How do you tell your grandmother that you're going to hell? Or better yet, tell her that you seriously doubt there is a hell?
I woke up this morning with a "Come to Jesus" meeting in my inbox. (Not literally, you understand. I'm using a metaphor, kids.) The recent changes in my family in Texas seem to have shaken my grandmother a bit, and now she's worried about my soul. Okay, wait, let's back up. Let's give you some more pieces of the story. (Note: this has turned out much, much longer than I expected. For those patient enough to read it all, I apologize and thank you. For those not patient, well... that's okay too.)
Monday, May 23, 2011
Sunday, May 22, 2011
A test photo... with amazingness
Making friends in the age of OCD and technology
(Originally written and posted elsewhere in April 2011.)
My friends, I have a confession to make. I'm a little bit crazy. Not sure if you knew that already. The DSM says that something isn't qualified as a disorder unless it is disruptive to your life. And as much as my compulsions make my life easier, I wonder if they don't damage just as much. And as crazy as I am, I reserve the right not to make sense all the time...
The issue is dual, my friends. My need to control, and the way I relate with people, and the world we live in sometimes do not mesh well.
I am a bit of a control freak. I make plans. Even if no one else realizes that there is a plan. It is not uncommon for my to suggest something to Alpha, and if he doesn't absolutely, flat-out refuse, I will assume that that IS the plan. Or someone says, we should go do X, and I say okay, and I fully expect X to happen.Alpha teases me, but it really is a problem sometimes. I don't like things to change. I don't like to not have a plan. At times, when I am aware that circumstances are out of my control, I honestly have to plan to surrender control and not have a plan. (That doesn't work very often.)
My friends, I have a confession to make. I'm a little bit crazy. Not sure if you knew that already. The DSM says that something isn't qualified as a disorder unless it is disruptive to your life. And as much as my compulsions make my life easier, I wonder if they don't damage just as much. And as crazy as I am, I reserve the right not to make sense all the time...
The issue is dual, my friends. My need to control, and the way I relate with people, and the world we live in sometimes do not mesh well.
I am a bit of a control freak. I make plans. Even if no one else realizes that there is a plan. It is not uncommon for my to suggest something to Alpha, and if he doesn't absolutely, flat-out refuse, I will assume that that IS the plan. Or someone says, we should go do X, and I say okay, and I fully expect X to happen.Alpha teases me, but it really is a problem sometimes. I don't like things to change. I don't like to not have a plan. At times, when I am aware that circumstances are out of my control, I honestly have to plan to surrender control and not have a plan. (That doesn't work very often.)
Friday, May 20, 2011
Rain, rain, go away...
(This was originally posted on my facebook on May 20, 2011. But since it was written as a "test-blog", I wanted to post it here as well.)
I have come to a very important conclusion. Growing up in a small(ish) town in the desert has left me unequipped to handle any other type of weather. Specifically, rain.
I decide what to wear based on what I think the weather will be like that day. I really do. But in the desert, it hardly ever rains. Even if its supposed to. So I get up in the morning, and my thought process goes like this: is it raining outdoors? And depending on that answer, I dress appropriately. If it is actually raining when I wake up, I am very diligent about wearing a coat, hat, and sensible shoes.
However, clouds do not figure into this. If I wake up, and it is cloudy, my brain processes that as "no rain." Doesn't matter how ominous or dark the clouds are. Because in my small(ish) desert town often got clouds, and rarely got rain. Here, however, in the country's bread basket, it rains all the freaking time. Here, it's more like, if there is a single, fluffy, cute cloud in an otherwise clear blue sky, it will probably rain later today. Which is why I ended up wearing cute, completely not rain appropriate shoes and clothing to work for most of this week, and, at the end of the day, got quite wet while walking in the rain to get to my car.
And if you know me, you probably know that I am not a fan of rain. At all. Ever. (Unless I am indoors and completely dry, and have no intention of leaving wherever I am until the rain is over and everything is dry again.)
I have come to a very important conclusion. Growing up in a small(ish) town in the desert has left me unequipped to handle any other type of weather. Specifically, rain.
I decide what to wear based on what I think the weather will be like that day. I really do. But in the desert, it hardly ever rains. Even if its supposed to. So I get up in the morning, and my thought process goes like this: is it raining outdoors? And depending on that answer, I dress appropriately. If it is actually raining when I wake up, I am very diligent about wearing a coat, hat, and sensible shoes.
However, clouds do not figure into this. If I wake up, and it is cloudy, my brain processes that as "no rain." Doesn't matter how ominous or dark the clouds are. Because in my small(ish) desert town often got clouds, and rarely got rain. Here, however, in the country's bread basket, it rains all the freaking time. Here, it's more like, if there is a single, fluffy, cute cloud in an otherwise clear blue sky, it will probably rain later today. Which is why I ended up wearing cute, completely not rain appropriate shoes and clothing to work for most of this week, and, at the end of the day, got quite wet while walking in the rain to get to my car.
And if you know me, you probably know that I am not a fan of rain. At all. Ever. (Unless I am indoors and completely dry, and have no intention of leaving wherever I am until the rain is over and everything is dry again.)
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
To blog or not to blog...
(This was originally posted on my facebook account on Thursday, May 5, 2011. Since it is really the origin of this blog, I wanted to have it here.)
So, firstly, I want to explain the recent deluge of facebook "notes" I've been writing. (All two of them.) A friend I exchange emails with has recently commented that she likes the way I write, and have I ever thought about writing a blog? Well, in fact, I have. In fact, I did.
When I think back on my former blog, I'm a little embarrassed. Almost three years of daily writing, a sad, self-centered teenage female's opinions on what the world owed her. Rarely witty or interesting, but usually well written. I don't even know if it exists anymore. I stopped posting soon after college/marriage. The last time I went to log in, I was told that password was invalid, and I didn't care enough to pursue it further.
I've considered writing another blog. But what that past blog, and the time since then has taught me, is that I am very selfish when I write. I exaggerate situations and circumstances to my own benefit, usually painting it as "poor me against the world." Part of why I stopped writing was because it ceased to be fun. I'd hurt people's feelings. (Mostly my parents.) And I'd been called on it. Back then, I didn't understand why it was "a big deal" to write what could best be described as liberally colored non-fiction.
I get it now. And I'm sorry to those I wrote about, and hurt. The best I can do is say that I was a pathetic, whiny teenager, and I hopefully have grown out of it.
So, firstly, I want to explain the recent deluge of facebook "notes" I've been writing. (All two of them.) A friend I exchange emails with has recently commented that she likes the way I write, and have I ever thought about writing a blog? Well, in fact, I have. In fact, I did.
When I think back on my former blog, I'm a little embarrassed. Almost three years of daily writing, a sad, self-centered teenage female's opinions on what the world owed her. Rarely witty or interesting, but usually well written. I don't even know if it exists anymore. I stopped posting soon after college/marriage. The last time I went to log in, I was told that password was invalid, and I didn't care enough to pursue it further.
I've considered writing another blog. But what that past blog, and the time since then has taught me, is that I am very selfish when I write. I exaggerate situations and circumstances to my own benefit, usually painting it as "poor me against the world." Part of why I stopped writing was because it ceased to be fun. I'd hurt people's feelings. (Mostly my parents.) And I'd been called on it. Back then, I didn't understand why it was "a big deal" to write what could best be described as liberally colored non-fiction.
I get it now. And I'm sorry to those I wrote about, and hurt. The best I can do is say that I was a pathetic, whiny teenager, and I hopefully have grown out of it.
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