Platitude Paradise

I woke to a full fledged panic attack this morning. They're always fun, right? Especially when they happen only ten minutes before you have to wake the children. The cranky-assed, tension-sensing, guilt factories ... to whom you gave birth. I went back to bed after I put the girls on the bus.  Avoidance. When I finally got up, it was after eleven. I know - right? This could be the beginning of another sad, sad story ... but it isn't.  Something slid into place inside my brain today. I got on the phone before I was half way through my first coffee and by the time I finished my third, I had talked to a couple of good contacts ... each with thoughts and suggestions as to my future employment. I also discussed the possibility of downsizing our truck and maybe picking up a 2nd beater car. We need to be ready to be mobile. We're both looking outside of the house for work.  I opened a door today. I need to open another, tomorrow. Tomorrow,

There is a conversation that is happening in my head lately.  It is between two very distinct sides of my brain and each has a passionate stance. The logical part - the one that says things like 'uh ... ya - we need to have groceries if we're gonna eat, folks' and 'how many basements are you going to dig before you get off your ass and do something about it, for the love of Christ?'  We took a vote and we officially hate that side. ... and then the illogical side - it seems hell bent on encouraging me to steep in my own stink for as long as is humanly possible. Letting me explore my feelings and chase my bliss ... because it is my God given right to be all that I can be and the rest of the world just better get with the damned program already and let me have this. ALL THE MAGAZINES SAY I'M SUPPOSED TO WANT IT!  This is the side of my brain that is busy having a feeling over here and ... 'wah! I'm not happy working full time ... w

I always loved that line in "The Mask". This post won't be nearly as cute and endearing as that movie was.  This is not going to be pretty. I strongly suggest that anyone who doesn't want a reason to smack me right up the side of my head may not want to read any further. I'm about to share something that, if I had a brain in my head - or an ounce of self respect - I would lock in a vault and pray nobody ever found it. I need to understand what is happening inside my head right now, and it seems like I can't always do that without laying it all out in the air and letting the sun dry all the damp, moldy bits ... you know, so I can take it all in. See it as a whole. Not all intertwined inside the folds of my grey matter. I am standing in a room coated in a thick layer of insidious gas ... like say, ether ... and a couple of flint rocks rolling around together in my hands. It's like I can't be happy unless I have something to obsess about. Som

Is THIS me, or what? Well ... maybe not so intelligent or quiet ... but the rest fits. Oh, I don't think you can smoke thistles, so maybe not that, either. Crap ... even my metaphors are flawed these days. It's cloudy ... and cold. The truck is supposed to be fixed today ... providing nothing else breaks in the process (like the caliper did when Hubs tried to bleed the brakes last - costing us an additional $120). We are supposed to go camping tomorrow ... providing the weather holds. I can't find my tail ... prolly fell off anyway. I'm totes NOT... 'okay', that is. Although, I will tell you that any hugging is done at your own risk. Could go either way, I might freak at being touched ... or I might dissolve into a snot flying, projectile tear fest of a melt down. There's really no way to know which it would be ... I might recommend a 'no touch' policy ... for you

ALL ABOARD! It's time for a ride on the crazy train, folks. I am neurotic.  I know ... *GASP*, right?  Seriously though ... I am not unaware of my short comings as a humanoid. I suffer from an upsy-downsy sort of existence even when the terrain around me is relatively mundane. I honestly thought for most of my life (to this point) that it was an anti-boredom mechanism built into my drama soaked brain. So, for the most part, I have been inclined to embrace it somewhat. Here is a highly inconvenient truth for me to chew on - neurosis does not a successful business starter-upper, make.  Let me give you a visual for instance: click click click click ... click ... So we get started on the climb. This is the more labour intensive part of the process, but oddly is the part in which I am most comfortable - mostly because there is action on my part and therefore, I have a false sense of control. I like control. I know ... *GASP*, rig

My Mom is moving out next weekend. It's finally here.  THIS is what we've trained for, people! I find myself fervently wishing our house was sold and that we were also moving on ... into a more affordable and subsequently healing housing situation. We aren't, but I am still attempting optimism in the healing department.  I have long believed that regret is a wasted emotion. It really is. I mean, you should learn from your past, but spending valuable time on regret seems highly counter productive ... but I have to say if ever I felt regret, it is about this situation I find myself living of late. Don't get me wrong, I really love my house ... but more than anything , I just don't want it to beat us. I regret buying it more than any other one decision I have ever made (and truly, that is a weighty statement right there). Further to that buyer's remorse, I regret getting it into my head that my mother should live with us ... and I regret trying t

I'm going to be entirely self-indulgent. Cripes ... I couldn't even type that without snorting out loud. I think I have successfully chased away all of my readers ... or certainly anyone who ever comments. That's alright, it would be much better for me if I could just be completely candid and unedited. I doubt it's going to happen, but it's worth a try, I suppose. I am so bloody worried about what others think of me, I'm becoming a pathological obsessive freakazoid.  I had this long conversation in my head today while I was having a shower. I was having it with JJ (the conversation, not the shower).  ~ I am still going to meet with him to discuss the possibility of doing some work with his employer. It would be a cherry gig if I could get it. Honestly, it would give my company a massive punt forward. For better or for worse, really. It would either prove to me once and for all that I CAN actually do this ... or that I can't. Either way, it sa

"I was a heavy heart to carry ... My beloved was weighed down ... my arms around his neck ... my fingers laced to crown I was a heavy heart to carry ... My feet dragged across the ground ... and he took me to the river where he slowly let me drown My love has concrete feet, my love's an iron ball ... wrapped around your ankles ... over the waterfall" Ever have a relationship like this?  I did .  Oh ... how did I love him ... let me count the ways. I loved him like a love song ... before Selena friggen Gomez went and ruined that line.  It was like a wrought iron sculpture, the love I had for that boy:  Massive ~ Heavy ~ Black ~ Beautiful "JJ" was my first love, my 'first time' and my first real taste of heartbreak. We spent most of the two years we were a couple (at the ripe old ages of 16/18 and 17/19) embroiled in a massive power struggle. Of course at the time, I was struggling with the recent brutal rape

...as in: I am fraught with self doubt. If I could make just one wish, I think it would be to have the ability to know the difference between instinct and fear. { Oh - who the hell do I think I am kidding? If I had one wish, I'd want money. Plain and simple. Then, it wouldn't matter what was fear and what was instinct. } I performed an organizational service for a client this past Friday. It was awful. Truly. She has OCD and (based solely on my non-professional and completely uneducated medical opinion) a hoarding disorder. But, she wants help ... she just isn't ready. I learned a BIG lesson. Several of them, actually. The "Coles Notes" version of the story is as follows: I spent just over nine hours working on three of four closets I was hired to organize. I got to hour six (and closet three) and she lost it and had to have everything back the way it had been. So, I did as I was asked. She paid me half of the original $90 quote (which was barely a third

I have won a job! It is taking place tomorrow ... likely for most of the day, although I gave her a deal of only 3 hours.  This lady is just lovely. She is (I would guess) in her early seventies, has a teeny little geriatric yorkie and is OCD to the enth degree. Her place is immaculate. Seriously. You could eat off the floor in that place, I'm sure.  So ... why would she hire the likes of me? She's a closet hoarder ... literally. She stockpiles ... like a squirrel. There are four closets in her home and they are so full ... though admittedly, there is an organization to the chaos. She's reaching out for help (which according to what I have been reading on the disorder, is a very positive sign). I met with her the other day and she essentially told me that I don't have a chance of actually accomplishing anything with her. That she will not let me throw anything out. She will not let me downsize her clothing that doesn't fit. That all I will accomplish is

It's true. He ALWAYS looks like he has somewhere to be. I think the pissing on the beds is a cover. Because nobody would suspect a cat who's pissin' was a Secret Agent ... right?  To whom would his 'intel' be valuable?  Hmm... *crickets chirping* Boy, that's a sticker, eh?  Who in the heck would care, really.  Still ... I am convinced. He's certainly up to something. In other news ... Hubs and I would have celebrated our 11th wedding anniversary yesterday ... if his father hadn't died the week before our scheduled date, forcing us to reschedule our nuptials. I maintain that he did that intentionally. Our unofficial anniversary wasn't really in any way connected to what took place yesterday, but we went on a date! First one in ... oh, dear ... I really couldn't tell you how long. I'm gonna say there would be 'years' in the equation.  We went to see Star Trek and utilized a gift card that Hub

Yeah. I'm back. Guess I still have things to say ... what a shocker. I have been wandering around my life for the past several weeks nearly tripping over my bottom lip. I don't really understand why I am so glum. I mean, it isn't like there aren't stressors, but I've tromped just a little too far into ridiculous just now. I am second guessing E.V.E.R.Y.T.H.I.N.G... and in the process, I am driving myself (and everyone around me) Cray Cray. Let me give you a 'for instance': I am attending a number of groups and classes. One is a parenting group every Thursday evening. One is for the self employment program that happens every second Tuesday evening and one is a marketing training class that I managed to wiggle into with the Women in Business located in my home town. That happens every Tuesday (all day) ... but it is by far my favorite. THESE women know their collective shit! ...and I feel like a complete moron in their presence. So ...

This is such a fear for me that I tend to explain myself into either crazy stalker status or drive people away with my incessant justification, reasoning and explanation... not to mention waffling, retooling and general pain-in-the-assery. It drives people away. The very people to whom I want to be closest. The more things change, the more they stay the same.  I often contemplate whether I am wasting precious energy trying to understand why I do, say and feel the things I do. My official position on this is that it's all part of making positive change. I am beginning to wonder if I should just continue living under the assumption that I am 'normal' (whatever in the hell THAT is) and stop trying to make something interesting out of it. There are a couple of festering situations wreaking havoc on my world just now. They are keeping me awake at night ... haunting my thoughts during the day and basically derailing any actual progress ... in any of the areas in ques