Thankfulness

Many of my facebook friends are doing a 30 days of Thankfulness thing on facebook.   

I thought I’d start here.

Today I’m thankful for my stepson, who has taught me that no matter how hard I try to win his love, he will never stop resenting me for coming between him and his dad’s wallet.    I’m thankful for him teaching me that as long as you say you care, someone will believe it.   I’m grateful to him for showing me that priorities are a funny thing, and if you want something badly enough, it becomes more important than anything else.   I’m grateful for the fact that we’ve always managed to have the money to save him when his priorities were a bit different from those of the rest of the world.

I’m thankful for his girlfriend.   She’s taught me that when my wallet is open, I’m a caring wonderful person, but when I ask too many questions, I’m a nosy bitch who needs to mind her own business.   I’m grateful to her for giving me a reason to close my wallet and not feel guilty about saying no.   

I’m thankful for my dog.   He’s taught me that I can do everything in my power to make another living being happy and it still isn’t enough.   He’s taught me that apparently there are no limits to the amount of frustration I can handle.    He’s taught me that puppy kisses and wagging tails don’t really make up for shoulders pulled out of joint, and aching bones, and bruises.   

I’m thankful for weather forecasters who hype every rain drop into a tornado.   My life would be so drama free without them, what would I do?

I’m thankful for students – see frustration levels above.  

 

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What I didn’t post today

I didn’t post on facebook:

  1. Thank you for your thinly veiled comments that were obviously meant for my benefit
  2. When you borrow money from me because you can’t afford to put oil in the tank to heat your home and keep your kids warm every winter, but you have money all summer for vacations and new tattoos, yes, I’m going to comment.   If you don’t like it, don’t come to me and cry that you’re broke when it’s cold out
  3. When your dog dies because you used the money you should have earmarked for her medical procedure for tickets to see some aging comics who were only funny because we were all stoned – (that was the 60’s, before you were alive, stop trying to live in that time, you can’t do it) – yes, I’m going to comment
  4. When you change your phone as often as I change my oil, and don’t give us the new number, don’t blame us for not getting in touch with you

I’m so tired of being used.    

 

And furthermore

Why is it impossible for this dog to settle down after 10 pm?   Why does he feel that he has to go out every bloody hour until my nerves are shot and I’m ready to (and often do) scream?   He doesn’t do this when Bear is home, only when it’s just the two of us.   It drives me batshit crazy.    

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and here we go again

Facebook

It strikes again

The whole “friend” thing is such a weapon

If someone sends me a friend request, I feel obligated to accept

That doesn’t mean for one second that I really consider that person a friend

It means that I feel bullied

I hate the whole bullying thing

It’s become a catch all phrase used any time anyone says something to you that you don’t like.   It may well be that they told you the truth, but if you don’t want to hear it, or accept it, you can cry “bully!”  and be the center of attention because you’re a victim of some big bad nasty person who didn’t consider your tender little feelings.

It’s exhausting

 

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It’s Wednesday, and I feel a rant coming on

I hate this weather, and I’m tired of hearing myself say that.

I’m trying to be positive, but what I’m really positive about is that I hate this weather, and I hate that there’s worse to come.   I feel like a curmudgeon lately.   I’m not that old.  Okay, I am that old, but I don’t think it’s just age.   It’s the world changing too fast, it’s too much that was good being tossed aside in favor of the new, it’s change merely for the sake of change.   

It’s gloomy out, leaves are falling the temperature is still nice, but it’s just a gray sort of day.   My chest is sore.   We had several really good days in a row and then slammed into a flare.   The worst part of this is that I think it’s done, that I’m over it, and then it rears its head to let me know that, nope, it’s still here.    

I feel all out of balance.   I was told that the world is in such a state that all of us who are sensitive to such things are feeling out of sorts, and suffering aches and pains, physical and mental.   I was advised to get some crystals – and it feels like things are conspiring to keep me from doing so.   I found a store in town, but finding time to get there is difficult.   I think I’ll just plan for Friday – we have a thing in the evening but I can go during the day.   It’s in a section of town I don’t know, so I don’t think I’ll go at night.   

And the little message board I run is still down, still acting up, making posting there less than fun.   
One more thing.

I think a long winter’s nap would be a great idea – wake me up in April.  

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T’is the season of dread

To everyone else it may be Fall.   It may be wonderful times of cool days and cold nights, falling leaves and anticipation of snow days, holidays, family time.

 

For me, it’s cold and achy bones.   It’s anticipation of snow – and not being able to navigate my driveway.    It’s dread – constant battering by tv “news” people, who think that a big rain storm needs at least an hour of coverage, and snow must need hours and hours because it just might be that an inch falls and we miss it!   

Eleven years ago today, I kissed my Bear at the airport, fell into his arms and sobbed, because he was the only one who could make me feel safe again.   Mother was gone, at 3 in the morning, and I was all alone against the Evils.  

 

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Memories and melancholy

It’s been almost 11 years since my mother died.   

There are parts of that night that I don’t remember.   I remember waking up to pee, and the phone ringing.   We didn’t have a phone upstairs so I had to run downstairs to answer it – and I let the machine take it till I heard the words “Green Manor.”  The nursing home was calling at 3:00 am, it couldn’t be good news.   

I remember telling the person on the phone to go back and check, that Mother was fine when I left, that they’d made a mistake.  I remember her telling me that a funeral home in Catskill had been listed as the place to call, and saying “no, that’s not right, you have the wrong person.”   

I remember calling Mark first, and crying so hard he could barely understand me.  I remember calling Michele.  I don’t remember calling Nancy or Janet.  I know that I did, but I don’t remember anything about it.  I have no idea what I said to them, or what they said to me.

I remember sitting on the floor in the kitchen, sobbing.   I remember curling up in Mother’s chair, and crying so hard I couldn’t breathe.

I remember going to the airport the next day, and practically attacking Mark when I saw him.   I remember clinging to him, but I don’t remember anything else, till we were in the car and he was asking if I could drive.   I remember being afraid to let him out of my sight, and that he made me dinner, and he held me till I fell asleep from exhaustion.   

He was with me when we went to the funeral home, when I told the funeral director that Mother wanted the same thing Poppa had, and so there were no real decisions to make.  He was with me when I lost all control, and sobbed in his arms at the wake.   He was with me when I left the funeral and went to the cemetery – he drove my car, and I remember someone asking if I needed a ride, and thinking that was the stupidest question I ever heard.   

I remember thinking that there would come a time when this wouldn’t hurt so much.   

After ten years, I’m still waiting for that day.   

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Anger

I’ve been thinking about anger a lot the past couple of weeks.

There are many quotes about anger – Anger is an acid that can do more harm to the vessel in which it is stored than to anything on which it is poured.
Mark Twain   

Anger dwells only in the bosom of fools.
Albert Einstein 
 Just a couple of good ones for you there

I’ve heard it said so many times that anger is bad.   Anger doesn’t do any good.  Anger is unheathly

 

I cry bullshit

Not expressing anger is far worse than denying it.  I’ve been very angry lately.  I’ve been telling myself it’s not healthy, it’s not good, I should let it go.  I cried.  I felt guilty.   I cried some more.

Today I admitted that yes, I’m really really angry.  I’m downright fucking livid with anger.   I feel nothing but disdain and disgust and anger and hate for one particular person.    

Just admitting that, saying it out loud, was the most liberating thing I’ve done in ages.   Yes, I am angry.   And I’m not ashamed of that anger.  And I’m not ready to just let it go, oh, no, this one is not going away any day soon.    

Anyone who doesn’t like it can kiss my ass.

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Stuck

I would like the words to flow from the pen.   I can see the pen floating across the paper, making wonderful, beautiful, marks, flowing letters, scrolling across the page effortlessly, forming words and symbols, music and art.

 

The reality is that my pen – when I can find the one I really love today – scratches on the paper.  My writing isn’t neat, my letters aren’t perfectly formed, my words go in every direction.   

The dream does not match the reality.

I so wish it did.  I wish that I could spend hours,  sitting on a cushion under the catalpa tree, notebook and pen in hand, just writing away, making beautiful marks on blank paper.   

There are bugs under that tree, bugs that would send me screaming into the field.  There are roots that stick out and would make sitting there very uncomfortable. 

But it’s a lovely picture, isn’t it?  It’s right up there with the picture of me in my flowing white dress, curled up on a cushion in a pavilion in the field.   I weigh about 120 lbs in that picture, by the way, and my hair is long and curly.   (A girl may as well dream big!)

And there is always tea.  

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Flaring and swearing

I’ve heard it said over and over, hate steals energy, anger steals energy, 

Here’s some energy for you, assholes

I am so tired of hurting.  I hate this fucking affliction.   I thought it was over, I thought it was done, and I hate myself for thinking that.  

I hate constantly having to save people.  

I hate students whining about homework

I hate winter and snow

I hate that Max doesn’t speak English and can’t tell me if he doesn’t feel well

And I’m sure there’s more but that’s enough hate for tonight

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Sadness and random thoughts

  • That diet is not working, dear.   You look fat as hell, fatter than before.   And the empire look to emphasize the barely visible baby bump makes you look frumpy
  • wouldn’t look me in the eye – yeah, but I’m the bully
  • Daisy is going – and that hurts my heart
  • wtf was that about with the “new teacher” thing?   Really?
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