Tag Archives: humor

I’ve Been a Bad Girl . . . A Poem

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Rainy Sunday, Mother’s Day

Mama was at home

I took a shovel from the shed

And cracked her collarbone

 

Then I used the handle part

to gouge out her right eye

To my surprise it burst inside

then shed upon her cheek

 

Oh, Mama, silly woman

I told you I’d be back

to stop the strife

to end your life

then stuff you in a sack

 

 

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Easter

It’s almost Easter. People ask me what I’m doing for the holiday. Isn’t Easter  . . . colored eggs, bunnies, chocolate, family, and church?

I’m on a diet (still) and won’t buy the chocolate. My family is scattered all over Texas and Arkansas. I’m in a faith crisis of sorts, so I probably won’t go to church, and I don’t want a bunny to care for. I’m not going to color eggs but I would like to boil some and pickle them in beet juice.

So, that’s what I’m doing for Easter. Pickled eggs.

My life is so exciting sometimes I can hardly believe it.

😉

eggs

Denial, Floods, and Small Talk

Denial – the action of declaring something to be untrue

I deny so well that if the behavior were an Olympic sport, I’d have the Gold. Actually, no, we’d all be in the running for the Gold medal.

In this post, I’m wondering why most of us  walk around acting like we are perfectly fine, our world is 100% on track, and nothing is bothering us. We smile and exchange pleasantries but are inside often lonely, hurting, frustrated, confused, or angry. Why can’t we open up more with one another?

 

flood_cafe_venice

 

“You doing okay these days?”

“Oh, yeah. Great. You?”

“Sure thing. How are the kids?”

 

 

 

 

The older I’ve gotten, the more open and honest I’ve become. It’s liberating yet embarrassing at times – because others don’t share their weaknesses or what’s wrong in their own lives. Leaves me feeling alienated, y’know, or different from the norm? What really “is” the norm?  I admitted to starting on antidepressants again the other day to a friend. She blurted out that she’s on about three! I felt closer to her immediately. The honesty was air-clearing.

Ever feel completely overwhelmed? I did about a month ago (when I got back on antidepressants). I felt like I was drowning in a flood of cold, dirty water but nobody paid attention. I realized I was denying my feelings to those closest to me, trying to make the bad feelings go away. But they didn’t. I reached out for help . . . before my chimney went under. 😉

flood_rooftop

 

So, can we try to reach out to one another more? Share our truths more? I won’t judge you; I promise! I may suggest a counselor but I’d never judge you. 🙂  Let’s stop “pretending” everything is okay and going about our days in denial about how much something may be bothering us or altering our lives. Stop biking in the flood, my friend, and admit there are about two feet of water at your feet! The rest of us will help you dry off and find a canoe.

flood_bicycling

The Errand

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You’d better watch out! One day you could wake up running an errand of death!

It’s 100 degrees outside today. I’ve been on crutches for weeks because of a strained knee muscle, so I went to Walmart for the first time today – alone – because I’m also in the midst of a break-up after a 5-year relationship. The outing looked pleasing enough.

Once at the store, I realized I forgot to wear the compression brace for the healing knee, so I hobbled into the box store and leaned on a cart while I removed “the list” from my purse. Why did everything have to be at separate ends of the store? I needed nothing in the middle, either.

I saw a woman worker whom I recognized as an old “friend” from a cultist (not really but almost) church I once attended – back when I believed the notion that a woman was second to a man. Whatever –  This woman worker in the blue Walmart vest looked up and saw me but didn’t speak. Beeotch! Real Christian of you, Phyllis . . . oops . . . I mean, worker.

Anyway, if the 100 degree humid, heat weren’t enough, I was having hot flashes in the Beauty aisle while  watching a couple of 30-year-old women discuss nail polish. GAWD! Get the hell outta my way. I need cat litter!

The ankle on the same side as the recently injured knee sent a few pains into my calf. I limped to avoid putting too much weight on the leg. I wish I’d remembered the  compression brace for that knee.

I went up an down aisles – throwing items into my ginormous gray cart. I hate when I buy too many canned goods because they’re difficult to handle and are heavy. I wound up with 4 bags full of canned goods and glass jars. Figures.

After a too-long trek, I stood in line behind an elderly woman in an electric wheelchair. I didn’t want to walk the extra 25 feet to the other check-out lane that may have been an easier and quicker wait. Why do we end up with all of the heavy stuff like canned goods in the bottom of the cart and the bread, chips, and eggs on top? When it’s time to check out, we have to either move it ALL around to reach the heavy stuff again (that stuff needs to be in the bottom of the new cart, right? Not sitting on our bread) or just say, “Crap on it!” and stack the thin plastic bags as best we can . . . for the THIRD TIME?!

The check-out girl was extremely nice and dressed kind of Goth. I loved it. I pushed past the hot flash that drenched me in sweat, and I exited the building into the sauna that was the outdoors.

Once home (finally, this errand from hell was almost over), I put several bags of “cold stuff” on my arm and let myself inside. It was sort of hot in the house, too. I had left the temp on the A/C a bit high to save some money. My cat, Rigby, laid right in the middle of where I was walking into the kitchen. I stepped over him and popped the A/C back to 60-something.

I made two more trips from car to kitchen, each time stepping over Rigby’s fat butt. Evil little animal. I saw my future of shopping alone, putting it away alone, and eating alone. Break-ups suck.

The final trip was with canned goods and jars. Heavy but at least it was the last trip in the scorching heat. The under wire in my bra dug into my sweaty skin. The 22-year-old  neighbor guy was across the street, getting into his truck, when I turned and then heard a loud SMASH! The huge jar of picante sauce had torn through the recycled Walmart bag and committed suicide at my feet – while a lone can of black beans rolled and rolled down my driveway and into the street. I left it.

spilled-groceries

I left it and went inside. I will deal with it later. I will not lose my cool. Head held high, I walked over Rigby, who stretched out to touch my foot as I passed, and laid the remaining cans on the table.

I had done it. I had stayed the course, dodged the bullets and had come out alive. Yes, I lost some things. We’ll call them casualties of war – but I saved the rest. I did my job. The perishables were in the fridge and the light bulbs in the cabinet. This errand was done – for now.

Bi-polar Bear

Y’know . . . I’ve been floundering for years, wondering why I wasn’t “myself.” I tried anxiety meds, antidepressnts, and bagan to abuse wine (caught myself there). Nothing was really working. I never felt like myself. Sometimes, I’d feel “okay.” Mostly I was depressed and juset didn’t care about anything. The depression worsened until I didn’t get out of bed for days at a time.

Now, thanks to a talented and observant psychiatrist, I’m on meds used for bipolar patients, and they are working! Today is day 2 for me in feeling NORMAL. I can’t tell you how important that is. I could barely even remember what normal was.

I’ve realized that this disorder isn’t going away. I’ll have to deal with it for the rest of my life. I am still grieving the loss of my health. Y’know?

I see Lithium printed on the side of my med bottle and want to cry. Pus a mood stabilizer? What the crap is that? 2 mg of Xanax just to sleep at night? UGH!!!!!

So, this post is dedicated to the sadly forgotten Care Bear, the Bipolar Bear (see him above). Spread the word, dear blue nut. Spread the word.

(XO. Love y’all.)

 

Why Isn’t Anyone Else Sweating?!

If you’ve read my blog at any length, you know I’m 47 and going through perimenopause. I don’t hide that fact. It justifies my irrationality, forgetfulness, and moodiness.

At my psychiatrist’s visit today, I informed her that my hormones and depression are on the same rollercoaster track. She called my “hormone doc” and arranged an appointment for me tomorrow. I love doctor-to-doctor appointment-making. I get in SO quickly.

I have been feeling old, fat, and ugly lately. Oh, wait, I AM fricking old, fat, and ugly. I can fix the fat and ugly, just not the old part. Since my foot (and tetanus shot site) is pretty well healed from my stepping on a rusty nail a couple of weeks ago, I can get back on the treadmill.

In spite of my self-esteem being in a dumpster, a man hit on me today. (Then I had a hot flash! No joke!) He was a restaurant manager at a nice place. He had a handsome face and clean appearance. He asked me questions about myself and told me about his interests. He arranged drink cup lids and Splenda packets while he kept me in conversation. It was flattering. It also boosted my crappy self-esteem.

I sat at my small table, laptop plugged into the wall, people everywhere, and I was flashing hot! Perspiring and red-faced, I kept my gaze down. Sweat puddled in the creases of my elbow bends, along the entire back of my neck and upper back, and face. Someone HAD to notice. I nonchalantly raised my tea glass to my overheated neck. Felt sooo good.

It passed. I then wondered if I smelled. Deoderant has NO respect for the hot flash. I use men’s gel sticks. No more Secret or other female-appropriate antiperspirants. Now I smell like a man’s spicy under arms! Yuck! Eh, beats the alternative, I guess.

So, I’m off to refill my iced tea – a squeeze of lemon, lots of ice, and a bit of sweetner.

Hopefully, I will stride slowly and not meet up with the friendly manager.