Clear -- remembering to breathe

This word was given to me by Jane

Today and yesterday have been rough days.  As we close in on the move date, Grandma is getting more and more anxious and frantic.  I have become the bad guy -- the one who is forcing her to move and get rid of all of her collection of rubber bands, reused Styrofoam meat trays, drawers full of torn panty hose and EVERYTHING SHE'S EVER LOVED.

The more anxious she gets, the worse day she has, the worse day we both have.  Then I don't sleep and the cycle starts again.  There have been bouts of tears on both sides, loose tempers, hurt feelings, expressions of fear, and hope that on Saturday things will work out for the best.

There have been times that one, or both of us, has had to take a time out.  Boots on, coat zipped, dogs at the ready --  I escape to the outside.

At first, I stomp.  Hard, fast, and determined.  I stomp.  I fume.  Then the dogs get to me.  They run and run and run.  They tumble across each other and growl with fake fight.  They run and run and run and then they run to me.

Tongues out, feet flying.

I stop stomping.  Finally, I take a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding since the morning.  I remember to be patient, forgiving, and appreciative.  I walk as long as I can, as far as I can, until I feel I can handle another day.

Today, I almost made it to Saskatoon.

Gobbledygook -- rantings of a thirtysomething insomniac

This word was given to me by my once-neighbour Jason.  He knows me too well.  I'm full of nonsense.

I can't sleep.  It seems the worse a day Grandma has, the worse a night I have.  Combine worry and over stimulation with Tetris and a clock that insists on ticking every second like as though it's REMINDING ME I'M NOT ASLEEP YET.  Tic tock tic tock tic tock tic tock tic tock tic tock tic tock tic tock tic tock tic tock

WHERE IS MY HAMMER??????

I need time to decompress after Grandma has gone to bed.  I can't imagine how she can fall asleep so easily, though I imagine this amount of upheaval makes a person bone tired.  Instead of sleeping, I am going over every thing I will need to do tomorrow.  Considering Grandma woke up last night at 2am to remind me about her life insurance plan, I wonder where I get it from?

Tic tock tic tock tic tock

What was I saying?

The coyotes were out in full force tonight.  I have no idea why they howl like they do.  I hope it's their way of communicating with each other and not just a sad song of how hungry they are and how they can't feed their young and they will be hunted and shot leaving their babies to be orphans.  I could not handle it if that was the case.

I have to watch out for the stupid things when I take the dogs out.  Vicki is as fat as Aunt Annie, so they are likely to scoop her up first thing and feed their pups for a week.  The tracks are everywhere and Monty insists on marking them like as though his urine is going to warn them to stay away.  You weigh 17 lbs, Monty.  That just tells them where you are!


Tic tock tic tock tic tock

Maybe this week was not the week to start decreasing my meds.

Love: Part 2 -- How much do you love?

Topic provided by my good friend Paige aka typicalquirk

I wonder if you ever know how much you love someone until there is a rough patch.  Until you have faced something big: illness, death, stress, job loss, moving -- do you really know how much you love?

I have always found that love is more clear when it comes to serving someone.  I don't mean: Here's a cup of tea.  I mean, Here is something I am willing to do for you that I would do for no one else.

Once Grandma told us about her relationship with Grandpa.  She said that she had cared for him and loved him when they got married, but it wasn't until he was deathly ill that she knew how much.  It was then she did everything for him and realized that he was the love of her life.

At the time, I was quite surprised.  I thought: Wait! You loved Grandpa, but didn't really love him until he was sick?  YEARS later??  I thought that just couldn't be right.

I was young and have learned through the years that everything I thought I knew about love (and really everything in general) was wrong.  Even this thought of Grandma's has proven to be more true than I realized.

It wasn't until Mom was first sick that I knew how much I loved.  When I was not only willing but pushing other people out of the way to do things for her.  Anything.  Things I thought I would never do for another living human being.  I wanted to do them for her because I loved her.

Now that I am here with Grandma, packing up her earthly possessions, I know how much I love her.  I joke with and about her a lot.  But I know how much I love.  I love her enough to cut her dog's hair with a pair of old scissors.  I love her enough to pack all her things into boxes that she unpacks because she can't remember what is in them.  I love her enough to stay with her for a week even though old people drive me crazy and sometimes my patience is worn to the last string.

I guess we, as human beings, discover love over and over again as it morphs and adapts to experience.  I know that my love with The Guy will do the same.  It's intimidating and also intriguing.

Bring on the disaster!

Texts

I think I watch True Crime shows too often.  I regularly think about what the police and crime techs will find when I or my loved ones are  murdered.  I think about the diaries they will go through, the computer history, and -- most importantly -- my cell phone call and text history.

My texts to my siblings alone will make quite a story for the local law enforcement.

They consist mostly of the following:

• Lines from the song Jessie's Girl which I text to my brother every time it comes on the radio -- it makes him CRAZY -- and it comes on a lot in our town
• Comments about poop i.e.: I think I just pooped myself a stroke
• Butt Face Plant Food Baby Wipes I got nothing
• Lines from commercials popular in the 80s Have you ever heard a peep from a bottle of perfume?  Peep Peep
• More comments about poop

It gives a really bad view of the kind of person I am.  I hope the police are understanding.

You know, and that I don't get murdered.

Company sweater

When I was growing up, the temperature in our family home was always the same.  Day in and day out.  Even before programmable thermostats, Mom was diligent about the temperature.  19 degrees (66 F ) during the day and 16 degrees (61 F) at night.  For as long as I can remember.

Mom was always too hot.  She could be found most days wearing a T-shirt or a sleeveless blouse, a pair of cotton pants (complete with elastic waist) and no socks.  My mother wouldn't wear a pair of socks if the floor was covered in glass.  She loved having her feet free and (despite the fact they were always cold to touch) her feet didn't see socks more than once or twice a year.

The family became immune to the weather in our house.  For us, it was normal.  There was no wearing shorts indoors in the winter.  It was full winter regalia.  If you were cold, put on a sweater.  Fine, put on another sweater.

When company would come to visit (as they did often in our house) it was not uncommon for the woman to be cold.  I don't know what made Mom different (maybe it was early onset menopause!) but she was rarely cold.  Except when she would go outside and then she was allergic to cold, but that's another story.

My mom had a sweater put aside especially for company.  It was called "the company sweater" (apt, eh?) and it hung in the closet waiting for our skinny, cold-blooded friends to come visit.  There were a few who had to ask for the sweater (or would be offered the sweater later when Mom would notice they were shivering and wearing their mitts) but there were a few people who walked in the door and immediately changed their jacket for the sweater.

The sweater was knit by my Grandma years before.  It was some sort of polyester blend yarn and was knit the perfect gauge for warmth.  With long, tight sleeves the sweater hit just past your bum and could be wrapped tightly around you or buttoned together in the front.  It was the perfect keep-you-warm sweater.

The sweater now hangs in my closet.  It waits for the occasional guest who is chilly, but mostly I wear it on days when I am too hot to wear a sweater all day, but need a little warmth.  Mostly, I wear it to be comforted by the memory of my Mom and imagine it gives me a hug on her behalf.

For every action #reverb10

I'm a bi late with this one again.  I was going to do it after The Guy went to bed, but was so tired by then I joined him.  Will do this prompt now and the next one tonight.  Unless I get tired again... then this is the beginning of a downward spiral.

December 13 Action. When it comes to aspirations, its not about ideas. It's about making ideas happen. What's your next step? (Prompt by @scottbelsky)

I am a woman of action.  It's how I show love, it's how I fix things, it's how I move.  When I am unable to act, I am paralyzed.  It is at that time that depression and frustration and anger and helplessness come on me like a cloud.  I am surrounded in my inability to act, to fix, to love, and I am lost.

Maybe that is why the last few months have been so bad for me.  I am at a loss to fix the inequalities and hurts.  I can still do my job, and do it well, but the rest is beyond something I can fix.  To see a problem and not be able to act, that is the worst punishment that exists for me.  I can see the contradictions, the unfairness, the immoral.  And I am in the minority so therefore am not able to act in the way that I feel is necessary to make change happen.

For me, this coming year is not about how to put things into action, but how to be okay when I am unable to act.  For me, that is the challenge.

A little "different" but in a nice way #reverb10

December 8 Beautifully different. Think about what makes you different and what you do that lights people up. Reflect on all the things that make you different - you'll find they're what make you beautiful. (Prompt by @chookooloonks)

I've always been a little different.  When I was younger, I didn't see that as a good thing.  I bucked against it like horse in a pen too small.  I copied things from others that I wished I was like and attempted to mold myself into them.  When I didn't succeed, I put up a wall of anger against those who would not accept me for the person I was trying to be.

Now, I've grown in to me.  It took me over 20 years from the irritating 10 yr old to someone comfortable in her skin and in her differences.

Here are the things about me that are different and, because of that, beautiful.

• I am taller than most people.  I am also bigger.  I jokingly call it "built like a brick shit house" but it's more than that.  I am substantial. (And I don't mean that as a nice way of calling myself fat.)  I have hips and a stomach and breasts.  I am a woman.  I am durable, sturdy, and still abundantly female.
• I say what I am thinking.  Often when I am thinking it and before I think about the consequences of saying it.  In some ways, this sets me apart from others because of my quick mind and constant commentary that runs through my head and (just as quickly) out my mouth.
• When I laugh, I laugh. If I find something funny, I throw back my head and bust a gut.  Without fear, without shame, without thought.

It took me years to like the person I've become.  I'm different, but that's the best part.

Three Words: Word One

I've been having a hard time with creativity and (after looking on the thesaurus for 10 minutes) finding words.  I haven't felt like writing lately and am choked by the things I want to say.  Not in a bad way, just a way that leaves me speechless with my mouth open and my brain moving rapidly in circles.

I'm feeling a bit like the hamster at my brain wheel is out of control.

So, I decided to go looking for inspiration.  And came across an old Plinky email.

Name three words you would use to describe your family.

This struck me as interesting considering the changes that have occurred in our family in the last few years.  I thought I would give it a shot.  I'm doing it in 3 posts though b/c otherwise you will all be bored to death.

Scattered
Once, we were all in place.  We were a mom and a dad and a brother and two sisters and me.  With dogs.  In one place.  We were a family and we had stability.

Then, one day, our lives changed.  We started to grow up and out of our parents' home.  We moved to places of our own within the city and without.  But, home was always the same.  Where our parents lived.

When Mom died, Dad moved into a condo, Grae got married and moved to Red Deer, Ky moved to Saskatoon, and Lyn moved in with me.  I tried to keep my home as home base, so we always had somewhere to come back to.  A centre.

Then, Dad got married and fled the country, Grae and Mel stayed in Red Deer, Ky moved to Victoria, Lyn moved to Edmonton, and I was still here.  In a smaller home, one that couldn't keep the whole family together any more.

I got married and started my own little family of: me, The Guy, and Monty.  The rest of the family is still scattered all over, but they are now home where they are instead of home where I am.  It's been a big adjustment for me -- someone who needs to be surrounded by family at all times -- but I realized I cannot hope they are change their life directions just so I have someone to watch So You Think You Can Dance with.

Sisters, sisters. Never were there such devoted sisters

LynnieC moved in with us this week.  She got a job for the summer and so we invited her to crash with us for a few months.  The Guy has no idea what he's in for. 

Now, Lyn and I have lived together before in the house of spinster.  We got along great.  We ate lots of McDonalds, watched lots of So You Think You Can Dance, and shopped. 

It's different now.  I'm a married lady.  I cook real meals.  I keep the house clean (relatively).  I go to bed before midnight.  I watch the Discovery channel.  I'm old. 

It will be interesting to see how we all adapt to each other.  I think I'm more worried than either Lyn or The Guy.  I worry that I will be torn between the family I have been tied to my whole life and the family I'm creating.  (No, not that way.  I'm not pregnant.) 

I worry that there either The Guy or Lyn will realize the odd things about the other and suddenly dislike each other.  You know the saying -- familiarity breeds contempt.  My worlds will be merging in a whole new way and I'm a little panicked by that.  But I'm also excited.  It's going to be a lot of fun.

Finally, I have someone to watch So You Think You Can Dance with again!

The times, they are a changin'

He sits there looking at me. He stares as I take everything he knows and efficiently set it into boxes. He follows me silently as I flit from room to room, picking up some things, setting down others -- cleaning, organizing, deciding. He hangs his head in confusion and paces back and forth in quiet contemplation.

He knows something is going on. And he is uneasy.

I am packing up our lives together and he is unsure where we are going to be. His entire schedule is off and he is thrown for a loop. I cannot explain it to him so he will understand. He stares at me with those brown eyes in sadness, confusion, and complete trust, and I cannot explain it so he will understand. He is a dog and his world is changing.

Forgiveness and forgetfulness

When someone else fails, I can deal with it. I rant about the shortcomings of others with regularity, but am able to look beyond most individual acts and -- if the intention was pure -- accept why it occurred, do what I can to fix it, and move on. I spend most of my time fixing the little mistakes of others, ranting about their inadequacies, and brushing them aside like buzzing flies. Annoying, but not worth my extended time.

When I fail, it is not as easily swept aside. Small mistakes are unavoidable. Acknowledged with great disdain towards that side of my humanity, but otherwise accepted. Then there are the large mistakes. Mistakes which I do not forgive as easily. Mistakes of pride, of ignorance, of thoughtlessness, of good intention, of greed. Mistakes which haunt me despite knowing that things happen and now I have learned not to make them again.

You would think that we learn from these mistakes. I, instead, replay them on a regular basis and wallow in my own self-loathing and guilt.

When I was in my late teens, I was working at my very first real job. I had no lunch one day, no money for lunch, and a long day ahead of me. A coworker I was unfamiliar with came to the lunch room as I sat - stomach growling - to wait out my forced break. He had a drink with him. A Big Gulp of goodness with ice and beads of cool water sliding down the outside of the cup. I drooled and pined for that drink. And when he got up from the table to get something from downstairs, I developed my plan. I took the cup from where he left it and went to the kitchen for a glass. I thought I could slip a small amount into a cup and he would never be the wiser. Except that he caught me. I mumbled a lame excuse and made a quick exit. I hid in the staff bathrooms until my shift began. I never spoke with him again.

Sixteen years later, I sit in my guilt. I flush at the thought of my actions. I flush with embarrassment at being caught and with disgust at the thought of my indiscretion. Someone else, I could say "It's over, you cannot go back. Let it go." But then, I have not the strict guidelines for behaviour for them as I do myself.

When a decision I make is in question, and I know I am in the wrong, I am inconsolable. That I could be wrong is inexcusable. I know better. But, I do fail. Or, if not fail, am amiss in my actions. I make choices I should not. I say things I wish I had not. I make ill-informed decisions I would take back if I could. And, when they are brought to my attention, I stew and fret and lash myself.

The good thing is this feeling will only last for 16 years or so.

Rest for the weary

This is my down time. My rejuvenation, my regeneration time. The door is open and the sounds of the night are coming in -- the distant traffic, an occasional floating voice, the rustling of trees. The overhead fan is going softly moving the air gently around me. There is no other sound.

I am sitting on the couch, propped against a pillow, puppy at my feet. I breathe deeply and will the stress from my body. Stress of packing, moving, downsizing, organizing. Stress of wedding songs, address changes, excess furniture, and melodrama. The stress is still there, the knowledge that these things will still need my attention soon is in the back of my mind. But, for now, the sound of the traffic and the ceiling fan are the balm for my troubled spirit.

I am content now sitting here. The world is a good place and everything is under control. I have a puppy, a purpose, and a plan.

Happy Birthday to me - here's a dark look into my mind

I don't know how normal people deal with stress. I've seen it, of course, being in my line of work I'm in the midst of people's worst times and darkest moments. But I think people deal with things much differently than I do and it is one of the few things I cannot comprehend about other people.

When I am faced with bad news or a crisis or a problem, I immediately search for what I can do about it. I take the problem at face value, search it's limitations and boundaries, and decide on my course of action. I feel the emotion of the issue, but I can set that emotion aside to look at problem solving first. If there is something I can do to address the issue, I do it. As long as I have something tangible to do, it is a situation I can handle. The emotion is a side story that will have to wait.

However, while I am in the process of doing, while I am preoccupied and busy, it is here the emotional aspect can slip in. At first I don't notice it - the twiggling of anxiety or pain as it crawls into my sub-conscious. Of course, I recognize I should be feeling these things. I am, above all, quite introspective, but I rarely know that I am experiencing an emotion until it has fully wound itself into my very core. The worry or panic is suddenly just there - part of my being - having slowly leaked its way into my mind.

When I am finally done the "doing", I am jolted to a rather harsh stop. Suddenly the emotion that has seeped in rears back like a tidal wave and knocks me fully to the ground.

I think it is one of the reasons I have such incredible and constant headaches. The stress of each issue creeps into my head, slowly filling it to capacity. As the stress or worry grows, my mind swells under the pressure until I am in agony. Drugs rarely touch that pain because it is not something that can be affected by over the counter medications. And prescribed meds can only keep things at bay a little longer.

It is worse when I worry about things I have no control and no influence over. Then the emotion and worry work themselves into my mind while I keep up appearances of being together and calm. The mundane-ness of making myself not worry is what feeds the worry here. Contrary, I suppose, but that is how it works. I do my best not to allow it to affect me and it does its best to drop me to my knees.

I am sitting here - the image of composure, trying not to worry.

Dear Mom

Today is the day to remember mothers. I thought, since you were a pretty decent one, I should do that. This year has been harder for me. Mother's day is everywhere, advertising, annoying, mocking. Each place I turn is another reminder that you are not here.

I feel like I should be resentful of the fact that you are not here, rather than being merely melancholy. Not sad melancholy. Well, not painfully sad. Just aware. Today is another day that you are not here. I am sorry for that, but at the same time, life keeps going on. It's surprising, you know. For the longest time I couldn't figure out how that was possible - time moving on without you - but now, I've accepted the fact things are different and they could not have been this way if you were here.

I suppose that sounds cold. It is not as though I am glad for your absence. On the contrary, I would shake my fists towards the sky if I thought it would do any good. What I have found is a way to recognize the things that have come from your death. The glass half full version, I guess. You have allowed us each a way to move on, a way to grow, a way to flourish in your absence.

The things you taught us in your life, prepared us for the days after. You taught us the importance of a strong family. The binds you tied around us as children kept us from floating apart as adults. And yet, we do not congregate because you told us to do so, but because we recognize that is where our strength and safety lie.

You taught us the importance of humor and joy. While I am fully aware I am going to get the beats when I see you next for some of my less tasteful jokes, it was your smile and laughter (heard from across the room) and your mischievousness that encouraged us to find the same things in life. Enjoyment in things. Even when they suck.

I was able to buy a house because of you. A house you never were able to set foot in, but was part of you nonetheless. I needed that place. A home. You knew that about me and you made it possible. I plan to someday have a home like you made for us -- one of laughter and chaos and love and family -- but with less wicker and brass.

There are still days I hurt that you are not here. Days when I see a sweater the perfect blue of your eyes. Days when I watch a movie you would have loved. Days when I see or do something I want to talk to you about. The stabbing, violent, shaking pain of losing you has passed. Now it is a slower pain, a slightly less intense pain -- a phantom pain with an ache of a limb that is gone.

Now the ache is of things I will not be able to share with you. My first house. My wedding day. My first child. Menopause. (Kidding. I already shared that with you.) But what I'm trying to say is that I appreciate who you were for me and I miss the fact you aren't anymore.

But I remember you. Poofy hair, Rita McNeil, false teeth, coke bottle glasses you. Bare feet, flour on your "good shirt"*, grin on your face you. Baseball cheering, bowling viewing, always standing you. Bread making, cross stitching, computer savvy, business woman you. You have shaped the people we have become - both in your presence and in your absence.

Happy Mother's Day.



*Every shirt was a good shirt. Said every time without irony and with utter sincerity.


This post was nominated for Five Star Friday

Alarm bells

Despite that my mother spent the better part (actually the worst part) of two years dying from cancer, the fact she was actually dying seemed to escape me until the last month. Mom spent the last month of her life in hospital being cared for by the women she had worked with for eleven years.

We spent most of our time at the hospital. There are no visitation restrictions on the ward of death and our family took full advantage of that. Someone was with Mom at all times. Many a night, I slept on that couch listening to the sounds of the machines dripping fluid into Mom's veins. Listening to the sound of her raspy breathing. Listening to the sounds of other families holding the same vigil for their loved one.

In that first week of the last month, things seemed to be okay. Mom was not going downhill as fast as they had predicted and, while we were not given hope things would change, we were feeling as though we had some time yet. After spending most the day at the hospital, we all retreated to our separate homes. I went back to my apartment with my good friend who had driven down from Calgary at my panicked call a few days before. We spent the evening chatting and I was starting to feel a semblance of normal. Then the phone rang.

It was my aunt staying at Mom and Dad's place. Dad was spending the night at the hospital and all the other aunts and uncles had returned to get some rest. My aunt had just spoken with my mother's brother and, in a great misunderstanding of epic proportions, understood that my mother was not expected to make it through the night. The alarms were being sounded and all my siblings were heading to the hospital.

I put down the phone and started shaking. I couldn't formulate words, I couldn't think. I told my friend I needed to get to the hospital immediately. She had to drive. I couldn't do it. We drove through near white-out conditions as fast as we dared in the surprise spring blizzard. I jumped from the car before it came to a stop and told my friend I would call when I knew anything. I ran into the hospital.

They must have seen the panic in my eyes, because the night staff buzzed me through without question. I ran up the steps to the fourth floor as I knew the elevator would be too slow -- too inactive -- for me to reach my mother as fast as I needed. I flew down the halls, through the ward doors, around the corner and into my mother's room.

She was sitting up in bed, sipping her Coke, chatting and laughing with my Dad. They were surprised to see me. Mom asked why I had come back and I told her (with all the calmness I could muster) that I had come to say goodnight. I calmly asked my Dad to join me in the hall and I explained why I was there. He was confused. It appeared my uncle had misheard something or my aunt had misheard the explanation. There was no danger of Mom dying that night. My siblings entered the ward at that moment and received the same explanation. It was all fine -- for now.

It was in that moment I realized my mother was, without a doubt, going to die. And it was then that I turned into my brother's arms and finally broke down.



I've been featured on Five Star Friday.

Here I sit

I'm sitting in a hotel room in Saskatoon. Meetings today and tomorrow are keeping me here. Of course, morning comes much earlier when meetings are involved than I would ever allow in my own home. I have to be up at 8 tomorrow. Two days in a row where I have to be awake before noon is hardly my idea of a good time.

Knowing I have to be awake in a minimal amount of hours (what? No one else needs 10 hours to get a good sleep?) makes me anxious and completely wide awake. I have been thinking and stressing about numerous things anyway which have been making sleep a little less common for me.

I'm stressing about:

• wedding details -- trying to complete the image that is in my head while allowing for others opinions. It's not just about the bride. Regardless of what people tell you.
  
• my weight -- I put on my wedding dress and it is much more snug than when I bought it a month ago. I am going to start trying it on every time I want to eat crap. And then bending down to put on my shoes. Because I almost blew the zipper when I tried that last night.
  
• my house -- the open house was slow. Two people through it only. Nice things to say except that it's too small. I know it will sell eventually. However, the sun will burn out eventually too.
  
• my dogs -- I miss my dogs. But they aren't even mine now and that makes it worse. Montel doesn't cuddle, he doesn't just sit and rest, he doesn't give kisses when I need them, etc. He's not really my dog. Monty is The Guy's dog. I miss my dog.
  
• union stuff -- I don't want to be involved any more. The work is way more intensive than I was lead to believe. The hours are constant and I will be spending more days in March and April in meetings or at conferences than I will be at home.
• my inability to stick up for myself. Especially in situations where I really need to. I only speak my mind if I am positive there will be no negative backlash. Otherwise, I'm a wimp. And I'm getting pushed around.
  

So I sit here. Alone in my hotel room and wishing I was sleepy and not just tired.

Second rate

Get it? Because my first post on rating was a lame pun. So, obviously, my second post on rating would be a lame word play!! Get it? Huh? Huh?

Fine. I'll move on. Party poopers. Have you noticed how I start some serious posts by being an ass? Yeah, me neither.

In following with my first 152 insights into my soul* I am now looking at the next three qualities a person should strive to have or be or attain or what have you. They are:

Patience
Kindness
Goodness

Patience
Patience is quiet, steady perseverance; even-tempered care; diligence. Uh huh. Sounds just like me, doesn't it? Yeah, not so much. I have patience if I know the end result of my waiting. If I know that waiting in a line will get me to the till eventually and I am in no real panic to go or be anywhere else, I can wait. With patience. For... a long time. While others are fidgeting or huffing or grumbling, I will wait and... just wait. I know the outcome, I can't change the process, I might as well be where I am.

If I do not know the outcome? You may want to move away. Slowly. When I have no control over the outcome or the process and I have no idea what the outcome will be, I am antsy and anxious and nervous and worried and short tempered. And yes, that does mean I am a contradiction wrapped in an enigma wrapped in a mystery wrapped in bacon. Mmmm. Bacon. Where was I? Right. Patience. I'm gonna give myself a 6. Which is plus 3 points for being patient in traffic, and minus 3 points for wanting the answer to everything that will ever happen in my life so I can just hurry up and relax already.

Kindness
I find human nature so interesting. Maybe that is why I went into Sociology in University. And then transferred to Psych. And back to Sociology. And then to History. And then to English. And finally to Human Justice and Social Work. Because I have the need to know WHAT THE HECK WERE YOU THINKING? about humans. I find that for every quality I can list that I have, I also have equal amounts of the exact opposite.

For example, kindness. (Yes, that is where I was going with this.) I would say I am a kind person. Like an 8 out of 10 on the kind person scale. I'm below Mother Theresa and above Howard Stern. I like children and puppies and homeless guys with no teeth. I like babies and kitties and stuff. I do kind things for people because I was raised that way and I think people need it. On the other hand, I am a horribly unkind person. The kind of person who mocks people with really bad hair -- sometimes when they can hear. The kind of person who repeatedly wants to punch people in the throat. So maybe I'm only a 7. Unless you really annoy me and then I will be a 5 without even blinking.

Goodness
Goodness is a tough one. Goodness means moral excellence; virtue or even just being good. It also means "excellence of quality" (same reference). It encompasses not only how you behave, but who you are. The core of who you are. I want to be an 8. You can respect an 8, accept her and think she's a good 8. But she's still got those 2 to make you feel like you don't have to hate her too much. But to break it down into those little sections? I don't think I like that rating.

Me? Moral excellence? Not so much. I mean, I tend not to murder people or commit adultery, but... as for the rest? The "Thou shalt not"s have at times become the "I shalt just this once. Or twice." I want to be a good person. In a lot of ways, I think I am. I want to be good and so that in itself goes a long way toward being good. However, I have a long way to go. But I think that's a good thing (if you will pardon the overuse of the word) because it causes us to look beyond who we are now to who we want to be. We aim for that person and we grow. We deal with the things that cause us to be less than goodness and we move on toward things that are more like goodness. And then, our sister beats us over the head for poor sentence structure. Or at least I think it works like that.


*Sisters, this quote is for you. Answer?

Dreams and random bits of crap

I figure if I'm awake, I should let someone know about it. Here it is 7am and I am so ready for bed.

I've been having really weird (read: "awkward") dreams the last couple of weeks. A lot of them since I got engaged have been about me making out with inappropriately underage boys. Not like 12, you perverts. Early 20s. Anyway, I figure that's a sign I should be getting it out of the way before I get married. However, The Guy would argue he has dreams about [insert name of busty, dumb actress here] so shouldn't it be tit for tat? And then I would say "No, and that was a really bad pun." But we haven't had that conversation yet. I imagine we will now though.

The most amusing one of my inappropriate dreams was a couple of nights ago. I was super old (read:"32") and living in a coed dorm where all the early 20 something girls and guy bunked in one large bed. One particularly cute guy kept trying to hold my hand and all I could think about was trying to find a place where I could poop in private. Seriously. I spent the entire dream avoiding the entire main plot so I could poop. Who does that? Worse than that, I woke up and totally did not have to poop, so it wasn't even like my subconscious was trying to wake me up or anything. I'm just a freak.

I read an entire book last night. I've read it about 4 times before, but not in a few years so it was almost like new. One of my coworkers tells me that since she hit her 40s she can read a book once a week and it's like new. I'm not there yet, but I can see it happening. Also, the first time I read a book I am just trying to get to the next page to see what happens. I could give a flying rat's patoot about sentences or character growth or subtlety. Kind of like in real life.

In the shelter where I work on occasion, there is an entire side of the desk lined with lotions. Each time I am here, I put on a new lotion. My hands are always dry and I have no actual hand lotion at home. I know, why not? Because I am lazy and I lotion up at work. Which sounds horrible. But my point! Yes, my point. Is this. Every lotion I put on smells worse than the one before. First I smelled like the inside of a goat's udder. Not pleasant. Then I smelled like the most vile sort of pineapple. Mixed with goat's udder. (I was trying to mask the smell... it did not work.) And last night I smelled like homeless grandma. Like liniment that old people use and homelessness mixed in for good benefit. Now I will have to shower before I go to bed because I do not want to think about what my brain will concoct in a dream with this smell.

Tonight

Tonight, I am down. Tonight, I am missing my dogs -- all three of them. Tonight, I do not want to work for a living -- attempting to help people when nothing ever changes. Tonight, I am tired.

Tonight, I want to curl up in a blanket and drink hot chocolate with marshmallows and watch sad movies. Tonight, I want to go home. Tonight, I miss my mom, I miss my dad, I miss my siblings. Tonight, I want to eat something for every emotion.

Tomorrow, I will wake up and the day will be different. Tomorrow, I will be well rested and have plans. Tomorrow, the sun will shine and it might be above freezing. Tomorrow, I will visit and laugh and plan. Tomorrow, will be better.

Tonight needs to be over. I am so done with it.

How do you rate?

I hate it when I come up with draft titles so I will know what is going on in the post and then I save the post in drafts so I can come back to it later and then when I do come back to it the title is ever so pathetically lame that not even I can enjoy it. That is what happened here. Also, I realized the first sentence was going to be a really long run-on, so I ran with it. You're welcome.

So, the point of that rambling is: I am aware the title of this post is lame. Also, tough beans. If I had to look at it, so do you. I'm not changing it now.

I had all intentions of this being thought provoking and insightful, but my title ruined it all. Crap. Now onto our regularly scheduled post.

In reading material for the pre-marriage classes The Guy and I are taking, I was reading about the qualities a person should strive for in themselves. The Fruits of the Spirit is what they are called among the church-going crowd, but the qualities are pretty basic, so everyone can appreciate them. They are:

Love
Joy
Peace
Patience
Kindness
Goodness
Faithfulness
Gentleness
Self-Control

Being a good girl and listening to my parents (tee hee) I, many years ago, memorized the verse these come from. I can quote them, but I never took the time to study each one and see how they applied to me or if I possessed them on any level at all. So, in front of God and country, I'm going to do so now. Don't worry, I won't do all at once. This is a three part mini series.

Love
Love can be defined as a profound and deep admiration and concern for the well-being of another person. That is a smooshing of all the definitions I found. It works for me. On a scale of 1 - 10, (1 being I love nothing and no one, 10 being I love everything and everyone without question) I would say I'm an 8. I love easily and deeply. I have great affection for people and animals -- weird people, displaced people, under dogs, etc. I love and accept love. Maybe I find it harder to accept love at times, but I still love. All in all, I'm okay with this one.

Joy
Joy is defined as delight, happiness, or satisfaction. I like definitions. It makes things tidy and we're all on the same page then. Joy is a tougher one for me. On the whole, I'm a fairly happy person, however, I have a sarcastic edge and an occasional negative look on some things. I would say I score a 7 on joy. Sometimes I'm an 8, sometimes I'm a 6, so I'm going to go for the medium number. I want to be a positive person and find joy in everyday things. I am working towards that.

Peace
Inner peace is what I think of on this one. Let's look it up. Oh, I like this one. Definition.com call peace the "freedom of the mind from annoyance, distraction, anxiety, an obsession." I say "HA!" Not that I am doubting the definition. I mean, hence the name of the site, right? But in my life -- my mind -- peace is... noticeably absent. Even when I am calm, look calm, seem calm, I am decidedly not so calm. I think a 5.5 is my rating on this one. I am working towards peace. I am meditating on a semi-kind of-regular basis. I am praying more often. I am doing relaxing things to open my mind and let some of that tension out. However, rather than the opening being akin to a window, my opening is more similar to a balloon. I am slowly letting the mouth of the balloon open just enough to let the littlest squeak of air out into the world. Peace is not my strong point.

(to be continued)