Splendiferous Conventionality

"It all depends on how we look at things, and not on how things are in themselves. The least of things with a meaning is worth more in life than the greatest of things without it ." ~Carl Jung

A series of unfortunate events have followed me through these last two weeks or so- and although the pessimistic side of me is nipping at my ankles to turn my back on life, love, and hope; the optimistic and realistic sides have paired together to kick Miss Pess I. Mistic to the curb so the whole can function as best as possible under the current strains and circumstances. Once I outline them you may say to yourself- 'shiv. I've heard worse. hell, I've been through worse.'-- well, I say to you, kudos for surviving it and I wish for all involved your strength and perseverance. [ I have had worse moments as well-- but regardless of all my experience, some days are just flippin' harder to deal with than others ] I'd like to take the opportunity to preface this ( one of my pet peeves actually ) by saying one or two of these events may not be so hard to prevail with a reasonable sense of sanity-- all of these combined have worn a tired girl thinner. My daughter

i have much to say and no words to say it. i wish that i could do this a-la-Matrix sometimes- and just 'plug' in. i am learning Logic in my math class and for the first time in my life, ( shhh, its a secret ) i am actually sorta enjoying it! i have heartburn- it seems to stem from hunger- bodily functions and bodily needs should be optional or less time consuming and certainly less demanding.  i managed to reproduce two identical images of me- one male and one female- except they are already both on their way to being smarter than me, braver than me, and some day stronger than me. they are amazing, beautiful blessings. these two beautiful blessings have already made it possible that the rest of the universe will never see my true hair color again; for if it is true that stress causes gray hairs- baby, i be covered. i wish that cartoons were the same as when i was a kid, in the good ol days. that last statement just made me sound old. i am older than you. i st

The guitar strums behind me. I can hear occasionally notes that were once taught to me, but that I did not have the patience to follow through with. It alters between the moody and meloncholy to the upbeat riff of an Irish drinking shanty- to one being played that is ironic for the current situation. Tonight it's our way of speaking about what needs to be said but without any words. I guess I will settle for the company and although the elephant in the room is certainly taking up more than its fair share-- I have to succumb to not having control over it. I have seen many forms of love. I have love for my children. For my family. For my friends. For my cat. For humanity. The love I have for my husband is so incredibly different than any of these, but yet it encompasses these. However, out of all of these loves that we have for all these different  people (or animals)-- the one that seems to be the most difficult to maintain healthily- is the love for our spouse or significant othe

I am hoping that by the silence of the 'crickets' that it means my darling daughter finally found her way to dreamland. I have deduced that the more 'good' times that we have, the harder Sunday nights become for her. For a whole split second I consider "Mommy Dearest" in the event that it would make the transition 'easier' for them... then I come to my senses rather abruptly ("NO wire hangers!") and realize that in itself will bring other issues that are certainly ones that I do not want to be responsible for. There isn't a good answer, there isn't a perfect way to deal with it- we grit our teeth and do our best to make it through. My Sundays (every other) have been typically going like this: 9:15 pm: crickets chirping (ring tone) Me: *elated* "Hi!" Her: *happy enough* "Good night, Momma" Me: *positive* "Well, have a good day tomorrow and a good week. I love you, good night." Her: *hesitan

My birth mother Facebook messaged me to tell me that my half brother had a baby- well, he didn't- but apparently a woman carrying his child did. Two weeks ago I guess. The message literally consisted of this much information: "did you know that **** has a baby. he sent me a message with phone number. the baby was born 2 weeks a go. mom *****" Ok. Not that I am particularly surprised, mind you; its not like she is very detailed orientated to begin with... but rather frustrating message. I would love to be able to say that I am pleased, and that Congratulations are in order-- but um, I can't say that I feel either of these things. Saddened is probably a more accurate feeling. The last (well, one of the last things) that kid needed was a baby... you have to have your life in order before you can even begin to imagine what it takes to care for another life. The half sister (his whole sister) has 3- two of which live with the, hmmm, how do I put it professionally-- birth f

its actually a word. not just a Star Trek character developed for the movie The Wrath of Khan. i know. you are just itching for me to tell you what it means, aren't you? OK , fine. you asked so nicely and are sitting there so pretty- how could i say no? earwig (v): to annoy or attempt to influence by private talk So, she can earwig you, you can be earwigged , and they may be earwigging right this moment over the water cooler. i use that today (not only because it depicts a great mental picture AND makes my ears itch) but also because this is my private , secret spot to 'speak', so to speak . i find myself to be quite open here- but on the same token, i am still shielding. i do this. you do this. we all do this. its a defense mechanism and i'd venture to say its necessary for survival. if i said EXACTLY how i feel about all there is to be spoken here- you may find yourself with a bad taste in your mouth. i am human. i am not always a nice person. i am sometimes me