I saw the above picture today and thought, “That’s me.”
And after yesterday’s blog entry, (which left me wondering if I said too much), I needed something simple.
I Can’t Spoke
1
Category Archives: Talking To Myself
Sunrise Etc
Even a poor quality photo of this guy named Sunrise is pleasant.
“Meow. Meow.”
He says it in such a soft little way, even though he’s the biggest cat of the bunch around here.
His real name is Sunrise, but he’s been nicknamed so much more: Big Guy, BG, B, G, Ghee, Guy LaFur, Thanos, ThanToast, ThickOats, Fatto Catto, Orange Guy, Dude, Man, Manny, Mayonnaise Manny, Sunny Foo-Foo, Foo, Mr. Foo, Dr. Orange, Dr. Thick…
Probably other names I can’t remember off the top of my head but my kids will surely bring up as they trickle out of bed. It’s 9:24 a.m. and the three youngest still aren’t up. They were all up late last night, which I can’t say I like but bedtime is such a weary point of day for me, “choose your battles” is what I tell myself.
Why don’t kids like going to bed? I’ve always loved sleep. Maybe it’s only certain people who fight bedtime. My second child never had a problem with sleep, either, and even in her mid-twenties she’s still often taking a nap after work or on a weekend daytime.
Well, today I am working on trying to find a certain date from my journals so I can reread my notes and elaborate on a story for the Alaska book. I did that yesterday, too. Oh, not all day. Just a bit of poking through here and there between the myriad other jobs that pile up constantly. Plus I’m trying to finish editing a book manuscript for a friend, on top of working on my own works in progress.
And firewood needs to be brought up the stairs to the deck. I have to initiate that process, but the kids will help. Having a wood-burning stove on the second story of a house makes for a bit of extra work, but I so enjoy wood heat, I think it’s worth it.
And there’s a batch of yogurt underway in the Instant Pot, with a goal of turning it into Greek yogurt.
And there’s a double batch of kombucha on its second ferment, which I poured into bottles two nights ago but haven’t yet added the flavourings. All I have right now is turmeric root, ginger root, and goji berries, but those have become our family’s favourite option so it’s just as well. That process is on the invisible part of my to-do list, along with so many other things that never make it into writing.
The rest of my to-do list sits there waiting for my attention, but here I am at my desk, avoiding it for a few minutes. I know I’ll have to get into the basement to put some coats of protectant (because I can’t remember if it’s varathane, polyurethane, or something else, so many different cans of goop have I used on varying wood projects over the years, depending on the need) on one of the pine doors we bought for the kids’ bedrooms to replace the old, dark, falling-apart ones. I don’t look forward to that task, as the basement is uninsulated and on days like this we can see our breath down there. Hmm, I’ll have to take a picture of the goop can and see if the label says anything about “do not use in temperatures below” a certain number. I don’t recall that on this one, but it might be there.
Why would I take a picture of the label? Because the writing is so tiny and without much contrast. It’s hard to read unless I enlarge it. A magnifying glass would help, too.
Meow. Meow. Ghee is still meowing that tiny little meow.
I found out why the intermittent meowing happened. Big Guy was at the door at the top of the basement stairs and wanted to be in the kitchen. Usually, we keep that door open a bit, but it’s cold today and I’m trying to warm up the house.
Now to suit up (camo ski pants and a blue plaid fleecy coat) to go down into the deep to assess the door-coating situation. Brrrrr…
OK, that’s day 6 of my challenge to myself, to write something in my blog daily. It’s a blog entry that goes nowhere, just some rambling thoughts, but I hope I at least spelled everything right and used proper punctuation. I still haven’t varied my sentences to my liking. Practice, practice, practice!
PS: My youngest child is up now and she indeed helped me add to the list of names we call Sunrise. 🙂
My youngest daughter wanted me to include this photo of Sunrise from last night.
Broken
Maybe a good night’s sleep will help.
(Good night’s sleep happens, over and over, and still it hasn’t helped.)
* * * * *
Maybe things will get better with time.
(Time keeps ticking on and nothing’s looking any better.)
* * * * *
Maybe once I finish this task, or that other one, or that other other one, I’ll feel a load lifted off my shoulders.
(Those completed tasks depleted so much from me, I don’t have the wherewithal to rejoice.)
* * * * *
Maybe if I do something fun, I will reset myself and renew my outlook.
(Fun things don’t feel as fun as they used to. In order to do something fun, the fun has to be felt or it’s not technically a case of “having fun”.)
* * * * *
Maybe if I talk to some friends, I’ll feel better.
(Talking to a friend and talking with a friend aren’t the same thing. I don’t feel heard. I feel worse.)
* * * * *
Maybe if I get away alone for a few hours, I will return with a better outlook.
(I come back and I’m still here.)
* * * * *
Maybe if I keep talking to God about my pain, I will find peace.
(I am only reminded of how much I want to be out of this world and into His face-to-face presence.)
* * * * *
Maybe I need more water, more fresh greens, more sunshine. Maybe I need to run more.
Maybe I need less caffeine, less carbs, less rain.
Maybe I need less words.
Nothing’s working.
Maybe I need medication.
I’m sorry.
I don’t have the answers.
Confusion
Typical photo that has nothing to do with my post. Cows half an hour from home.
Do you ever feel like you need something but you don’t know what it is?
Do you ever feel like you need to tell someone something but you can’t put it into words nor figure out who you need to tell or why?
“Excuse me,” said the grocery store clerk. “Are you fine here, or would you like to go down to Express?”
I looked up from typing those first two paragraphs on my phone, which I thought I had time to continue because of the long line to get to a till.
“Oh! Yes, sure, I will go down there. Thanks.”
I smiled at the lady whom I was addressing and walked down to one of the checkstands that had become opened since my mind had been buried in writing on my phone.
As I put my 15 items (or less) onto the belt, the cashier asked if I’d found everything I needed. My immediate thought was this blog post’s words.
What DID I need?
I unfolded my grocery list, glanced to see if any items had not been crossed out or circled (I circle that which I cannot find, that which is too expensive this week and not really urgent, and that which has become an item I’ve decided isn’t necessary today, to add to my next list.)
“Yes. I did,” I said.
But I still don’t know what I am lacking outside the grocery list.
Something’s amiss.
I am going to venture a guess that this feeling is to do with not belonging in this world.
In large, loud, all-caps letters within my brain, each word enunciated and with a dramatic pause before the next one is heard, the sentence shouts out:
THIS
WORLD
IS
NOT
MY HOME.
(Now, I highlighted the words of this draft while I sit in my truck, hit “select all”, hit “copy”, and, with my words saved to clipboard, I go to the settings to choose my categories and tags. Redo the save to clipboard process, and THEN hit “publish now”.)
Maranatha.
Those Personality Test Thingies
Here are some lupines in a nearby forest. This picture has nothing to do with this post, unless you want to get all analytical and find a metaphor in it somehow…
Personality tests. Myers-Briggs is the one that comes to mind, but there are others. They ask you a bunch of questions, and in the end, you are given a summary of what your personality type is. I’ve done them many times, although I do not know why. It’s mindless clicking on buttons when I’m tired, I guess.
Why do I want to know more about myself? That’s another question to which I do not know the answer, especially because I am writing this while sleep deprived. But it is something I ponder. That right there, the pondering, probably says something about my personality type. Analyzing things. Now I’m analyzing why I analyze.
I ran out of lavender oil several days ago, and ever since, my sleep has been messed up. I had a feeling the lavender was helping my sleep for the past year, but I wasn’t sure if it was mere coincidence. Now that I ran out and my sleep is poor, maybe that’s just coincidence, too. I ordered some more lavender oil and will see what happens when I can again put it in the diffuser by my bedside.
Huh. Spell-check doesn’t like the word “diffuser”. Why is that? Is it a new word since the spell check was born?
I’ve long been using lavender oil, since the mid 1990s. At first it was the cheap stuff from the grocery store, which smelled fine. Then a friend introduced me to a multi-level-marketing company that sells an expensive version. Admittedly, the costly one smells great, but in my opinion it is way overpriced. If it is such a great product, why can’t it be sold in a regular health food store? Why must it only be available through representatives of the company, with multiple levels of extra cost added on? It’s good, but not worth paying three to four times the amount of the cheap stuff.
So, the lavender I ordered is a different brand, not from the MLM company. Let’s see how it does in the diffuser. (Stop that bumpy red underscoring, Spellcheck! Diffuser is a word, and I’m going to force you to accept it by adding it to your electronic dictionary. There.)
Back to our topic: personality tests. All the times I have done them, there have been some questions that I didn’t understand, and so I made a guess as to the answer. Then when I got the test results, I read the descriptions of who “they” think I am and thought, “Hmm, it’s close in some ways, but not quite.”
Then today, after insufficient sleep, I woke up wondering about a post I saw on Instagram last night, which said something like “INFJ: Being everyone’s therapist but needing one yourself.”
I thought, “That’s me.”
I hear many stories and I hold them in my head and my heart. I am honoured to receive them, but too often I end up being the recipient of anger because people start to expect me to be their therapist, and I can’t always be available. I’ve lost too many friends because of that. Then I need more therapy. And I’ve gotten it. And I continue to need it.
The reason I saw that post about being everyone’s therapist was because I used a hashtag of “introvert” on a picture I posted. I got curious and looked up what others have posted about introverts.
And so an article I read this morning about INFJ personality types drove me to do a test once again, on my phone. Why not? It was 6:00 in the morning, I was too tired to get out of bed but knew if I fell asleep, I might not be up in time to get my kids to judo at 11. (Yes, judo on a Tuesday morning. Yes, we are “unschoolers”.)
I did the test and it said I am indeed an INFJ, at least this time. It fluctuates between INFJ and another one or two introvert ones, the combinations of letters escaping me, for I never memorize them. These tests are always done in a flighty moment.
This time, the description fit me like a pair of old Levi’s, worn in and on the verge of tearing at the knees. At last, someone understood me. Someone I don’t know. And it comforted me to know that because someone could write about who I am, surely I must not be the only one like this.
But one pair of old Levi’s can fit someone else. I used to trade clothes with a few of my closest friends back in high school. Now I trade clothes with my older children. But I’m going off on a tangent by saying that, so here is the description. It made me think surely EVERYone must be this way, though, no? Are you? INFJ Personality Type Signs (and, might I add, “Symptoms”)
I better go get my kids up for judo. They’ve been sleeping so peacefully, I was able to write a blog entry here at my computer. Hope you enjoyed my rambling. I probably needed to. It’s been awhile.
Friendship Like This
O, to have a friend with whom sweet fellowship is shared,
Whose love is real and unretractable
Who sees my flaws and doesn’t try to fix them
Who can tell me he hates me but we know it’s a lie
Who laughs with – not at – me
Who lets me spoil him and doesn’t expect or demand
Unselfish love.
So rare a love.
The kind that lasts forever.
Hang on to those friends with love.
Problem Of Pain
Migraine, or whatever it is, hurts so bad that nausea sweeps in.
Five days of it, every three to five weeks, for, what, twenty years now?
Family physicians, a neurologist, naturopaths, a homeopath, chiropractors, massage therapists, and a physiotherapist all failed to fix.
CBD oil prescription is expensive and doesn’t fix. It helps minimally. THCa oil in acute attacks does the same.
Hospital emergency rooms in desperate moments is a gamble. Triage. Wait a long time. Downtime from duties. Need someone to do the drive home. Get shot with something that sometimes works. Demerol worked once, but when requested the next time, it was refused. Morphine took the edge off and allowed sleep, but the pain returned by morning. Ketorolac 60 mg injected with Gravol to combat the nausea it can cause works 80% of the time.
Face-first into a wall in 1988. Unknown whiplash unhealed. Spine grown twisted. Escaped from perpetrator.
Now add in the pain from being knocked over by a dog. Twice. Back of skull first day. Then knee next day.
Monday: Liquid nitrogen to plantar surface of left foot for wart. Burns.
Tuesday: Cleaning the kitchen because foot too sore Monday to clean before bed. Stuffing and baking a turkey. Many hours. Remove stuffing and refrigerate. When turkey cools, remove meat from bones and refrigerate. Put drippings in container to use for gravy. Too late at night to make gravy. Make it tomorrow.
Wednesday: Many processes to prepare for making turkey pies. Grind wheat outside in grain grinder because it leaks flour. Thank God for grinder given by friend. Good grinder is mailed to Vancouver Island shop under warranty.
Make turkey bone broth. All day.
Clean, clean, clean. Laundry. Floor. Cat litter boxes. Delegate but only so much kids can do. Listen to kids. Answer kids. Interact with kids. Pray for kids. Dishes in dishwasher, plus ongoing big pots and bowls washed in sink. Fold and put away laundry. Declutter stuff in ongoing decluttering after new bedroom carpet installed.
Thursday: Whole wheat olive oil pie crusts x6.
Soup.
Chopped carrots, celery, onions. Sauteed.
Other things unremembered. Many. Too many. Tears in there a time or two. Mine.
Thursday night, now: Suddenly realize forgot to let dog back in house. Oldest daughter to the rescue, brings her in. Long past bedtime.
Brain is gone. Somehow over three days of cooking, this is result:
Turkey
Stuffing from homemade bread
Gravy for turkey pies
Three turkey pies
Vietnamese spring rolls
Turkey soup
So much rice.
Onions were absent so they had to be bought this morning.
Family ate filling for turkey pies when it wasn’t yet done so had to stretch it by thawing Italian sausage from freezer and browning it… then driving to store to buy potatoes to cook and add.
Big pots to wash in sink. Sore hands from so much washing.
Phone calls I cannot return, added to list.
Deadlines for forms that needed to be filled.
People to contact via text and email. None for pleasure. Business and stress.
Dear friend in distress. Suicidal. Fear. Prayer.
Dear friend’s father had a seizure and in hospital. Prayer.
Noises in house.
Kids doing what told not to.
Me yelling.
Silence.
Ringing sound. High pitch ringing that permeates the room. Source unknown.
. . . . . .
See also: Giving Up
So much tired…
So much tired, I can’t word.
Not write in the head.
Maybe tomorrow.
Saturday nothings…
Just a quick note because I want to keep seeing the little thing that tells me how many days of a streak I’m on with posting blog entries on WordPress.
The photo above is from the nearby town of 100 Mile House, BC. Snow has finally melted away, the ice is turning back to liquid H2O, and the sun is shining.
I had a great day today, but right now there’s no time to write about it. Maybe I’ll get a chance to talk another time about the meeting I had with a local author, and all the encouragement I gathered as a result, but for now I’m off to buy a few beef weiners and maybe some s’mores ingredients for a bonfire is in the works this evening.
Oh, and if you want to leave a comment, I hope you can find the procedure to do so. I’ve not had time to fix things up on my blog to make the comment section easier, or to include an auto-signature line that apologizes for the necessity of having to sign up with a free WordPress account before you can comment. But if you do get it figured out, let me know you’re alive and tell me a bit about your day. Not many people read my blog anyway, so you don’t have to worry about ending up being spammed by replies.
PS: Here it is – the thing that tells me I’m on a 7-day streak.
Saturday nothings indeed! 🙂
Exhaustion
That feeling of wanting to tell people about the things that are troubling you because maybe someone who is reading it can relate and not feel so alone themselves, or maybe someone could offer hope, but holding back the details because the echo of “who cares?” rings on in a mocking tone…
Knowing that few to no people read my blog, I am relatively safe to go with my first feeling and do some venting.
My blog here on WordPress is not like the dreaded Facebook where any one of 560 people might suddenly decide to post a rude comment to make themselves feel superior and knock me down a little further.
Why do I have such volatile people on my friend list in the first place? Well, they don’t show that side at first. It’s not until they get to know me more that they see things about me that they dislike and they feel safe to blast me.
Wow, does that ever sound familiar. That was the case with the ex. He seemed so nice at first. And he sure saw a lot about me that he disliked. I did him a favour and removed my reprehensible self from his presence, but he took it as an offense and did all he could do to punish me for leaving.
Of course, that is far in the past, yet he and his new wife retain an interest in keeping tabs on me. They find out about things I write on my Facebook timeline when it is set so supposedly only “friends” can read it. I don’t write anything I wouldn’t want to be read by them, but it is strange that they get my news without being on my friend list.
Apparently, someone on my friend list is an informant.
I must be important!
Sometimes I don’t feel like being so visible, so I retreat to another Facebook account that contains a smaller number of friends, none affiliated with the ex and co.
They all might read this, too.
I don’t care.
On an unrelated note, today I drank too much coffee. I had three cups. Normally, I have one or zero cups. It is late in the evening. I want to sleep but am too caffeinated, so I am writing here.
And today was emotionally exhausting.
That is all I will say about that.
I wish some really nice person would read this and message me with an offer to come take me to a cabin in the wilderness for free, telling me the only catch is that I produce at least 200 pages of my book draft before they will return to bring me home.
The really nice person could give me a day to pack. I’d bring my laptop, my journals, a toothbrush, toothpaste, some clothes, and some food.
The really nice person would come pick me up, drive me to the cabin, and then drive back to my house to care for my kids while I am gone. They would be a patient and loving soul, able to coach my family on the importance of initiative in doing chores, explaining to them how much it has been killing me to be the manager and executor of far more than a mother should do, and that if they don’t lighten her load considerably, her next departure will be permanent, as her strength will have expired and death will claim her.
I am tired. Maybe my mind will slow down and I can sleep.
Tomorrow might be better. Or worse. Who knows?
(And yeah… Who cares?)
Holy Sheepdip! 