there are 5 stories. One-fifth of those stories is mine.
I'm going to go with the proverbial renaming of the other girl in this story as Jane. We'll go with Joe, Jack, and John for the guys. And me, I'll stay as I am. So, there's the 5, Jane, Joe, Jack, John, and me.
Jane and I shared a room at the hotel. We were the only females, so that was given. Joe, Jack, and John were sharing a room. People gathered in their room. They were a pretty big deal. Real jocks.
Out came the booze. There were the makings for a generic Screwdriver, a gallon of orange drink mixed with vodka. To continue to keep it a teenage drinking party was some MD 20/20 Banana Red. It may not be good, but it will get you drunk. I don't remember when the other guys left and if they were there for the drinking, but at some point the only people left were the 5 of us.
Joe passed out, which gave me a sense of relief. He was a really built and strong guy. Jack went and pissed in the sink, which is out in the open as is common in middle of the road kinds of hotels and motels. I didn't see his penis, but I was really starting to stress out. I really wanted to go back to our room, but I didn't want to leave Jane, who I knew wasn't going to come with me easily. So, I just laid down on the bed with the passed out Joe. The other bed had Jane, Jack, and John. They were under the bedspread. There was a lot of giggling on Jane's part and some laughing on Jack's and John's.
At some point, Jane and I returned to our room. I did not sleep. I was filled with guilt about being in that room and drinking. I just laid there shaking and nauseous. When it was time to go, I was a hot mess of exhaustion. The others didn't look bad at all. They were experienced with partying and late nights. Then you go back up to the above list with the bus ride home, etc.
Through the years, I have found myself wondering what went on with Jane, Jack, and John. Did my staying in the room protect her from something terrible happening? Did something terrible happen under the covers? Was she drunk to the point of not knowing what she was doing?
As I hear about Kavanaugh and his cronies, I immediately think of Joe, Jack, and John. Then I think about Jane and other girls from high school and what may have happened to them.
Wednesday, September 26, 2018
It's not going away
In the early 1990s, I was a pretty conservative kid in some ways. In September of 1991, I was a junior in high school and 16-years-old. The SCOTUS confirmation hearings for Clarence Thomas were taking place and I gave no shits, as far as I recall. Then, in October of 1991, Anita Hill started to testify about being sexually harassed by him. That's when I started to pay attention in my young, naive, conservative way.
I called bullshit. How in the world was this woman coming forward after all that had been done? His confirmation was practically a done deal. This seemed so ridiculous to me. I thought that if things were that bad, she would have done something about it.
I was everything that disgusts me today.
I really should have known better. When I was a kid, I had experienced some sexual curiosity, I guess you could call it. This is nothing like assault. I wasn't a victim of something. It gave me horrible guilt and anxiety, in part because of who I was with. I'm leaving that out because they have the right to privacy, and, like I said, it wasn't an assault or anything like that. However, I carried it in the pit of my stomach for close to 20 years. I was afraid of getting in trouble and having people looking at me with disgust.
I did tell someone, finally. The very first psychiatrist/therapist I saw. I was 28-years-old revealing something from when I was about 12. He told me it was entirely normal behavior. He told me kids do that, they are curious, and they do it with whomever they are hanging around at the time. I had a sense of relief and told a couple other people, including my mom. Everyone's reaction was pretty much "that's it?" kind of vibe. I still have moments of feeling terrible, though, and try to work my way through by remembering the reactions of others.
What does this have to do with Anita Hill or #MeToo or Kavanaugh? I was not a victim. I was not abused. I was not assaulted. I was not harassed. Without all of those things being a part of my story, I was still afraid of revealing it to anyone for well over a decade. So, if I wasn't victimized and had no fear of the person I was with coming after me in some way, how can I possibly have the mindset of my 16-year-old-Anita-Hill-is-full-of-shit self? How can I expect women to report the crimes against them right away? How can I not #BelieveAllWomen #BelieveWoman #BelieveSurvivors?
I called bullshit. How in the world was this woman coming forward after all that had been done? His confirmation was practically a done deal. This seemed so ridiculous to me. I thought that if things were that bad, she would have done something about it.
I was everything that disgusts me today.
I really should have known better. When I was a kid, I had experienced some sexual curiosity, I guess you could call it. This is nothing like assault. I wasn't a victim of something. It gave me horrible guilt and anxiety, in part because of who I was with. I'm leaving that out because they have the right to privacy, and, like I said, it wasn't an assault or anything like that. However, I carried it in the pit of my stomach for close to 20 years. I was afraid of getting in trouble and having people looking at me with disgust.
I did tell someone, finally. The very first psychiatrist/therapist I saw. I was 28-years-old revealing something from when I was about 12. He told me it was entirely normal behavior. He told me kids do that, they are curious, and they do it with whomever they are hanging around at the time. I had a sense of relief and told a couple other people, including my mom. Everyone's reaction was pretty much "that's it?" kind of vibe. I still have moments of feeling terrible, though, and try to work my way through by remembering the reactions of others.
What does this have to do with Anita Hill or #MeToo or Kavanaugh? I was not a victim. I was not abused. I was not assaulted. I was not harassed. Without all of those things being a part of my story, I was still afraid of revealing it to anyone for well over a decade. So, if I wasn't victimized and had no fear of the person I was with coming after me in some way, how can I possibly have the mindset of my 16-year-old-Anita-Hill-is-full-of-shit self? How can I expect women to report the crimes against them right away? How can I not #BelieveAllWomen #BelieveWoman #BelieveSurvivors?
Sunday, September 16, 2018
Searching
It's been a while since I've posted anything. I've had some thoughts, so it wasn't for lack of things to say. This is probably a good example of what depression can do. It wasn't that I didn't have anything to say; it was that I didn't have the will or the energy to do it.
Anyway, that's not the focus of this post.
What I'm dealing with right now isn't really a unique thing to those of us with mental health issues. I can imagine that many with chronic illnesses have a similar experience. There are certainly varying degrees.
I have come to a point where I need to find a new psychiatrist. Things have just not been working. Plus, my current doctor is no longer on our insurance, so that's a practical reason for change. Shawn and I are on the same page with needing to make a break and move on. Actually, it was time a while ago.
So, why would I stay? A psychiatrist isn't like a primary care doctor who you see for a flu shot, a cold, or a basic physical. Yes, you do have a relationship with a PCP. For someone like me, a psychiatrist is deeply involved in my life. There's a level of intimacy that I don't share with some of my family. My psychiatrist is treating what is her best guess as to what is wrong with me. It's using her notes, whatever history I have given her, and playing with combinations of medications to try to get me well.
Trying to find a new psychiatrist is stressful. It fills me with anxiety. It means finding someone I am comfortable with. It also means that I have to remind myself that just because I meet with a psychiatrist, that doesn't mean I have to make that person my new doctor. I can go through an "interview" process with them. Then, once I select the doctor I will see, I have to go back to the beginning. It's the re-telling of my story. I have to go through my medication history, which quite frankly, I don't have the best recall of that list. Whatever files the new doc get transferred to him will have my best guess as to my history. Also, what happens if this doctor looks at my current diagnosis and says, "Oh, fuck no! Not even close!"? I mean, my current doctor is the first of 4 who came up with a bipolar depressing diagnosis. Where the others wrong? Will the new doc agree? There is no blood test to diagnose these things. If the new doctor disagrees with the diagnosis or the medications, that means a pretty significant change. Changes in medications are difficult. The side effects can be so horrible and it can take a few weeks to even know if the drugs are working. So, you may suffer through some side effects, which may wane after your body adjusts, only to have the medication proof to be in effective. It's a lot of work physically and mentally.
And that is why it sometimes seems better to stay put.
Anyway, that's not the focus of this post.
What I'm dealing with right now isn't really a unique thing to those of us with mental health issues. I can imagine that many with chronic illnesses have a similar experience. There are certainly varying degrees.
I have come to a point where I need to find a new psychiatrist. Things have just not been working. Plus, my current doctor is no longer on our insurance, so that's a practical reason for change. Shawn and I are on the same page with needing to make a break and move on. Actually, it was time a while ago.
So, why would I stay? A psychiatrist isn't like a primary care doctor who you see for a flu shot, a cold, or a basic physical. Yes, you do have a relationship with a PCP. For someone like me, a psychiatrist is deeply involved in my life. There's a level of intimacy that I don't share with some of my family. My psychiatrist is treating what is her best guess as to what is wrong with me. It's using her notes, whatever history I have given her, and playing with combinations of medications to try to get me well.
Trying to find a new psychiatrist is stressful. It fills me with anxiety. It means finding someone I am comfortable with. It also means that I have to remind myself that just because I meet with a psychiatrist, that doesn't mean I have to make that person my new doctor. I can go through an "interview" process with them. Then, once I select the doctor I will see, I have to go back to the beginning. It's the re-telling of my story. I have to go through my medication history, which quite frankly, I don't have the best recall of that list. Whatever files the new doc get transferred to him will have my best guess as to my history. Also, what happens if this doctor looks at my current diagnosis and says, "Oh, fuck no! Not even close!"? I mean, my current doctor is the first of 4 who came up with a bipolar depressing diagnosis. Where the others wrong? Will the new doc agree? There is no blood test to diagnose these things. If the new doctor disagrees with the diagnosis or the medications, that means a pretty significant change. Changes in medications are difficult. The side effects can be so horrible and it can take a few weeks to even know if the drugs are working. So, you may suffer through some side effects, which may wane after your body adjusts, only to have the medication proof to be in effective. It's a lot of work physically and mentally.
And that is why it sometimes seems better to stay put.
Thursday, August 16, 2018
I'm Jessica
Shawn and I went on a road trip for our 10th Anniversary. This was from our first night, Sunday, August 5th, 2018. I posted this on Facebook while we were on the road:
Night one of our trip was quite something. We had a long day of driving and tourist-ing (I know it's not a word, let me be). We were so close to our hotel, but I hadn't packed ibuprofen and also had developed sinus congestion so we had to stop at the gas station next to the hotel. There wasn't another option close by. I had to pee and I knew I wasn't making it to the hotel.
Seeing as it was me heading to a public restroom, something odd happening was not unlikely. I'm all about in and out as fast as possible in a public bathroom. I could hear stuff happening from the stall next to and I tried even harder to pee and flee. Then, I hear talking. In the age of cellphones, I assumed I was not part of this. Wrong. "I don't know who is in here right now, but I want someone to know my name. I'm Jessica" said the voice from the stall. In my anxiety-induced-socially-awkward state, I said, "Um. Okay." Washed my hands and left.
I told Shawn about it and that I didn't know what to do. I decided to tell the attendant. He said that he'd check in and that the graveyard shift see a lot of things.
We get to the hotel and check-in. Shawn heads back to park the car which had been sitting by the main entrance while we unloaded. It took him awhile to come back. I came to the lobby to get ice and saw Shawn standing by a window. He is talking to someone who was crying. I went back to the room.
Shawn came to the room. I asked him who he was talking to and he said it turned out to be Jessica...gas station bathroom Jessica. He was going to take her to Walmart, which was a good 10 minutes or so away, and wanted me to come for various reasons. She was a mess. Quite possibly a drugged out mess, but a mess just the same. He had given her our leftover pizza. She was so hungry. He gave her the cash that he happened to have. The trip to Walmart was to put the cash on her debit card in order to use an app that would get her a bus back to where she needed to be. When we dropped off, I gave her the fruit we had and a small package of Kleenex. She confessed to us that she did steal the energy drink from the gas station and knew it was wrong.
There were several "Sirs" and "Ma'ams". Some were with "Thank yous" and some were with "Yeses" or "Nos" in response to questions or instructions.
In the end, like the lost duckling we found about a month ago, we found a place for her to go and all we can do is hope for the best outcome of safety and being reunited with her friends and family.
Shawn is loving and compassionate and will go out of his way to help someone/thing in need and I am lucky to have him as my husband.
Night one of our trip was quite something. We had a long day of driving and tourist-ing (I know it's not a word, let me be). We were so close to our hotel, but I hadn't packed ibuprofen and also had developed sinus congestion so we had to stop at the gas station next to the hotel. There wasn't another option close by. I had to pee and I knew I wasn't making it to the hotel.
Seeing as it was me heading to a public restroom, something odd happening was not unlikely. I'm all about in and out as fast as possible in a public bathroom. I could hear stuff happening from the stall next to and I tried even harder to pee and flee. Then, I hear talking. In the age of cellphones, I assumed I was not part of this. Wrong. "I don't know who is in here right now, but I want someone to know my name. I'm Jessica" said the voice from the stall. In my anxiety-induced-socially-awkward state, I said, "Um. Okay." Washed my hands and left.
I told Shawn about it and that I didn't know what to do. I decided to tell the attendant. He said that he'd check in and that the graveyard shift see a lot of things.
We get to the hotel and check-in. Shawn heads back to park the car which had been sitting by the main entrance while we unloaded. It took him awhile to come back. I came to the lobby to get ice and saw Shawn standing by a window. He is talking to someone who was crying. I went back to the room.
Shawn came to the room. I asked him who he was talking to and he said it turned out to be Jessica...gas station bathroom Jessica. He was going to take her to Walmart, which was a good 10 minutes or so away, and wanted me to come for various reasons. She was a mess. Quite possibly a drugged out mess, but a mess just the same. He had given her our leftover pizza. She was so hungry. He gave her the cash that he happened to have. The trip to Walmart was to put the cash on her debit card in order to use an app that would get her a bus back to where she needed to be. When we dropped off, I gave her the fruit we had and a small package of Kleenex. She confessed to us that she did steal the energy drink from the gas station and knew it was wrong.
There were several "Sirs" and "Ma'ams". Some were with "Thank yous" and some were with "Yeses" or "Nos" in response to questions or instructions.
In the end, like the lost duckling we found about a month ago, we found a place for her to go and all we can do is hope for the best outcome of safety and being reunited with her friends and family.
Shawn is loving and compassionate and will go out of his way to help someone/thing in need and I am lucky to have him as my husband.
Abby Cat
From a Facebook post on Monday, August 6th, 2018:
I have posted pictures of the Queen Bee, Office Diva, Abby. The 16-year-old seal point who ran the show. She assigned you paperwork when she felt like getting up from atop it. She’d take it upon herself to make attempts at rebooting or reprogramming or just typing some kind of mess on your laptop. I swear she came very close to changing my passwords at times. She also enjoyed licking condensation from my giant, ice filled, water jug.
She was particular about her surroundings, her diet, her water bowl, and her people. Morgan was her person, no one could compare. She was so connected to Morgan that she shared her ringworm with her TWICE! The rest of the office was second tier for sure. Some of us aren’t cat people. I mean, we’ll rescue them, but we don’t have them as pets. But with Abby’s 4 months with us we didn’t really become cat people, but we did become Abby people.
Friday morning was probably the most difficult time I’ve had since joining Life Is Better. Abby, who had been through ringworm and food strikes had been diagnosed with renal failure earlier in the week. It was decided that, at 16, it was best to let her go. So, I drove specifically to see her one last time. I’m glad I was there and I’m glad I was with Abby’s #1 and the rest of the 2nd tier crew as we watched her slowly leave us.
#queenabby #proudtobeanabbyperson #adoptdontshop#rescuedismyfavoritebreed #thatrescuelife
I have posted pictures of the Queen Bee, Office Diva, Abby. The 16-year-old seal point who ran the show. She assigned you paperwork when she felt like getting up from atop it. She’d take it upon herself to make attempts at rebooting or reprogramming or just typing some kind of mess on your laptop. I swear she came very close to changing my passwords at times. She also enjoyed licking condensation from my giant, ice filled, water jug.
She was particular about her surroundings, her diet, her water bowl, and her people. Morgan was her person, no one could compare. She was so connected to Morgan that she shared her ringworm with her TWICE! The rest of the office was second tier for sure. Some of us aren’t cat people. I mean, we’ll rescue them, but we don’t have them as pets. But with Abby’s 4 months with us we didn’t really become cat people, but we did become Abby people.
Friday morning was probably the most difficult time I’ve had since joining Life Is Better. Abby, who had been through ringworm and food strikes had been diagnosed with renal failure earlier in the week. It was decided that, at 16, it was best to let her go. So, I drove specifically to see her one last time. I’m glad I was there and I’m glad I was with Abby’s #1 and the rest of the 2nd tier crew as we watched her slowly leave us.
#queenabby #proudtobeanabbyperson #adoptdontshop#rescuedismyfavoritebreed #thatrescuelife
 |
| Abby on a pile of paperwork as she ponders assigning it to me. |
 |
| Attempting to reboot and then change passwords. |
 |
| Thirsty kitty is thirsty. |
 |
| The thirst is real. |
Monday, July 23, 2018
Tick Tock, I still keep track
It's that time of year again. I'm recalling the day of my hysterectomy (I spelled it right all on my own). I'm still waiting for the year that it's," Hey, that happened and we've moved on. We are too old for that having babies shit, anyway." Guess what? Big surprise coming! This is not that year.
Just to be clear, this may be TMI
Thoughts-ectomy
Things still aren't how they were supposed to be
The right thing sometimes sucks
Unhappy Anniversery
2nd surgeversary
Three years since the day I thought I stopped being a woman
I have come to realize that in all of this time, I have not been physically around a pregnant acquaintance (okay, I need the little, red, squiggly line to help me spell that one) or friend. There's been FB stuff, but no reach-out-and-touch (not that I'm touching) someone proximity.
Now, that I am around someone pregnant. Someone I see a couple times a week, I realized just how hard it can be at times. I'm happy for her and her husband. I wouldn't want her to change any of her experience around me. Life goes on and there is a bittersweet feeling I hold inside, but that is not for her to worry about.
What got me recently was her describing the feeling of pregnancy. I don't remember exactly what was happening. I just remember finding myself wonder what it felt like from the inside. What happens when the baby moves? Kicks? Hiccups? All those things. The curiosity I have that will never be sated.
So, there are the 4th anniversary thoughts. Below are other related posts.
Just to be clear, this may be TMI
Friday, July 20, 2018
"Besides what you see I [don't] have confidence in me."
People have told me that what I'm courageous or brave for writing the things I do on this blog. Even if that is the case, even if I'm doing more than screaming into the void, I am far from having confidence. And, maybe those things are not the same thing.
My major depression, treatment-resistant depression, bipolar depression, whichever-diagnosis-is-on-the-table depression and my anxiety have stolen things from me. The greatest theft has been my confidence.
There is very little I have confidence in about myself. It's a terrible thing to believe yourself to be incapable of doing most anything. I have lost confidence in the idea that I could get a job, a full time, little to no anxiety, contribute to our household job. I cannot envision such a thing.
So, I sit with my anxiety and lack of confidence. I sleep until my anxiety and lack of confidence messes with it. I do not adult. I cannot adult.
My major depression, treatment-resistant depression, bipolar depression, whichever-diagnosis-is-on-the-table depression and my anxiety have stolen things from me. The greatest theft has been my confidence.
There is very little I have confidence in about myself. It's a terrible thing to believe yourself to be incapable of doing most anything. I have lost confidence in the idea that I could get a job, a full time, little to no anxiety, contribute to our household job. I cannot envision such a thing.
So, I sit with my anxiety and lack of confidence. I sleep until my anxiety and lack of confidence messes with it. I do not adult. I cannot adult.
Saturday, July 14, 2018
Dream big, but a little less specific, perhaps
I've been thinking about ending this blog. I can't remember the exact thing I heard, but it was something like blogger are just "throwing up into the abyss", or maybe it was "vomiting into void". Either way, it had be feeling like blogging is a waist of time and kind of a self-important act. There's also the fact that my dream for my blogging was to become something that would amass readers from all over, which I guess fill the self-important part. Anyway, for now, I'm still here.
And on to other matters.
About a year and a half ago, I wrote a post that started out with a girl on "Sister Wives" coming out as gay. I made brief mention about how her mom was struggling with it. One of the things her mom was struggling with was her dream for her daughter. Things like her getting married and picking out dresses for that. Also having grandchildren from her. All of these things can still happen, but in a different way.
Recently, I heard that someone I know, let's call her Susie, has a daughter who now identifies as male. Susie is a progressive liberal who is also a mom. She is struggling with how this is so difficult when she is so liberal. But, she's struggling with what she envisioned for her child and for the difficulties life has in store for her child. She knew what she wanted for her child and this wasn't it.
Then, another person I know was talking about her baby girl. It was about the future and the wedding she will have. And the groom and all the traditional things. She was dreaming big. She dreams big about all the things her baby can and/or will become.
All of this got me thinking. I think it is so easy to fall in love with the life you imagine for your child. I know, I don't have biological kids that I've raised since birth, but I still can observe things. Maybe parents should dial back their dreams for their children. Maybe the dreams should be for hope, love, peace, happiness, strength, and so much more. Happiness doesn't have to be boxed up in a trip to the bridal store to try on dresses for a cis wedding. When you wish that box on your child and your child simply cannot open it for you, happiness, for maybe only a brief moment, doesn't happen.
One of the greatest moments with my dad was when I apologized for being his greatest disappointment and he told me that I wasn't and that all he ever wants for me, all he ever wants for my siblings, is to be happy.
So, dream happiness, dream love, dream strength, dream peace and allow them to figure out how to manifest those things.
And on to other matters.
About a year and a half ago, I wrote a post that started out with a girl on "Sister Wives" coming out as gay. I made brief mention about how her mom was struggling with it. One of the things her mom was struggling with was her dream for her daughter. Things like her getting married and picking out dresses for that. Also having grandchildren from her. All of these things can still happen, but in a different way.
Recently, I heard that someone I know, let's call her Susie, has a daughter who now identifies as male. Susie is a progressive liberal who is also a mom. She is struggling with how this is so difficult when she is so liberal. But, she's struggling with what she envisioned for her child and for the difficulties life has in store for her child. She knew what she wanted for her child and this wasn't it.
Then, another person I know was talking about her baby girl. It was about the future and the wedding she will have. And the groom and all the traditional things. She was dreaming big. She dreams big about all the things her baby can and/or will become.
All of this got me thinking. I think it is so easy to fall in love with the life you imagine for your child. I know, I don't have biological kids that I've raised since birth, but I still can observe things. Maybe parents should dial back their dreams for their children. Maybe the dreams should be for hope, love, peace, happiness, strength, and so much more. Happiness doesn't have to be boxed up in a trip to the bridal store to try on dresses for a cis wedding. When you wish that box on your child and your child simply cannot open it for you, happiness, for maybe only a brief moment, doesn't happen.
One of the greatest moments with my dad was when I apologized for being his greatest disappointment and he told me that I wasn't and that all he ever wants for me, all he ever wants for my siblings, is to be happy.
So, dream happiness, dream love, dream strength, dream peace and allow them to figure out how to manifest those things.
Thursday, June 28, 2018
So much mattering is happening
Presidential elections matter. Primary elections matter. Midterm elections matter. State elections matter. County elections matter. City elections matter. All elections matter.
If you don't think they do, think about the road you are driving on; the paramedic who saved your grandma's life; the police response time when you really needed them. Those are things that come from government; come from elections on tax increases; come from something that comes from a ballot.
Here's something I discovered for myself during this primary cycle in CO. There were a number of county level offices, mostly uncontested. I typically would just fill in the bubble like the guesses I made on the SAT. I just figured that they were from my party affiliation so just go with it. I decided to look around more for all the candidates.
If you don't think they do, think about the road you are driving on; the paramedic who saved your grandma's life; the police response time when you really needed them. Those are things that come from government; come from elections on tax increases; come from something that comes from a ballot.
Here's something I discovered for myself during this primary cycle in CO. There were a number of county level offices, mostly uncontested. I typically would just fill in the bubble like the guesses I made on the SAT. I just figured that they were from my party affiliation so just go with it. I decided to look around more for all the candidates.
The county coroner's office on ballot actually had two candidates. I thought about it and was like, "Who cares who cuts me open. Does it matter if they are red or blue?" Since I was already all about the Google for my voting needs, I decided to look at the coroner candidates. I figured I'd just see some medical credentials, maybe coroner positions held previously, yadda, yadda. As I was starting my Google search for the one candidate, high on the list of results was something about his focus on transgender and non-binary people when it comes to death. He is a supporter of LGBTQ rights and with that comes his stance that coroners need to respect gender identity in death as much as it should be, needs to be, in life. He wants death certificates to reflect the person's identity as they had lived.
This really blew my mind. Not the LGBTQ, trans, non-binary stuff. The part where a coroner actually has a political platform, for lack of a better description; that coroners have more on their mind than human dissection; that red or blue choices in coroner might really MATTER.
This really blew my mind. Not the LGBTQ, trans, non-binary stuff. The part where a coroner actually has a political platform, for lack of a better description; that coroners have more on their mind than human dissection; that red or blue choices in coroner might really MATTER.
So, again, for all the bullshit that goes along with it, politics, voting, and making your voice heard all really do matter....especially in the age of the motherfucker in chief.
Tuesday, June 26, 2018
What have we done to ourselves - oh, wait, I didn't vote for him.
I never thought I would come close to eating these words. The state of the U.S. and its place in the world is becoming quite scary to me. The things that 45 is getting away with are stomach churning. He's got the whole ripping kids from their parents thing going on. Yeah, Obama had shit going down, but his wasn't the separation (with spellcheck, how did 45's people spell that wrong?). He deported a crap ton of people, so STFU about him already. Oh, right, 45 went with an executive order to end seperation [sic]. That was a lot of bullshit with little actually being done. And then, he gets his fucking racist Muslim ban a thumbs up from SCOTUS. He also removes us from the the U.N.'s Human Rights' Council. Pardon me while I go from some Pepto, Tums, and all the other stuff to try to turn my stomach right. He also pulled out (if only that were a successful form of birth control and that his dad would have practiced it) of the Paris climate agreement. Then there's his grand standing, dick measuring contest he had with Kim Jong-Un. His Twitter feed is another example of how vile this guy is. These are becoming horrifying times...I mean, I can't believe I'm saying this, but they are.
Then, there's SCOTUS. Holy crap is it also becoming a bit disturbing. Believe me, I am not Colorado proud when it comes to Neil Gorsuch having a spot on the bench. We need RBG to hang on for a long time - science, make this happen!!!
And now, I need to find some shitty T.V. to cleanse the palate and calm the stomach.
Then, there's SCOTUS. Holy crap is it also becoming a bit disturbing. Believe me, I am not Colorado proud when it comes to Neil Gorsuch having a spot on the bench. We need RBG to hang on for a long time - science, make this happen!!!
And now, I need to find some shitty T.V. to cleanse the palate and calm the stomach.
Friday, June 8, 2018
Celebricide
Not too long ago, I was living in the darkness, not saddness. There was crying, sobbing, wailing, and blurting about being done. I didn't know what done meant, exactly, but I wanted it. I had gotten into bed in an attempt to bury myself in the dark.
Shawn was having none of it. He talked of committing me (so far in this life, that has not happened). He raised his voice and cried. He told me if I chose to kill myself he would hate me forever and never forgive me. And then, somehow, he talked me down.
This is Shawn's life. His life is not #AnthonyBourdain, #KateSpade, #ChrisCornell, #PhillipSeymourHoffman, #RobinWilliams, and #AnyOtherCelebrityWhoBringsSuicideToTheNewsCycle. The celebrities bring about people sharing suicide hotline numbers and offers of being that ear that will pull you out of the darkness. People call these suicides a wake-up call...which, after a brief time of social media posts, sleep returns. Shawn lives the wake-up call without the chance to go back to sleep. Many people live wide awake everyday.
The things people want to do in the light that shines upon suicide prevention and mental healthcare when a tragedy like celebrity suicide happens are great. Lobby for better mental healthcare coverage. Post phone numbers to hotlines. Check in on friends and family who seem off. Commit someone if that seems appropriate. Come up with a code word for your person to text you when things are getting bad. Do all of the things. And, continue to do them, even when the news cycle moves onto something else.
BUT. A really big BUT. The BUT-that-is-probably-going-to-piss-off-many-people kind of BUT.
Prepare yourself. You need to know that all of those things may not work. Why won't they? Because it takes two and only one of the two is rational. I HAVE to answer my phone. I HAVE to text the code word. I HAVE to let you in.
I'm not saying don't try. Always try. I'm saying that if, despite your trying, it happens anyway, you have no guilt to carry. The guilt belongs to the irrationality that is the mental illnesses some of us have to carry.
Shawn was having none of it. He talked of committing me (so far in this life, that has not happened). He raised his voice and cried. He told me if I chose to kill myself he would hate me forever and never forgive me. And then, somehow, he talked me down.
This is Shawn's life. His life is not #AnthonyBourdain, #KateSpade, #ChrisCornell, #PhillipSeymourHoffman, #RobinWilliams, and #AnyOtherCelebrityWhoBringsSuicideToTheNewsCycle. The celebrities bring about people sharing suicide hotline numbers and offers of being that ear that will pull you out of the darkness. People call these suicides a wake-up call...which, after a brief time of social media posts, sleep returns. Shawn lives the wake-up call without the chance to go back to sleep. Many people live wide awake everyday.
The things people want to do in the light that shines upon suicide prevention and mental healthcare when a tragedy like celebrity suicide happens are great. Lobby for better mental healthcare coverage. Post phone numbers to hotlines. Check in on friends and family who seem off. Commit someone if that seems appropriate. Come up with a code word for your person to text you when things are getting bad. Do all of the things. And, continue to do them, even when the news cycle moves onto something else.
BUT. A really big BUT. The BUT-that-is-probably-going-to-piss-off-many-people kind of BUT.
Prepare yourself. You need to know that all of those things may not work. Why won't they? Because it takes two and only one of the two is rational. I HAVE to answer my phone. I HAVE to text the code word. I HAVE to let you in.
I'm not saying don't try. Always try. I'm saying that if, despite your trying, it happens anyway, you have no guilt to carry. The guilt belongs to the irrationality that is the mental illnesses some of us have to carry.
Wednesday, May 30, 2018
"I can handle things! I'm smart! Not like everybody says... like dumb... I'm smart and I want respect!"
I'm smart.
I'm not Doogie-Howser-MD-at-14 smart.
I'm not summa-cum-laude-from-Harvard-followed-by-an-Oxford-Fellowship smart.
I am smart. I have a piece of paper, a very expensive piece of paper, from a respected Ohio institution saying I have a Bachelor of Arts (given my actual academic skills, a BS* {ba dum tss} probably would have been more accurate). An institution founded in 1871 that was the first women's college in Ohio and among the first in the country. Despite my best worst study habits, I had grades that meant, when I crossed the stage for the expensive piece of paper, I got a little gold addition to the diploma saying that I was smart. I was finishing up magna cum laude.
*I am smart enough to know that I was making a joke about BS meaning Bullshit instead of Bachelor of Science.
So, why does it matter that I'm smart? Social media. Social media is why it matters. I took a break from Facebook because I felt like I was being made to feel stupid. I'm sorry, Madame First Lady Roosevelt, I guess I'm giving all kinds of consent to many on Facebook to make me feel inferior.
I used to think rhetorical questions were a kind of literary device that could be used to provoke thought. I thought I was being clever and smart. But, when I've used them on social media, I end up being schooled in all different ways about the topic of the rhetorical question. Comment after comment of articles to educate me. If I wasn't being rhetorical, I would share articles and shit. I KNOW HOW TO GOOGLE. I'm smart.
When I decide to share something, I try to make sure it's not bullshit. Sometimes I'm not as thorough as I should be, but I really do try. I KNOW HOW TO GOOGLE. I KNOW HOW TO USE SNOPES.COM. I'm smart.
Sometimes a meme is just a meme. I shared a funny meme. It didn't say anything about any political party, and any particular presidential administration. It was not challenging any data...or at least, I didn't think it was. Perhaps the meme could have applied to a few years ago, that didn't make it any less valid today. It was funny. I found it to be clever. I'm smart.
I made a post venting about a situation. I was venting that the situation wasn't trending. It just seemed like something that some of the people I know on Facebook would typically talk about. I merely said what the situation was. I made no comment regarding either political party, or the current vs. previous administration. I'm horrified by the current administration, don't get me wrong, but I also don't have rose colored glasses when it comes to my guy from the last administration. The post was strictly bringing up an issue that was in the news, but not my trending list. Again, it wasn't a post needing to have articles posted, such as the one that pointed out that it wasn't something that started with 45. I wasn't asking what the story was, I was pointing out that the story wasn't trending. I KNOW HOW TO GOOGLE. I'm smart.
I made another post. It was a very specific point involving Constitutional rights. Again, a very specific situation. A comment was made that seemed like an attempt to school me and friends who were reading the post. It felt like it was being made to point something out to me that was nothing I ever made any kind of comment on. Like, I'm known to be liberal and couldn't possible see the parallels. I mean, obviously I'd be a hypocrite and therefore ignorant as to how the cases were the same issue. I understand things. I'm smart.
I'm smart.
I'm not degrees-from-all-the-Ivy-League-schools-at-10-years-old smart.
But, I am smart.
I'm not Doogie-Howser-MD-at-14 smart.
I'm not summa-cum-laude-from-Harvard-followed-by-an-Oxford-Fellowship smart.
I am smart. I have a piece of paper, a very expensive piece of paper, from a respected Ohio institution saying I have a Bachelor of Arts (given my actual academic skills, a BS* {ba dum tss} probably would have been more accurate). An institution founded in 1871 that was the first women's college in Ohio and among the first in the country. Despite my best worst study habits, I had grades that meant, when I crossed the stage for the expensive piece of paper, I got a little gold addition to the diploma saying that I was smart. I was finishing up magna cum laude.
*I am smart enough to know that I was making a joke about BS meaning Bullshit instead of Bachelor of Science.
So, why does it matter that I'm smart? Social media. Social media is why it matters. I took a break from Facebook because I felt like I was being made to feel stupid. I'm sorry, Madame First Lady Roosevelt, I guess I'm giving all kinds of consent to many on Facebook to make me feel inferior.
I used to think rhetorical questions were a kind of literary device that could be used to provoke thought. I thought I was being clever and smart. But, when I've used them on social media, I end up being schooled in all different ways about the topic of the rhetorical question. Comment after comment of articles to educate me. If I wasn't being rhetorical, I would share articles and shit. I KNOW HOW TO GOOGLE. I'm smart.
When I decide to share something, I try to make sure it's not bullshit. Sometimes I'm not as thorough as I should be, but I really do try. I KNOW HOW TO GOOGLE. I KNOW HOW TO USE SNOPES.COM. I'm smart.
Sometimes a meme is just a meme. I shared a funny meme. It didn't say anything about any political party, and any particular presidential administration. It was not challenging any data...or at least, I didn't think it was. Perhaps the meme could have applied to a few years ago, that didn't make it any less valid today. It was funny. I found it to be clever. I'm smart.
I made a post venting about a situation. I was venting that the situation wasn't trending. It just seemed like something that some of the people I know on Facebook would typically talk about. I merely said what the situation was. I made no comment regarding either political party, or the current vs. previous administration. I'm horrified by the current administration, don't get me wrong, but I also don't have rose colored glasses when it comes to my guy from the last administration. The post was strictly bringing up an issue that was in the news, but not my trending list. Again, it wasn't a post needing to have articles posted, such as the one that pointed out that it wasn't something that started with 45. I wasn't asking what the story was, I was pointing out that the story wasn't trending. I KNOW HOW TO GOOGLE. I'm smart.
I made another post. It was a very specific point involving Constitutional rights. Again, a very specific situation. A comment was made that seemed like an attempt to school me and friends who were reading the post. It felt like it was being made to point something out to me that was nothing I ever made any kind of comment on. Like, I'm known to be liberal and couldn't possible see the parallels. I mean, obviously I'd be a hypocrite and therefore ignorant as to how the cases were the same issue. I understand things. I'm smart.
I'm smart.
I'm not degrees-from-all-the-Ivy-League-schools-at-10-years-old smart.
But, I am smart.
Tuesday, May 8, 2018
Drugs and treatments and doctors, oh my!
Things have been rough. Things have been rough for a few months. More than the usual roughness that has been my life for too many years.
Earlier this year, my primary care physician did my annual thyroid check. He keeps tabs on my hypothyroidism and prescribes the Synthroid as he sees fit. He has always been my thyroid guy.
My PCP knows my PsychNP. He recommended her to me when my previous psychiatrist was retiring. His reason for liking her is that she doesn't over-prescribe. She focuses on using the least amount of meds to get the job done. I honestly can't remember how long it has been since I started seeing her. But, when I did, she changed my diagnosis to Bipolar Depression. I'm not sure if she kept the anxiety in there, but since I'm still taking Ativan, I'm thinking she did.
So, a pretty significant med cocktail rehaul took place. Then, Electroconvulsive Therapy was added to the list of shit-to-try-to-fix-me. That was 9 months of being put under and having electrical stimulation of the brain. The hope was a reboot of my brain to make me more responsive to medications. Uh, not so much. The average course of treatment with ECT is 6-12 sessions. I was going 3 times a week in the beginning, so those average numbers were blown away and I still went 2 days a week, eventually working down to about 1 a week, and, I think it may have been an every other week thing in the end. Given I don't remember pretty much the entire year of 2016 (ECT can wipe your memory from periods before treatment, during treatment, and kind of fuck up after, too) I'm not sure how the tapering worked. Shawn was pretty much the one to put the stop to the treatment. He didn't see that I was benefiting, so my last treatment, against the Psychiatrist's recommendations, was December 23rd, 2016.
The ECT Psychiatrist also knew my PsychNP. He would be in regular contact with her throughout my treatment. I didn't entirely agree with her about my diagnosis and some of the meds I was one. Um, okay, what should I do? He doesn't do psych work other than ECT. So, it wasn't like I could start seeing him.
I've stayed with my PsychNP. It's been a few years at this point. She doesn't take our insurance anymore, so I see her less often. She is quite frustrating, but finding another mental health provider is a very stressful process. There's the "FUCK! I have to start at the very beginning!" then there is the "Are you kidding me? I've been being treated for something and you don't agree?" and the starting over on a different course of meds. The meds part is the worst. Breaking in a new medication means trial and error; may it doesn't work; maybe it works but needs a higher dose; and, of course, new side effects.
As often as he can, I have Shawn come to my appointments. He can provide insight as to my special kind of crazy. This last appointment, he came. It was probably be good because I was extremely frustrated. There's her excessive lateness, for one thing. The last few months she has screwed up my Ativan prescriptions with the pharmacy. She is SUPER married to my drug cocktail even when I tell her things are off. This time, she looks at my thyroid report and the dose of Synthroid and decides she's taking it over. She explained that the thyroid issues and the bipolar issues can sometimes cause problems when trying to dose the Synthroid. She said my PCP is very good, but not experienced enough with treating both things. WTF???? I've been on thyroid meds since you started seeing me. Why wouldn't you just take them over from the beginning. Then she brings up that the problem with two of my meds could be the generic versions I'm taking. She said it could be that we need to specify that I get them from the generic company I had gotten from before the switch a few months ago. I know generics are hard to deal with, especially when coming off the name brand, so I agree that this could be the reason for my issues these last few months. So, we're changing from one generic to another for a couple of drugs. We are changing the Synthroid dose, which is so frustrating because I have months worth of dose I was put on earlier this year. But, then there is the one med that she hates that I'm on the generic version. She brings it and mentions Canada. We've been through this, Canada wasn't any cheaper. I'm not paying hundreds of dollars a month for a name brand med. She doesn't like that I make money an issue. She says she's not concerned about money, she's concerned about my health. I tell her my anxiety isn't going to be addressed by excessive amounts of money being spent that we can't afford. She then looks at Shawn and asks if money's really that much of an issue. Now that was some bullshit there. We do not have hundreds of dollars a month to spend on name brand because she swears by it....must have a deal with the company. I was pissed during and after.
Here I am. A few months of major mood issues. I've been breaking down in the same conversation I had just been goofing around during. I simply cry. Just cry. I drive and cry. I work and cry. I sit in an office working on files at work and cry while Abby, my office mate cat, just chills out with no empathy whatsoever (Did I mention she's a cat? Who would expect empathy?). There's also some rage mixed in followed by exhaustion. The exhaustion also comes from putting on a show, doing some of my best acting in social situations without bawling my eyes out. Hopefully all of the drug changes will change things. Hopefully I'll figure out a new shrink. Hopefully I simply will.
Then there is Shawn, through all of this...
...and I'm not sure I will ever understand why.
Friday, May 4, 2018
When it's someone you know on the other side of #MeToo
Earlier this week, someone we know was revealed to have been accused of sexual harassment. This is guy I know through Shawn. He falls in the nameless in between of acquaintance and friend. He's a big personality, you know he is in the room. He's an affectionate guy. When I first met him, he asked if he could give me a hug. There was an understanding of consent, it seemed. I'm not so much a hugger (outside of a very short list of people in my life), but Shawn was there and I figured no biggie. Hell, it avoided me going for the handshake "goodbye" and him going in for the hug. That's an awkward turn of events.
So, this has weighed heavily on my mind. His side of the story includes the "it was a misunderstanding" approach. This may very well be the case for him. Him thinking he misread things doesn't minimize what the victims' sides of their stories are. His misreading them, doesn't mean they misread him and his desire for something from them that they didn't want to give. So, he may feel some contrition about the situation. That, however, doesn't mean victims are now negated.
I've struggled the last two days with how I feel about all of this. Should I feel differently because the accused is part of my societal bubble? Should I charge to his defense? How does this play into #MeToo? Was it easier to shake my fist at celebrities accused of similar things and far worse? Doesn't it carry more weight when there are multiple accusers? They can't all be full of shit or all giving off misunderstood vibes, right? So, so many questions.
What I have decided to do, for now, is unfriend him. Part of this comes from reading his page on one of the social media outlets. There were people firmly standing by him and claiming him as their friend in a stance of solidarity. It bothered me, in a way, because of the comments threads that ensued. I understand wanting to support your friend and give him the opportunity for change, or even redemption. He even wrote about changes he has been working toward throughout the years and those he'll add. But, when the comments took a turn from "you are still my friend" to a super rah-rah-rah and "it's a fucking witch hunt" and "the writer is a fucker" and the "victims" "want to destroy a man's livelihood for their own sadistic desires"...that set a different tone which made me uncomfortable. It made me think, why would I come forward?
So, this has weighed heavily on my mind. His side of the story includes the "it was a misunderstanding" approach. This may very well be the case for him. Him thinking he misread things doesn't minimize what the victims' sides of their stories are. His misreading them, doesn't mean they misread him and his desire for something from them that they didn't want to give. So, he may feel some contrition about the situation. That, however, doesn't mean victims are now negated.
I've struggled the last two days with how I feel about all of this. Should I feel differently because the accused is part of my societal bubble? Should I charge to his defense? How does this play into #MeToo? Was it easier to shake my fist at celebrities accused of similar things and far worse? Doesn't it carry more weight when there are multiple accusers? They can't all be full of shit or all giving off misunderstood vibes, right? So, so many questions.
What I have decided to do, for now, is unfriend him. Part of this comes from reading his page on one of the social media outlets. There were people firmly standing by him and claiming him as their friend in a stance of solidarity. It bothered me, in a way, because of the comments threads that ensued. I understand wanting to support your friend and give him the opportunity for change, or even redemption. He even wrote about changes he has been working toward throughout the years and those he'll add. But, when the comments took a turn from "you are still my friend" to a super rah-rah-rah and "it's a fucking witch hunt" and "the writer is a fucker" and the "victims" "want to destroy a man's livelihood for their own sadistic desires"...that set a different tone which made me uncomfortable. It made me think, why would I come forward?
Thursday, April 26, 2018
A tale of two wars
Well, it's the two year mark for the start of ECT. I'm "celebrating" anniversaries of things I don't remember.
As the opening of "Avengers: Infinity War" is full throttle, it is the second anniversary of the opening of "Captain America: Civil War". Yes, I'm entering into a geek timeline that would most likely not even be a thing for me if it was not for meeting Shawn. Anyway, I'm very excited for "Infinity War", I mean, Groot and the Hulk together, who wouldn't be? But what does any of this have to do with anything, including ECT?
Well, I'll tell you. When "Civil War" opened, we of course saw it right away. We saw it while I was going for ECT three times a week. That's three days of me going under anesthesia and being more useless than my usual state. Then, the other four days may have seemed like I was totally with it, but I actually was existing in, while not really experiencing reality.
We saw "Civil War" a second time in the theater with Shawn's parents. It was a brand new movie for me. So, I once again existed in the movie theater, but experienced nothing.
Then "Civil War" came out on DVD. My third viewing. The story was not familiar. I knew the characters, of course, because they had been in so many movies already. Well, not T'Challa aka The Black Panther.
In my case, the fourth time turned out to be the charm. I was able to make connections. I could recall things. Not as much of the movie was new. Apparently, I returned to my original side of the war. Shawn had told me that in the course of multiple viewings, I actually changed sides. At one point I was pro-Iron Man and another had me rooting for Cap all the way. I'm not going to reveal my stance because I don't want to start a war...a comments' war.
Maybe this post means nothing. Maybe it's my own, weird word vomit. But, for me, "Captain America: Civil War" has been one of the most significant examples of the power ECT has on the brain. And ECT, and meds, and therapy are all part of the war I fight everyday.
As the opening of "Avengers: Infinity War" is full throttle, it is the second anniversary of the opening of "Captain America: Civil War". Yes, I'm entering into a geek timeline that would most likely not even be a thing for me if it was not for meeting Shawn. Anyway, I'm very excited for "Infinity War", I mean, Groot and the Hulk together, who wouldn't be? But what does any of this have to do with anything, including ECT?
Well, I'll tell you. When "Civil War" opened, we of course saw it right away. We saw it while I was going for ECT three times a week. That's three days of me going under anesthesia and being more useless than my usual state. Then, the other four days may have seemed like I was totally with it, but I actually was existing in, while not really experiencing reality.
We saw "Civil War" a second time in the theater with Shawn's parents. It was a brand new movie for me. So, I once again existed in the movie theater, but experienced nothing.
Then "Civil War" came out on DVD. My third viewing. The story was not familiar. I knew the characters, of course, because they had been in so many movies already. Well, not T'Challa aka The Black Panther.
In my case, the fourth time turned out to be the charm. I was able to make connections. I could recall things. Not as much of the movie was new. Apparently, I returned to my original side of the war. Shawn had told me that in the course of multiple viewings, I actually changed sides. At one point I was pro-Iron Man and another had me rooting for Cap all the way. I'm not going to reveal my stance because I don't want to start a war...a comments' war.
Maybe this post means nothing. Maybe it's my own, weird word vomit. But, for me, "Captain America: Civil War" has been one of the most significant examples of the power ECT has on the brain. And ECT, and meds, and therapy are all part of the war I fight everyday.
Wednesday, April 11, 2018
Another one of those posts
Sometimes I get to a point where I think I'm doing pretty well with some kind of acceptance of the infertility situation. Then, things like my birthday come up. From now until forever, my birthday will ever be tied to the failure of the implanting of my 3 weak embryos. This year was 5 years. And, because of when my birthday falls, Christmas is forever tied to the due date that never was. This Christmas, we'd have a 5 year old or 5 years olds if all had worked out.
I also have moments when I try to accept it by looking at the reality of who I am and who I would have been. What I mean is that I look at how things are for the best because I would have sucked at parenting.
Like, when Jarvis loses his shit because a car door shut or someone had the nerve to come to the front door. I have yet to figure out the dog mom way of fixing that behavior. Then, there are the times we're on a walk and he goes all in with his sniffing. He bears down with all his weight pushed into his legs which push into the ground and this bearing down also turns off his hearing of me calling him. I have to give quite the yank of the leash. Dog mom WINNING!
Here's the place I list all my step-parenting fails.
Okay, I'm not actually going to go into all of that because that would really bring this post down...
...more than it actually has gone.
The other day I was thinking about the parenting win that ECT would have been. Who knows how things would have played out if I did successfully get pregnant and give birth and have the responsibility of a little human or humans? Maybe ECT wouldn't have been on the table because some kind of hormonal shift that helped my brain. Anyway, if we had a kid or kids while I went through ECT, that would mean that, not only would I have lost a year of my own life, I would have lost a year in the life of my child or children. That's pretty shitty.
There's no real way to wrap this up. My mind is a kind of chaos. I'm feeling everything and nothing all at once.
Oh, and before all the "You would have been a great mom" or "You are too hard on yourself", those don't help. I know you might think they'll help me get out of this pity party, it has the opposite effect. Let me put it this way. If you wanted to be a surgeon for years and you put so much time into going to school and you worked so hard and then, BAM! you are blinded. Everything you envisioned for yourself is gone. Would you really want someone telling you what a great surgeon you would have been?
I also have moments when I try to accept it by looking at the reality of who I am and who I would have been. What I mean is that I look at how things are for the best because I would have sucked at parenting.
Like, when Jarvis loses his shit because a car door shut or someone had the nerve to come to the front door. I have yet to figure out the dog mom way of fixing that behavior. Then, there are the times we're on a walk and he goes all in with his sniffing. He bears down with all his weight pushed into his legs which push into the ground and this bearing down also turns off his hearing of me calling him. I have to give quite the yank of the leash. Dog mom WINNING!
Here's the place I list all my step-parenting fails.
Okay, I'm not actually going to go into all of that because that would really bring this post down...
...more than it actually has gone.
The other day I was thinking about the parenting win that ECT would have been. Who knows how things would have played out if I did successfully get pregnant and give birth and have the responsibility of a little human or humans? Maybe ECT wouldn't have been on the table because some kind of hormonal shift that helped my brain. Anyway, if we had a kid or kids while I went through ECT, that would mean that, not only would I have lost a year of my own life, I would have lost a year in the life of my child or children. That's pretty shitty.
There's no real way to wrap this up. My mind is a kind of chaos. I'm feeling everything and nothing all at once.
Oh, and before all the "You would have been a great mom" or "You are too hard on yourself", those don't help. I know you might think they'll help me get out of this pity party, it has the opposite effect. Let me put it this way. If you wanted to be a surgeon for years and you put so much time into going to school and you worked so hard and then, BAM! you are blinded. Everything you envisioned for yourself is gone. Would you really want someone telling you what a great surgeon you would have been?
Thursday, March 1, 2018
#SheToo
If you are a regular reader, you know that #MeToo has been a thing for me. So, I got to thinking about things that happened years and years ago. It made me wonder just how far we've come with handling sexual assault.
When my mom was born, her older siblings were 14, 13, and 12 years older. She was like an only child. She doesn't really remember her siblings living at home. Her relationship with my grandmother was strained. I'm not sure what my uncles' and aunt's relationships were like, but given how close they were in age, I can't help but think things were different with them. I think my mom being like an only child led to less distraction for my grandma. She had time to look out the window when my mom was coming home from dates. She could scold my mom on how terrible it was to spend time with a boy in a car and what it would look like to the neighbors.
My grandma was one of the oldest and the only girl of a large brood of boys. They were a Catholic family on the outskirts of a little town in Canada. My mom can remember taking trips up to visit her grandparents and uncles. She says that she remembers her youngest uncle as seeming to be different. The way she explains it, it seems that he didn't really fit quite right with the family. She remembers hearing something about him being taken in by her grandparents. She also remembers that my grandmother seemed to do anything possible to avoid interacting with him. She thought it was so odd. My mom also found something else to be odd about my grandma and her family.
My grandmother was born in 1905. She moved to Cleveland in 1921, when she was 16. She came to work for an aunt (I think it was an aunt. It was for certain a family member). My mom was always curious about why this came about.
In 1995, just after her 90th birthday, my grandma died. Then, several years later, my mom got answers to some of her questions. We found out a secret that was hidden by the family. It helped make pieces come together.
The reason for my grandmother's move to Cleveland when she was 16 was that she had gotten pregnant. This is around 1921, so yeah, a teenage pregnancy was scandalous. What made the whole thing more complicated were the circumstances around the pregnancy. She had all those brothers and those brothers, of course, had friends. One of those friends raped my grandma. The rape resulted in pregnancy. The baby my grandmother had was a boy, that boy was my mom's youngest "uncle". My great-grandparents took the baby and raised him. All of this explains why my mom felt things weren't quite right with her "uncle" and why my grandmother was so strange toward him. It can also explain some things about my grandma's strictness and some of her personality traits.
This has been a family secret for decades. It's still being kept from my one uncle (the oldest of the children my grandma had with my grandpa), as far as I know. He's in his late 80s. I don't really understand why he shouldn't find out. I'm certain he doesn't read this blog, but if others do and decide to tell him, that's on them.
It's close to 100 years since my grandmother was raped and got pregnant and gave the baby to her parents to raise and then moved away. Through those years, #SheToo was made to feel shame and to keep secret the cause of that shame. How is it we haven't come very far in all that time?
When my mom was born, her older siblings were 14, 13, and 12 years older. She was like an only child. She doesn't really remember her siblings living at home. Her relationship with my grandmother was strained. I'm not sure what my uncles' and aunt's relationships were like, but given how close they were in age, I can't help but think things were different with them. I think my mom being like an only child led to less distraction for my grandma. She had time to look out the window when my mom was coming home from dates. She could scold my mom on how terrible it was to spend time with a boy in a car and what it would look like to the neighbors.
My grandma was one of the oldest and the only girl of a large brood of boys. They were a Catholic family on the outskirts of a little town in Canada. My mom can remember taking trips up to visit her grandparents and uncles. She says that she remembers her youngest uncle as seeming to be different. The way she explains it, it seems that he didn't really fit quite right with the family. She remembers hearing something about him being taken in by her grandparents. She also remembers that my grandmother seemed to do anything possible to avoid interacting with him. She thought it was so odd. My mom also found something else to be odd about my grandma and her family.
My grandmother was born in 1905. She moved to Cleveland in 1921, when she was 16. She came to work for an aunt (I think it was an aunt. It was for certain a family member). My mom was always curious about why this came about.
In 1995, just after her 90th birthday, my grandma died. Then, several years later, my mom got answers to some of her questions. We found out a secret that was hidden by the family. It helped make pieces come together.
The reason for my grandmother's move to Cleveland when she was 16 was that she had gotten pregnant. This is around 1921, so yeah, a teenage pregnancy was scandalous. What made the whole thing more complicated were the circumstances around the pregnancy. She had all those brothers and those brothers, of course, had friends. One of those friends raped my grandma. The rape resulted in pregnancy. The baby my grandmother had was a boy, that boy was my mom's youngest "uncle". My great-grandparents took the baby and raised him. All of this explains why my mom felt things weren't quite right with her "uncle" and why my grandmother was so strange toward him. It can also explain some things about my grandma's strictness and some of her personality traits.
This has been a family secret for decades. It's still being kept from my one uncle (the oldest of the children my grandma had with my grandpa), as far as I know. He's in his late 80s. I don't really understand why he shouldn't find out. I'm certain he doesn't read this blog, but if others do and decide to tell him, that's on them.
It's close to 100 years since my grandmother was raped and got pregnant and gave the baby to her parents to raise and then moved away. Through those years, #SheToo was made to feel shame and to keep secret the cause of that shame. How is it we haven't come very far in all that time?
Wednesday, February 14, 2018
Love is really heavy
Hey, it's Valentine's Day! The day that is more saccharine than Halloween with all its trick-or-treat bags.
Anyway, what better day to write a blog that I've been trying to write for months. You see, I have this thing with love. The word and what it represents hold a tremendous amount of weight for me. It kind of plays into my literal versus imaginative mind, I think.
When I was a kid, the word "love" just wasn't a thing for my family. I really don't recall "I love you"s being said. I'm not trying to call this out as a bad thing. It's simply the way it was.
When I first met the family of one of my best friends back when we were in high school, I was like, "Whoooooa" with all the hugging and kissing and "I love you"s flying about. It wasn't just her parents with the kids, it was between all the siblings, too. This blew my mind.
Shawn's family is the same way. Every phone call, even between Shawn and his brother, ends in "I love you". I'm always like, "This. Is. So. Bizarre." You may even say it is outside my comfort zone.
One of my things with love is that I don't recognize blood translating into love. I do not think that because you share some genetic code you automatically love each other. For example, I have all kinds of cousins, big Catholic families, most of whom I've only met once or twice, and some not at all. They are my first cousins, but, essentially, some may say they are acquaintances, if not strangers.
Even relatives I do know, that I'd seen quite often growing up and in my adulthood before moving out of state, are not people I would say I love to. Does this mean I do not care about them on some level? No. It's just that love is too strong, too powerful for me to say if my gut doesn't tell me to.
What becomes difficult is someone telling me they love me and my feeling a tremendous awkwardness because I cannot say it back. I'm not snubbing that person, I just can't lie about it. It is the worst position to be in. I'm really not intending to be an asshole, but I imagine it could come across that way. I feel like texting and Facebooking and whatever else-ing that use emojis help me out because, for whatever reason, I'm okay with sending a heart. That probably sounds like some odd distinction, but somehow the heart, to me, is not the same as an "I love you".
While we're at it with the hot mess that is the workings of my mind, I do not acknowledge unconditional love as a thing. Nope, I have conditions. The conditions are that you are not a horrible person. If I've loved you and you turn into an unrepentant, horrible person, I'm pretty sure you are breaking one of my rules about love and I will have no problem with putting the kibosh on the whole love thing. I have conditions. I don't care if you are family or friend.
Last year I had a fight with a person who had been close to me. This fight took place after we were already not speaking for a couple years. She made a comment that even with all of the shit of the last couple years, she loved me unconditionally. Whoa, Nelly! NOPE! I told her not to dare to say that. I told her that if she had felt that way she would have, despite how things were going, reached out knowing that in the last few years I was going through the worst times of my entire life. She told me that's not how it works. So, to me, what good is the love she claimed she still had for me? It seems she had some conditions.
So, there you have it. When I told my therapist I thought this made me a cold hearted asshole, she didn't seem to think the same way. I'm going to try to go with her on this one.
Anyway, what better day to write a blog that I've been trying to write for months. You see, I have this thing with love. The word and what it represents hold a tremendous amount of weight for me. It kind of plays into my literal versus imaginative mind, I think.
When I was a kid, the word "love" just wasn't a thing for my family. I really don't recall "I love you"s being said. I'm not trying to call this out as a bad thing. It's simply the way it was.
When I first met the family of one of my best friends back when we were in high school, I was like, "Whoooooa" with all the hugging and kissing and "I love you"s flying about. It wasn't just her parents with the kids, it was between all the siblings, too. This blew my mind.
Shawn's family is the same way. Every phone call, even between Shawn and his brother, ends in "I love you". I'm always like, "This. Is. So. Bizarre." You may even say it is outside my comfort zone.
One of my things with love is that I don't recognize blood translating into love. I do not think that because you share some genetic code you automatically love each other. For example, I have all kinds of cousins, big Catholic families, most of whom I've only met once or twice, and some not at all. They are my first cousins, but, essentially, some may say they are acquaintances, if not strangers.
Even relatives I do know, that I'd seen quite often growing up and in my adulthood before moving out of state, are not people I would say I love to. Does this mean I do not care about them on some level? No. It's just that love is too strong, too powerful for me to say if my gut doesn't tell me to.
What becomes difficult is someone telling me they love me and my feeling a tremendous awkwardness because I cannot say it back. I'm not snubbing that person, I just can't lie about it. It is the worst position to be in. I'm really not intending to be an asshole, but I imagine it could come across that way. I feel like texting and Facebooking and whatever else-ing that use emojis help me out because, for whatever reason, I'm okay with sending a heart. That probably sounds like some odd distinction, but somehow the heart, to me, is not the same as an "I love you".
While we're at it with the hot mess that is the workings of my mind, I do not acknowledge unconditional love as a thing. Nope, I have conditions. The conditions are that you are not a horrible person. If I've loved you and you turn into an unrepentant, horrible person, I'm pretty sure you are breaking one of my rules about love and I will have no problem with putting the kibosh on the whole love thing. I have conditions. I don't care if you are family or friend.
Last year I had a fight with a person who had been close to me. This fight took place after we were already not speaking for a couple years. She made a comment that even with all of the shit of the last couple years, she loved me unconditionally. Whoa, Nelly! NOPE! I told her not to dare to say that. I told her that if she had felt that way she would have, despite how things were going, reached out knowing that in the last few years I was going through the worst times of my entire life. She told me that's not how it works. So, to me, what good is the love she claimed she still had for me? It seems she had some conditions.
So, there you have it. When I told my therapist I thought this made me a cold hearted asshole, she didn't seem to think the same way. I'm going to try to go with her on this one.
Sunday, February 4, 2018
We shouldn't be the cause of someone else's #MeToo
It kind of seems like #MeToo has died down some on social media, but I'm still trying to wade through my thoughts and experiences. I feel we still need to learn more, teach more, and make changes. Black dresses, white roses, pink pussy ear hats all need to mean something.
That brings me to something I saw the other day that got me thinking. It's kind of along the lines of how I feel about presidential minor children being off limits for ridicule. A meme showed up that had Sarah Huckabee Sanders and, yes, I don't agree with her politics, but this wasn't mocking them. Have I thought her to be unattractive? Yes. Have I had the same thoughts about Kellyanne Conway? Yes. Am I proud to admit that I've made those thoughts public? No. Have I made jokes about 45's appearance? Yes....but to be honest, his orange skin and bizarre hair isn't natural, it's a choice....that's probably an excuse to justify myself.
Anyway, if the black dresses, white roses, and pink pussy ear hats are to mean anything; if they are meant to be about the empowerment of woman; if they are meant to support victims of various abuses, shouldn't we do better than memes about other women's appearances? We can support one another as women on these things, even when we differ in our politics.
I am sure I will need to check myself and I will most certainly wreck myself, but we should all try.
That brings me to something I saw the other day that got me thinking. It's kind of along the lines of how I feel about presidential minor children being off limits for ridicule. A meme showed up that had Sarah Huckabee Sanders and, yes, I don't agree with her politics, but this wasn't mocking them. Have I thought her to be unattractive? Yes. Have I had the same thoughts about Kellyanne Conway? Yes. Am I proud to admit that I've made those thoughts public? No. Have I made jokes about 45's appearance? Yes....but to be honest, his orange skin and bizarre hair isn't natural, it's a choice....that's probably an excuse to justify myself.
Anyway, if the black dresses, white roses, and pink pussy ear hats are to mean anything; if they are meant to be about the empowerment of woman; if they are meant to support victims of various abuses, shouldn't we do better than memes about other women's appearances? We can support one another as women on these things, even when we differ in our politics.
I am sure I will need to check myself and I will most certainly wreck myself, but we should all try.
Thursday, February 1, 2018
What's in a name?
So, Shawn and I started watching The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel. The main character, Mrs. Maisel (obvi), is named Miriam, but goes by "Midge". This got me thinking about a neighbor when I was a kid. This old man a few doors down called me "Midge" for some reason.
I started to think about all of the nicknames I have accrued through the years. It all started with "Meg". l didn't know my actual name was "Margaret" until I started school. Of course attendance was taken and I was like, "Watchu talkin' 'bout, teacher?" Of course, it sucked because I had to learn how to write an 8 letter word instead of a 3 letter one.
So, as far as I can recall, here's the roll. This assumes the obvious names of "Bitch", "Asshole", and the like.
I started to think about all of the nicknames I have accrued through the years. It all started with "Meg". l didn't know my actual name was "Margaret" until I started school. Of course attendance was taken and I was like, "Watchu talkin' 'bout, teacher?" Of course, it sucked because I had to learn how to write an 8 letter word instead of a 3 letter one.
So, as far as I can recall, here's the roll. This assumes the obvious names of "Bitch", "Asshole", and the like.
- Meg
- Margar
- Peggy Sue
- Megger
- Megala
- Meggles
- Midge
- Megaroni
- Meggo
- Megra
- Mag
- Moony
- Babe
- Mommy (for Jarvis)
I think there are more, but I don't know.
Sunday, January 28, 2018
I want to know what love is
I thought I had identified all of my triggers regarding my infertility. I also thought that I had gotten better about letting them get me down.
When in stores like Target, I don't walk around the entire store to avoid the baby section. At the grocery store, I can handle seeing diapers and baby food. I can look at pregnancy and newborn photo shoots on Facebook and not completely lose my shit. This isn't at all to say that pain doesn't exist.
Recently, I discovered a new pain. It's something I've seen phrased in different ways by different people. It's when women describe giving birth and the first moment of seeing and holding the newborn. The moment seems to always be described as finding real love for the first time. Sometimes it's saying that they thought they new love before but not really until now. They never thought they could love someone so completely.
So, the love I share with Shawn didn't result in a baby and all of this makes it seem that I'm experiencing some lesser form of love.
When in stores like Target, I don't walk around the entire store to avoid the baby section. At the grocery store, I can handle seeing diapers and baby food. I can look at pregnancy and newborn photo shoots on Facebook and not completely lose my shit. This isn't at all to say that pain doesn't exist.
Recently, I discovered a new pain. It's something I've seen phrased in different ways by different people. It's when women describe giving birth and the first moment of seeing and holding the newborn. The moment seems to always be described as finding real love for the first time. Sometimes it's saying that they thought they new love before but not really until now. They never thought they could love someone so completely.
So, the love I share with Shawn didn't result in a baby and all of this makes it seem that I'm experiencing some lesser form of love.
Tuesday, January 16, 2018
You get a vote! And, you get a vote! Everybody gets a vote!
About a week and a half ago now, I guess, The Golden Globes were on. Oprah was honored with the Cecil B. Demille for "outstanding contributions to the world of entertainment". I am not here to dispute her merits. She has had an incredible life and has done some pretty amazing things. Her acceptance speech was both inspiring and on point when it comes to the current climate of empowering women in an industry which is proving more and more to mistreat women sexually and financially.
With all that being said, I move on to the outpouring of "Oprah for President" and "Oprah 2020" sentiments. Let's think about this. The current White House resident can sound dumb as a box of rocks (my apologies to both boxes and rocks). He is not eloquent nor inspiring to those who want justice, equality, peace, and tolerance. Oprah does have 45 beat in this area for sure. I would never dispute this point.
But, a good speech does not make a president. Let's not start a trend of celebrity being the qualification for becoming commander-in-chief. Do we want to be a part of a cult of personality? Blowing someone up to heroic proportions; using ones celebrity status to rally the masses. This isn't to say that celebrities can never be a part of the world politic. But, jumping right to trying to be president doesn't sit well with me. Reagan eased his way in by being a spokesman for the Goldwater campaign, he was a part of many political committees, and he was elected Governor of California all before he made his presidential bid, which we all know he won.
So, how about "Oprah for Governor", "Oprah for Representative", "Oprah for Senator", heck, maybe even "Oprah for City Council", just to get started?
With all that being said, I move on to the outpouring of "Oprah for President" and "Oprah 2020" sentiments. Let's think about this. The current White House resident can sound dumb as a box of rocks (my apologies to both boxes and rocks). He is not eloquent nor inspiring to those who want justice, equality, peace, and tolerance. Oprah does have 45 beat in this area for sure. I would never dispute this point.
But, a good speech does not make a president. Let's not start a trend of celebrity being the qualification for becoming commander-in-chief. Do we want to be a part of a cult of personality? Blowing someone up to heroic proportions; using ones celebrity status to rally the masses. This isn't to say that celebrities can never be a part of the world politic. But, jumping right to trying to be president doesn't sit well with me. Reagan eased his way in by being a spokesman for the Goldwater campaign, he was a part of many political committees, and he was elected Governor of California all before he made his presidential bid, which we all know he won.
So, how about "Oprah for Governor", "Oprah for Representative", "Oprah for Senator", heck, maybe even "Oprah for City Council", just to get started?
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