After rereading comments to this blog, it seems I have dropped the ball. I have written about things going on in my life, and topics that have spurred my interest. I have paid tribute to loved ones, and our country. However, as noted by one comentor, I have not written about how I "live around it."
I spent some time thinking about that. I coined that phrase because I believe that the illnesses aren't going to budge, so I must live in and around what they throw at me. I have bitterly accepted my physical limitations. Once teased for having broad shoulders and being able to lift 100 pounds, I now have...broad shoulders. Once able to run a mean sprint, I can no longer run. Not that I want to...never did care for it.
I refuse to believe, however, that I have limitations mentally. There are medications and counselling available to keep my mind sharp, witty, and smart. Just don't ask me what I walked into a room for... Being able to afford the necessary meds is a struggle at times, but thanks to social network and the kind supportive words of friends and family, I can limp through.
But, how do I "live around it"? Other than getting out of bed at the pace I am able, showering when my pain level permits it (without danger of falling), and taking whatever pain medication is necessary (when available), I don't have any steps or wise words to aid others. I just survive. I would say "live", because I am, in fact, alive, but doing what I do on a daily basis hardly qualifies as "living". That is probably as much due to finances as it is to health. Perhaps if I had any extra money, I'd venture out once in awhile. But everything must be calculated...right down to the gas in the truck. So, I get up, survey the land, do what I can, then I sit down and connect with others. Until sitting hurts. Then I get up and shuffle a chore or two. Until that hurts, at which point I lie down and hope for some rest.
Rest? REST?? What did I do all day to need rest? Survive. Usually on three hours sleep, through level 7 (and above) pain, with dizziness and brain fog. Now that's multitasking!
So, I would tell you to live as best fits you. Try to block out the "shoulds", and embrace the moments that make you smile. And always, always be open to help to others with their pain. Knowing the you've helped someone else to "live" really is living!
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Monday, July 18, 2011
A Worry Rethunk
I spend a modest amount of time worrying that people I meet will not accept me because I am currently not employed due to disability. Because my disabilities are invisible, that I could be disabled brings a look of disbelief to most people's faces. In fact, recently, when asked if disabled for an assistance form, the woman taking the application stopped in her tracks when I said 'yes'. And for the first time, perhaps since being diagnosed, her voice softened, and she put her pen down and was genuinely interested in my story. I felt blessed!
The fact is, that I did work. Unpaid, for nine, and paid for nineteen. Yes, not as much as some, and more than many. Work conditions during the unpaid were emotionally and physically taxing. Work conditions during the first 11 of the paid were emotionally and physically damaging. Had I been treated like a human being, rather than a lowly slave at either of those jobs, I am certain I would not be disabled today.
During my preteen through late teens I worked around the homestead doing whatever chore my parents needed done. Didn't every kid growing up in the 70's? Of course. But my father was an obsessive workaholic, and expected that everyone else was, too. His lists of outdoor chores seemed endless, and on many a summer day, left me with bloodied hands and nasty sunburns...on top of nasty sunburns. And after he meticulously reviewed the work, came screaming in my face proclaiming that I was dumb and lazy because I'd hoed into some onions. And as my teenage schoolmates drove by laughing a waving-on their way to swim-I hoed, and weeded, and harvested that damn garden. Every day, all day. Well, that is, when I wasn't cleaning out the garage/basement, or picking apples, or weeding, or picking blooms off of hundreds of petunias. Or planting them. Or helping him haul 100lb stones to landscape. Or mowing a 6ft hill.
During my late teens and twenties, I worked at the leading insurance company in the area. If you had office experience when exiting school, you worked there or at the factory offices. Unfortunately, this company prided themselves on herding, and treating their employees like cattle. Little support, tons of work, and few kudos. This job would define my future physical state in a matter of a few months. My emotional state had already been defined, but this job sealed it. Emotionally, however, it would also land me in help's lap.
I had only worked there for a year, when I began to feel ill. I had an awful cold, scorching sore throat, and was very tired. I was warned that missing work would get me fired, so I muddled through, feeling worse and worse. During a conversation with my Mom, she noticed a tint. Shocked, she had me stare into her eyes and tilt my head back so she could examine both. Yellow. Eyeballs and neck a sickening yellow. Had no one at work noticed this? I went to the Dr. the next day, and as he lay me back to feel my tummy, he could see my swollen liver. He told me to go home and wait for some tests, but by the time I got home, he was on the phone demanding my Mom to get me to the hospital. I'd had mono for months. Because it was left untreated, my liver became swollen. Hepatits. I spent two weeks in the hospital, and was ordered away from work for two months. In a shake-my-head sidenote, my co-workers were under the impression that I had the mumps. A panic ran through the department as everyone tried to remember if they'd had them. Upon finding out that I had something much more serious, they were relieved. At least they weren't going to get sick. As soon as they found out it was Hepatitis-it turned out to be non-infectious-the pressure to get me back to work began. After just two week home, I got phone calls from co-workers-on behalf of my supervisor-to "get back in here". After several harassing calls, Mom called work to talk to my super. The super had the gall to snipe at my mother about my coming back to work immediately. I was still getting dizzy getting up and around! Two more weeks passed, and because of the phone calls, the doctor was called to see if I could return to work. The okay was given as long as I did sit down work. On day three of my return I was put back on my feet...a six hour trek every day. I blacked out many times, but was blown off when I reported it. You see, mumps everyone understood. Hepatitis they did not. Therefore, it did not exist.
My mother was told that I would never be the same. I'd never have the stamina I'd once had. I might not be able to fight colds and such as efficiently. And I was never the same. Ever again. There was no name for that result at that time. Today they call it Chronic Fatigue Syndrome.
So, yes, I have worked. Since those jobs I've been a nanny, a warehouse stocker, a carpet salesperson, a water department employee, and several more insurance gigs. Had I not given birth to the light of my life, triggering Fibromyalgia, I might still be working. But, for whatever reason, God has seen fit for me to be at home.
So, perhaps I need to rethink my worry, and wear my disabilities like a badge. After all, I fought long and hard to get them.
The fact is, that I did work. Unpaid, for nine, and paid for nineteen. Yes, not as much as some, and more than many. Work conditions during the unpaid were emotionally and physically taxing. Work conditions during the first 11 of the paid were emotionally and physically damaging. Had I been treated like a human being, rather than a lowly slave at either of those jobs, I am certain I would not be disabled today.
During my preteen through late teens I worked around the homestead doing whatever chore my parents needed done. Didn't every kid growing up in the 70's? Of course. But my father was an obsessive workaholic, and expected that everyone else was, too. His lists of outdoor chores seemed endless, and on many a summer day, left me with bloodied hands and nasty sunburns...on top of nasty sunburns. And after he meticulously reviewed the work, came screaming in my face proclaiming that I was dumb and lazy because I'd hoed into some onions. And as my teenage schoolmates drove by laughing a waving-on their way to swim-I hoed, and weeded, and harvested that damn garden. Every day, all day. Well, that is, when I wasn't cleaning out the garage/basement, or picking apples, or weeding, or picking blooms off of hundreds of petunias. Or planting them. Or helping him haul 100lb stones to landscape. Or mowing a 6ft hill.
During my late teens and twenties, I worked at the leading insurance company in the area. If you had office experience when exiting school, you worked there or at the factory offices. Unfortunately, this company prided themselves on herding, and treating their employees like cattle. Little support, tons of work, and few kudos. This job would define my future physical state in a matter of a few months. My emotional state had already been defined, but this job sealed it. Emotionally, however, it would also land me in help's lap.
I had only worked there for a year, when I began to feel ill. I had an awful cold, scorching sore throat, and was very tired. I was warned that missing work would get me fired, so I muddled through, feeling worse and worse. During a conversation with my Mom, she noticed a tint. Shocked, she had me stare into her eyes and tilt my head back so she could examine both. Yellow. Eyeballs and neck a sickening yellow. Had no one at work noticed this? I went to the Dr. the next day, and as he lay me back to feel my tummy, he could see my swollen liver. He told me to go home and wait for some tests, but by the time I got home, he was on the phone demanding my Mom to get me to the hospital. I'd had mono for months. Because it was left untreated, my liver became swollen. Hepatits. I spent two weeks in the hospital, and was ordered away from work for two months. In a shake-my-head sidenote, my co-workers were under the impression that I had the mumps. A panic ran through the department as everyone tried to remember if they'd had them. Upon finding out that I had something much more serious, they were relieved. At least they weren't going to get sick. As soon as they found out it was Hepatitis-it turned out to be non-infectious-the pressure to get me back to work began. After just two week home, I got phone calls from co-workers-on behalf of my supervisor-to "get back in here". After several harassing calls, Mom called work to talk to my super. The super had the gall to snipe at my mother about my coming back to work immediately. I was still getting dizzy getting up and around! Two more weeks passed, and because of the phone calls, the doctor was called to see if I could return to work. The okay was given as long as I did sit down work. On day three of my return I was put back on my feet...a six hour trek every day. I blacked out many times, but was blown off when I reported it. You see, mumps everyone understood. Hepatitis they did not. Therefore, it did not exist.
My mother was told that I would never be the same. I'd never have the stamina I'd once had. I might not be able to fight colds and such as efficiently. And I was never the same. Ever again. There was no name for that result at that time. Today they call it Chronic Fatigue Syndrome.
So, yes, I have worked. Since those jobs I've been a nanny, a warehouse stocker, a carpet salesperson, a water department employee, and several more insurance gigs. Had I not given birth to the light of my life, triggering Fibromyalgia, I might still be working. But, for whatever reason, God has seen fit for me to be at home.
So, perhaps I need to rethink my worry, and wear my disabilities like a badge. After all, I fought long and hard to get them.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Justice Failed
Beyond a reasonable doubt. A part of our justice crafted to protect the innocent. But, our justice system is not always fair. Innocent people are convicted. The guilty, with help of crafty defense lawyers, go free. Two high profile cases of that come to mind. OJ Simpson. Michael Jackson. All it takes is one person to think that maybe, just maybe the accused did not commit the crime. Today, we add another name to that list. Casey Anthony. She was found not guilty today of murdering her young daughter, Caylee Marie. I was, upon learning this, stunned. I then became angry. As I watched the disbelief spread across the nation, via Facebook, I thought, 'If all these people are outraged, then how did 12 people not find guilt?' But, I was not there.
I did not watch the trial. The entire situation made me angry, sick, and as a mother, outraged. The press showed mostly the same photos of the defendant playing happily with her child. Or, if you preferred, partying in the 30 days before she reported her daughter missing. Or tapes of the defendant's mother scolding her daughter on the phone. I thought I was "keeping up" with the trial by watching the updates unfold. After the verdict today, it was clear that I had not been paying close enough attention.
If I had taken the time to really think about it, I would have quickly remembered that the Burden of Proof was on the prosecution, and that they had no solid evidence. The ball was set firmly in the defenses court and they played it perfectly.
I have decided that being a defense attorney must require a lot of showers. That much sleaze has to leave one with a stench. It must also require a vivid imagination. One such that a lawyer can take few truths and build them into reasonable doubts. And cause a jury of seven women, and five men to question what seemed obvious to casual followers. That this woman murdered her beautiful, God-given daughter. Not only that, but she didn't report her baby missing for a month. And during that month, went out with friends, danced, enjoyed life--the very thing she robbed her daughter of. Was this an "oops!" moment for her? "Damn if I don't write things down I just forget."?
Oh, she's not off scot-free...No. She is guilty of lying to authorities, or providing false information. And reports state that as she was printed for those convictions, she was grinning widely. Really? Her daughter is still dead. Grinning widely would not be on my list of things to do for years if I lost my son. I just keep thinking that she must be thinking "Nanner, nanner, nanner, you couldn't catch me!" And that makes my stomach turn.
Perhaps the most disturbing part of this verdict is the law of Double Jeopardy. If any solid evidence presents itself, or she drunkenly tells a friend the truth, she can not be tried again for First Degree Murder. OJ Simpson just confessed his crime and people simply said "I knew it" and shook their heads. There will never be real justice for two-year old Caylee Marie.
In most instances, I think our Justice system works. But, when it doesn't, it really doesn't. Innocent Until Proven Guilty is the rule. But, we must, must remember that just because a jury voted Not Guilty, does not mean they believe she is innocent. It simply means that they could not be convinced Beyond A Reasonable Doubt that she was guilty. But she knows. And so does God. And her final sentence will be one to be reckoned with.
I did not watch the trial. The entire situation made me angry, sick, and as a mother, outraged. The press showed mostly the same photos of the defendant playing happily with her child. Or, if you preferred, partying in the 30 days before she reported her daughter missing. Or tapes of the defendant's mother scolding her daughter on the phone. I thought I was "keeping up" with the trial by watching the updates unfold. After the verdict today, it was clear that I had not been paying close enough attention.
If I had taken the time to really think about it, I would have quickly remembered that the Burden of Proof was on the prosecution, and that they had no solid evidence. The ball was set firmly in the defenses court and they played it perfectly.
I have decided that being a defense attorney must require a lot of showers. That much sleaze has to leave one with a stench. It must also require a vivid imagination. One such that a lawyer can take few truths and build them into reasonable doubts. And cause a jury of seven women, and five men to question what seemed obvious to casual followers. That this woman murdered her beautiful, God-given daughter. Not only that, but she didn't report her baby missing for a month. And during that month, went out with friends, danced, enjoyed life--the very thing she robbed her daughter of. Was this an "oops!" moment for her? "Damn if I don't write things down I just forget."?
Oh, she's not off scot-free...No. She is guilty of lying to authorities, or providing false information. And reports state that as she was printed for those convictions, she was grinning widely. Really? Her daughter is still dead. Grinning widely would not be on my list of things to do for years if I lost my son. I just keep thinking that she must be thinking "Nanner, nanner, nanner, you couldn't catch me!" And that makes my stomach turn.
Perhaps the most disturbing part of this verdict is the law of Double Jeopardy. If any solid evidence presents itself, or she drunkenly tells a friend the truth, she can not be tried again for First Degree Murder. OJ Simpson just confessed his crime and people simply said "I knew it" and shook their heads. There will never be real justice for two-year old Caylee Marie.
In most instances, I think our Justice system works. But, when it doesn't, it really doesn't. Innocent Until Proven Guilty is the rule. But, we must, must remember that just because a jury voted Not Guilty, does not mean they believe she is innocent. It simply means that they could not be convinced Beyond A Reasonable Doubt that she was guilty. But she knows. And so does God. And her final sentence will be one to be reckoned with.
Monday, July 4, 2011
Two Hundred Thirty Five years and still going, and going, and going......
Happy Birthday USA! Two hundred thirty five years old? Just a pup on this Earth...A mere toddler, by comparison, complete with tantrums and the "mine, mine, mine" mentality. You are still learning, developing, and tripping on your own feet. So, is it any wonder you are in a state of political chaos much of the time? No, but one can only grow from trip-ups and fall downs...I trust you will.
Today, I celebrate the "founding fathers" that bravely demanded independence from a country they could no longer support. I also celebrate their ancestors, who 164 years earlier risked their lives to sail a ship across an ocean to start anew. And to the keepers of the land before them, I say thank you. Truly, the spirit of the America I now know, began long before the signatures on that famous scroll.
That spirit wanes at times. We the people are guilty of becoming complacent-taking for granted the freedom that has been tested time and time again. But, surely as the seasons change, we come together as One Nation when the going is tough...or heart wrenching. Together, we become a formidable force. We celebrate our country's victories together. We grieve our losses as One.
We are a country born of, and growing due to, immigrants that have heard the rumors and want to have a piece of that apple pie. Today hundreds of those immigrants will be sworn in as Americans, after years of struggle, prejudice, and studying the history of this country. Most of them know more about the history of America than those born to this country. That is because being a citizen of this country is, to them, a privilege. One worth memorizing "how many amendments have been made to the Constitution?' (It's 27). Are there bad apples? Of course. But, as the saying goes..."One bad apple don't spoil the whole bunch (girl)...wait that was a song...but the point remains.
Today families will gather for cookouts and parties. Friends will gather for cookouts and parties. At the end of the day, all eyes will be on spacious skies as fireworks gallantly gleam...and BOOM! And this year...this year we can celebrate our country's stubbornness. A stubbornness that brought down the leader to an evil, American-hating, murdering group. A stubbornness that will continue to protect this country from further harm and "haters." We can be proud of that toddler mentality.
So, today, forget "bi-partisan lines", mudslinger politics and anti...anything. Be one. Be proud that so many young people are willing to protect your country. Be mindful of "those that gave all." Stop for a moment and remember how blessed you are to be allowed to disagree with what government does, without being jailed, maimed or...killed. Listen to Lee Greenwood for the hundredth time, and take in those words, "where at least I know I'm free." Because you are. WE are.
God, continue to bless America. Because we love Her...warts and all.
Today, I celebrate the "founding fathers" that bravely demanded independence from a country they could no longer support. I also celebrate their ancestors, who 164 years earlier risked their lives to sail a ship across an ocean to start anew. And to the keepers of the land before them, I say thank you. Truly, the spirit of the America I now know, began long before the signatures on that famous scroll.
That spirit wanes at times. We the people are guilty of becoming complacent-taking for granted the freedom that has been tested time and time again. But, surely as the seasons change, we come together as One Nation when the going is tough...or heart wrenching. Together, we become a formidable force. We celebrate our country's victories together. We grieve our losses as One.
We are a country born of, and growing due to, immigrants that have heard the rumors and want to have a piece of that apple pie. Today hundreds of those immigrants will be sworn in as Americans, after years of struggle, prejudice, and studying the history of this country. Most of them know more about the history of America than those born to this country. That is because being a citizen of this country is, to them, a privilege. One worth memorizing "how many amendments have been made to the Constitution?' (It's 27). Are there bad apples? Of course. But, as the saying goes..."One bad apple don't spoil the whole bunch (girl)...wait that was a song...but the point remains.
Today families will gather for cookouts and parties. Friends will gather for cookouts and parties. At the end of the day, all eyes will be on spacious skies as fireworks gallantly gleam...and BOOM! And this year...this year we can celebrate our country's stubbornness. A stubbornness that brought down the leader to an evil, American-hating, murdering group. A stubbornness that will continue to protect this country from further harm and "haters." We can be proud of that toddler mentality.
So, today, forget "bi-partisan lines", mudslinger politics and anti...anything. Be one. Be proud that so many young people are willing to protect your country. Be mindful of "those that gave all." Stop for a moment and remember how blessed you are to be allowed to disagree with what government does, without being jailed, maimed or...killed. Listen to Lee Greenwood for the hundredth time, and take in those words, "where at least I know I'm free." Because you are. WE are.
God, continue to bless America. Because we love Her...warts and all.
Monday, May 9, 2011
One Time...At School...
On May 6, 2011 Orangeville Jr/Sr High School, the school my son attends, enacted an emergency drill to simulate a gunman situation. Although this is a wise idea, given the reality of today's world, it was handled in a heinous manner.
This is the account from a student that experienced the simulation:
A huge guy barged into the office waving a gun and demanding [one particular student], He popped off one shot, a blank. At that point, one of the staff [who knew about the upcoming drill] went yelling into the halls that there was a man with a gun, everybody run. The "gunman" barged into a gymnasium full of kids waving the gun and asking for the same student. Students began screaming, crying and running anywhere they could. One high schooler, for sure, was injured while trying to escape. Kids were running out of the school; running all over. Teachers in classrooms were taking the action they could (I am not clear if they had been made privy to the "drill"). One teacher yelling for all the kids to get in the corner, where he began surrounding them with sport equipment, another handing out pens and pencils for kids to use as weapons.
The child named by the "gunman" ran out of the school, halfway across town and hid. He was called by a teacher and told that two students had been shot. A bit later he was called again and told the cops had arrived and all was well. He was told to return to school. He did not. The kids were ordered back into the school and back to class. As if nothing happened.
Now, I did receive a phone call from the school on Friday stating that a drill would take place. Parents were told to stay away from the school, and not to come get their children if they were texted or called to do so. That was at 9:37am. I do not know exactly when the drill took place, but I am sure that calling parents on the day of the drill was not timely. And, I will tell you now, that if my son called me after that, I would most definitely go pick him up! It has been reported that some members of staff were visibly shaken, as well, lending me to believe that not all staff was aware of the plan.
This was an "epic fail" on the part of OSD. The idea to prepare a school for the all-too-real possibility of an intruder is smart. The way OSD handled it was outrageous. I am a supporter of the school district, attending and cheering events, even though it is my "adopted" team/school. I applaud many of the education programs. I can not support the manner in which this "drill" was handled.
In my opinion,1. Parents should have been notified at least three days in advance of the drill. Perhaps not being told exactly when it was going to happen, to ensure the element of surprise, but told. 2. Parents should have been warned of the intensity of the drill. My son said there was a vague reference to students of "something happening sometime" but nothing definitive. 3. All of the staff should have been warned. 4. The "drill" should have been a learning experience. Afterward, the children should have been routed to the gymnasium and a discussion of what did, and what should have happened, should have taken place, with people there to offer comfort. After that students could return to the classroom, but with structured free time, to let them calm down. 5. One child should not have been singled out as hunted. Reports are that this child's family will take legal action, but in a town of 800, rumors do fly. I certainly would toy with the idea, if it were my son traumatized in such a way. It is also reported that he may not return to school this year. Again, I'm not sure of the accuracy of that.
As of yesterday, Sunday, some of the kids were still shaken.
I agree that a drill is a proactive way to protect students from a Columbine situation, but it must be handled delicately and professionally.
Orangeville Jr/Sr High School has some explaining to do.
This is the account from a student that experienced the simulation:
A huge guy barged into the office waving a gun and demanding [one particular student], He popped off one shot, a blank. At that point, one of the staff [who knew about the upcoming drill] went yelling into the halls that there was a man with a gun, everybody run. The "gunman" barged into a gymnasium full of kids waving the gun and asking for the same student. Students began screaming, crying and running anywhere they could. One high schooler, for sure, was injured while trying to escape. Kids were running out of the school; running all over. Teachers in classrooms were taking the action they could (I am not clear if they had been made privy to the "drill"). One teacher yelling for all the kids to get in the corner, where he began surrounding them with sport equipment, another handing out pens and pencils for kids to use as weapons.
The child named by the "gunman" ran out of the school, halfway across town and hid. He was called by a teacher and told that two students had been shot. A bit later he was called again and told the cops had arrived and all was well. He was told to return to school. He did not. The kids were ordered back into the school and back to class. As if nothing happened.
Now, I did receive a phone call from the school on Friday stating that a drill would take place. Parents were told to stay away from the school, and not to come get their children if they were texted or called to do so. That was at 9:37am. I do not know exactly when the drill took place, but I am sure that calling parents on the day of the drill was not timely. And, I will tell you now, that if my son called me after that, I would most definitely go pick him up! It has been reported that some members of staff were visibly shaken, as well, lending me to believe that not all staff was aware of the plan.
This was an "epic fail" on the part of OSD. The idea to prepare a school for the all-too-real possibility of an intruder is smart. The way OSD handled it was outrageous. I am a supporter of the school district, attending and cheering events, even though it is my "adopted" team/school. I applaud many of the education programs. I can not support the manner in which this "drill" was handled.
In my opinion,1. Parents should have been notified at least three days in advance of the drill. Perhaps not being told exactly when it was going to happen, to ensure the element of surprise, but told. 2. Parents should have been warned of the intensity of the drill. My son said there was a vague reference to students of "something happening sometime" but nothing definitive. 3. All of the staff should have been warned. 4. The "drill" should have been a learning experience. Afterward, the children should have been routed to the gymnasium and a discussion of what did, and what should have happened, should have taken place, with people there to offer comfort. After that students could return to the classroom, but with structured free time, to let them calm down. 5. One child should not have been singled out as hunted. Reports are that this child's family will take legal action, but in a town of 800, rumors do fly. I certainly would toy with the idea, if it were my son traumatized in such a way. It is also reported that he may not return to school this year. Again, I'm not sure of the accuracy of that.
As of yesterday, Sunday, some of the kids were still shaken.
I agree that a drill is a proactive way to protect students from a Columbine situation, but it must be handled delicately and professionally.
Orangeville Jr/Sr High School has some explaining to do.
Monday, April 18, 2011
NEW VENTURES
A situation I was in this past weekend, left me perplexed, sad, and frustrated.
I made a bold plan to "go out." A real night out, after 8:00pm until possibly 11:00! After six months of staying in, away from folks, I was mildly excited. When it came time to begin the "going out" routine, I filled the tub with bubbles, grabbed a beer and stepped into the relaxing waters. For some time I just soaked, eyes closed, and contemplated how fun the night would be. A DJ would be playing the tunes, and I love DJ as opposed to bands. If I soaked long enough, perhaps I would dance! I then took care of the beautifying needed (never nicked that area before), and did my whale dance to get out of the tub.
Standing in front of the mirror solidified my suspicions that I'd gained at least ten pounds back and I damned Blue Bunny Birthday Cake Ice Cream. How to do my hair, how much make up to wear, perfume, or not? Oh, and jewelry. God, are my ears still pierced? Clothes had been chosen earlier in the day, so I had that going for me. All was done in 45 minutes. That does make me chuckle because in my hopelessly insecure days it took two hours.
I said a prayer for protection before I opened the door, then headed to the truck. It was dark. I was going out after dark! After the goosebumps passed, I was on my way. My destination was a short drive, no more than five minutes, but it was out of town. What an adventure. Upon entering the property, I searched, without luck for a close parking place, then without warning threw caution to the wind and chose one at least ten cars from the door. Over gravel. With a balance problem. And mud. How awesome was I?
I'd made my first trip to this cozy clubhouse two weeks prior, around 5 o'clock. The owners were a sweet young couple, very friendly. The bartender was fun, as well, and I felt quite welcome. Of course, I was the only patron at the time so I think they were obligated to include me in all conversations. At any rate, I liked the place. Alot. After hearing that one of the owners would be having a birthday in two weeks, I decided to plan to be there. And I was. Upon entering, I immediately looked for a seat, found one, and wished the birthday girl a "Happy Birthday". I then noticed an old friend at the end of the bar, and gave a short wave. It was mildly busy. The music was great. I bobbled to the music like a back window dog and sipped my favorite beer. One hour went by, and no one approached me to talk, although I knew several people. After the second hour I realized that one friend--someone I loved very much--was deliberately avoiding me. The crowd didn't increase from mildly busy and it occurred to me that I didn't belong. Even among people I knew. I would have expected a man to ignore me, even though he knew me...they usually do. But this was someone I'd considered a girlfriend, regardless of our age difference. My heart hurt. She'd been influenced by another presence there, and it broke my heart. For some reason, I sat up very straight and sipped my beer until it was gone. I left my seat, straightened my pants and walked out the door.
I was ready to go home and cry when I decided I'd stop in at the old stomping ground. I entered into a wave of "hi" and "how ya doin?". I talked to four or five people, had one beer, and left. It wasn't me. I was still the same likable gal. It was "them." Up on the hill, looking down on the little town that gives them unwaivering business, particularly "in-season" And it was how easily a young person can be influenced-- to the point of looking right through you after once licking your storm door.
All in all, I came home very sad. Reassured, yes, that I wasn't an oddball--well relatively speaking--but sad that a night out had turned into a regret. Only one thing is worse than being alone and feeling lonely...being in a room full of people and feeling that way.
I made a bold plan to "go out." A real night out, after 8:00pm until possibly 11:00! After six months of staying in, away from folks, I was mildly excited. When it came time to begin the "going out" routine, I filled the tub with bubbles, grabbed a beer and stepped into the relaxing waters. For some time I just soaked, eyes closed, and contemplated how fun the night would be. A DJ would be playing the tunes, and I love DJ as opposed to bands. If I soaked long enough, perhaps I would dance! I then took care of the beautifying needed (never nicked that area before), and did my whale dance to get out of the tub.
Standing in front of the mirror solidified my suspicions that I'd gained at least ten pounds back and I damned Blue Bunny Birthday Cake Ice Cream. How to do my hair, how much make up to wear, perfume, or not? Oh, and jewelry. God, are my ears still pierced? Clothes had been chosen earlier in the day, so I had that going for me. All was done in 45 minutes. That does make me chuckle because in my hopelessly insecure days it took two hours.
I said a prayer for protection before I opened the door, then headed to the truck. It was dark. I was going out after dark! After the goosebumps passed, I was on my way. My destination was a short drive, no more than five minutes, but it was out of town. What an adventure. Upon entering the property, I searched, without luck for a close parking place, then without warning threw caution to the wind and chose one at least ten cars from the door. Over gravel. With a balance problem. And mud. How awesome was I?
I'd made my first trip to this cozy clubhouse two weeks prior, around 5 o'clock. The owners were a sweet young couple, very friendly. The bartender was fun, as well, and I felt quite welcome. Of course, I was the only patron at the time so I think they were obligated to include me in all conversations. At any rate, I liked the place. Alot. After hearing that one of the owners would be having a birthday in two weeks, I decided to plan to be there. And I was. Upon entering, I immediately looked for a seat, found one, and wished the birthday girl a "Happy Birthday". I then noticed an old friend at the end of the bar, and gave a short wave. It was mildly busy. The music was great. I bobbled to the music like a back window dog and sipped my favorite beer. One hour went by, and no one approached me to talk, although I knew several people. After the second hour I realized that one friend--someone I loved very much--was deliberately avoiding me. The crowd didn't increase from mildly busy and it occurred to me that I didn't belong. Even among people I knew. I would have expected a man to ignore me, even though he knew me...they usually do. But this was someone I'd considered a girlfriend, regardless of our age difference. My heart hurt. She'd been influenced by another presence there, and it broke my heart. For some reason, I sat up very straight and sipped my beer until it was gone. I left my seat, straightened my pants and walked out the door.
I was ready to go home and cry when I decided I'd stop in at the old stomping ground. I entered into a wave of "hi" and "how ya doin?". I talked to four or five people, had one beer, and left. It wasn't me. I was still the same likable gal. It was "them." Up on the hill, looking down on the little town that gives them unwaivering business, particularly "in-season" And it was how easily a young person can be influenced-- to the point of looking right through you after once licking your storm door.
All in all, I came home very sad. Reassured, yes, that I wasn't an oddball--well relatively speaking--but sad that a night out had turned into a regret. Only one thing is worse than being alone and feeling lonely...being in a room full of people and feeling that way.
Saturday, April 9, 2011
What I've Learned From Facebook (or Making My Addiction Work For Me)
It has been about three years since I discovered the world of social networking. Oh, I'd IM'd and emailed, but was not aware that I could go to a place to share with the world that I was me and although Me may not be exciting, I existed. In that time I've learned lessons in courtesy, compassion, and community.
For instance, you do not have to know someone physically or personally to feel their anguish or joy. And something as simple as clicking the work "Like" or adding a simple wish can uplift a person halfway around the world. When you do know the "friend" from school or long lost job, you will find that you are now quite similar, as life's journeys take us all in a similar direction. The high school "clique" no longer exists. You become fellow parents, business persons, divorcees, widowers. The co-workers have gone through their own trials and now understand your struggles as their own.
Diseases become more familiar to more people. I have, as I've mentioned before, Fibromyalgia (among other health delights) and the word that put a quizzical look on the face of locals, is suddenly common and acceptable. We are not alone. Nor are sufferers of countless other ailments. The "new" term "invisible disease" is common on Facebook. It encompasses countless diseases that don't show, outwardly, to most people. We, the sufferers support each other. Our pain. Our frustrations with ignorance, insensitivity, and simple unwillingness to learn.
As a disabled sufferer, I find myself with alot of time on my hands each day. I do whatever house chore my pain and fatigue allows for the day, do some stretches....then what. Well, what do ya know...? Facebook has games. Thousands of games. The first game I got really caught up in was FarmTown. It seems a lifetime ago. As I became more involved (yes, we'll call it involved), I learned some simple things:
If you help your neighbor, they will gladly help you.
Gladly accept any help you are offered, whether you need it or not. Taking time out of one's day to gift is generous.
If you don't get what you expected , do not have a temper tantrum and demand to get what you want or be "unfriended". Generally speaking, anyone that acts like that hasn't many friends in the first place. (See First Grade Handbook.)
If you spend much of your time giving "neighbors" what they need, you will receive exactly what you need without asking.
"Thank you" goes a loooong way.,
I have created real friendships with people I have never, nor probably will ever meet. They have not seen anything but a face shot. Well, that and some God-awful vacation pics from 1970, They like me. Goofy, Moody, Smart, Compassionate, ME.
So, Social Networking has much to offer, you see. Of course Mark Zuckerburg knew that years ago...where was I when he was drunkenly "Facemashing"? Oh that's right.,..I had a real life!
For instance, you do not have to know someone physically or personally to feel their anguish or joy. And something as simple as clicking the work "Like" or adding a simple wish can uplift a person halfway around the world. When you do know the "friend" from school or long lost job, you will find that you are now quite similar, as life's journeys take us all in a similar direction. The high school "clique" no longer exists. You become fellow parents, business persons, divorcees, widowers. The co-workers have gone through their own trials and now understand your struggles as their own.
Diseases become more familiar to more people. I have, as I've mentioned before, Fibromyalgia (among other health delights) and the word that put a quizzical look on the face of locals, is suddenly common and acceptable. We are not alone. Nor are sufferers of countless other ailments. The "new" term "invisible disease" is common on Facebook. It encompasses countless diseases that don't show, outwardly, to most people. We, the sufferers support each other. Our pain. Our frustrations with ignorance, insensitivity, and simple unwillingness to learn.
As a disabled sufferer, I find myself with alot of time on my hands each day. I do whatever house chore my pain and fatigue allows for the day, do some stretches....then what. Well, what do ya know...? Facebook has games. Thousands of games. The first game I got really caught up in was FarmTown. It seems a lifetime ago. As I became more involved (yes, we'll call it involved), I learned some simple things:
If you help your neighbor, they will gladly help you.
Gladly accept any help you are offered, whether you need it or not. Taking time out of one's day to gift is generous.
If you don't get what you expected , do not have a temper tantrum and demand to get what you want or be "unfriended". Generally speaking, anyone that acts like that hasn't many friends in the first place. (See First Grade Handbook.)
If you spend much of your time giving "neighbors" what they need, you will receive exactly what you need without asking.
"Thank you" goes a loooong way.,
I have created real friendships with people I have never, nor probably will ever meet. They have not seen anything but a face shot. Well, that and some God-awful vacation pics from 1970, They like me. Goofy, Moody, Smart, Compassionate, ME.
So, Social Networking has much to offer, you see. Of course Mark Zuckerburg knew that years ago...where was I when he was drunkenly "Facemashing"? Oh that's right.,..I had a real life!
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