Tis The Season...For Anxiety, Stress, Depression, and PTSD

I took my mother to Walmart today, as I do every Saturday, and immediately realized, as I pulled into the parking lot, the season of hell had begun.  Anxiety churned in my empty stomach and rose into my throat, prompting my neuro-sensors to go into over-drive.  I literally had to bite my tongue to stop myself from spewing the four-letter words building in my speech center, until I could drop mom off at the front entrance.  As soon as she got out and shut the door, the cursing began and continued on until I found a decent spot to park and could pull myself together.  I despise Walmart on a good day; this time of year magnifies that disdain by a thousand.  Today began my ritual desire to be put into a medically induced coma until December 31st, at which time, I can be awaken, just in time, to give the year a final middle-finger-salute and grasp at some hope for a better year ahead.

As you can see, I don't do Christmas well.  I never fully enjoy it; the best part of Christmas is Christmas night, when it's all over with.  I don't like Christmas music, Christmas decorations, Christmas movies...pretty much anything that pertains to Christmas is not high on my "happy times" list.  

I suffer with PTSD.  I was a single mother, working to make just enough to keep a roof over our head, food on the table, and utilities on.  I never wanted to disappoint my kids and thus I did what I could to make sure they had a decent Christmas.  I stressed for weeks (beginning the week of Thanksgiving) and would stress every day, all day long, until the season was over.  I cried every day worrying about how I was going to pull it off again.  I didn't sleep much and when I did, it was restless and worrisome.  

People often say to me, "but your kids are grown, you have a great job making decent money; why does it still bother you?"  I put myself through hell for years; that kind of mental trauma doesn't just go away.  It is triggered by the things so many love about this time of year.  Music, shopping, cold weather, commercials; these things are hell to me and most of the time I bury it down so I don't bum everybody else out.  If you notice me not being my bubbly self, now you know why.  I am constantly struggling to keep the madness contained and always feel as though, at any given moment, I might have a come-apart to beat all come-aparts.  

There are more people like myself than anybody knows.  We suffer alone, putting on that fake smile and wishing everybody "Merry Christmas" when, inside our brains, we are saying, "Merry F'en Christmas".  We have to give ourselves pep talks any time we have to go into public and especially if we have to go into a store that is blaring "Jingle Bells", "Have a Holly Jolly Christmas", or "Jingle Bell Rock".  I have been known to walk by a speaker in a store and give it the bird.  The only Christmas song we enjoy is "Silent Night" because it is the one song that gives us hope for a silent night.  

I am not a bad person.  I am a really good person who just really hates Christmas and every second of the over-materialized productions that surround it.  Every year, those productions seems to start earlier than the last.  This year, before Halloween was even over, Christmas shit was being stocked onto the shelves.  Anymore they just lump Thanksgiving into Christmas so that they can get a jump on pushing their Christmas cheer.  Assholes.

I am a scrooge; no doubt about it.  I don't enjoy not enjoying this time of year while everybody else is humming their little songs and sending out Christmas cards, and baking Christmas cookies and planning Christmas parties........AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH  If you see me and ask if I'm ok, I'm going to say "yes" but I want to say "no".  I try not to ruin anybody's Christmas cheer; I don't want to be a Debbie Downer.  I can usually hold it together pretty well until a few days before Christmas Day.  Usually because I put off finishing my shopping until I can no longer put it off so I'm already jacked up on anxiety and Drpepper when I go out into the Christmas public.  At least one time a year I let somebody have it.  It's never somebody innocent; I'm not that much of a shit.  It's usually somebody who is being a shit to a cashier and needs a come-to-jesus moment.  All my pent up stress and anxiety comes spewing out in the most beautiful torrents of cursing, spit, and tears.  It is a wonder I have not had the holy crap beaten out of me by now but really, would you mess with a crazed woman at Christmas?  Don't; just don't.

There will be some reading this who will say they had no idea I go through this every year.  I mask it well, up to a point.  There will be some reading this who are probably crying because they might have thought, all these years, they were the only ones that hate this time of year. Along with how much we despise Christmas, we also have the burden of guilt for hating Christmas.  It's complicated and to most, it makes no sense, but to us, it is completely logical.

Don't go out of your way to get out of my way.  Continue on with your thing; I will still smile and say the words and pretend as though all is right in my world.  I promise I will not attack you for wishing me a Merry Christmas, for sending me a Christmas card, and especially for making those Christmas cookies. I appreciate you as I know you are not to blame for my malfunctioning Christmas Spirit.  

I love you all.

Value of Life

The absolute bottom line, as it pertains to the violence we see in society today, is the lack or loss of the value of human life.  

This was the gist of a comment I made in a post pertaining to the violence/killings this past week in Louisiana, Minnesota, and Texas.  I have tried my best to limit my comments on such posts because it opens up a messy can of worms if one agrees with "Black Lives Matter" or "Cop lives Matters"; it seems one cannot agree with both sides of the equation; one must chose one side or the other.  And there lies the problem with society; we are always having to pick sides.  If you are standing up for black lives, then you are assumed to be anti-cop.  If you are standing up for police, you are seen as anti-black.  Let me put this as politely as I can. That, my friends, is complete bullshit.  But, I'll get back to that later.

The bigger issue, as I see it, is the value of life or the lack there of.  When was it, in our society, that we stopped valuing human life? That question isn't hard to answer; we never have valued the lives of others of different cultures, heritage, or race.  From the time this country was stolen from those whom resided here for hundreds of years before us, fair-skinned European individuals ranked higher in life value than those of other race, culture, or heritage.  Throughout the history of our society,  those of European decent, the Anglo Saxon majority, have hunted, slaughtered, bought and sold, and abused those with less life value than their own.  This is not a debatable fact; history has documented these events in an almost glorious light as if there was absolutely nothing wrong with what they have done.

We, as a society, continue to write and re-write the past in our present and future.  We hide behind political correctness as if it is a shield from the truth.  We glorify the firsts such as, "first African American President; first African American coach to win a Super Bowl; bla bla bla.  We glorify these "firsts" as a showcase of our progression but, in reality, we have not progressed at all as a society.  These are mere tokens; facades that hide the ugly truth.  Like putting a fresh coat of paint on an outhouse and believing it is a royal suite bathroom.  It's still a smelly outhouse that will splinter your ass if you don't sit just right.

Why is it that we need social policies such as political correctness and affirmative action?  Why is it that we continue to have check boxes that label individuals based upon race?  Why is it that we continue to glorify all the "firsts"?  The brutal and blunt fact is, is because our social norms are still based upon the cultural beliefs of the "white" majority; the Anglo Saxon dominance still rules our society.  These social policies are an insult; the equivalent to giving a small piece of stale bread to a starving individual who stands outside the expensive restaurant looking in on all those whom are privileged enough to sit and have a meal.  That is not equality; that is a handout by somebody who believes he/she is better than that starving person looking in from the outside.  Let that soak in for a minute; "looking in from the outside".  

I was exposed to the brutal truth of racism and inequality at the age of ten by an aging teacher whom told me, "good little white girls don't sit with the colored kids".  That was a defining moment in my life and I have never forgotten how it made me feel.  I understood immediately that I would be labeled a "bad little girl" if I sat or played with kids with a different skin color than myself.  I did not conform and refused to take on the labels I was given throughout my school years.

Which takes me back to my original thought; the value of life.  There is a credible, factual, and undeniable need to emphasize that Black lives matter.  Yes, all lives matter but, if you understand the history of our society, white lives have always matter more.  To rebuke the "Black Lives Matter" campaign with the "All Lives Matter" slogan, you are, once again, giving a scrap of stale bread to the starving individuals looking in from the outside.  If this society is to ever survive (honestly I am not sure we will) we must see the value of human life as humanity as a whole and not based upon the value as it compares to the white majority.  All humans are 99.5% alike as it pertains to DNA.  Socially, the variance is considerably more.  How is it that .5% makes such a difference between humans?   It doesn't and it shouldn't.

It isn't a coincidence that young, black males are the target of unjustified violence by police; we, as a society, painted this picture for as long as we have been a society.  We have maintained and nurtured the belief that their lives are of less value than the white majority.  Just as all American Indians were profiled as savages and systematically executed in astonishing numbers, young Black men are profiled as "thugs" and receive the blanket label as deviant.  Social assumptions are powerful; not only for those on the inside looking out, but also for those on the outside looking in.  It is impossible for the insiders to understand how it feels to be an outsider.  The insiders say, "I'm a good person because I give you bread to eat" but the outsiders deserve more than bread; they deserve the whole meal.  But more importantly, they deserve to eat the whole meal along with those inside.  It is not enough to give them a meal; you must be willing to share the space.  And this is where society has lost the value of life.  The belief that it is enough to hand out scraps but not willing to share the space and the full meal.  Generation after generation resentment festers.  The insiders don't understand why there is still so much resentment because they continue to handout the scraps.  The divide widens and that .5% difference might as well be 95%.

People are good and people are bad in all facets of life.  To blame the whole for the actions of a few is ignorant.  I support the maintenance of  the law but will always hold those accountable for their actions.  I will always be a voice and advocate for Black lives and all minorities whom still stand on the outside looking in.  If you do not believe this is the truth about our society, I suggest you be careful on your perch because at some point in life, you will have to come down from it.

I love you all!

Oh Baby, Baby!

Since my last entry, a great deal has happened in our country and I am sure most bloggers/writers put in their two-cents-worth on each of those topics.  I, on the other hand, reserve my blog writings to be completely personal so that I can appease my narcissistic side.  So, there will be no talk of gorillas, Orlando, or alligators.  I take that back; there is one thing I will say:  Shit happens; bad shit, to good, decent people and none of us are immune to it.  Resolution to issues will never come about by submitting inappropriate comments from arm-chair-quarterbacks sitting behind a computer screen whom believe they are perfection wrapped in a pretty bow.  Wake up people; our country has gone to hell and all the Twitter and Facebook posts in the world will not change that.

So, back to the more important subject; me.  As of today, the most prevalent topic on my mind is my very pregnant daughter whom is about to give birth to my fourth grandchild.  

   I had been with her for a week, expecting it to happen at any given moment, but this child is holding out; content to stay nice and snug where he or she is.  My daughter and her husband decided to let this baby be a surprise.  They did not find out the gender as they want that "television moment" where the doctor announces "it's a boy" or "it's a girl".  I have to agree; it is quite exciting to finally get to meet this child with all the months of not knowing who it is we will be meeting.  My daughter and husband have names picked out but are not sharing those with us until the arrival.  This only makes me nervous for the fact that I hope it is a name that doesn't take time to get used to.  "Meet your granddaughter, 'Flower Pedal'" or "Meet your grandson Armadillo Blake".  I would have to fake a smile and quickly come up with a nic-name suitable for the child.  I have faith they wouldn't give their child a names like that, but in the age of "North West", you never know.

My first ex-husband is in town for Father's Day.  I have not throat punched, cussed (to his face anyways) or shown my ass...yet.  

 After several years of complete silence, I was finally able to re-connect with one of my most favorite people in the world.  My persistence paid off and we have picked up right where we left off. This is somebody I truly care about and love and over the past few years, I have felt like something was missing.  I feel like that something is no longer missing.  It is very nice to have that person whom will listen to my rants, without judgement, and then return a comment that makes me laugh out loud.  We all need "that somebody" and I am so very happy to have my somebody back.

Short and sweet this blog; daughter is calling and needing her mother.  I'm getting her up walking or, at least, putting her on the trampoline and seeing if gravity will work.

Love to all

Pig Roast, Hospitals, and Murphy's Law

You know what they say about the best-laid plans...

For four months my brother and I had been planning a big birthday celebration for my father.  One month in I realized my brother thought this would be my fathers' 90th birthday when, in fact, it would be his 89th.  Right off the bat, Murphy and his stupid law came into play.  We should have aborted the whole deal right then but we decided to move forward with our plans.

I put in for a vacation day the day before the party.  The pig had been ordered and supplies were purchased.  I got off work Thursday at 8:30 pm, got home, and at 10:30 pm dad needed to go to the ER.  Spent the next four hours hoping to get the situation sorted (and they thought they had) got home, slept for two hours, got up, and headed to finish the shopping.  Two carts of supplies later, I emerge from the battle field of Walmart to the hardest rain I have ever seen.  I waited for 15 minutes because, in theory, there is no way it can keep raining that hard for that long.  Wrong!  It was not letting up...so off I ran, pulling two carts and getting soaked.  Groceries in trunk, I return the cart to its proper place (because I, for the life of me, cannot leave it lingering in the parking lot) I jump in my car, and yes, the rain eased up.  F'you Murphy...you sick SOB.  As I pull into the driveway, I kid you not, it begins another torrential downpour and will not let up.  Soaked again.

I unload all the groceries and start cooking...baked beans, mac'n'cheese, and marinated vegetables.  I have to go back to town two or three more times, between cleaning and cooking, before I get settled in for the night.  I finally get to a place where I can relax for a bit and dad realizes he has another problem.  This is something we can monitor for a bit so at 11 pm I tell him to wake me if the problem persists.  At 3 am (just 2 hours after I fell asleep) the problem persists, so off we go, back to the ER (the same ER as the night before...1st mistake).  They (the doctors) resolve the issue (or so they thought) and four hours later we are on the way home.  My brother is less than an hour away with the pig, so there would be no sleep for me.  I hate you Murphy.

My brother arrives with the pig...they get the grill fired up and the pig goes on the grill.  (PETA will love this picture)

This little piggy went to market

Everything goes well for the next 5 or 6 hours and then the problem we thought was resolved, wasn't resolved at all.  I finally put in a call to my fathers' urologist and explain the issue and he insists that I bring him to the hospital he is with, 30 miles away.  So at 3 pm, as guests begin to arrive, the guest of honor and myself take off to yet another ER for the third time in as many days.  I did manage to get a bite of charred pig ear, (which was tasty by the way), as we headed down the not so yellow brick road.  Murphy, I would stomp your ass if I knew who you were and could find you...or a distant relative of yours...jerk.

Seven hours later he was finally admitted and in his room. I tucked him in, wished him a happy birthday, (in a rather sarcastic tone), and drove myself home to a smoldering pig carcass and a dirty house.  If there was ever a time I wished I could drink alcohol, that was it.  I stared at a bottle of whiskey like it was a naked George Clooney but then decided it wasn't worth the hang-over.  I went into my room, shut the door, and collapsed into bed, too exhausted to sleep.  I flipped through the channels to find something to help me fall asleep and came upon "Sex sent me to the ER" and literally laughed so hard I peed myself.  It was as though Murphy was laying right beside me saying, "I created this law just for this very day".  I punched the pillow beside me and swore, if I ever meet anybody with the name "Murphy" I would punch him in the throat.

That was a week ago, almost to the minute as I type this.  I have spent the last seven days spending the entire day with dad at the hospital and then coming home to make sure mom wasn't trying to do anything she shouldn't be doing.  I have eaten Subway every day (except today) and haven't lost a single pound.  I call bullshit on the whole eating subway to lose weight diet.  But I guess that diet didn't include the three chocolate chip cookies I had along with the sandwiches.

The original issue in which dad was admitted for was resolved after two days but then a new issue came to light and that has not been as easy to fix.  Every day the doctor says, "one more day".  The first few days I was pleasant and patient but now I'm like the worst case scenario of the patient family member that nurses dread most.  I have too much medical knowledge, hospital administrative knowledge, and a nose for bullshit.  By day four I was throwing out clues that I'm no dummy and I want information.  Don't just tell me his sodium is low; I want the numbers.  Don't just tell me you are trying to resolve the issue; I want details of how you plan to do this and what medications you plan to use, how often, and why you think that is a good plan of action.  If I call and ask how my father is doing, don't try to pacify me by saying "not much has changed"; I want to know the lab results from the most recent blood work.  I am my fathers voice; literally, because he is experiencing hospital psychosis and is not completely oriented and can't really speak for himself.

So yes, the best laid plans...bla bla bla...that's life.  Not everything can always go as planned.  Bumps in a road that is also curvy, twisting, covered in snow with a bridge out...but we still find a way through.  I made this commitment to my parents three years ago; to be here for them no matter what.  It doesn't feel like a chore or something inconvenient I have to do.  It feels like the natural and right thing to do.  Nobody should worry about how they are going to get along when they get too old to do everything for themselves. I am not their babysitter.  I am a care-taker/safety net.  I am here when they need me and that gives them the peace of mind they need to enjoy their golden years.  Life is what it is; it's all about making navigation changes to maneuver around the obstacles.  

I still hate you Murphy.

Life as a Single Woman in her 50's

"Are you single or have a significant other?" I say "yes" to both.  They ask, "How can you be single and have a significant other?"  Well let me tell you, but first, a little back-story.

I have been married and divorced three times.  As hindsight goes, those failed marriages were as much my fault as theirs.  I had one long-term relationship since my last divorce and would still be with him if the geography were different.  We had a wonderful relationship but there is too many miles between Michigan and Kentucky; his kids are there and my kids are here and one cannot be in two places at the same time.  In the end, my responsibility and heart-strings pulled me back to Kentucky and that was that.

Since that split, three years ago, I have not dated; not even once.  I haven't even played with the idea of getting into another relationship.  But that does not mean I do not have a significant other.  In fact, I have many significant others.

I have my parents, whom I live with and care for in their golden age.  I have my three wonderful, beautiful, and sometimes demanding grown children.  I have my amazing, loves-of-my-life grand children whom fill my heart with so much love that I sometimes cry because the love is so strong.  I have my brothers; one older, one younger; both very close to me.  I have many nieces and nephews and great-nieces and great-nephews.  I have my friends, co-workers, and many, many acquaintances that make every day memorable.  These are my significant others and honestly, my life is amazingly full.

However, some people ask me, "What is it like to be single in your 50's?".   It is liberating, freeing, and pretty damn awesome 99.999% of the time.  Honestly, the longer I am single, the less I think about being in a relationship.  I joke around about wanting to date but when it comes down to it, I can't even imagine starting over again. The investment alone is daunting not to mention all the other responsibilities that come with having a "boyfriend".

These are a few of the questions people ask me about being single.

Don't you miss having somebody to sleep with at night?

No! I rather enjoy having the bed all to myself, hogging the covers, and watching what I want to watch whenever I want to watch it. I do not miss the snoring, farting, and having to be ever-so-quiet because somebody else is trying to sleep next to me.  At those times when I am feeling nostalgic about having a bed partner, I have my oldest granddaughter come stay the night.  She reminds me of why I like sleeping alone with her grinding her teeth and the need to sleep as close to me as she can possibly get.

Don't you miss getting all dressed up and going out on the town?

What? Really?  By 3 pm I am counting the minutes until I can get home and get out of my bra and make up and put on my comfy clothes.  Getting all dressed up sort of sounds like one would have to shave her legs which is not something I do routinely and see no real need to do unless I am having a pedicure or going to the gynecologist.  At this stage in my life, (post-menopausal) the most prevalent body hair I am concerned with grows on my upper lip.

Don't you want somebody to grow old with?

Yes, my kids and grand children.  When I am old, demented, and refuse to shower, I want to live with my children to show them what it was like when they were growing up.  I think it is only fair.  I want them to change my diapers, feed me, and hold me when I cry.  The circle of life and all.

And the inevitable...

Don't you miss the sex?

What part of the whole not shaving thing didn't you understand? I would miss chocolate and Dr Pepper more than I miss sex.  I am devoutly abstinent and am perfectly content as such.

What do you miss then?

I miss him and how he was my best friend.  I miss how we laughed and how we got each other.  He was and still is a good man and a part of me will always love him.  What we had was real and perhaps I don't want to tarnish what that was with something that can never measure up to what that was.  Perhaps I want to end that part of my life on a high note knowing that I did have true love at least once in my life and that is enough.

But life is strange and one never knows what can happen from minute to minute.  I do not plan nor do I seek a relationship but that doesn't me it can't or won't happen.  I am fulfilled in my life.  No love will ever be stronger than what I feel for my grandchildren.  No touch will ever be sweeter than the touch from my grandchildren.  I am perfectly content "single" but not really single.

Talking To Myself

I have been known to, from time to time, talk to myself.  Ok, I talk to myself daily, many times a day.  I give myself positive feedback, praise, scoldings (when needed), and make myself laugh.  I like myself and I do not see anything wrong with talking to myself.  My co-workers, however, will say, "Debbie's talking to herself again"; this makes me smile but I'm not sure why.  I kind of like being the weird one in the office; I do different well.

I have been a self-talker for as long as I remember.  I believe it to be a strong quality of self assurance that as enabled me to problem solve throughout my life.  I have talked myself through times of extreme grief and over-the-top stressful situations.  I have told myself to stop dwelling on past events that have caused me regret and remorse.  I have spent a considerable amount of time explaining to myself why something is or is not a logical decision.  I have stopped myself from falling prey to whatever BS somebody might spew by telling myself, out loud, "Leave it alone Debbie".  I have complimented myself when I achieve a goal or complete a difficult task.  I will often, and I mean often, talk myself through an everyday task at work to ensure I do not become too complacent and miss an important detail.  I talk to myself a lot and I listen to myself a lot.

You see, your heart and emotions will sometimes cause you to do or say things that your brain knows better than to do or say.  When I talk to myself, it is my brain self that does the talking because the emotion and heart self can't be trusted.  My brain self is calm, logical, and damn smart.  My emotion and heart self is often just plain stupid.  Thankfully, over the years, my brain self has become the strongest of the selves and will almost always get me or keep me out of trouble.  With exception to the self-tanning lotion I used a few years back that turned me a brilliant shade of orange and lasted way longer than it should have.  My brain self still laughs at me about that and is often one of its strongest logical points as to why I should always listen to it.

Aside from talking to myself, another quirky turret-type behavior I have is to break out in song at any given moment.  I have this uncanny ability, from any conversation, to pick up lyrics from any song ever recorded and then blurt them out, in song and in perfect tune.  It is an impulsive and, to be honest, impressive quality I have grown to love about myself.  Don't think I haven't noticed the strange looks I get from others when this happens; I know it's weird but it is also fabulous and I am sure, by the time I reach the full onset of dementia, I will spend 80% of my time singing one song or another.  Dang, it will be awesome to be 90 years old and break into "Who Let The Dogs Out", "Baby Got Back", or "Purple Rain".

Life is seriously difficult so much of the time.  We all walk a fine line between sanity and the edge of insanity.  Sometimes, some of us, step over the line, just for fun.  I call these my moments of pure delight when I let go of inhibitions and social norms and just be a human dancing close to the fire and enjoying it for all it is.  As I get older, that fire has become ever-so-comforting and I find myself tinged, smokey, and happily exhausted by the dance.  I hope you dance.

The Breaking

She cuts all alone just to quiet the demons that try bending her mind till it breaks

She's wearing long sleeves in the middle of summer so no one will notice her pain

And with every drop the pain almost stops and she almost feels normal again.

But she knows it won't last, it always comes back. She knows it will never end.

He's socially awkward with nothing in common with anyone he's ever known

His own private hell is the world that he lives in that he has to walk through alone

Every day he considers the ways that he could make it all end.

It's a matter of time before he makes up his mind, to never wake up again.

Chorus:

They're broken and they're waiting for someone to silence the pain.

And they live their lives, one beat at a time, wrapped in a blanket of shame.

viewing the world through a lens that's distorted so nothing can ever make sense.

the truth becomes lies and their lies are what saves them from ending it all.

At 16 years old he came out to his parents and that's when the breaking began

His father called him a fag and a queer; his mother could not understand.

They got in his head with the things that they said and they tried to pray it away

They broke him that night, oh what a price..their only son had to pay

Listen to the song I wrote for mental illness awareness 


My passion in life is to bring more awareness to mental illness; especially among children and adolescents.  I want people/society to stop considering it as deviance and start realizing how mental illness should not be treated any differently than other medical conditions.

One of the major stumbling blocks we find as clinicians is removing the shame from mental illness.  Patients tend to want to hide their illnesses and don't seek help because they are ashamed of it.  This has to end.  We, in society, need to make sure every person seeks and receives the help they need.

You can help that process by sharing this blog to highlight the struggles so many go through.  Thank you.

Things That Drive Me Crazy

One thing I have discovered is that the older I get, my list of pet peeves grows longer.  Things I once tolerated are now fair game for my WTH look.  I fear that with each year that passes, my filter will betray me and I will no longer be able to stop my brain from transforming my thoughts into actual words that spew from my mouth without restraint.  Perhaps that is the beauty of getting old; you can finally say the things you've always wanted to say but are too polite to say them.  Politeness becomes over-rated in the golden years.  I suppose we know we only have so much time left to finally rid our souls of the words we've held in all these years so we might as well start letting them go.

The following are some, but not all, of the things that drive me nuts.

People who are habitually late.  When people are habitually late, that lateness becomes their "on time".  Stop it...please.  Don't be late just because you know people know you are always late and that makes it alright because that's just how you are.  No, it isn't alright and we don't like it but we like you so we don't say anything...except when we say something in a passive aggressive way and you just laugh and think we are kidding.  No.  We are not kidding.  We do not like your tardiness.

Phone conversations in public.  There is a difference between talking on the phone in public and having conversations in public.  You should not be discussing your sex life, your bodily functions, your arguments, your appointments with your doctor, your hemorrhoids, or any other extremely private issues while standing in line at Wal Mart.  For the love of all that is good, shut the hell up while I am standing less than 4 feet behind you in a line that is moving slower than a sloth.  I have talked on my phone in public but it is always quick and casual.  Even worse, is somebody talking on a blue-tooth earpiece.  You catch their eye and they say something and you walk up to them and say, "excuse me, I didn't hear you" and they don't even say "I'm sorry, I was talking on the phone"; they point at their ear and look at you like YOU just invaded their privacy.  Now that is one of those occasions that eventually my filter will fail and I will blurt out some type of obscenity while extending my middle finger.  Yep, that will do it.

Using the last of anything and not replacing it.  Anything that can be replaced and the replaceable part is there, replace it.  It's easy...takes a few seconds and everybody is happy.  My co-workers know that this is a pet peeve of mine; I leave notes reminding them. We've all been there; the empty roll of toilet paper staring at us as we are at our most vulnerable times.  Oh, and don't get me started about those who get a new roll of toilet paper but are too lazy to actually put it on the roller.  For cry'en out loud, you're sitting there, with nothing to do until you are done.  Is it too much to ask to just take the 15 seconds it takes to put it on the roller?  And make sure you put it on so the paper falls over the roll, not under.  I will also change this in anybody's house if it is put on wrong.

Sweeping while I eat.  There is nothing more rude than eating out and somebody starts sweeping the floor or carpet beside where you are eating.  Disgusting actually.  I have, more than once, asked them not to sweep until I leave.  Most of the time I can see them coming and I'll give them the look while shaking my head "no" and they will scurry away.  Should they not be sensitive to my body language, I will politely ask them not to sweep until I am done.  Should they ignore both clues, I will eat free that night and get a gift card for my next meal.  As I get older, I am sure that my subtle body language and politeness will give way to blunt honesty.  I almost can't wait until I can get away with that.

Phone solicitors.  I really don't care what cause or item they are trying to sell; they are annoying and disrespectful and I have no use for them what-so-ever.  There was a time when we could have some fun with phone solicitors.  There was a time when they could not hang up, no matter what, unless we hung up first.  Those were the times when you could ask them to hold on for a second, put the phone down, go watch a movie and come back to find them still there.  There was a time when I asked one if he liked the music by The Eagles and he said "Yes".  I asked him to hold on and I proceeded to play the Greatest Hits album.  Good times!  But now, they aren't any fun.  Now they ro-bo dial or even worse, they ro-bo dial and then the solicitor is a recording.  Those are the worse.  The worst of the worse are the ro-bo dialed, recordings that tell you to call them back because they "really want to talk to you".  Yeah, I'll do that right after I fly to Paris for brunch, you morons.

Nose secretions.  I have had babies.  I can deal with poop, puke, pee and blood.  I cannot deal with any form of snot or the conjuring up of said snot and that disgusting noise people make when they are trying to conjure up that snot.  As I type this my gag reflex is in full mode.  I will come completely undone if somebody blows their nose anywhere within ear-shot of me.  If, by some unseen demonic force, I am standing within eyesight and said person blows said nose and then opens the tissue to view the prize, I will, without any ability to control it, projectile vomit.  The same response will follow if I hear somebody conjure up a luggie and then spit it out.  All you tobacco chewing, dip dipping people, please be respectful of all those who have a low threshold for anything spit or snot related.  If you spit into a bottle, please cover that bottle so the spit can't be seen or (gag) mistake it for the actual cola drink they might be drinking at the time.  Do not spit into cups that can get tipped over.  Do not spit on sidewalks.  Do not discard your used cud of tobacco on the sidewalk or sink or anywhere I might happen to come across it.

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I could go on but I think you get the point.  We all have those things that get under our skin and make us want to run screaming into the night, pulling our hair out.  We learn to tolerate most things but we all have those one or two things that we cannot ignore no matter how hard we try.  Then we get old...really old and we get to throw away our filters and just blissfully spill our thoughts out of our mouth to make up for all the times we were too polite to say anything.

My Longest, Truest, and Dearest Friend

When our friendship began, I was rather needy.  I demanded so much of her time and she lovingly appeased my demands.  She was always there, night and day, unconditionally loving me; even when I could give nothing in return.

I wasn't her only friend; she had others before me and then added another after me, even though I was to be her last friend.  I had a lot of her attention for nine years until he came along.  It was alright though; I kind of enjoyed having him around although there were times he could be even more needy than I was.  

We enjoyed looking through old pictures and I had a hard time imagining her so young and carefree.  I just assumed she was always the way she was when I first met her.  

As time passed, we sometimes drifted apart.  I had my young and wild opinions and hers didn't quite fit with mine.  Still, I would look at pictures and be reminded that once, she was young, like myself, and she probably understood my restlessness.

More time passed and more friends came into the picture.  This is when our friendship really got stronger.  I was more like her than ever before; raising my own friends and trying to make my way in this world.  Throughout all the years, when we drifted and came back together, she always loved me unconditionally, without fail.  It was that quiet, patient love that was always there waiting for me to come back around.

As you have guessed, my life-long friend, whom I've known for 54 years, is my mother.  Her strength can not be measured by any tool known to man.  She has endured great heartache that no mother should have to endure.  She has cooked thousands of meals to feed hundreds of people and still, today, will open her dinner table to any who wish to share a meal.

I am, who I am because of who she is.  I am fortunate to be able to spend every day with her and to be here for her as she was for me.  I will gladly and unconditionally do anything I can do to make sure she always knows how much I love her.

Happy Mother's Day Mom...I love you

Dating 4.0

I consider myself the romantic type.  However, my track record for romantic relationships is pretty sad.  I see people celebrating their 10th anniversaries and I shamefully hang my head knowing that all three of my marriages, combined, did not add up to 10 years.  My last long-term relationship ended three years ago and since then, I have labeled myself "undateable".  I just don't think I have the stamina to go through the whole dating process.  If I could meet a man, fall in love, and go straight into the "comfortable" zone within the first week, I might be able to maintain a relationship.  

To say that I am set in my ways is probably an understatement.  At this point in my life, I am more excited about my new car than I am about a new relationship.  My new car doesn't require me to shave my legs; especially the upper legs; the area I like to call "the no fly zone".  There is just too much work involved in meeting potential romantic counter-parts.  I truly don't even know where to start in the search for this fictional "love-of-my-life".  

Online dating leaves me frustrated.  I've watched too many episodes of Catfish to ever be really comfortable with online romance.  Every time I start a conversation with a man on a dating site, I have visions of a confused, low self-esteemed, teenager getting his or her kicks out of baiting the hook and reeling me in. Fish on! Fish on! 

Let's be real here.  Men and women have polar differences when it comes to hormonal changes in their middle age.  Women have vast decreases in estrogen, throwing us into that glorious time in our lives called menopause.  I call it my men-on-pause phase of life and thus the reason I am not running around frantic to find a mate.  Men, on the other hand, seem to have an increase or, at the very least, are able to maintain a sustainable measure of testosterone as they head through middle age.  This is why men buy sports cars and get hair plugs at this time of their lives and women stop shaving their legs or caring if they have a three week old mustache going on under their nose.  Men get to have an exciting, fun mid-life crisis while my mid-life crisis, in stark contrast, consisted of the onset of powerful hot flashes and the increase of whisker stubble.  Men tend to have a surge or at the very least, a normal  sex drive.  I, on the other hand, am more excited by an episode of The Walking Dead and Game of Thrones than I am by the prospect of a sexual encounter.  

My friends asked me what are my requirements for a potential dating situation.  It's funny how these so-called requirements change as we go through the different stages of our lives.  When we are young, we seek young, strong, good-looking, rich men.  In our 30's we seek stable, responsible, professional men and pay less attention to looks.  In my stage of life, the requirements become more complex.  

I need romance.  I don't mean flowers and candy and gifts.  I mean I want love notes, back rubs, foot rubs, and just the simple pleasures in life.  

I need my space.  I love to snuggle but when I sleep, please don't smoother me.  I am not the type to want to spoon throughout the night.  When I am ready to sleep, I require having enough space to flip-flop without restrictions.  

I require intelligent conversations in which I can state my opinion without having it vetoed by his differing opinion.  If he is threatened by an intelligent, strong-willed, independent woman, I am not somebody he wants to date.  

He has to understand my priorities from the get-go.  My family comes first.  I won't sacrifice my time with my kids, grand kids, and immediate family.  This requirement alone is likely the deal-breaker for most men I might be interested in dating or whom might be interested in dating me.  

I do not drink alcoholic beverages.  I don't mind if he does but I will not put up with a slobbering, stumbling, mean, loud, obnoxious, falling-down drunk.  I will allow for two, possibly three celebratory benders a year but do not expect me to undress you and put you to bed or take care of you when you have a hang-over the next day.  Do not call, text, or email me drunk.  I have a very low tolerance for juvenile behavior when the behavior is coming from a grown man.  

I don't do jealousy.  Period.

I don't do stalking.  Period.

I don't do one-night-stands.  Period.  Usually.

The man I date must be a Walking Dead fan and it would help if he is a Game of Thrones fan as well.  I'll give a little wiggle room on this; he doesn't have to watch these shows but he cannot belittle me in any way just because I watch them.  Strangely, this is really important to me.  The fact is, common interests are one of the stronger aspects of a solid relationship.  Sometimes opposites attract, but very seldom to do those relationships stand the test of time.  Usually once the initial period of unbridled lust  cools off and they have to actually talk about real stuff, they find they don't have enough in common to continue the relationship.    

As I read through this daunting list of requirements (all of which have yet to be listed) I realize it is virtually impossible to believe there is somebody who would measure up.  Perhaps my requirements are just my safety net that keeps me from stepping out of my comfort zone.  Perhaps I have sabotaged my own potential love life by making this perfect mate so elusive I have no hopes of ever finding him.  He is, in fact, the unicorn of romantic interests. He only exists in movies, romance novels, and internet dating sites.  

I don't have to have a boyfriend; I am completely fulfilled with my life just the way it is.  You see, I learned a long time ago that if you are looking for a person to complete you, you will never find that person.  No person should ever complete you; you should feel complete and satisfied with life just as you are.  A person should add to your life; enhance it and make it better but never expect somebody to complete you if you do not feel complete on your own.

I am complete.

Super Dad

This is my brother Rob and his six year old son, Curtis.  Today we celebrated Curtis' birthday and his one big wish was for his dad to wear a Super Man outfit like his.  He not only wore the outfit, he went into Pizza Hut to pick up the pizza for the party.  Curtis was one very happy little boy and I am one very proud sister seeing to what lengths my brother would go to make sure his boy is happy. Curtis probably won't remember what else he got today but I can 100% guarantee he will never  forget that his dad wore a Super Man costume for him.  NEVER

Family really is everything.  When the chips are down...when you are on your last strike...when the waves are about to sink your boat (have I used enough analogies yet?) family is your life-line to save your butt.

I come from a very close family and all the men in our family are strong, loving, gentle, and affectionate fathers.  They put their kids above all else.  (The women are just as wonderful mothers, but that post is being saved for next week). I suppose that comes from the strong foundation my father has laid and has been the most positive role model for all the men in this family.

Being a father is the most important thing a man will ever do.  Far too many take it for granted or don't want to take the time to do what is right for the child.  They allow work or pride or whatever get in the way of showing those children what it means to be selfless.  The legal system tends to put fathers last when it comes to custody, child support, visitation, and parental rights.  Not all fathers are dead-beats trying to dodge their responsibilities.  But far too many times, the courts side with the mothers even when fathers are just as capable and responsible.  Sometimes, it seems, the courts stereo-type all fathers based upon the actions of some.  I've seen it happen time and time again and feel it is time the scales become more equal.

That is not where I was planning to go with this, but the words fell and I think they needed to be said.

But don't let me distract you from the initial point of this piece; my brother is a hero; a super hero for sure.  Those are the things that make the difference in a kids' life; not what you can buy them but what you can do for them to show how much you love them.

Ya Don't Say!

me in public

I must admit; I not only listen to other peoples' conversations in public spaces, I actively seek them out.  It is my human curiosity that drives me to discover how people communicate with each other.  Whether they are face-to-face conversations or over the phone, if you are in public space, your "private" conversation is fair game for an extra set of ears.  

After all these years one would think I would not be shocked with what I hear in public but amazingly, I can still be taken a-back with how people talk and what they say.  The unfortunate truth that I have discovered is that it is more common for people to talk negatively to or about each other and very rare to hear positive, loving conversations.  I have actually followed [stalked] couples around stores, as they argue, to witness how far and long they will continue to argue in public.  Almost always these arguments are over stupid, unimportant things such as size of detergent they purchase, what to have for dinner that night, and various other insignificant reasons to argue.  Certainly, the root of the issue is not detergent or dinner; those things are just the salt that reopens the wounds that have yet to be healed.  

Is it wrong for me to listen in on these conversations in public spaces?  Maybe it is a rude but I don't think it is wrong.  I am not a mind-your-own-business kind of person.  The problem with convo-stalking for a person like me is keeping my mouth shut.  The lines are a bit blurred when it comes to listening in but stepping in on private discussions is crossing the lines unless.....................yeah, there is always that "unless".  I have said something when somebody has called somebody else a name that is degrading or racist; especially if children are involved.  I have said something when it looked like the argument might escalate into something physical.  I have said something when young children are watching as the argument continues.  I don't stop and join the conversation; I just drop quick bombs of simple advice as I walk on by.  "Your kids are watching", "Is it worth all this?", "Forgiving is easy"; simple things to remind them they are in public and to cut it the hell out.

All the conversations are not negative.  I have heard enough loving, funny, and easy-going conversations to let me know there is still hope for the Human race.  It is always nice to hear couples truly interacting with each other in happy and positive ways; especially when their children watch.  Which brings me to the point of all this: How you behave, how you interact, how you handle this world is how your children or other children will do the same.  They learn from what they hear and see.  Teaching your children how to have positive interactions with others is likely the most important lesson you can give them.  Making it in this world hinges on how we can interact with other humans.  We can no longer just exist together; we must be able to co-exist happily or, at the very least, be able to reconcile our differences in positive and mature fashion.

Hill? What Hill?

I've always thought of my parents as old.  Not geriatric old, but old. By the time I was born, they were both in their 30's; that's old for a very young child.  I recently realized that I am now older than they were when I thought they were over-the-hill.  How in the heck did I get over-the-hill and will somebody please tell me where this "hill" is because I really don't remember going over it.  I really do not believe I can be over-the-hill because that sounds like it requires exercise; something I have been opposed to for most of my life.  

I am not one to dwell on my age; in fact, I stopped keeping track long ago.  So much so, I have to do the math whenever I have to state my age.  However, a few years back, I did start noticing the lines on my face.  I invested large sums of money on products that promised to erase fine lines, ie, wrinkles.  I soon realized those products are targeted toward women in their late 20's and early 30's when the lines are actually "fine" and not, as I have, deep-set road maps etching across my face in every direction.  One day I looked in the mirror and wondered, "how did I get that scar.  Come to find out, it is one of those not-so-fine lines.  I soon gave up trying to conceal them and simply embraced the lines on my face that are, actually, a perfect road map of my life thus far.

Vanity can be a slippery slope.  Social expectations tend to define our natural aging process as something negative.  Women attempt to fall for these misguided stereotypes and begin to believe they must look younger, thinner, and more socially acceptable if they are to make it in this dog-eat-dog world.  I call BS and I am living proof.

I got my undergraduate degree late in my 40's and completed my Master's in my early 50's.  As I began searching for an entry-level position, my competition for those jobs was half my age and able to give a life-time to the company that hired them.  I, on the other hand, only have 15-20 years left; maybe more if my brain holds up. I had to be creative and honest, all at the same time.  I had to show them that hiring me is a good gamble.  I used my maturity, wisdom, and determination as the foundation of my argument as to why they should hire me over a 25-year-old.  It paid off and I landed the most amazing job helping many, many individuals in their most desperate times of need.  I was promoted after my first year; demoted in my second year, and now I am perfectly content giving my full attention to the patients whom seek our help.  I have the most amazing co-workers whom have become my dearest and treasured friends.  I cannot imagine working anywhere else and plan to stay for as long as my mind, heart, and bodily functions allow me.

I don't worry about the lines on my face or the love-handles in my mid-section.  I try to maintain a fairly healthy life-style but I don't dwell on the appearance that nature has painted for me.  Sure, I get my hair colored and styled and I dress well but I don't do it because society tells me I should do it; I do it because it makes me feel good about myself.  

Every line on my face is a testament of living a full life.  I am not ashamed and I will not deny what those lines signify.  Many of those lines are from smiling; some are from frowning...all are a wonderful zig-zag portrait of this long, beautiful life.

Hill?  What hill?  I've only just begun the accent; I'm nowhere near over it yet.

 

A Short Introduction

Let's be real; life is one messy, sometimes screwed up, stressful, painful, but mostly beautiful ride that often leaves us grasping for that last thin thread at the end of a short rope.  But we keep getting up and doing it over and over and over again; trying to get it right and achieving that goal at a higher percentage than not.  We are all just infants exploring the world through touch, sight, sound, taste, and smell.  We might have grown up bodies, but in this human race, we are all just babies trying to survive.

For those who don't know me, let me introduce myself.  My name is Debbie.  I am a daughter, sister, mother, and Mimi.  I wear many hats that come in many sizes.  I have lived a full 53 years on this Earth and am a couple months into my 54th.  I am a writer, singer, musician, and poet.  I am educated, intelligent, funny, honest, loyal, confident, and inspirational.  Most importantly, of all those things I am, I am happy.  Why is that most important?  Because I cannot be good at any of those things I mentioned above if I am not truly happy.  

I have learned a lot in my 53 years and two months in this world and it would be a shame to let all that good knowledge go to waste. I intend to use this forum to share my unique perspective on this little thing we call The Human Life.   My goal is simple; to give hope to those whom don't seem to have any, to guide those whom have lost their direction, and to empower those whom feel weak. We all have life; the trick is being able to live it happily no matter what comes at you from out of the blue.