Split a Million Ways


Those articles that shout “you too can have it all” must be outright lies…or just belong to someone else’s reality.

It has been well over a month since I have written anything more elaborate than a Facebook status: partially because I haven’t had time and partially because I get ashamed when I see myself falling behind and would rather fall off the map than admit I see an inability to get everything done as a weakness instead of just a practical reality.

In the past few weeks, I have had a loved one unexpectedly hospitalized (way scary), giant projects at work, the birth of a new niece and travel shoved in with general survival. Add in several anxiety attacks, occasional bouts of exercise, toddler tantrum remediation and obligatory social occasions and you have…

Life.

It’s the way it goes. You roll with it or fight it; the former has benefits of conservation of energy, the latter allows room for the illusion that we have much control.

I went away for a hiring event (one I worked my arse off to plan and execute) for one of my company’s locations. It was many long hours on my feet, and my blister’s blisters had babies over a 4 day period.

My sainted hubby had the kids alone while I was gone. Both kids and the dog got sick at the same time. After 4 days of business travel I flew home, got off the plane, arrived at my house (after an hour stuck in rush hour traffic) and took over for the weekend.

Today I went back to work wondering
If I really did anything this weekend beyond herding crying children, wiping gooey, snotty faces and hiding in the bathroom (which doesn’t work by the way).

And yet? I have a job to go to and a reason to work hard. I have the children and family I always wanted. We’re not rich, but we have a roof and clothes and help should we need it. I have reasons to laugh daily.  Everyone made it through their various illnesses, and I am still here to write about it all.

And while I wish I were writing more, perhaps I should just be grateful I can write at all, and  be pleased when I can eek out more than a fragment in a bathroom stall (ew!) or during bouts of insomnia.

Or maybe at least I can be willing to accept that I am human, I can only do so much, and be thankful for those things that I do manage to get done…and accept that for me, if I am spending time cuddling my babies (and yes, they are not technically babies, dangit, but they are my babies) and providing for their welfare as best I can, I’m doing okay…and maybe work on trying to better fit some of the other bits in there too and not be so hard on myself.

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The Evolution of Dreams


I have always thought it important to have both dreams and  goals.  For much of my life, that was difficult to articulate: I am one for who most of those dreams have always been a little hazy and insubstantial…with a few exceptions:

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All out of Words…


Do you ever go through those times where you don’t have the right words? Or even if you do have the right words, you don’t want to use them?

I’m experiencing something like that. It is odd, I suppose, and contradictory, to be writing about being out of words, but that’s how I have felt the past few days.

I don’t really want to talk about my feelings, my day, or my life to another person. It’s not that nothing is happening in my little world, I just find I presently lack commentary.

I don’t know if it is a conservation of energy, or soul, or just a desire for some kind of true silence, but right now I am feeling like the well is a bit dry. There is a kind of pain to that kind of withdrawal, and it hurts, but I think maybe sometimes we all just need to find a cave and chill, absent of the stress, and the people, and the obligations, and the struggles… and maybe even the words.

I feel a bit guilty about this, even though I mean no harm or offense to my loved ones. My normal desire to update my family and friends on things, my typical smart-assery, and my need to translate my head into verbiage just seems like it has shut down temporarily.  The only exception to this seems my children: they are getting what words I do have, but even with them I think I am doing more watching and listening and (perhaps even a bit more than usual) cuddling.

I also haven’t stopped taking pictures, and still find myself pulling out my iPhone constantly to snap a shot.   I thought that since I am lacking in one department, I would share some of my last few days and thoughts in pictures instead: sharing a little of  what I have instead of what I feel, at least temporarily, I have not.  Maybe it isn’t such a terrible thing when we occasionally shut our mouth and spend some time observing instead?

Do you ever find that you get this way?  Like you’ve lost your words?

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On Rage: 5 options when homicide is not an option.


We learn as little kids not to hit when we get angry – usually after we’ve slugged somebody. Apparently, we find, punching your sister in the face when she hurts your feelings isn’t proper behavior. Throwing things, screaming, pulling hair, tantrums of incendiary proportion: all bad.

By the time we hit adulthood, we have learned to hide anger. Pacificism and enlightenment are the answers. We learn to repress, to justify, to just suck it up. We learn to drink, to medicate, and to hide. We are successful, it seems, when no one outwardly experiences the other end of what we’re feeling. The closer we come to the embodiment of Spock, the better we are.

I don’t know how that works personally for you, but for me it sucks. I am a woman of, good or bad, strong opinions and even stronger emotions. I don’t just get angry: if unchecked, that anger ferments into a fine, ugly rage. And with nowhere to go, the emotions eat at my insides like acid. There aren’t enough mashed potatoes I can eat (suddenly craving mashed potatoes) or veiled, snarky comments I can make to reduce the bile that burns me up from the inside out. It uses too much of my energy, and I burn out. I shut down.

Here are some things I’ve learned can help when homicide just isn’t an option:

  1. Get a tennis racket. Beat your bed with the tennis racket, or just use your fists. The bed won’t care, and you might feel better. If nothing else, your sore fists might distract you temporarily.
  2. Scream until your throat hurts. I have learned that doing this somewhere where you cannot be seen is probably best. Drive to a deserted parking lot or a park; wait until no one is home to hear you, and let loose. Try not to get arrested.
  3. Write. When I say that, I mean it cautiously: don’t write something you may accidentally send on in your fervor. Write out your feelings and your venom. And then? Destroy it. No one needs to go back and read what your wrote, especially you – or anyone who might inadvertently come across what you never wanted another set of eyes to see.
  4. Break something. Maybe you have boxes in your garage that could be broken down, or plates you despise. Give them names if necessary. Destroy them. Show them no mercy, the bastards.
  5. Go for a walk. Now, before you think I am just talking about a normal walk, I’m not. Walk as hard and as fast you can. Throw in some sprints that take away your breath. Jump – on something if you can find it. Yell at a squirrel. If necessary, find another neighborhood to roam so your neighbors don’t think you’re a nut job.

A letter to the Passive Aggressive


Dear Passive Aggressive:

I would like to formally file a complaint. You will note I am stating directly that at present I am unhappy with you. Let me be clear: I think your communication skills are ineffective at best, and are a giant drain on my mental processing capacity to boot. Continue reading