The “Eeyore Effect” and the slow depression

  To slowly slip into depression is worst than the episodes that can be linked to a trigger. But no trigger this time, slowly feeling it is like waiting for the unknown. Panic and anxiety start to sink in for fear of the unknown. Some people notice right away, others just realize they haven’t seen you, some miss the life of the party, and surprisingly very few ask, “Are you okay?”

I become what I recognize as delusional now, because I know it’s not true.  I call this the “Eeyore effect.” Eeyore is a character in the Winnie-the-Pooh books if you lived a sheltered childhood under a rock you may not know he is a gloomy, depressed, pessimistic old grey stuffed donkey. I certainly know depression is coming when Eeyore shows up. I tell myself I have no friends, no one cares and does anything really matter? Unlike Eeyore, I hurt those who do care and the angry  outburst become common. I cling to those who make me happy hoping to pull myself out before it happens. Eventually being clingy and needy will take a toll on the sane and they don’t want to sink with you so the abandon ship. Then you realize I am clinically  depressed.

So what is the cure for the “Eeyore effect?” I’ve found doing the one thing that is the hardest for me is key, talk to my doctor. Yes, hardest thing in the world is admitting I’m depressed to my doctor. I fear yet another medication. I fear the side effects new medications. I fear she’ll think I’m just lazy. I fear she will tell me it’s normal. But for the cure to the Eeyore effect, the key is talking about my fear to the doctor and family. Being brutally honest about yourself and your moods and behavior. Sadly having bipolar once I do slip it’s dangerous so Eeyore has to be balanced quickly.

The stigma of medication and mental illness is the only thing I wish we could cure. It’s okay to admit you’re sick. Antidepressants are OKAY! If it was your heart or maybe diabetes, you’d take the medication needed to make you feel better. I just heard my friend yell that at me in my head. It took me years for family and friends to convince me it was okay. Now I help others, talk, listen and I’m open about my illness. You’d be surprised how helpful it is for you to be yourself and they understand you can’t just snap out of it when you become Eeyore.

On the other hand, the “Tigger effect” is hard for me to talk about and deserves it’s own post for all its scandal, excitement, and embarrassment. You’d think depression would be harder to talk about but writing about something you miss because of medication is hard.

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25

Feeling the sting of human behavior

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I’m not sure if many of you have read or been told the story of the scorpion and the turtle or frog in some stories.  I’ve heard the story in various ways with the cast of animals swapped in and out, but generally it’s a classic for reflection on human behavior and inherent vicious natures that cannot change. We all feel the sting, and living with my condition I feel I’m constantly both characters. Nevertheless, I wanted to share and pass along the story. It’s a story that’s been heavy on my mind as i’ve read through the diversity of the blogs here on wordpress. So here you go, I’d love to hear your thoughts.

A scorpion, being a very poor swimmer, asked a turtle to carry him on his back across a river. “Are you Scorpion mad?” exclaimed the turtle. “You’ll sting me while I’m swimming and I’ll drown.”

“My dear turtle,” laughed the scorpion, “if I were to sting you, you would drown and I would go down with you. Now where is the logic in that?”

“You’re right!” cried the turtle. “Hop on!” The scorpion climbed aboard and halfway across the river gave the turtle a mighty sting. As they both sank to the bottom, the turtle resignedly said:

“Do you mind if I ask you something? You said there’d be no logic in your stinging me. Why did you do it?”

“It has nothing to do with logic,” the drowning scorpion sadly replied. “It’s just my character.”
[Braude, 1965]

15

My love affair with Uncle deadly

  
First, I should never watch “The Muppets” and go directly to bed. My dream of my life with the muppets last night was awesome. I’ll spare you the bulk of the lunacy but, I finally kill Mrs. Piggy. She messed with Kermit for the last time. I got away with the murder only with the help of Uncle deadly, you know the blue, reptilian-looking creature, also known as “the Phantom of the Muppet Show”and current costume guy and assistant to Mrs Piggy. 

Always my favorite muppet and now we were partners in crime (Insert Maniacal laugh). We dumped the pig at a local Smithfield farm. In my dream, Uncle deadly wanted to cook and serve up a pork feast to all the muppets. I remember thinking how messed up that was and suggested Smithfield processing. Well that’s not the crazy part….Uncle Deadly and I run away together. I fall madly in love with the evil muppet. Fast forward to a beach, like the one in movie “Cocktail” with Tom Cruise.  He’s slinging drinks behind a beach bar and I’m really sexy, sipping on a fruity drink with a big floppy hat. 

Today may be a little crazy… 

 

13

The Cat talked tonight

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The cat talked tonight and I am certain  she’s schizophrenic and thinks people and inanimate objects talk to her.

She came into my life over a year ago shortly after I swore I’d never own a cat. Little did I know this black siren would play my children and enter our family on a bet. We were visiting family in Kentucky and as usual in the country you’ll encounter the barn cats and stray dogs. They honestly balance things for children in the Appalachia. Many of my best friends and confidences were animals. It taught me about unconditional love, trust, and loyalty. You’ll never find friendship like that of animals or someone who gives you and expects nothing but love in return.

So the black siren came as we visited Mam-maw (grandmother) just over a year ago. The kids had played with the cutest litter of stray barn kittens.  Something I was happy they got to enjoy, something I cherished from my childhood in Kentucky.

The kids begged and begged for us to take one home. Of course, selfishly I wanted a black cat, always loved them because they shared a stigma. I said if a little black kitten comes tonight we’ll take her home tomorrow.  Within minutes, we see this lone black kitten running to the door. “Dammit”, I thought, but honestly I was probably as thrilled as the kids. She was perfect! Absolutely the perfect cat. I agreed, but said we will name her Trubul like trouble, because I’m certain she’ll be nothing but trouble.

Fast forward, she is trying to kill me. Trubul has now been with the family long enough to execute plans. She’s no longer pet, but captive. I am her captor. She is living out the “Unbreakable” story (she watched the movie with me, I saw her snap). She would guard her catnip mouses, plan sniper attacks, plot her escape.

I only knew the cat was as crazy as me when I saw her talking to herself. Yes, talking to herself. She would meow something and in another tone meow back. It would continue, she would fight her alter ego for the one mouse not hidden under a couch. Everyday I accepted my cat was a schizophrenic bipolar cat.

Tonight she turned on me. In retrospect, it was when I tried to meditate, but she turned (see previous post). I was the enemy and we had a battle.

Without it being an “offense worthy of commitment” the cat has the upper hand. I’ll never have a rabbit to chase down a hole, because Trubul will kill it and probably lay it on my pillow, like a horse head from the godfather movie. She runs the house, she has the love, she controls the dog……to be continued CAT……to be continued….

18

Meditation, play by play fail

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So I was told meditation is amazing to slow your mind, ease your worries, and soothe your soul. So hello google and youtube, I’m now a subject matter expert. Kids are in school and I need to learn to self soothe. Let’s do this!

Step 1: Sit or lie comfortably

I sit my pretty little butt down trying to not think. Then I start thinking, “did it say how I should sit or lie?”, “Is the door locked”, “I really need to be doing laundry” “I guess I could just masturbate”

Step 2: Close your eyes

Eye are closed, success! Eyes are closed! “Why is it so hard to keep my eyeballs from straining?” Suddenly dog jumps on me, “Stupid dog, go away I am f*cking meditating”

Step 3: Make no effort to control breath; simply breathe naturally.

I’m now laying, not sitting anymore eyes closed and thinking “Is this natural breathing?” “Why am I over thinking breathing?” “Keep your eyes closed and stop thinking….why the hell is the cat now rubbing and purring on me, ugh. Did you forget you hate me cat!?!?”  “Stop thinking about sex” “Focus!”

Step 4: Focus your attention, blah blah blah. Breathing more blah blah blah. Body movement and more breathing ramblings. This is basically the meditate step.

Cats gone, dog is in the floor. All is peaceful, I just might do this meditate thing. Eyes closed, I hear the sounds of regurgitation from the dog. I think, “meditate, ignore dog. Breathe naturally”. As I hear the dog move around room, obviously puking, the doorbell rings. At that moment, dog forgets about puking to run barking like a rabid dog to kill the door.

I open my eyes to see that the dog decided to walk around to puke, disgusting. Checked outside, no one is there. I clean up after the dog. Cat runs a sniper attack on my head as I clean and the phone is ringing. Yay, it’s the school nurse, I have a sick kid. I laughed as she talked and just told her I’d be there to pick him up soon.

My conclusion, meditation and the bipolar mind is nearly impossible. But you know what is soothing, involves bed, and eyes rolling back in your head. Yep, sex!

36

“Just don’t write about me”

  
Blogging is an excellent outlet and surprisingly I enjoy writing about my lunacy. I love reading the comments it’s very therapeutic. Over the last week or so as word spread “the nut” was writing a blog, the common thread was “that’s awesome”, “Just don’t write about me”. It seemed people loved living the story with me, but somehow embarrassed for me to tell the stories. Guess what? I’m going to tell all my stories (*insert maniacal laugh). 

You can’t choose to ride the roller coaster and say you only walked by the ride. People tend to really enjoy a good shit show. I’m not a mean girl, so don’t start sweating. If I blog about you, you’re probably not going to notice, unless….. you’re a narcissist then all my post are about you and you’re ugly.

So let my story telling begin. I hope to help someone out there relate, understand a friend or family member who may suffer from mental illness. I am flattered by my following and really love to hear your thoughts. Who knows, you just might end up in my stories.

17

The people we all have within us…

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Everyone has four people inside them inside them.

1. The person your co-workers/neighbors know; you see this person day to day. Wave hello, share pleasantries, you share a common bond of existence. It’s work, business, and existence.

2. The second is the person your family and childhood friends know. They grew up with you. They know you on a deeper level. They know that girl/guy who they went to church, school, or summer camp. Lived in the same county or city. You probably went to high school together. They know the base that made you.

3. Then the person your friends knows…the person your friends open up too, professional friends, college friends, good neighbors. Those you open up too and trust. You probably hang out, drink occasionally, and feel comfortable. They are you day to day. In the now friends.

4. Then late at night when no one is around, the person that only you know.

Everyone’s forth person is a little dark, sometimes that fourth person gets out of control. That can be natural. But, if the fourth person is completely different than the other three, than that fourth person is a monster.

And if that forth person doesn’t correspond with one of the first three you’re a monster. You’re embarrassed, you’re  ashamed, you’re  scared the fourth person could define you, it scary.

11

The year I ruined Christmas….well technically

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I briefly lost faith that Santa, in my head was the guy above in the picture, the weird mall Santa, the bell ringer at walmart.

I was 8 years old and decided I’d catch Santa in the act of coming down the chimney and delivering our presents. My older brother who was 10 and my younger brother 6 at the time were already in bed asleep. And that’s when I had a BRILLIANT idea! Who needs to catch Santa in the act when you can manipulate the entire situation?

It was GENUIS, I woke up early and ensured everything Santa had brought….well the good stuff, was moved to my stocking. It was fail proof,  who’s going to question Santa? I’ll have a whole year to get off the naughty list. So I executed my plan and went back to bed knowing it’ll be the best Christmas EVER.

Morning came and everyone jumped up to rush to the fireplace. I smiled ear to ear delighted in how smooth my plan was has executed. As we checked our stocking, I was shocked I got everything. Simply shocked and delighted with my new things. My brothers both immediately shocked and couldn’t believe Santa gave me everything started to scream for Mom. I smiled and reminded them, I was the favorite and had been very good this year. Better luck next year, suckers!

Then enters Mom, barely awake and at a loss for words. Then Dad came into the room, I immediately knew I was in deep shit from the look in his eyes. As mom, created an excuse for Santa’s  mistake. I was taken and reminded what it feels like to have a leather belt taken to my butt. To this day on Christmas morning I can feel the sting of the belt. You don’t mess with Santa at any age. Pretty sure that was the last year he gave me what I wanted other than socks, shoes, or necessities.

For the record, I’m good now and ran into him on vacation at Disney world a couple years ago. This was the real Santa, not all his helpers, but good old Saint Nick from the Noth pole and the Macy’s Christmas parade. Turns out I’m permanently on the naughty list, but he did find it to be the best con ever.

Lesson: You just don’t mess with Santa, even his helpers.

5

Facebook and and schools of a** fish

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Disconnecting from Facebook tops the list of things you should give up or at least set a timer and only allow yourself an alloted time. It’s been liberating and I was once an addict.

So let’s talk a bit about Facebook. I had been on Facebook from the very beginning when you had to have a email address from a college email system before it became the creature it is today.

At first, it was really great because no one really had a cellphone and smartphones didn’t exist. The only picture was my student ID pic which for some reason was the best picture I had ever taken for an ID card. Everyone  would use it to rate and hook up with each other, much like tender today. It was also great for networking. As the years passed it grew in popularity and literally crushed MySpace. It opened up to everyone.

Now It gets interesting, you know those people who would never give you the time of day, the handsome jocks, old boyfriends, old girlfriends, the popular people, well they all loved me now and wanted to be my friend. At first, I became the ultimate stalker. The whores have now found Jesus, the jocks were now bald and fat, and surprisingly the average and geeky guys were sexy as hell. Honestly, I never dated a single person in High School. No one ever asked me out and I never went to dances or even prom. I was a tomboy, I enjoyed guns, hunting, outdoors. I played on the golf team, track team, softball, peddle briefly with volleyball, JROTC and all the academic or social clubs. I just wanted to stay busy because I was certain no one liked me. So back on track, I was popular on Facebook. I had thousands of friends.

It hit me about a year ago watching certain behaviors and analyzing what I noticed on other people’s accounts. ASS FISH, yes ass fish, the ones who circle around and eat the shit of other fish. Those who are repeatedly commenting on narcissistic people’s post. It was at first entertainment, but soon it became sad. The increase of the selfie or I love me post and again ass fish circled.

The sad thing is reality is not what you make of it, reality just is…. I spent so much time trying to compete with people who are competing with themselves developing lies to overcome their own sad existence. Throughout life they become so caught up in their destinations they forget to enjoy their day to day experiences. I am reminded of the story of the Yankee tourist who complained to the old hillbilly about how the tourist attraction was not worth the time. The hillbilly looked at him and told him the attraction was the drive not the destination.

I’m sure I’ll rejoin facebook one day, but right now I’m enjoying the drive.

Update: I recently return to Facebook to create a blogger page. I wanted to have a place I could communicate with my readers. I still strongly advise the breaks. It was wonderful. So with that said if you are on Fakebook please like and share my page. http://www.facebook.com/itsnotcrazytoday

4

The past and ghost that returns to haunt me

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In a moment, I close my eyes and feel a soul touching my own. I can feel the pinch of a corset rubbing my side next to my chest where I have a birth mark now. I suddenly itch like crazy from starched lace and wool. I can feel another lifetime in front of me and a warmth near my lips. Perhaps my lover has returned to kiss me while I’m in a deep trance. Suddenly, I shift from Renaissance to the roaring twenties, and again to possibly a war zone hospital. It’s the smell of this moment. The rusty smell of blood and burn flesh. Then just like that a kiss felt upon my lips I flush and open my eyes.

It made me think of something and maybe it’s pretty thought provoking. I haven’t spoke to anyone yet who suffers on the spectrum of bipolar disorder who hasn’t felt a pull to another era. There may be connection between old souls, past lives, and reincarnation and mental illness.

Let me explain my feelings, but before you ask….yes I took my meds. I feel my soul is tired at times. I’ll watch an old period movie and my soul will spring to life with excitement. I am drawn to the a couple periods in time. My dreams are also usually in these various  periods and rarely do I have a dream about my life now. I have trouble retaining memories in this lifetime, but I can tell you for certain I’ve experienced deja vu with places, things, objects, and people. Sometimes the connection is so strong it reminds me that my soul has not given up.

I wonder if my soul is just tired and failed to upload completely, I need a reboot. They say right before you die there is a single moment of rapid brain activity. Many believe this is the moment your life flashes before you, but what if thats the moment is your soul is uploading like a computer. Whatever your religious beliefs its doing something maybe uploading to heaven, hell, or just maybe you have another lifetime that you need to live before you reach the final destination.

It’s nice to have memories and dreams that don’t seem to belong to me and a ghost as a lover. In a musing of a mad woman way, it’s a beautiful mind.

12

My affair with a ghost

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I am madly in love with a ghost and he encourages me to write our story. Then I remembered, dammit This is movie and she was writing his story to save her ass so they could stay together.  I watched it half asleep. This tale has already been told in 1947. You can read a synopsis here:

The ghost and Mrs Muir 1947

Sometimes, I feel like my ghost is aloof. Maybe he has a ghost girlfriend or worst a ghost wife. He wouldn’t be cheating if he was happy. He visits me like a mistress, but gives me unconditional love when he is present. He makes me think and control my demons, my jealousy, my inpulses, my depression. It hurts that I can only love him and  guide him on his journey until I join him. He’s completely nuts, because he know I’m married but hey why would my husband be jealous of a ghost. He’s unbelievably sexy and carries his soul in his eyes.  I just have to live for the days or dreams he makes himself appear. I am certain we were lovers in a past lifetime.

I’ll write more about my ghost affair in the future, but for now you need to watch the movie.  I love watching old black and white movies. Love affairs that relied on correspondence, test of time, and separation with no cellphones and no computers. Just pure emotions on paper.

But hey, I’ve got a ghost boyfriend who appreciates my beautiful mind now. This blog is musings of a mad woman.

10

Complete confusion and beauty

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“I have so many different personalities in me and I still feel lonely.”, Tori Amos

So many people are affected with mental illness and rarely share, which hurts us as a population. As the quote above states “I have so many different personalities in me and I still feel lonely.” It a true representation of many affected or dealing with someone fighting, coping, or dealing with those personalities. We are all lonely. Starving for affection, attention, acknowledgment.
So many people need to be accepted even those who have been accepted.

Makes you think a bit about how money and success influences happiness.  You truly do not need money or success to be happy. You only need yourself. I still hold on to true love…..so you need yourself and true love 😉

I can be hot and cold….so true love is reality, but it burns a delicate flame like a candle. I want to keep it in a box for fear of a draft. But it’s really impossible to protect a flame from the elements. So I have to burn hot and pray those who love me protect their flame from my draft. In return, I hope they shelter the light I provide and the flames aren’t extinguished, but passed on candle to candle.

6

Do you believe in “Banking Karma”? Because this market sucks!

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I’ve given a lot of thought to Karma. I’ve done everything to try to pin point my triggers. I think ultimately I’m let down by humanity. It’s life in general and my inability to realize not everyone thinks like I do, as Einstein once so humorously pondered. I know I am intelligent, genius in many ways.  But in theory, those who suffer with bipolar disorder are gifted, artistic, thinkers, and creative. We are never going to understand normal, but we want it more than you can imagine.

In the past decade, I’ve spent every moment I could helping others, helping friends, or helping organizations. Always saying yes and trying to recognize signs, symptoms in people surrounding me and helping by sharing my friendship and using my talents to benefit others without expectations. I do it because I genuinely want to help people,  but I joke that I’m “banking karma”. One day it’ll pay off and l’ll never have to be anything but normal. I would give up all materialistic things to be normal and ensure my children are happy, healthy, and loved.

Currently I’m questioning the very existence of “do good things and good things happening”, people take advantage of us, narcissist love people like us, and the worst are those who just want our love, but never expect to return the love. I’ve given my soul to be loved and call a friend because I wanted to have a “BFF” and sadly I’ll never be more than a fun friend. It’s entirely another blog post on its on, but I want it more than anything. My disorder ruins everything , I have no control, but regret everything. I attract self-destructive people, narcissist, and the mental ill, it’s my cross to bear.

I have had a long week, two flat tires in one day, unexpected increases in expenses, and then my dryer decided to die. I did a cost benefit analysis and new thermal fuse (blown), new motor (burnt out), and control panel on a 12 year old dryer wasn’t worth the money in the long run. Those vocational classes paid off for Lowe’s tonight. So I went and bought a new dryer. As I said before, I had dinner alone, hoping for a sign from my karma bank. I hoped for a friend someone to just talk too. I think I expected the universe to send me a message. But, no one noticed me, no one talked to me, and no one showed up. I never felt more alone. I think I need a new bank account for karma.

Let down and already been kicked this week it’s not easy to stay out of the doldrums. There is no wind in my sails. Escaping a low is like learning to walk, when you’re rapid cycling it like recovering from paralysis. You knew how to walk, but lost the ability and in between you ran marathons. I don’t want to be paralyzed again. I’m sad, but I guess this is normal sad. This is normal let down, normal sad.

So I guess I do have expectations. I expect Karma to pay out like a 401k.

This market really blows….

4

Yes…..I had been drinking

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Seriously autocorrect autocorrected me four times before I could even post last night so I gave up and passed out.

Apparently, I delayed posting and saved it as a draft. It was embarrassing funny and trust me I saved the world from my extreme crazy. I deleted it, but my rantings and extreme love affair with Hemingway made me laugh out loud. The planning of my scheme to drive to key west and steal a couple five finger Hemingway cats. Then a realization, why am I so damn muddy in my kitchen. Then a sudden craving for McDonald’s, but I’d have to Uber so I gave up on the Big Mac.

All I know is I made it to bed with a trail of my clothing and tears, up three stories. I blew off some much needed steam, wrote a blog post about cats and love, and at some point I was falling down outside in the rain. Once in a blue moon we all need to howl at the moon. I think I actually did that last night.

I guess the point as my husband says, “It’s like the bad kid in church, it’s funny unless you own it” and I’m never drinking again.

Oh….almost forgot, the picture attached to this post was the one I put there last night. Haven’t a clue why or what the hell I was thinking, but it was thought provoking this evening so I left it on the post….your welcome.

38

“Did you take your meds?”

   img_0030Sometimes as I have my coffee I start to ponder random thoughts and immediately hear the statement  “did you take you meds” in my head. A statement, I’ve come to strongly dislike but accept.  It’s one thing to battle my bipolar disorder as silently as possible but every day I hear that statement. I say something overly funny, “did you take your meds?” I say something brilliant, “did you take your meds?” I make a statement about my feelings, “did you take your med?” I decided I’m going to buy a zoo…..”did you take your meds?” Yes…yes…YES….well probably forgot not buying the zoo. But I hate people asking me when I’m not up or down. It’s like even in a normal state I can’t be normal. I know I have to take meds for the rest of my life.

Over the last year, it’s been a struggle to find a perfect cocktail, but without hesitation I take whatever they give me now to make everyone happy around me. I’m not “play with my shit nuts” off meds, I’m just extreme one direction or the other. My extreme up can be very self destructive, self gratifying, hyposexual, and I have super powers. Yes, super powers! I don’t have to sleep anymore, I can do what takes a normal human a week in a day. I can sing and I’ll probably tell you about that marathon I never ran or my mountain ski trip I never took. People love me, people want to do stuff with me because I’m fun and outgoing. I can shop like no other and give very charitably.  During my extremes I loose touch with reality. I am an over exaggeration of myself.

Now the dark side “the down”. So it’s true, what goes up must come down. And it happens for me like a switch. No one likes to talk about suicide or suicidal thoughts. Heck, I don’t even like saying it out loud to my doctor. I’ll just ignore or nod when she ask if I’ve been suicidal. So the “down” usually happens and feels like I’ve got the flu so I nap and become very introverted. I am sick, sick of my weight caused by meds, sick of being self destructive, embarrassed. Embarrassed is an understandment. I have to answer for all my actions that happened during my extremes and mania. I have to hear the stories, be the punchline of the joke, “and then it was awesome, she did (insert funny destruction)…..” Then look my children and husband in the face at the hurt and disappointed. I’m convinced the world hates me. I have no one, no friends. I convince myself I am only hurting those around me. That’s when that dark monster within convinces me everyone would be better off without me in this world. It’s selfish, but when you are down it’s actually pretty selfless. Your mind convinces you you’re saving everyone from the pain. It’s dark and I don’t want to really even talk about the bottom, but there is a bottom and it’s has a trap door called suicide. 

So did I take my meds today, yes! Is it always effective, no! Is it worth it, yes. I like my normal self. I realize I have purpose. I remember I’m a great balance between my extremes. The friends who were there during my extremes are usually the first to leave your side. I mean, I’m not super crazy fun and buying them stuff, footing the bill to be loved. I don’t need those people and in the end those are usually the trigger.

I have probably a couple of the greatest friends in the world. I may not see them for years at a time but they are the ones to call and talk to me after or before doctor appointment. They are the ones who ask, “did you take you meds?” That’s when it really clicks, they are not asking to remind me I’m crazy but because they like the normal me. 

Yes, I took my meds today. 

11

The universe has a f*cked up sense of humor today

  
So today I’ve either got the greatest guardian angel watching over me or one hell of a prankster guardian angel who just needed to fucking color today.

It started as a normal Monday, get the kids up, dressed, feed, and off to school. I’m just looking forward to my relaxing cup of coffee when everyone is out the door. So the kids are off without fail, success…I got this. Shortly after, husband rushes out the door and I brew the nectar of the gods and sit to enjoy a perfect cup of coffee while catching my morning news. Sounds perfect huh…..but before it touches my lips the front door opens with my husband alerting me my tire is completely flat on my car. No big deal, I GOT this! I don’t have anything to do until noon and it’s to pick a friend up at the Airport in Washington DC, so easy I’ll take his truck and he can ride his motorcycle….i’ve got this and it’s not that bad. So I sit down to drink my coffee when I hear swearing from the garage. It’s my husband, who for the life of me has no mechanical skills swearing at his motorcycle. Again I got this…., he comes in to ask me to help. At this point I’m aggravated I have to do the handy man task, but I sit my coffee down and proceed to fix his motorcycle. I’m the handyman of the household. Another great story for another time, but I took many vocational classes on various skills when I was younger. So easy fix and he’s off to work, I’m at this point irritated, but again I got this and I’m going to have coffee and relax.  It’s not that bad, I am determined to have a happy day.

So my car has a flat, frustrated because  I need and want to fix it I shower and put it off for later in the afternoon after I get my friend home. So I throw on comfy baggy boyfriend jeans, the ones that are unbelievably comfortable but not appropriate because of the rips and stains, a tshirt and faded denim button up. Actually, I was probably trending with the hipster crowd. I even choose to wear flip flops today because why not? The universe smiled, probably laughed unbeknownst to me for what was planned. I put my pretty little ass behind the the wheel of my truck and off I went until not even a mile from my house the front tire just pops and completely blows out. Fortunately, It happened where I could safely pull off the road.

AGAIN I GOT THIS UNIVERSE! I text my friend I wouldn’t make it to airport and my husband my misfortune. I then proceed to exit me car and see the damage….tired shredded. So as any good southern girl would do I proceed to change my tire in flip flops.  As I’m under the back end of my truck getting the spare untethered from the bottom. I hear a motorcycle pull up and there was the arrival of my husband and soon the police just to make sure I’m okay, ugh. At least, my husband said my tits looked good. They all told me to stop and let the roadside assistance come and fix the tire, but I was determined because dammit “I got this” and just want everyone to go away.

We’ll everyone did go away….3 hours later and a flat spare. I sat defeated in a Subway eating a tuna sandwich. Hands still a bit dirty but dammit I wasn’t going to be defeated. Spare was inflated…with the help of roadside assistance *insert eyeroll* and here I sat eating a sub while my truck gets it new tires at the firestone. Stupid asshole car! Stupid asshole truck! Fuck you universe!

I am going home to drink my damn cold coffee now! You won! Touche my friend…..Touche

It’s certainly not crazy

1

Ode to the great black box of wine

  
So if you haven’t heard Black box wine is a award winning box wine. 50 gold medals, 29 wine enthusiasts best buy awards. Definitely an enabler for shenanigans.

I am 1/2 the carbon footprint of glass bottles, so I am hoping Leonardo DiCaprio appreciates I’m doing my part to save the environment. Cabernet Sauvignon is probably the best, but honestly after a glass who really cares enough to ask “what is this vintage, variety?”

So how is this a story……anytime I precursor a post with wine it’s probably going to be thought provoking. If I start it with whiskey, it’s going to start PG-13 and as with drinking end up MA rating. I just want to make my readers aware of time stamps on my post, take note. Right now, I’m comparing a smooth glass of opus one to box wine and it really seems equatable.  That is a true musing of a mad woman.

It’s certainly not crazy

14

I just want to f*cking color

  

 “I just want to fucking color”

At age 3 the world is an amazing place. Full of the unexpected, every minute is filled with hundreds of new sights, sounds, and smells. Imagine if you could turn it off for a few minutes. Peter did just that on this day. I learned probably one of the applicable statement for living from a disobedient child who genuinely just wanted to finish a task.

It’s a short story, at the height of one of my manic episodes so he spent the day in daycare so I could get that amazing tattoo I needed (story for later). My husband arrived to pick up our 3 year old and was pulled aside by his teacher. She questioned him a bit about whom he spends time around because of his vocabulary. She preceded to explain he had used the “F” word. Of course, embarrassed my husband took responsibility and assured her it would never happen again. See, my husband and I are Marines and honestly fuck is second nature. But it was honestly my inability to censor myself. She proceeded to tell the story. It was nap time and all the kids were instructed to clean up their stations. Everyone followed the routine, except Peter. Peter continued to color in complete silence and zen. Nothing in the world was better than just coloring at that moment. When told he had to nap Peter responded, “I just want to fucking color”. He was calm, but stern. All he wanted was to finish his task, do what he enjoyed.

I think about that on many occasions. I just want to fucking color. I think we all just want to color. We strive to find that on thing we love and without someone telling us how to do it or that we should stop. We all are really trying to achieve that peace and balance.

We all just want to fucking color.

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