No, I don’t mean the book or the movie. I mean me; I got your attention didn’t I? The will to succeed needs to be stronger than the desire to give in. No more lamenting about the stray path I have been on. No more brow beating like Camille in a play. No more bullshit. My house, my refuge, my safe place where I am allowed to be; was broken into on Friday. I shouldn’t say my, my, my; but, it is the one place on earth I feel felt safe. = ( My false sense of security has been violated and I am pissed about that.
Hubby and I had the day off from work and spent a lazy morning around our place. Around noon we decided that prescriptions needed to be picked up and errands needed to be run so we prepped for the afternoon and stepped out. When we returned to our house hubster made his way to the bathroom, as is his usual, he called me into the bedroom.” Did you leave the light on?” Our bathroom is across the hall from our bedroom.
“No, why?” and that’s when he noticed that our closet doors were open.
“I think we have been robbed. Call 911!” so I did.
Funny how a great day can turn bad so FAST. Let me just say for the record unless there is an injury or a death, your call, even though it was placed through 911, will be treated as something minor. They don’t want you to touch anything as it could ruin evidence, that they might take, if you are lucky. Priorities people! I placed a call at 2:15 pm and no one from law enforcement showed until way after 6 pm. My house was a wreck. My cat was entrenched under our bed. Over four hours, I am sure I touched stuff. In the end they only things that got taken were just that,things. My hubby and I are Okay. Our cat, Asshole, now has bigger trust issues, just wonderful! The contents of several rooms had been sifted through. The poor fuck up who crawled through our addition cut themselves and left blood in my kitchen and my office.
And for what? some pocket change.
Lessons learned. The locks have been dealt with. Security system in place. The world is a sad place. I refuse to be less than what I am. What did I get to take away from this experience? I will not go quietly. To whomever rummaged through my underwear drawer I hope the sight of my granny panties haunts you the rest of your days. What was seen can not be unseen. Sweet dreams LOSER!
It almost equals the amount of F*@K$ I have to give today. As I sit here I am not feeling any attraction to the word muse. Is it possible I have run out of meaningful things to say? to share? Has my word well run dry? I don’t think so I am just exhausted and aggravated. Have you ever lost a friend? I don’t mean misplace them or leave them somewhere but walked away from, stopped enjoying, did not want them in your space, kind of lost? I am not sure I ever really considered them as a friend.
I can not meet expectations I know nothing about.WHY AM I SO ANGRY? I’ll tell you why; because they dumped their emotions about my “betrayal” in my lap as if I was the only one participating in the relationship. When shit goes wrong as it sometimes does there is always more than one version of a story. Your version, my version, and, yes, ladies and gentleman, the TRUTH, the Whole Truth and Nothing but the TRUTH.
I am sorry you have anxiety but I am not nor have I ever pretended to be your shrink, or your pacifier or your medication. Own your illness. I own mine, all of them! I make no excuses for myself. I blame NO ONE for how I am. I try everyday to be a better version of myself. Funny how you seem to piss through friends and yet it is NEVER your fault. TOE PICK! Check yourself. I was wrong. I knew better. I refused to see the warning signs of the impending storm. Like a cornered cat you took your chance and lashed out at me. I am sorry I let you down. I will not wait for your apology because as usual you didn’t do anything wrong and one will not be forthcoming. Have a nice life. I will add you to my short list of DO NOT DISTURB, too disturbed ! this one is already too far gone.
So it’s another Friday night, I am sitting in my office trying not to be distracted by the number of phone calls that are coming in to my landline (yes, I still have a landline) which are cold calls for crap that I will not buy or sign up for or be tricked into giving away info about myself or my sex habits or food preferences. Gone are “the good ole days” when my house phone would ring and there was an actual person on the other end of the line that I cared about. I only kept my landline for my Dad who was living with dementia. He lost many memories and was often very unsure about things around him but he KNEW my phone number. I was his lifeline from a better time. I kept that landline for him so he would always be able to find me. Sometimes life is about the small things that make us feel loved and safe.
I wish he could find me now. There are days in my life that I do not do well with: May 15, June 9, June 11, September 28, October 12, January 30, February 6. My list used to be shorter but as I lose people in my life I find it growing. Like the last flower in a field I find myself turning against the wind, trying to be brave. Where have all the flowers gone? Where are the bees? I need to feel the warm of the sun on my face. I want to be embraced by the love that was once mine to have that I often ignored or mistreated.
I am oddly emotional this evening. I am tired. I do not want to adult today. Today I wanted to spend time with my Dad in the worst way but he had other plans. I am sad because I MISS THEM. The people in your life are your greatest gift, they know all of your secrets good, bad and scary and they choose to love you anyway. Cherish them.
Inspiration for a blog post comes from many things around me. Little things that everyday people miss everyday. The smile on a little girl’s face when she looks up at the man she calls Daddy, the homeless man on the street holding his sign pleading for 2, the school kids heading home from class on a beautiful day, a small child crying seemingly unhappy at not being understood. I see. I have trouble not thinking about all of the things I see. The world is not a safe or friendly place. My mother often struggled with everyday things. She struggled keeping the house clean, food in the fridge, clean clothes in our dressers. She suffered the whole of her life from mental illness. I often felt growing up that we were teetering on the edge and the slightest upset in its delicate balance would spell ruin for our family. My darkest fear is to be homeless.
The other day on my way home from a doctor appointment I saw her. A young woman with a cardboard sign on the side of the road. She could have been my niece. She was young, pretty, her clothes clean. She looked out of place, she looked cold. She made me sad. I admit to you that I didn’t roll down my window. I am not sure handing someone a dollar through the crack of my window could change the course her life is on. It did however put a bump into my world. I can’t shake what I see. What I keep seeing. Where has the kindness in the world gone? the trust? the hope? the love?
I do not know this girl’s story. I am not sure if I asked her that it would be a truth filled tale. She may have fallen on hard times, lost her job, or her way, or tripped out on drugs and still hasn’t made it back to the “real” world. All I know is that every time I see someone on the street holding an overused cardboard sign my soul cracks just a little more. My heart gets a little heavier, tears manages its way down my cheek. Life is a precious gift that people throw away. When will we learn? Will we ever learn?
for a person who has an eating addiction can be horrible. Eat too much and your tummy may not be the only thing that hurts you. I woke up this morning with a full blown migraine, blocked ear and a sour stomach from too much hot sauce. WTF! Will I ever learn?
I am one of those people who talks a good game but is horrible at go time. I will fix my eating habits tomorrow or the next day or the next week or the next month and so it goes year after year. Sometimes I let myself win, sometimes I throw obstacles in my path that are tough to move through.
Food is not my problem. I AM.
I want to like myself. I wish I could be comfortable in the who that I am and wouldn’t need to hide behind food. I have wasted so much of my time on being fat. I just want the pain to go away. I want to stop hating myself. The worst thing you can ever do is lose faith in yourself. I never even taste the food I eat when I am in throes of my addiction. I am trying desperately to numb my emotions. I don’t want to feel anything; but, I am surrounded by life.
The bottom of the hour glass is filled will the grains of my wasted life. To the casual onlooker it appears to be sand, sadly it is the tiny grains of time that I have let spill away from me unused or wasted on trivial,meaningless pursuits. I know I have less time to write that book, sing that song, love my life, my friends, my family. I feel hopeless. It is not a passing thing. I have fought the way I feel about myself most of my life.
I wasted most of today on self-pity. I have to say I throw a grand party. I blew up all my own balloons and had myself an awesome cry. The toxins from too much sugar are finally leaving my body. I can feel my head clearing. I am still sad but I will soldier on just like I always do.
really? I try to go see Dad everyday. I am his link to his world. The life he once lived in, loved in, laughed in. I can tell you with all honesty it is the toughest part of my day. I hate to cry. I hate feeling open and vulnerable. Yesterday was hard for me. I had my afternoon coffee fix and prepped a bag to bring to Pops. I kissed my hubby and off I went. Dad was not in a good place. The nurse on duty pulled me aside to inform me that Dad had been grumpy and short (my Mom was grumpy and short but I think she meant Dad was out of sorts ?)
Pops contacted a cold from one of the other patients who likes to kiss the boys and make them cry. There is nothing I can really do about those behaviors so I let Pops be. The nurse I spoke with assured me Dad had been getting cold meds and seemed to be getting better except for his demeanor. She asked me if I had any ideas as to why Pops suddenly seemed angry. I am not sure how much any of you really understand dementia. A person who lives with dementia has their own sense of reality and most likely you are not invited so you have to learn to watch for the signs. Any time my Dad is in pain or has a fever he gets angry, really angry. I informed the nurse that Pops has a history of bladder/urinary problems and infections and sometimes that is enough to send him to Anger Land.
I feel like the outsider now. If pops were home I would have simply called his Dr. and scheduled a urinalysis and a meet and greet to check his vitals. Doctor appointments change when your loved one lives in a nursing home. Someone on staff calls a nurse. The nurse does a quick assessment and then decides whether or not to contact the Dr. or nurse practitioner. Tests were ordered for Dad. I think he is having a urinary tract infection or a flair up with his rheumatoid arthritis.
I left Pops shortly after his supper. I left distracted, angry, scared and plain SAD. I jumped into my Jeep and blindly drove away. Away. Far away. I was nearly into West Boylston before I realized I had no idea where I was going or why I was going. I can’t outrun my Pops’ decline. It is what it is. In my face, part of my life everyday. It sucks. It wears me down and leaves me feeling lonely and vulnerable unable to fix what has gone so wrong.