Seriously, it isn't about the jewelry...

I see my last post was dated May 6, 2013.  Almost one year ago.  Wow. 

So, yeah...  I know.  No one is reading this anymore.  Which is exactly why I feel safe enough to post this.

You know those sudden moments of self-realization where you're all shocked and whatnot to see something that's been right under your nose for, like, years?  I just had one of those.  Want to hear it?

Okay.  I have no friends.

Boom.  You've just been Epiffed.  Or I've just been Epiffed.  Or something...  That part's not important.

Here's what happened...  I volunteered to host one of those online parties, where someone you know is selling some lovely crap and you are supposed to convince everyone else you know to click your link to buy this lovely crap and, if you bring in enough orders, you win some of the lovely crap.

This particular party was for jewelry.  It was jewelry I happen to like and the person selling it is a person I like, so...  Why not?

Oh, here's why not:  Years ago, I hosted a party in my house and invited every single woman in my church.  I cleaned like a mad woman.  I baked.  A lot.  This particular party was also for jewelry, but this story isn't about the jewelry.  Two different jewelry parties in a 20 year span is just a coincidence.  The jewelry lady came and we waited.  And waited.  Then one guest showed up and the three of us waited for everyone else to get there.  Except they didn't.  No one, other than that one dear soul (God bless you, Margaret) came.

"I shouldn't take it personally," I thought to myself.  "Not everyone can or wants to buy jewelry."  But it felt personal.  It was humiliating and embarrassing and poor little me felt horribly rejected and abandoned and unpopular.  To make it burn a little worse, not one single woman at church ever said anything about why they couldn't or didn't come (I was left to wonder about it, which I did... for months. "Why didn't they come? ...Was it a decision they all made together, or did all those women individually decide to ditch me?") No apologies, excuses or reasons like, "Sorry, my kid was sick," or "We had other plans that night"  were ever offered.  I would've even happily settled for, "I didn't come because I don't like you."  But I didn't get that, either.  I was simply stood up by an entire church full of women.  I tried not to let it bother me and hoped they had just all been busy.  Time went on and I "forgot" about it (very successfully, obviously).  It was no big deal.

I tried to tell myself I was making friends there but, looking back, I don't think I really ever was.

Fast forward to this past November.  My little boy turned five.  We now go to a different church, but again, we invited all the kids from his class to his party.  Once again, I gave out invitations with every possible way to RSVP known to man- my cell number, my email, how to respond via sign language or Morse Code...  you name it.  No one RSVP'd.  No one.  And?  Only one little girl came.  Luckily she brought her 3 sisters, so he had 4 guests.  He had fun and never asked where his other "friends" were, so it all worked out in the end.  But?  What the heck, people?

That brings us up to last week and my recent attempt at hosting another jewelry party (with a different brand of jewelry and a different sales person).  I thought an online party would be easy and I did it to be nice to the person selling it; helping her get started in her new business, I thought.  No frantic cleaning on my part.  No baking of snacks.  No humiliation or crying jags when no one comes to the door...  Easy peasy.  Just post something on Facebook, send out a few emails, and let people order from home.  Except they didn't.  Which is fine.  But?  One of the ladies I invited to my party posted (the next day!) that she was also having a party for the same jewelry (co-inky dink, huh?) at her house and I saw several people leaving comments about their plans to attend, or at least order from her.  Some of these people were also invited to mine. 

So.  You know.  That was...  Irritating.  Hurtful.  Humiliating.  Does everybody hate me?  Deja vu.   A little odd.  Fine.  Whatever, right?

I have no way of knowing if anyone clicked my link to the jewelry website, but I know my little party didn't generate any orders.  Again, that part is fine.  My life is not adversely affected if people don't wish to buy jewelry, y'know?  I couldn't possibly care less.

So, I promise what happens next isn't about the jewelry. Please understand that.

A few days before the party was to end, I got a message from the woman selling the jewelry; letting me know no one has ordered yet, so if I "could get just three of my friends to order," I could earn some free stuff.

I'd already emailed or posted the link to pretty much everyone I know.  There was nobody else.

That's when it happened.  My little epiphany, I mean.  Along with the subsequent meltdown. 

I realized...  I don't have three friends.  And you know what? Now, here's where it gets So. Very. Embarrassing...  I burst into tears.

 I. Don't. Have. Three. Friends.  Each word dropped on me like a brick. I (sniff, sniff) don't ha... ha... (sobs and gurgles) have three friends!  Think, Michelle.  Think hard.  Do you even have one?  One real friend?

BOOM.  I don't have any friends.  Epiffed.

I should clarify.  I mean, I have friends.  People I call my friends, anyway.  I just don't have Friends. I have my childhood best friend.  I love her.  We have shared memories and inside jokes.  But she lives a few hours away and we rarely talk anymore.  We both got married, had kids.  She has her life, I have mine...  You know.  I have another "best" friend a few states away.  Same thing.  It's great when we get a chance to talk.  We pick up as if time has never passed.  But that rarely happens.  We're both busy with our families.  I love both of these women dearly, but neither is a part of my everyday life.  Neither one would know if I dropped dead, unless my family thought to call them, which they may or may not do (Oh, good.  The happy thoughts are starting.  That should make the rest of this waaay more fun!).

I also have women I'm friendly with, of course.  I mean, I'm not completely antisocial.  I'm sure there are women in my church or in this town who would say I'm nice, or funny, or whatever (maybe).  But they don't really know me and I don't know them.  I'm not going to pop into their minds next time they want a girls' night out or lunch date with a buddy.

There may be a few friendships, but they're superficial friendships.  Not that the women are superficial people, you understand.  I don't mean that.   There are no Friendships.

For example.  I sort of had a "get-together-for-lunch" buddy who lives nearby.  I like her.  We laugh together.  She's a nice person.  But we rarely see each other lately.  Or speak to each other. I used to provide care for her son, but once that ended...  There just hasn't been time.  The last time I contacted her, I invited her to lunch, but she was busy.  So I told her to get back to me next time she was available, then I stopped texting her and waited to let her contact me.  I didn't want to be one of those people who can't take a hint.  And I don't want to beg someone to be my friend, you know?

Anyway, I haven't seen her.

When I say I have no friends, I mean the kinds of friends you don't have to chase or beg.  That's what I want.  Someone I don't have to chase.  The kind of friends who call you to get together, or just to see how you're doing when you can't get together.  Just because.  Because they can't wait to tell you something funny that happened. Or they need help with a problem.  Or they just want to talk.   Someone to count on, who counts on you, too.  Someone who would happily run out and pick up a gallon of milk for your kids because you're sick.  Someone who notices you missed church and calls to see if you're okay.  Someone who knows the real you and loves you anyway.  I know other people have these kinds of friends because I've seen them together.  And I've heard some of my "friends" talk about their Friends; the ones they just can't do without.  They're just not referring to me when they do so.

It seems like a fairly normal thing- this being best friends with someone.  Giving a flip about someone on a daily basis.

But no one is calling me.  That sounds very pity party-ish, doesn't it?  I don't mean it that way.  I swear, the pity party ended and I'm not sitting here getting tears in my ice cream.  That was last week.  It's just a fact.  No one is calling me.  No one seeks me out to spend time with me just because; because I'm fun or because they like me.  If I'm sick and miss church, there will be no phone call offering to make a milk run, or asking where I am and how I'm doing.

And you know what the follow-up thought is when you realize no one is calling to ask where you are or how you're doing?  I'll accept any of the following answers:

• "No one cares."
• "I'm invisible." 
• "I don't matter."
• "I could die today and no one would notice." (This one is my personal favorite.  Very dramatic and Sylvia Plath-y, don't you think?  And quite untrue.  My dogs would notice the smell of my rotting carcass and alert one of my housemates, I'm sure.  More happy thoughts.  But, I digress.)
• "Nobody likes me.  Everybody hates me.  Guess I'll go eat worms."  (This last one is a children's song, in case you didn't know.  I wasn't actually thinking that...  But close.)

And that's when the pity party really got going in full swing.  Balloons.  Confetti.  Streamers.  The whole thing.  I hired a band, but they didn't show (Ahh, see what I did there?  See how funny I am in my own misery?)

To be honest, I'd already been going through a little slump.  I was knee-deep into one of my Martyr Moments; feeling overworked and under-appreciated, invisible, and ignored by my family.  So a pity party was probably looming on the horizon anyway.  I'd already been feeling lonely and wishing I had someone to hang out with... just for fun.  Or, more to the point, someone who wants to hang out with me.  The stupid jewelry party was just the catalyst to bring what was already roiling below up to the surface.

And- wow- did it ever come to the surface.  Oy.  After being told to get three friends to order jewelry, I sat in my bathtub and sobbed for a solid thirty minutes.  It would have been longer, but our hot water tank is old and the water turns cold about halfway through filling the bath, so I was crying and shivering.  I got out and cried on the bed instead, where it was warmer.  But, once again, I digress.

At least there was water in the tub.  And I was naked.  It would have been more pathetic and weird in the creepy way if I would have sat sobbing, fully clothed, in an empty tub, right?

It seems funny now.  To overreact that badly over a failed jewelry party.  But what have we learned so far?  It wasn't about the jewelry.  My widdle feewings were hurt.

And whether it's rational, or not- or misplaced, or not- I feel this overwhelming sense of embarrassment and stupidity.  As if, I'm the butt of some cosmic joke.  I feel like I'm in 7th grade all over again and all the popular kids are laughing at me as I walk down the hall (yes, that happened.  Often.  Let's not discuss it).  It's as if, by collectively agreeing not to come to my parties, the entire universe and everyone in it is having a good laugh at my expense.  

Wait...  That can't really happen, can it?

Now, post-pity party, I'm trying to direct my thoughts into a more productive vein and figure it all out.  Why don't I have friends?  Maybe I think I want friends, but I really don't?  I must be doing something to repel people.  But... what?  Is it possible that some people are not as drawn to charmingly caustic, abrasive, sarcastic personalities as I thought?  And why do I even care whether people like me, when I don't have time to hang out with friends, anyway?  Is it me?  It must be me.  Did I unknowingly do something to cause it?  Do I drive people away? How did I get so cut off from other people in the first place?  From life?  Has is always been this way?

Is it my breath?

I feel like I'm a pretty nice person, caustic abrasiveness aside, so I don't get it.  What am I doing wrong?  

I am extremely introverted.  I am (or, at least, I always thought I was) perfectly happy by myself (says the married chick with 7 kids) most of the time.  But it would be nice to have somebody.

I make an effort with people.  I really do.  Effort being the key word.  Putting myself out there to face rejection does not come easily.  Especially when no one wants to attend my stupid jewelry parties.  But it isn't about the jewelry.

How do normal people (or maybe I should just say 'extroverted people') go about making friends?  I mean, really- what do you do?  Adults can't just walk up to other adults on the playground and ask "Do you want to be my friend?"  Can they?  Do they?  If so, I'm probably hosed because I don't think I have the guts to do that.

I try to be open and friendly to others (I think).  I try to be kind, considerate, caring...  All that pleasant, friendship-y crap.  I feel my concern and love for people is genuine.  I try to serve others and meet their needs when I'm able.    So what's the problem?  What else should I be doing?

What's wrong with me?

Come see me!

I'm betting most of you originally stumbled upon this blog because of adoption, and not solely because of my sunny disposition, superior intellect and rapier wit, as I would prefer to believe (those latter two, of course, were the reasons you kept coming back, though- right?).

But my blog, like many of yours, didn't remain an "adoption blog" for long.  It was quickly filled with all the other aspects of my life.  I've talked plenty about being a Christian here- and I certainly don't shy away from doing that, as it's the biggest part of my life- but my faith has never been the main focus of this blog.  In fact, it often gets lost in the sea of stories about my kids and family life, my health, my weirdo sense of humor (which is sometimes inappropriate and very unChristian-y), etc., etc. 

So... I've (drum roll, please) set up another blog to speak specifically about issues of faith.  Not just faith in general, but my faith and what God is doing in my life lately.  I'm not trying to relegate my Christian beliefs to some dark corner or anything- again, I'm not embarrassed or ashamed to discuss those things here.  It's just that I realize many of you don't come here to be bombarded with my views on Jesus and/or Obama and I want to be sensitive to that.  You come here for the mad-cap hijinks...  Like when I got stuck in a pair of Spanx, or when I peed my pants a little bit while cooking dinner.  And the thought-provoking, intelligent pieces...  Like when I peed my pants a little bit while cooking dinner (the second time).

If you share an interest in matters of Christian faith, you're welcome to visit me at God Calls Me Honey.  I'd love it if you click on over and help me get the ball rollin,'  although I've just started so there's not much to read yet. 

You're welcome to join me there whether you share my beliefs or not, of course, but if you're not a Christian?  Be warned-- it's going to be All God, All The Time.  Some political posts are bound to wind up there too, I'm sure. It's often hard to discuss one without the other these days.  You Liberal friends will not like it.  Trust me in this.  So please don't come over there hoping to spark a lively debate.  It's probably (hopefully) not going to be that kind of blog.  If you fear that hearing too much about my faith or politics will change the way you feel about me, don't read it.  Simple as that. 

There might be some homeschool-related stuff from time to time, too- since that topic is also closely tied to my faith.  Who knows?  The only thing we can know for sure is that the Spanx catastrophes will remain here.  Do not fear- this blog will stay open so that my faithful readers (both of you) will never have to wonder if I'm trapped somewhere in a sweaty pair of Spanx, about to pee my pants.  

You can pick your friends and you can pick your nose, but...

Friends, I need your help.  And this isn't my usual goofy crap, either.  It can't always be like a day at Chuck E. Cheese around here, you know.  This is serious.  I have a major problem and I desperately need the advice of my mama peeps (Or papa peeps.  I'm no sexist). 

Please help me.

You see...  One of my sons is heading down the wrong path.  A dark path.  Some might even call it an evil path.  He is rejecting my teachings of right and wrong and choosing to go his own way.  I'm sincerely at my wit's end and don't know what to do.  I hope you can help me.  And who knows?  Maybe being open and honest about my son's struggles will help someone else, too.

Guys, my son has become a booger-eater.  Jeez, I can barely bring myself to say it.  The shame and disgust I feel...  It's just too much.  How could this happen?  How does a mother successfully raise... however many children I have raised- I forget- who have never once let a booger touch their lips (at least not in front of me), just to have the last kid in the batch completely give himself over to the dark world of booger consumption? 

I mean, Good Lord, this kid's getting 3 squares a day plus snacks just by diggin' in his nose. 

Please.  I beg you.  Make it stop.  Somebody, anybody...  Just. Make. It. Stop.

It doesn't matter how many times I say:
"Get your finger out of your nose." 
"That's yucky, honey.  Let's please not do that." 
"I said... Get your finger out of your nose!"
"Please, sweetie. If you've ever loved me, even a little... Get your finger. Out. Of. Your nose.  RIGHT.  NOW."
"Did you see Mommy puke just now?  Do you know why she did that?"

I've even prayed, "Lord Jesus, You turned water into wine.  You calmed stormy seas.  You cast out demons.  Boogers are demonic, are they not, Lord?  Won't you please- oh- please make this child stop ingesting the contents of his nostrils?  Could you make the boogers taste like creamed spinach, or vinegar, or something?  I'll live with the picking, Lord.  I'll never complain again over a simple pick.  I promise.  But the (vurp) eating (vuuurrp... Oh, sorry, Lord)...  I just can't do it.  And P.S., Lord, doesn't the Bible say booger-eating is the unpardonable sin?  ...Because it should.  Amen."

But?  Nothing works.

I've tried, people.  I've appealed to his sense of reason and explained how grosstastically dirty the whole practice is, so he can understand why we shouldn't eat our boogers (Vurp). 

Guess what?!  Four-year-old boys don't go so much for the reason, apparently.  Who knew?  I've also tried scare tactics, like telling him he'll never get a girlfriend that way...  That, too, was unsuccessful.  Go figure.

Truthfully, I rarely have time to say much of anything at all.  The kid has the process down, I'll give him credit for that much.  Fingernosemouth, fingernosemouth...  The finger goes from nose to mouth so fast I barely have time to vurp, let alone utter a complaint (A 'vurp,' by the way, for those who may not know, is a fancy burp-vomit combo kind of thing that can occur with the sudden onset of severe nausea.  If you've never experienced one, you are blessed.  And you've clearly never watched a booger-eater extract his prey and pop it into his mouth).  There's barely a pause in the conversation, like he's not even aware he's doing it.  Question: How can you possibly place a booger upon your tongue and not be aware of it?  I mean, honestly.  There's no thought or effort put into it.  No wriggling around for the best one.  Just fingernosemouth and- boom- done, as if the whole thing is on auto-pilot.  It's a sight to behold, I tell ya (If you can stomach it.  Which I cannot).

I don't know if this is one of those times when God thinks He's really, really funny, or what.  Because me and snot?  We don't mix.  No-siree-bob, I don't do snot very well at all.  Even when it's dried, solid and crusty (vurp).

And it's not like I can say, "Spit that out!" Y'know? You cannot un-eat a booger.  What's done is done.  So, what do I do, guys?  Duct-tape his favorite pickin' finger to his side?  Have you lived with a booger-eater?  How did you make it stop?  Share your experience and wisdom, please.  Will he be over this by the time he graduates from high school?  All suggestions are welcome.  HELP ME!

Fibromyalgia for Dummies

Right on the heels of my last post, when I was all super-Zen and warm-fuzzy about decluttering my life, I was smacked down by The Fibro Flare From Hades.  Oh, how the mighty have fallen (I just totally made up that phrase, but I'm thinking it's going to catch on). 

I hurt, guys.  I hurt real bad (said in my Napoleon Dynamite voice...  Does anyone get that reference?), so I've been a little on edge this week.  And last week.  I'm grouchy.  Actually, there is a more colorful word than grouchy to describe me, but I won't say it.  You can toss about your own proper nouns and adjectives as you see fit.

And did I say I hurt?  Real bad?  All I want to do is beat someone with a sockful of nickels.  Is that so wrong? 

I'm at my most creative, you know, when I'm grouchy and in pain.  Suffering produces Genius.  I'm like Hemingway that way.  I'm sure you've all compared me to Hemingway many times.

But...  As usual, I chose to set aside an opportunity to create anything remotely close to Genius and blog, instead.  I came up with this little top ten list for all my fibro peeps, or anybody who knows/loves someone living with chronic illness or pain.  This is the product of five years' worth of anger, impatience, frustration and pain.  It may seem whiny and self-serving, but it comes from a genuine desire to help other people in my position (and also to make some of you shut up... but mostly the first thing).  And who knows?  It may benefit us both by keeping one of us from beating the other senseless. 

Take a look to determine if any of this applies to you.  If so, know that I still love you ...but I'm adding nickels to the sock as we speak. 

TOP TEN THINGS TO AVOID SAYING OR DOING TO SOMEONE IN CHRONIC PAIN, LEST YOU BE BEATEN WITH A SOCKFUL OF NICKELS:

10.  "It's probably this weather (/time of the year)."
You say this because your joints (or ears, scalp, back or butt) ache(s) when it rains, I guess.  I'll admit, I'm being harsh and overly sensitive with this one... But it's because I hear this All. The. Time.  And I've reached the end of my patience.  Look, I know you mean no harm, but please stop asking me if it's the *#%$ weather.  It's not.  It's Fibromyalgia.  Google it if you don't know what it is, because I shouldn't have to explain it to you every-flipping-time it rains.  Here. I just Googled it for you.

To be completely fair, there is some evidence that fibro pain can flare with changes in the weather, in some people. But it is not caused by weather changes, and personally, I don't notice any correlation between weather and a flare.

One of these days, I'm going to respond to this with, "Really, Al Roker? Is it the weather? Maybe it's the phase of the moon... Maybe it's planetary alignment... Hey- maybe it's your breath causing me pain right now."  If you are the unlucky soul standing before me on the day this happens, I humbly ask in advance for your forgiveness. 

9. "May I count on you to (fill in the blank... teach a Sunday School class, participate in the bake sale or fundraiser next month... whatever)?"

There's nothing wrong with this question, right?  I don't mind being asked to "volunteer" for things.  I LIKE to volunteer for things as I am able, and I WANT to participate in life...  as I am able, BUT...  If you're going to ask, please don't get so bent if I have to respond with: "I'll have to wait and see," "I'll try," or "I'll let you know." I'm NOT being vague, non-committal, or inconsiderate, so don't judge or get frustrated. I'm doing the best I can to accommodate you without making promises I'll have to break later. I'm sorry if that interferes with your planning. It sorta interferes with mine, too. 

No matter how much I may want to participate (and I really, really do), saying Yes to anything feels like a lie to me. The only honest answer is "I don't know."  I never know.    Even with my own children, every promise is prefaced with "If I feel good that day, maybe we can..."

Here's the thing...  If you know someone living with chronic pain or illness, that person is living day-by-day.  And that's not by choice.   By all means, invite them to events and encourage them to volunteer or participate.  Just be understanding and don't put pressure on them to commit. 

Right: "We're having a pot luck after the meeting.  I'd love for you to come if you're able."  

Wrong: "I need to know if you're coming to the pot luck and what you plan to bring."

(Obviously, some events require a firm Yes or No and it's not always possible to take a wait-and-see approach to accommodate one person.  I don't expect you to make special allowances for me.  Just don't be so pissy if I'm not able to commit!  If you must have a firm commitment, ask someone who is able to give one.) 

8. "My girlfriend's sister had her some 'o that fibomerralgah... or somethin.  Maybe it was cancer?  She took (fill in the blank... bee pollen, yak dung, cayenne pepper, skunk pee) and she got better."
If we're good friends, I don't mind when you do this.  It shows you care and want to help, and I appreciate that!  But if we're more casually acquainted? Thank you for showing an interest, but... 

You must realize that some of the ideas floating around out there are batcrap crazy, right?  And between the prescriptions, natural remedies, and stupid Internet cures scams I've fallen for out of desperation, I've tried quite a few things. I also try to stay current on the research. If I need any other advice, please let me ask you.

Along these lines...  Please do not ask me which meds I've tried or am currently taking (unless we're really close, or you also have fibro and we're comparing notes). That's a pretty personal question. If I want you to know, I'll tell you. 

7. "But you're ALWAYS tired!"
Why, yes. Yes, I am. You're quite the discerning one, aren't you?  So astute.  See, there's this thing called fatigue... That's part of it. Chronic fatigue, exhaustion, pain and weakness.   Chronic means it doesn't really stop, so that would be a key word, there. 

The problem with this type of remark- aside from the obnoxiousness of stating obvious things- is it's never a mere observation. It's packed with the implication that the fibro peep is not really tired, she is just lazy or making the same old excuse to avoid doing something she doesn't want to do. That's crap.  She really IS that tired. 

6. "Do you think some of this might be, ummm... weight-related? I lost 15 lbs and I feel so much better!"
Really, you little snot?  15 pounds?  That's awesome! Congratulations! Do you have fibromyalgia? Oh...  No?  Okay. Then, wait right here. I have something I want to show you. It's in a sock.  You're gonna love it!

5. "I hear exercise helps."
Um... Yes, it supposedly does. I'll make you a deal: 

1. Let me run over your leg with my car. Just one leg. No biggie.
2. I'll encourage you to jog around the block to see if it helps you feel better.
3. Afterwards, you will have unlimited permission to tout the benefits of exercise while I'm in unholy pain. 

Until then, how about you go for a five mile run... and maybe don't come back?

4. "But you don't LOOK sick!" 
Ummm...  Thank you, I guess...???  Is this a compliment, or an accusation?  Are you simultaneously acknowledging the fact that I look awesome, while insinuating you don't believe I'm sick?  Because that's what it sounds like.

Fibro has absolutely nothing to do with appearance. There's no swelling, no oozing (thank God), no redness, no huge, itchy welts.  I can't help it if I'm able to look absolutely fabulous (snort) while I feel like crap.  Maybe I'm great at faking it?  Didja think of that?  Doesn't mean I'm not miserable on the inside. 

Sure, some days you can definitely see I'm in pain.  My facial expression, being in the same jammies for days, and walking like Frankenstein's monster are clear indicators that I'm having a bad flare.  BUT, looking "good" does NOT mean I feel good. 

While we're on this subject of what, exactly, looks like sickness... 

Seeing me at the mall today after I was too sick to attend church or some event yesterday does not mean you caught me in a lie- so put your pistol down, Sheriff.  It means I'm having a good pain day (because every day is a pain day- there are just differing levels of good and bad) and I'm happy for an opportunity to get out of my house and get something accomplished while I have the chance.  Maybe you could try being happy for me, too.  Or maybe just pull that big stick out of your... 

Moving on...

3. "I've told you this twice already!" (Or, "You told me this twice, already!")

I'm brain dead, guys.  Chronic pain becomes "louder" than what's going on around you, if that makes sense.  If you have migraines, arthritis, or other pain problems, I'm sure you can relate.  Pain takes up all the space in your head. You get stupid.  Unfortunately, my stupid is long-term.  They call it Fibro Fog. And I hate it. As much as the pain itself.

I used to be halfway smart, you know.  And I had an amazing memory.  Uh-MAY-zing.  Not Marilu-Henner-amazing, but amazing.  You could come by, all apologetic and sheepish over the 20 bucks you thought you owed me, and I'd say, "No. I specifically remember you paid me back already. It was a Tuesday, last April. You were wearing a red and white shirt.  I was playing Def Leppard (cuz I'm awesome). We were standing in my kitchen, talking about the economy, and that reminded you of the $20 you owed me. You took two tens out of your purse.  The purse was black with a silver clasp.  One of the tens was all wrinkled...  'Member that?"

...And now? I sit in the corner and eat paste. Then I blog three different times about the same paste-eating incident.  You could tell me I owe you $20 today, even if you know I don't, and I'd probably say, "Ok... Have you seen my purse? ...Do I own a purse? If I give you these 7 quarters, will that equal $20?"

And you would say, "Sweetie... Those aren't quarters. You're holding 2 Rolaids, 2 strawberry cough drops, and what appears to be the button that once held your pants closed. Did you know you're pants are hanging open?  Quarters are silver, hon. And you'd need two more things to equal 7... But good job! I'll ask Darrell about the $20. Go back to your paste."

2. "Have you thought of talking to somebody?" "Maybe you're depressed?"
Oy... Oy, oy, oy.  I'm adding more nickels. I mean it.  For one thing, the words 'talking to somebody' or 'depressed' are always said in a stage whisper, as if the subject is shameful. For another thing, the 'somebody' to whom you refer is a psychiatric professional, obvs, which is meant to imply my "pain" has an emotional or mental cause, and is not a "real" physical illness.

It's not that I think I hurt. I really, honestly hurt.

Depression is a serious thing- and just as real as fibromyalgia- so I don't mean to discount it. There are some similarities and overlaps between the two conditions. Fibro patients can and do become depressed. Of course they do. Being in pain 24/7 isn't fun. But the pain didn't come from the depression- it's the other way around.

And? I'm honestly not depressed.  So please stop asking me that.  Good Lord, peeps.  Actually, I consider myself to be a pretty happy person.  And considering some of the crap we've gone through in the past few years, that's a rare and unusual thing.  Let me have it.  Quit trying to squash it. 

Think about it, guys... I've discussed my pathetic, poverty-stricken state, and the twin I absorbed as a fetus, aka my goiter-sized double chin, aka Chaz Bono- in the same post.   I've told you about marital woes.  And kid troubles.  I may have- during a moment of weakness- mentioned peeing my pants, but we pretend I didn't, so we don't post links to the evidence. I've shared thoughts on my jumblies- as if you'd ever want to hear them- and my Spanx-related fiasco...   These are deeply personal things, peeps.  Things that normal people try to hide.  Do you really think Depression would suddenly cause me to feel shame? That's where I get embarrassed and finally draw the line???  Pffft.

If I suffered from it, I'd probably tell you. Dontcha think?

The judgment and disbelief from morons who took an Intro to Psych class at a community college in 1993 make me depressed. Is there someone I can talk to about that?

1.  Playing "I Can Top That Pain!"
This is the same game women play when they start swapping labor and birth stories.  There's always a scuffle over who takes the prizes for Longest Labor, Hardest Labor, Most Disgusting Tear/Episiotomy, and so on.  Know what I mean?

People love to play this game with fibro, too, making statements like:

• "Oh, yeah, I had something real similar last year when I (fill in the blank... pulled a muscle/twisted my ankle/whatever).  It was excruciating."
• "Insomnia? Yeah, I have that, too. I went to sleep at, like, two this morning."
• "Chronic pain? Tell me about it! Try sitting at a desk all day! Boy, does my back hurt!"
• "My daughter has arthritis, so she REALLY hurts."

That last comment about the arthritis was made to me (in church!) by a lady with a big smile on her face, after she asked me how I was doing.  I made the mistake of giving her the honest answer that I wasn't feeling very well due to fibro pain.  And she REALLY made me mad.  I wanted to respond (in church!) with, "WTH does that mean?!?  'REALLY' hurt?!?  Are you flippin' kidding me?!"  But I didn't. 

It's not a contest, guys!  As a general rule, it's never a good idea to compare your pain to another person's, unless you personally know how their pain feels. It belittles that person's struggle when you compare her pain to something small or temporary, or contrast it with something that "really" hurts. That's insulting and rude. And obnoxious.  And the apex of assiness. 

I really do hurt. I promise. I'm not quite devious enough to mastermind this five-year long scheme in which I fabricate an illness or exaggerate pain just to steal the spotlight from your daughter's arthritis.

And... If you think you know what fibro sleep is like... Ya don't. Especially if you confuse the word 'insomnia' with the phrase "night owl." Staying up until 4 a.m. watching TV, then sleeping in until noon is NOT insomnia. It's what I call a solid 8 hours of sleep.  Fibro peeps do not sleep like you do.  There is no comparison.  So if you really want to make it a competition?  You lose.

Listen, I know life isn't all about me.  I know there are other, bigger things going on besides my piddly-a*$ pain problems, but you know what?  It's not all about you, either.  I'm not saying you shouldn't be allowed to talk about your own aches and pains, or constantly be subjected to my litany of complaints.  In fact (in real life, anyway- not on this blog), I try very hard NOT to do that.

But I shouldn't have to "prove" my pain to you or compete over whose pain is worse.  That's all I'm saying.  People with unseen illnesses don't want your sympathy or even need your empathy.  But would a little validation kill ya?

And there you have it.  The main point to take from this is...  People are idiots (Nooo, I'm Kidding!  Sort of). The point is- Just do unto others as you'd have them do unto you (another phrase I just came up with that I believe will catch on). 

Be willing to learn more, care more, speak less, give the benefit of the doubt.  Avoid stupidity when you can help it.

Choose compassion.  And avoid the sock.

Declutter...

How's it going with the New Year's resolutions?  I didn't really make any.  I did, however, jump on the bandwagon of choosing one word to define and direct my goals for this year. 

(Before I share it, though, I want to say an early 'Happy Birthday' to my kid...  Happy birthday, Evan! I love you and miss you! Can't wait to have you back home.  Praying that God has some exciting things just around the corner for you and that this year is going to be YOUR year!)

The word I've chosen for 2013 is DECLUTTER.  And that's a doozy of a word.  For me, anyway, it encompasses a-whole-heckuva-lot. 

My hopes to declutter in 2013 (if all goes according to plan) will affect every area of my life, not just my home (although that will be a big part of it).  This isn't just a "I'm finally gonna get organized" kind of thing, although I certainly hope that will happen.  It's more of a "I'm gonna achieve peace and contentment if it kills me" kind of thing.

Here are the specifics, in a long, rambly nutshell.

DECLUTTER my home 
This will actually be the easiest (although not easy), so I'll start here.  My housemates and I do not need 49 t-shirts that are suitable only for sleeping or cleaning house, or 17 pairs of jeans that no longer fit, so that's where I'll start, with decluttering our closets and drawers. 

Ever since getting "sick" (I was diagnosed in 2008), my deep cleaning skills (aw, who are we kidding?  Deep?  Snort!  My cleaning skills, period) have really suffered.  I just don't get down on my hands and knees for anything anymore...  Unless someone drops M&Ms at my feet.  And even then...  It's gotta be a pretty good handful.  So, I'm envisioning something akin to entering a wardrobe and suddenly finding myself in Narnia.  Some of our closets haven't been investigated in a long time and God only knows what I'll find, is what I'm trying to convey.  I don't know if I should expect the process to be tedious, exciting, terrifying, or a combination of all three.

I'll have to remind myself not to feel wasteful when it's time to say goodbye to a "perfectly good" piece of clothing, or fearful that I may get rid of something I'll need in the future.  God will see to my future needs.  But He will not clean out my closets (believe me, I've asked).  Apparently, only I can do that.

I hope to blissfully and thankfully let go of the things that no longer serve us, instead of fearfully clinging to stuff, "just in case."  When I begin to worry that I'm letting go of too much- that I'm really, really going to need these things, I will remind myself of the wise words in Matthew 6:25-34. 

When I daydream (and I will), that I may someday wriggle my buttocks back into the size 8 jeans I've been hanging onto for 22 years, I will declutter my thinking by reminding myself that if I succeed in becoming a size 8 again (heck, even a 10) that accomplishment will deserve a brand new pair of jeans, not some tired, old, out-of-style pair (...My way-too-small Wonder Woman t shirt is not going anywhere, however. Let's just make that clear right now.  You will not even pry it from my cold, dead fingers, because I will be buried in it... even if it has to be slit up the back to make it fit).

Anyhoo...  The unnecessary, material CRAP in my life- It's all going.  And I hope, by the end of the year, I'll have a whole slew of posts showing my progress. 

DECLUTTER my head
This is a biggie, because the success of this one will determine the outcome of every other goal I've set.  I want to rid my head of the centuries-old (okay, maybe not that old, but "half-a-century-old" doesn't roll off the tongue), self-destructive patterns of thinking that bring me down every day. 

While writing this post, I had the pleasure of reading a post called Drops of Awesome, which was shared on Facebook by a friend. If you didn't see it there, I hope you'll read it here.  Honestly...  If you're prone to beating yourself up the way I do, reading this will be one of those epiphany-inducing, life-changing things.  For me, it was pure serendipity... or not. The timing of it was more like a "God thing," as it so closely reflected the new direction my own thoughts have been taking. 

I want to be kinder to myself; cut myself the same amount of slack I'd give you...  Stop looking at myself with a destructive, self-sabotaging throw-the-baby-out-with-the-bath-water mentality that says I'm either perfect, or I absolutely suck.  Cuz guess what?  I'm never, ever perfect.

I hope to focus more on the little, but good things I do- the "drops of awesome"- instead of constantly beating myself up for all the ways I fail each day.

DECLUTTER my time
This one doesn't need much chit-chat, does it?  I mean... just that fact that I'm sitting here blogging right now with laundry to be done, or bills to pay tells you I could find more productive ways to spend my time. On the other hand? What would the two of you do without me?  

I definitely want to carve out more meaningful time with my kids, though.  Not just homeschool time.  Not time spent together watching tv.  But memory-making, fun, REAL time. 

DECLUTTER my body
I want to be healthy.  I want more energy.  I also want to be smaller, but mostly, it's the health thing.  I want those things so badly, yet I never achieve them. 

I think we've established that I'm a picky, horribly unhealthy eater, right?  Seriously, I'm like a 4 year old.  I'd say at least half the foods offered on healthy meal plans are ones I think of as gross (Fish?  No.  I don't do fish.  Veggies?  Sure.  I love loaded baked potatoes, corn on the cob- covered in butter and salt, or a nice healthy salad... topped with bacon, cheddar cheese and blue cheese dressing.  Legumes and beans?  I'll eat beans in chili, but that's about it.  Hummus?  I don't even know what that is.  Never had it.  Don't want it...  See?  I'm ridiculous).  So, when I do try to "eat healthy?" I get hungry and feel deprived... which becomes overwhelming, depressing and, ultimately, unrealistic. 

I know I'll never be healthy if I don't tackle the pickiness problem.  I need to learn to work around it,  or with it- gradually, instead of expecting to change it over night.  This goes back to that idea of throwing the baby out with the bath water.  My approach to eating healthfully (like my approach to everything else) has always been too all or nothing.  I throw out all the junk in the house, eat one "last meal" of good food (like taco pizza followed by chocolate sheet cake or peach cobbler...  You have to really treat yourself the night before you meet your doom, y'know?), then go to bed full, but already feeling sad and deprived over the life I'm leaving behind, and plan to change my entire life beginning at 7:00 the next morning.

It's all about how quickly I can lose a certain number of pounds, instead of being about a sustainable life change.  It boils down to too many radical changes too soon;  too many yucky new foods that I don't know how to prepare.  I'm defeated and eating ice cream by 3:30 pm.  Then, I wait for the next Monday to begin again, because in my all-or-nothing head, diets always start on a Monday, so ultimately every Sunday night becomes a "last meal" night before the "fresh start" on Monday morning.  Is it any wonder I'm fat?

This year, I'm going to focus on feeding myself the way I'd feed a toddler, since I'm so good at behaving like one.  I'm trying to introduce new, healthy foods a little at a time.  Making gradual, positive changes seems so much more doable to me than taking away all the bad foods I love so much.  Right now, for example, I can't imagine a morning that begins without Diet Pepsi. I cannot envision drinking nothing but boring, plain water. Ick. So, for now, I will cling to my beloved DP, but also add a glass or two of water to my day.   I will eat my taco pizza, but with a salad or handful of baby carrots. 

This morning, I had a whole grain English muffin for breakfast.  It had butter and jelly on it, but I ate something whole grain for breakfast.  Yay, me!  Usually, I don't eat breakfast at all, and when I do?  It's chocolate.  Progress, people!

It will be about ADDING, not TAKING AWAY.  Drops of Awesome.  Hopefully, by the end of the year, I will have a bucket full of awesome- those bad foods I adore and crave will have been replaced one by one as I learn to make and like healthier choices, and the process will not have seemed so overwhelming and difficult. 

DECLUTTER my spirit
I want to rid myself of any activity, thought or thing that detracts from my relationship with God and is unhealthy for my soul.  If my spirit suffers, my relationships with those I love will suffer, and of course, I suffer as well.  I want more time in His Word and spent in prayer.  Easier said than done, but that's the goal.  Also?  Maybe I need to think more carefully about what I spend my time watching and reading.  What area(s) of my life am I still withholding from God?  Maybe I need to look more carefully at the people in my life, which leads me to...

DECLUTTER my peeps
I've already touched on this topic a little in my last couple posts.  I use up way too much time and energy dealing with people who do not add anything positive to my life.  Those days are done (I hope).  I do not wish to become more selfish, but maybe a little more self-focused (in a good way!); just in remembering to consider my own well-being and emotional/spiritual health, along with others' when choosing who and what deserves my time. 

DECLUTTER my marriage/other relationships
This does not mean I'm getting a divorce or leaving my family.  Nor am I devising ways (sinister or otherwise) to get rid of family members (heehee).  I'm not even plotting ways to change their behavior.  To me, this means choosing to lay aside my own behaviors that add nothing positive to my relationships.  

Do you have anyone in your life with whom you argue?  Do those arguments ever seem to be um...  let's say "redundant," or unproductive?  Do you ever feel as if you've been having the same, dang argument with someone- over and over and over- for years, with no resolution?  Help me out here, guys.  Surely, I can't be the only one, can I?

What's that oft-used saying about the definition of insanity?  Isn't it "doing the same thing over and over, but expecting different results?"  I've thought of that expression quite a bit this last year, since I've pretty much been living it.  Sometimes, it's like I'm in that movie Groundhog Day.  That can start making you feel a little nuts, after a while, guys.  It's not healthy.

When we know certain words, tones, attitudes will only lead to an argument (or all-out, knock-down-drag-out fight) that has no positive solution, what ultimate purpose does it serve?  Arguing for the sake of "fixing" something can be healthy, but, there comes a point...   A point when you know you're not arguing so you can solve or help.  You're arguing so you can hurt.  You're arguing just because that's what you do with this person.  And that can't really even be called an "argument" anymore.  It's bickering.  Petty, obnoxious bickering. 

Oftentimes in relationships, it seems we see a storm brewing and steer toward it; we say our well-rehearsed, destructive lines, with feet even more firmly planted in our already deeply held positions, then we walk away no closer to a solution; only more angry, bitter, and frustrated than before. 

Lather, rinse, repeat.
 
I want to be done with that.  I want to feel like I'm moving forward and making progress, not spinning my wheels.  My life is (at least) half over.  Why waste one more day with anger or petty behaviors?  Those things clog and clutter my relationship with God and affect people I love.  Why give any person that kind of power over my life?  I can't make someone else stop hurting me.  But I can respond to hurt differently.  I can't make other people get along with me.  But I can stop actively participating in conversations that have no productive outcome or benefit.

This will be one of the harder goals to put into practice.  It will mean biting my tongue... A LOT...  And I'm not a tongue-biting kind of girl.  I don't know if you've noticed that.  It will mean refusing to take the bait.  It will mean saying I'm wrong when I know I'm right.  It will mean letting the other guy "win."  So what?  If I can live a calmer, happier, more peaceful life, am I not winning, too?

I think the theme of DECLUTTERING will be a frequent one here in this coming year, as I delve into all the areas of my life that need a little trimming.  I hope I'll have heaps of progress to share. 

What about you?  Did you choose a word, theme, or goal for the year?  Any words of wisdom to share as we all venture into this new year?  If so, I'd love to hear it! 

You know, you all have gotten very quiet and rarely comment.  What gives?  What's the fun in doing all this talking if no one talks back?  Maybe your word for this year should be COMMENT!

The year in review...

Recapping 2012...  Where to begin?  Oh, I know.  How 'bout this?  2012 was even suckier than 2011.  And I reeaaally thought 2011 was our suckiest year ever.  Then, along came 2012 to prove to me that I was incorrect in that assessment.  Like a little smartypants, 2012 had to show me I don't know as much as I think I do.  2012 was a year full of surprises, such as: 

• I'm surprised I'm still married (I suppose the hub is, too- so I'm not dissing the man behind his back.  If we weren't Christians, I'm fairly certain we wouldn't be.  Yes, it's gotten that rough.  Seriously, how do non-believers stand each other when times get tough?  What do they fall back on?). 
• I'm surprised we still have a roof over our heads.  Business continues to be poor.  The hub has no job at all right now, in fact- and once again, we have no idea what's going to happen, which is just fanflippingtastic. 
• I'm surprised I'm not in a rubber room somewhere singing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star to an imaginary friend, which is not a testament to my strength, but to God's. 
• I'm still fat.  That one?  Not so much a surprise.

Boom.  Done.  My End of Year Recap in under 30 seconds.  Hope you liked it. 

Of course, I still see the good.  There was some good.  There is always something to be thankful for, right?  My kids are all alive, healthy and doing well.  We've had setbacks, but we're still here.  I have precious friends and family who have been there for us through all the stress.  And I know that, as bad as the past two years have been, it could always be worse.  So, thank God it wasn't!  Focus on the GOOD, amen?

How was your year?  I hope it was better than mine.  And I say that with absolute sincerity.  Because, did I mention?  My year?  Not so much with the good.  Honestly, I'm not sure this old girl can handle another year as rough as the last two.  Please, God, let 2013 be a good year; a year of health, happiness, safety, blessings and profitable jobs.

Maybe I shouldn't even be doing a post like this right now- one that requires reflection and contemplation- considering the mood I've been in.  I don't especially like people right now.  Just call me... Miss Ann Thrope. ...Or Eeyore. Take your pick. I'm giving up on humanity.

So consider yourself warned. Here it comes.

I've been in a funk, I guess you could say, although I really hate that expression.  Funk.  What does that even mean?  It makes me think of Sly and the Family Stone, or something (That band always looked like they were having So. Much.  Fun, y' know?  I'm sure there were considerable chemical enhancements going on.  But...  I digress).

Ehhnywaay. I've just been in a really dark, dreary slump since before the holidays and I can't seem to shake it.  I keep trying, but...  Meh. 

I felt a Scrooge-y mood coming on while being sick for so long.  That gets a little depressing after a while, especially around the holidays when you have much to do with a deadline looming and know you're not going to get it done.  I got better for a few days, then got sick again.  And I'm still sick.  I'm exhausted.  This year's batch of crud really seems to be hitting hard.  Lots of people are in the same boat, I know.  And I feel for ya.  My kids all seem to finally be past it.  Thank God for that.  Please, let it stay that way. My turn next!

Then Scrooge became mixed with... Oh, I don't know...  Sylvia Plath, maybe?  The shootings in CT...  God help us.  Was there anything worse than that?  That brought everyone down.  Obviously.  And then the crap storm that followed.  Good Lord.  What a downer. 

I don't know why I still get shocked over how easily (and quickly) supposedly sane, rational human beings can become, um... not sane and rational, but I do.  Sometimes it seems that all of mankind is striving to devolve into chimpanzees, flinging poop at each other.  And that makes me sad.  And scared.  

And so... I find myself often wishing I could just go back to bed.  And that's not good.

Remember how after 9/11, people kind of came together for a little while?  How that tragedy sort of unified everyone?  It didn't matter who believed what...  Everyone was on the same side.  For a few minutes.  People understood that the crisis involved all of us and it was bigger than any one person's opinion and that was good for us (not the tragedy, obvs- but the reminder that we, as Americans, can choose to unite when needed). 

Those days are gone, aren't they?  They're not coming back.  The crises we currently face as a society are many.  And serious.  But no one has that rally together, can-do spirit anymore.  It's a 'scr*w you' spirit, if anything.  There's no desire to find common ground; not in our government, and not with individuals. 

It rarely occurs to anyone now to think, "You know...  Maybe I don't have all the answers.  This particular moment may not be the appropriate time for me to shout my political opinions in your face.  Maybe this one flippin' moment isn't all about me and I should shut up for a second and listen." 

No... No one listens. No one compromises. No one respectfully disagrees or believes in "live and let live" anymore.  Now we only focus on the things that divide.  No, it's worse than that-- we try to divide.  We look for the scab to pick.  We incite.  We instigate.  We blame.  We put our fingers in our ears to block out every voice but our own and we blame.  We blame.  We blame. 

Society is unraveling and everyone just wants to yank on the threads.

Am I being a drama queen?  I honestly feel like the country's headed for Hell in a hand basket, although I've never been sure of what, exactly, a hand basket is (Is it just a basket with handles?).  Is that overly dramatic, or just an accurate observation? 

Well, well...  This was a little tangent I hadn't planned to explore.  But since it's out there, I'm going to go with it, because there's been a lot of stuff rattling around up here that needs to find its way out.

I guess I can actually tie this topic back into the idea of the New Year, and an annual recap...  Since the current level of political, social, religious, and cultural discord in our country is leading me into a new attitude.  I feel a change taking place in my heart and mind. 

I've recently learned (am learning) that anyone who doesn't want to know what I think is not really my friend and is not worth my time.  Sounds like a no-brainer, doesn't it?  But this 46 year old has spent years behaving like an awkward, nerdy 10 year old who convinces herself that the cool kids laughing at her are laughing with her and really are her friends. 

I touched on this a little in my last post, too- so I don't want to be a broken record, here...  But, I often feel it's me- and only me- who is left feeling like I should apologize after a disagreement for how I think or feel- no, for who I am- just to "keep the peace," even if I'm the one who was hurt or offended.  Do you ever feel that way? 

I'm done with that. 

2013 is going to bring out a new Michelle.  A more confident, happier Michelle, I hope.  I refuse to apologize for who I am anymore.  For what I do or say (if it's wrong)?  Yes, definitely.  But I'm sick of walking on eggshells to keep some people appeased and tiptoeing around the feelings of people who care nothing about mine.  I'm soooo sick of carefully trying to craft Every. Single. Flipping. Word I say, like I'm writing a legal document, for Pete's sake, so as not to offend someone who is bound and determined to be offended.  You know people like this, too, right?  Those who look for arguments?  Who pick out one or two words among the many you've spoken to zero in on and gripe?  They want to be offended, so they can complain about being offended, while not giving a rat's a** about offending you. 

So, my New 2013 Motto:  If you don't like me?  Okay.  Someone else will.  And doggone it...  I like me (said in my very best Stuart Smalley voice).

Does that mean the new, improved 2013 Michelle is going to be a Gigantic Horse's Butt?  No.  Well, no more than usual, anyway.  I'm not saying I will dig in my heels, try to be more offensive and refuse to apologize for it.  That would make me as self-centered, hypocritical and inconsiderate as some of my so-called "tolerant, open-minded" friends.

So, maybe the main change for the new year will not be so much in my own external behavior, but in learning to redefine the word Friend; learning to value myself enough to free myself from the people who have not earned that title.

I'm very aware there are times when I don't choose my words and deeds carefully enough and need to apologize (we all do that, peeps), so that won't change.  I try to be respectful to any friend- No, to anyone, really- who thinks differently than I do (within reason, of course. I wouldn't be respectful if you were proposing we go down to the crick and drown a bag of kittens, for example), and I certainly don't plan on changing that.  I like the fact that, while my opinions and beliefs are strongly held and deeply felt, I'm still able to sit and listen to yours without turning into a rabid dog going for your throat.  And I'd be oh-so-happy if others would extend the same courtesy to me. That's what a friendship is.  A give and take.  An open exchange.  A two-way street, and all that happy crap. 

I'm willing to consider the different angles of an issue.  I may not change my opinion, but I'll at least put everything on the table and have a look.  Some things are black and white, but many things are not.  And when we become entrenched and unyielding in those things that are not, we lose the ability to see the solution.  We lose Reason.  Not to mention?  We make total arses of ourselves and lose credibility, along with the respect of others. 

I do try to understand where others are coming from, and how they got there, even if I can't agree with their views or ideas. I hope to learn from them. I want to learn from them. That's what makes us grow and be better people, right? But frankly?  Some of my more Liberal-leaning friends acquaintances (no, my friends are not this obtuse, so we'll say acquaintances) don't really give a crap to learn anything from me. They don't feel they need to, after all. Because they're right and I'm wrong and I just need to benefit from their pithy, Anderson Cooper-y wisdom. It's clear that some of them think their Liberal views give them an intellectual and moral superiority. And I don't especially like being castigated or talked down to, thank you very much, like I'm just some big ol' dufus, especially by those who are too unintelligent to craft an argument without resorting to name-calling (BIGOT! CLOSED-MINDED! STUPID! CRAZY! JACKA**!) to make their point  (way to go, btw, on that whole anti-bullying thing, there, guys.  Dan Savage's anti-bullying campaign, for example, where he goes into high schools and rips pages from Bibles, calls the Bible "BS" and calls Christian kids pansy-as*ed really helps to drive home the message that tolerance is right and bullying is wrong). 

And by the way, as long as I'm rambling about the name-calling...  You know, being devout or steadfast in one's beliefs is not the same thing as being "closed-minded."  Closed-minded means: "Having a mind firmly unreceptive to new ideas or arguments."  (I believe, in fact, there is a pic of Dan Savage next to the dictionary entry).  I can be resolute in my own beliefs while still being receptive and willing to listen to and tolerate yours.  Can you?  When you accuse me of being closed-minded because my beliefs don't line up with yours, yet you won't take time to learn why and how I feel as I do...  It is you, dear one, who is the closed-minded one.

Anyhoozy...  I'm just finally realizing that if you don't want to hear what I think, how I feel, how I view the world...  If you can't listen to a few mentions of God, faith or prayer without cringing, mocking and rolling your eyes (while giving me the "Wow, I didn't realize you're such a moron" look)...  If the phrases "family values," "right to bear arms," etc., make you ready to pounce before you even bother to ask me what those ideas mean to me...  If I'm supposed to tolerate and accept your views with an open mind, while you refuse to tolerate or even listen, respectfully to mine...  Well, then...  You don't truly have an interest in KNOWING ME, do you?  Which means... (and this is where my awesome deductive reasoning skills come into play) you are NOT my friend. 

For the record, I disagree with my Conservative friends, too, sometimes- and they with me. I'm not trying to single out one crowd over the other, just calling it like I see it. I find there's a more willing, open exchange of ideas with them; more room to disagree than with Liberals. They don't seem as determined to impose their beliefs upon me when we differ, or as eager to "correct" my supposed errant way of thinking.

In all honesty, I will probably continue to go the extra mile with difficult people and offer them the respect I wish they'd show me, but I will no longer apologize for who I am.  I can't count the number of times the words "I'm sorry" have come out of my mouth when they shouldn't have; when I'd done or said nothing wrong.

I am a Conservative.  Conservative is not synonymous with Idiot, Bigot, Hate-Monger, or Racist.  I am none of those things. 

I am a Christian.  Being a person of faith does not mean I am irrational, unreasonable, childish, backwards or stupid.  "Christian" does not just describe my belief system.  It's not a religion, as I'm not a particularly religious person.  Christian is who I am.  It's part of me.  The biggest part.  It colors every other thing I think and do.  And I like that about myself.  It is not wrong and it will not change.  If you don't like those things, then you don't like ME.

I hope I've made this clear and don't really need to say it, but, obviously, this little discourse does not apply to all of my Liberal friends.  Some of you are very open-minded and willing to consider and rationally discuss different sides of an issue, and I appreciate that quality so much.  Some of you are very kind and respectful to others whose beliefs and views differ from yours.  Thank you for that!  And yay, you.  That's part of what makes me love you!  In fact, I'd say that all of the people I truly consider my friends are that way.  So if my Happy New Year Dissertation doesn't apply to you?  Please don't get all bent out of shape and try to pick a fight or leave a nasty comment...  Or jump me in the parking lot.  I'm not up for it.  If I felt like fighting, I'd go chat with the hub (jk... kinda).

Oy.  This was an interesting little rabbit hole.  But there you have it.  The Michelle of 2013 is just as verbose and prone to veering all over the place as the Michelle of 2012.  I guess some of that's been back building for a while.  So, you see?  I told ya.  I'm in an ugly mood, and maybe should have waited for it to pass before posting.  But I don't think these feelings are going to fade anytime soon.

I'd better wrap it up, before I lose every friend I've ever had.  I sincerely do hope all of you have a happy New Year.  May 2013 be YOUR year!  And MINE! 

Despite my cruddy mood at present, my New Year's wish for you, friends, is this...

• May the Lord bless you and keep you, and make his face shine upon you, and be gracious to you and give you peace. (Nu. 6:24-26)
• May the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. (Phil. 4:7)
• God bless us, every one! (Tiny Tim)
• And may the odds be ever in your favor! (Hunger Games)

Happy New Year, Everybody!  Goodbye, 2012!

What are you worth?

Well, well, well… 

I, Michelle, Blogger Extraordinaire, awesomely awesome creative creator of the Bringing Blogging Back Campaign; the one who was going to single-handedly resurrect The Art of Writing About Absolutely Nothing, have done a darn fine job of keeping up with my own blog lately, haven’t I?

Sorry.

I have a good excuse.  Or excuses.  As some of you know, we had a brand new business open, and then go under, all in the span of 2 weeks.  That was fun.  And a little bit stressful.   When we fail around here, we fail BIG.  We don't go at it half-a**ed. 

Actually, we got the ol' 'flat head and phillips treatment' by Darrell’s business 'partner,' so the business didn’t just end abruptly.  It ended horrendously.  But, we’ll save those unpleasant details for another day.  The subject is still a little tender.  I don't wanna talk about it. 

Shortly after that, we had a death in the family.  Darrell’s uncle passed away last month and Darrell spent the last couple weeks of his uncle’s life taking care of him, pretty much 24/7.  He was an emotional basket case at the time, but is beginning to feel better now.

 And?  I got sick shortly before the time Darrell started staying at the hospital around the clock and have remained that way for the past 4 or 5 weeks, along with the kids, who have taken turns being sick off and on. 

So… do I get a pass for my blogging slackitude?

That last part is what this post is really about.  Not my slackitude.  The part about being sick, I mean.  …Well, not really.  It's not about being sick.  It’s about something I realized yesterday as a result of being sick.  Something big.

I went to the doctor yesterday, hoping to score some tasty antibiotics… or an assisted suicide, because I was ready to die.  I was desperate enough to enthusiastically welcome either one.  Seriously, I felt so, so crappy.  I’d known for about 2 weeks that I’d reached that level of Sick that wasn’t going to clear up on its own, yet I kept putting off making an appointment with the doctor.   First, we didn’t have the money.  Then, we got some money, but I knew there were ‘better’ ways to spend it.  Like on food, and stuff.  Toilet paper.  Slim Jims.  You know.

In the meantime, my throat, ear and chest hurt somethin’ awful, as we say here in Cowcrap County.  Basically, my chest has been congested to the point that I can’t breathe when I lay down.  It feels like Honey Boo Boo’s mom is sitting on my chest (which is a fun sensation for a claustrophobic!  Hello, panic attack!).  So, I keep sitting up throughout the night, gasping for air...  which also means I haven’t been sleeping.  TAdd to that fevers, chills and coughing fits and you got yourself a party.  Those coughing fits have been pretty intense and obnoxious little sleep interrupters, too.  So, I’m literally sick and tired- ha.

And?  A few of the kids and I have pink eye, too, which is a guaranteed good time and a surefire way to feel super sexy.  I'm considering changing my name to Job Jr. if I can be guaranteed that people will know it rhymes with lobe and not lob.

Since we are not insured, and this is The Most Wonderful Ridiculously Expensive Time of the Year, and an office visit costs roughly $56,080.03, I kept thinking hoping praying that I could hold on a little longer and maaaaybe it would clear up by itself.  I kept reminding myself of all the important things we needed the money for, or how many Christmas gifts I could buy for the kids with it.  So, I procrastinated until I literally felt like I needed to be in a hospital. 

Yes, literally. 

Anyhoodie…  The doctor gave me an injection in the office, to get a jump on the respiratory infection I have because I let it get so bad, and prescribed an additional week of oral antibiotics to make sure it cleared up completely, and I got a script for the super good cough syrup that actually works (with codeine or something in it, I think), then he sent me on my not-so-merry way. 

As I stood at the checkout counter, writing my check (for $148 and change- not $56,080.03), I felt horribly guilty.  Yeah...  Guilty.  Overwhelmingly so, like I'd committed a crime.  I felt bad that I couldn't just "tough it out" and get better by myself; that I wasn't a stronger, better person; that I was wasting so much money.  I felt so, so bad to be spending that chunk of my family’s money on the doctor instead of something important. 

Seriously, guys.  I was trying to blink tears out of my eyes as I wrote that check.  Not that anyone would have noticed the tears, thanks to the pink eye.

Then I realized…

I wasn’t spending it on the doctor.  I was spending it on ME.  I was spending it on my health and well-being.  Why was that not important?

And so…  I had an epiphany.  A little voice in my head said, “Have you ever noticed that you always apologize to your husband whenever you schedule a doctor's appointment for yourself?  Every single time.  You say, "I'm sorry, but I'm gonna have to go to the doctor.  I can't take it anymore," as if it's an act of selfishness or a character defect to be sick.  You know something else?  You believe Christmas gifts for others, or a big ham for Christmas dinner, or even a bag of dog food ranks higher on the list of needs than your own health.  Your problem is not that you don't believe the doctor's visit is worth $148.00.  It's that you don’t believe your health is worth $148.00.  You don’t believe YOU are worth $148.00.” 

Well, cripes.  The little voice is right.  Man, I can't stand that chick sometimes. 

I realized I do this kind of thing a lot (I think we all, as women- and mothers- tend to put others ahead of ourselves, but…).   I am always feeling that I don’t deserve the same things everyone else does.  I often feel guilty for getting or even wanting the same things I believe others deserve.  

…Why is that? 

It’s that way whether it’s my health, or new clothes, or even how I allow others to treat me.  I can think of one or two relationships in my life right now that are… just... Not. Right.  I allow people to treat me in a way that I would never want my children to tolerate being treated.  And I just keep taking it.  Over and over.   

Some of these feelings of insecurity and unworthiness are common, I know, with adoptees.  But, jeez- I’m 46 years old.  That’s old enough to wear big girl panties and deal.  Isn’t it?  Am I destined to feel undeserving and crappy about myself for the rest of my flippin’ life because of something that happened in my infancy?  I'm stilll not sure I buy into that.  It's gotta be something else.  ...Doesn't it?

I’ve noticed the people in my life who tend to walk on me are also the types who are very self-assured and confident.  Or, at least, that’s how they seem.  These are the types who expect respect from others and they get it.  They always believe they are right.  They rarely apologize for being wrong (I feel I’m wrong all the time, for Pete’s sake.  I feel guilty when I know I haven’t done anything wrong.  Sometimes, it feels that apologizing is all I do.).  These people expect to get their way because they believe they deserve it.  They drive me nuts with their arrogance, and yet...  I'm envious of them.  I want what they have; whatever IT is that makes them value themselves so highly.  Not that I'd want to be a self-centered jerk to others.  I don't want to be selfish; I just want to stop feeling guilty every time I want or need something, especially from other people.  I want to stop worrying that I'm putting someone out to ask for something. 

I just want to feel like I'm as worthy as the next guy.  I know, intellectually, that I am.  But I want to KNOW, with every part of me, that I am; to feel that level of confidence.

So...  How do I do that?

Anyone?  Anyone? ...Bueller?

I do know this:  I decided in that doctor’s office yesterday that I will never, ever, ever allow myself to get that sick again before making an appointment and taking care of myself.  

No one, and no thing will ever again convince me that I should tolerate being sick as long as I can.

That doesn't solve the problem, but maybe it’s a step in the right direction, at least.

Not my finest hour...

I did something, you guys.  Something bad. 

Do you remember the post where I ranted about a relative who puts weird pics of himself on facebook all the time?

If that relative were in a Bond film, his character's name would be Creepy Galore, but let's call him Jason in this post, since that's a bit more respectful.  'Jason' is also nowhere close to his actual name, so his anonymity and my butt are both covered. 

Please understand me- when I say he's creepy, I mean the serious, disturbing kind of creepy, not the cute, haha-that-guy's-so-weird-but-it's-funny, kind of creepy.  Christina can vouch for me (Right, Chris?) -she's seen a few pictures.  In addition to all the I'm-too-sexy photos he posts of himself (and they really are always of himself...  Taken by him, of him- he's never standing with a group of friends.  Or a single friend), he's always going off on these really strange rants on fb that make absolutely no sense.  He also will post stuff on his wall, then comment on his own status 10-15 times, even though no one else has commented.  And if you do dare to leave a comment that even remotely disagrees with or challenges his wacky views, God help you.  He'll become offended and unload on you. 

And... well, that's probably all the more detail I should provide.  I will say he's never broken any laws that I know of, and I have no concrete proof that he is anything other than misguided and kooky, but I don't trust or like this man very much at all.  We'll just say that my dislike for this him has only grown stronger with each year I've known him, and leave it with that.

So, there's the back story, okay?  Everything you need to know about him, before I...  No, wait.  Here's one more little detail:  He's slow.  As in, mentally.  Not eating-the-paste slow, just slow enough that you would see something's a little off.  I know there are better terms than slow, but let's not turn this into a discussion of pc terminology right now.  I don't know what the proper term is for his specific disability or condition, so we're going to settle for 'slow,' okay?  He's slow enough that it causes you to wonder...  Is all the weird crap because he just doesn't know any better and is unable to determine what is socially/morally appropriate, or is it because he's truly disturbed and bordering on crazy?  Is it a combo of both?  I dunno.  But the dude is off.

So...  I was saying I did something.  Let's get to it.  About a month ago, something happened that upset Jason quite a bit.  Initially, he had an understandable reason for being upset, due to a misunderstanding; a case of mistaken identity, really.  He felt picked on, but he was mistaken about who was doing the picking and who the intended "pickee" was supposed to be.  The basic gist of the thing is this: Someone in the family was playing what they thought was a harmless, funny joke on my kid, and Jason was pulled into it.  The problem?  He didn't realize he was part of a joke.  He took the situation seriously (and I want to make clear that the joke wasn't meant to be a mean one- there were no cruel intentions, only stupid, short-sighted ones.  Unfortunately, the jokester didn't realize that involving a person with Jason's intellectual shortcomings in any joke sort of automatically makes it mean.  It was a misguided attempt to be funny, involving the wrong guy, and it turned into this big, overblown, ridiculous Thing that was, unfortunately dumped in my kid's lap). 

Since Jason did not understand that he was part of a "joke," he became upset and said some weird, jerky, hostile-ish things (in a facebook message) to my kid.  I stepped in (feeling nervous that my child was even on Jason's radar) and tried to clear up the misunderstanding and stick up for my child a little- who really was an innocent bystander in the whole thing, with no idea what Jason was even ranting about at first, and was therefore pretty freaked out by his message.  Since Jason is in his twenties and my kid is barely into his teens, I felt it was appropriate to step in on his behalf.  I told Jason the whole thing was a joke played on both him and my kid and tried to explain all the details of the whole mess as clearly as I could.  But Jason continued to rant weird and insulting nonsense.  So much so, that when I first read his responses to my explanation (alone in the dark in the middle of the night), they felt mildly threatening to me.  His word choices seemed a little too aggressive and more ominous than the situation called for. 

So I became afraid.

I do not especially like feeling afraid, in case you couldn't just deduce that on your own.  Or threatened.  Even mildly.

Feeling afraid kinda makes me mad.

And, although you probably can't imagine this, I'm not as much fun when I'm mad.

So what did I do, alone there in the dark, with my angry, fear-filled fingers flexing over my keyboard?  Did I push the fear aside to give reason and intellect a chance to guide my thoughts and words?  Did I try to determine whether or not Jason had the rational capacity to understand the "clear" explanation I tried to provide?  Did I remind myself that he's probably had a lifetime of being picked on, due to his intellectual abilities and is possibly a little defensive?  Did I pray about it and ask for guidance before I acted?

Did I at least pause for just a second? 

No.  Not quite.

I let that fear enter in and fill me completely.  I began seeing visions of creepy adults lurking outside waiting for my kid and me.  Jason's face became the face of Heath Ledger as the Joker in my mind (which is not too far out in left field, since Jason has posted sinister, Joker-ish looking photos of himself).

In my distorted little vision of the future, Jason's threats were real; he intended to harm us.  Now, keep in mind- he did not actually threaten me.  Or my kid.  In any way.  My late-night perceptions were colored by every single negative thought I've ever had about Jason.  The threat was only a perceived one- in the head of a lunatic fat chick.  Hey, that rhymes.  Luna-TIC, fat CHICK.  Catchy.   

Anyhoosie...  Fear was having so much fun skipping around in my head that he invited his friend, Impulse, to join him and together, they did a little dance upon my fingers as they hovered over my keyboard.  They tapped out quite the b**chy little response to Jason.  Yessiree, they did.

Because I was afraid, I allowed myself to say almost everything I've ever thought about Jason... to Jason.  Well, except for the weirdo pictures...  I didn't mention the pictures.  But I told him how creepy, paranoid and crazy I think he is.  Over and over, in fact.  I told him how deeply I believe he needs help and I hope he gets it (but, you know... not in the kind, "I'm concerned about you" way, but the sarcastic, high and mighty, "you're a loser" way).  I told him it would be best if he didn't speak to my kid again and I'd also be just fine if he never spoke to me again, either... 

The lovely, sentiments I expressed may have been truthful (in my own mind, anyway), and in that moment, they were deeply, sincerely felt.  But?  They were wildly, grossly, horribly incommensurate to his original comments to me.  Something akin to throwing the baby out with the bath water, then running over the baby with the car afterwards, just for good measure. 

I ripped into a person who is probably only a hop, skip and jump above being legally declared retarded.  I ripped and I ripped... And then I ripped some more.  People go to Hell for such things, do they not?

My kid read my message to Jason (after it was sent) (and he read it because the whole conversation took place on his fb wall, not because I was so proud of it I wanted to share it) and he said, "Wow, Mom...  That's...  Just...  You were sooo mean to him.  Why did you say that?  His message was weird, but yours was...  You just...  You waaaay overreacted, Mom.  You took it way too far."

Well, great.  Nothing like making your kid proud, huh?  He looked at me like I was the playground bully who pushed the nerdy fat kid off the swings and into the mud.

Then?  To make it soooo much worse?  I didn't even have the grapes to speak to Jason on the phone to attempt patching things up.  My husband did that. 

So, what do you think, guys?  Am I a horrible, Hell-bound heathen?  Am I a gutless wonder/pansy/candya** for not talking to him directly after throwing such a fit?  I mean, he is family (on the hub's side- not mine, but still...).  Should I have apologized? 

Yeah.  I should have apologized.

I don't believe I was wrong to be upset by what Jason said to my son or to me.  I don't feel guilty for having suspicions and "concerns" about Jason.  I know I'm not wrong to feel apprehensive and distrustful- maybe even a little afraid, especially as he relates to my kids.  Cuz the dude is just. not. right.  I think I have valid reasons not to like him.

So... Why do I feel so awful?