I’ve already grown weary of winter. Winter months are hard, and those who know me already know I’m not a fan of anything difficult.
If you’re still reading this, you’re probably aware that this will be a rant post. Hey, we all need one now and then. With that said, I’ll proceed to touch on a few of the reasons why I
abhor hate dislike the season.
- All the extra required clothing, resulting in more laundry. Additionally, more clothes give the illusion of more pounds. Hate.
- I must wear socks. I hate socks. More importantly, my feet hate socks. And any accompanying enclosed shoes.
- Staying up longer at night to make sure that last log is in fact extinguished results in Bon getting less sleep. This is not a good thing.
- Everything looks bare naked and dead. That’s because it is. For several months.
- My car is happy in cool weather – but hates freezing temperatures. It’s not unusual for my key locks and/or door jams to freeze, resulting in me being late for work.
- Lotion up. Now, lotion up once more. Wait, we’re not done here – dammit the lotion bottle’s empty again.
- Dear Sun, how I adore thee. But alas, our time together seems to have been cut in half. I am pale. I mean like Edward Cullen pale. The forecast calls for even more pale.
When torrential rain gets thrown into the mix (over three-inches-expected-in-one-day torrential) it turns from aggravating to disastrous. Like when you let your puppy out to poo and he decides to find a hidden spot in the yard to dig while in said torrential rain.
Yep, I’ll be late for work again.
On this day four years ago, Keith and I went on our first date. For this reason, we’ve always celebrated it as our anniversary.
I remember I didn’t want him coming directly to the door of my third-floor apartment. I think this was a combined reasoning of not wanting to add to his stress level of a first date along with if I didn’t want a second date, the exact location of my apartment would be kept secret.
Wearing high heels while descending wooden-slat steps could prove to be a recipe for disaster for any woman, especially an accident-prone one like myself. I was certain I wouldn’t make it down without a catastrophic fall. I didn’t, though. As I rounded the sidewalk and the parking lot came into view, so did this tall, dark and handsome man – flashing a grin while leaning back ever so cool-like on the hood of his Volvo. Four years later, I can still see it as clearly as I did that evening. If memory ever eludes me when I get older, I pray for this one memory to remain because it is seriously that precious to me.
We went to dinner at a restaurant called The Grid Iron, which is still open today. Through the course of the meal, the conversation seemed almost too easy, if that makes any sense. He talked about his job as an elevator installer and came across as just a kind soul in general. It didn’t take me long to realize that I was spot-on in that analysis.
To bide a little time before the movie started, he asked if I’d like to ride around his town of Gastonia for a bit. I found him to be an excellent tour guide, narrating this and that, gingerly pointing out an establishment or two he’d installed elevators in.
I’d never seen a Harry Potter movie, actually don’t think I’ve seen another one since. But Harry Potter it was that night, and looking back it was probably the best choice by far. After the movie, he drove me back to my apartment in Lake Wylie. Because of a few losers I’d been out with prior to Keith, I decided I didn’t care much to kiss goodnight on the first date, and so I held fast to that. I reached over the seat, hugged him and told him I’d had a good time. That was it – our first kiss didn’t actually happen until another week later on our second date.
The rest is history. He got the car door for me that night, and he still gets it for me today. He still sings Josh Turner songs to me in that deep sexy voice and it still makes my stomach flutter. His tour-guide antics still entertain me, especially when we’re up in the North Carolina mountains where he’s spent so many years working.
And so inspired a little tribute to you, baby. Happy Anniversary to my precious tour guide…
As a kid, I always remember hearing the term “stick out like a sore thumb”. It’s probably a southern saying. I truly believe that tidbit of terminology somehow got permanently embedded in my brain.
I’ve never dealt well with being the center of attention. Even my color choices in attire reflect this – the vast majority of my closet consists of grays, blacks and basic earth tones (with the exception of my beloved Bob Marley shirt). A huge part of my comfort zone has always been to ‘blend’. Years ago when my ex-husband and daughter threw me a surprise birthday party, I felt both embarrassed and awkward that those people were there solely for me. It’s pretty difficult to blend in that type of situation.
Soon I will experience another first in my life – trying on wedding dresses for the first time. It seems funny to me that at my age, I’ve never experienced this.
I’m for sure starting to feel the pressure of planning a wedding and the attention that comes along with it. The associate at the bridal gown store told me over the phone “This night will be all about you!”, to which my stomach immediately tightened upon hearing. I don’t like hearing something, anything, will be all about me. Is this weird?
Now I find myself questioning my own judgement of having a full-blown wedding. Don’t get me wrong – I’m super excited, I just wish there was a way to pass the attention factor on to someone else. I’m gonna have to find a way to suck it up for a day and put this weird-ass feeling aside. Pardon my language, but I simply cannot find a more descriptive word for this mentality of mine.
Just plain weird-ass.
Speaking of, have I mentioned we’re hiring police security for our wedding? A whole ‘nother blog…
I’m constantly amazed at all the events that have transpired in this short year.
I moved to my own apartment. It didn’t take long for me to realize that Mojo was not cut out for apartment living, so I made the gut-wrenching decision to re-home my precious boy. In the interim I put forth my most valiant effort in the quest to start a new life. Early March, Keith donned the suit of armor I always knew he had and formed an attack plan to win back my hardened heart – which I never thought would be possible. He’s since ran the entire marathon with a few extra miles thrown in for good measure.
The missing piece to the puzzle was always Mojo. I’ve wanted to write about it for a while now, but the subject was just too painful. On April 3rd, I pled my case to the gracious couple who had agreed to take him. On a stormy April 4th, we made the drive up to Salisbury to retrieve our baby boy. I am forever grateful to Debbie and Danny for allowing us this most precious opportunity… for my heart is once again full and complete.
I’m one of those people who believes every thing happens for a reason. I didn’t think so at first, but I believe all of this was actually meant to happen, and I don’t regret a single thing that’s happened this year.
Near sunset on the last day of summer in front of Lake Wylie, Mojo and Camille’s mommy and daddy will officially become one. The plus? Keith seems even more excited about it than me.
Being a fish out of water is just not my cup of tea. I still find myself holding the perpetual empty jar in the ongoing quest to find my ‘niche’. One word – awkward. Having already gone through this once 5 years ago, I realize I’ve never had a ton of patience in the area of self-discovery. I second and third-guess every single thing I do and say. I’m quite unsure of myself, to say the very least – it’s a very unsettling feeling.
It seemed easy to lose my own sense of self in a long-term relationship – in which case, I mistakenly assumed was forever. I surrendered every bit of myself to a man and, subsequently, assumed a portion of his persona as my own. No matter whose fault a breakup is, the hurt and anger that ensues afterward simply has to be dealt with, and there are many ways of dealing. After a certain amount of time passes, I think it’s natural (I hate the word normal) to crave some form of human connection. Recently I’ve found myself venturing outside my comfort zone and conversing with a few friends of the opposite sex. Although I think they’ve gone well, my own inner core remains stone-cold and untrusting. While half of me hopes this little issue remains undercover, the other half screams defiantly, “I don’t [expletive] care!!”
I seem to have the innate ability to over-analyze something as simple as a pineapple. Miranda said it best…
As I came to the first red light on the way to work this morning, I was stunned to see a car stalled between it and the busy highway which I was waiting to turn on. An elderly lady with a desperate look on her face sat in the drivers seat on the phone, and her husband sat slumped in the passenger seat with a blank look on his face. The ass-end of their car sat poised in the busy intersection of the highway, just waiting to be t-boned. She’d even called the cops, who still hadn’t showed by the time I left a half-hour later.
When I finally got her attention I asked if her car was stalled, she replied yes. I asked her to hang on since I was forced to make the green light turn. Maneuvering a quick U, I pulled in front of her, ran back to their car and asked her to put it in neutral. I immediately took note of the incline it would have to be pushed up – even though I had doubts about handling it alone, knew I had to try anyway. They always say adrenaline kicks in the moment you need it, and these people desperately needed to be moved out of a very busy intersection of a highway. The cars came and went, some honking and rapidly switching lanes to avoid hitting us at the last minute. I finally had to face the brutal stomach-sinking reality that I couldn’t move the car by myself. I started locking eyes with passerby cars who came to rest at that red light, spotted what I thought was a guy, and waved them down. Lo and behold, the door opened and out popped a female. I yelled over to her that we needed to find a man, but she ran over anyway and became my teammate.
Inch by slow inch, we made tiny progress. We both put our entire body weights into it, which even combined didn’t seem enough to get the job done. The elderly disabled husband began exiting the car very slowly (as we were moving it). I noticed his arms didn’t work – they just hung to his sides. I tried to get him to step to the side but he wouldn’t. He leaned his back end into it and did what he could, bless his heart.
My cohort and I proceeded to inch the car along, with it coming to rest every few seconds. Her and I didn’t speak, but every time the car stopped I knew we were thinking the same thing – we both had to fight to keep it from reversing backwards on us. I truly believe it was God’s hand that helped us push that car upward…
For the next 20 minutes, car after car whizzed past us while we expended every bit of energy we had to get the car up the hill. Once we got her pulling into the grass, a van stopped and a man got out. With three bodies pushing, the car finally came to rest safely in the grass.
When it was all over and I was back in my car, I found myself beyond infuriated. Why, you may ask? It’s simple, really. WHERE THE HELL WERE ALL THE MEN?? I mean, are you serious? Out of the scores of cars that passed us in that 20 minutes, my money’s certainly not riding on the fact that they were all female. This includes all the ones at the red light who were already safely stopped, who came and went.
I know of a good many men that I feel sure would have stopped and leant their strongarms. I’m hoping that chivalry is indeed not dead and the people I encountered this morning who ‘opted out’ were not in the majority of the population. This chance encounter only dimmed that hope, unfortunately.
My beloved South got it’s snow yesterday. It came in swift and accumulated very rapidly. It was a blessing for it to occur on a Saturday afternoon/night of the weekend! The residents here seemed perfectly content to have a warm night tucked safe in their homes, and enjoy the scenery of the beautiful white snow outside.
It brought along with it thunder and lightning, which has been endearingly termed Thundersnow. The conditions that lead up to this type of event are extremely rare, and usually only occur in the states along the East Coast.
This morning, I couldn’t resist the urge to walk down the pathway adjacent to my building to the lake. Although the overnight ice was treacherous, I went slow to reach my intended target.
A true photographer at heart, whether professional or amateur (I’m most certainly the amateur), will do almost anything to get their intended shot.
This is my second weekend here. Along came the cleansing white snow which, to me, signifies a clean white slate. That’s how I see it, anyway.
Can you tell I have this little thing for trees?
It took me a month to pack and less than a week to unpack. For some reason, I’ve always struggled with packing. Not just with moving, but with packing for a trip or vacation as well. It’s always easy for me to unpack and stick the stuff back in it’s respectful places – but gathering items and organizing them in boxes is hard for me. I think it’s largely due to my ocd about categorizing things. I also tend to want to clean out when I’m packing… I’ll abandon a box and go in search of other ‘like’ items to combine with it. Before I know it, an hour has passed and I’m still on the same box.
This got me thinking about life in general. I don’t necessarily have issues with making a change – I am a Pisces, after all. If a Pisces isn’t comfortable with the direction their life is headed, it’s a well-known fact that they will simply disappear or swim away in the other direction. That’s not to say that finding the courage to actually make that change is easy. Once the change is made however, my organizational skills are unmatched. If I can say one positive thing about myself, it’s my ability to organize – once the deed is done, so to speak.
It’s slowly beginning to dawn on me how much of myself I put into a relationship. It would also seem that I’m easily replaceable. Over the past several years I’ve lost a huge chunk of me that I’m now struggling to find again, and it’s frustrating. I must give myself time and patience in this endeavor, in as much as time passed through which I allowed that loss.
But guess what? I’ve already started.
It seems to be the hardest thing to ditch, this transition from the plural “us/we” to singular “I/me”. This morning I was telling a neighbor about the discipline training “we’d” gotten for Mojo. I recognized my blunder as soon as it came out of my mouth, and walked away feeling awkward.
Right now I’m angry. I hate admitting it, but I am. As I look back on the mistakes I’ve made, I’m angry at myself for being so naive. I’m angry for staying, for believing, for surrendering my whole heart to someone who didn’t appreciate it for what it was worth, for holding out hope, and for all the wasted time. I’m angry at him for being such a damn good receiver. For the lack of communication, for the broken promises when the hand of communication was forced, and for the sheer selfishness that made him, well – him. I’m angry at him for not even once asking me to stay. It stands to reason that I have been played for a genuine fool.
There are some hard lessons to learn in life. Sometimes that one ‘sure thing’ that feels so certain turns out to be the devil himself dressed in a thin veil. As my dear uncle used to say – such is life, I suppose.
One thing’s for certain – the walls surrounding this ticker will be rock-solid from here on out.
I’m well past the time I normally post this little entry as I do at every year’s end. With each coming year, I pick a new word to try and sum up the prior year in a nutshell.
In case you missed it in priors years’ posts, here’s the rundown. 2008 was Monumental. 2009 was Colorful. 2010 was Serene, and 2011 was Transitional. The word I picked for 2012 was Disclosure.
I guess I was dead wrong in last year’s post when I said ‘this butterfly has completed her journey’. I have not. In fact, it would appear the journey never ended, and indeed is far from over.
I wanted the fairy tale ending. Can’t blame a girl for that, can ya? Even though fairy tales rarely if ever come to fruition.
The commitment I so yearned for is not to be. Over the last year I’ve heard a spectrum of excuses ranging from the somewhat believable to the absolutely ridiculous. You may remember I didn’t want to open my mouth to begin with, but with year after swift year passing, what else is there left to do? Just as I thought, as soon as I allowed those sweet thoughts to pass my lips, I felt less-than. Less than the woman I’d worked so hard to uncover – the woman who’d previously remained unknown, even to myself. I, as a whole, had immediately been lessened.
He just wasn’t ready. His job security was unforeseeable. He’d set a (silent) 5-year mark for himself before ever contemplating a commitment to anyone. He’d known all along about my wishes but avoided the issue. Why is it so important to you – it’s just a piece of paper, after all. Our exes names still remain on both our mortgages. You’re like a kid wanting candy. My credit didn’t go through. I was gonna wait until your birthday.
Like a kid wanting candy. Gotta admit that one burned.
I have to take blame where blame is due. I should never have given up my home and moved in with a man, in his house, in hopes for a commitment. I didn’t and don’t approve of living this way, and I know right from wrong. I went with my heart instead of my gut instinct, and we all know love is blind. That’s my bad.
I will have a home of my own again soon, planned for the beginning of February. After 3 1/2 years I have much healing to do and feel the need to once again find and complete my inner Bon. Being single isn’t so bad. Being in a relationship with someone who has no desire to make you a permanent fixture in their life is a bad feeling.
Here’s to 2013 and the goodness it may bring to us all. And always remember change can often be a good thing.
It’s always worried me when a fellow blogger disappears suddenly and never comes back to let you know they’re okay. In these albeit rare instances, it serves to feed a pit of never-ending questions and scenarios in my head. Did they have an accident, did they die, are they sick, the list goes on – and believe me, I can create some scenarios. It’s for this reason that I wanted to let you guys know I’ll be taking a blogging break. Heck I as much as have already, anyway.
When I started posting back in 2009 it was something I needed to do, and it ended up being very therapeutic. It was also something I enjoyed doing. The past few months, maybe more actually, it’s become (can I be frank?) more of a chore. All of you should be able to relate to this honest admittance, since we’ve all likely had an occurrence of being burnt out on some thing at some point in our lives. To be honest, I’m dealing with a lot of ‘stuff’ right now, and a blog isn’t always the best place to, ahem… bare it all. Sometimes it is, just not all the time. So I also consider it ‘removing the cell phone from the drunk’. Yeah. That’s a good analogy.
I’ll try to visit in here and there, and may even be back again in good time. I value all of your friendships through the years more than I can tell you. I’ve met some truly wonderful and inspirational people who, I like to think, have influenced me in very positive ways. For this I feel so blessed, and I’m thankful for each and every one of you.
With that I’ll bid you all adieu for a while, and in typical bon-fashion will leave behind a couple of renegade thoughts.
- As much as I prefer routine, it seems as if my life is always changing.
- Never take communication for granted. It’s such an integral part of life.
- A promise is a promise – it’s not made to be ignored or left to dry up, as if never mentioning it again will make it disappear. That’s simply not the way it works.
Hugs and Kisses
How hot was it this weekend? It was so hot that the Jehovah’s Witnesses decided to make phone calls in lieu of visits. (Hey, it’s a joke. Be easy on me, I’ve got at least two for every religion.) In all seriousness, this heat has been one for the records. Unless I’m near a large body of water you won’t find me outside in it.
I received a super-sweet nomination for a ‘Very Inspiring Blogger Award’ from sued51too. Although I don’t really ‘do’ the awards, I’d definitely like to express my humble appreciation for this and urge you to visit her blog http://sued51too.wordpress.com. She writes very inspiring and meaningful posts which I enjoy immensely and I think you will too.
Today is a monumental day for my
sweet girl sidekick automobile. My little baby car will turn over to 100,000 miles today on the ride home from work. Know that I WILL be pulling over at 99,999. It’s just something I’ve gotta do.
No, it doesn’t take much to entertain the old Bon… not much at all. I think I’ve mentioned before that I have a personal ummm, bond with my car. Those who know me understand, and I’ll leave it at that.
You know that 2-tire blowout Keith had last week? While en route to get fireworks last night, it was crudely brought to our attention that little incident did more damage than we originally thought.
Cruising down Highway 321 in Clover, SC – a large kathump happened on the passenger (my) side of the car and the brakes completely locked up. We went SCRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR for 200 feet or so while Keith struggled to maintain the wheel, making a split-second decision to take an opportunistic pull-off into a closed service station. He narrowly missed smashing into a big green dumpster before coming to a stop with the ass-end of the car still hanging out in the street. Neither of us said a word while it was happening, but once stopped we both cried out “what the f*ck!?!” in unison. What is it they say again about finishing each other’s sentences?
If you’ve ever wondered (raising my hand) what happens when you pop a ball joint from an axle… well, it looks something like this.
So much for that brand new
set of four three tires and rims.
Reckon’ we gotta scratch that last-minute fireworks run, honey. Looks like them there wheels don’t roll end over end after awl!! Hell, maybe if we climb up on the roof o’ the house later we can enjoy some of those mortars our neighbors bawt…
Silver linings are everywhere to be found. There was no 105 degree weather, the rain had stopped an hour prior, and Keith wasn’t going the usual 65-70 mph down the interstate on his way home from work. We are safe, we are blessed – and God is good.
Thought I’d share one of my favorite new country songs by newcomer Dustin Lynch. To me, his voice embodies the very essence of country music – he reminds me a lot of Josh Turner. You won’t hear me complaining about having another deep-toned voice like his around.
As much as I love the song, I melted when I saw the video. Seeing someone reminisce over past love does that to me every time. Hope you enjoy.
Maybe God just kinda likes… Cowboys and Angels…
I’m so pissed off as I’m writing this that after I finish I may choose to not even post it at all. At the least this will be a raw and jump-all-over-the-place post. The question lingering in my head is, how can someone choose to abandon their animal? What god-given right do they think they have to consider these defenseless beings disposable?
In the small neighborhood where I live, we know each and every dog that ‘runs around’ (yes, there is a leash law but not really enforced) and know that each one indeed has a home. Three days ago, a white adult male Boxer showed up at the house next door. He will not leave the area, and has even made a huge bed of yard brush in the back yard of the house we think he was abandoned at. Our street is but a cul-desac consisting of four houses. The house two doors down was foreclosed on a few months ago, so the bank sent a contracted group of cleaners and yard personnel to get the house ‘ready’. It was approximately an hour after the hired personnel departed from their second visit out that the collared AB (abandoned boxer) showed up.
He appears to be a senior dog who’s non-aggressive, but he won’t come to anyone. I later gathered he is deaf since he didn’t pass my hearing test of several loud noises when he wandered in our front yard. Once he notices me by arm signalling, he always slowly turns around and walks back to his ‘house’. He will wander a short distance throughout the four homes on our cul-de-sac, but always returns to the spot where he was abandoned. It doesn’t take a damn rocket scientist to figure out what happened.
He’s waiting on his family to come back for him.
Yesterday I contacted the SPCA (humane society) who gave instructions to call the pound. I am not calling a kill shelter on this animal, it’s not his fault his family doesn’t want him anymore. Today I’ve spent hours attempting to reach boxer rescue organizations in the area. Though I’ve found a handful, half won’t consider a stray, another is full, most want to be contacted via email, and I’ve left messages with the two others. It appears that Sunday is not the optimal day to reach anyone.
I live in Gaston County on the North/South Carolina border – if anyone has any suggestions as to other contacts, I’d sure be open to them. Other than that I’ll just wait and hope I get a returned call back tomorrow at work.
I’ve always been concerned with how people perceive me, more than I ever should be. I’m not talking about outer appearances – mostly I mean seeking approval from others which is impossible half the time anyway. I continually watch what I say, how it may be taken, and a truckload of other crap that I shouldn’t even bother with. I’m well aware this trait is a complete waste of time and energy, but it’s a curse that I’ve never been able to completely harness. Maybe someday.
Acts of kindness, compassion and generosity which are shown at ‘less than favorable’ times in your life can and should be seen as a huge blessing. Things such as receiving a sympathy card when a loved one has passed away, being brought a prepared dish that someone made just for you – even a personal phone call can be equally as significant. In this day and age, if someone thinks enough of you to pick up the phone and call you – you’re special. Know that you actually have meaning and worth to them.
Each and every act of kindness and concern I was shown during the past few weeks humbled me. It was, in fact, overwhelmingly humbling. If knowing that people are thinking kind thoughts about you isn’t humbling to us as an individual, then I’d be stumped as to what is. It’s just that black and white to me.
My dear mother called me a couple times each day, so worried. Even now, I so wish I could have kept that worry from her. My dad and daughter were very concerned. Keith’s sweet sister called me every day, too. Keith was, of course, an invaluable help with everything. I received many phone calls, visits, texts and emails from various friends, family, neighbors, coworkers and blogging buddies. Another coworker had chocolate strawberries shipped to my house. The day I came back to work, three pressmen in our shop had bought flowers and had a sign sitting on my desk welcoming me back.
Humbling, I tell you. Looking back on it brings tears to my eyes just writing about it. So I got to thinking… maybe I really should try harder not to worry about what people think of me. I feel the love.
Never have I felt so introverted and withdrawn from my old life, from day-to-day society even. It’s not a good feeling. When this is allowed to continue for a few weeks, a person can start feeling less than whole. What feels like a month or more to me actually has been, as all the pre-op jitters I had beforehand had really started to get to me. For at least a week and a half before surgery I could barely eat. I skipped breakfast and lunch at work, and the few bites I ate for dinner were forced in a subconscious effort to keep myself going. I go back to work on Monday. What seems to have lasted a month has actually been a record two weeks. I’m eager to get back to work, which in essence is a huge part of my ‘normal life’. So for now I’m back… at least in written form. As of today I have 264 unread emails. I’ve really missed reading everyone’s thoughts and posting every now and then.
Of course me being me, the surgery couldn’t go off without a hitch or two. The night and day afterwards my blood pressure dropped to an alarming rate. Each time a ‘team’ of about 8-10 people rushed in, which can totally make a person forget how bound up their bowels are. In all seriousness, it brought back memories of my late grandmother and uncle, who had that same type of team rush in as their own BP plummeted. There was a concern of fluid on my lungs and/or a heart problem, so various tests were ordered including x-rays, labwork and an EKG (I was actually grateful to get the EKG since it’s been about ten years since my last one). With the exception of a high white cell count, the tests came out fine. Come to find out later, either the buildup of medicines I’m on for high blood pressure, the administration of morphine, or possibly a combination of the two was the culprit for the BP nosedives. For the duration of the next week I was kept off my BP meds. Two days after I was released, the nausea set in – of course this came after I bragged about being one of the women who didn’t get sick. Along with the post-surgery pain, I knew my fluid buildup was becoming a serious issue. My ankles looked like thighs and my feet resembled pillows – it was literally cracking my skin on the top of my feet I was so swelled. I couldn’t breathe well or even take in more than a shallow breath. On my second trip back to the doctor that week, I was told ‘Oh yes! You need to resume taking your BP meds immediately!’. I provided a gentle reminder that on Monday I’d been told to hold off on all BP meds until further instructed – Keith was sitting beside me in the exam room and remembers this very well. Bottom line, I was off the meds I urgently needed for nearly a damn week. Pardon my uber-long, exasperated sigh.
That Saturday, one day after I started back on my normal BP med regimen, almost all of the fluid was gone and I could breathe easily again. I don’t even want to even consider what being off of them for another day or two might’ve done to me (the word stroke does come to mind). If I’d ever doubted before how important those medicines are to me I never will again. They are literally my lifeline, and it’s scary to contemplate any natural disaster or other happening mandating my existence without them. Millions of people with different healthcare scenarios are in the same situation, having to depend on prescription medicines for their very existence. It’s yet another stark reminder of the healthcare crisis we’re dealing with in America, as so many individuals are having to do without or not getting the care or medicines they need in order to survive. Just thinking about it boggles my mind. I know that I’m one of the lucky ones, for now at least.
That time has come. I have to be at the hospital at 0530 tomorrow for surgery at 0730. For the past week and a half the sheer apprehension of it has all but taken it’s toll. I’m anxious to have this behind me and get back to my life… a life where I can actually eat a full meal, the food tastes delicious and my stomach isn’t tied up in a knot.
Peace out and talk to ya soon.
The following is a widely spread story/poem in which the author remains unknown… I felt Mother’s Day weekend was a most appropriate time in which to share. I wish all of you exceptional ladies a very special and memorable day spent with loved ones.
And, Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.
The child asked God, “They tell me you are sending me to earth tomorrow, but how am I going to live there being so small and helpless?”
The child further inquired, “But tell me, here in Heaven I don’t have to do anything but sing and smile to be happy.”
God said, “Your angel will sing for you and will also smile for you. And you will feel your angel’s love and be very happy.”
Again the child asked, “And how am I going to be able to understand when people talk to me if I don’t know the language?”
God said, “Your angel will tell you the most beautiful and sweet words you will ever hear, and with much patience and care, your angel will teach you how to speak.”
“And what am I going to do when I want to talk to You?”
God said, “Your angel will place your hands together and will teach you how to pray.”
“Who will protect me?”
God said, “Your angel will defend you even if it means risking it’s life.”
“But I will always be sad because I will not see You anymore.”
God said, “Your angel will always talk to you about Me and will teach you the way to come back to Me, even though I will always be next to you.”
At that moment there was much peace in heaven, but voices from Earth could be heard and the child hurriedly asked, “God, if I am to leave now, please tell me my angel’s name.”
God looked softly down at the child and whispered, “Your angel’s name is of no importance. You will simply call her ‘Mom’.”
It’s been a while since I’ve written a complete BS post, so I figure I’m about due. Forgive me in advance for my rambling.
My new boy Mojo has been keeping me busy. When I get home in the afternoon, my time belongs to him – I often don’t start dinner until Keith gets home (sometimes not even then). I’m completely okay with this. There’s always an adjustment period for any new member of your family, as well as for you. The time he mandates is so worth it and he’s such a sweet boy. I’m ever so glad he found me.
In a little over a week I’ll be having surgery (a word I don’t much care for). Anyway, I made the decision to have a hysterectomy. I’m not one who feels the need to keep female ‘things’ hush, so I’m not embarrassed to talk about the type of surgery it is. What I will say is I’m silently terrified at the concept. I hate that it’s turning into this, and I’m trying real hard to hide it from most people. The closer it gets, the more I’m thinking about it – my stomach is torn up and burning and I’m a nervous wreck. I know everything will be okay and my doctor is great, but this old mind just won’t let it go and it’s just consuming my thought process. Wish I could just fast-forward to recovery and all these pre-op worries would be gone. I have several friends who have gone through it and they tell me it’s nothing. I trust when they tell me this, and can only hope I am as strong as they are. I guess I don’t have any choice – I’ll just have to be.
My big beef is having to be out of work for a couple of weeks – and I would never have agreed to it if it were the formerly mandated six weeks. Now it’s actually four, but in my line of work I’m told I should be able to return in two. Apart from family, my job is everything to me. It’s the reason I eat, drive, and have a warm bed to sleep in. Additionally, it’s something I respect and will never take for granted. If you’ve ever been screwed over by an employer of long tenure and are lucky enough to find something a hundredfold better, a place that actually appreciates you back – you won’t wish to be out. To me it’s about surrendering this huge part of my life, of my familiarity. Might sound corny, but that’s just how it is. Even contemplating being out of work gets me emotional and I’m not a big fan of emotional. Maybe I need to try some yoga.
As most of you know, I have a new ‘son’ – Mr. Mojo Risin. He was unusually nervous on the way to get groomed for the first time today. Although the little man was afraid, he trusted his new Mommy implicitly. In fact, everything seemed more than okay – as long as we were Together.