I Smell A Struggle

"Improve Brain Health – A study conducted in 2003 discovered that drinking whiskey reduces your risk of Alzheimer’s and dementia. If you’re worried that your brain is slowing down in your old age, it’s time to start drinking whiskey to protect your very important organ from damage." - 10 Health Benefits of Whiskey


I've been awful concerned over the state of my brain cells the last two weeks.  I'm used to having a jinxed day that makes me want to hide from the world.  The type of day where the fumbling, blathering, and foolishness compounds until I know I just need to go to bed and reset my brain cells to start over.  But recently, I have started to wonder if there's something wrong between my ears.  Perhaps it's early onset Alzheimer's.  A touch of dementia, maybe.  Could be, during that plague, the fever fried enough brain cells to make a difference.  Or there's always the possibility I'm suffering multitudes of mini strokes, slowly killing off my wits until I'm left a blubbering fool in a corner.

Life is no more stressful than normal.  I'm still chill as a penguin, cool as a kitty cat, cruising along in my oblivious way, brushing off anything that tries to poke me with annoyances, getting the pissy pants out of my system as soon as I feel it starting to weigh me down.  I cannot blame a major catastrophic event, or even a piling up of chores or daily reminders.  Life continues to chug along as it always has.  I can not blame being busy, as I have removed the term "busy" from my life. 

The "death of a shopaholic" could be blamed.  I am still shopping-free, other than needs.  I ordered jeans for my son, new sheets for the bed, bought groceries, gas, and the normal household staples.  No shopping trips, or frivolous perusings of a sale or thrift store.  I'd love to say it has had a negative impact on my ability to think, but it HAS only been a couple of weeks, and there really is no scientific data to back up that particular thought process.  And if I'm going to be honest with myself, I DID order that shirt for $9, prompting a purge of closets that resulted in four good sized totes and bags being removed from just one room.  I'm removing far more than I'm bringing in, and I seem to be ok with that.  Ok enough that it can't possibly be contributing to my brain dead, fumbling oaf factor.

I have forgotten how to walk.  I'm tripping, stumbling, shuffling, and sometimes, my foot just won't lift and I even end up lurching.  It's comical to watch, and I find myself laughing quite a bit.  So not only do I look like a complete klutz, but a klutz without a hold on reality who randomly laughs at nothing.  Sometimes, I think I'm just feeling like I'm tripping, but I'm not actually tripping, so then I really AM laughing at nothing, which then must make me really look like a fool.  However, judging by my hair, I obviously don't concern myself with looking like a fool.

I have completely forgotten how to speak.  Words will be in my brain, flashing in big neon pink letters (always pink, and I don't know why), yet they won't come out of my mouth.  Instead, there will be a blah, blah, blah, or uh, uh, uh, waving my arms around as if I can somehow grab the word from mid air.  Sometimes, the word never comes, and I'm forced to use "thing", or "doohickey", or even better, "whatchamajigger".  Even better, the word will come to me when it no longer matters one iota, yet my brain feels obligated to blurt it out, making me look like a confused old fool.  This little tendency, which seemed to really rear its ugly head last week, made me think of Googling how early dementia can show up in a person.  I may have grey hairs hiding in the obnoxious streaks, but I'm really not old enough to start planning on my entry to the Alzheimer's unit, right?  However, I was comforted, when after nearly two weeks of this babbling, or lack of babbling, I heard someone younger than me do the same thing.  I don't know if she does it as frequently as I seem to be, but it was a small moment of comfort knowing I am not alone.

As is obvious in the post, I can apparently type without a hitch, so perhaps it is a sign that I should just shut my big fat mouth and type more.  Or just become a mute.

Every day chores and actions seem to slip away.  I have even fumbled making espresso.  I could say that's due to the early hour in which I'm making it, but this is really one of those things that typically I feel I could do in my sleep.  I finally arrived home at a decent hour tonight, and was so eager to get those new sheets on my bed, but that fitted sheet was a STRUGGLE.  I felt like the smoke of my brain cells burning away must have been emitting from my ears, because I turned that sheet around THREE times before it seemed to fit on the mattress correctly.  And considering a mattress is equal measure on at least two sides, I should have accomplished that task within two tries.  But NOOOO...there is something wrong with my brain, and it took three tries before I was able to get a fitted sheet on my bed.

I have poked my eyeballs with mascara wands, gotten a scarf stuck in my jeans zipper, slipped on the floor and nearly did the splits in front of a toilet, dropped a takeout container (in slow motion just staring at it with my mouth hanging open), struggled to bag up purchases, had to count back change out loud because in my head it doesn't seem to add up, and the list goes on, and on, and on.  I have gotten so used to muttering "Such is my life" that I don't even notice saying it anymore.  I have frequently found myself standing somewhere, wondering why, knowing there was something I was going to do, but in the span of 30 seconds somehow forgot.  That's pretty typical, but when it happens over and over and over again for days in a row, I start to question whether I should go get a brain scan done.  In fact, I even offered to go get one, after a particularly brain dead day last week.

It has even started to leak into my interactions with people.  I'm typically able to make people laugh, find the humor in a difficult situation, and make light of situations to cheer people up.  However, the last two weeks, I have started to wonder if maybe my thoughts are in English in my head, but once they come out of my mouth, they are gobbledigook, and that would explain why I am met with silence, a dead stare, or as if I have said nothing at all.  Were it not for all the other bumbling moments of my life the last two weeks, I'd say the winter blahs have set in, and people are particularly more ornery than usual.  But when you add in all the blathering, fumbling moments, maybe it really IS my brain rejecting normal thought processes.

And then, the answer came to me.  The last two weeks, I've been choosing to do things outside of pouring that delicious little frosty cold beverage.  I have been alcohol free (except for that cheap whine I cracked open in the middle of the day on Monday) for two weeks.  No Jack Daniels.  I've bought the Coke, but ended up letting my teenager drink it, because I wasn't including cocktail time in my daily activities.

So today, after continued ramblings and stumbles, I promised myself it was Happy Hour when I arrived home.  I had nothing else on the schedule, except a changing of sheets, and I was going to enjoy a tasty little beverage to restore the brain damage I have done by....by....OH SHIT, IT HAPPENED.

*gulps down a few more swallows*

The brain damage I have done by abstaining from Jack Daniels.  ABSTAINING.

The proof will be in tomorrow's activities.  Depending upon the number of drinks, of course.

Such is my life.

"NO"...Said No One Ever

I'll be lucky to get this typed out and saved before my computer emits smoke and starts making a horrendous screeching noise.  No, it's not the computer...it's that damn internet connection, which apparently does not like snow.

Whatever, ya bastard.

However, what I really want to rant and rave about, or at least get on my high horse/unicorn named Charlie, is a parenting struggle I witness nearly every day.

The inability, or unwillingness, to just say NO.

When did NO become the dirty word of the day? 

I'm not going to venture a guess that in this world of whining, pissing, moaning, and channeling our inner Eeyore that we've removed the word NO from our vocabulary.  But it sure is in short supply where dealing with children are concerned, and I have to ponder why.  Because I like to ponder such inane bullshit...it passes the time while the snow that was supposed to be gone continues to fall.

Obviously, since I do not have an open door policy to every rugrat on the block, I am witness to this anti-NO campaign while I am out in public.  Being a parent of older children, and a professional user of the word NO, I bemoan it's absence in my daily struggles of looking socially acceptable with a smile on my face.  Instead, I am witness to ignoring, cajoling, rationalizing, cooing, coddling, and yes, even whining.  But not the dreaded word NO.

There are several types of the anti-NO campaigners.  Allow me to share my completely useless observations, and of course, feel free to see if any of these seem familiar to you.  Perhaps, without even realizing it, you are part of the anti-NO movement.  There's t-shirts available, should you decide to proclaim your solidarity.

1.  The IGNORER:  I'd call it the oblivious, but no one can be oblivious to junior's antics when he decides to climb clothing racks.  Or enter store rooms.  Or stand on chairs.  Crawl on the floor under the men's jeans.  Wander into a lower level, or better yet, on a sunny day, completely out of the store and into the street.  I don't know what's going through the Ignorer's brain.  Possibly the three Xanax they popped at 8AM with the whiskey spiked coffee?  But I can assure you, I have had to alert plenty an Ignorer to their child's antics.  Even when said child is screeching at full volume while using clothing racks as monkey bars.  The entire downtown can hear the child, but the Ignorer apparently can not.  The Ignorer just continues to shop, and when I have to finally say something, they act as if I've thrown ice cubes down their shirt and exclaim their shock over the banshee wailing and romping that has gone on right under their nose.  But do the say NO?  *hysterical laughter*  Well, they do usually say things like "those ladies are going to get mad at you if you don't stop".  Because god forbid Junior have any notion of mom getting mad.  Oh hell no, mommy loves you, you precious wee snowflake, perfect spawn of my loins.  Mommy would NEVER put such negativity on your fragile, developing ego, because Mommy is the good guy.  Mommy is going to blame the store employees for ruining your fun.

Sigh.

2.  The THERAPIST:  This one is fun to watch.  As the little urchin plays, touches, grabs, and wanders, mommy is reciting a litany of gentle encouragement and guidance.  Sounds lovely, doesn't it?    However, urchin (and it's always singular, usually moms of more than one can't achieve this talent), is usually grabbing heavy crystal, wildly spinning the jewelry display, grabbing whatever colorful or sparkling wonder catches their eye.  Meanwhile, mom coos "now we just look, and don't touch" repeatedly.  Occasionally, the Therapist will mix it up a bit and throw in a "yes, just looking with mommy" like it's a team effort.  However, while urchin continues to handle merchandise far beyond their years, merchandise that mom will have no intention of paying for should said urchin drop that 5 pound cut crystal bowl, mom is actually doing her own shopping, content to know that her brilliant little urchin is turning into a savvy shopper like herself. 

Another version of the Therapist will stop shopping all together, while she watches her urchin play.  Because it's not like she's in a store or anything.  There is, after all, things for her urchin to play with, so instead of shopping, Mommy will stand in the middle of the store and just watch urchin have a play date with store employees.  Store employees are a tad busy working and actually waiting on customers who don't have urchin playtime foremost in their mind, but that's ok.  Because if Mommy removes urchin from what they are playing with, urchin might scream.  And we can't have screaming, because that might be an indicator that Mommy is not nominated for that year's #1 Mom award.  Standing awkwardly, Mommy Therapist will occasionally softly remind urchin that it's time to leave, however, urchin, having been to this rodeo before, knows if they continue to just play, Mommy will stay rooted in her awkward-spot, sweating out how to get urchin out of the store without a whimper.  But no matter how long it takes, Mommy will NOT say NO.

3.  The RATIONALIZER:  This is when Therapist Mom turns into Rationalizing Mom.  When all other options have failed, she will string out a speech worthy of a psychiatrist's couch.  Rationalizing Mom will finally leave her post of just viewing the child, and sit down to have a heart to heart.  It will go on for several minutes, many times, longer, and include every reason under the sun why they need their little dear heart to follow them out of the store.  These reasons will include a list of the errands Mommy still has to run, throwing in bonuses like being able to use the special cart at the grocery store, or going to get ice cream.  Because it takes a trip to the ice cream shop to get her child to cooperate.  Simply picking up the child and carrying them out the door isn't acceptable, because their child may create a scene and make someone report her to the Bestmommybrigade.  It's better to let the child understand the schedule you need to adhere to, and the importance of getting to the shoe store.  Because every child really cares about the shoe store, and that line of reasoning will certainly work.  Time management, after all, is something every toddler understands and can commiserate over.

4.  The WHINER:  The Whiner usually begins the moment she enters the door.  Typically, she's following a mini-whiner who has taken off at a dead sprint upon entering.  Mini-whiner can be heard stomping and pounding through the store, because mini-whiners tend to also be mini-clompers, who have somehow learned in their short lifespan that feet should come down as hard as possible whenever in motion.  Mini-whiner will then proceed to scavenge for purchases throughout the store, while Mommy Whiner goes her own way, doing her own shopping.  And exchange across aisles begins, with mini-whiner making noise as they get into areas they should not, touching things not meant for little hands, the sounds of packages opening and items dropping echoing through the store.  Mini-whiner typically will be whining for whatever item they are destroying, while Mommy Whiner calls out in a high pitched careening voice, asking them what they are getting into.  It is a constant line of questioning, with no obvious wish for an answer.  Perhaps the Mommy Whiner uses this technique as a locator for the child.  As long as the whining continues between the two, she feels she is remaining in contact with her child and sees it as some form of "watching" over them.  Though when the child goes silent (never a good sign), Mommy Whiner tends not to notice, and still continues the wheedling tone of asking the child what they have found, never noticing they are no longer answering.  But the dreaded word NO is never uttered.  She'll even occasionally throw out a "if you aren't good, I won't be buying you anything", however, 99.95% of the time, regardless of mini-whiner's antics, there are things bought for the delightful little creature.

If you've recognized any of the above listed anti-NO behaviors, I'm going to clue you in on something.  As a fellow mother, I've been there, done that.  I've had the kid playing in areas they shouldn't.  I had the child that wandered off.  The sticky fingered thief in the making who thought he could help himself to every last thing in the place.  The child strung out on pixie sticks who was a perfect angel in the car, but bounced off the walls the moment I walked into a place of business.  Now, I am the older mom, still occasionally struggling with inappropriate public behavior, but my use of the word NO is perfected.  I have had fit throwers, and not just the whining that we have all dealt with, but the flow blown, uncontrolled, laying on the floor while flailing about in seizure like movements type of meltdown.  And yes, it was embarrassing.  However, I still said NO.  Occasionally, there were trips to a bathroom, or out to the car, where a private little "chat" happened, and if junior got their shit under control, we re-entered the store.  Sometimes, we didn't re-enter.  And yes, there were things I NEEDED to get, but short of standing in line at a pharmacy or quickly grabbing the four pack of toilet paper because I was left with one square plastered to the tube at home, there was never anything that required me subjecting the world to the heinous acts of one of my offspring.  Sometimes, it meant a time out in the car (for both of us) that  took twice as long as the shopping would have, but those little bastards learned that I will say NO.  And mean it.  And sometimes, the "why" was BECAUSE I SAID SO.

It's OK to say NO.  Let them whine, throw their fit, and haul their asses out kicking and screaming when you're ready to go.  I'll sympathize.  I'll be thankful those days are over.  I get it.  I did it.

What's NOT ok is the anti-NO movement.  Because you're raising an entitled shit who knows that they are in control and they call the shots.  And imagine what kind of adult that creates.  The kind of adult often referred to as a colossal asshole.  The eternal fuckup.  The aimless drifter because mommy isn't holding their hand letting them do whatever willy nilly they could possibly desire.  The name you see and think "they never quite got their shit together".

So c'mon now.  It's a small word.  One syllable.  And it works.  As long as YOU work at it.

Nnnnnnnnn

Oooooooo

NO.

Thanks for the ride, Charlie.

Death of a Shopaholic

I had these big ambitions to purge today.

Had.

I even had a mental picture.  Though admittedly, most of my thoughts come with mental pictures and mini movies running through my head of how things will be.

They're usually in the fantasy genre.

Because I was able to immediately think of a handful things that were no longer wanted, my brain somehow believed that meant a massive purge of belongings was going to happen.  However, when I made my way through closets, still only grasping the handful of things I had originally thought of, I began to see that I am a daydreamer.  By the time I made it to the jewelry, I was cackling like a madwoman, and the three necklaces that have made their way into my tote may not actually make it all the way to the store to be sold.

Have I finally made it to that stage in life where I actually LIKE everything I own?  My eyes scan the rooms of the house, and even with all the love for shopping, I can't imagine taking something off a wall and replacing it.  I may look like a candle hoarder with all the holders and stands placed throughout the house, but I LOVE my candles, and not a single one feels out of place or as if it does not belong.  Short of finding a comfy chair for a corner, I am content to wait a few years for new furniture.  After all, though the couch looks like it's seen better days, it's at that comfy, broken in point of knowing exactly how to welcome you into curling up with a good book.

However, if I am happy with the contents of closets, and the various items making this house a home, that really means I should stop shopping.  There, after all, is no reason to, right?

So, perhaps, this is the year to put shopping on the back burner.  Part of me wants to laugh hysterically at such a notion, but the reasonable adult in me realizes there just is not much reason to spend hours walking through stores when I don't NEED anything.

Off the top of my head, I can think of several items that it wouldn't hurt to buy.  New bath towels.  New sheets.  Paint.  And more paint.  Lots of paint.  I have several mental projects beginning to form for the coming year, so I suppose I could train a shopaholic brain to start focusing on using my time for painting, digging, and building instead of acquiring.

I'm scared.

I've never NOT shopped.  I hear the call of a sale from 100 miles away.  Shopping has become a way of relaxation.  Can it be possible for me to spend a day out with a shopping partner and merely enjoy looking at things and not buying them?  Does such a thing exist?

It may be that my mind is working too hard after a pitiful attempt to purge.  It could be procrastination of doing the weekly meal planning and making a grocery list.  Perhaps it's just an elaborate way to avoid laundry.

But there is a little voice in the back of head telling me that if I can't (or won't) purge, then maybe it's time to start focusing on other things.  Maybe that's easy to say because I missed this month's $1 sale at Goodwill.

I may be retiring the shopaholic in me.  Will she come out of retirement?  Stay tuned, and find out. 

Are You Grateful?

I have a full day and evening to attend to, so now that the espresso has been inhaled, I will limber up the fingers with a frenetic typing pace and feel like I've kept my goal of writing more.

Today is about gratitudes.  I should do them daily, as another friend is doing on her blog, but the snark likes to come out and play too much to devote every day to being grateful.

Not to say I don't find things that I am grateful for each day.  It may not run through my head as a "I'm thankful for that", but I allow the dark twisted corners of my brain a warm fuzzy at least once, if not ten times, per day.

So, to begin, I'm grateful for this shit speed internet connection that saves me money by cancelling the Hulu that never works, but allows me to type out a list of gratitudes to share with the world.

I'm grateful for teens.  Not those crotchfruit I brought into the world, but the temperatures.  You know you live in an arctic blast zone when 18 degrees feels warm.  18 degrees makes you take your gloves off for that smoke break outside.  18 degrees makes your bare fingers cold instead of your gloved fingers numb. 

On the same note, I am grateful for those other teens.  Though I'm now in the stage of just one teen, since the other is an adult.  An adult who called to tell me about her classes, then talked about the errands she was running before going home to clean.  For all the bobby pins she left in her wake, she may perhaps actual be engaging in adult behavior as well.   And the teen brightened my evening by shoving a crusty roll in my face insisting he share it with me.  Not just handing it over type of shoving, but literally crushing it into my face and then throwing a large chunk of it into the leftover soup to insist that we share that last, delicious roll.

I'm thankful for the leftover soup, because work lunch just got easy as hell.  And delicious to boot.

I'm grateful for the Big Sexy Hair product line that makes an easy haircut even easier.  I'm thankful it washes out easily since my hair is shellacked and frozen daily.

I'm thankful for a spouse that knows what getting back to "normal" means to me.  He understands routine and the glory of it.

I appreciate something as small as going to see a movie.  In a large space, amongst other people.  Theater popcorn.  Knowing dinner will be out of the house tonight, and no cooking or cleaning will need to happen after work in an empty house.

I'm grateful for that heating vent just under the kitchen sink.  It is the perfect spot to set my shoes for the day to preheat them.  Mmmmm...toasty toes.

I'm thankful for the end of term in high school so the trend of grade nagging can start over from scratch.

I'm immensely grateful to work a job that I call my paid hobby.  For all its headaches, it sure is fun.  Even on the worst of days, there's something to laugh about.  Like a loon.  While weeping uncontrollably.

I'm grateful for temperatures inching their way toward 30 this week.  I may get that preheated beast into the car wash.  Parking on the street at work means a driver's side that looks like Old Man Winter puked violently the length of the truck.

I'm thankful I paid attention in English and Government class in high school.  So when I see the endless (and fruitless) rantings of people complaining about a visit from our President, I can realize how incredibly mired in negativity and blame they are, without fully understanding how the office of the President actually works.  While misspelling, and withholding as much punctuation as possible.  I can then see that our focus definitely needs to be on education.  It's reaching critical levels, as someday, these people may be in charge of making decisions about our future.  But they think "heard" is spelled "herd".  I'm frightened.  Or entertained.  I can't decide which.

I'm grateful for speakers.  And a large playlist.  Opera or Nine Inch Nails?  It really depends on what stage of getting ready in the morning I happen to be at.

I'm sure I could keep going, because once you start thinking of everything you are grateful for, it just comes pouring out.  Funny, how that works.  However, I must finish getting ready for that paid hobby, and take care of a few things since I will be partaking in a social event this evening. 

So, take a brief moment, and come up with your gratitudes.  Trust me, you'll be thankful you did.  *giggle*

Glorified Busy

"I don't have the time."

I call BULLSHIT.

"Busy" is a four letter word.  And we looooove to use it.  It gives our lives great importance and fulfillment.  With all this "busy" wrapped up into each day, we MUST be accomplished and achieving great things, right?  Life is much more IMPORTANT when we are constantly "busy".

What a bunch of crap.

I am guilty of it myself.  This glorification of busy.  It's a term I use, and yes, there are days, so many days, when I feel "busy".  And I need to just STOP.  Not stop filling my days with productive work.  Not stop spending every moment going, going, going.  No, I can make the choice to continue with my "busy" life.  However, I WILL stop calling it "busy".

Today, I chose to go to work.  Yes, it's an obligation I'm fulfilling.  A responsibility.  But I've CHOSEN to do it.  I've chosen to work 30-40 hours a week.  The circumstances of my choices, such as wanting spending money, getting out of the house, enjoying what I do, really, do not matter.  I've worked the careers that are not as enjoyable.  I made that choice at that time, as well. 

I also chose to come home and make soup.  From scratch.  It involves dicing, shredding, and chopping.  I have leftover soup in the fridge, but I chose this soup because it I love it and want it.  I am the only person in the house this evening, so it would be an easy decision to choose not to busy myself with a homemade soup, but I chose otherwise.

I have berries in the refrigerator.  Blueberries, blackberries, raspberries.  They were initially bought for smoothies, but as time progresses and no smoothies are made, I choose to use them for something else.    I have chosen not to make smoothies in the morning, so I can use that extra time to make an additional cup of espresso.  Either could make my morning prior to work busy, but I have chosen which chore I prefer in ignoring the berries.  So instead, after soup is made, I will make a berry cobbler.  I choose to busy myself with that particular chore, after already busying myself with making a soup from scratch.

I will then clean up after all this cooking, because I choose to have a semi-clean kitchen tonight.  I will scoop the cat litter and feed the FatBastard, because I choose to fulfill an obligation to a pet instead of waiting for my son to come home to do it.

I will then make the choice to shower and read a book, because I love reading as my relaxation time.  Tonight, because I've chosen to do more cooking than usual, that reading will involve less time, but it is not busy time.  It's my choice of how I'm using my time.

See where I'm going with this?

The overuse of the word "busy" is annoying as hell.  I am guilty of it, and it makes me want to slap myself into reality.

The reality is, I have the same 24 hours the billions of other humans on this earth do.  And I am free to make choices to fill every moment of the day, or to let things slide.  Yes, reality also states that letting things slide for too long can eat up too much time at a later date.  But let's stop glorifying our schedules for a moment and call it like it is.

I can choose every single day where I want my priorities to lay.  Tonight especially, my priorities are obviously on delicious food.  (And that delicious Jack and Coke I poured while whisking up a roux.)  I choose to fill my day with obligations, responsibilities, chores, and enjoyments.  I can choose to ignore things...like the fact that something has dripped in the oven so now it puts off a burning smell when I run it.  I will choose to ignore that burning smell as I bake a berry cobbler.

Even if my day and evening were filled with choices that are not so pleasant, it is still on my shoulders that I made those choices that day.  It is my choice to prioritize what is important to me.

And that's where this glorification of busy really begins.  Priorities.  Where do my priorities lie?  It is not due to circumstance and outside factors.  There is very little that happens in life to prevent me from prioritizing.  And all "busy" is, is a statement to the world of where my priorities lie.  Some days, it's my children.  Other days, my husband.  It is occasionally my family, my friends, my job, my house.  But I own all those choices.  I am realistic enough to know that prioritizing some things, means putting others on the back burner.  But I also have lived long enough in this world to know that I must aim to balance all those things in order to feel that I have achieved my version of peace.  And not every day will be balanced.  And I can accept that.

However, that does NOT mean I'm "busy".

I simply have chosen not to prioritize something.

And if I let something not be the priority for too long, I also accept there are consequences.

And I don't blame "busy" for it.

So stop always talking about how "busy" you are.  There's really no need for it in our world, as we all have that same 24 hours the rest of the planet does.  You aren't busy.  You've just chosen to prioritize in a way that either makes you feel stressed, overworked, overscheduled, or over-important.  Own up to your choices.  Don't apologize for them.  Learn from them.  Balance them.

So, the next time you stop, feeling flustered and overworked, ask yourself, what are your priorities?  And where do you need to give?  There's always give, if you just let go of "busy" for one moment.  Because at the end of the day, at the end of this wonderful run of life, "busy" doesn't mean jack shit.

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FREEEEEEEDOM!!!! 

Doing my best Mel Gibson/Braveheart imitation there.

I'm alone.  Only because there is a boy child out in the garage playing with a welder.

Mom of the year.

Hubby is recuperated enough to get back on the road.  Dear sweet man that he is.

When you are used to having five days a week alone, a three week stretch of a second male in the house can start to make your eye twitch.  Granted, there were the up sides, like asking him to pick up groceries for me, or taking care of cleaning chores while I was at work.  And the pipes DID freeze, leaving him to deal with that headache all day while I was behind locked doors at the store stocking and playing. 

But routine was disrupted.  Loud music could not be played.  Curtains were closed, blocking the sun.  Throw pillows were drooled on.  Dirty spoons were left on the counter next to the sink.  I tripped over shoes. 

But the man kept my supply of Coca Cola going for the Jack, so he's obviously a keeper.

More TV was watched than normal, and in this house, that means your choice of what's on Netflix, Amazon, or Hulu.  And hubby discovered quickly how incredibly craptastic our DSL service is.  There were occasions, when it felt like the good old days of dial up were quicker than what we had.  I started seeing "Loading...Please Wait" more than any program or movie were were attempting to watch.  It became commonplace to just give up and go read a book, which in my head, is always a winning situation anyway.  However, occasionally, I was actually interested in what was being watched, and the "Loading...Please Wait" became the giant fuck you of the day.

I got a Kindle Fire for Christmas, and may attempt to watch something on it.  I haven't used it for much more than Facebook and reading books, which kind of defeats the purpose of a Fire, so perhaps I will enjoy some interruption free viewing on it.  Especially now that I have a living room couch to myself, and nothing but piles of laundry facing my day.

As I was perusing Facebook this morning, I saw our President is making a stop in an area town to discuss making high speed internet available everywhere.  I found this funny, considering the movie I had just given up on last night.  The interruptions were so frequent, I began timing them for entertainment.  I'd get two minutes of watching and three minutes of loading, so that the 90+ minutes I was facing could easily have turned into an all nighter.  And it occurred to me...if the man is concerned about high speed internet, especially in rural areas, he might want to come hang out at my house.  We will pick a nice program on Hulu and watch that sucker jump, freeze, and have seizures for 40 minutes.  Then we can discuss high speed internet.  But alas, he has chosen a town that has some of the highest speed internet you'll ever see.  What is a gigabit, anyway?

So that's my deep thought of the day.  Internet speed.  And, I suppose, the fact that I'm the cheap fucker who refuses to pay for satellite service, internet or TV.  I have the opportunity for these deep thoughts, because once again, I'm alone in the house.  At least until my son burns down the garage.

Time to Pay

I am enjoying my first "normal" morning in over three weeks.  Round two of espresso sits steaming in front of me, my favorite playlist is blasting from the speakers, and I find myself A-L-O-N-E.

Alone.  What a glorious word.  I'm sure there are some, who perhaps love to wallow in misery, would find such a statement horrendous and inconceivable.  But, considering the state of my affairs, I am embracing this solitude, and were it a physical thing, I would wrap my arms around it and squeeze the shit out it and never let go.

I NEED my solitude.  That moment of turning up the volume because there's no one else to care (other than a FatBastard lounging somewhere in this ice box of a house).  And when I don't have that solitude, when the house bustles with activity, I tend to go slightly insane.  I don't even notice the insanity slowly creeping up on me, until I start waking in the morning with that dull, familiar ache in my face.  The sore spots, just to the front of my ears.  The incessant clenching of the jaw that I am not even aware I do, until my face is aching like a dull throbbing tooth.  Thankfully, I don't grind my teeth, just a constant clench that results in an ache eerily similar to a too long session in a dentist chair.

The holidays brought a girl child home.  Though at 20, I suppose I cannot call her a child anymore.  But does a grown woman actually leave bobby pins in the shower?  Does an adult borrow her mother's super duper (and expensive) hairspray and then leave it in her room?  Would a grown woman actually let her mother search every basket, cubby, and hidey hole in the bathroom looking for said hairspray while she sleeps the peaceful slumber of the innocent?

On the flipside, I enjoyed having another female in the house again, because being outnumbered can wear on a person.  She was my partner in trashy TV, overruling the need for movies that involve machetes, wannabe cowgirls, and fast cars.  She gave me a "look" each time we heard a strange noise emitting from the boy cave, and was my partner in the rolling of the eyes.

Now, with her gone, I'm left with a scattering of bobby pins, and an ever growing accumulation of boy mess.

I suppose the mess is not helped by my lack of participation in all things considered "home".  There was absolutely no Suzy Homemaker to be found through my bout with that lovely plague that invaded, and by the time I started to feel even vaguely human, it was time to dive head first into a work obsession like no other.  As long as the espresso beans kept flowing, I was considering my job at home complete.  No laundry has been touched, my refrigerator is a condiment buffet, and Christmas decorations still sparkle in every corner.

Though the sparkle is dulled by the accumulating dust.

So, in my solitude this morning, I see the bins sitting near the back door.

The Christmas bins.

Waiting to be filled.

Sigh.

After five days of purge and rebirth at the store, I am in a purge state of mind.  A state of mind that says TOSS IT ALL.  Start over from scratch.  Which is of course, ludicrous considering the deep love affair I have with so much of my Christmas decorations.  But it doesn't even stop at the Christmas decor.  I look around and think maybe minimalist is the way to go.  After all, do I really need a collection of candles and candle holders that could light up the entire six square blocks of this town?  The faux flowers in vases are nothing more than collectors of dust and cobwebs, and considering my aversion to dusting, it's pretty silly that I hang on to such things.

I know it's just the whiner in me, because once I start getting all things holly jolly stored away, I will relish putting my house back together to it's original state.  But considering the arctic blast zone going on outside, I may just leave a few sparkly things in place.

I'll know when I start.  Which doesn't appear to be happening any time soon.  Because goddammit, I finally have some solitude, and it seems such a waste to blow these hours actually doing something akin to work.

Rudolph is mocking me.  Cheeky little bastard.  Maybe I'll brave the elements and punt his ass out the door.

Maybe I'll just continue to sit my ass on this chair enjoying that quickly cooling cup of dark, silky goodness.

I could light a match and burn it all.  At least I'd be warm.

Have I mentioned I'm allergic to fake pine?  Yup, I need to go find my long gloves just so I can carefully take every last stupid ornament off the tree.  Unless I'd like to look like I have welts up to my shoulders.

Burn it.

Burn it all.

Perhaps some Nine Inch Nails will be the proper motivational music to get this chore underway.

Perhaps I should stop rambling like a fool on this blog and find out.

Perhaps.

Starting Fresh

A new beginning.  A fresh start.  An untouched page on a brand new calendar.  Exciting, isn't it?  The endless possibilities for the year are just waiting for me to grab them.

I'm not a resolution maker.  I never have been.  However, I love the start of a new year.  Something about filling in the desk calendar, turning those pages writing in the notes and reminders I already have for the coming months just seems to build the anticipation for what's to come.

Fortunately, the new desk calendar came early this year.  Because I was not aware of the New Year holiday.  Even today, when we're seven days into the year, I'm still having to look at the calendar to determine what date to write.

The blur of the holidays ended and in my endless planning and organizing, I made mental notes to scrap and toss several preparations that after the fact, seemed to be time sucking joy stealers.  It was a lovely holiday, but I was also glad to close the chapter because I was just so stinking tired.  Perhaps it was a hint of what was approaching.

The flu.

I've managed to escape any illnesses for a few years now.  I've had the occasional cold, or my ever present migraines have popped up, but actually being down and out is a distant memory.

Well, no more.  By New Year's Eve, I was wrapped in blankets wondering what my name was.  New Year's Day became the day that disappeared, because I have no recollection of it.  I actually called in sick to work which does not happen often in my world, especially with one of our busiest times of the year happening.  I actually considered that maybe I'd get alot of reading done while trapped in a house with a box of Kleenex and then the fever hit, crushing any thoughts of any kind from my brain.

It's a bastard of a virus.

A week into the new year and I'm human again.  Just in time for our fantastically wild sale and restocking of our store.  And lucky me, I find out exactly how much energy that flu zapped from my body when I try to do the normal things.  The typical hauling and moving things around leaves me feeling like I tried to stop a train on it's tracks.  No amount of sleep seems like quite enough, and the usual fits of giggles and laughter make me hack up a lung.

I am a fantastically bitchy and petulant sick person.  Not only does it make me occasionally feel like gouging someone's eyes out, but I also ignore my body and give it a big ol' fuck you and try to make it do what it's normally capable of doing.  And then suffer for it.

So I come home exhausted, to the sick husband.  The sick daughter (who started this little in home epidemic) has left for college again.  The teenage son is the miracle boy who doesn't even have the slightest sniffle.  The house becomes messier.  The Christmas decorations, including a monster tree, still sit.  Mocking me.  Taunting my lack of progress.  Reminding me that 2015 has started with me not having my shit together.

And as the flu makes it's exit, the polar vortex arrives.  Negative temperatures.  Wind chills diving it even further into temperatures that are just inhuman.  Bitter cold becomes a normal conversational phrase.  The drive to work slows down as the roads cover.  Layers upon layers of clothing just to shovel snow while freezing the snot in your nose becomes one of the early morning joys I enjoy.  School cancels.  Work does not.

Piss off 2015.  Just piss off and die.

So, having purged that, there is the bright side.   The little peek of sunshine blinding off the fields of snow.  The rays of happiness that give warmth to the days.

A full propane tank, since the furnace runs non stop to stay ahead of the -30 just outside the windows.

A nose that has stopped peeling, because I've stopped (mostly) blowing.

A mattress heater.  Preheated ovens are fantastic, but a preheated bed is beyond anything you've ever imagined.

Snow shovels.  Shoveling snow while the sun rises will wake you up more than any cup of espresso.

Restocking the store.  All the pretty things.  The bright colors of spring.  Starting fresh and new.

A husband home sick.  So if the pipes freeze, he gets to deal with it.  I've had more than my share of frozen pipes, and it's his turn.

Remote start.  The best part of winter.  Along with the heated seats.  It may be so cold that it feels like my glasses have frozen to my face, but once I'm in the vehicle, it's almost as good as the preheated bed.

Weather so atrocious that you can do nothing but read books.  And more books.  And more books.

So, ending on a high note, there are positives.  I have to search high and low for them right now, but they are there, waiting to be embraced.  I suppose I also should admit that I've been inspired by a fellow blogger who has set a goal to write more.  I had considered tossing this blog, especially when thinking of all the reading I could do instead.  However, there is something therapeutic in writing, and of course, it limbers up the fingers that are half frozen as I drink my cup of quickly cooled espresso this morning.  Perhaps we can motivate each other.

Embrace the new year.  Look for the positives.  It's a resolution worth making.