"Yes", the doctor opined, "She probably could benefit from medication." "Oh, fiffle!", said she!

 

"As I was going out of my umble-jumper

I met a reerock toting away

my randy pipe.

I swore by my fit-ma-fat

If I had my tit-ma-tat

I'd make that reerock throw down my randypipe!!"

 

 

(as told to me by Marie Banks of Pollocksville NC many years ago.)

I'm Just Wondering; Probably Wandering too!

My hair has been cut short and I am letting it go gray. My hair is summertime short today because a beautician, who shall remain unnamed, got happy with the scissors. I was watching her clip and snip.  I had a thought or two about the progress but, hell, I don't know her job and my hair will grow.

 Here's the thing, looking at myself in the bathroom mirror tonight, wearing a wife-beater t-shirt, tattoo on my right arm, hair cropped short, well, I think I look butch. Not just gay but butch gay. I have put on a pound or thirty so I also appear to be a bouncer for a gay bar. An old one with a beer belly and a quizzical look on her face. At least that is what I see in the mirror. I get compliments all the time on my hair and how flattering it is on me. I told someone I thought I look butch and that person laughed and laughed answering with something like this, "Girl, you are funny! You are not even close to looking butch! You are crazy, girl!" Truth to tell I did not know whether to be relieved or a tiny bit disappointed. My dramatic self thinks she is tough. The butch, grey-haired, big boned bar bouncer thing kinda fit part of me. At least the persona or the imagination of the persona intrigued me. The greater part of me, the one I take outside to walk around with, I'll call her my 'Walk around self" felt relieved although cautious. People will say anything just to have something to say.
I have an innate suspicion of folks. I believe they are not who I think they are so I smile with part of me as the "other girl" shrugs off their comments one by one. Compliments go first, opinions second. I save some comments for review later. I have a nagging feeling, born of part of me who is not quite sure if I got slapped or kissed. Ever the alcoholic who does not drink I tend to take some thoughts apart bit by bit searching for the reason to have a resentment or, if none is found, to toss that thought out with the thoughts I shed earlier.

 Am I really this complicated or self- obssessed or narcissistic? The bubble popping truth is that I am, at the end of the day, none of the above. Years of therapy place me solidly in the category of someone who takes herself too damn seriously. Just look what a glance in the mirror and a haircut became. Damn!! I sit here, in my aluminum condominium, in a trailer park, knowing I am 62 years old, overweight, tired of dying my hair, seeing the evidence of an appetite that has a hold of me and wondering and probably wandering too.

Pssst! A Word Of Caution. Don't pick up your cat when he has just been neutered and you get him at the vets! He will pee on you and the floor and your shoes. He won't mean to do it. He's just an animal. You, however, will smell to high heaven and not be welcomed in public places until you change clothes!

ARGH-H-H-H-H-H-H!!!

 

 

ARGH-H-H! I've looked everywhere for my sanity. Please return to sender. No Reward. No questions asked. I need my sanity! Honest!! Yoo! Hoo! "You there across the street! Have you seen my sanity? It's a bit tattered and may appear to be a wobbling mass of confusion. You'd know it if you saw it. What? Oh yes, my sanity will be accompanied by his large and arrogant friend named MY EGO. Try not to approach MY EGO! If you see my sanity and MY EGO please give a shout! YOO! HOO! will do nicely!" ARGH-H-H!

Ain't This Purty? (Found this as a draft and decided to publish it. I love Willie and I love this video)

Sweet, sweet music!

Where I Get Twisted Around Myself

It was bound to happen. I stopped going to meetings because (fill in any excuse the results will be the same). I worked more hours than two doctors recommended that I work. I made a habit of staying up until 2 or 3 in the a.m. In short, I took the path most chosen for quite some time now. Things went well for awhile. I was going to church and church is one of my favorite places to be and I seemed to be hanging in there through stressor after stressor. My pastor's wife had also warned me that I may benefit from following suggestions that were meant to help me. But, you see, I know too much for my own good. I, 100% of the time, will push the envelope. And, for awhile, I was o.k. I was proving to myself that I could manage just fine, thank you very much. The road ahead was rugged but nothing I couldn't handle. Then, as if by magic, the road dropped from under my feet and a great chasm opened up. I know this chasm. I have been in it before. I am not a fast learner nor am I particularly wise when it comes to my decision making. So there was the chasm and I was falling into it. Tumbling further down each day, spiraling out of control, nothing looked the same, life had taken a sudden and terrifying turn that took me over the edge at the end of road most chosen.

I became anxious, overburdened, unable to cope with the simplest of stresses, full of self-pity.

Revisited this draft of a post I began awhile back...good news...I started attending meetings and resting more and traveling the road less traveled again and I am no longer spinning out of control. Imagine that!

Assorted Stuff

Kitty is at the vet and has, by this point, lost his manhood to the knife. He was, if I say so myself, quite the manly little kitten. This did not save him from his fate though, as his hormones exhibited themselves in smells and off the wall behavior. Part of me regrets losing the hormone inspired mad rushes through the house and random attacks on one of the large cats. The larger part of me is thrilled that he will cause less odor in our home. I have named him Kitty simply because I have called him "kitty-kitty" ever since we rescued him from the outside world. He was a wee tabby wandering around the neighborhood. Plenty of spunk. Not afraid of anyone. But in need of food and shelter in the winter cold. I took him in for a "visit", fell head over heels in love with him and he became our third cat. Two adopted and one rescued from the streets AND one other wonderful feline creature who I am fostering. What a beautiful orange cat he has become and sweet as sugar. His new owners will pick him up Friday. I am happy he has a good home. I have known him since he was a kitten. My son adopted him and decided a year or so later that he could not keep him. Put him outside and...well you know the  rest of the story. I started feeding him outside and then the weather got cold and the rains came and he, Garfield, found himself in a temporary home. We cannot do four grown cats. His adoption papers are intact and the woman who runs that agency has waited patiently for good parents for this awesome creature. She found the home. I will let him go. I will cry. He is worth it.

Hubby is in the psych ward at the hospital. It is not uncommon for him to require hospitalization. His depression runs deep. Medications lose their effectiveness. He is 67 years old. Nothing seems to be working for him. I think I know ways he could help himself but I am not clinically depressed or, in his case, profoundly depressed. It is not my place to assume I know what he could do to help himself. If I had such knowledge it would be of little worth. My husband has to desire a change, be willing to accept extreme discomfort, make significant changes and, after all is said and done, there is no guarantee any of that would make a difference. I cannot conceive of what he and others like him experience on a daily basis. I am thoroughly versed on the role of a caretaker. Neither position is enviable but there is a huge difference between his situation and mine. I can take a break from it all. I can visit with friends, go to church, think of diversions. He cannot. You may argue that I am severe in the concrete statement, "He cannot!" I am speaking from our experience as a couple covering 17 years now of having this depression in our lives. Slowly and steadily my husband has lost ground to this mental illness. Slowly and steadily I have regrouped and regrouped to make room for the changes in our home and the needs of my husband and of myself. I have ceased believing that I will walk through the door and there will have been a miracle recovery. I believe that God can do what He chooses. I have simply ceased to anticipate a miraculous intervention or maybe the miraculous intervention is that God is in this battle with us. Maybe the miracle is that I have stayed and my husband has not driven me away with other behaviors much more difficult to endure in the long run. Maybe the miracle is that serving  God where He places me is my reward and my cup of joy. Maybe I am simply a conduit for God to reach my husband and allow him to see love in action. Maybe this is a miracle on a grand scale given my lack of patience and willfulness. Do I love my husband? Yes. I love him because I adore Christ and Christ loves my husband as much as He loves me. Our world today does not accept servitude to God's will in difficult situations as a joyful choice. It is difficult and I do not do it well but I push on and I am happy. I am happy that I can be of service to my God and to my husband. It isn't about fairness or who deserves what. Who would I be without my God? What do  I deserve if not the opportunity to serve Him at home and as I  go about my day? Yes, it is difficult. Heart rending at times. I fall and become full of self-pity. I struggle with life not being fair by my standards. But, at the end of each  struggle I get up, shake off the dust, call out to God to grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change and to change the things I can and to have the wisdom to the difference. There is an old song, "There's Within My Heart A Melody,Jesus Whispers Sweet and Low. Fear Not I Am With You, Peace Be Still In All of Life's Ebb and Flow!"

My, Oh, My! Where Did The Time Go!

I am certain you have heard, as I did, that the older a person becomes the faster time goes by. At the age of 62 years I can and will confirm that statement for any doubters reading my post. My last post was on March 16th and here it is April 3rd. I know that to be a fact yet the amount of time that has passed between those two dates in my head is nothing akin to the amount of time the calendar reveals. For me only an hour or so has passed. The pages of the calendar have disappeared one after the other without making a sound. I can see that time is not compassionate nor is it aware of those of us impacted by that worrisome measure of eternity sliced into minute slices for our convenience. Without a measure of time I believe that I, and perhaps you, would begin to flow in a rhythm meant to pulse with the whole of creation, eternity allowing for more than I can think or imagine. As it is I am at odds with the passing of time. My relationship with this precise measurement has changed. My footing is less solid.  At one time the concept of hours, minutes, days, etc. was an immutable fact of life to me. Now I experience time wiht the exact fascination I have while watching time lapsed photography of the skies as a day passes. Clouds, the light and shadows flow over the earth. As a whimsical aside their rush across the sky reminds me of Alice chasing after the White Rabbit. I won't dwell on that as the possibility exists that I will follow suit and find myself off on a stream of consciousness trailing ripples behind me as I join the jolly chase across the skies of earth.

Spring is on the air. The birds are clustering high in the treetops singing and calling back and forth to one another as they lift in unison to fly to a nearby tree, land as a group, settle a moment and return to their merry making. I don't know that they are merry making. It is a fictious dream of mine, derived as much from older cartoon movies as from reading scientific information related to birds. They may be fighting or simply making a racket because that is what they like best. I choose to believe their incessant cawing and singing to be the merriest of merry making.

Time for bed. I am officially worn out.