Friday, January 27, 2017

I don't give a *&$#

I said to Maggie that 37 was going to be the year I stopped giving more weight to the opinions of others than I give to my own.  Well.  I think I said something more like, "I'm going to stop giving a fuck what people think."  Same difference. 

I decided to start practicing on New Year's Day 2017, figuring I'd get a 4-month head start.  It's hard to learn this particular skill, after a lifetime of being overly concerned that everyone around you at the very least isn't mad at you, and at best, is completely comfortable, well-fed, thirst-quenched, and content with all of your most recent actions and opinions.  That last bit there, the way I've lived my entire life, I inherited that shit honestly.  I think.  The women in my family hold opinions, but we don't ever want them to hurt anyone else's feelings.  My Mom, my Aunt Pam, my Cousin Stacy.  Maybe we're not all that way, maybe it's just us.  I don't think Granny was that way.  I remember Granny being more of a "That's just the way it is, whether you like it or not" sort of woman.  Like when she wouldn't let me win at Skip-Bo - "If I have the cards to play, Natalie, I'm going to play it, whether it helps you or not. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose."  Such a hard lesson to understand - the lesson of learning to just roll with it. 

I imagine there are about 3 people still seeing my Facebook updates. That's cool.  I can't help the soapbox I keep finding myself on.  I hold back as long as I can, and then I burst with a flurry of political rants and posts and shares...I just want people to love each other.  Stop being so fucking afraid of each other, realize we're all the same, we all want the same things, we're all fighting the same invisible battles...

We don't have to be afraid of each other.  It's bullshit for us to be afraid of our neighbors.  We are all full of the same nervousness, the same awkward fear of rejection.  My self consciousness is exactly the same as yours - we're on a level playing field, we are equal. 

I love you.  I want the best things for you.  You do you your way.  But I get to do me my way.  That's the deal.  We both want what's best for each other, but we each get to define that for ourselves. You don't limit me, I don't limit you.  (Basic "don't kill each other", "don't cheat one another", etc etc apply, of course.) 

This is our only future.  This is the only way forward.  This is the way for my family, what I teach my children.  Please teach yours the same? 

What were your resolutions?  How are you doing at sticking to them? 

Thursday, January 26, 2017

The Revolution Begins At Dawn.

I am so tense.  Reading Facebook infuriates me these days.  Reading the news makes me want to break things. 

What is happening?

We need, right now, to identify the people we want to fill our Congressional seats two years from now.  We need to identify them, and we need to do everything we can to help them hone their message and get their name and their platform out into the world and we need to get them elected.  We have to start now. 

We're going to march, me and mine.  I don't know how I'll convince Jimi, but we are going to march against tyranny. Against oppression.

That sounds so grandiose, so dramatic.  But this is real actual life, right now.  I can't even believe this shit is happening. 

That's what I say every day when I read the news: I can't believe this shit is happening. 

Tuesday, January 24, 2017

I love everything. I'm scared.

Geneva told me I'm a good mom and that she loves playing with me. 

Cora asks for me when she wakes up a lot of mornings now, rather than daddy.  It's okay that daddy is still her favorite, but it's nice to be wanted, too. 

My husband is the best husband, and I don't know how anyone familys without a Jimi.  He's the glue, man.  He is everything.  Everything.

My mom and dad are always there when I call them - they keep the girls when they're sick or because we want to go out, they buy me tires because it's almost Christmas and they know it's not a convenient time for me to spend an unexpected $600, they love us unconditionally and always are there to listen or give advice. 

My friends are the best friends.  They think I'm awesome despite all the evidence I give them to the contrary.  They love me even though I'm just me. 

I love my job.  I'm good at it.  It's not my dream, but I work with great people, and we have fun while we're doing what we have to do every day to make our dreams happen. 

I have a safe place to live.  I have reliable transportation.  I have access to adequate, affordable healthcare.  Our dog is a good boy except when he isn't, but even that isn't SO bad, in perspective. 

My life is everything I've ever wanted.  I'm so full - of happy, of shame, of joy, of hope.  If I could get some sort of guarantee that it won't end in the next 46 years or so, I could live my day to day happy and without a care in the world...

I'm scared for everyone who is not me.

I don't say that with sarcasm or to be witty or tongue in cheek. 

I'm scared for parents of sick kids, parents of kids with learning challenges of all sorts.  I'm scared for single parents.  I'm scared for parents who don't have extended families, or who are far from home.  I'm scared for women and men who are underemployed, underinsured.  I'm scared for those of us living paycheck to paycheck, with outstanding loans on our only modes of transportation, living in areas where there is little or no public transit, little or no upward momentum...

I'm scared our President is going to make my 401k go away.  I'm scared I'll regret not doing better at food storage.  I'm scared those will be the least of my fears...

I'm scared.

Monday, January 23, 2017

I love the gym.

It's late.  The alarm will sound early.  I love the gym. 

My legs and ass hurt.  The good hurt, the sort that says, "Oh yeah, I did something good for myself" and also "holy lord how in the fuck will I ever get my ass all the way down there on the toilet seat without dying?!"

You know what I mean.  If you don't, go do 36 squats and 36 lunges and report back in 24 hours.  Or just stab yourself in the upper thigh and ass cheeks.  Whichever.

But I'm going to go back tomorrow.  And Wednesday.  Thursday, Friday,'s like I'm daring myself to see what will happen if I actually stick to this. 

Well, this week.  Today.  It is only Monday, after all.  I would've skipped this morning if it weren't for the fact that Melinda was meeting me there at 5 a.m.  Not like I can stand her up, you know? 

I soaked in Epsom salts and now the stabbing isn't quite so awful.  And for the record, I really don't mind it...I just have a hard time controlling the grunts and groans that associate any squat-like movements. 

But I'm totally fine. 

I'll do it again tomorrow.

Sunday, January 22, 2017

I Love Women.

I'm so proud of the women in our nation and around the world who marched yesterday.

I wish I could've been in it. 
I was afraid, I admit.
I am scared of our new president and I was scared of what the marches and protests would become and I wanted to take my girls, to be part of this with them...but I was scared and I kept us home.
I tell myself it's because they're so small, they wouldn't have remembered anyhow...but that's bullshit, and I know it, and I won't pretend you wouldn't see through the excuse immediately. 
I can't stop reading links with pictures of protest signs. 
God I love women.
I'm so impressed with their strength and bravery and intelligence and their will...and I haven't even gotten started on the women I personally know and love! 
I feel buoyant today after seeing images from yesterday.
I feel hopeful. 
I'm not as scared.

Well, until I got to the article about twitler's media guy's press conference where he insisted the inauguration, arguably one of the least-attended in history, was in fact the most widely attended ever, which is an easily verifiable falsehood.  These fuckers remind me so hard of 1984...and then I'm scared again. 

What do you want to be when you grow up?

It's a great morning.  The girls are watching Daniel Tiger's Neighborhood via several technological advances (tablet, Fire Stick, Internet, TV...nothing is simple anymore, is it?).  I've done my morning warm-up, I have coffee, and, most exciting, I have a new laptop!  I can type again!  Gosh I've missed having an actual keyboard.  Not that I do all that much blogging anymore, but there is something intrinsically therapeutic to me about a keyboard.  All the click, click, click.  I used to play with my momma's typewriter - wishing desperately I both knew how to type and had something to say. 

I've seemed to pick up lately on stories where people say, "from the time I was a little kid, I just knew it's what I wanted to do...".  The kid who made costumes for his GI Joe dolls and grew up to costume Broadway.  The woman who knew she wanted to be a scientist.  I've found myself wondering, "What was that thing for me?" and I keep coming up blank - I used to say I wanted to be a doctor or a lawyer.  I think I just said that because I thought they made a lot of money, though.  I'd love to help people and fix people the way doctors do, but I couldn't be less interested in the idea of 13 years of college, hundreds of thousands in loans, and literally holding someone's life in my hands.  Nope.  I need a bit less stress, please and thanks.  And lawyers - I know and have worked for too many for that to have come to fruition.  I just like to argue.  I hate to research, unless it's something I'm interested in, like Mormons or pregnancy.  I'm not down with student loans.  I'll never be a lawyer.  But just now, remembering Mom's old electronic typewriter - that brings back childhood passion.  (I also have a desperate love of office supplies that's been cultivated from a young age, which I guess sort of fits, because except for those few retail jaunts early on and in the middle after city moves, I have always had office jobs.)  Writing, though.  I love writing.  I've always loved to write - to type, specifically.  And if I could ever get the hang of dictating (words, not countries), I think I'd love that just as much.  Getting the thoughts out of my mind and onto paper in a way that makes another person read it and say, "I know exactly what you mean here and it makes me feel exactly the way you meant for me to feel" - there's not much better in the world to my heart. 

Hmm.  That feels like an epiphany of some sort.  I should probably do something with this realization, huh?  Maybe I will.

When you were little, what did you dream you'd grow up to do?  Are you doing it?  Do you still want to do it?  Now what do you want to be when you grow up?  What are you doing to make that happen? 

Monday, January 2, 2017

Even just a few words counts as something.

Melinda.  She always tells me to come here, to say things. I should, I tell her, I need to.  I always mean it. I always have the best of intentions. Right now, my laptop is dead and so is my 90 wpm typing skill without an actual keyboard. Forgive brevity until the issue is resolved, I  ask of you. 

But I will come here, and say some things. Because she said so, and because it is good for my soul. 

Resolution time!  I'm going to finish some of the things that I start. I'm going to stop putting the opinions of others before my own.  (Except for doctors and other professionals, of course. Be reasonable.)  I'm going to follow my happy. I'm going to grow things. I'm going to be an awesome mom.  I'm going to be the best wife.

I'm going to live the fuck out of life, that's what I'm going to do. 

How about you?  What will 2017 bring for you?


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