Saturday night Erik got a call from work, apparently it was flip out time and his boss/brother was yelling at him, cursing at him and generally just tearing Erik down. I really don’t care what is going on at the office and I really don’t care whose fault he thinks it is, and I really, really don’t care what his excuse is. I’ve never heard disrespect like I did Saturday night. It was ridiculous and uncalled for.
Then Sunday comes along and he finds out that Erik is on his way into the office, we’ve left our family vacation early, and now he’s fine. He’s happy; he now understands what Erik was trying to explain to him. Now he’s open to new opinions and NOW he’s treating my husband like a human being. 
Now you can tell me that a job is a job and it has to get done; I understand that and I’m not arguing that point. I know that there was a problem at the office but I also know that Erik was fixing it, that he was doing everything that he was supposed to be doing he just wasn’t doing it in the office, where James could check in on him on a regular basis. So instead of trusting Erik to do his job, the job he’s been doing very well for a number of years, James had to call him, and demean him, disrespect him and humiliate him. I heard large chunks of the conversation, I heard my husband lose his temper and raise his voice for only the third time TEN years and I can’t stand it. So yeah, you can tell me my anger is misplaced but I won’t move it. You don’t disrespect my husband.

I Need More Cheese

Work has been so busy lately that I haven’t had two seconds to myself in three days. I don’t have the time now but I’m taking it anyway. If I can eat and work I can eat and blog. But what to blog about? Well I’ve lost 5 pounds officially. I gained one then lost it again this weekend but what can I expect with cake and sandwiches in the house. I enjoyed myself with good food so I’m not going to stress the small things. And one pound is a very small thing. Five pounds however is a very large ting and I celebrated by spending money, like I do, on Laine at Old Navy. Mom spent some money on me, like she does, and who could stop her? No me and I didn’t want to, I got a super comfy dress from her that I wore for two days strait.
Erik told me that he’s finally done working at the church on Thursday, then he went back to finish up again on Friday. I’m expecting him to have to “finish it up” a few more times before he’s really done. He’s completely incapable of leaving a job in regular working order. It has to be perfect. And that’s a good thing, it just takes longer and I miss having Erik at home.
Last night Laine and I were waiting for Erik to come home and he came around 8:00 at which point we went upstairs to put Laine down, which is laying in my bed until she falls asleep. Erik saw I had things covered and went downstairs but I made him come back up and sit by the bed within Laine’s eye line. Part of the problem I have with Laine is that she is so clingy with me all the time. If you know me you know I love it, I need her as much as she needs me, more even, and I never get enough hugs from her. But at the end of the day with I’m trying to get dinner made or do housework, I really can’t do it with her on my hip. I mean I can but it’s hard. So it would be nice if she would go to Erik when he is home but she won’t. When we are out of the house, at the park or church or anywhere she is such a daddy’s girl but at home it’s all mommy all the time. So I made him help me put her to bed by just staying in the room with us. I think part of the problem is that Laine doesn’t see Erik as a part of out nighttime routine so he doesn’t belong there to her. I’m trying to change that. I’m changing a lot of stuff lately. I haven’t cooked dinner even once this week yet. I wait to eat until after Laine is asleep and Erik had been eating sandwiches and soup leftover from this weekend. Laine’s meals are so easy, steam some veggies and cut up an apple and she’s set so it’s no work to feed her, then we just play and cuddle until bedtime.
I’ve been getting overly stressed out at nights. I know I’ve got it so much easier than most other people. I have a great kid and an amazingly helpful husband, but around 9:00 every night I’m breaking down into an angry frustrated puddle in the kitchen stressing about the dishes that haven’t been washed since Monday because I don’t have the energy to do it or the laundry that’s been in a pile since March because I can’t get the motivation to not just wash the same three outfits over and over again. It’s not like I’m crying all the time or pulling my hair out over it, I’m just fed up with it. I want to throw all the dishes in the trash and pack up all our clothes and drop them off at the Goodwill. I’m not tired of doing it all I’m just tired of doing it on my own. I want my husband home. I want him home to be there to sit in the kitchen and talk to me as I do the dishes. I want him home to hand me hangers as I’m putting away the laundry, I want him home to comfort Laine when she gets scared of the vacuum, I want him home to laugh with me over Laine trying to help me sweep the floors and dust the lamps. I’m tired of having a long distance relationship with my husband and I’m tired of my daughter being uncomfortable around her dad at night.
I’ve tried saying to myself, single mothers do this stuff every day and they get it done and if I were a single mother I’d get it done too. A huge chunk of my anxiety comes from the fact that I have a husband and he’s just not home with me. And of course he knows this but what can we do? His Job is his job and it’s not going to change anytime soon. I guess I just need to get over it already. I whine too much. That seems to be all this blog is about anymore.
And we are thinking about adding another baby into this mix. Maybe we need to think again.

I Really Do Not Like Tuesdays

Yesterday I said that I felt like something was going to be difficult for me last night. Well, it wasn’t something it was someone, someone who should know better by now, you’d think anyway. Erik was difficult for me last night. Or being married to Erik was difficult. Or being a good understanding, non-harping, let-him-be-as-indifferent-as-he-wants-to-be-I-love-him-for-who-he-is wife. That was difficult.
Yesterday morning. Right about the time I was merging onto the Beltway I realized that I’d forgotten my lunch for the next two days sitting next to the coffee machine in the living room. I’d set it down to rinse out my coffee mug at the bar and then Laine had started crying and I’d picked her up and started jumping around and dancing on my way out the door to make her laugh, and it just slipped my mind that my lunch was sitting there. One was leftover meatloaf and green beans and one was a big bowl of red beans and rice. I was excited about those meals, both taste so much better as leftover and I was eager to get to lunch the next two days, I was all about staying in the office and reading my new book during the lunch hour, I’d planned this out! But I forgot my lunch, so I was already mad at myself and then I called Erik. Starting at 7:00 and I kept calling him until he finally picked up at 8:30. When he was in his car, half way to work already. No he didn’t see the big bag of food in the living room, no he didn’t pick up his phone, yes he heard it ring but he didn’t look to see if it was me or not. This is one of those moments where I flip out and start harping on him about the fact that I very well could have been dying and I was holing on to my last breath to tell him goodbye, SERIOUSLY?! YOU WOULD HAVE MISSED MY DEATH?! And he said, “Okay. Well, I’ll be home late.” Like the fact that I’m upset means nothing, we’re just going to skip over that.
So the day goes on. I get in the car to go home. It’s 5:00, I call Erik he doesn’t answer, he calls me back 30 minutes later to tell me that he’ll be leaving the office in about an hour and he needs to make a quick stop somewhere to do something then he’d head home. I get home, I feed, bathe and get Laine into bed and call Erik at 8:00 he doesn’t answer. I make dinner, make our plates, put away leftovers, wash dishes and put our plates in the warm oven to keep then again I call Erik and again HE DOESN’T ANSWER. I sat in the living room until 10:30 reading my book (very very good book) and I drink one cup of coffee, I rinse it out before going upstairs, just in case it’s the reason I forget my lunch again and I head upstairs to check on Laine who had turned herself sidewise and was sleeping with her head hanging off the side. I gently move her up to her pillow then change her diaper and set up a bottle just in case she wakes up later. I climb into bed and try calling Erik one last time. It’s 11:00. He finally picks up. He’s working, he’s busy, he’ll be home when he gets home, and he’s busy.
I didn’t sound as upset as I wanted to because I needed to keep my voice down so as to not wake Laine up, but I told him that I am trying very hard to understand that he’s needed at work, that he has things to do to support this family, but that I need him to pick up his phone. I know my husband loves me and I know he’s always there when it really matters, I know he respects me and that he wants to make me happy, I know that he try’s very hard to do right by me, but the fact that I know that doesn’t change the fact that I become irrationally insecure when he doesn’t answer his phone for six hours after he said he’d be home in two. Where was he? Someplace to do something. That’s all I got. When I pressed him it’s in a server room at a client’s site. Of course it is. I’ve never doubted my husbands faithfulness I never will seriously I don’t think, but he’s really setting it up so that I’d never know. Lifetime movies are made with thinner plots than last night.
A big huge fat ANYWAY, I told him that I had his plate in the refrigerator ready to be reheated and that the front door was unlocked so he wouldn’t make too much noise coming in, if he was going to watch TV before bed, please don’t turn it up any louder than what it’s already set at, drive safe when you decide you want to come home and goodnight. I tip-toe/stomped up the stairs like a ballerina rhinoceros and crawled into my empty bed, alone; and I just laid there. Not being able to sleep. Wondering why he didn’t care that I get worried, wondering why he seems to completely disregard something like this, something that should be a non issue but over the course of the last EIGHT YEARS it’s become something that can bring me to tears almost every other night. I hate that Erik makes me cry so much but not nearly as much as I hate the fact that he just doesn’t seem to care.
I had to yank myself up from bed and call him right back though. He didn’t pick up the first time of course, but he did pick up the third time. I had to tell him I love him. So I did and he said it back. I drifted to sleep minutes after.
Erik woke me up when he got home, I didn’t look at the clock but I felt like I’d been asleep at least two hours, I asked him if he ate dinner he said yes it was good. I asked him if he ate the dinner I left him; he said no, he got drive-thru.

Righteous Fits of Fury

I’m wondering exactly how many times I’ll write this same complaint down in this blog. I’d stop and just let it be understood that Laine doesn’t sleep well at night but every time I complain on here I end up getting at least one full night’s sleep directly afterward, so it’s worth it.

Sunday was a pretty good day all around. Church was good; Erik and I didn’t have to work in the nursery so it felt like we could take it easy. After church we drove to Kemah with the Whites and Schmale’s and the Woods’ and Momma and Daddy to eat at Backhaus Tavern, they have some pretty rocking Mediterranean food. I just got the basic gyro and it was scrumptious. At the restaurant Laine was very excited to be eating outside on the patio and it was a lot of fun, but it was kind of chilly and Laine wanted to run around. If it weren’t for Amanda and Amy we’d have lost Laine a time or two for sure. Nutty little thing is determined to make me and Erik crazy. Once we got home Laine and I laid down for a nap, well first I put her into her bed and she slept for almost an hour, I kept getting woken up because Erik was taking down the Christmas lights outside and apparently when you put the ladder up against the eaves in the front it vibrates the windows in the back of the house… now we know. After close to an hour of the banging Laine finally woke up in a righteous fit yelling “Daddy, no no!” and then crying for me and I let her crawl into bed with me while I finished waking up but instead we both fell asleep for another hour, almost. Erik came in the room and wanted to talk to me about the squirrels for a while. I wasn’t very into hearing about it. Erik then left to go to his parents’ house for a while to help move things again and Laine and I hung out in the living room, drawing and playing with the little singing bear thing that Levi and Sydney bought for her Christmas gift, and she was in a great mood all evening. She was laughing and eating, running and drinking tons of juice and jumping off her chair over and over again and I thought, “Yes! Finally I’m going to be able to wear her down and she’s going to sleep so peacefully and so will I! YAY!” but that didn’t happen. She went to sleep around 8:30. Erik got home and I read a book on the couch while he watched TV and we had an amazing time just being in each other’s company, but then at 10:30 Laine started crying, and I went up to calm her down. By 11:30 Erik had come upstairs to try to get her down to sleep again and failed oh so miserably, Erik finally went to bed around midnight and I stayed in Laine’s room rocking her and rubbing her tummy and hoping to God she wasn’t getting sick. The around 1:30, right around the time my last nerve frayed, I bundled her up in boots and jacket and put her in the car and drove around until right at 2:15 when she vomited all over herself and I had to pull over and fish the chunks from her throat. I sped home and stripped her down and jumped into the shower. Now the whole night she’d been noticeably uncomfortable and whiney, like a dog whiney. Just whimpering and then screaming and then crying and then whimpering again. If she’d been talkative or just crying it could have been another normal night but she was whimpering, like she was just so miserable that she needed my ears to bleed to feel her pain. However after she threw up in the car she stopped whimpering and crying. In just the three blocks to the house she’d calmed down to the point of just sniffing in that uncontrollable hiccup manner you do after crying for four hours non stop. When I ran her up to the bathroom and jumped in the shower with her she just laid her head on my shoulder and was so peaceful that no matter what I was feeling, back, head or heartache I just wanted to stand there with her all night. We only stayed in for about thirty minutes though because she started drifting to sleep. I got her out and dried off and dressed and bundled up in blankets and her deedee and her beebee and her bottle and I rocked her in the chair for a short while until her head started nodding and she started breathing steadily. At that point I took her to bed and curled up with her. I know that she probably would have fallen asleep much sooner if I’d just taken her to my bed at the beginning of the night but I need her to get used to sleeping in her bed. Mommy’s bed is Mommy’s bed again and it’s not going to change back to Baby’s bed until there is a new baby. And I do love her new toddler bed, its sturdy enough so I can lay down with her and just big enough to fit us both comfortably. So finally around 3:30 she fell asleep, this time deeply and solidly asleep, she didn’t’ even twitch when I hauled my self up from the bed and rolled into the floor and crawled down the creaking hallway and climbed into bed and curled into a ball and cried until I fell asleep. My alarm went off at 5:30 and 5:45 and 6:00 and finally I got up at 6:15 was out the door at 6:30 and at work by 7:20, I was 40 minutes early to work but that was 40 minutes to sit and breathe deeply the quiet air around me.
Monday night was better. She only stayed up for two hours from 12:00 to 2:00 and that’s fine. That’s heaven compared to the night before. I have an entirely different rant about Monday night that I’m not sure if it would be wise to share on here. Suffice it to say that, yeah, no I’ll tell you. I’m still pissed off about it.
Monday night I got home at 6:00 with Laine, I had just walked in the door, and I’m looking forward to trying to wear her down again so that maybe, just maybe I’d get some sleep when Erik calls me. Am I home yet? How’s Laine? Can I go pick up Kate from the High School? Of course I can and I do, I changed Laine’s diaper and gave her some juice for the ride and got her back into the car and headed for Friendswood. Halfway there she stars dozing and I’m all Oh No You Di’int! so I start blowing raspberries like it’s my favorite thing and she wakes up and blows them back, then I’m pointing to every thing I think she can see out the window and asking her what color it is, the I make her count to five a bazillion time and then we make every animal noise I can think of and finally we get to the school. I get Kate and she starts telling me about her day. About how she went to the doctor today to get an x-ray of her knee, the one that’s been bothering her for months, the one she’s been complaining about for months, the one she’s been begging to sit out of soccer for, FOR MONTHS! So today Jennifer takes her because apparently her parents couldn’t or wouldn’t and it turns out she has multiple tears in her ligament or tendon or something and, AND… she has a tumor. Not a cancerous one, but a tumor. A FLIPPING TUMOR. In her knee. And her mother wasn’t there for the MRI. Laine isn’t allowed to have a doctor even in the room with her without me there from now until she’s 18 and Kate had an MRI done all alone. Poor kiddo.
So we get to the house and as I’m pulling into the drive Kate just keeps saying “I can’t believe this, why would they do this to me” over and over, I look up the drive way and her dad and Jennifer are home already, but neither had been answering their phone’s or the house phone. Torben was taking down Christmas lights and Jenn said something about being on her way home from work. I just about lost it right there. Then Kate said she was hungry and was there and dinner. No, and no she can’t eat anything out of the pantry because SHE’S ON A DIET. Yeah. I put Laine down and made dinner for Kate, and for the rest of them. Though I wanted to throw it in all their faces and take Kate home with me. I’ve got a spare room. I’ll take care of her like she deserves. Kate can be a typical teenager and she gets on my nerves pretty regularly but I can still respect her as a member of my family and treat her like she’s someone I love and care about and want to take care of. It’s really the least that you do for a family member. I was beyond my limit with them on Monday night and I’m sure that having only two hours of sleep the night before didn’t help any and keeping Laine out of the house past 8:00 didn’t help any, and not being able to yell at them because they don’t think they did anything wrong didn’t help any, but Jesus help me the next time something like this happens. Kate will be brought home with me. And I will take care of her properly and they can pick her up from my house after she’s been fed and taken care of and made to realize that no matter what I would be there for her, just like your supposed to do with all children. I am so sorry they were douche bags, Kate.

Harumph!

With all the toast nonsense going on right now I was really in the mood to bitch about something today but I got nothin’. I was thoroughly intending this blog to be about the pharmacy and how they ran me around and I’m all angry and whatnot but they were super helpful and quick and Laine’s prescription that I don’t think I really need but would like to have just in case got refilled.
I called the number on the scrip bottle and entered my scrip number and huffed and puffed a little when the automated message told me they’d have to contact my doctor to get permission to refill the order. Even though I knew that, it says so right there on the bottle it still bugged me. Anyway, I waited about two hours and then I called the number again and entered the Rx number again and waited and they told me that the order was in processing, but what did that mean? Is it getting filled because the doctor okayed it or is it still waiting to be okayed? So I pressed star and waited to talk to a tech, who got on the line before the hold noises got on my nerves and told me that the doctor had authorized the refill with the same directions but that the insurance wouldn’t cover it until the 26th, I’ve got one finger in the air ready to do my best “oh no they di’int” when she tells me but it’ll only be $31 instead of $25. Huh. Okay.
So now I have Laine’s prescription filled and it’ll be ready when I get off work so if Laine has any kind of relapse while we are out of town it’s taken care of. That’s great. That’s awesome. I’m pretty thrilled about not having to worry about that. However I still want something to bitch about. I mean, c’mon! Toast!
I was going to complain that I didn’t have anything to do today but then I got some bolts that need ordering. I was going to complain about not having any lunch today but then I found a bowl of soup in my fridge from Friday. I was going to complain about tons of stuff but now I can’t remember any of it. How messed up is this? I’m perfectly content with how today is going except for the fact that I can’t complain about anything. AH Ha! I can complain about that… no, I can’t... I already did. DRAT! and blast.

Just Plain Mean

Everyday at my office someone makes toast. Everyday I smell the sweet smell of toasty bready goodness waft into my office and I long for it. LONG FOR IT! I want that toast so bad. It’s the best smelling toast I’ve ever smelled. My toast never smells like that. Not even close. And God help me if there’s butter involved. I die. Damn you Ramsey. Damn you and your buttery toast.

So close, and yet so, so far.

Today it was Jack though, and he made a toasted peanut better and jelly sandwich. ARE YOU KIDDING ME? A little sympathy for the folks sitting ten feet from the toaster who do not have the gift of making perfect smelling toast. OH! And the one time I ask someone to toast my bread for me?? They burn it. No joke. This is cruel.

...

I was absolutely totally 100% floored by my sister last night; three times before 7:00 and innumerable times before 9:00. I was floored and flabbergasted and stunned, staggered, amazed and dumbfounded. This girl, I swear makes me speechless so often that around her my dad might actually get a few minutes peace from my constant jibber jabber and seriously, if I weren’t afraid she’d make his head go explody bomb I’d keep her around on my visits to my parents house.
I got a message via Facebook yesterday telling me that (and here’s #1) “We have to do this thing where we bring food for that guy shakesphere's birthday” And I’m not kidding you, that’s what she actually wrote me. That guy. Shakesphere.
I’m going to ignore for now how she butchered his name, because that could have been a simple typo. However what I cannot ignore is “that guy”. Shakespeare is not a “that guy” kind of guy. He could arguably be called the godfather of modern literature, without him we wouldn’t have the word eyeball, before him no one had heard the word obscene, he even coined the phrase ”household words” HE IS NOT THAT GUY! For cripes sake.
So of course I fumed and I prayed that one day she would get a teacher like Mr. Orteza that would teach her things that were actually important, like who is a “that guy” and who isn’t. As of right now the Friendswood School District is in the midst of the most epic FAIL of all time.
I told Kate that I would be at her house at 7:00 and that I needed her to go and buy all the stuff to make the cake balls, to go ahead and bake the cake, that I would be there later to help her form the balls and to show her how to dip and decorate them. To that I recieved special moment #2. She texted me back “I need to bake a cake for this?”

… I don’t know Kate, they are cake balls so it could be safe to assume there is cake in them. However it could also be a funny little joke I like to play on people, I call them cake balls but really they are made from pickled pigs feet and cauliflower.
So Instead of texting her back, because I knew I’d say something like that and she wouldn’t get the insult since it’s impossible to show inflection in a text message I called her. And what did I hear? My moment #3 “Hello? Oh, hi! (1…2…) OMG I have got to tell you something!...” BEEEEP. Who does that anymore??? Kate. Kate Rosendahl does that. And who falls for it?? I DO.
After that things just went downhill. Slalom style. As we waited for the cake balls to harden up in the freezer I went to check on the American Idol results and found that they were doing their AIDS program that they do every year. Here is when moments #4 to infinity came out to play. I don’t have the words or the time to adequately paint the picture of the train wreck that was Kate last night, but if I were to try to punch it all down into a nut shell this would be it. We were watching a short video about a young girl with HIV. She was around eight years old and she weighed no more than an average one year old. You could see her skull perfectly through her skin, every rib was visible, her stomach was huge and distended the poor thing was wasting away and what Kate thought to say was “Eww, that’s so gross. You know those kids would feel so much better if they just brushed their teeth.”
And there you have it. I packed up my daughter and left the house.

Heart Sick Body Sick

I lost my ring, the pretty blue topaz ring that Erik bought for me a few years ago. It’s precious to me and I never ever take it off. Okay, once I took it off at my mom’s house so she could clean it but other than that it never leaves my finger, ever. Never ever ever. Mostly because it’s too small and it hurts to try to take it off but even if I could take it off I wouldn’t because I love wearing it, I love always having it on and seeing the gift Erik gave me any time I want. Well today I noticed it was not on my finger. Yeah,?!?!?! is what I said too. Since I never take it off and it’s too small to fall off what could possibly have happened. It’s weird and heartbreaking and I’m not at all okay about it right now. I’m hoping that in my sick and tired zombie like state I took it off and put it someplace I will see right away when I get home because, really? I never take it off; I don’t care how much cold medication is in me I never take it off. I am flipping out!

It’s Beginning to Look A Lot Like Tuesday

It’s beginning to look a lot like Tuesday
Ev’rywhere I go;
Take a look at the bruise and pain, listening once again
To the sound of my coffee then my ass hitting the flo’.
Oh, it’s beginning look a lot like Tuesday
I need to buy a rug,
But the prettiest sight to see is the snot that will be
On my Lainey’s mug.

Seriously, this day is ridiculous; this week is redi FUDGE IT! THIS MONTH IS REDICULOUS. I need a mulligan, a redo. I want to trade this month in for a new one. So far March just isn’t working out for me. I’ve been sick, Laine’s been sick, Erik hasn’t been home for two consecutive nights in weeks, I am so over it. I’M OVER THIS! I need a vacation but can’t take one because computers are sucking the life out of my husband. I’m already packed and ready to go; I’ve been packed and ready to take a vacation since my birthday (MOTHERLOVINGOCTOBER!) I hate Erik’s job. I hate my job, I hate ear infections, I hate doctors appointments and mail servers and congestion and water in the nose and rotten potatoes on my counter and pink undershirts and I hate fast food bags in my dining room and I hate diapers that fall under the bed and I hate that it’s always 61 degrees in my office and I hate the sun shining when I forget my sunglasses. I’m over it. March, you’re fired!

Maybe I'm Crazy

Last night was a good enough night. After work I got held up in traffic so that by the time I got to Laine’s daycare she was asleep, I try to get to her before that usually because I had to wake her up and get her to the car and she typically doesn’t do well going strait from sleep to uncomfortable chair of doom. She and I took a trip to the grocery store and the whole time I was there Laine kept wanting to be picked up so that she could reach for things on the shelf easier, then she wanted to be put back in the cart so she could chew on the nasty handlebar, then she wanted to be picked up and lay on my shoulder then she wanted to be put back into the cart to cry and be inconsolable for the rest of the shopping trip. Once I was done and got her into the car she cheered up. She sang to me and talked to me the whole way home and then was in the most wonderful mood ever for dad while he fed and bathed her as I was making dinner. After we ate Laine and I lounged on the couch for a while and watched the Italian Job. Mark Wahlberg makes her as happy as he makes me. When she went down she crashed hard and didn’t wake up again until right as I was walking out the front door to leave for work. If the world ended today I could go on to whatever afterlife I get with a peaceful mind. I got to spend a good night with my kid and husband, cuddling and laughing and generally enjoying each others company. So this morning when I woke up late because I slept through my alarm clock I was okay with that. I just figured that I must be missing some accident or crazy man with a gun that is going to hold up the car that would have been me if I’d been there on time. So my calm had not been damaged; I was still in the glow of my good night. And when it took me almost a half an hour to fight through traffic just to get to the highway I was okay with that, there was a reason for it, and it probably had something to do with the Yeti rampaging down I45, knocking cars away like little Tonka trucks that that his little brother left in the bathroom to be stepped on in the dark. And when I got cut off twice in less than a minute by the same car that couldn’t decide what lane it wanted to be in, I was okay with that. I had some good music to sing along to and I had an excellent cup of gas station coffee to warm me up, so I could let some aggressive driver have their way because chances are they don’t have the coffee that I do and they don’t have a connection to music like I do, they probably listen to talk radio anyway. So their hostility is understandable to me, and I can let it go. I can allow them their bad mood; because if there is anything in life that I truly hate, it is someone telling me that I’m not allowed to feel the way I do. That brings us to my reason for typing this blog at all. I was making a cup of coffee earlier, just trying to get my day started, and I noticed that there was a mouse turd on the counter, so I dumped the coffee out, I emptied the coffee pot and started washing it out, scrubbing every surface of it and then set another pot to brew, because mice are dirty creatures and I’m not going to accidentally contract the plague because I drank from a carafe that a mouse made love to (for all I know). One of my coworkers asked me what I did to the coffee that was made and I told him, he then commented that there was a greater chance that there was no plague and I just wasted a good pot of coffee that there was of there being the plague and it surviving the brewing processes and would kill us all. That comment got so far under my skin that it was actually a part of me for a moment. It was a nothing comment but I guess that everything from this morning that I thought wasn’t bothering me was really just building up silently underneath the peace and joy that I so desperately wanted to keep. Now I’m sitting at my desk. I have a whatever cup of coffee, I’m listening to whatever music and typing a whatever blog that I may not even post because really, it’s whatever. And I know for a fact that if I were to try and explain the way I’m feeling to any of you you’d tell me to calm down and don’t be melodramatic. I know I’ve got a little crazy in me, my husband and person tell me that often enough. I know I’m an exaggerator, I take things that are maybe four out of ten stars of crazy and I make them eight. And when folks try to tell me “no no no, it’s only four stars crazy” I can’t understand why they think my crazy scale is the same as theirs. It’s eight, no, now that I think about it it’s more like twenty-three, but that’s because my scale goes to a million. When I’m told that I’m being unrealistic and not thinking in a normal logical way I don’t magically start thinking logical realistic thoughts, I don’t spontaneously quit being afraid of things. Just because people laugh at me doesn’t mean that I’m not afraid of little doors anymore. Just because there are scientific facts stating that sneezing seven times in a row doesn’t kill you doesn’t mean that I believe it. And just because some jerk with a bad attitude doesn’t believe that mice carry the plague anymore doesn’t mean I’m going to go and more or less lick a mouse’s face. I begin to question how it is that people who were once children with astonishing imaginations lost them, how they became people that like to steal all the wonder out of the world. My fears and rationalities are what make me who I am. My thought process is who I am. If I didn’t think the way I do I wouldn’t be me. And if I were me I’d be a boring ass person for sure. When I’m told that I’m crazy, or I get the “Okay Amanda, your right, clowns aren’t scary” with the rolley eyes and heavy sigh it makes me feel crazy, it makes me feel like thinking I’m just misunderstood is actually my crazy brain rationalizing for it’s crazy thoughts. It makes me think that I’m in my own world and that my world is wrong. I find it to be sad that I can start a day off with wonderfully peaceful thoughts and a warm loving feeling wrapped around me and then half way through the morning I end up not being able to give a crap even if you hooked me up to a crap-giving machine. It’s whatever.

There is Only Room for One Quirky Person in This Office and It’s Not You, Mister.

George, our inspector, has the weirdest way about him.
He sings.
All the time.
Mostly about what’s going on, he makes up his own little songs about going outside to check the fab work or bolt holes.
He sings my song, Amanda by Waylon Jennings, to me when he passes by my office.
Every damn time he passes.
And just now, when he checked the coffee and the pot was empty; he got all red faced and said that it isn't fair that he made the coffee and he didn't get any.
Then he comes in my office and with a strait angry little red face tells me “I hope all your babies are born naked for this” and then storms off.
I really don’t know what to say to that.
Even though he is totally and completely the kind of old person I’d like to be one day. He’s not the kind of person I get along with very well. I like the guy enough, but man he can talk, he never shuts up, and I can’t get a word in edgewise. If you know me you’re probably laughing your tail off since I usually do that to you, and that’s the thing! That’s my whole problem with him. I talk; I’m the one who dominates your ears. I’m so used to being the chatty one that when someone else comes in and invades my talking space I get very uncomfortable. And I want to physically make him shut up.
But he’s old. Like 70. I can’t punch a 70 year old man.
Can I?

Sugar and Spice

Last night Laine tried chicken for the first time; we had Gerber’s chicken and apples. I’m a fan of Gerber, Laine seems to like their food and there usually aren’t mystery ingredients or things I can’t pronounce on the label, however last night I tried some of the chicken and apples, and it was decent; if it was solid, I’d eat it, but I tasted a lot of cinnamon so I turned the jar to read the ingredients to see what other spices were in there, and the ingredients said chicken, apples and water. That’s it, and that’s a lie. I feel betrayed and frustrated; I hate that feeling especially when I get it from the folks that are feeding my child. And I hate to flip out over this but what if Laine was allergic to cinnamon? I haven’t introduced her to spices yet; onion powder I know is in most meat and veggie baby foods and that’s fine, it says it’s there on the label, but cinnamon is not on that label and I fed it to my kid without trying it first because I was in a hurry so if Laine had a reaction from it there would be more blame on my shoulders than theirs but now I’m terrified that I’ll accidentally give Laine something that she reacts to and I won’t know what it is because it wasn’t on the label which brings along with it the fear of giving it to her again. So needless to say I tossed the jar and gave her some rice cereal to fill her up and prayed with fingers and toes crossed that she didn’t have a reaction to whatever it was that was in there. She didn’t by the way, and that’s great and a huge relief, but now that’s not the point. The point is that I fed my girl something that could have hurt her because I didn’t know it was in her food. It would be different if she was older, but she’s just a baby and allergic reactions are serious business. UPDATE: I'm apparently being worried over nothing.
Silly me.

Oh, I Forgot to Tell You,

We went to church without mom and dad yesterday, I got to say, that’s weird. Church just isn’t the same without them. I didn’t even doodle on my styrofoam cup… much.
Torben made a DVD of Laine’s birth for Erik and me to watch this weekend. We took home a copy and need to make one for my parents. You know, for the life of me I can’t remember anyone recording anything that day. And I look and talk strait at the camera a few times. But in my memory I was just talking to my mom. The video is all of ten minutes long, from beginning to end, not long enough to get boring, Erik said. I’ll have to remember that the next time I’m letting someone capture my most uncomfortable moment on film. Keep it short and sweet Amanda, wouldn’t want anyone to get bored. Guess it’s a good thing that my uterus is actually a slip n’ slide.
Now for the rant.
So Laine was sick this weekend, she had a cold or something, basically the sniffles with a mild cough. After a back and forth with the doctor I found out that we had a refill on the decongestant she was prescribed two months ago, but when I called the pharmacy at CVS I was told that Laine wasn’t in their computers at all except for the diaper rash cream we’d gotten for her the other week. The pharmacist kept asking me if I was sure if I filled it at their CVS store and I told her yes, that the store number was logged on our bank statement. I know exactly what day and time that the prescription was filled I just didn’t have the original box the medication came it so I had no prescription number to give her, I asked her to search the CVS database, which I know she can do, and find my daughters medication refill. And she couldn’t, I’m guessing it’s because she is mildly retarded. So I had to call the doctor and have them call in the prescription again, that is fine, I can deal with all of that. It’s the fact that it took her over two hours to fill the prescription once it was called in. I know that a pharmacy will take orders in the order they come in, but if I’ve been on the phone with the pharmacist for almost thirty minutes if you count the three times I had to call them, and if you consider the fact that the last time I called I didn’t even have to say my name and she knew who it was, I’m thinking that she might rush it for me, you know, just a little. Well, no she didn’t. I called twice after the order was made and the first time the lady told me that she had a voice mail about Laine but she hasn’t checked to see if they had the medicine in stock yet. I told her I would appreciate it if she would check and I’ll be there in thirty minutes. I called again before we left the house and she still hadn’t checked. I told her I’d be there in five minutes and I’d appreciate if she had it checked, bagged and ready for pickup in less than five minutes. Of course she didn’t, I waited in line for over twenty minutes and then when it was my turn it took them an extra ten minutes, because she still hadn’t checked to see if it was in the store. You know what that tells me? That if she had checked to see if the prescription was in the pharmacy I could have picked up my daughters medication after only ten minutes rather than the THREE HOURS it took. Oh Em Gee I could have screamed. That’s three hours that my kid didn’t have to be miserable but she was because some jerk with an outstanding ability to piss me off decided to do just that, for no good reason; the people that I had to wait in line behind we not picking up prescriptions, they were just checking out because they figured the line was shorter in the back of the store, and it was, but she could have very easily said, “Sorry I need to do MY JOB” and let those people check out at the front like everyone else. If you know me at all you can picture my ears flaming, my nostrils flaring. I’m telling you that my eye is still twitching.
When I left CVS I wanted to vow to never use that store again, but who would I be kidding? Its two blocks from my house and they have the option to print your photos in seconds not hours. (4x6 prints for $0.29) and I am incapable of not going back into places where people have pissed me off just for the off chance that they will be there again and I can glare at them to make myself feel like I’m getting them back for whatever insult I imagined they gave me. It really does make me feel better too, better than actually yelling at them, that would just make me feel guilty later when I had time to think about it. And isn’t it funny how you always have the time to sit and ponder over your actions when you’ve done someone wrong? Most days I don’t get two seconds to myself to think about cleaning my ears, much less how I treated people. Oh, but that one day that I snap at a stranger and I have hours to go over and over in my head how I could have handled the situation better. Seriously? That’s just not fair.
I know, I'm retarded.
It's whatever.

Hateful People

Living in Texas and Louisiana has hardened me against bigotry a bit. Or softened me maybe; here’s my situation. For the most part I’ve always had bigotry and racism around me. People make jokes and snap judgments and I do too sometimes, I’ll admit. It’s difficult to constantly be around a certain kind of people without taking on their traits, including anger and hate. But when a joke is told that is prejudiced in nature most try to not laugh but when stereotypes are used it’s hard, I know. Most people I know will walk away when they can and generally keep themselves away from small minded people who tend to make comments that are offensive.
In certain areas of my life it’s hard for me to walk away. I try to keep to myself a lot when I am around certain xenophobe’s, I play my music just a little loud or I “go internal”, just refusing to hear what is going on around me. When someone is speaking directly to me and they make a joke or remark that offends me I try to be diligent and speak up and against it, but sometimes when I accidentally overhear something that I consider wrong I don’t let myself get angry at them for talking that way when it wasn’t meant for my ears in the first place.
The thing that gets me though, especially about the men and women that I see everyday, is that they know that racism is wrong. They know that their prejudiced language is inappropriate. When they are around others who do not agree with their intolerance and they slip and say something idiotic and get a look for it, they try to backtrack away from that comment, or they’ll try to make it out so that it was you that completely misinterpreted their remark.
I get so angry when people know they are doing something wrong and still they insist on making it a central part of their life. The fact that people will go out of their way to not say certain things to certain people and then turn around and joke about that same thing to some other narrow-minded bigots is so tragic. I mean, why? Why would you say things that if said in front of the person you’re talking about would make you embarrassed, why would you say it at all? People who I find to be jerks will hear from me that they are jerks; I won’t just say it behind their backs. I do talk about people, a lot, it’s something that I consider to be a personal problem, I gossip and I trash talk a lot. But typically the people that I talk about know exactly how I feel about them, I’m not afraid to let people know exactly what I think about them, positive or negative.
I guess what I’m saying is bothering me is the fact that people who know it’s wrong to call someone a bigoted name and still do it, not out of habit or how they were raised but because they truly are a hateful person, that makes me gnash my teeth and it makes them a sad, small piece of trash in my book.

I'm Cured!

***Before I start today’s diatribe on this country’s inhabitants ability to shirk their responsibility in any and all aspects of life I have to say that I am angry, I’m seething, irate, teed off, mad. I was listening to my favorite morning radio program on my way into work and they touched briefly on a scientific study that they had come across in some article they had read, it piqued my early morning foggy brain’s interest and I decided to Google and Wikipedia my way around the subject while I had my super amazing cup of coffee before getting my day started. And what I found, my dear God in Heaven, upset me to the point of nausea. I may need my mom to Theophostic me and tell me why it bothers me so much, but anyway of course I need to share my findings. Be forewarned. I write this with angry fingers backed by angry thoughts.

They have a name for why I’ve acted like such an A-hole for most of my life. It’s not my fault that I’ve been a bitch. It’s no ones fault. It’s all because of this disorder I’ve had, that you probably have too. That really, if you think about it, we all have.
I mean everyone is moody and argumentative sometimes, right? Especially during the teenage years. And even the best behaved children can be difficult now and again; but there is no reason to fear parents, it’s not your fault. The persistent patterns of tantrums and arguing and disruptive behavior towards authority figures are in reality a disorder that as many as one in ten children may have.

Oppositional Defiant Disorder.

Symptoms of ODD may include:
-Frequent temper tantrums
-Excessive arguing with adults
-Often questioning rules
-Active defiance and refusal to comply with adult requests and rules
-Deliberate attempts to annoy or upset people
-Blaming others for his or her mistakes or misbehavior
-Often being touchy or easily annoyed by others
-Frequent anger and resentment
-Mean and hateful talking when upset
-Spiteful attitude and revenge seeking

Does any of that sound familiar? It should because I just described EVERY TEENAGER ON THE PLANET!
What is this world coming to that every single thing has to have a name and a treatment? Just put the chips in our heads now and move us to Stepford because that seems to be the end game.
For the love of peanuts, how many people are there really who refuse to take responsibility for their children? It must be quite a few because they have to make being a teenager a disorder. A disorder with a treatment at least though.

Treatment of ODD may include:
-Parent Management Training Programs to help parents and others manage the child’s behavior.
-Individual Psychotherapy to develop more effective anger management.
-Family Psychotherapy to improve communication and mutual understanding.
-Cognitive Problem-Solving Skills Training and Therapies to assist with problem solving and decrease negativity.
-Social Skills Training to increase flexibility and improve social skills and frustration tolerance with peers.

Parents can help their child with ODD in the following ways:
-Always build on the positives, give the child praise and positive reinforcement when he shows flexibility or cooperation.
-Take a time-out or break if you are about to make the conflict with your child worse, not better. This is good modeling for your child. Support your child if he decides to take a time-out to prevent overreacting.
-Pick your battles. Since the child with ODD has trouble avoiding power struggles, prioritize the things you want your child to do. If you give your child a time-out in his room for misbehavior, don’t add time for arguing. Say “your time will start when you go to your room.”
-Set up reasonable, age appropriate limits with consequences that can be enforced consistently.
-Maintain interests other than your child with ODD, so that managing your child doesn’t take all your time and energy. Try to work with and obtain support from the other adults (teachers, coaches, and spouse) dealing with your child.
-Manage your own stress with healthy life choices such as exercise and relaxation. Use respite care and other breaks as needed

How’s that now? They want us to spend time with our children? Give them positive reinforcement? Support them? Don’t pick fights with them? Jeez! Has it really come to this? Is the treatment for a kid being a teenager really for a parent to be a parent? People have to be TOLD that? How many people out there really think otherwise? And HOW did they begin thinking that way? It makes me crazy how some parents refuse to take responsibility for their children. First it wasn’t the parent’s fault that their kid is an A-hole because there are hormones involved. Now it’s really not their fault because it’s got a name and a treatment. And that means that no matter how you parent your kids it doesn’t matter in the end because however they end up there is a name for it and that name is It’s Not My Fault. How can parents expect their kids to take responsibility for their actions if the parents themselves won’t take responsibility for their children?

I’ve got to say though that I’m sure there are some kids out there who really do have disorders; that really do have issues with violence and serious emotional instability. I also believe that there really is such a thing as ADD and ADHD for some kids. Some kids, not one in ten. I’m also sure that there really are some children, again NOT one in ten, that do have this ODD. I think that there are some kids that take normal teenage angst to the umpteenth level and need either medication or therapy. Of course I’m talking about the kids that are actively aggressive towards people and animals, kids that deliberately engaged in activities with the intention of causing serious damage to people or property. I believe that those few really do really benefit from the treatment programs and the medication. I also believe that there are some people that are true blue sociopaths that need to be institutionalized for the sake of everyone else around them.

But for the most part I believe kids are just jerks that need a swift kick in the ass to cure most of their attitude problems. Walk into any high school or junior high in your area and park yourself in the cafeteria, you’ll see. Kids are jerks. Really, it’s the nice ones, the ones that just want to sit at the library doing their homework, or the kids that want to hang out with their families on the weekends; those are the weird ones. Those are the odd ducks, the ones that stick out like sore thumbs. Those are the ones that should have a name and treatment. But I’m sure that if I looked hard enough, Google and Wikipedia around a bit, I’d find that they even have a medication to fix that too.

I am angry about this. I’m angry that there is now such a thing as Oppositional Defiant Disorder. I’m angry that there are people out there who want to make their teenager go to psychotherapy sessions to work out their negativity and frustration tolerance. I’m angry that so few parents are willing to spank a child when they talk back, I’m upset that so few parents will explain to a child why it is not okay for them to throw a tantrum or be mean and hateful. Talk to these kids, give them a time out, smack their butts, but do not call their defiant attitude a disorder. It’s ridiculous and I really can’t stomach it.

But really the thing I am most angry about is that the fact that there is going to be countless parents now that will use this ODD as an excuse to give up on their kids, and countless teenagers who will take advantage of the fact that their defiance can be categorized as a disorder.
Soon no one will be held accountable for their actions. No one will need to take responsibility for anything, least of all themselves. No one is liable. And where, it the end, when all disorders have been named and all treatments have been developed, where will that leave us?

Roger and Elaine = Erik and Amanda

This is somthing that I came across in my random browsing of the internet today. I will be so much more than just surprised if evey one of you can not relate.


A Matter of Sex
possibly by Dave Barry

A guy named Roger is attracted to a woman named Elaine. He asks her out to a movie; she accepts. They have a pretty good time. A few nights later, he asks her out to dinner, and again they enjoy themselves. They continue to see each other regularly, and after a while neither one of them is seeing anybody else. And then, one evening when they're driving home, a thought occurs to Elaine and, without really thinking, she says it aloud: "Do you realize that, as of tonight, we've been seeing each other for exactly six months?"
And then there is silence in the car. To Elaine, it seems like a very loud silence. She thinks to herself: Gosh, I wonder if it bothers him that I said that. Maybe he's been feeling confined by our relationship. Maybe he thinks I'm trying to push him into some kind of obligation that he doesn't want, or isn't sure of.
And Roger is thinking: Wow, six months.
And Elaine is thinking: But hey, I'm not so sure I want this kind of relationship either. Sometimes I wish I had a little more space, so I'd have time to think about whether I really want us to keep going the way we are, moving steadily toward.... I mean, where are we going? Are we just going to keep seeing each other at this level of intimacy? Are we heading toward marriage? Toward children? Toward a lifetime together? Am I ready for that level of commitment? Do I really even know this person?
And Roger is thinking: So that means it was ... let's see ... February when we started going out, which was right after I had the car at the dealer's, which means ... lemme check the odometer ... Whoa! I am way overdue for an oil change here!
And Elaine is thinking: He's upset. I can see it on his face. Maybe I'm reading this completely wrong. Maybe he wants more from our relationship, more intimacy, more commitment. Maybe he has sensed -- even before I sensed it -- that I was feeling some reservations. Yes, I bet that's it. That's why he's so reluctant to say anything about his own feelings. He's afraid of being rejected.
And Roger is thinking: And I'm gonna have them look at the transmission again. I don't care what those morons say, it's still not shifting right. And they'd better not try to blame it on the cold weather this time. What cold weather? It's 87 degrees out, and this thing is shifting like a crummy garbage truck, and I paid those incompetent thieves $600!
And Elaine is thinking: He's angry. And I don't blame him. I'd be angry, too. Oh, I feel so guilty, putting him through this, but I can't help the way I feel. I'm just not sure.
And Roger is thinking: They'll probably say it's only a 90-day warranty. That's exactly what they're gonna say, the scumballs!
And Elaine is thinking: Maybe I'm just too idealistic, waiting for a knight to come riding up on his white horse, when I'm sitting right next to a perfectly good person, a person I enjoy being with, a person I truly do care about, a person who seems to care about me, a person who is in pain because of my self-centered, schoolgirl, romantic fantasy.
And Roger is thinking: Warranty? They want a warranty? I'll give them a warranty! I'll take their warranty and stick it....
"Roger," Elaine says aloud.
"What?" says Roger, startled.
"Please don't torture yourself like this," she says, her eyes beginning to brim with tears. "Maybe I should never have said ... Oh, I feel so...." She breaks down sobbing.
"What?" says Roger.
"I'm such a fool," Elaine sobs. "I mean, I know there's no knight; I really know that. It's silly. There's no knight and there's no horse."
"There's no horse?" says Roger.
"You think I'm a fool, don't you?" Elaine asks.
"No!" says Roger. He's glad he finally knows the correct answer.
"It's just that ... that ... I need some more time," Elaine says.
There is a long pause while Roger, thinking as fast as he can, tries to come up with a safe response. Finally, he comes up with one that he thinks might work.
"Yes," he says.
Elaine, deeply moved, touches his hand. "Oh Roger, do you really feel that way?" she asks.
"What way?" asks Roger.
"That way, about time," says Elaine.
"Oh," says Roger. "Yes."
Elaine turns to face him and gazes deeply into his eyes, causing him to become very nervous about what she might say next, especially if it involves a horse. At last she speaks.
"Thank you, Roger," she says.
"Thank you," says Roger.
Then he takes her home, and she lies on her bed, a conflicted, tortured soul, and weeps until dawn. Roger, in the meantime, gets back to his place, opens a bag of Doritos, turns on the TV, and immediately becomes deeply involved in a rerun of a tennis match between two Czechoslovakians he never heard of. A tiny voice in the far recesses of his mind tells him that something major was going on back there in the car, but he is pretty sure that there is no way he would ever understand what, and so he figures it's better if he doesn't think about it. (This is also Roger's policy regarding world hunger.)
The next day, Elaine will call her closest friend, or perhaps two of them, and they will talk about this situation for six straight hours. In painstaking detail, they will analyze everything she said and everything he said, going over it time and time again, exploring every word, expression, and gesture for nuances of meaning, considering every possible ramification. They will continue to discuss this subject, off and on, for weeks, maybe months, never reaching any definite conclusions, but never getting bored with it, either.
Meanwhile, Roger, while playing squash one day with Elaine's brother, will pause just before serving, frown, and say: "Bill, did Elaine ever own a horse?"

And Another Thing...

Just because you can philosophize on the negative ramifications and impractical significance of believing in a higher power doesn’t mean that your rationalizations are superior to the commitments I have to my convictions. I am not misguided, my beliefs are not erroneous; and your assumption that I need to further develop the maturity of my certainty of faith is unacceptable and inappropriate.
I can use big words too, you unexceptional son of an under-evolved primate. My childlike faith suits me perfectly and it is absurd for you to presume to call me naïve.

I am Not a Bad Mother

Just because I may do things differently doesn’t mean I haven’t given every choice I make regarding my daughter a lot of thought. I’m not going to make decisions concerning my child in an irresponsible way. I think about what I do and say around my daughter, I always have her best interest at heart. I keep my kid warm when she's cold and fed when she’s hungry. I hold her when she cries and I dance for her when she’s bored. I read to her, I sing to her, I tell her my thoughts so she’ll know me better, I take any and all advice that I can get on how to be a better mom; but just because I listen to it doesn’t mean I will implement that advice.
And if advice isn’t given to me in the form of “you know what I’ve found that works”, or something similar, I don’t receive it well. My person told me today that “the way people say things are as important as how people hear them”. I don’t want to hear things like: “you’re not going to put another blanket on her?” or “I don’t know why you don’t just pick her up” or “that’s not the way I used to do it”. I don’t care how anyone did anything when it was their turn to be a mom. I’m not their redo. I’m not their mulligan. This is my turn to be a mom. And I want to do what’s right by my kid and I know that my friends and family want to help me but belittling me and my ability to know what is best for my child does not help me. It hinders me. It chisels away at me and if it weren’t for my super wonderful amazing husband to lift me up and pick up all my little pieces at the end of the day I just might do what every one seems to expect and fail.
I love to get advice from friends and family, I need all that I can get to make an informed decision on all aspects of motherhood. I need help more times than not. I appreciate any knowledge handed to me and I pray I have to wisdom to use most of it. But it does wear on me when every single move I make is second guessed and could be done better by someone else. I’m learning here and part of learning is making mistakes. So far I haven’t made any mistakes that have caused my daughter any harm and God willing I never will but in order for me to grow into the kind of mom that knows what she’s doing I need to be given faith along with the advice. I need for people who want to help me to stop and think for a moment about the fact that even though most times I’m a tough person, when it comes to my ability to be a mom I’m already halfway broken.

I Hate Tuedays

If I could have a super power I would want to be able to make Tuesday’s disappear, and force a double up on Thursdays. I can’t tell you how badly I want every Tuesday that ever was to be… what’s a good word that means: If Tuesday was a person I’d want it to be ripped out of the week by its pubic hairs and forced to sit in an acid bath with Paris Hilton in an evil spa in some seriously intense hell for all eternity? To say I want Tuesdays to “go away” doesn’t seem to really capture the severity of my dislike of that day.
I can’t even really remember the last time I had a good Tuesday, at least not one that wasn’t either preceded by a bad Monday or followed by a bad Wednesday. Every Tuesday is my own personal apocalypse with flying lion/scorpion/man beasts and everything. Each Tuesday has Armageddon reproduced for me personally. Garfield’s hate of Mondays can’t touch my hate of Tuesdays. Lasagna doesn’t even come close to fixing a Tuesday.
What I hate most about Tuesdays it that if Monday was bad, it doesn't get washed away by the new day. Tomorrows are never better if they are Tuesdays.

Understanding Others Is Not My Gift

It’s hard for me to understand how some people can live without faith. There are many people out there who do not conform to any spiritual belief system. They don’t attend a church or claim a religion or even have a moral code that they could explain to others.

I always thought faith was easy. Having faith anyway, choosing what to have your faith in is harder. Is it in the God of the Bible, the Qur'an, the Taisho, the Tanakh or the Torah? Is it in science and what can be seen and felt? Is it in the ability to keep life moving in a forward direction?
It not only confuses me but it pains me when I find someone who has no faith. None. How is that even possible? You should have faith strictly on the basis that you are living and breathing and there HAS TO be a reason for that, but dont get a big head and think it's to make the world a better place. Only a fraction of a percent of people get born with that responsibility; Jesus, Muhammad, Gandhi, Levi Strauss, Alfred Peet.
You need faith to believe that you were made, created or fashioned by something greater than you. You need faith to believer that when you die there is a reward for your faith. Be that Heaven, Moksha, Jannah, Valhalla, Tír na nÓg, or Tamoanchan. I don’t care what you believe. As long as you believe in something. Anything. There are a plethora of religions and spiritual roads for you to take; there is no reason for you to not have decided on one of them.
Far be it for me to tell anyone they cannot exercise their free will. However someone refusing to believe in anything other than the fact that they believe in nothing are not exercising their free will they are exercising their free won’t.