This is my least favorite month. It’s hotter than Satan’s armpit AND I get to leave my family. And everyone seems intent on asking me (with marked glee, I might add) when I go back to school. As if that’s a good thing. Like I like to leave my family. Like I think it’s fun.
Education is a privilege. BJU is where God has me.
That doesn’t mean I have to like it.
So if you all wouldn’t mind, please stop asking me about school. I know you’re trying to be friendly and interested, but it’s more like pouring alcohol in a dagger hole.
I have the same feelings about weddings that the Grinch did about Christmas pre-heart growth therapy.
Even about gorgeous weddings, so tastefully and beautifully decorated that TLC would be jealous. Or ones that had details planned down to sippy cups and crayons for the 7 little people who attended. Even at weddings where the little girls stare at the bride like they’re seeing a real live princess and she’s so close they could touch her.
The cake was fantastic, too.
I have been crocheting afghan blocks like a woman possessed. It’s as if my grip on sanity is directly proportional to how many blocks I can crank out. Which makes a very funny and ironic mental image, since I’m buried up to my ears in yarn, a needle flashing wildly, my eyes half glazed…
Not exactly sanity personified.
I did get some mildly responsible things accomplished today, including book shopping. I totally forgot about buying textbooks. I guess I assumed they would just show up when I got to school. I doubt that’ll actually happen.
The Haines City Burger King sells soft serve ice cream cones for fifty cents. And mine was massive.
I am appropriately satisfied.
School is getting closer. As is my bed time.
Thoughts are not new: same hobbies, same worries, same task lists, same fantasies. Except there are only two fantasies: one person, and staying home with my family. The worries are myriad and nearly countless but run along the same theme. The hobbies are pretty simple and redundant. The task list mirrors last summer’s with the addition of minor wedding planning and graphic design.
I have a beautiful new desktop courtesy of Oana Befort. Seriously, you should check out her work. Simple, colorful, whimsical.
I’m sorry for not writing. I’ve had things to write about, but my laziness and apathy had me in a stranglehold. I also worked out this morning for the first time in nearly a month. Maybe longer. I’m really not sure.
The DFL is home.
I love Jess and her family.
French fries are awesome.
Peace out, readers.
Yesterday, I babysat two little boys who are roughly 4 yrs old and 2 yrs old for about 3 hours.
Which is why there was no blog post last night. I ate my Taco Bell, watched some tv, drooled a bit from the brain damage, and went to bed.
Ok, I actually had a ton of fun and also panicked several times, but since they are very little, energetic boys, only panicking several times was a good thing. And they were so excited to get to play with me. And called me “Miss”, which was hilarious and awesome all at the same time. I feel way too much like a child to be called “Miss” by another child.
Comment of the evening:
Older brother: We used to call (younger brother) “Baby”…Should we still call him baby?
Me: Well, babies are my FAVORITE, so I think “Baby” would be okay. (
Older brother: WELL, 4 year olds are MY favorite.
Touche, my young sir. Touche.
I had someone tell me this past year that I seem to have a lot of “worst fears”. Which made me realize that I actually do say those words way too frequently. They can’t all be “worst”, as multiple superlatives in the same category are a logical impossibility.
But just for kicks and giggles (and because I’m a horribly irregular poster), I’ll give you a list, not necessarily in order of importance, of my “worst fears”.
1. My mom not knowing me someday. 1a. My mom not ever knowing or recognizing her grandchildren.
2. Losing a child under my care. Heaven forbid it be my own child. There is no terror quite like not knowing where a child is.
3. Burning alive. I’ve always been afraid of fire, but even if I wasn’t, I would really hate to die because my flesh was being melted off my bones while my internal organs were being cooked EVEN IF I went unconscious from smoke inhalation.
4. Drowning. I dabbled in that last summer, found it wasn’t to my taste. I hated the lack of control.
5. That I will lose what is left of my mind. Again: lack of control. My nightmares are bad enough right now and it’s hard enough to hold onto reality sometimes. Being insane sounds like a nightmare you can’t ever wake up from.
6. Dying alone. In this case, I win and lose completely. Because everyone dies alone. No one can die with you or be with you as your soul leaves your body. But the good part is that Jesus actually is with you. The entire way. And protecting you completely. So this one is only a worst fear when I’m not thinking clearly, or I don’t have my priorities straight.
7. That I’ll become addicted to fill-in-the-blank substance. Any substance. I’ve watched people lose their minds, health, and loved ones due to drugs, alcohol, even the people themselves, just because they had an addictive idol. I don’t want that.
Meh. I think that’ll do for tonight. I know there have GOT to be others, but I assume 7 worsts are enough for one day. If you ever want to hear more, drop me a comment.
I just love going to the doctor.
Depressing news. Weird, invasive questions. Needle pokes. Of course, I didn’t have to pee in a cup today. That was a total perk. And I really don’t mind donating blood to science, but what I hate is the testing and the still not knowing and the inconclusive “nothing’s wrong”.
I don’t think anything is truly wrong. So why do I have to talk to someone about something that might be troubling to me? Because that thing will not turn out to be anything diagnosable, and I will just have “dreamed it up”…It’s all in the mind. I’m just being a drama queen.
I’ve never had anyone say that to me. But my mom has an immune disorder. And for two years she was told to get over it, to just sleep it off, get up and work anyway, that it was all imaginary, because tests found nothing. But it was not imaginary. It was her body eating away at her brain.
Do I expect to have something wrong with my immune system, brain, or even my body? Not really. But if there is, I don’t necessarily trust the medical profession to find it right away. And I hate being vulnerable enough to tell someone about deeply personal things and then having nothing come of it.
So we’ll see. We’ll see.
On a whim, I donated blood today. It’s been over two months, but I just hadn’t gotten around to it yet. I received a text today from the blood donation center while I was out doing errands and thought: why not.
So I dropped by, lost a pint of blood, hopefully saved three lives, and got a bright red beach towel out of it. My finger feels like someone drilled for oil in it. Or used an electric drill to root around for any remnant of iron left in my body. Turns out: I have plenty of iron. And pain receptors in my finger. Bad news: my third finger was the one poked, so I have to be careful about shaking it around or showing people for sympathy, because it can give the wrong impression.
Other news? I’m fighting for my life over a dress from hell. I was creating my own pattern which seems to be mildly disastrous, seeing as how getting it properly fitted is exercising my seam ripping skills and not my sewing technique. But beauty is painful. Or some other such cliche.