Saturday, October 29, 2016

I'm Sick. And the election isn't helping.

I spoke too soon about feeling better. My grandson was delightful enough to share his virus with me, so I've spent the past five days losing everything from both ends. It hasn't been pretty.

As a weight loss program though...

At least one end of me has stopped spewing. Now I wait for the other end to stop pretending to be filled with hot lava and erupting without much notice. Sorry, this is what is called over-sharing. Apparently I'm very good at it. You're welcome.

Last night I walked around the block with hubby and our adorable puppy. It was the first time I've been out of the house in five days. It was lovely, even though I was very shaky. Today I actually tried to accomplish something. I sat at my jewelry table, moved my seaglass around. Picked up pieces and played them through my hands. Such beautfy that came from something considered useless garbage and tossed away. I love my sea glass. It gives me the happies.

I also had a severe case of Jewelry Block. It's like Writers Block, but with my jewelry. I pushed pieces around, I played with them, I lined some things up, then put them away. I could not see in my minds eye what it was I wanted to create. It wasn't coming to me. It never came to me. So I got up and left it alone. I thought I'd write a bit on the three novels I've got going at once.

Yeah, that's not working either. Usually my mind is going in all directions at once, so many projects and ideas and things flying at top speed through my gray matter. Now I've got a big blank wall. Zero. Nada. There isn't even any grafitti on it.

I was just sick again so maybe it's time I took a nap.

Perhaps it's our political climate that's made me ill. And the fact that I was forced to choose from a pool of ill equipped, nacissitic, lying, cheating, mysoginistic, morally bankrupt candidates. This election is absolutely the worst I can ever remember. If these are the best our nation can put forward to led us, then we are indeed in deep trouble. I know that the majority of hearts in this nation are good and kind. Why can't our leaders reflect that?

Ok, back to my weight loss program. Ta.

Saturday, October 22, 2016

Was it enough?

Was I enough today? Did I do enough?

It never feels like enough. I made an extra large apple crisp and a pot of applesauce. For dinner I roasted and stuffed acorn squash with quinoa, sage, thyme, fresh cranberries, mushrooms, garlic, and onions. I flea combed Bella twice. I sat at my table full of sea glass but couldn't come up with anything more creative than running some of my gorgeous glass through my hands.

I cleaned the kitchen. Scrubbed the stove. I played on snapchat with my father. I put him on different filters and watched him laugh and laugh. He came into my room just as I was reading my scriptures. I fed my father lunch and breakfast. Lunch was sweet potato zoodles with Parmesan, bacon, spinach, eggs, onions and some garlic. It was leftover from dinner last night. He liked it. I gave him a bottle of water. He doesn't drink enough water.

I spent far too much time on Facebook and Instagram today. Not enough time moving. I need to move more. I've been sick for the past two weeks or so. Glad to know it was just gastritis and now I appear to be on the mend. I'm tired. So tired.

Wednesday, September 28, 2016

I'll Love You Forever, I'll Like You For Always...

I rely on the kindness of strangers...

Or not so much strangers as readers of my miserable blog.

I received a beautiful card in the mail from my long-tine reader (perhaps my ONLY reader) that lifted my heart. Thank you, G. Parkes. It was kind of you to think of me. Seriously---you are so sweet. Thank you.

Perhaps we can meet in person one day. I'll be in Utah after Conference. We'll see how it goes.

I've been caring for my autistic grandson since July. It seems longer sometimes---and that's not a complaint. I adore this little man. He holds my heart. He fills my arms and my heart in the way that my own small babies used to do. When mine reached the age where they didn't want to be in my arms any longer, I felt their absence. Their absence from my arms was heavier than actually having them in my arms. It was an ache that is difficult to describe, a phantom pain where something once was but now is no longer.

Before my husband and I went to the cabin this weekend we stopped at Costco to pick up some DVDs I'd had made of old family video tapes. We spent some time watching a few of them on my iPad.

Seeing my two year old son, bright blond bowl cut hair, toothless grin and raspy little voice was bittersweet. Bitter, because of what he has become now as an adult, sweet because oh my lord how I loved that little man. How precious, how sweet, how innocent he once was.

Every night before sleep I read him the book, 'I'll Love you Forever.' And I'd sing the song as I rocked him back and forth, back and forth. "I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always. As long as I'm living, your mommy I'll be" On the tape, with his toothless grin and baby voice, he sang that song and I sobbed. As long as I'm living, your mommy I'll be. As long as he lives. How long will he live? As I write this, a primal moan escapes my throat and the screen becomes nearly too blurry from tears for me to see. As long as I'm living.....as long as he's living....and beyond. I will never stop loving him.

My beautiful Allison, pale faced, long haired and preciously innocent. She too was on the tapes. She played with cousins she no longer speaks to, she danced and she sang. She opened birthday and Christmas presents and spoke of a boy she'd kissed with her hand over her mouth and a giggle in her voice. She sang in a Kindergarten choir and pulled a stuffed animal from her shirt in our old kitchen to 'give birth' to her baby. There was still a light in her eyes, no scars across her wrists and arms and legs, no demons in her head telling her she needs to die. She skipped along with her hair swinging behind her, oblivous to the pain to come.

My Stephanie, first born, first loved and worshiped. She too was on the tapes that chronicled her first, second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh and eighth birthdays. On one tape. Oh the organization of a mother for her first born. The ones to come after always suffer by comparison. My Steph, my bright early-talking-smart-gorgeous first born. I used to hold her in my arms and dance around the living room in the basement apartment where we lived to Roy Orbison's, "Anything You Want". Anything you want, you got it. Anything you need. You got it. Anything at all.....baaaaaybeeeeeee. You got it. And she did. Another low cry has escaped me as I write these words. So much sorrow, so many decisons that have scraped us raw. So very much pain to come because of past choices. My heart aches. She is a good little mommy to her baby boy. She is exhausted. She does her best. I love her so very much and I do not offer advice because I know it will not be received well. I do my best to support her and her son. It's all that I can do.

My Ashley Rose...my tiny, my last, my precious baby girl. Born to a damaged body with a spirit so alive and fierce that "I Can Do It Myself" became her motto from an early age. Bright blue eyes, honey blond curls and a smile that brought us to tears from laughter. I worry over her, as I worry over all four of them, but I worry over her for other reasons. She's smart but has suffered because of life circumstances and sibling choices. She's beautiful and I've never known someone that cares about others as much as she does. She's been a blessing in our lives and also a thorn in my side as she argues and debates with the precision of a professional. I wonder where life will take her? She has an empathy and compassion well beyond her years.

I am doing my best to see beyond the pain to the blessings and the lessons learned.

Monday, September 19, 2016

Pinpoint Pupils

Pin point pupils
In the kitchen last night
Undeniable
Denied
Breathing lies
Living lies
Where will he lie
Pinpoint his destination

He lies as easily as he breathes. I cannot believe even the simplest protestation from his mouth. He said he had four days clean. I believed. Short lived belief. I saw his eyes last night. He didn't want me to. He never does.

How much longer can we live in this hell?

Tuesday, August 30, 2016

I am Abinadab

I may have spelled that incorrectly, as I don't have access to the notes I took yesterday while reading the scriptures. However, he was in prison with Nephi and Lehi--decendants of Lehi and Sariah. They had been tossed into prison and were about to be seized by the guards to be put to death. Abinidab was a dissenter from the church but when he saw Nephi and Lehi encircled about by fire, actually being in the center of the flames and saw that they were not burned but instead were conversing with messengers from heaven, he repented. He began to call others to repentence. He rediscovered his faith.

I have not seen missionairies encircled by fire. I have not been in prison, except of my own making. I have not lost my faith but I seemed to have put it on pause for a bit. I have allowed the world to shake me and circumstances beyond my control have caused me to pull back. I was tired. Exhausted. Unable to find my footing. And while I am still very tender and brokenhearted, I have at least begun to seek the balm of the spirit through scripture and prayer to bring my spirit back to health.

I heve denied it nourishment for far too long and am seeking ways to feed it once again.

I know He knows me. I know He hears my prayers. I do not know the reasons behind these blocks in my path, but I know that I can overcome them with His help.

I alone hold the key to my prison.

Monday, August 29, 2016

I found my happy

and it's at the beach cabin. Hubby and I spent four glorious days there and came back last night. I felt such peace there. I want to be able to feel that same peace on this side of the water.



These are photos from past trips. It's still as beautiful. I am incredibly blessed to have this man by my side and this beautiful beach cabin for renewal and recharging. I have found my happy once more indeed.

Sunday, August 21, 2016

I has lost my happy

... And I know not how to get it back.

Saturday, August 20, 2016

He left rehab. Refused to stay the required time, much less the added ten day penalty for breaking out to get high the first time. He showed up at our house at one in the morning and scared the day lights out of me. Said he's clean. Said he's going to stay clean. Says he will prove it to us.

The only thing he's proving to us is that he's not ready to admit his addiction is more powerful than he is. I'm preparing myself for the worst, because it's coming. I'm going to lose my son. I lost him a long time ago, because this walking ghost hasn't been my son for a very long time. He's going to die and I have to be ready. Somehow... I have to be ready.

I'm scared.

Thursday, August 18, 2016

Rehab Field Trip

He left rehab with other addicts. They used their drugs. Then he went back. Who does that? I'll tell you: SOMEONE THAT ISN'T READY TO BE CLEAN.

He's not ready to be sober. In light of this news, his grandfather has decided he cannot have my son come to live with him. When I spoke to my son today I told him the news. I also told him that he cannot come home to live with us any longer. He told me that I ruined his day and then hung up on me.

I feel sick. Literally physically ill. I want to curl ino the fetal position and cry for days. My stomach hurts. My head hurts. My heart...continues to break. How can something that has been shattered so many times continue to splinter and crumble? How can there be anything left?

Monday, August 15, 2016

One Door Closes....

...and another one opens, right?

Sometimes not. Sometimes there is a very hard, enormously large brick wall. No doors. No windows.

I didn't get my job. I say 'my' job, but it wasn't really. I don't believe the powers that be, and that goes all the way to the very top, appreciated my vocal, albeit kindly worded, encouragement of more hours added to the position to care for the homeless students. It took them seven years to realize that the person taking care of these most at risk students should be a full time person, not a three hour a day person. Then they let me go.

I'm incredibly sad. And not entirely sure what to do with this gigantic brick wall facing me.

I'm lost.

Sunday, August 14, 2016

Rooting me on

I held my daughters lorazapam in my hands. Ten pills. I wonder if I took them all, would I ever wake up? I could mix them with the last of the vicodine I have left over from my back injury. No. I won't. Sometimes I have these random thoughts. I want to sleep. Sleep and sleep and sleep. There is sometimes too much time in the world. I don't know how to fill it, I don't want to be in it and I feel guilty for this when I know there are so many others out there in this great big world that have little or no time left on this earth and would give anything for another day.

Depression stinks.

It's almost taken my daughter three--no, four--times. Each time we've pulled her back from the brink. Now she walks that high ledge. One misstep and she's gone for good, but still she stays up there, The air is thin, so she doesn't move much, conserving her energy to slide one foot in front of the other, then stopping for long periods again. Looking down, never up. My son has raced at breakneck speed along that ledge, dancing on the edge of death again and again. Heroin will do that. Feeling so good you don't even know that you're dying until you do.

There is church today. I won't go. Again. I know that I should. Add another heavily weighted charm to the golden crown of guilt that I wear. There is a family birthday party today. I do not want to go. I should want to go. I should go. I won't. Another weighty guilt-charm. The burden is cumbersome and makes it even more difficult for me to move from my spot for another outing. Soon I will be unable to move at all, rooted in one spot like a tree, unable to move freely through this world. Safe in my room, in my kitchen, in my bathroom. Protected from prying, judgmental eyes and knowing looks.

There is a kind of death in that, as well as peace.

I glance at the bottle of pills and go back to bed.

Saturday, August 13, 2016

Migraine Auras, ADDHD Brain and Being in the Moment

I've had three episodes of aura this morning. One right after the other. My eyes ache and my head feels odd. I wonder if there are more to come today. As I sat on my bed with my eyes tightly shut and my sunglasses on, I began to question how I would react should I lose my sight. When my eyes go into their spasms I am only able to see colorful jagged lines. I call them Christmas lights and they generally last half an hour. My field of vision is so restricted that I cannot drive nor engage in any meaningful activities. I am forced to wait it out.

I sat on my bed and listened to the television, but I could not surf FB on my phone. Listening to my grandson playing with my Bella, I could not also watch the Dr. Who episode. Hearing was the only sense I was able to fully access during my episodes. It didn't stop me from trying to see around the jagged lights flashing across my eyes. Frustrating. Especially frustrating for someone like me because I never just do one thing at once. My brain won't allow me to. I multi-task on an epic level. When I'm creating jewelry I have netflix playing on my iPad. When I wrote my first novel, I had headphones in with music blasting in my ears. When I'm listening to someone, my mind is often not on what they are saying but is instead drifting off on some tangent that has nothing to do with the present moment. My youngest has the habit of forcing me to look directly into her eyes when we are having mommy-daughter time because she's known from a very young age that if I am not looking at her I am not listening to her.

My ADD brain has shortchanged so many of my experiences. Are my jagged Christmas lights an attempt by my body to slow me down? Show me another way? No, of course not. However, they have shown me that I am hardly ever in the moment. Hardly. Ever. Never. When I'm sitting in a meeting, my mind is elsewhere. Unless I'm giving the presentation, then of course I'm all in. I'm focused and actually quite comfortable speaking in front of groups of any size.

I need to be more in the moment. I don't know how to do that. I've got over fifty years NOT doing that. And no, I don't want to take any drugs to help with my ADD brain. There must be a healthy way to help me become better at focusing and being IN the moment. I know that many of my moments are not something I want to be in, so I deliberately check out by hiding in the fantasy of a novel or hours of Netflix or my latest obsession, plugging headphones in at night to listen to the police scanner in my city. Even sleep does not get my full attention.

So far the jagged blinking lights have left me alone for an hour. I've written this post while I watch/listen to Dr. Who on the television. I wonder if I can write my next blog post in silence. I'll let you know.

Thursday, August 04, 2016

It's Friday!....no, wait it's only Thursday. Ugh

I'm not sure that's even a problem for me, as I'm not currently working. Nor have I heard from the powers that be by email, phone or text. A friend in the office did text me this morning to ask if I'd heard anything and I said no. I asked her if she had. She hasn't. Or perhaps she has and is being kind by not telling me. Either way, I am at peace. If I don't get the job, I don't get the job. I should be panicking. Debt, I'm looking at you. And it's giving me a nice stare back.

Today I'm with my youngest daughter and my grandson. And my tiny doggy, Bella. Enzo adores Bella. Bella has warmed to him and now considers him part of our pack. I know this because when someone Bella didn't know tried to touch Enzo, she growled menacingly. As only an almost-five-pound adorable ball of fur can. It was touching.

Shout out to my only reader, G. Parker. Your comments have been kind and sweet. I do appreciate your continued reading of my blatherings and your nice words. We should meet up sometime :)

This is yet another of my rambling posts. I wrote a lengthy post about taking care of my father but I took it down. It was too much, too personal and so many other things. It's hard. And that's all I'll say today on that matter.

Tomorrow I will be attending the funeral for a three year old boy. Christian is the grandson of one of my friends. He was born with many physical issues, one being in need of a new heart. He got it, but things did not go as planned. His mom kept a facebook page about their daily life in the hospital. It's called Christians Soldiers. Mom Aimee ended each post with New Year, New Heart. If you want to read and be uplifted by someone with immense faith in our Father's plan, then this is the page for you. I have learned so very much from her about grace under fire. About faith in the Lord's timing and about acceptance of God's will. I doubt I will ever be as strong as this amazing woman, but she gives me something to shoot for. Tomorrow will be difficult and painful--and beautiful. Christian was an amazing little soul with such a grin. I'm smiling here as I write this and seeing his little face. His story touched thousands of people across the world.

Saturday I will be visiting my son in rehab. It doesn't even hurt to write those words. Amazing.

Sunday I will try to go to church. This year has been a year where I have had much difficulty in attending on Sundays. So has my husband. We didn't really connect with the ward we moved into and so we asked for a boundary exception and haven't heard a word about it. I think we're somewhere in limbo land. It's not an entirely nice feeling. Perhaps New Year, New Heart should apply to me as well. I need a new heart for I fear the one I have is damaged.

Tuesday, August 02, 2016

Low Expecatations

I'm watching my grandson again today. He's adorable and full of energy and I love spending time with him. He lights up my world, especially as I see him gaining new skills through his therapy. I handed him a chicken nugget today and he said, "Thank you Nana" Not many other people would have recognized those words, but I did. And my entire being smiled.

We've had a month or so without my grandson's father being in the picture. It's been the nicest, smoothest month since the beginning of his entry into our lives. He's coming back on Friday. My daughter, finally standing up for herself, told him to get a cab from the airport because she has plans. That's progress. Hopefully there will be more progress.

Tonight hubby and I will attend a family meeting at a detox center where our son is being treated for heroin addiction. Yea...heroin. It's not something I've been able to talk or write about in the past year, but I can now. What a horrible destructive drug. It's like a cancer that he invited into his life, but that damages everyone in his circle. If he ever gets clean can we call ourselves survivors? I don't know. I don't care. I hope this fifth trip through rehab will be the magic bullet for this awfulness. I do not have the enthusiastic hope I had the first time around. I'm more jaded than before, but I try to kindle what small spark of hope that I have left. If he doesn't get clean he will die. I know this to be truth. A sad and bitter truth, but truth nonetheless. We have even looked into getting life insurance on our son because of the high risk of death by overdose--accidental or otherwise.

I love my son and I miss him. This shadow, this ghost that has been living with us is not my son. He hasn't been my son for quite a long time now. It's like walking death. He's not dead but neither is he alive.

For a time I blamed every sin, every poor decision, every bad behaviour my children engaged in on myself. I didn't do enough. I did too much. I was a bad mother, I was too strict, I was too lenient. Their lives were a reflection of my mothering, of me. It took some very serious awfulness for me to finally come to the realization that I was not responsible for my children's lives. How dare I believe I had that much power? How could I? We taught them to pray, we taught them right from wrong, we took them to church and we walked the talk. We didn't drink or smoke or swear. We taught them about modesty, about virtue, about honesty. From the moment I knew I was pregnant I loved my babies with everything I had.

Train up a child the way that they should go and when they are old they will not depart from it is what the scripture says. Sadly, I have not found that to be the case.

My previously high expecations are extremely low to non-existent right now. Life is easier without expectations, less painful and admittedly a bit more bleak. I do believe that with God, all things are possible. I've been taught that we are an eternal family. My heart wishes and hopes, despite my best attempts at being pragmatic about things.

What has hurt the most has been the judgement from family and ward members. The gossiping, the talking, the looks. On second thought, this hasn't hurt the worst, but it has added to my pain. We spent a great deal of money to fix my father's house so we could move in and help him. He could not have stayed in his home otherwise. He complains and talks about us to my sister constantly. It hurts. I understand on some level, but it still hurts. I am doing my best not to be bitter and let it effect a change in my feelings towards him. He's 83, he's stubborn, unhappy with the changes age has wrought in his body and unwilling to aceept most reccomendations for help. He makes gay jokes that aren't funny, racist joke that are embarrassing and no matter how many times I tell him I'd rather not hear that kind of thing, he continues. I worry about him falling constantly. I've taken him to the ER countless times. I'm weary. My children do not like living with him because he doesn't talk to them as much as at them, telling them they've done something wrong each and every time he comes into contact with them. They are so unhappy. My husband is unhappy. I am doing my best to be a buffer between all of them but it's wearing on me.

I think I shall go play trucks with my sweet grandson and treasure his giggles. His light is helping me through the darkness I've been in. I am blessed to have him.

Tuesday, July 26, 2016

No More Cake Pops

I didn't get up this morning planning to eat four Starbucks cake pops. Truth be told, they are kind of disgusting. Which added to my disgusting feeling of disgust with myself.

I was going to eat clean today. Maybe even vegetarian. Drink lots of water. Walk a lot. Be a good human. Not a disgusting one.

Nope. Didn't happen. Might happen tomorrow. Not having a job or a schedule isn't good for my health. I do better when I have deadlines, schedules and plans. Left to my own devices I am a walking disaster.

You may have noticed (and by 'you' I mean me because I don't think anyone reads this blod any longer) that I've begun to be brutally honest in my blogging. Not that I wasn't honest in my past ten to fifteen years of blogging, I was. But this time it's different. I'm not hiding the blemishes, the stains on the carpeting from spilled milk that was left too long, cheerios down seat cushions or my many weaknesses. So, so very many weaknesses.

I just got back from taking my grandson to his therapy group. It's designed especially for kiddos with autism. He's made amazing progress and his vocbulary has increased. He's gotten much better at making eye contact. I delight in his face when he sees me after class, his grin as he races out the door to me in the hall and throws himself into my arms. His tiny arms wrap around my neck, he nuzzles his head on my shoulder and hangs on for dear life. My back is not too happy about the added weight in my arms but I am loathe to put him down. I love this little man so very much. With each new word, with each new milestone and with each precious grin my heart melts even more. I am blessed to have this lil guy in my life.

This is what I loved about having little ones. They loved me with such enthusiasm, such innocence. They hadn't yet learned from the world that anyone not conforming to specific body type was unworthy of love or acceptance. When I was going to have my third child I wanted my husband to bring a picture of him with our children to the hospital so I could put it on my bedside table. I wanted the nursing staff to see that I was indeed a real person, that real people loved, that I had a handsome and kind husband and two beautiful height-weight proportionate children. I was worthy of being treated as a human being. I wanted this because for most of the public I was not worthy of being treated kindly as a fellow human being. I thought if they could see that others loved me, that they might look past my crippling hideousity (Is that a word?) and be kind.

I've gotten better at accepting myself---the inner me. I know who I am. Aging brings gifts like self-acceptance, understanding, a better perspective on things and hot flashes. What it hasn't entirely done for me is allow me to ignore the stares, the side-eyes, the words that people feel free to impart to me about my size. It's as though some people feel it's their duty to shame me because that will certainly make me do what is healthy. PSA--it doesn't work. It only serves to futher drive down my self-worth, self-esteem and desire for something crunchy.

I'm grateful for a loving husband that appears to be blind to my many faults. He is the kindest, most compassionate person I've ever met. He loves me for me. And that's saying something. I truly believe he loves like our Savior loves--without conditions or judgement. I try to be more like him. My heart is not as pure as his---but I'm learning. I'm trying. We are having our 29th wedding anniversary next week---33 years together. I must have done something right to have been worthy to have him as my better half.

No more cake pops. I promise.

Monday, July 25, 2016

Laundry. Depression. Laundry.

I brought a load of whites up from the basement just now. This might not seem like much to you but trust me, it's significant. I don't do laundry. Not for years. Oh, I'll fold laundry when it's laid before me, sure. And I've put the odd load on when it's vitally necessary, but generally this is my husband's forte. I cook, bake, clean the kitchen, do the bills and most of the grocery shopping. Dear sainted husband separates the whites from the colors, adds the detergent and makes sure the lint trap is cleaned. He keeps us clothed. Just me and him, because the three kids still at home do their own laundry. At least we taught them that much.

I'm depressed. No surprise there, at least not for me. I've battled this monster for years. Have I kept it well hidden from the rest of my world? Perhaps. Or perhaps not as well as I believe I have. I suppose I'm what you could call a functioning depressive? I know there are functioning alcoholics, functioning heroin addicts, functioning Republicans and Democrats. The problem is that you can only function so long with a mental illness, an addiction or the belief that yours is the only candidate to save the world.

I first went on antidepressants after my friend died from colon cancer. We were both young mothers. Our daughters were born days apart, we both gave birth to sons. While I recovered from my c-section, she never did. I began to have panic attacks, I'd run inside my house or frantically pace the dark street in front of my house in the night trying to suck oxygen into my dying self. Each night I was absolutely certain I was dying. Insomnia and small babies do not mix well. My physician at the time put me on Valium. Several times a day. One morning in church I was unable to remember the name of the man speaking from the pulpit. I knew that I knew him. I'd know him since I was a young girl. What was his name? I went home and dumped the remaining bottle of pills down the toilet.

After trying different antidepressants I found one that seemed to help. I stayed on it for a few years then tapered off and stopped. I was still depressed. I went back on antidepressants the first time my daughter tried to kill herself. I've been on them for three more suicide attempts, a few job losses, two moves, deaths of two more friends, a heroin addicted child and so much more. I do not have it worse than others. I do not have it better. It's just life. I threw myself a weekend pity party's after I lost my job last month. It was the only reason I got out of bed most days and poof it was gone. it hurt because I erroneously believed that these people were my friends. I loved my job. I was very, very good at it. Helping homeless students gave me purpose, broke my heart and caused me to count my blessings. They are making my position full time and adding more budgetary duties to it making it a few levels higher in the union. This means I can apply for it, which I am, but that doesn't mean I'll get it. I think perhaps my seven years of telling them this position needed more hours did not please the powers-that -be. But I digress.

Depression. I gots it. Today I am more down than usual. I've taken two hydrocodone due to a failing tooth. It's not helping with my I-don't-feel-like-adulting-today.

Where was I. Oh yeah, laundry. I'm about to fold it.

Thursday, July 21, 2016

Summer 2016

Hello Summer 2016. To be fair, we're already halfway through so I'm a bit late with my greeting.

I'm not going to say that 2016 has been a horrible year, but if it were a meal I ordered I'd get a whopping case of e-coli from it.

I know, I know....count your blessings Pam. Count your blessings. I do have many--one of which is my delightful grandson Enzo. I've been lucky enough to be able to watch him this summer after he was kicked out of his daycare/preschool due to behavior issues. Enzo was diagnosed with autism this year and so things have been a little difficult. He's in therapy a few times a week and has already made amazing progress. So very grateful for that. So very.

I lost my job at the end of the school year. Yeah, that was unpleasant. I wasn't fired, and my evaluations have been stellar for the past seven years. I loved my job and was devastated to have lost it. It was three hours a day in the school district as the Homeless Education Liaison. I took care of the homeless kiddos. I gave it my all and kept pestering them for more hours because i had nearly 400 students. They finally agreed that someone needed to be there full time for this, added several other jobs to that job and it went up a few levels and so I'm applying for my old job. Weird, I know. I hope to get it. I honestly do.

If I don't....I'm not quite sure where to go from there. I've got my writing, one book nearly revised and writing two more at the same time. Focus is not my forte. I keep skipping around. I've got my seaglass jewelry that I could go back to. I still have quite a bit of inventory because I love making it but the selling part is not my cup of tea. I wonder if I could get my stay-at-home daughter to be my Etsy shop manager? It's worth a shot. It's not like.... uh, nevermind.

I'd talk about the elections here in the states, but my mama taught me not to use bad language and I've managed quite well up until this point in my life without gutter language. And trust me, this presidential election elicits an odd desire in me to spew words I normally eschew. Trump and Hilary. How did we come to this? I was also taught that if I couldn't say anything nice, to not say anything at all. I fear I've not always lived up to that lofty goal, but I try. And in an effort to keep trying, that's it for my commentary on the 2016 presidential election. :(

Late at night, when I can't sleep I slip earbuds in and listen to the police scanner for Seattle. It doesn't help me sleep but I've discovered how very much goes on below the surface of this world that most of us never realize. We do not see what our police have to deal with on a daily basis. I've listened in on active CPR for heroin overdoses. Some make it, others do not. Shots fired, domestive violence calls, robbery, drugs, abuse, missing people, hysterical people. I have heard a great deal of calls for people fighting under the influence of drugs or booze. It all comes down to personal choices. Nearly all these calls are for people that have made some very poor choices in their lives and now the police have to come clean up the mess, save the victims, catch the bad guys and some times they are forced to take a life in order to protect their lives and the lives of others.

The attacks on our law enforcement is a direct result of the hateful rhetoric in the news, by organizations that march in the streets calling for the death of police officers. It has to stop. This is not the way to further your cause. News outlets, elected officials and the BLM all have blood on their hands for Dallas and Baton Rouge. Stop screaming. Start talking. Hate has never solved anything---ever.

Now, back to your regularly scheduled programming until I remember my blog in several months time and post once again.

Be kind to one another.

Saturday, January 02, 2016

Hello 2016

This isn't a post about resolutions---I don't do those anymore because they rarely work for me. Ok, 'rarely' is a bit optimistic. It's more like never. I read somewhere that you should put systems into place, rather than make resolutions. Putting a system into place to achieve your goals sounds like a better path to success.

This is a random post about random thoughts I've had lately. Feel free to skip it. Heaven knows I haven't kept up reading the blogs of my friends, my enemies or anyone in between. (I don't believe I have any enemies, but then again I could simply be missing those social cues that would allow me to know someone is my enemy. Shrug

I inadvertently consumed copious amounts of caffeine today and thought I was going to die. This feeling of imminent death is not new to me, I've suffered from panic attacks since forever, although they have been mercifully infrequent these past few years. For the record, I didn't know I was taking in caffeine, or I wouldn't have done so. I don't react well to the stuff. I'm feeling better now---but still a tad jittery. I don't know how people can drink coffee all the time and not go insane.

I'm working on my new book. Again. I started it in November and after two chapters, I let it slide. I wrote my first book in about a month and a half, non-stop writing. This one, not so much. I should be more disciplined about my writing but then the creative side of me is less organized and more haphazard-messy-where-did-the-time-go.

I love my puppy more than I thought possible to love a puppy. While watching the new Star Wars movie last night, I kept thinking about her. My youngest says that Bella and I have a co-dependent relationship. I'm ok with that.

The reason I'm writing here on my blog is because I can't get into my writing account and am waiting on a response from the support people. See? I told you this was a random bit of blogging. I'm the one with a gazillion tabs open in my head, thank you ADD.

How can someone that was fiercely faithful suddenly become a non-believer? Perhaps 'suddenly' is a bit wrong. I don't believe it's a sudden thing, do you? One day you're a person of faith, so much so that you've gone on a mission, served faithfully at church, felt the burning of truth and the sweet peace that the Spirit speaks to your heart and the next day you mock your former faith and join the church of the spaghetti monster in the sky. You take up habits you eschewed your entire life. Does this happen little by little? Small grains of sand escaping from your previously faith-filled snowglobe until there is nothing left? I understand being tested---boy do I understand being tested and some of my greatest sorrow is believing that I have not endured my testing well. I haven't lost my faith over the trials that have been placed before me--but I have staggered under their combined weight. I have stumbled and fallen and I am so far from perfect that I can barely see adequate on my horizon.

One thing I have learned, besides the fact that God will force no man to heaven, is that the whole free agency, free will thing is very real. Also--I'm honestly not judging those who have left their faith--heaven knows I've been judged enough by others to know the pain of it all. I'm simply curious.

There has been another thing that has weighed heavily on me---and it's seeing a family disintegrate over situations that should have brought them together for a common goal. Backbiting, accusations, clandestine moves, gossip combined with some of the most uncharitable actions I've ever seen have driven a bitter wedge so deep into a family I know that I do not see any reconciliation happening in this life and perhaps not even the next. Communication between all of them would perhaps have stopped this horror from continuing. Because I have had more than enough on my plate, I have made it a point not to become involved, but that doesn't mean I haven't been watching. You should all be ashamed of yourselves. All of you.

And now for something much more sweet! We spent the day in Leavenworth last week where I purchased a jar of Peach Honey Creme. I'm sipping hot peach tea with some of this nectar in it as I write. It's delicious. If everyone in the world had a sweet puppy like Bella on their lap and a mug of hot sweet Peach Tea, we could avoid wars and Jerry Springer-esque family antics.

One more thing before I go. Is there someone out there that could create an app that would totally block any mention of the Kardashians in my social media feeds? I'd pay good money for that app. I'm sure there are a lot of people that would as well.