Healing Is Just Skin Deep

My mind is so full of things to express, but my heart is always telling me to hush up. I don't have answers; only questions. Things that shaped who I am seem noteworthy, but some of them feel so shameful. I committed no atrocities, but was subjected to quite a few.

Why, why, why do the negative experiences stand out so sharply in contrast to the normal, acceptable ones? I wish I could just forget the trauma, but who would I be?

My faith gives me hope, but it also leads me to think I should attribute some of who I am to the evil that's plagued my life, and I don't want to romanticize those nightmarish experiences. In so many ways I am those memories, and I can't forget them. Maybe I should, but I can't.

Everything leaves its mark. Time heals wounds, but the scars are so much more than just skin-deep.

Baggage

Doesn't it always seem like characters on television with "baggage" get to move on once they've talked about it? They make some sort of emotional breakthrough followed by tears, hugs, and things starting to mend. I'm clear on the fact that things depicted on Private Practice aren't exactly factual. It's just how I expect it to be.

Talking about unpleasant things does make things feel better, right? I feel like it does. Verbalizing the trauma releases something. It releases that feeling in my chest, that weight. Why, then, do I have residual "baggage"? Why, after all the talking, expressing, searching...why do I still feel...ashamed? I'm not even sure if that's the right word. It's guilt, or something like it. Maybe I need to talk to a therapist. Maybe just telling isn't enough to deal with everything.

I'd really hate to think that being molested as a child has to haunt me until the day I die. I mean, I'm thirty. It's been twenty-two years, and I have daily reminders of the damage done to me all that time ago. Done to me. I know I was a victim.

Fault does not lie with me, I know. I tell myself that I was too young to understand what was going on. But why do I tell myself that at all?! It's like deep down I think it was my fault. Somewhere deep down I must believe that I'm somehow guilty. I should have told someone. I should have known what was happening was evil, and screamed my lungs out. Instead, I what? Zoned out? Didn't understand? Buried it?

I blocked it out for eleven years. Whatever that means. I understand that it was something unintentional that took place in my brain, and it happened as a way to cope. I know that, and I'm thankful that I've dealt as well as I have. I'm actually a happy person. I'm married, have friends, and do what I love every day. Still, though, I feel like blocking it out hindered me from making it stop.

My abuse started when I was around three years old, and it stopped somewhere around eight. That's when my mother and I moved ten or so hours away. I have no idea how many others were hurt in all that time, besides me, because I unconsciously shoved what was happening to me into a dark corner of my head.

Maybe talking about it helps let off pressure, but it just builds back up over time. I just keep hoping and praying that this "baggage" will one day be lost in transit.

Sweeter Than Bee Pollen

Watercolor illustration prints available by request at Mad Shiny Shoppe!

Earlier this year, I found myself feeling like someone came and wrenched every last drop of honey from my happy little hive. That someone was my now ex-boss, whom I often refer to as "She Who Must Not Be Named." With her verbal and emotional abuse, she was pretty much a nightmare, and that's coming from someone who can get along with just about anyone.

When I graduated college, I had no idea how to apply my studio art/art history degree. A friend's father offered me a job making art with homeless and at-risk youth, so I jumped on the opportunity. I absolutely loved that position, but funding was cut the next year. I was bumped into a couple neighboring positions, and just counted myself lucky to have a job.

To cut a long story short, I stayed with that agency for six excruciating years, before I'd had too much of She Who Must Not Be Named's tormenting. I'm currently working as an artist/author from my humble home, and it's good great dripping with awesome. Quitting was terribly frightening, and things haven't exactly been perfect, but this new beginning is definitely sweet.

Wading

I've been so swamped with art projects, which I could not be happier about, I haven't really had the time to post very much. Poor old Mimsy gets neglected a lot, but I'm working on documenting more.  I think keeping up with bloggy therapy is good for the soul.

For now, I think I'll make a list of art projects/commissions:

1. custom kid's book (written but not yet completely illustrated)

2. two watercolor portraits for bff's mom

3. custom illustration

sketch detail of custom illustration

4. more handmade plush creatures (like the ones in the pictures below) for a local shop

Sally Sugar Skull

Mumford T. Monster

Lola Love Bunny

O'Malley Ogling Owlie

Love Ninja - This little guy is sold already, but I can make more upon request.

5. keep up with my etsy shop
 
Now, if I can just keep myself prioritized...

How Can Anyone Walk on Water, If They Won't Get Their Butt Out the Boat?

Anybody out there? It's been a long time since I was in a sharing mood, and I feel as if I should apologize for that. I allowed blogging to become just another place that I couldn't speak my mind. I'm not proud of that, and am in the process of changing it.

I've worked for the same nonprofit for over five years, and I've been unhappy with my working situation for around two of those.

If any of my faithful few are still out there, you may recall me blogging about landing a better paying job, giving my notice and leaving in 2009. You might also remember me spending one day on the new job, before crawling back to what I knew. What you won't remember are all of the feelings I never expressed, because I knew my boss read my blog.

Well, I went back to the old nonprofit job thinking I hadn't had it so bad after all. My paycheck wasn't a hefty one, but I was doing something good there. Believing if I just did my job to the best of my ability, I could put up with my boss not respecting me. I also thought I could handle snide remarks and nasty jokes at my expense, and rude comments about others...

I realize now that I have spent about three of the past five years just waiting. I've been waiting for something to change for me. Finally, I realized that I had to be that change. I've learned that we can't expect the constants around us to vary. We have to be the variables.

So...I quit my job last week. Live and learn, right? I'm taking a little time off, before I start looking for something else, and am not-so-secretly hoping that my artwork will make me a rich woman.

In the meantime...

Nothing but blue skies from now on. ^_^

Really In a Stew!

I googled ANGRY BIRD & found this image here.

Disclaimer: I am ranting in this post. I love many a person with free-time, stay at home wives, and/or mothers. I know we all have different priorities. I'm currently frustrated, so please refrain from taking offense to anything I type. Thank you.

If any of you pulchritudinous* people out there have read this old blog before, chances are high that you're aware of my tendency to overbook myself. To say I have a lot going on would be an understatement. I'm an artist, a secretary, and a program director. I'm slightly obsessive compulsive, and I have a problem saying "No."

All that being said, I'm not alone in my way too busy for a day-jobness. I had the following conversation recently.

BFF: I'm so tired of database work! I want to be at home sewing!!!
Me: Yeah. I keep thinking about things for etsy, the cake topper/guest book I'm working on, the book I'm illustrating. There's just so much to do that work gets in the way of, and it's insane! I even find myself being a little catty towards people who stay home. I know mom's that have kids in school have plenty to do, but I start wondering how they can have NO ARTSY CRAFTY ANYTHING! No hobbies!
BFF: Me too. It irritates me that other people have all this time on their hands, and I have none. When I do nothing - I feel guilty.
Me: I know.
Me: Why can't all the world be like us? It'd be a much better place...There would be biscotti and puppies...Starbucks and photography...
BFF: Warm woolen mittens, and brown paper packages tied up with string?
Me: Yes! Yes!! YES!!!

Now, this may seem a little off subject, but it's not. We have so much to do, and no time to do it! We're also ever so mildly insane, as you can see from the above conversation. If I were you, and I had free time, I'd come up with a hobby real quick-like. There are more of us, and we're likely to lash out eventually.

*That means you're beeeyooootiful. I used the thesaurus to find a new word for lovely to behold, and I thought that pulchritudinous was pretty interesting. Kind of an ugly word to have such a nice meaning, don't you think?

Future's So Bright...

Here we have photo documentation of the joyous occasion that was meeting Shannon and Megan. Strolling around the very charming streets of downtown Asheville, NC we snapped a shot or two, talked about all manner of things and my husband (Mr. T for Todd) and I decided we needed to take them home with us. Alas, they have lives and bright futures of their own, so we can't steal them. Le sigh.

How many of us twenty-somethings posted about community in our swappy little guest posts (however briefly due to sleep deprivation) this past week? We're all talking about community in the blogosphere all the time, aren't we? I guest posted about that very thing, but I wasn't really feeling it.

You see, it's really easy for me to feel like I'm only here for others. I get so wrapped up in keeping up with everyone else, commenting, and being supportive and caring, that I just let blogging become a one-sided thing. I become drained, disconnected and discouraged, and totally forget what communication is all about.

I've been desperately in need of a refresher, and this wonderful little trip of ours has done just that. Meeting the two aforementioned lovely ladies has reminded me what blogging is all about. It's about people taking time to peek into one another's lives, you know, in that invited/non-creepy way. It's about communication and being human, and it's awesome.

Bloggity Blog Blog

Oh, my poor little Mimsy has been neglected so lately. Life has taken on a new hectic, an exciting bit of chaos really. Only problem is, my head is spinning all the time, and Mimsy waits. She waits as I consider all the things I could post, as I decide I need to but really don't want to because people expect it, and as I fall asleep because my brain is exhausted. Well, Mimsy...wait no more! 

Thanks to 20 Something Bloggers, the old blog is getting some much needed attention as Carlee, from Living in Place, guest posts here today! Aaaand I'm over at her place, folks. Please come comment, so I don't feel like a complete blog slacker that no longer has followers?

I've only been doing this blogging thing for a short while now. Six months ago I probably didn't even know what blogging was or what it really meant to be a blogger. It's actually really hard to even remember what I was thinking before I took the leap into the world of regular blogging because the entire blogging experience has changed my life that much.

First, a little background about me and my blog: My name is Carlee and I, too, am a 20-something blogger. Over at my blog, Living in Place, I’m trying to find my niche and my passions by writing what I observe and experience around me. So far that’s mostly been any Gen Y (or Millenial) issues especially related to work, career & technology with a few reviews of local events thrown in there.

So I want to share with you, my audience-for-a-day, some of the reasons why I love blogging and “being a blogger”.

• This isn’t my personal diary anymore. When I write something for my blog, people actually read it, consider the ideas, and respond. It is such an amazing feeling to know that even near-strangers care about what I’m thinking and saying.
• I would even go as far to argue that bloggers grow as people faster than non-bloggers. Who else can say they have an audience of readers supporting you and giving you constructive critical feedback. Friends and family are too close to me to really give me the feedback I need to grow professionally and personally.
• People know me before I even know who they are. Actually, that’s a little unsettling sometimes now that I’m experiencing it more and more often. It really helps with networking when I’m meeting someone for the first time and they say, “Oh yea, I really love your blog” or “I’ve been sending that one post to all my friends”. Seriously, it makes it so much easier start and continue conversations.
• Community. I know everyone says that, but it’s so true. One of the best things about being a blogger is our potential to create a community or a group of followers who care about the same things as we do. Or just the ability to meet so many different people online—people that we probably never in our wildest imaginations would have thought we would have met.

Like this community—I didn’t know last week that I would be guest posting on Heather’s blog over here. But how awesome is it that I’ve been able to share my ideas with a completely new and mostly anonymous audience (at least to me) today? I hope that all the other bloggers reading this will share what they think the best thing about being a blogger is, and if you’re reading this and don’t blog, why not? 

Thanks, Carlee!

"The Time Has Come," The Walrus Said,

The Walrus and the Carpenter finagling the Oysters, as illustrated by John Tenniel.*

"To talk of many things." Not shoes, ships or sealing wax, but things I've avoided long enough.

Do you ever get the feeling that the entire world handles life better than you, and it would just seem incredibly abnormal to admit that you're having issues? I know we all have stress, and I'm not the only one to be affected by it, but still. When it's happening, it kind of seems like the rest of the world can't possibly be that well medicated, and that I must be one of the few faulty models that desperately needs to be recalled.

When I was eleven I started having episodes where my heart would feel like it was going to beat out of my chest. Sometimes it would happen when I was running around playing, other times it would happen when I was lying down. It didn't really seem to matter what I was doing, my heart would just spaz the heck out. On several occasions I told my mother, and once I even went to a gym teacher. Both trusted adults felt my heart, and responded by having me go lie down. Sound advice, no? So that's how I dealt with it...for the next 16 years.

In my teens it seemed to happen less, but still regularly. It became more frequent after I started college, and having learned about panic attacks, I self-diagnosed. I assumed my racing/pounding heart was just a stress related thingamawhatsit, and I got used to it. I'd scramble to find a secluded place to lie down until it passed, and try stealthily to go unnoticed.

Deep down, I think I felt responsible for my stressful past. Why else would I feel embarrassed for being emotionally, verbally and sexually abused, or witnessing my mom withstand verbal and physical abuse? There are a lot of terrible things that I always tried to hide, and I can see no other logical explanation. I was ashamed. I'm not anymore.

I have no reason to cover up the things that plagued my childhood, the fact that I was sexually abused for a span of about five years, the mean things my mom's boyfriend would yell at her, or the lies he'd whisper under his breath to me about my dad, how it terrified me when we'd try to leave and he'd chase us in his truck, how scared I was when he'd hit my mom, yank her around and throw things at her, how I'd hide under my bed with my dog, crying and praying for him to drop dead. I can talk about how every Easter, I'm reminded of waking up to him in my closet, slicing up my Easter dress, (I still don't know why he did that.), or how old rotary phones remind me of him crawling under the house to cut the phone lines before coming in to start an argument.

Everyday there's something to remind me, and there isn't a single reason on God's great green Earth for me to feel ashamed. None of it was my fault. I didn't choose any of that for myself, and it's a huge factor in the equation that is ME. I'm balancing out quite nicely, thank you very much, and am incredibly thankful.

As an intelligent adult, I realize what a wonder it is that I'm functional at all, and I'm blessed that things weren't worse than they were, that I learned from others' mistakes and that I have a happy marriage and healthy relationships. Still, no matter how much I vent, no matter how tightly I wrench that positive twist into it, I have nightmares, an occasional racing heart, constant reminders of a less than pleasant past and huge people-pleasing issues. I don't know if I'll ever get those monsters stomped out, but I know telling people where they hide makes them less likely to rear their ugly heads.

Alllllllll that being said, I took my fluttery, spastic heart to the doctor's office with me a few weeks ago. I shared what it was doing, and how long it'd been doing it and the next thing I knew I was getting a very frigid, very gooey echocardiogram and wearing a heart monitor. Turns out, there's nothing structurally wrong with the old ticker, no blockages or anything like that. I have an arrhythmia that allows my heart to be, well, bipolar. It goes from beating 70 beats per minute to beating 130 times a minute when I'm sleeping. It jumps up even higher when I get stressed during waking hours.

Needless to say, that's not good for me, so I'm on a medication to keep that rate steady. It seems to be working, and I'm feeling pretty good! I do hate taking meds, though. This is the only one I'm on, but I still hope to battle this arrhythmia with super human good health, so I can stop taking it.

Aaaaand speaking of good healthy things to do, venting is a must. I suppose I don't really need to tell a bunch of bloggers that, but maybe I do. It's been a while since I've talked about my past here on the old blog, or anywhere. It takes a lot of energy, and I often times feel like a big downer, but it turns out that it's something I need to let out now and again. Maybe you should, too.

I don't know what "many things" you might be hiding away, but I can pretty much promise you that it's a good idea to let it out. Don't let it fester and rot. Tell someone. Talk to God, tell a friend, or call your mom. Me? I plaster my depressing slop all over the interwebs. Well, not all over, just here. Point being, it's nothing to be ashamed of and you don't have to hide it.

*image credit

Ganked

The lovely Shannon from Tattoos & Cupcakes ganked this from Tia, and I just couldn't help myself. I know I said I'd be blathering about medical things soon, but I'm a bit of an escapist, and even though things are fine, I'm not ready to talk about them yet. Therefor I am so happy to come across this little meme.

Outside my window... there is a sky full of stars, and a backyard full of sleepy chickens.

I am thinking... that I should've kept up with how many times I sneezed today. I probably broke a record or something.

I am thankful for... trials. No, really. I am. They really teach me to be thankful. Without trials and scares, I would take a lot of things for granted, things I always want to appreciate, like my health and the people I love.

I am wearing... a really old night gown, like, from 13 years ago. It's baby blue with doggies on it, and is now far too short to wear when we have company.

I am remembering... John 14:27- Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.

I am creating... character sketches for the children's story I plan to complete this year, waterdoodles for my etsy shop, a portrait of a friend's munchkin and a great deal of stress for myself, as usual.

I am going... to sleep. I've got to start getting more sleep, and being on time for things.

I am reading... The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand. A dear friend of mine really wants me to, so we can discuss it, but I'm having a hard time getting into it.

I am hoping... that I feel better soon. This respiratory/sinus infection is making me feel like a snotty beast. :(

On my mind... I've been worrying about my mom and dad's health a lot lately.

From the kitchen... feathers are always flying, no matter how much I sweep. I pull up a chair for Kimchi Kitty to belong, whilst Mr. T and I prepare a healthtastic meal.

One of my favorite things... is to create things that make people happy. I love it. It makes me feel useful, important.

Noticing that... I am more confident in myself than I've ever been before. I haven't been as hard on myself, and I'm beginning to really be happy with me. (I stole this one from Shannon, and I'm so glad we can both say/type this.)

Okay, taking a minute on that last one. Seriously? This is huge deal, bloggers. Being able to say I'm more confident is one thing, but being able to post this cheesy picture of myself with bed head, lip stain and smudged eyeliner is another entirely. I'm not going to pick it apart and tear myself down. I don't have to thwart anything unpleasant someone might have to say about me. I'm just me, and gosh darn it, I like myself. (Please get that reference.)

Pondering these words... "Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid."

While The Sun Is Out

Oh, what a week it has been?! I've seen evidence all over the interwebs which leads me to conclude that I'm not alone in my horrendous experiences this past week. No blogging for me. Just work and stress, stress and work. I can't even begin to explain the ups and downs of the past seven days (though it appears I've done just that), but they've felt like a decade and I've nothing left to give.

Luckily, the lovely Jen, over at Will Sketch For Cake, nominated me for a cheery little blog award! I am ever so grateful, really. Some sunshine to pass along is just what I needed.

So, here's the deal. The Sunshine Award is awarded to bloggers whose positivity and creativity inspire others in the blog world. *Cue huge cheeky grin for being nominated*

If this is your cup of tea, pass it on! Feel free to:

- Display the Sunshine Logo somewhere on your blog, or within your post.
- Pass the warm glow onto 12 loverly bloggers of your choice, and link to them.
- Inform these 12 pleasant people by way of commenting on their blogs.
- Share the love and link to the person that nominated you.

Easy enough, eh? Ahem. With no further adieu, the creative/inspiring nominees are:

Ari from The Happy Cactus
Shannon from Tattoos & Cupcakes
Ari from Curious Illusion
Amy from My Little Life
Megan from The Paraplegic Chef
Jay from Genius Pending*
Nikki from Whimsy Love
Katie from The Mustachioed Penguin
Desi from The Whininess of a Girl
Michelle from Michelle Woo
Melanie from Melanie's Randomness
Karishma from Being Tongue-in-Cheeky

This is a list of incredibly warm, vibrant, creative, honest, entertaining and inspiring bloggers. I love their brains, as I suspect you will. I hope you ("you" being my faithful few) will check them out. If you don't know someone on this list, you totally should.

Good day. Sunshine. ^_^

* As the only male, you may feel alienated. This is to be expected. I apologize, but I really think you're brilliant, sir.

El Condor Pasa

I'm in a constant state of disarray, as of late. It's really got to end. I just have so much to do. I haven't even had a chance to read all your blogs, and that, my friends, is a necessary. Oy vey.

In an attempt to catch up in the ol' Greader, I came across something refreshing. Barry posted an "If I Were" list, and we all know how I feel about lists...

Yeah. I ganked it.

If I could be a month, I’d be October.

If I could be a day of the week, I’d totally be Saturday.

If I could be a time of day, I’d be 7pm.

If I could be a planet, I’d be one we don't know about.

If I could be a sea animal, I’d be an otter.

Need I say more? Oh yeah, image found here. I don't know how anyone gets a shot of an otter. I've tried. They lounge around being generally adorable, until they see you with a camera. Apparently cameras/photographers are the universal sign of spaz to all otters.

If I could be a direction, I’d be left. ( I asked Mr. T, and that's what he said.)

If I could be a piece of furniture, I’d be a book shelf.

If I could be a liquid, I’d be raspberry lemonade.

If I could be a gemstone, I’d be an emerald.

If I could be a tree, I’d be a ginkgo.

Found this image here. Thanks Google!

If I could be a tool, I’d be a pen.

If I could be a flower, I’d be an tiger lily.

If I could be a kind of weather, I’d be snow flurries.

If I could be a musical instrument, I’d be a Whamola.

Yes. A Whamola , and I googled and found this image here.

If I could be a color, I’d be green.

If I could be an emotion, I’d be worry.

If I could be a fruit, I’d be a grape.

If I could be a sound, I’d be puppy grunts.

If I could be an element, I’d be water.
This is a Clark Little shot. Love. It.

If I could be a car, I’d be an all terrain vehicle.

If I could be a food, I’m willing to bet I'd be a noodle of some sort.

If I could be a place, I’d be home.

If I could be a material, I’d be fleece.

If I could be a taste, I’d be sweet & sour. ( It's my blog. I can be both.)

If I could be a scent, I’d be Clinique Happy

If I could be an object, I’d be a paint brush.
Googled and found this image here.

If I could be a body part, I’d have to be the silliest one, a belly button.

If I could be a facial expression, I’d be a Cheshire grin.

If I could be a song, I’d be "El Condor Pasa" (Simon & Garfunkel)

If I could be a pair of shoes, I’d be some trusty old Chuck's.
Found this image at Dirty Chuck's! Gloriousness, I say.

What about you, beautiful bloggers? What would YOU be, if you only could?

Twitter Does Not Like YOU

I try to be a nice person. Really, I do. Verbally bashing people on the old blog just isn't my thing. Normally. But there are always exceptions. I'm just going to get right down to it, okay?

I don't like John Mayer.

There! I said it. I don't like him, you hear me?! Jesus loves him, but I think he's creepy. Now, I know a lot of you ladies are going right now to delete my blog from your Readers, but I can't live the lie. I've been keeping it quiet for far too long, and I just can't stand it any longer. Hear me out.

I really tried to like him. When I first heard him, I thought he was a nice boy from Connecticut. He played the guitar, wrote semi-intelligent lyrics and had a decent voice, but something was amiss. I just couldn't put my finger on it.

Time passed, and I sort of forgot about him. Then he did it. He guided my finger right to what was bugging me about him.

In 2001 John Mayer came out with "Your Body Is A Wonderland," and I gagged a little. Well, a lot actually. Yeah. Yeah. It's smooth, catchy, going for sexy. I get it, and it might have been alright...IF it weren't for that dreaded line: One pair of candy lips, and your bubblegum tongue.

Now, who here thinks the idea of chewing on someone's tongue is attractive? Wait. Don't tell me. Please.

My point is, I decided the guy was gross. His pouty lips got on my nerves. His "I'm so cool" shaggy rocker hair got on my nerves. The way he whisper-crooned GOT ON MY NERVES. The guy just bugged me. All I could do was picture him gnawing on some poor girl's tongue, which lead to my justified dislike of all things Mayer.

Well, imagine my surprise the other day when I see a picture of this guy.
Where the heck does he get off being attractive?! Tattoos? Some sexy-man facial hair? I mean, did he model himself after a picture of Johnny Depp/Jack Johnson? A good plan for almost any man, but not someone I've resigned myself to thinking is a schmuck. No sir.

And who looks better with a buzz cut?! I'm telling you, bloggers, the man is not normal.

Dear John Mayer,

If you're going to start out completely annoying, you need to just stay that way. Don't change somewhere in the middle, so I look like a moron for griping about your stupid lips and hair. All I'm asking for is some consistency here.

P.S. Twitter does not like you.

Networking Fiend

This whole NaBloPoMo thing is paying off, and it's only day two. I've already got some of my readers back! I just LOVE you guys! ^_^

My little blog has been lonely for too long, and my little Etsy shop is still lonely, so I've decided to introduce both of them to The Book of Face! Hopefully Mimsy and MadShiny will make some new friends out there. ^_^

Here's hoping bloggy therapy and handmade goodness are contagious!

"Get Busy Living or Get Busy Dying"

As much as I'd like to believe that I have all you glorious blogging friends o' mine holding your breathe for my next post, I'm glad that I realize how silly that is. For one, you'd all have kicked the bucket by now. :O For another, this oh so dark and shiny unmusical* blog just isn't that important. I mean, it's an important creative/communicative outlet for me, but in the scheme of things? It's one more thing I put pressure on myself over, and then avoid.

So, as part of an effort to stop stressing myself out over every single thing, I'm trying to be a little less neurotic about blogging/reading blogs. Being prescribed a low dose anxiety medication has made it quite evident to me that I put a lot of unnecessary stress on myself. ^_^

That being said, I'd like to make a few things clear. I like reading your blogs, and comments. They make me happy. But I want all of us to remember that if life gets in the way, that's a good thing! If we're too busy to read blogs, we shouldn't worry about offending someone. We're just busy living!

I realize all of this is for me (and my fellow worriers) and maybe not for you. So, feel free to giggle and roll your eyes at my neurosis ( I do), and skip on down to the fun little bit of listy goodness I ganked from Ari.

Outside my window…
A mass of fluffy white feathers that are hard to decipher into separate silkie chickens.

I am thinking…
That I need to finish sewing the camera cozy I'm making my mother-in-law, that sabbath is such a sweet bout of sanity in the midst of an always chaotic week, and I like Snow Leopard.

From the kitchen…
I hear bird seed bouncing across the linoleum, and smell hazelnut creme oil burning on the kitchen table.

I am wearing…
Less than I should be. Hey, I'm home sick on a Saturday. Don't judge me.

I am creating…
Water-colored ink drawings that I've deemed "water doodles" to sell on my Etsy shop, a green scarf that I've been "creating" for over half a year now, and a wealth of hand sewn goodies for people I love.

I am going…
To a friend's place tonight, if this cough doesn't completely destroy my voice. I hope Todd will come with me.

I am reading…
The last Twilight book. I should finish it tonight! I've been trying to take it easy. Todd gets a little lonely when I devour 700 page books in a day or two.

I am hearing…
A tall black man singing "My Jesus, I Love Thee" accompanied by piano, and thunder.

Around the house…
Grass, bugs, chickens, dogs and an occasional neighbor person.

One of my favorite things…
Clean pajamas fresh out of the dryer or puppy breath. It's a toss up. I like the combination.

A few plans for the rest of the week…
Complete some of my artsy/craftsy projects, spend time with Jessica and her munchkins, finish Twilight and Harry Potter: The Prisoner of Azkaban, enjoy Sunday with Todd and sift through a wealth of stuff to be set aside for our upcoming yard sale.

*I read one too many tweets concerning people's annoyance at blogs with music players. :(

That's It...

I've had all I'm going to take today. Despite the fact that I've now been prescribed, and am hopped up on, anxiety/antihistamine meds(who knew these two were related?!) I am ready to rip someone a new one. No joke. I've had all I'm going to take today.

Problem. I'm not very assertive. Expressing my anger usually brings about the same reaction as the following adorable puppy(thanks google images ^_^).

In college a friend of mine told me that I had the intimidation factor of a declawed kitten, and he was right. Sometimes I wish I could be mean. Though, I'd probably feel bad about it later.

So, back to my anger and disdain.

I long ago accepted the fact that my tonsils hate my guts, or at least my ears, nose and throat. So, tonsillitis hanging on for dear life? I can deal. Breaking out in little red stripes that itch a lot? Been there. Done that. For years. And now I have meds for it! Which seem to be helping. Whether it's an allergic reaction to my antibiotic/the world, or stress-these wee little white pills are just the thing.

What I can not accept today, little white pills or not, is a pushy person. Not today. Maybe tomorrow, but NOT today.

I'm at work, minding my own, when I get this call. This chick on the phone starts blathering on about how she needs some healthy marriage classes. I work for a non-profit family services agency. I'm used to calls like this, but before I can refer her to someone who may be able to help her she starts getting all belligerent. Seriously.

Apparently my name is on a website, along with a friend of mine, as offering healthy marriage counsel.

Whatchu say?! TIME OUT. Not so.

I tell this lady that it's a mistake. I politely (as always) inform her that I am not trained to, nor have I ever taught such a course.

Does she say, "Oh, okay. Thanx. Bye!"?

OF COURSE NOT. She proceeds to treat me like I'm a liar, and explains how much she needs this course.

Now, I feel bad for her and all, but oy vey! I am not a healthy marriage counselor, and I'm not lying! My tonsils hate me, despite uber huge horse pill antibiotics. My chest, neck and back look a little like I was attacked by a hoard of angry pixies in dire need of manicures, and I'm doped up. So, best be easin' up out my face 'fore som'n bad hap'n. A'ight?

I'm ready for bed now.

x_x

Through and Through

Upon rereading that last post, I think I should mention how much I thank God for protecting me through all those horrible things.

Sometimes thinking about all of it, or talking about it gets to be too much. I kind of overload and shut down. Then I remember three stories that put things into perspective, and remind me that I'm not alone and never have been.

I remember that God saved Noah through the flood, the three Hebrew children through the fiery furnace, and Daniel through the lion's den.

He didn't save them from these things. He saved them through them.

What's Bliss?

I heard someone say "Ignorance is bliss" this morning, and it's had me thinking.

Remember when you were little, and had practically nothing to worry about? It wasn't necessarily that everything was just peachy in your world. At least, it wasn't for me. Things were far from perfect, and maybe I just didn't know any better, but all that seemed to matter was that my Mom and my dog were going to live forever. At least that's what I thought. The rest of the world could fall to pieces around us, but life was good.

I can remember coming home (to whichever state we lived in at the time) to all kinds of chaos. I mean...screaming, punching, busting glass, death threats, you name it. I got off the bus, and walked right into it.

When I was 6 years old I knew to check for nails behind our car tires. My Mom's boyfriend was so evil, he would know before he even started the fight that he needed to make sure we couldn't call for help, or get very far if we did manage to leave. So when my Mom said the word, I was on a mission. Check behind the tires, and make it to a neighbors house to call 911.

Needless to say, it was bad. It didn't happen all the time, but it happened. I saw enough black eyes and broken bones before I was nine to last me a life time. And still, I had that faith that it was all going to be okay. Maybe it was self defense, or denial. I don't know. I just always knew that it would be okay. My Mom said so.

Eventually the jerk boyfriend left and stayed gone, and we were happy. I was fourteen by the time that happened, and had developed a plethora of issues...but we survived. It was just me, my mom and my dog, and life was good.

I was subjected to a lot of things growing up...things that no child should ever have to see or experience, and I don't think I was ignorant of them. I knew what was happening.

I knew when I was sexually abused that it was wrong. I blocked it out for years, but now that I remember-I remember knowing it was wrong. I was just too little to know what to do. I knew that when Tom abused my mother it was wrong. I knew that my Dad wasn't around because he was an alcoholic, and I thought that was wrong.

I wasn't ignorant, and I don't believe ignorance is bliss. I think hope is.

"Hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies." -Stephen King

Icky Blah Hmph

This day has been out to get me. I have put up a good fight, but am now throwing in the towel.

I need sunshine and fresh air to thrive. What do I get? Rain, rain and more rain. So much rain, in fact, that my office flooded. Again.

I have spent the majority of this day wrestling a shop vac to remedy soggy/soured carpet, entertaining my boss' 10 month old son (which was the highlight), and battling a head ache.

My will has been broken. My little light has gone out.

I'll try again tomorrow. Perhaps the sun will too.

Worry Wart

My Mom always said my Dad was, among other more severe things, a worry wart. I used to wonder if you could actually get warts from worrying, and if so, what toads were so concerned about. When I got past that, I would worry about worrying too much.

At the ripe old age of 26, I've learned that you do not, in fact, get warts from worrying. I know this because I worry more than just about anyone I know, and I don't have the first wart. Which I am incredibly thankful for. The thought of visual consequences to worrying frightens me severely. I wouldn't consider myself to be a vain person, but I don't want to worry myself into a wrinkly wretched old woman. I worry about this.

I worry about: what I am, what I'm not, things I don't understand. You name it. I've probably worried about it. Now I'm worrying about what you'll propose I've worried about. It's a bit neurotic, really.

I love him with all my heart, but sometimes I worry that I'm too much like my father. How you can be so much like someone you barely know amazes me. Despite the lack of his presence in my life, genetics have taken their toll. I look just like him. I inherited his addictive personality. Though, my addictions are limited to: alphabetizing, art, cleaning, critters, nonalcoholic liquids(thank God), and people.

So, warts or no, I worry entirely too much.

What do you worry about? I might need to add it to my list.