Tuesday, August 30, 2011
I do think "The Help" helps
I finished "The Help" a few days ago, but I've been sort of processing what I want to say about it. First off, let me preface this as such, I,
as perhaps the whitest girl alive, (I'm almost clear) have no idea, nor would I presume to know what it's like to be black in any era, much less
at the height of the civil rights movement. Also, I somewhat agree with the criticism that it's slightly egotistical for a white affluent female
author knows much more than I do about the subject. For that matter, she and I, as white women growing up in Mississippi, would probably struggle to find common ground.
That being said, I thought it was a good book. Certain parts made me cringe and wish I had been alive during that time, as I like to believe
I would've been "Skeeter" or someone similar, trying to spotlight the often ill treatment of the maids that kept the South running. I will say
that I think reviews like "If you only read one book let this be it," are vastly overblown. This is no "To Kill a Mockingbird." I'm sorry, but
other than the fact that they are both books set in the South, the similarities end there.
I know there's been controversy surrounding the book and the movie about perpetuating stereotypes and keeping black women in the outdated state of servitude and complacence. After hearing all of that, I guess I expected something different when I read the book. I couldn't disagree more with the notion that it portrays black people unfairly. If anything, white people come out looking like complete buffoons and frankly, uptight bitches. I would've much rather hung out with Minny and Aibileen than Hilly and Elizabeth, although Celia would've probably been a hoot, too, until she drank too much and threw up on me.
I think the thing that reviewers outside the South might not understand is that, as a Southerner, even in 2011, some of us recognize some of these characters and their behavior. If you visit Macon, MS where I grew up, you'll feel like you stepped into a time warp. People there still use "help," and I can confirm in some cases, they aren't treated much differently than they might've been in 1963. I'm not trying to malign
the modern South, but race relations in the South are still about 50 years behind race relations elsewhere, and that may be the sticking point to remember.
I found the book fairly poignant about how different people from different walks of life can come together and change things.
If no other message is taken away, take that one. If that weren't the case, where would our country be? Would Barack Hussein Obama be President? Hardly. And who was his closest competitor for the Democratic nominee? A woman. That, too, would've been unheard of, but that's a different cause for a different day.
I know we can never be colorblind, we can also never be class-blind, disability-blind, or gender-blind, to name a few. But I think that at
least the discussion of these issues is a good start towards maybe going from blind to just myopic or near-sighted. That's my hope anyway.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
I can bring home the bacon and burn it up in a pan...
I am not domestic...I'll hold for those of you who know me to pick your jaws up from the floor. In my post-college apartment, I ended up throwing away dishes that had been sitting unwashed in the sink for over a month. My car once doubled as a mobile trash mobile, and when I did once thoroughly clean my apartment in anticipation of a gentleman caller, I pulled a back muscle.
Then, I met a hilarious, sexy, sweet gargantuanly tall man who found me winsome and charming, and I moved in with him to start marital bliss. Our first fight was over how the dishwasher was loaded, although in my defense, I still don't know what I did wrong. He cooked, he cleaned, he tried to ignore the pairs of shoes that were scattered in various places throughout our tiny apartment. He looked away when faced with my bedside table, that no matter where I live, ends up looking like a rat's nest (eye drops, lip balm, ponytail holder, book, phone, Jimmy Hoffa).
I would also like to preface this by saying I had NO chores growing up. Sometimes, I had to fold laundry and once I can remember raking the yard while singing a slave spiritual, but I didn't even have to make up my bed until I was in high school, and I still didn't do it every day. I was not taught cleaning skills, knowing when to clean, what to use to clean, and where to clean, that you can't just wipe around stuff, that you have to pick everything up in order to clean well. Also, was not taught cooking, unless you count heating pop tarts and boiling water so I could have my precious spaghetti. All cooking is self-taught...which is fairly evident.
I have:
1. Broken a plate by setting it on a hot stove eye
2. Set a plastic Pyrex lid on fire in the oven because I thought it was oven-safe
3. Cooked chicken that was not fully thawed, resulting in disgusting, bloody chicken that still haunts my dreams.,
4. Burned at least one pot with corn that wouldn't wash out due to not realizing you have to keep liquid in the dish to avoid this.
5. Caused countless smoke plumes, resulting in the smoke alarm going off to the point that we had to just keep it unplugged.
6. Misread cake directions and cooked a cake for the 8 x 8 size, but in a 9 x 13 pan, meaning the outside of the cake was delicious, but the inside was raw.
7. Most recently, broke our pizza stone, although I maintain I used it as directed, and maybe it was just "its time."
All that being said, I am never one to shirk away from a challenge. I am, in fact, the dish Nazi now. If you leave a dish on the counter, even if you're not done, I'll rinse it. I don't like for the kitchen to look cluttered at all, and if you don't rinse your dish, God help you.
Cooking: I will tackle you yet. I can cook, no really I can. I am in constant search of easy, simple recipes, and most of what I cook Smitty really likes. The turkey meatloaf was a big fail, and something I made called sweet onion spoon bread was like onion pudding, but other than that, I do all right. It's just a big learning curve, and I secretly want to go on a home cook reality show like "Worst Cooks in America" so I can learn some stuff. I also secretly know that would end in disaster once I got yelled at and threw a pan at Anne Crazy Hair, so I practice in anonymity.
Today, I have a pork loin in a crock pot with cream of celery soup. It's supposed to be creamy and delicious and ready in 7 hours. However, I have the number for Domino's handy.
"I cook with wine, sometimes I even add it to the food."
--W.C. Fields.
Then, I met a hilarious, sexy, sweet gargantuanly tall man who found me winsome and charming, and I moved in with him to start marital bliss. Our first fight was over how the dishwasher was loaded, although in my defense, I still don't know what I did wrong. He cooked, he cleaned, he tried to ignore the pairs of shoes that were scattered in various places throughout our tiny apartment. He looked away when faced with my bedside table, that no matter where I live, ends up looking like a rat's nest (eye drops, lip balm, ponytail holder, book, phone, Jimmy Hoffa).
I would also like to preface this by saying I had NO chores growing up. Sometimes, I had to fold laundry and once I can remember raking the yard while singing a slave spiritual, but I didn't even have to make up my bed until I was in high school, and I still didn't do it every day. I was not taught cleaning skills, knowing when to clean, what to use to clean, and where to clean, that you can't just wipe around stuff, that you have to pick everything up in order to clean well. Also, was not taught cooking, unless you count heating pop tarts and boiling water so I could have my precious spaghetti. All cooking is self-taught...which is fairly evident.
I have:
1. Broken a plate by setting it on a hot stove eye
2. Set a plastic Pyrex lid on fire in the oven because I thought it was oven-safe
3. Cooked chicken that was not fully thawed, resulting in disgusting, bloody chicken that still haunts my dreams.,
4. Burned at least one pot with corn that wouldn't wash out due to not realizing you have to keep liquid in the dish to avoid this.
5. Caused countless smoke plumes, resulting in the smoke alarm going off to the point that we had to just keep it unplugged.
6. Misread cake directions and cooked a cake for the 8 x 8 size, but in a 9 x 13 pan, meaning the outside of the cake was delicious, but the inside was raw.
7. Most recently, broke our pizza stone, although I maintain I used it as directed, and maybe it was just "its time."
All that being said, I am never one to shirk away from a challenge. I am, in fact, the dish Nazi now. If you leave a dish on the counter, even if you're not done, I'll rinse it. I don't like for the kitchen to look cluttered at all, and if you don't rinse your dish, God help you.
Cooking: I will tackle you yet. I can cook, no really I can. I am in constant search of easy, simple recipes, and most of what I cook Smitty really likes. The turkey meatloaf was a big fail, and something I made called sweet onion spoon bread was like onion pudding, but other than that, I do all right. It's just a big learning curve, and I secretly want to go on a home cook reality show like "Worst Cooks in America" so I can learn some stuff. I also secretly know that would end in disaster once I got yelled at and threw a pan at Anne Crazy Hair, so I practice in anonymity.
Today, I have a pork loin in a crock pot with cream of celery soup. It's supposed to be creamy and delicious and ready in 7 hours. However, I have the number for Domino's handy.
"I cook with wine, sometimes I even add it to the food."
--W.C. Fields.
Sunday, August 07, 2011
After while, Crocodile
Today is my dad's 74th birthday. I raise a glass upward and know that he's had a day of fishing and Clint Eastwood movies and maybe only a brief nod (hopefully) to the fact that he is missed down here today. This is the second birthday of his without him here. I always think the day is going to be terribly depressing, but ends up being a day where I talk about the best memories I have of him and as long as I don't linger on it, it ultimately makes me happy to remember the kind of relationship we had.
Speaking of fishing, he taught me how to fish. I had my own rod and reel, in fact. I don't know how many afternoons were spent with him at various "fishing holes" in Noxubee County, in mud with bugs and heat and stinky fish water, casting and re-casting my line. I mention the conditions, because I cannot imagine doing that now, although fishing would still be fun maybe in a boat, but those were some of the most enjoyable memories I have. There's a picture he had on his bedroom mirror until he died, of my sister and I, in matching visors (oh, yeah....), and she's holding up either a fish or string of fish while I pose with my hip stuck out and my hand on top, like "America's Top Model....and Fishing."
He also taught my sister and me how to shoot on some of those trips. I remember thinking how incredibly cool it was to shoot a gun, and frankly, my sister was like a secret government sniper. She loved it and was a really good shot, and I mention this because when I think about my sister, sharpshooter is not the exact image that leaps to mind. Smitty has a really hard time picturing this, as I freak out about the guns he has in our house, but that has more to do with being terrified that one's going to go off accidentally and shoot one of our feet off...sorry, I have my peccadilloes. They include, but are not limited to: guns, bugs, sharks, cows, and hearing fingernails scratch on anything.
When I reminded Smitty this morning that today would've been my dad's birthday, he let me ramble about different things growing up, and all this stuff came to mind...:
1. Almost every time he left to go anywhere, probably until I was in my 20's, we had this exchange. "See you later, Alligator," "After while, Crocodile," "See you soon, you big Baboon," which is one of those things that is so silly at the time, but as I write this, is making me cry and want to hear his voice, which perpetually smiled.
2. Even when he was sick, really sick, including before he died, he worried about me. I had a toothache around the time he died that I totally blew off and turned out to be nothing, but he asked me every day, "Did you go to the dentist?"
3. He taught me to appreciate all kinds of pasta, particularly spaghetti, and at age 10, I could describe and demonstrate "al dente" noodles, explain that it literally means "to the teeth," and tell you that the flag of Italy is red, white and green, for the tomato sauce, the noodles, and the bell peppers. FYI, we are not Italian, have no Italian roots of which I'm aware, but much like the fact that he could eat his weight in shrimp, he could do the same with noodles. I got that from him, still will pretty much eat only spaghetti if Smitty is out of town and be perfectly content, and I think of him every single time I drop a noodle into boiling water.
4. He literally told the dumbest jokes in the history of the world. In his defense, he picked these up from friends and colleagues, but, wow...example...
"If cloning scientists work with figure skaters Dorothy Hammil or Nancy Kerrigen, the result will be an ice queen clone."
"Dyslexics of the world, untie!"
When I heard this, my favorite joke, and I told him, I think he was actually proud...
"So this pirate walks into a bar with a steering wheel in his pants. Confused, the bartender asks "Hey bud, why do you have a steering wheel in your pants?"
"I don't know" the pirate says, "but it's driving me nuts!"
So I've had my cathartic cry for the day, I've laughed remembering when I told Smitty about the fishing trip he and I took where he had to shoo the cows away from the truck (only in the South) before I would even remotely get close..(see above irrational cow fear), smiled contentedly telling Smitty how I always felt he was proud of me no matter what I did, mainly because I so resembled him, but how that does a lot of good for a child's, or adult's, for that matter, self-esteem. Thank God for that. I can still feel like I'm on a completely random path and the faith and confidence he had in me sustains me. And I can end today, a bittersweet day, not feeling sad, but blessed to have these memories and many more that remind me of how important he will always be to me.
This was our favorite scene from a movie to quote, ever....:
"You know, it was kinda like old squares in the battle like you see in the calendar named "The Battle of Waterloo" and the idea was: shark comes to the nearest man, that man he starts poundin' and hollerin' and screamin' and sometimes the shark will go away... but sometimes he wouldn't go away. Sometimes that shark he looks right into ya. Right into your eyes. And, you know, the thing about a shark... he's got lifeless eyes. Black eyes. Like a doll's eyes. When he comes at ya, doesn't seem to be living... until he bites ya, and those black eyes roll over white and then... ah then you hear that terrible high-pitched screamin'."
"Jaws," the scene with Robert Shaw, Roy Scheider, and Richard Dreyfuss, where they're in the boat, hunting the shark and sharing drinks and war stories.
Speaking of fishing, he taught me how to fish. I had my own rod and reel, in fact. I don't know how many afternoons were spent with him at various "fishing holes" in Noxubee County, in mud with bugs and heat and stinky fish water, casting and re-casting my line. I mention the conditions, because I cannot imagine doing that now, although fishing would still be fun maybe in a boat, but those were some of the most enjoyable memories I have. There's a picture he had on his bedroom mirror until he died, of my sister and I, in matching visors (oh, yeah....), and she's holding up either a fish or string of fish while I pose with my hip stuck out and my hand on top, like "America's Top Model....and Fishing."
He also taught my sister and me how to shoot on some of those trips. I remember thinking how incredibly cool it was to shoot a gun, and frankly, my sister was like a secret government sniper. She loved it and was a really good shot, and I mention this because when I think about my sister, sharpshooter is not the exact image that leaps to mind. Smitty has a really hard time picturing this, as I freak out about the guns he has in our house, but that has more to do with being terrified that one's going to go off accidentally and shoot one of our feet off...sorry, I have my peccadilloes. They include, but are not limited to: guns, bugs, sharks, cows, and hearing fingernails scratch on anything.
When I reminded Smitty this morning that today would've been my dad's birthday, he let me ramble about different things growing up, and all this stuff came to mind...:
1. Almost every time he left to go anywhere, probably until I was in my 20's, we had this exchange. "See you later, Alligator," "After while, Crocodile," "See you soon, you big Baboon," which is one of those things that is so silly at the time, but as I write this, is making me cry and want to hear his voice, which perpetually smiled.
2. Even when he was sick, really sick, including before he died, he worried about me. I had a toothache around the time he died that I totally blew off and turned out to be nothing, but he asked me every day, "Did you go to the dentist?"
3. He taught me to appreciate all kinds of pasta, particularly spaghetti, and at age 10, I could describe and demonstrate "al dente" noodles, explain that it literally means "to the teeth," and tell you that the flag of Italy is red, white and green, for the tomato sauce, the noodles, and the bell peppers. FYI, we are not Italian, have no Italian roots of which I'm aware, but much like the fact that he could eat his weight in shrimp, he could do the same with noodles. I got that from him, still will pretty much eat only spaghetti if Smitty is out of town and be perfectly content, and I think of him every single time I drop a noodle into boiling water.
4. He literally told the dumbest jokes in the history of the world. In his defense, he picked these up from friends and colleagues, but, wow...example...
"If cloning scientists work with figure skaters Dorothy Hammil or Nancy Kerrigen, the result will be an ice queen clone."
"Dyslexics of the world, untie!"
When I heard this, my favorite joke, and I told him, I think he was actually proud...
"So this pirate walks into a bar with a steering wheel in his pants. Confused, the bartender asks "Hey bud, why do you have a steering wheel in your pants?"
"I don't know" the pirate says, "but it's driving me nuts!"
So I've had my cathartic cry for the day, I've laughed remembering when I told Smitty about the fishing trip he and I took where he had to shoo the cows away from the truck (only in the South) before I would even remotely get close..(see above irrational cow fear), smiled contentedly telling Smitty how I always felt he was proud of me no matter what I did, mainly because I so resembled him, but how that does a lot of good for a child's, or adult's, for that matter, self-esteem. Thank God for that. I can still feel like I'm on a completely random path and the faith and confidence he had in me sustains me. And I can end today, a bittersweet day, not feeling sad, but blessed to have these memories and many more that remind me of how important he will always be to me.
This was our favorite scene from a movie to quote, ever....:
"You know, it was kinda like old squares in the battle like you see in the calendar named "The Battle of Waterloo" and the idea was: shark comes to the nearest man, that man he starts poundin' and hollerin' and screamin' and sometimes the shark will go away... but sometimes he wouldn't go away. Sometimes that shark he looks right into ya. Right into your eyes. And, you know, the thing about a shark... he's got lifeless eyes. Black eyes. Like a doll's eyes. When he comes at ya, doesn't seem to be living... until he bites ya, and those black eyes roll over white and then... ah then you hear that terrible high-pitched screamin'."
"Jaws," the scene with Robert Shaw, Roy Scheider, and Richard Dreyfuss, where they're in the boat, hunting the shark and sharing drinks and war stories.
Wednesday, August 03, 2011
Blue roses...google Tennessee Williams, for God's sake
No one really likes to hear about people being sick. Other than, "Oh my God, you have cancer?" and "You broke your ankle by tripping over a handicapped ramp?" (I did, indeed...a good story and a worthy explanation of why I don't wear any manner of platform shoes or spiky heels) I love my mother, but when I was old enough to understand what "feeling bad" meant...a. she was going through menopause ( I was a change of life baby), hurt for no apparent reason, and cried at me, like projectile crying, for my being born.... and b. my dad took great pride in taking care of us when we were sick. He brought us juice, soup, took our temperatures, gave the OK for us to nap if we felt like crap, and I follow this principle today whether I feel like crap or not...naps cure a great deal of things. Also, Smitty doesn't understand why I equate fever with grave illness...I thought everyone had mercury thermometers that you checked thrice daily when you were sick...apparently, I was mistaken.
I want to explain this: I am allergic to 24 of the 25 things for which allergists test you. I cannot use soap, body wash, gel, etc...or anything with perfume. I use Dove Unscented soap, which almost makes me cry, because I used to be a HUGE fan of all manner of scented body wash. I was a Bath/Body Works junkie, which I now pour into shampoo/conditioner because thus far, there has been no link between allergies and my hair products. I currently own 6 shampoos and 5 conditioners, just in my shower...I have a back-up 2 shampoos and 3 conditioners as well. It's sick..I'm the same way with lip balm, because so far, I'm not allergic to any lip balm, so I have like 7 back-ups.
My point is, and I require no self-pity whatsoever, but if you don't have these bizarre anomalies, you couldn't possibly understand. I, personally, would've called myself the "snotty kid on the playground," except I wasn't...at ALL, until I moved to Birmingham and enveloped their extreme brand of pollution. So, I take Allegra every day, and I take Nasonex every day, and I take 2 allergy shots every 5 days, and even doing all that, because my septum, the bone that separates your nasal cavities, is shaped like a question mark, I can still get sick as a dog in the middle of spring, summer, fall, or winter, it doesn't matter.
And, oh my God, how I try to be positive about it. I do not want to be a sickly person, but here's what happened recently...I went outside...just walked outside to look at the dogs, just to look, because the last time I played with them, because I love them and want to pet them, an immediate hive patch formed on my chest, and then my face got hot, and when I say hot, I mean, I looked in the mirror and my face looked and felt like I had spent an entire day on the beach with no SPF, and it didn't go away until I went to the doctor and had two shots and 2 prescriptions written for possible allergy and for possible rosacea.
So, I miss work for a few days because my face is the color of a cherry tomato, plus swollen to about its size + 1/4, which looks vaguely like Eric Stolz from "Mask." And when you try to explain to normal people who have normal immune systems and don't understand this sort of thing, I feel like they think I'm just kinda making stuff up. Look, until 6 years or so ago, I was never, ever like this. My only suggestion is that I am far too delicate for pollution...that's what triggered it. It's been a complete nightmare since I moved here...I blame it on marriage (not really...I fully blame it on Alabama, specifically Birmingham and Alabama fans)
But, look. I am completely serious. I can walk outside and have a weird hive thing happen. I can come into contact with chemicals and have a weird hive thing happen. I can have a doctor who won't listen to me prescribe a medication which will not only cause a weird hive thing, but will also cause a full facial swollen thing. I am not lazy, I want to work, I want to do work that is even with my level of intelligence, in fact, I am a remarkably hard worker with little tolerance for stupidity, but it seems sometimes that I am an island...like John Donne or Jon Bon Jovi...take your pick.
I would just like to say that Smitty and I appreciate your prayers and good thoughts to fling us upon the universe wherever He may find us useful, and I feel for one or more of us, that ship has sailed. I just don't think life should be this hard. And I know, before you match your strife to mine, which I also find a bit distasteful, we all have hardships. We all have physical issues and emotional issues and et cetera, et cetera, but I find the best thing we can do when confronted with others' issues is convey empathy, rather than engage in a one-up-man-ship with one another.
I will be the first to admit how I am wildly self-involved, but when it comes to those I care about, I will listen to you all day long, and I will not once say, "Oh, you went through that? You don't even know..listen to this...," because that makes things only about you and it belittles the feelings of those you claim to care about. I grew up with this, and if I ever display this behavior, you have my personal permission to call me on it. Life is not about any one person, and if you go through it only caring about yourself and your experiences, you've pretty much succeeded at only moving your purposes forward in life.
As a sickly, snotty allergic, ridiculous person, I don't ask at all, even remotely, for special treatment. I just ask that you understand or try to understand that I'm not just making shit up, I get sick easily, and I work and function through 75% of that, but the other portion, is where I feel like Death is daring me to get up in the morning because I have a 101 fever or because, recently, my face looked like Elephant Tomato Girl..I'm thinking of having T-shirts made. I find it ridiculous no one can say definitively that you're allergic to something or you have a freaky(new) incessant skin condition. I don't feel that bad in admitting none of this concerned me terribly until it got to my face. As I sit here, I didn't wear make-up to work today, my face feels like it's on fire, and if you hold your hand an inch away, you'll get a contact sunburn.
I do not at all ask for self-pity. I'm not dying, there is nothing life-threatening wrong with me, but I frequently feel awful. I try to make plans in advance, and the day of, I feel horrible, and I don't want to be a complete drag, so I cancel plans. Under NO circumstances, do I want to talk about what's wrong with me, so I make stuff up, which means if you really like me, we haven't hung out in forever. But no more....my new little pledge to myself is to engage with more people and at least let them know that it's not them....it's genuinely me..but I will change that...
"Smitty is bullying me into bed; he took away my wine. That was unnecessary.
If you're my friend, you know that I come from a place of love. I can't possibly police from where your love comes. If you're feeling guilty, you're free to speak to me about this hole I know holds you captive. Don't threaten me. I've cut your co-dependence off before, and I won't hesitate to do it again. You hold nothing over me, mother, ex-mother, and whatever you are now....severing this tie does nothing for your current position. Never forget that."
me, 2011
I want to explain this: I am allergic to 24 of the 25 things for which allergists test you. I cannot use soap, body wash, gel, etc...or anything with perfume. I use Dove Unscented soap, which almost makes me cry, because I used to be a HUGE fan of all manner of scented body wash. I was a Bath/Body Works junkie, which I now pour into shampoo/conditioner because thus far, there has been no link between allergies and my hair products. I currently own 6 shampoos and 5 conditioners, just in my shower...I have a back-up 2 shampoos and 3 conditioners as well. It's sick..I'm the same way with lip balm, because so far, I'm not allergic to any lip balm, so I have like 7 back-ups.
My point is, and I require no self-pity whatsoever, but if you don't have these bizarre anomalies, you couldn't possibly understand. I, personally, would've called myself the "snotty kid on the playground," except I wasn't...at ALL, until I moved to Birmingham and enveloped their extreme brand of pollution. So, I take Allegra every day, and I take Nasonex every day, and I take 2 allergy shots every 5 days, and even doing all that, because my septum, the bone that separates your nasal cavities, is shaped like a question mark, I can still get sick as a dog in the middle of spring, summer, fall, or winter, it doesn't matter.
And, oh my God, how I try to be positive about it. I do not want to be a sickly person, but here's what happened recently...I went outside...just walked outside to look at the dogs, just to look, because the last time I played with them, because I love them and want to pet them, an immediate hive patch formed on my chest, and then my face got hot, and when I say hot, I mean, I looked in the mirror and my face looked and felt like I had spent an entire day on the beach with no SPF, and it didn't go away until I went to the doctor and had two shots and 2 prescriptions written for possible allergy and for possible rosacea.
So, I miss work for a few days because my face is the color of a cherry tomato, plus swollen to about its size + 1/4, which looks vaguely like Eric Stolz from "Mask." And when you try to explain to normal people who have normal immune systems and don't understand this sort of thing, I feel like they think I'm just kinda making stuff up. Look, until 6 years or so ago, I was never, ever like this. My only suggestion is that I am far too delicate for pollution...that's what triggered it. It's been a complete nightmare since I moved here...I blame it on marriage (not really...I fully blame it on Alabama, specifically Birmingham and Alabama fans)
But, look. I am completely serious. I can walk outside and have a weird hive thing happen. I can come into contact with chemicals and have a weird hive thing happen. I can have a doctor who won't listen to me prescribe a medication which will not only cause a weird hive thing, but will also cause a full facial swollen thing. I am not lazy, I want to work, I want to do work that is even with my level of intelligence, in fact, I am a remarkably hard worker with little tolerance for stupidity, but it seems sometimes that I am an island...like John Donne or Jon Bon Jovi...take your pick.
I would just like to say that Smitty and I appreciate your prayers and good thoughts to fling us upon the universe wherever He may find us useful, and I feel for one or more of us, that ship has sailed. I just don't think life should be this hard. And I know, before you match your strife to mine, which I also find a bit distasteful, we all have hardships. We all have physical issues and emotional issues and et cetera, et cetera, but I find the best thing we can do when confronted with others' issues is convey empathy, rather than engage in a one-up-man-ship with one another.
I will be the first to admit how I am wildly self-involved, but when it comes to those I care about, I will listen to you all day long, and I will not once say, "Oh, you went through that? You don't even know..listen to this...," because that makes things only about you and it belittles the feelings of those you claim to care about. I grew up with this, and if I ever display this behavior, you have my personal permission to call me on it. Life is not about any one person, and if you go through it only caring about yourself and your experiences, you've pretty much succeeded at only moving your purposes forward in life.
As a sickly, snotty allergic, ridiculous person, I don't ask at all, even remotely, for special treatment. I just ask that you understand or try to understand that I'm not just making shit up, I get sick easily, and I work and function through 75% of that, but the other portion, is where I feel like Death is daring me to get up in the morning because I have a 101 fever or because, recently, my face looked like Elephant Tomato Girl..I'm thinking of having T-shirts made. I find it ridiculous no one can say definitively that you're allergic to something or you have a freaky(new) incessant skin condition. I don't feel that bad in admitting none of this concerned me terribly until it got to my face. As I sit here, I didn't wear make-up to work today, my face feels like it's on fire, and if you hold your hand an inch away, you'll get a contact sunburn.
I do not at all ask for self-pity. I'm not dying, there is nothing life-threatening wrong with me, but I frequently feel awful. I try to make plans in advance, and the day of, I feel horrible, and I don't want to be a complete drag, so I cancel plans. Under NO circumstances, do I want to talk about what's wrong with me, so I make stuff up, which means if you really like me, we haven't hung out in forever. But no more....my new little pledge to myself is to engage with more people and at least let them know that it's not them....it's genuinely me..but I will change that...
"Smitty is bullying me into bed; he took away my wine. That was unnecessary.
If you're my friend, you know that I come from a place of love. I can't possibly police from where your love comes. If you're feeling guilty, you're free to speak to me about this hole I know holds you captive. Don't threaten me. I've cut your co-dependence off before, and I won't hesitate to do it again. You hold nothing over me, mother, ex-mother, and whatever you are now....severing this tie does nothing for your current position. Never forget that."
me, 2011
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