Long Time Gone

Looking back over my past posts I realize that it’s been a Loooong while since I posted. Disturbingly, my last post was one made during a time when I was drowning in depression. it is not as if I have active readers so I’m sure (hoping?) that no one was scared or worried.

I am fine.

I spent the next 7 months vacillating between depression and slightly less depression. Anxiety was tensing me so much that by the time I had Finally started medication it felt like a muscle relaxer. I could sleep again. I wasn’t angry All The Time. I quit thinking constantly about all the ways thing could go wrong.

I feel better.

I started this blog to help me find the good things in life. Also, to help vent and understand things that were happening. There was so much happening. I am hoping to return to some of that, the writing for clarity.

2020 is a horrific year for many and this presidency is stressful…. but not much has actively been affected in my life. I hope everyone is doing good… and sees the light of new years as the hope it should be. Lets get through the rest of this year together.

Peace,

Sandy

Summer Vacation

So I haven’t been feeling so great lately.

Depression sucks and often makes you do the dumbest smart things ever.

I was supposed to go on vacation this week. I didn’t. I chose to instead stay home alone. Because I didnt think all the stress involved with being around a lot of people would be good for me. Probably a good call. Except now I’m home alone. For over a week. 3 days in and I’ve cried every day. Ugly cries. Not those pretty little tears down your cheeks type. Choking sobs of regret because What Have I Done. Practically everyone I know and can call in an emergency is 4 states away. I did this to myself.

I have to also admit that I’m bitter at my husband right now. He doesn’t fully understand how bad it is. And I actually tried to tell him this time. He doesn’t get it. This ugly place isn’t because they left or that I’m lonely. Those things don’t help but… I was already like this. For about a month now. I’m really bad at getting help. Really really bad. As in I’ve never talked to anyone about it before. Except in passing or “oh ya I’ve had depression” kind of way.

Truth is it’s kind of hard to talk about when your swimming in it. Like… how does anyone  (everyone!) not see this deep dark ocean you’re in? It’s easier when the ocean is a thing from the past. I just want my husband to come home and hold me. To listen. To ask. Maybe it’s the depression or maybe it isn’t but right now.. and for a while… I just don’t feel loved. Or wanted. Needed sure. But not wanted. I’m just a necessity or tool.

I’m sure it’s not true, but right now I’m analyzing every interaction. What did he mean when he said “ya can’t blame you for not wanting to go” because right now I’m thinking it was just “thank god.”

How could he go off and have fun and not think to call? Or even take pictures to send me?  But when he calls I’m so hostile and ugly so who could blame him? Why would anyone Want to call for that?

I’m here all alone! I’m going crazy. Can’t stop crying and I hurt so much. I should have gone.  But it wouldn’t have mattered. I’d be the same there. Only everyone trying to have a good time would just feel awkward. I would ruin everyone’s good time. Because I ruin everything.

I can’t get help. I don’t know how. What if I’m just a big baby and they roll their eyes and think “wow got a first world baby right here”???

What if nothing works? Ever. Because nothing is wrong except that I’m a spoiled brat.

I used to cut. A long time ago. I haven’t started again but just thinking about it helps. Picturing it… feels good.  Calms me. I don’t know why… I must be crazy.

Sorry.. I’m sure this post is stupid and makes no sense.

 

Random Moment with a Jehovah Witness

I had a somewhat bizarre morning.

The low fuel light dinged so I pulled into a station and was about to swipe my card at the pump when a car whips into the spot on the other side. Being the jaded person I have become my first though was “I wonder if they have one of those card scanning thingys!” You know… those readers that pick out your card number from the air? Anyway.. A lady jumps of the drivers side and rushes over to me with a pamphlet in hand. I don’t remember her first words but I shook my head and said “No, thank you.”

Then she says “Are you afraid? Because I used to be afraid!”

umm… of porn? (that was what the pamphlet was about)

I was slightly stunned but managed to say “No, I’m not afraid” (Que nervous laugh because I’m Still not sure if she’s referring to religion or porn)

Fill in with some obligatory banter about needing to read the material (it’s available online now) and how I go to church, but thanks, etc.

She jumps on the attending church thing. Apparently, she felt it built a kinship between us. Mrs. Witness stated then that she feared for those who didn’t believe in God.

I asked why. This must have been a mistake (or blessing?) Her response was something to the effect of “because they don’t Believe!”

uh huh… “Well it’s their right. Just because you and I believe in a higher power doesn’t make us right. Maybe there isn’t anything, but it’s nice to think there is.”

“But… they don’t BELIEVE.”

ummm “They don’t have to… It’s their god given right.”

This is about the time she scampered away as quickly as she came. To be fair she spoke quickly through the whole conversation so maybe she was cutting her losses and moving on to other unenlightened souls. Only so much time in a day you know.

But now I’m left with quite a few questions! I really wanted to know what she was afraid of. The porn? Or religion? Because I have a  hypothesis about people who are afraid of religion! and zealots.

In short these are people who are afraid of commitments. Because (to me anyway) faith is like a relationship. You fall in love, have you honeymoon period, and then settle down with the boring long term stuff. If you’re comfortable and happy then it’s a perfect match and one day you’ll be celebrating your 50 years together and so on. If it sucks then you might still stick it out but you’ll be resentful in the end. Or, you’ll divorce your faith.Whether the separation is amicable or ugly depends on who is involved and the reasons for leaving. Just like any relationship there is an element of unpredictableness.

This fear of the unpredictable is what keeps some people from committing. When these people do commit though! Oh Boy. they fear losing what they found so much that they hold onto it tight and try to keep it just the way they found it. Exactly so because then it might get away and they won’t love it anymore, or it won’t love them. They can not let that happen! This is where zealots come from. They have to believe so blindly, so intensely, that there is no room in the their minds or the world for other beliefs.

Something most people don’t think about though is this… Faith require growth. It’s a living thing like plants, languages, and love. You can hold on tight or lock it up but then it won’t flourish. Eventually it will fade and die. There needs to be flexibility.. a degree of malleableness, or it will break.

So here I am wondering what this woman was afraid of and why she ran away so quickly. Maybe she really was just trying to scan my credit card number.

 

To do or not to do.. harder than you think.

All of life is a balancing act… between which cliche best fits the moment. I have nothing to writ this morning.. But I feel like I HAVE to write something or I am some kind of failure.

Recently a lady (okay the barista) and I were talking about English classes that we had taken at the local university.  She had mentioned a particular prof that was notoriously difficult.. This prof was my fave! well one of two faves really.. in the English dept. Anyway. She felt that this was proof positive that I should be writing. Here is the dilemma. Just because I truly loved the standards and lessons of this prof isn’t proof that I should be writing. It just means that I can recognize Whats good and Why. And, with some blind spot exceptions.. I can, Recognize.. not write. Duh. This blog, more than anything, is proof positive. See! Pretty sure those commas are wrong.

Anyway… I don’t know what to write about. Now or ever really. The problem is that to write about the things that really interest me I have to do lots of research, because I hate half assing important issues. However, I don’t really have the time or energy to do said research. So instead I end up writing these random posts of the moment. That ramble and make little sense in the grand scheme of things. Sorry about that. Obviously, this blog really isn’t meant to be read.. not but actual people besides myself. I keep it public to induce the guilt that is required to make at least some small attempt at writing here. Yup. This is my guilt blog.

 

“Mental” Health

Recently, I had a conversation with my mother about various things going on.. the upcoming holiday, my sisters recent troubles, the kids growing up.. when I causally mentioned that I had unfriended my brother on Facebook. I brought it up to feel out the situation and find out what she had heard from him. I found out several things I didn’t know, the most important being that he was, yet again, off his “meds”.

My brother takes lithium. He is bipolar. Mom explained how she wasn’t sure what he was doing right then because she and dad had “had enough” and “cut him off.” This sounds harsh…Sadly, I could empathize with her feelings.

He had spent years draining their savings and patience. Cycling through manic and depressed states. Drugs, running away, stealing their credit cards, jail, legal fees, procreation, joblessness, treatment, denial…. the endless loop was exhausting.

This time he was kicked out of his apartment for fighting, jumped out the car while she was driving, and ran across the highway. He was almost hit by cars. The baby was in the backseat. She didn’t know what to do so she went home. Later he called the house screaming he was going to have her arrested for kidnapping. He was in a full blown manic state and refusing to get help. Denied that he needed help.

It couldn’t be easy for him either. I know that. It’s an illness that blinds you from your pain and the pain you are causing. Blinds you to consequences and repercussions. You’re drowning and can’t care. She wants to help him. She’s tried. No ones perfect, and effort only lasts as long as the energy you have does. He’s struggling… She doesn’t know what to do. No one does.

 

Worst Blogger Ever

I am aware that this title quite possibly belongs to me.

I’m not very consistent and the content is all over the place. There. I said it. now you don’t have to. I am also aware that my posts contain grammatical errors. I’m human. annnd I don’t know grammar as well as I would like too. I’m working on it.

There is a strange dilemma that strikes me… I have all these fabulous ideas for posts! I even have them mostly scripted in my head. When I sit down to write, however, it all disappears. Poof. Gone. I’m left with the shell, if that, and no idea what creature lived there before.

Any solutions? Please share.

Hair

Most of us have it. Most of us love it in some form or another. One thing that I have really noticed though is how hair can truly be the thing that highlights the differences between people. Even people who are the same race, religion, or family. It is also the thing that can pull people together. People who, under any other circumstance, would never have met or spoken.

First, you have the hair itself.

 Gaining, losing.  Curly, straight, wavy, somewhere in between. Thin, thick, a lot, a little, or, again, somewhere in between. 

Then, you have how you care for your hair.

Do you brush? what kind of comb do you use? Shampoo? or no? The “no poo” thing is pretty interesting. do you condition? Do you wash it daily or a few times a week?

Finally, how you style your hair.

Natural, dyed, straightened, curled.

There are even sub categories.

For instance, if you dye it.. what color? A natural one? or do you go with funky colors? Highlights, tips, clumps, or the whole head? Solid colors? Or ombre? Maybe oil slick?

Do you let it grow? Is it short? Razored, layered, flat or angled?

Or, you could shave it all off and buy a bunch of wigs. A new do for every day!

 

 

 

 

It’s just your average internet troll

It never fails. You’re online reading the comment thread of some article when boom! an internet troll strikes. They always have some snarky, ugly, negative comment about whatever you were just reading. some people respond with various defenses or go away commentary. Most people read the comments and move on.

The problem is this…

Does it seem to you, as it does to me, that the trolls have become more vocal? Less fearless in their trolling? More numerous, maybe? I don’t just mean on the internet either!

I’ve read, and even agreed with, the thought that “It’s the internet, of course there are trolls” ideology. However, one must consider the “we are our friends” theory.

This is the theory that we adapt ourselves to be more like those we hang out with. If your friends are lying, cheating, alcoholics then you too will become a lying, cheating, alcoholic. If your friends are charity giving, gospel saying, pillars of the community etc..  This theory isn’t 100% foolproof, there are always anomalies, but is accurate enough to have weight.

So with this theory in mind I wonder if the growth of the troll community could be directly attributed to the fact that many people read their comments All. The .Time. Whether those people started out as trolls or not… did they become trolls due to the exposure to preexisting trolls? Or are the trolls merely more comfortable speaking out because it has, apparently, become the norm to do so publicly? (see: any Republican debate this year, or reality television)

The online medium has always facilitated an easier way to speak up for those who struggle to do so publicly. Has the erosion of polite barriers enabled trolling clubs to expand membership? Or is it that the “polite” online community is speaking less? Either way it has become an out of control problem. More and more people look to the past and long for the classiness that is missing today. We are surrounded by too much junk… be it food, television, literature, or debates.

I might be sliding off topic….

The purpose of this post was to wonder, question, and discuss how long one should turn away from such horrible and negative commentary. Should the positive be articulated better? Should the trolls be “shot down,” so to speak. Would it do any good? And if not, then how does one suggest going about re-energizing the country with positivity, class, politeness, and empathy?  How do we move forward instead of back? How are we Still a country that struggles to accept differences?

 

 

 

How I know My Husband Doesn’t Cook

So this last summer I spent an extraordinary amount of time away from home. This left my husband to mostly fend for himself. I knew going into this that he would eat a lot of take out or with his brothers… or both. And that was fine. I had no idea the havoc it would wreck though. If anything I actually thought that my kitchen would be the safest part of the whole house. I worried more about the washing machine.

I was wrong. So so wrong.

After sending an amazing three weeks on the road I walked in to the kitchen and was immediately assaulted. It was an ungodly smell that rivaled anything I had ever smelled before.. It was like something had crawled in the pantry and died. I don’t mean in a “wow that smells bad” kind of way. I had actually thought that something had died somewhere in my kitchen. Did the dog catch a cat and stash it somewhere? How had my husband never noticed this smell before? (because he seriously Had. Not. Noticed.) Finally, after bringing every single item out of the pantry and scrubing it from top to bottom, with bleach, the smell had dissipated.

Side note… Did you know potatoes can liquefy? Gross.

As bad as that was, it gets worse. I was only home a short time before leaving again for two weeks. After returning from Girl Scout Camp I had a ton of laundry to catch up on. As I quietly loaded the machine a small noise filled my ears. It was a tiny tiny scratching sound from behind the washing machine. The sound was muffled by the wall that lay between me and the maker. Now I knew right away what it was and I called my husband up. He said don’t be silly…

Don’t.

Be.

Silly.

Because, surely, it must be a bird…

uh huh.

The very next day. Same sound. Behind the stove. This time even the dog’s interest was piqued.

Side note… Dogs are smart and can figure out how to open warming trays All by themselves thank you very much ma’am.

After debating the vitues of glue versus snap and finding all the ideal runways the hunt began.

Immediately followed by another out of town trip. This time it was a short trip and I was back a few days later.

My final and glorious return was marked by, yet again, a horrendous stench.

A decidedly dead stench. I quickly discovered not one but TWO dead things caught in the same sticky trap.

Does anyone use the kitchen in my absence? I don’t think so.

One week and six dead rodents later, and I am glad to announce we are Mickey free.

Travel

……………….

Sweet anticipation flutters in my chest.
Dread accompanies doubt.
Blended feelings.
Feelings blended.
Confusion fogs my thoughts.
The idea of going brings childlike joy.
The idea of going brings paranoid fear.

……………….
Why does leaving fill me with dread? I have no idea. I’m always excited to go! Researching all the fun places to see and things to do. Then the realization that I will have to actually leave, to go, sets in.. settles in me. That’s when the dread starts.
What if we’re in a car accident?
Or catch some illness?
Or kidnapped??
Mugged.
Raped.
Beaten.

It’s like this crazy paranoid person starts taking over and all the fun anticipation is poisoned.

Just breathe.

I’ve got this.