On Living, Dying, Building Furniture, and Faux Sugar

 

Everything is not always as it appears. 
There is no blue in this room.

I've not been in the most stellar of moods. It's been a week. A busy week. I can't believe this is already Thursday night. I don't know where the time has gone. Things are about to change again. That's the only real constant, right? 

Some people are dying. Others are dying to forget their entire past including their name. Some are trying to move forward despite what anyone else thinks. Some have found what they want. Some have not. Me, I feel like the post in the middle of a merry-go-round, watching it all spin out of control around me. 

Some houses are old. Some are new. Some are worn. Some are through. 

I'm just making up groups of words until I figure out how to say what I have to say without saying too much or not enough. 

Meanwhile, let's move on to the mundane. 

I fucked up. 

I decided it'd be a good idea to consume Crystal Lite again. Peach Tea to be exact. I was mistaken. Not only is it wreaking havoc on my blood sugar levels, it's not been all that kind to my skin either. 

Time for a change. I had the last of it this morning, and then switched back to water with fresh lemon juice and a bit of stevia. 

I've also been hitting the fried onions, and my latest micro-addiction, Korean BBQ almonds, a bit too hard, too, so that, as well, is about to change. 

I'm NOT on any kind of concerted effort of a diet. NOW would not be the time, and I don't know that any time ever will be the time. I just know that I am no longer enjoying how the majority of junk and processed foods are making me feel. The very, very, very short-term satisfaction is not enough of a payoff for the resulting shit feelings afterward. Some days, it'd be easier to live on coffee, water and cigs than to ingest anything of that nature. 

As for smoking, I'll never again talk about it, or the fact that I want to quit. Anytime I "make a plan," or follow the roughshod advice of a bunch of nonsmokers who decided their plans would work best. Believe you me, I know ALL the benefits, and I know ALL the problems I cause with my habit, but it's going to be a very personal, very private endeavor when the time comes that I do quit. I also won't talk about it AFTER the act of quitting has occurred because that just keeps it top of mind, and I am thinking the best approach will be to keep my laser focus away from the topic altogether. 

I looked back over the beginnings of this blog, and how I was nearly daily updating on metrics, and blahbity blah, but then I would disappear for months on end because I gave up. Zero effectiveness. I have realized that talk does not replace action, and action does NOT need to be talked about. Just do the thing and move forward. 

As for current states, I'm still on the tuna salad and hard-boiled egg kick for lunches, or whenever I don't feel like eating anything else. The weight, she's hovering around the 196-lb mark. I'll take it. Measurements are fairly useless, as even if you have one waist measurement, there are 52,000 different waist sizes in pants, and NOBODY accounts for boobage, unless you buy a 3x or larger. Life continues on. 

Updates on the ongoing renovations: 

We got a TV stand for the living room, but said stand was NOT the same color as displayed in the product description. It more matches what I have in the office. Therefore, It's going to be used out here in the gymnauseum area of the room. I like it. Plenty of storage for the free weights, the DVD player, and any DVDs I want to bring out here. 

Meanwhile, my husband found another stand that is MUCH better suited to what we're going for in the living room, so we got that. 

Both require assemblage. I put together stand #1 over the weekend. My husband started on stand #2 when it arrived, and we engaged in teamwork to finish it up and move it into the living room, and move the old beast out. 

Things are coming together. 

New plumbing is going to start happening next week. That'll be a fun bill. 

I think that covers all current updates for the homestead. 

Back to the inner turmoil ... 

Let me just say I am beyond fed up with the gaslighting that has, thus far, put me in a place where I feel like if I talk about how I feel about anything going on with anyone, I'm just being selfish, self absorbed, making it all about me, etc. I feel like anytime I have something to say, all it takes is one sentence or less to trigger all manner of rage and vitriol aimed in my general direction. People do not stop to consider that what you said was NOT meant in the way they are misconstruing it. 

I am not a perfect specimen of humanity. I CAN be mean. I can give as good as I get. I'm just tired of being put in a position to keep other people's secrets, or be a pawn in their game to make themselves feel better, or to just shut up and let everyone do whatever it is they're going to do, no matter if it hurts them or anyone else. 

So, rather than try to tell them, I'll just say it here: 

What you do is solely up to you. There is nothing I can say or do that will ever change that. If I DO have something to say it is out of love, or concern. My digital, typed delivery might suck, but it does not require anyone to take my words and twist them to mean something entirely different. My words also do not warrant being disrespected to the level that I would rather never talk to you again than to feel the sting of your words and rage. 

Don't ever try to manipulate people with selective honesty and expect me NOT to speak up. Don't ever talk shit about me to my face and expect me not to react. I am loyal to a fault, and for the time being, I'll keep those secrets (and you should hope everyone else does, as well), and I'll live with the MORE THAN AWKWARD situation you've decided that those of us privvy to your selective honesty should live in, but I can't control what anyone else does. 

If you want to erase 30-plus years of memories, right down to your name, go for it. I can't stop you, but I'll not stay silent about how your own words and actions make me feel. It does not make me bigoted. It does not make me ignorant, uneducated, or stupid. It makes me hurt more than I can properly express. And no matter how much you say I'm just being shallow and making it all about me, it's taking a toll on my mental and physical well being. 

But, you do you. The rest will either fall into your way of thinking, or fall away completely. 

Those are words I never thought I would say about anyone that I love so dearly, but backed into a corner, I'll come out swinging. 

I was never perfect. I was definitely the furthest thing from a good mother. I was definitely also the furthest thing from a perfect child. I'm not even that outstanding of a person now, and I continue to pay for my imperfections. 

So, I find this fitting: 


I just want peace. I just want rest. 

I want to live in this speech for the rest of my days: 




Piece by Piece by Motherf**cking Piece



Disclaimer: If real emotions make you uncomfortable, don't read this

The difference between yesterday and today ... 

I'm pretty much left with doing nothing but holding an empty stare on my face. For someone who never leaves the house outside of a trip to a store for provisions occasionally, I guess my emotions are just too intense, be it in person, in writing, or on the phone. 

When you put some time in betwixt you and a problem, pain lessens and logic enters the scene.


I kind of feel like I've been dissected into pieces like that ^^^

I do still feel this, but not at the level of intensity I did yesterday. 

Context and self talk:  

As a child, I was TOO emotional, such that the only way I could earn getting my ears pierced was to not cry for a week, complete with a poster-board chart hung in the kitchen for all to see. Bury those feels in food, damn it. Don't let anyone know you feel a fucking thing, especially as a pre-teen, especially when all those female hormones are starting to circle and whirl and boil to the surface. Just don't. 

For the most of the next two or three decades, I had ALL the feels, but mostly didn't express them without alcohol. Then, I was a dribbling idiot, by my own definition. Not a good look on anyone. I think my 30th birthday was the turning point when I stopped drinking excessively. 

I've only been truly shitfaced once since then, New Year's Eve 2018. I do not remember this. But hey, at least the hat was cute, right? 


Then, I started writing. I filled notebooks with my feelings when I figured out it was the only way to get things out of my brain. That went on for many years, until I finally got sick of hearing myself write, and figured out that it does nothing by way of productivity. That was probably 14 years ago. I burned what was left, and never did that whole "journaling" thing again. 

I also used to write long letters to people because I could not properly express myself out loud to make sure I got things said that I needed to say. Those fell on deaf ears and blind eyes. Ignore her. She'll shut up eventually. 

That's also probably about the time when I really began using foods to bury the feels. Just eat your way through it. What else is there to do? Nobody really wants to hear what you have to say because they're too busy trying micromanage HOW you say it. 


Storms are very, very silent. Until they're not. 

This is true any day of the week. 


This is mostly what I feel like at present moment, after a few months of assorted bullshit coming in from all directions. There's no shortage of names and descriptions for how others perceive me to be, after they have taken anything I say and twisted it around to mean something completely different than I meant or intended. 

I did feel fairly leveled yesterday and the day before. There has been a shitstorm of epic proportions looming overhead, kind of like the picture above. Any one of these shitstorm components, in and of itself, happening separately, fine. I could manage. When they all happen within a few minutes, days, or weeks of each other. Nah. 


Side note: Indeed - good for her: Original Quote Author

Some days, I can feel those vultures casually soaring and circling up above, just watching and waiting. 

I'm tired. I am worn down. I am emotionally drained. It doesn't pay to have feelings. It doesn't pay to trust someone to hold what you talk about in confidence or in any kind of high regard when instead, it's just stored for later use as things to throw back in my face. 

I'm not allowed to be frustrated. I'm not allowed to express said frustration. I don't have any right to grieve. I don't have any right to be insulted when someone shows me how very little they care. I don't have a right to be hurt when someone else decides to erase a significant portion of their and my history, nor do I have the right to ask them to not say one thing, one phrase. How dare I. How very dare I. 

I am overwhelmed. I am not a pillar of strength. Time and bullshit are taking their toll on my psyche, and my body, and I'm not sure how to get out, around, or through any of it. Do I handle it with grace and dignity? Absofuckinglutely not. Do I panic? Do I freeze? Do I cease to be able to think? Do I yell? Do I get upset? Do I get frustrated? ABSOFUCKINGLUTELY. 

There just doesn't seem to be any happy medium when it comes to my ability to have relationships with many people (not everyone, but a large majority). I tend to attract those who would respond to simple statements of my own feelings with disgust, impunity, and a whirlwind of hatred that does not equal the statement made. OR, those who choose to be cold, calculating, unfeeling, obsessed with "The Lord Jesus Christ," and wouldn't know a hug or affection if it slapped them upside the face with a 2x4. 

If life is a pinball machine, I am the pinball. The balanced middle ground is very narrow. One side = hellfire and brimstone; Other side = frozen tundra. 

So, instead of focusing on the collective bullshite over which I have zero control, this is what I want and what I am doing for me: 

1. Art. I have the stuff, now I will use it. 

2. Yarn. I have the stuff, now I will use it. 

3. Exercise. I don't care what anyone else does, this is what I need for me. 

4. Self maintenance. Self care is a misnomer. I can't necessarily say I care what happens to me, but at least I can maintain what's left of me while I am here, right? 

5. Decluttering and engaging in some format of minimalism. 

6. Solving my own problems. Nobody is coming to save me, so it's up to me. 

As often as it enters my braincell, I don't want to take my leave of the planet. I'm far too much a coward to do anything like that anyway. I used to not be able to understand those that did, but I do, now, get it. I just don't live in that camp. However, I also realize that no matter how many times, or how many different ways I say I need help, the only one hearing me is me, and therefore, it's up to me, and only me, to get to a place where those thoughts cannot penetrate. 

I cannot control what anyone else says, thinks, believes, or chooses to do. I can only control me. I am a flawed soul, and I make mistakes daily, if not hourly, but I am trying, and I will know when I hit the mark. For now, that's all I can do. 





Starting From Zero

 Continuing with the Tracy Chapman theme ... 

"Got nothing to lose ... Me, myself, I got nothing to prove." 

At this point, life really is about what I make of it. 

Live and Die This Way ...


I don't remember if I took the actual picture in 2014, but it hit me seeing the glimpse of light amidst the snowy, cloudy winter sky. It's not often I capture something that looks exactly as I saw it, but this was one of them. 

Machetes, Needles, Daggers, and Angels in the Sky

 

Before I forget, I forgot to tell you about an absolute angel I met on the plane last month. She reminded me of my daughter-in-law. She was tiny, but you could tell she just had a good strong energy about her. We were exiting Chicago for Phoenix. She was returning home to Arizona after trying her hand in the military, which she discovered was not for her. Good for her for knowing when to call it quits! 

Anywho, for context, I have a hard time with take-offs. The speed, and the act of a plane leaving the ground, right at that moment when the front wheels lift off, and then shortly thereafter, when the whole thing is airborne, and pointed more upward than down, and the physical sense of pressure all just gives me a tremendous amount of anxiety and ear pain. I mostly try to ease my discomfort by chewing no less than five pieces of gum, holding my hand to my chest, somewhere above the rack, and looking out the window and down at my uncertain future on the ground. 

Sunrise Somewhere above the Midwest