Do you believe your dreams are prophetic?  Do you believe that your dreams are your subconsciousness trying to tell you something?  Geez, I hope that's not true.

Night before last I had a bad dream about one of the kids acting out.  It's obvious where that came from considering how worried we've been about them lately.

But last night's dream was a complete nightmare, and I have absolutely no idea where it came from.  I don't remember a single thing about it other than... are you ready for this?  I dreamed I had six nipples.  Not six breasts, six nipples.  The two normal ones where they're supposed to be and the other four right in the middle of my chest two by two.  I was horrified. 

WHERE did that come from??

Ok, I was pretty heavily drugged earlier in the evening, but that was hours before bedtime.  Maybe it was the exhaustion because I didn't even have sex last night.  I was so tired, once I snuggled in against him, I don't think I moved again until the clock sounded.

I know a woman who has four nipples, but I remember her saying that it was no big deal.  She had been told by her doctor the extra two could be surgically removed, but she never had the procedure because she said they didn't bother her.  They looked like little moles. 

Not the ones in my dream!  They were clearly nipples.  Pointy nipples.  I distinctly remember being very upset by the appearance of them.  Now I'm just confused.  It's not like I'm devastated by this or anything.  I probably won't think about it again once this post is old news.  It just makes me wonder how twisted I really am, ya know?

Don't answer that.

Sleep was a mere fantasy last night.  Nausea and achiness makes for bad bed fellows.  My mind darted back and forth between sanity and delirium most of the night. 

I've found myself in quite a few serious conversations lately.  Topics have ranged from politics to religion along with philosophies, emotions, meanderings... lots of talking.  Everyone knows I love a good quick-witted conversation with anyone, but I also enjoy serious thought provoking discussions when they're with people who act like adults.  If you can't voice your opinions in a calm intelligent manner, you have no business talking about grownup stuff.  We should be able to agree to disagree. 

Every conversation shouldn't be about selling your ideas to someone else.  That's why I love reading the blog sites I visit daily.  Intelligent people who write about their lives, what they're thinking and feeling, and honestly share a part of who they are in what they write.  And they're more than fine if they have an opinion you don't agree with.  You can even tell them you disagree, and they'll appreciate your view, anyway!

Thinking about those conversations instead of sleeping last night made me realize that even with all our different views, we're still so similar.  Completely different people, cultures, lifestyles, and yet we all struggle for the same things in life.

I've written many posts about growing up on a farm in a rural part of the country.  The road that led to our house wasn't paved.  A road of gravel and dirt was the only way to get to me.  Back then most of the people in our community were greasing local politicians' pockets to have their streets paved and improved.  I honestly believe my grandfather paid them to insure ours stayed the same.  He liked being secluded.  Thinking back, we all did.

So on the other side of the road was a stream, and it ran directly parallel to the road all the way out of the valley.  I grew up running up and down that creekbed.  The growth around it kept it hidden in front of our house so it always felt like stepping into a different world. 

That road and that stream were two completely different things, and if you followed them long enough you'd see them change in size and shape.  You'd find points where the distance between them would widen without warning... spots so big one could not be seen from the other.  Yet, they still ran continuously flowing in the same direction.

Before you knew it, there they would be, side by side again.  Without thought, suddenly there's a meeting... a bridge.  One brief moment where two completely different worlds touch, and then it's back to the side by side stroll.

No matter how different we believe we are, we're all still heading in the same direction.  There will be times when our differences make us unreachable by one another, but there will just as many times where we'll actually get to connect and improve each other's lives.  That's what we should focus on the most.

I was barely twenty-one when I got the wild idea to that I'd be perfectly fine moving to a foreign country.  Never mind I'd taken four years of French and could only just get myself around with it, I somehow ended up in Frankfurt, Germany.  Having no apptitude for languages whatsoever, I took class upon class and just simply could not "get it".  It made for some miserable times considering I lived right in the middle of Frankfurt.  I did work for the Department of Defense, so most of my co-workers were American, but once I walked out those office doors every day, I had to get myself home in a world I didn't understand.

It was culture shock on levels that can't be described.  I'd gone from spending my entire life in a small town where the highlight of the year was a week long festival honoring Daniel Boone, to not only living in a huge modern city, but one that couldn't understand a single thing I said. 

I absolutely hated the first year.  I was the most miserable person on earth, or at least I felt like it.  It was my fault, though.  I was too afraid to breathe.  I got on the U-Bahn (subway) every morning and didn't look up until I got off at the stop in front of my office.  The return trip was the same.  It didn't help my anxieties when the occasional phone call would come in telling me to stay in my apartment for the weekend due to the many not so peaceful Turkish demonstrations that would happen from out of nowhere up and down the streets outside my complex. 

It wasn't until my second year that I decided to stop being scared little suckbaby.  That's when I got over the major culture shock and began living.  Before long seeing the many topless women sunbathing in the park I ran in every morning was no big deal. 

Things I learned from a foreign country:

I learned packets of mayo were free with an order of fries, but there were places that would charge extra for ketchup.

That whole, hairy armpit thing... that's a thing of the past.  Those women shave their armpits just like everyone else.  Mostly.

We Americans are led to believe the entire world hates us, and that's not true.  For the most part, I was treated wonderfully.

If you're living in a foreign country, respect its people enough to at least try to learn the language.  They'll return that respect by only watching you make a fool of yourself for a minute or two before they smile, pat your shoulder, and let you know they speak English perfectly and can help you get to IKEA without a problem.

Everybody parties the same way when they're drunk.

I hate fancy food.

Southern accents will get you everywhere no matter where you are... except in the South, of course.

You don't have to know the language to hit on a guy on the subway.

If you've seen one set of boobs, you've seen'em all. (don't even try to argue this with me)

I had no idea what a REAL mountain was until I saw Austria.

There are actually cultures on this earth that are more deeply rooted in tradition than the southern U.S.  Yep.

Every country's people believe they live in the best country in the world.  Agree or not, just shut up and let people have pride in who they are.

Little old ladies will mother you no matter where you're from or where you're going.

You don't have to understand the lyrics of a song to totally rock out to it.

I really like American men.

People are people... and if you're sitting in a crowded room where no one is speaking, chances are, it would be difficult to guess which nations are being represented. 

Our styles and cultures are merging year after year.  We're really no different in our hearts.

I could go on and on, but one of my favorite lessons from my time in Europe... oh my god it's a total turn on to drive 120mph and not get a ticket.

I totally forgot yesterday was Monday.  How awesome is that!  Screw actually had a three day weekend along with most of the rest of the country, so it totally threw me off balance.  And, of course, we celebrated with the standard Memorial Day barbeque.  Family get togethers are so much more interesting since the nephew came out of the closet.  It isn't nearly as extreme as one would think, as what my nephew would have the world to believe.  What he seems to always leave out when he's searching for public sympathy is the fact that most of his family could not care less who he's with when the lights go out.  We really don't like him because he's malicious and hateful in everything he does.  I love him, but I really don't like him at all.

Summer vacation is here, and I have no idea what I'm going to do to entertain the kids.  Other than using them as cheap labor to get that dumpster filled, of course.  If you believe that, you're crazy.  There is nothing cheap about getting my kids to do anything.  But it really is going to be tough to keep them busy, especially the two younger ones. 

After all the recent troubles with our twelve year old son, we've shaken things up around here quite a bit.  He's out of town right now, and he was hating us pretty badly when he left.  Mere days before he left on his trip, we threw away every single video game and game console he owned.  We're talking thousands of dollars worth of stuff.  It was absolutely the right thing to do, and I stand by it completely.  He'd lost control.  We had lost control of him.  We tried to pull him in and give him chances.  We tried to place limits and monitor and meet him half way.  It didn't work.  So as parents who love their children, we were forced to do what was best for him no matter what kind of fodder it will give his therapist someday. 

The Xboxes, Playstations, Nintendos, hand held systems, and dozens upon dozens of games... gone.  I don't know the exact number of games, but we got rid of a total of five or six game consoles.  We do still have the Wii and Playstation 3 because those are family consoles that are only turned on and used when we use them as a family, closely monitored, with innocent interactive games.  (Bella kicks our asses at bowling)  So you see, don't feel sorry for him.  He still gets to veg out occasionally.  He just has to live in the real world now.  He had an addiction.  He used those games and his fantasy world to avoid anything and everything that might force him to think and work toward something in life.

Oh if you could see the way he looks at us.  Keep your fingers crossed that what I have planned to save my kid actually works.  I'm sure he'll continue to hate me for a while, but he'll thank me for it someday. 

What I've realized lately about parenting is making them happy isn't nearly as important as making them emotionally and mentally healthy.  If I can accomplish that, they'll find true happiness.

(Roma wanted "before" shots!)

Imagine the gasps of terror as everyone came home earlier this week to find this sitting in our driveway:

They thought I was just having one of my moments when I told them we are going to take Spring cleaning to a whole new level this year.  The merging to two households should have happened faster than it did when, in fact, we just bascially moved in Screw's stuff and sort of forgot about it.  In the beginning, I wasn't comfortable going through it, and he worked so much he never really got the chance.  Add to that the fact the kids helped take down the Christmas decorations this year and you get this:

But that isn't even the biggest problem.  The biggest problem has been spoiling a bunch of rotten kids and allowing them to think they have no responsibilities whatsoever.  That's the struggle with most parents today, I think.  We want to give our children security and happiness and allow them carefree lives that we never really had, but we also want to teach them to be moral, ethical, responsible adults.  Sometimes, if you're like me, it's really hard to hit the happy medium between the two.  Obviously I went too far to the left when you see things like this:

To finish it off, you need to hire a con artist to do the landscaping for your new yard when you buy a house.  The previous owners hadn't made arrangements to keep up with their landscaping after moving so it was severely overgrown.  There were dead shrubs and trees and just crazy out of control ground cover and bushes.  So much so that the city had actually turned in complaints to the realtor's office because the corner landscaping was growing out onto the street and hindering motorists' ability to see around the stuff.

That was the first thing that needed to be addressed upon moving in so when a man showed up with references and all kinds of wonderful ideas, well, I just jumped at the opportunity to get it all done.  What he ended up doing was absolutely horrible.  See?

We're talking somewhere around five thousand dollars total to this guy, and all he did was cut the shrubs and trees down to the ground and cover everything with plastic.  He supposedly secured that fence into the ground... don't look too closely or you'll see how I've had to prop it up with rocks.  He threw on some topsoil and landscaping chips and that's it.  Yeah, I bent over and took it like a woman. 

But over this next month you're going to see a transformation, hopefully.  It won't look its best in the end because you won't have a beautiful mature lawn, but you'll see the beginnings! 

Maybe even the return of some of my sanity.  We'll see.

I have had my fill of idiocy.  I can't take anymore.  That, and companies who outsource to make money.  I won't go into bitter detail, and I won't debate it with you.  I'm not in the mood.  Waking up with a headache puts me in such a wonderful mood, doesn't it.

You may recall that recently I lost my cell phone.  Well, turns out I didn't lose it, but I won't go into that, either.  It'll just make my mood worse.  Anyway.  My contract with Sprint is up next month so it really wasn't a big deal as I've been counting down the days.  Why?  Because I'm a gadget girl.

A lost cell means no dirty text messages for my husband so he decided to make my wet dream come true and place an early order for this:

Oh how I love that man!  It is everything I thought it would be.  If you could have a romantic love for gadgets, I would feel it.  I was so giddy when it was delivered that I couldn't concentrate enough to activate the damn thing until late that evening.  By the way, the actual activation was easy... but...

As much as I love my new iphone, I may honestly send it back.  I'm not sure I can deal with the idiocy that is AT&T customer service for two years.  I thought Sprint was bad.  I miss them already.

I understand the stresses of working with the public.  Been there.  Done that.  When did it become acceptable to treat your customers like they're stupid and a waste of time?  If you're in retail, aren't your customers how you get paid??

That's ok.  You just keep sending your jobs anywhere you can get someone to work for next to nothing.  Continue to place non-English speaking employees in English required positions.  And you wonder why we go with foreign companies for things like electronics and automobiles??  Better quality is only part of the reason, you understand. 

It's because they're nicer to us, and they speak better English.

I know I've blogged about this before, but it's essential to go into some detail so that you understand what's going on around here over the next few days.  This is the first post in a series of posts that hopefully will help you to understand my recent thoughts and breakdowns.  The following pictures are the only ones I have on hand at the moment.  I apologize for them ahead of time, but hopefully they'll give you at least some idea of what I'm trying to describe for you.  So far I'm on my third edit, so hopefully if you click on the "*click*"s, this time you'll see bigger photos.  If you don't have time to actually click to see the bigger picture, forgive me for having to have it that way.  This page would never have loaded, otherwise.

House hunting.  It's a love/hate relationship for someone looking with their hearts and not their logic or bank account.  It was impossible to explain to a realtor other than, "I'll know it when I see it.".  At first it was looking at houses personally (even online until exhaustion), and then using a couple different realty offices that showed... let's see, the first one showed a house within budget that was out in the middle of nowhere, the yard was nothing but dug up pipeline, and the family was selling because their son had OD'ed and hung himself in the bedroom... on drugs he'd bought in the neighborhood.  But hey, the house was cute, choppy, but cute.

The second house had large potential but was severely overpriced because of its location.  It was a modern home but did need some renovating, mostly in the kitchen.  To have lived in that house would have screamed "status", and it really was a nice house.

Then, just out of curiosity, I wanted to see a house I'd viewed online.  I called the realtor in charge, and she practically attacked me over the phone.  She absolutely could not wait to show me "this house".  Apparently she fell in love with this house herself.  She wanted to show it that very day.  I did a little research and found out the house had been on the market for well over a year.  Unheard of around here, so I automatically assumed it would be a waste of time.  It's a 3700sq. ft. home with five bedrooms, two baths, and three floors.  Way too much to offer.  It had to be falling apart.  I decided to look anyway because I had already made the appointment.

The second I walked through this 9ft. door, I knew this is where I wanted to grow old.

The front room is HUGE with these huge French doors on both sides of the main entrance along with two sets of French doors leading into the dining room and billard room.  One end of the this room also held this:

These pictures are really very poor quality, and I'm sorry.  I wish you could see that above those built-in glass bookcases there are ledges which are now covered in live plants and those curtains are gone letting in sunlight.

These are 6ft windows covering one wall in the billard room with built-in bookcases on both sides.  The ceilings throughout the house are over 10ft.  I tried to lighten this picture to show the detail, but it's hopeless.  I'll take better ones at some point.

What you need to know is this is only half of the kitchen.  The room is huge and had been upgraded in the late nineties right down to the custom made booth in the corner.  The cabinets are floor to ceiling.  There are ninety-nine cabinets in my kitchen.

It was easy to understand why this house hadn't sold.  It really was a steal for the price, but most people want to pay that for a modern, up to date home.  The two bathrooms in my house are horribly inadequate.  Small and bare.  The bedrooms, well this is the master:

Those windows are wall to wall.  Let's just say, back in the early 1900s people obviously spent very little time in their bedrooms, and it's obvious that the Depression really hurt even the upper class wardrobe situation because the closet space is a nightmare!

I'm sorry the only picture I have of the outside right now is one we took of Halloween stuff.  So I'll try to describe it as best as I can, and I promise to post new ones within the next couple weeks. 

It's hard to tell but that front wall on the house at the porch is probably about 6ft. tall.  Way back on the left you can see the detached garage.  The porch goes all the way across the front, and it does now hold my dream come true.  There is a swing on the right.  You can't see it in this picture, but the entire front of the house in about a 4ft. strip is screwed up landscaping with nothing but rocks and weeds.  There's a strip all the way down both sides as well as the left corner in the front of the yard that you can't see.  We had to tear it all out, and we got screwed on the work.  So it's nasty and empty in this picture.  And it's what I'm working on now.

Finally, one of my favorite rooms in the house helps to explain why I immediately fell in love with this old thing.

This tiny room is downstairs just outside the basement.  The wood floor was rotten in places.  This room was originally used to hide people of color working their way up through here to go north.  Back in the early 1900s blacks were not allowed to live here.  Not a part of my history I'm proud of, but it's a part of it, nonetheless.  So the original owners of this house would bring them in and hide them in this room for a few days until they could move on.  Many times they would do work behind the scenes in the house to earn money to take with them on their journey.  But they couldn't stay for long, so they moved on quickly.

And that's it.  The character and the history of the home is why I loved it at first sight.  Everything in the house is original.  The hardwood flooring, all the beautiful wood moldings, everything.  Obviously some things have been updated, thank goodness.  Plumbing, electricity, and the roof, for example.  Other things are in desperate need of renovation.   The windows are single-paned and costing us a fortune, but to replace an entire three story house loaded with 6ft. windows? Yeah... right after I win the lottery I don't play.

The house is registered with the National Historic Society which basically gets us not even so much as a tax credit.  It's more of a hassle than anything.  I have to keep the outside painted a certain color, and I can't add on to the house at all on the exterior.  It has also earned me more than one knock at the door asking me if the house is open to the public.  I actually had one guy walk right in!  Although I want to try to keep it historic, I don't live by it.  It's my house now, and if I ever decide I truly want to paint it purple, I will.

For now, I'm happy with exactly what I have.  Drafty windows, cramped bedrooms, nightmarish bathrooms, closets for nudists, and more hardwood to clean than my little back can handle!  But every morning when I wake up and stumble through this big house, I'm happier than I've ever been because I'm home. 

We're heading into the twenty-four hour countdown to our state's primary, and although the country pretty much has Obama with the Democratic nomination in the bag, he could have at least given us a nod.  It's true that normally the federal government doesn't give a rat's ass about our state, but still... blow a little sunshine up our ass occasionally when you want something from us, ok?  I'll be unbelievably shocked if Clinton doesn't take the state.  Obama has sounded too snobby lately.  I just don't see him winning here.  On top of the bad press he's gotten recently, the sad thing is, there are areas in my home state that are rural and backward and fifty years behind the times.  It's a sad sad time in this country when I have to admit, there will be towns in my state that won't vote for him because of the color of his skin, but it's the raw truth.  And he isn't even coming here to try to change their minds.  We're not important enough.  And to think, I actually liked him in the beginning.

I guess that's why I get so upset sometimes when I see all the U.S. pleas to save the children of the world.  I wouldn't get upset by it because I believe every single child deserves a chance, I really do.  But how about we save our own first?  How about we travel down the gravel roads out into the middle of nowhere and teach the people cut off from modern times, educate them.  Teach them how to better their lives and change their antiquated ideas.  How about the children in the coal depleted hills of Eastern Kentucky going around hungry with swollen bellies?  A few years ago the state started a summer program where you can come to school even during summer break and pick up a bagged lunch.  It was aimed to help all those children who suddenly find themselves without food once the school year ends and they're no longer given breakfast and lunch during the school day.  Ooops... wait a minute, it's not like the bus is going to pick them up, bring them to get the lunches, and then take them back home.  And if mom and dad don't have money for food, they don't have $4 for a gallon of gas, either.

Is the neglect because their parents are U.S. citizens and expected to be better prepared to take care of themselves and their children?  Maybe they should be.  It's a harsh opinion but I believe it's wrong to bring a child into this world if you can't even feed yourself, and in a perfect world that's the way it would be.  They should be educated and happy and whole, but they're not.  Should have, could have, would have... whatever.  In the grand scheme of things, those don't matter.  What matters is how it is right now.  And right now gas prices are soaring, food prices are becoming impossible, we're worried about keeping our homes and feeding our children, and now we have to worry about choosing the lesser of three evils.

And if you're sitting in your decent home, drinking your quality coffee, or slacking at work - at the job that is at least paying the bills - and you think those people don't exist in this country anymore, you're as out of touch and delusional as they are.  I can take you to them anytime.  I worked with them for years.  Have you ever tried to spit to put out a fire?  Swim up a waterfall?  Those would be easier.  And guess what... it was that way during the last Democratic reign as well as this past Republican stint.

So please, someone tell me what you're going to do about things like that instead of telling me all the bad things about your opponent.  Answer the questions that matter, and you have my undying devotion.  I won't let you introduce me to cigars, but I'm not above christening the Oval Office.

We came so close to having a night to ourselves last night.  I had all the kids out of the house staying with various friends and family members.  It lasted for about half an hour after Screw came home from work.  Apparently we're not the horrible parents I've made us out to be because our children can't stay away from us.  One by one they showed up back home to kiss us goodnight and sleep in their own beds.

It's alright, really.  We didn't have anything planned.  We were just cuddled on the couch watching a movie.  A movie I will never ever watch again.  I absolutely hate that movie.  I don't care how many awards it won, how well it was written, or how marvelous the actors were.  I hate that stupid movie.

It takes a really special movie to get us to go out to see it.  Normally we just wait for the dvd release, and if it's a movie by a favorite writer, director, or shows a favorite actor we'll normally buy it.  We only spend that kind of money on movies we're sure we'll watch more than once.  Atonement was one of those movies.  He bought it the week it was released, but we haven't had a chance or been in the mood to sit down and watch it until last night.  And that is the last time I will ever watch that stupid movie.  I went to bed depressed.  I actually had to cry before I could sleep.

This morning I thought I was awake.  I crawled out of bed easily enough.  I stumbled to the bathroom and then the kitchen without stepping on a cat.  The light didn't blind me, I got the coffee started, and then I went to the family room to turn on the tv.  Honestly, I was beginning to wake up and feel pretty good.  When I heard the beep from the coffee pot, I got up to get my first cup.  I don't set the timer on the pot over the weekends because I never know when I'll wake or how much coffee I'll actually drink.  When I got to the kitchen, I suddenly became really awake.  There, all over my counter, was my coffee.  Probably the best pot of coffee I've ever made... just without the pot.  The second pot just finished brewing and it tastes great.  I'm running a little behind now, but that's ok.  I won't stress about it. 

I have tasks in front of me today that scare me.  But as he held me last night, he whispered a promise that he's with me and he'll never let them kick me around again.  I believe him.  I don't think he'll allow me to throw myself in front of the speeding bus to save my family the way I always have.  He knew about this weakness of mine, and while he always voiced his objections to it, he never let it keep him from being with me.  But lately, I hear the resolve in his voice.  I think he knows I can't do it again, and I don't think he's willing to watch me again.  I've made up my mind.  I won't put him through it, and I won't go through it anymore.  I'm standing firm this time.  My motivation isn't from anger or heart break even though I feel both.  I also feel a calm determination that I've never quite felt before.  I will stand my ground, and whatever happens, happens.

At least I'll have a good cup of coffee when it does.

I'm waking up every hour throughout the night.  Every night this week I can't seem to sleep more than an hour at a time.  It's ok because I glance at the clock and drift right back off until 4am.  At 4am I wake up and can't go back to sleep.  It's starting to piss me off.  I'm stumbling through my days only half aware of what's going on around me.

Like most every other adult in this country, I need a vacation.  After a long stressful winter I need a break.  We're planning to take the kids to the beach for a week or so early in their summer break, but that isn't going to cut it for me.  I need quiet time.  I need down time that won't involve searching for entertainment and spending tons of money.  I don't need the beach.

Don't get me wrong, I love the beach.  I was a young adult the very first time I stood on a beach and saw an ocean stretched out before me.  I could sit and look at it forever.  That's one of the most humbling experiences I have ever had.  The smell of the saltwater and the wet breezes blowing over my skin.  It all takes my breath away.

But vacationing on the beach is too much work, and besides that, it's just not who I am.  I don't care if you're an eighteen year old college student or a fifty year old grandmother, I think the beach is too much work.  We struggle to make sure we're skinny enough, our breasts are big enough, our asses small enough.  We need just the right amount of tan before we hit the beach.  Our hair has to be in a style that looks good soaked and plastered to our faces.  Our suits need to show enough to be sexy but not so much to leave nothing to the imagination.  Then there's sunscreen and beach towels and something to do when pretending to be sunbathing is no longer interesting.  I swear that at thirty-six, I don't care what I look like on the beach as long as I'm having fun and enjoying time with my family.  And that's a big fat freaking lie.   I know for so many people that all sounds like heaven and it seems like I'm over thinking it, but it's just all a pain in the ass for me.

Give me a cabin in the mountains.  It doesn't need to be a resort.  I don't want to rough it, but I don't need five star accommodations, either.  Rent me a cabin for a week with a hot tub and a place for long walks.  Then I'm in heaven.  No one expects you to look good if you're hiking.

I woke up this morning thinking about it.  The sound of the wind rustling through trees.  The feel of stretching out calf muscles after climbing a hillside to look down over a the valley.  Watching birds soar above the tree lines.  Frogs and crickets singing at dusk.  Getting my feet wet from the dew on the grass early in the morning.  The taste of honeysuckle and wild blackberries.  Growing up I could spot teaberry from a mile away.  I can still taste the leaves when I think back.  I swear I can close my eyes and smell the moist scent of moss and tree bark. 

I love to sit and watch animals scurry about and freak out when they realize there's a human among them.  It's weird, really, considering I'm afraid of spiders and suffer from severe Ophidiophobia.  The spider thing is just a healthy fear, a respectful caution.  But let me spot a snake anywhere near me and I'm toast.  I can see a program on tv about them, and I will have a nightmare.  However, I'll brave it or the view from a lush green mountainside.

I really really need it, and I do see it in my near future.  T isn't a hiking, mosquito, bare feet kind of man, really.  But he'll do anything for a week of mind blowing, breath taking, knee buckling, soul wrenching, over the moon, did the earth just move sex.  And he knows if I'm rested and energized, that's just what he'll get.

I have to tell you this although my husband will kill me when he eventually gets the time to read over my recent posts.

My husband.  He's a hot little piece of ass, but that's not why I fell in love with him.  He is absolutely brilliant.  I'm talking intelligence on genius levels.  In the beginning, I did let his unbelievable intellect intimidate me.  But he's the kind of person that will communicate with everyone as his equal.  I have never heard him talk down to another person, not even when I thought they deserved it.  I love the way he TALKS WITH me.  I really can't imagine ever finding a subject we would not be able to discuss. 

Not only is he well educated and intelligent, but he has a creativity that makes me quite envious.  He has this imagination and gift of sight that just leaves me in awe because he also has the ability to express it.

Now.  Having sang his praises like this, just let me add, my husband is a complete idiot.  Even the six year old has to occasionally say, "Daddy, this is a serious moment!"  You should hear the exchanges between the two of them.  Sometimes I'm sure it's a foreign language that only the two of them speak.  The goofiness is endless.

However, even with that bit of child in him, he can be a very mature man.  You might be thinking oxymoron, "mature man", but it's true.  So sometimes the two of us like to disappear into our room at the end of the day to watch tv that doesn't involve a music video or a talking sponge.  We don't watch adult movies in the family room because, well, they're adult movies.  And by the term "adult", I don't mean porn. (David!)  I mean movies with complicated mature plots.  There are mature words, themes, and situations.  It might be a movie about physical or emotional abuse, some sort of violence, divorce, religion, anything is open, and yes, even erotic. 

The point of this is that my darling husband believes himself to be some sort of movie guru, so he's always perusing the internet looking for that perfect thought provoking, entertaining, obscure movie that is just perfect for us.  Many times they end up being foreign films that are critically acclaimed by this or that group, here or there.

Ninety percent of the time they are, without doubt, the absolute dumbest movies ever made.  I don't know how he does it.  With millions of movies to choose from, he manages to find the worst movies with the most horrifyingly stupid storylines that you can possibly imagine.  Now remember, this is coming from the woman who lives to watch giant man-eating bugs on SciFi.  I'm not hard to please.

Most times I can do nothing but sit and shake my head at the screen.  Sometimes I think he does it on purpose.  I think he chooses the most obscene crazy movies he can find just to get to spend two hours watching my reaction.  But after this past weekend, he's grounded from movie shopping.  I'm making all future purchases for our entertainment.

I love him, but there's really nothing left for him to beat after an evening of watching two people fuck on a beach with a bull standing beside them, completely motionless, staring at the camera the entire time.  The most calm, cool, collected animal I've ever seen.  (And that was the good part of the movie!)  I will NEVER let him live this one down. 

Ever.

Yesterday was an agonizingly horrible day, and today will probably be just as hard to manage.  However, I do think this is rock bottom, and here is where we'll slowly begin our climb back up to happiness.  At least, that's what I'm choosing to believe.  I made some very drastic decisions for our family yesterday, but they were called for, and I don't regret them.  My sanity may regret them later, and my heart may break over the struggle I'll have to watch us endure, but I know I'm doing the right thing.  I just won't close my eyes and stick my head in the sand.  Fortunately for me and my family I've seen parents who've chosen to do that, and the outcome is never good.  Knowing this already allows me the insight to know better.  I'm sure there will be endless blog posts to make things more clear because I'll need somewhere to release the pressure as I go along, but for the next thirty minutes I don't have to think about it.  I think this quick update was just to warn you of the misery to come.

Yesterday Hillary Clinton said, "Kentucky always chooses the President!".  OH MY GOD... how cute is that?!?  Here... wait... let me drop my panties before you kiss my ass.  Has she even said the word "Kentucky" since her grade school geography or history classes?  She's not an unattractive woman.  Too bad her lips are so thin.  It's a very weak-assed kiss.

Speaking of being attractive, Obama isn't exactly ugly.  I'm thinking maybe we need an ugly person in the White House.  I mean, if good ole Bill can get laid in the oval office, Obama will surely be able to pick and choose which intern he wants to have a smoke with... never mind.  It's the bitch in me.  But just to show my fairness, I won't leave McCain out of this.  He's probably the ugliest of the three, and it isn't his age.  His wife is really pretty which makes him look bad.  Not to mention with a wife like that and a job taking him away from her like this, let's just say he needs to make sure the White House staff is nothing but old ugly women.  No pool boys!

Don't you just love how informed, intelligent, and balanced I am in my political opinions?

I love, love, LOVE the United States of America.  Even with all our faults, we are a wonderful country, and I am so very proud to live here and have the opportunity to enjoy the freedoms my citizenship provides me.  If you live here, and you don't feel that way, there are planes, trains, and automobiles leaving every second.  Hop your ass on one and send us a postcard from wherever you end up landing.  That isn't to say I don't think there are things we need to change as a country.  Obviously there are many.  But I could be living in a place where those changes wouldn't just be hard, but impossible.  I could be living in a land where animals are more important than I am just because I'm a woman. 

I guess I'm just tired of the whining.  People die every single day trying to reach our shores in order to give their families a better life.  If you aren't happy here, give them your spot.  Be aware of the problems.  Speak your mind.  Fight for change.  Just know that I'm going to call out your hypocrisy if you're screaming for a greener earth while holding a plastic bottle of designer water in your hand.

I'm just tired of the fake.  I know people who believe in abortion but won't admit it in public.  I know people who are against homosexual marriages but lie about it when asked.  I know people who say, "We don't watch much tv in our house!" but can tell you every single sour note on "American Idol".

Be who you are.  Embrace every single perfect flaw.  Work to better yourself as a person, but at the end of the day if you know you've given your all, be proud of the struggle.  Half full.  Half empty.  Either way you still have something to drink.

My Mother's Day began with quite the bang yesterday, and I do mean "bang".  The sound of hail, falling trees, and flying debris brought about by a nice little Mother's Day gift in the form of a tornado.  The actual twister touched down a couple miles from me so no major damage and no lives lost.  Everything is fine.  The sun did make its way through the clouds by the time our dinner and celebrations began, and it turned out to be a beautiful day.

By the afternoon hours the kids were finished behaving for my holiday.  I decided I was going to honestly give myself the day off, so as I headed to my room to take a nap all I asked of the teens was to make sure the younger kids didn't do anything that would cause excessive bleeding or blunt force trauma.  And that's basically all they did manage to insure because after my hour nap it looked as though the small twister had touched down in my house.  I wanted to be angry, but I didn't have the energy.

So let's recap my year thus far:  Earthquakes, tornados, delinquent children... oh yeah, right on schedule! 

And that's not even counting the new meds from a few weeks ago that had the nasty side effect of causing me to develop anorgasmia.  You know that shit was trashed the second I realized it.  That was the most frustrating month of my entire life.  That month is the reason I'm sore in places I didn't know I have because I've been very diligent in making up for lost time.  You know me.  I'm nothing if not determined!

It really wasn't a bad weekend.  I spent Saturday working in the yard, and it's looking better every day.  Obviously it will take a couple years to really look the way I want it to since the plants will need time to grow and mature.  But I'm getting it done, and that's making all the difference for me.  I've always wanted a front porch with a swing and beautiful lawn filled with fragrant flowers.  I'm getting there, and it's wonderful.

For now, it's Monday morning.  It's rainy and chilly and time to wake up the tribe.  There's no way to describe the dread I feel each morning right before I start down the hallway.  The entire morning mood is set upon whether or not B wakes up smiling or growling.  Mondays are almost always a growl.  Don't worry.  I'll be careful.  I never get too close, and I avoid looking directly into her eyes.  If I'm cautious and move about in a submissive manner, I may even get a hug before she leaves for school.

I admit right now (to the three people who read my blog), that as soon as I dress the last person in my family and the front door closes, I'm taking my happy ass back to bed.  I NEVER go back to bed.  There's too much to do to even suggest it most days.  There's even more than usual to do today, but I honestly don't care.

My morning so far:

I stumbled out of bed at 5am nowhere near being coherent and stable.  I stepped on Sophie's tail, and it wasn't pretty.  It may take her minutes to snuggle up to me again.

The six year old was running around the house singing, "I was born in the U.S.A.!  I was born in the U.S.A.!..." at the top of her voice.  The teen boy is threatening her life.  I asked her where she heard that song and she said, "The Wolfe Brothers, mom, duh.  They came to our school.".  Somehow I get the impression I should have known this.

I finally got the evidence I needed to prove I'm the source of all the issues currently being projected by my children.  What was this evidence, you ask?  When the seventeen year old boy looked me in the eye and asked,

"How long do you microwave a poptart?"

Me:  You don't microwave a poptart!

Him:  Then how do you heat it up??

Me:  Oh.my.gosh. you're serious. (hysterical laughter)  The toaster on the counter.

Him:  Then how long do you leave it in the toaster?

Me:  (hysterical sobbing)  It'll pop up.

*exit stage left*

I honestly thought my homicidal rant and extreme physical exertion would make me feel better yesterday.  I was wrong.  I'm all raw nerve and emotion caged and agitated.  The coffee isn't even working as well as it normally does.

In the past Screw and I have always supported one another during these stressful times, and it always seemed like we hit overload at opposite times.  That was good because the stable one could always pick up the other's slack and be their support system.  But these days we hit at the same time.  This house isn't the best place to be when it happens.  Like now.

You think his way is better because he doesn't get terribly obnoxious or violent.  You'd be wrong.  I hate trying to read between the lines.  You never know he's pissed until it's too late.  At least with me, you know.  I become a smart ass.  It isn't too unusual to hear me throw something down the stairs.  At least I don't aim at anyone.

He was so pissed last night.  I wonder if he thinks I don't know it.  I'm heartbroken, and I just can't wrap my mind around the situation.  I spent the night crying between naps.  I'm so frustrated.

The seventeen year old:   He's an honor roll student and a football star.  We spent some time last night registering for his ACT for college.  He's typically lazy but not conceited.  He has a great sense of humor and a heart of gold.  He thinks there's no one on earth as cool as his six year old little sister.

The fifteen year old:  She's a straight A student and absolutely gorgeous.  Before dinner yesterday we worked on perfecting her back handspring for cheerleading tryouts this week.  Normally she's a social butterfly developing a bit of sarcastic wit she's undoubtedly picking up from me.  But puberty has temporarily turned her into a raving lunatic.  She has such a big heart.  She thinks her big brother hangs the moon and stars.

The six year old:  Brilliant in her first year of school and absolutely glowing with an eagerness for life that is unrivaled.  Big beautiful brown eyes and unbelievably smart.  Her wit and charm is my downfall.  She wants to be a big kid so badly, and she struggles with being her own little person and wanting to fit in with everyone else.  She thinks her twelve year old brother is the coolest person on earth to play with.

The twelve year old:  Born on Valentine's Day with the Casanova personality that's totally fitting for that birth.  He's a charmer with his big blue eyes and adorable freckles.  He's hitting puberty and developing the attitude that goes along with it.  He has a genius imagination.  I'm constantly telling him he's much more creative than Steven Spielberg ever dreamed of being.  He loves to write stories and is very much into medieval plots with knights and swords.  He'll swing a stick for hours in a fierce battle... but...

He's also failing the sixth grade, has serious anger issues, and I think he stold fifty dollars from his Dad's wallet two days ago.  You can see him clench his fists in anger if you even look at him sometimes.  He rolled his eyes right in front of me earlier this week when I told them all to clean their rooms.  He refuses to shower or even brush his teeth unless I threaten to do it for him.

I'm lost.  We've tried everything textbook to try.  We've tried everything our hearts suggest we try.  We've taken what we know about him and used that to come up with things to try.  We've approached it from angles like maybe he's feeling the pressure from two successful older siblings, or the pressure from no longer being the cute adorable baby of the family.  We've taken into consideration his age.  We've tried to minimalize it by saying it's not as bad as what some boys are doing and going through.  We've taken it completely serious and totally focused on him and what we can do for him.  We've hugged and kissed, punished, talked, and listened.

And it's only getting worse. 

I have no proof he took the money.  I don't want the proof.  But I look at the frustration in Screw's eyes, and it scares me.  I'm beginning to feel backed into a corner.  I just want this to go away.

I just got hit with something I don't want to think about and yet, here I am sitting down, knocked off my feet, thinking about it.  The more I think about it, the more I'm freaking out.  And with every increase in pulse comes a new wave of stomach churning anger.

I'm tired.  I'm no longer in the mood to play the role of the girl whose life sucks yet she manages to smile and kiss your ass, anyway.  I can hear the voices in my head plotting mutiny just because the terror I hold inside is unleashed upon them, and it's beginning to piss them off.

If I have to witness one more self-righteous, over-indulged, egotistical, selfish, conceited rant I'm going to vomit on the culprit right before I knock out their teeth.

"I don't read fiction.  You learn nothing from it. -- I don't buy designer handbags, what a waste of money. -- I'm such a bitch and proud of it! -- I'm a bastard because I had such a hard life as a child. -- I wouldn't be caught dead in clothes from the Gap. They're for fake snobs. -- Your opinion doesn't matter to me, but I know just what you need. -- I'm tougher than you! -- I'm unique! -- I'm not like everyone else. -- I'm wounded and tortured and odd and mysterious and dark. -- I'm hard to love but worth it! -- Break down my walls!  Save me! -- I can't listen to that guy's music because he sold out. -- I refuse to wear pink this year because everyone else will be wearing it! --  I refuse to be seen at Starbucks.  That's for yuppies trying to look rich. -- I'm so much better than you, but I'm insecure so stroke me until I'm well -- I would never wear that. They test on animals. --  I can't drink tap water. --  I won't drink bottled water. -- I'm a slut and proud of it!  It's my body, I'll do what I want with it! -- I can't eat carbs. -- I run 45 miles a day so that I'll always be beautiful --"...(on and on and on....)

Go ahead.  Stand there and rant against the man!  Say it!  Scream it!  Stand up for what you believe in!  The thing that makes you SO much BETTER and so DIFFERENT than everyone else.  Do it!  Let it out!!  LOUDER!!

And then look to your left and your right at all the people JUST. LIKE. YOU.  Guess what.  You've just proven yourself to be normal, dumbass.  Your stupid beliefs aren't convictions at all.  They're trends.  And guess who just won the biggest poseur award.

I rarely read anything but fiction.  I love, love, love Gucci and Coach.  I hate when I realize I'm being a bitch.  I am a total yuppie, and I'm absolutely addicted to Starbucks.  I'm only insecure when I'm PMSing.  My heart and mind are open books.  I'll wear whatever the hell looks hot on me, Gap, Abercrombie, or Target.  I bought a goth dress from Hot Topic that would probably make your man want to fuck me sideways.  I hate water, and worship anything with caffeine in it.  I'm a huge tease, an even bigger flirt, but I can count the number of men I've slept with on one hand - my choice.

If the fact that I'm secure in all my faults intimidates you that badly, go piss up a rope.  No need to feel threatened by me.  If you don't like me, don't talk to me.  If you don't want to read me I know there's a cute little button somewhere on your personal browser that will instantly shut me up!  OH the POWER!  I'm sure you'll let it go to your head.

And if you're one of the people I know and love and you're sitting there right now completely confused and wondering if you need to send men in white coats after me, I'm okay now.  Honest.  I love you.  It feels good to let it out.

All better!

I felt myself slide into bitch mode by yesterday afternoon, and it only got worse as the day wore on.  I was beyond exhausted and frustrated, really beaten down in so many ways.  So I decided to sink myself into a long hot bath and let swirls of cinnamon and sandalwood scented steam take over my mind.  It was that or kill someone.  I don't want to be some really big woman's bitch in prison, so I took the bath.  At midnight.  I had a good cry, and it helped.

Unfortunately it was after midnight before the day slowed down enough for me to be able to settle in.  When the clock screamed for me to get up this morning, I wanted to throw it through the window.  Maybe it would hit one of the psycho birds in that tree outside.  Unless you've just come home from a really awesome night out involving tequila and hot men, what the hell do you have to sing about at 4am?!  Not even birds should be perky at that ungodly hour.

I wanted to work out frustrations so I decided to completely redecorate and spring clean the downstairs bathroom.  I think the smell of bleach and cleaners has been permanently burned into my mind, and I'm pretty sure this headache and nausea is never going away.  To say I overdid it would be putting it mildly.

I threw out ultimatums around here yesterday.  Things I've said before but never upheld.  How do I know I meant it this time?  There was no yelling.  I felt absolutely no anger.  I'm not mad.  I'm hurt and beaten yet I'm resolved to bettering our way of life in this household.

Will there ever be a time when I feel like I'm finally getting it right?  I know everyone feels lost sometimes.  Everyone feels clueless and in over their heads.  I'd be okay if I could feel even mere moments of clarity and confidence, especially as a parent.  I know it's different for every parent, and different still with each child, but does it always have to feel like a shot in the dark? 

I do know this:  I know beyond all doubt I've screwed up big time on one issue.  It can't be too late to fix it.  It's never too late if you're doing your best and everything you do, even the mistakes, is from the purest of love for your child, right?

That extreme need to be accepted and loved at all costs from my younger days has reared its ugly head in my parenting.  I've spent the last month constantly chanting, "I'm your mother, not your friend." in my head to prepare myself for this moment.  I knew it was coming.  I want to be close to the kids.  I want them to feel like they can talk to me as a friend, but at the end of the day, I'm the mommy and they'd better get ready to start treating me like it.

I have never been so insecure about anything in my life.  Everything I've ever tackled I've always managed to muster up enough confidence to "believe" I can do it.  Being a parent, my morning prayer is nothing more than, "Please don't let me fuck'em up today.".

I know I rant and rave about this too much, but unfortunately for you, I type what I'm feeling.  And more than all the political, religious, emotional, horny, mental, wifely issues I normally face throughout a single day, this one never leaves my mind.  Ever.  Hellfire!  Even during hot monkey mind blowing sex I have to stop and think whether or not I just screamed too loud and woke the kids! 

But shouldn't our children be our obsession?  Obviously I don't mean in the Texas cheerleader kind of way, but if you decided to raise a child in this world shouldn't they be in your every thought?  Isn't that the sacrifice you make when you take on the responsibility of life not your own?  (For those of you not familiar with the TX cheerleader comment:  A few years back a mother in Texas hired a hitman to kill the mother of her daughter's cheerleading competition so the kid would be too devastated to make the team.)

I'm petrified.  I'm tired.  I'm anxious.  I'm overworked and underwhelmed.  I'm too young to be this scared that I'm too old to be this out of control.  We get this one trip around the circle of life, get it right or not, there are no do-overs.  Well, if there are do-overs, I'm pretty sure karma is bringing me back as a dung beetle.

Did I mention I'm scared?

During dinner last night Isabella was telling us how a little boy on her bus was really bugging her by saying her name over and over.  She said, "I can't get away from him!  He says, 'Bella, Bella, Bella, Bella, Bella!' no matter what I do!".  Screw and I both looked at each other at the same time and burst into laughter.  He said, "Now you know how your mom feels!  Karma sucks, huh, Bella?".  She rolled her eyes and replied, "Sure, Dad.  Whatever you say.  I don't even know what that word means, but if you say so.".  Her sarcastic little retorts always make me bend over double with giggles I really should try harder to hide.  She's such a little smartass.  I guess I haven't sent her off to boarding school yet because she has never, not once, used it in a disrespectful or serious way.  We are always all goofing off and deep into our little battles of wits.  She knows when to use it.  What am I supposed to do, anyway, considering I know she gets it from me!  The kid knew how to use "hypothetical" in a sentence at three.  I'm no match for her.

This story reminded me of her so much.  It was almost as if he'd witnessed more than one scene with my sassy little sprite and I and the daily struggle over her hairbows.  She's such a stubborn little person.  I struggle with knowing where to draw the lines with her because right now she has such an unbridled spirit.  I want her to use that and take flight someday.  I want to make sure I keep hold of the reigns as long as I can, but I would die before I'd break her.

This weekend will be my first Mother's Day with my complete family.  I know even the friends who have been reading this blog from the very beginning, even way back before I deleted it, have a hard time figuring out how many people live in my house, how many of them I gave birth to, or even how many of them I'll eventually strangle when I finally lose it.  It's not that I'm purposely cryptic.  I just make no difference when it comes to my love and loyalties, from my blood or not.  I'll take on hell with a watergun for anyone I love.  That's just how I am.

Back to Mother's Day.  Screw asked me what I'd like to have as a gift.  I wanted to say a free day, but let's be realistic; that's not going to happen.  So I said I want a blank check to completely finish the landscaping.  The dumbass smiled and said, "Ok.  Whatever you need, get it!".  How dumb was that?!  JUST KIDDING!  He knows I won't go overboard.  Actually he knows I'll spend less this way because I'll be totally self-conscious now feeling like I'm spending it on myself.  The man thinks I don't know that he has me figured out the way he does.  Most of the time I can't tell which one of us is working the other.  It can get really confusing.

I was an adult with a divorce under my belt before I realized that I go for men who are so intelligent they sometimes intimidate me.  I'm attracted to men who piss me off.  It's the one trait I honestly hope I pass on to the girls.  If he can't challenge you and inspire you, he just isn't worth the sweat from the hot monkey sex, girls.

I wish I could complete a thought.  I'm not sure where my mind is these days, but it isn't with me.  I lose my thought mid-sentence.  I walk through the house and forget where I'm going.  Sometimes I have to read the same sentence three or four times.

I've never had a very strategic mind.  Certain areas of my life have suffered due to my inability to create a well proccessed plan and follow it through.  And that's why I can't write the way I'd like.  I can't write short stories or poetry... anything that would require me to sit down and think it through.  Choose a plot or characters... settings.  I just don't know how to do it.  Ideas are locked in my head.  I see glimpses occastionally.  I crave to be able to put thoughts to paper, but I just don't know how.

My senior year I had more than enough credits to graduate at the beginning of the year.  The only reason I was required to show up everyday was to get that required fourth credit in English.  I took nonsense classes to be a full time student so I could still cheer and participate in all the senior activities.  After lunch I took a three hour health class at the local vocational school to help get me ready for nursing school.  I immediately joined and became president of our chapter of HOSA. (Health Occupational Students of America)

Every year there's a state convention.  Classes, lectures, school fairs, job fairs, and lots of competitions.  I had no idea how competitive this weekend would be.  The two biggest competitions were the speech contests.  I was convinced I'd be the one competing in it.  A topic is chosen, and the contestant is required to write a three to five minute speech.  At the competition the student stands in front of an auditorium filled with doctors and nurses and gives his or her speech.

She didn't choose me.  I was in shock when she called a different name.  I guess it showed because my instructor immediately turned to me and said, "And Angel, you'll be participating in the extemporaneous speech contest.".

I didn't even know what "extemporaneous" meant.  She went on to inform me that I would be placed in a room, and someone would hand me a piece of paper with a random topic written at the top.  From the moment the paper was placed in front of me, I'd have ten minutes to write a three to five minute speech and be prepared to stand and give it in that filled auditorium.

I did win first place in that state competition, and when my teacher hugged me she was laughing.  She said, "I knew you could bullshit the best of'em!".  I received a certificate and a trophy.  I have no idea where they are now.  I saw the trophy in a box a few years ago.  My mom kept my pompoms hanging on the wall for years.  My academic achievements were more than a few, so maybe that somehow made them seem less important.

I'm an emotional writer.  The planning and sorting stuff escapes me.  I took writing classes in school, and the only thing I learned was to not try to sound smarter than you are.  No chance of that with me! 

I would give almost anything to be able to write stories that transport a reader to a different place and time.  I would love to look back over something I've written and know that someone will lose their breath or shed a tear or laugh out loud over my words.  I want to take the blank canvas of someone's mind and paint them into a world where only I can take them.  Create a hero everyone loves.  Design a villain everyone hates.

I can't play chess.  I suck at Risk.  I Christmas shop three days before, and in some cases, I'm wrapping the gifts mere minutes before someone is going to tear them open.  I try to plan and prepare, but it never works.  My life is as random and out of control as the things I write.  But don't worry, if I don't make any sense today, I might tomorrow.

A cat went into heat outside my bedroom window sometime around 3am.  It wasn't only that it woke me, but that I had the headache from hell when I opened my eyes in total freak out thinking someone was killing one of my cats.  I'm sure this explains my level of exhaustion so I won't go into further detail.

Thursdays are my days with my grandmother.  If I'm in bitch mode or feeling particularly sorry for myself, all I need is a few minutes with her and I am reminded of how lucky I am.  After that, I'll quickly put my big girl panties back on and get over myself.

She was unusually nostalgic yesterday, and that scares me.  She crossed over from living to surviving years ago, and while I only want her pain free and at peace, I'm very selfish in my demand for her to remain here with me.  I love her with every beat of my heart, and that leaves no room for thoughts of this earth without her.

I've been mad at the world lately, and it doesn't take much to set me off on wild tangents.  I'm easily hurt and quick to retaliate.  But for a while yesterday I was calm and carefree.  On the ride home I enjoyed the beautiful day while driving with the sunroof open and the windows down.  Maybe I'm easily manipulated, but just the feel of fast driving, loud music, and the sun on my face made me feel better.

It was a beautiful day and everyone was outside enjoying it.  As I was driving I began to notice all the different people sitting on their porches, mowing their lawns, watering their flowers, etc. 

And then I realized something I hadn't noticed in a long time.  Anyone close to the highway as I passed always waved.  They weren't waving because they knew me.  I'm certain they didn't.  My grandmother lives in a small community and while I grew up there, I haven't seen most of those families in two decades, and they haven't seen me.  Not to mention I was in Mr. Wonderful's Mini Cooper yesterday, and I never drive it on my weekly visits.

They waved because that's what you do in a small town.  And then I realized that with each return gesture my mood brigtened a little more.  The music I chose suddenly went from angry chick music to sickenly sweet upbeat tunes.

Is it so freaking hard to acknowledge someone?  Is it so hard to let someone know they've been noticed in a positive way even if for only a split second?  Obviously not, because I had a dozen or more do that for me yesterday.  And guess what... IT MATTERED.

We get so caught up in our own lives and our own agony that we forget we're not on this earth alone.  We begin to think things like no one cares or notices, anyway.  No one is going to smile back.  No one is going to notice if I smile at them on a crowded street, so why bother?

That is such a stupid selfish attitude.  We're selfish hateful lemmings.  "You don't take time for me, so I won't take time for you!"

Fine.

I'll wave, anyway.  And maybe you won't wave back the first time or the tenth time.  But eventually you will, and you won't even realize it makes you smile until your cheeks are hurting from it.  It's my version of killing you with kindness, and it's going to work.

Wait and see.

Loss of sleep is slowly eating away at my sanity.  There is absolutely no reason for waking up every single hour throughout the night, but that's what I've been doing.  There is nothing to analyze, no stresses subconsciously attacking me.  Trust me, all my stresses are front and center and make themselves known without hesitation.  If anything, it's just that I'm feeling antsy.  I feel like I'm running wide open... in second gear.

I got dirty yesterday!  I dug into the rich soft soil and planted the rosebushes.  I managed to get the geraniums and gerbera daisies potted and looking pretty.  I did forget to take the before pictures, but don't worry, I got very little done on the actual landscaping.  I'll still be able to do the before and after pictures.  I'm no major green thumb or anything even close.  I just love the feeling of taking something barren and ugly and transforming it into something beautiful and alive.  I actually get quite frustrated sometimes because I know so little about gardening once it gets down to the technical stuff.  Until now I've never had the time to research and learn what I need to know to take this hobby to the next level.  Who am I kidding?  I don't have the time now which is why I keep it simple.  Simple is good.

My mind has been in overdrive lately which is probably one of the reasons I'm not sleeping soundly.  But I had no idea that I'd been overlooking all the signs of the blood counts taking a nosedive.  Normally I stay on top of things like that but it took getting into the shower last night and finding five huge fresh bruises to make the light bulb go on.  Duh.  Screw gets frustrated with me, I can tell.  But what's the point in worrying?  I'm alive, healthier, and happier than I've ever been.  There is no reason to let this crap dictate my life.  My mother is sixty-two years old.  I'm thirty-six.  All my life I've watched her survive.  I'm not like that.  I don't survive, I live. 

Besides all that, I don't know why the dude worries about me, anyway!  He has a heck of a lot more wrong than I do!  And I'm not even talking about his delusions of duck grandeur.  He jokes about it so often he has B believing he's part duck.  I don't think I ever told you all the line I used to hook him.  I told him I'd be happy to fluff his feathers.  That was my version