Gotta love youtube…

Um…. Yup. That’d be now.

Weirdo Post FAIL

Just noticed the video for the post never showed up… So here it is… I hope…
And this is the dance Princess Punk was doing in My Mom’s living room for 20 minutes. I think I may have peed myself.

My refuge on Kapiti Plain

The Peach is getting baptized this Sunday. I’m still trying to figure out where the hell I’m going on my spiritual journey (bad choice of words?) but I’ve always had some comfort in the episcopal church and it feels right to bring The Peach that opportunity as well. Anyway, I met with the pastor today to iron out some details and ended up having a 90 minute discussion about where my faith was and what I want or even need from God or whatever higher power is out there. I kinda came to an epiphany albeit a small one that what I want, what I desperately desire is a parent. Not to speak ill of My Parents, I love them without question or reservation. But now? Now, in my jumble of a life, where joy and love and catastrophe and despair all lump together in one giant clusterfuck that I can’t seem to get some kind of handle on? Now… I just want Someone (that would be the capital “S” someone) to hold my hand and let me know that everything is going to be OK. And for me to be able to believe it, to trust it, to have faith in that statement.
And tonight, I laid in my bed with The Zen Master and Princess Punk and The Peach and watched my girls play with each other, teenager and toddler(almost) until The Peach decided she was sleepy, grabbed her Elly (a grungy elephant blankie thingy) and started thrashing around until I snagged her into a snuggle/wrestling hold. And there we all were, The Zen Master on one side with The Princess snuggled into him with one hand on her sister who was snuggled into me on the other end. And I told the story, the story I tell The Peach almost every night, a story My Mom read to me so often I had it memorized.

“This is the great Kapiti Plain, all fresh and green from the African rains. With a sea of grass for ground birds to nest in, and patches of shade for wild creatures to rest in. With Acacia trees for giraffes to browse on, and pastures for herdsmen to pasture their cows on.
But one year the rains were so very belated, that all of the big wild creatures migrated. And this is Ki-Pat, who ended the drought, and this story tells how it all came about…”

The cadence of the story is beautiful and, like a lullaby, puts Peach to sleep every time.
And as I laid there, with my girls falling asleep between me and my husband, I felt, for a brief moment at least, my hand being held and feeling that yes, everything is going to be OK.

The Peach and her Fairy

Dog spit… Better than boogers I guess…

And yes, that is Star Trek playing in the background.

Trying to post this from my phone… This is my third attempt… Stupid phone.

Ok… on my laptop now…

Friday already…

Or fortunately?

I have officially been out sick from work for an entire week from a goddamn hemorrhoid.

Really?

Yes. Apparently I required a (very) minor surgery on Tuesday which has left me in much less pain than before she cut me but I am still pretty much unable to do very much but take several baths a day, sleep A LOT (thank you Valium) and sit rather awkwardly on the couch watching TV and praying I don’t have poop. Overshare? Sorry. You know, I’m generally extremely open about stuff that is generally not appropriate for the average person to speak about in public, let alone broadcast in a public blog over the internet. But this? This has even me embarrassed to discuss in too much detail. Partly it’s the nature of hemorrhoids in general but also because I feel like a complete asshole (pardon the pun) for being completely incapacitated by something you would think is totally benign. It’s seriously been one of the worst pains I’ve ever experienced in my entire life. That would be including the birth of two children.

Anyway… At least I’ve had the opportunity to watch The Peach race around My Mom’s in her walker and attempt to pull everything off the table within reach of her fat little hands.

 

And… Off she goes

An overshare, be warned.

It seems like my body is going on strike.

The latest malady?

Hemorrhoids. (I warned you)

Excruciating pain since Friday. I’m tired of complaining. Seriously. But, since this is my blog and I have been determined to continue to use it to organize my thoughts and feelings, I’m going to bitch. I have 42 followers right now(really? wow). It still blows my mind that so many people actually are interested enough in what I have to say to want to be notified when I post something new. Weird. Part of my brain feels guilty that I seem to be whining and complaining all the time about the various shit that has been going on lately. And then that thought is overridden with my promise to myself that no matter WHAT, this is my blog and the whole reason I write this stuff is so I can purge it now rather than blurting it out randomly at completely inappropriate venues… Like work for instance. So basically, I need to resign myself to the fact that I do come across as whiny sometimes often here, but I think I’d rather whine here then whine to my friends and family and drowning them with all my emotional anchors. I have a friend who does that. I love her to death and she has been my friend longer than anyone else except Terry. But she complains all the time. I’ll be the first person to admit that she has a lot of crap to deal with. She has 2 boys, her eldest is (high functioning) Autistic, Her younger with some behavior problems. She has some kind of autoimmune disease (I think it’s been diagnosed as RA but it isn’t exactly?) that requires her to be on chemotherapy at regular intervals. She’s got various other things going on and I realize that things are pretty shitty for her a lot of the time. But her life seems to revolve around this stuff. 85% of the stuff she posts on her wall on fb is about how horrible she feels or what latest thing she’s been diagnosed with or what new treatment she’s started that is sure to cause her all types of horrible side effects. Don’t get me wrong, she does a lot. She takes care of her kids, is involved with them and their activities more than I can claim and sells jewelry or Mary Kay or something of that nature. Oh, and she manages two blogs.

But she is completely obsessed with her health and seems to want everybody else to be too. I care what’s going on with her and I hope that she can find some relief for her problems, but it’s gotten to the point that I’m afraid to talk to her because all she talks about is how awful she is doing. I don’t look for sympathy. I don’t want to feel like a victim. It bugs me when people tell me how “strong I am” for dealing with all this crap. I’m not, really, I just deal and I try not to complain. I don’t want to be recognized for just making it. I’d like to be recognized for my accomplishments. For the fact that I kick ass at my job or that my kids are turning out pretty cool (with the exception of an occasional hormonal meltdown). I don’t want to be self absorbed in all my own crap because honestly? I’d fucking drown. And I’d drown everyone around me too.

I don’t want to be so wrapped up in the drama in my own life that I forget other people have drama of their own. I recall my friend calling me in the midst of our fertility treatment hell, when I had just finished my 3rd cycle of hormones. She said hello… The, without any preamble, asked “If I took a pregnancy test and it came out positive, is it possible it could be wrong?” No question as to how we were doing, or how much I was longing to see that precious second blue line. No thought that it might actually be hurtful to me for her to share with me out of all her friends that she might be pregnant with a guy she had known 6 months when she has her tubes tied. And I didn’t complain, or berate her, or even bring up the fact that it grated me to the core that she could possibly be pregnant with her tubes tied when The Zen Master and myself had been trying desperately with surgery, hormone treatments and more pregnancy tests I’d care to admit paying for. Nope, just gave her some friendly advice (through gritted teeth) and told her to try another test. She wasn’t pregnant by the way… And now, every time I talk to her, while she does ask me how I’m doing, every time I discuss anything having to do with any of my issues, she interjects with something related that’s wrong with her and proceeds to go on with how much worse off than me she is. Not specifically, just elaborating on her symptoms and how much harder they are to deal with than mine. Like it’s a competition on who can be in worse health.

So I don’t want to come across like that. At all.

That being said, I’m not posting this on fb, but since most of the people reading this don’t know me personally anyways…

I hurt. A Lot. I’ve had hemorrhoids on and off since I had Princess Punk. Child birth, years of morbid obesity, bowel issues from bariatric surgery, another child birth… Not surprising. They’re usually not a big deal. Itchy, uncomfortable, sometimes a little painful but this time? I’ve stayed home from work for two days. I have an extremely important meeting on Wednesday which I have to reschedule because even if I do make it into work, I’m not going to be capable of that level of brightness, concentration and focus that’s required for that particular task.

Walking to the bathroom at the moment requires assistance from The Zen Master. Getting up off the toilet last night actually left me almost hysterical and throwing up from the intensity of the pain. I then laid in my bed weeping for a few minutes until The Zen Master helped me maneuver into a position where I could apply a hot water bottle to the… affected area.I’m spending most of my time in bed at the moment. I can’t even pick up The Peach. Went to the doctor (actually, he was a nurse) who examined me and said, “Yup, there’s the monster right there.” The he poked it. Nice. It’s icky. It’s absolutely humiliating. I had no clue it could hurt this bad. It’s apparently swelling and (in the words of the nurse) not quite thrombosed, meaning the blood vessel has gotten so inflamed it actually cuts off circulation and creates a blood clot which has to be… um… removed. Like with a scalpel. Ew.

So he gave me some kind of xtra strong steroidal cream and advised me to take warm baths and avoid direct pressure. Because he wants to avoid surgery. Yeah, me too.

So right now? fairly incapacitated. In bed being waited on by The Zen Master and Princess Punk and trying to occasionally shirt positions without bursting into tears.

Praying this resolves or at least improves some by tomorrow, I can’t afford to lose any more sick time.

Done whining.

For the moment at  least.

Faith and stuff

On the way to My Mom’s this morning, I happened to be listening to NPR on Sirius. It was a show called, “The State We’re In,” which I’ve never actually heard before, apparently it’s out of the Netherlands? Go figure. Anyway, they had a man on named Joseph Fadelle (a pseudonym), an Iraqi who’s family purported to be direct descendants of the Prophet Mohammed. Obviously a devout Muslim family… Anyway, after rooming with a Christian in the army and some serious soul-searching, he converted to Christianity. And his family tried to kill him. Like his own father had him arrested and tortured for three months. He was forced to flee to Jordan with his family where his father and uncles apparently followed him and again threatened his life. He then moved to France, wrote a book and is doing talks and lectures and said basically that he and his wife had resigned themselves to the fact that he would be murdered one day.

Here’s a link to the piece if you’re interested…
It got me thinking… Religion is generally not a good thing. I’m not saying that people should be atheists or no one should be a part of an organized religion. I’m saying that, more than anything else in this world, people have twisted and warped religion to become an outlet for hate and violence and a means to separate and control the masses. I’m not saying that this man’s father was looking for an excuse to try and kill his son. Worse, his faith, his beliefs dictated that was what must be done. That this what what his god intended and that it was the right thing to do.

I don’t get that. It doesn’t make sense to me that people fight wars and kill and perform genocide over their faith. Because if you get down to it, get down to the basic fundamental teachings of most religions, most of them have the general theme, “Be good to each other.” I know that many of the Judeo-Christian religions have good portions of their teachings promoting fire and brimstone and a God that is to be feared but I have trouble believing that was the original intent. If you really read the bible, sit down and read it, there are so many inconsistencies you wonder how it could all have been encompassed  into one religion.

Another thing I don’t get? Why persecute and kill other people? Specifically, why persecute and kill others simply on the basis they believe something different from you? The Crusades, The Salem Witch Trials, The Inquisition, Aztec Sacrifices, Northern Ireland, Thirty-Years War, Lebanon, Bosnia and Croatia, 9/11… the list goes on… And on… And on. Okay, I have to amend the statement “simply on the basis” because most of these atrocities were not “simply on the basis” of religion or faith but more accurately, used religion or faith as an excuse to wage war or eradicate whole groups of people for land or politics or resources.

To me, spirituality, faith… It’s something to be found. Something to be searched for or happened upon or even avoided. But it’s your choice. Your path. Your ideas and beliefs and choices and how you decide to practice them (or not). I recall my first real lapse of faith in religion, the first time I thought, “that’s not right.” I was young… Maybe 7 or 8? We went to a Catholic Church and I went to CCD (Confraternity of Christian Doctrine, who knew?) and the teacher told us all to draw a picture of what we thought God looked like. The other kids drew the stereotypical, old-white-guy-in-a-robe-with-a-big-beard… You know, the Santa Claus dressed in a toga kinda thing? Me? I drew a lion. I was reading (for about the 50th time), The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe, by C.S. Lewis. Iin my mind at that moment, God looked like Aslan. The teacher looked at my drawing and then spent 10 minutes telling me I was wrong and why I was wrong. I suppose she had seen God first hand? I dunno. It basically was the moment that I began to decide that religion was in fact, stupid. Even as a 7 year old, I couldn’t understand how anyone could know, positively and without doubt, that they were right about God.

Anyway… This was kind of rambly and I’m not sure if I even had a point, but just to help illustrate where my brain is at this morning, Here’s a translation of The Lord’s Prayer, directly from Aramaic (The language Jesus would have spoken).

 

 

Oh Thou, from Whom the breath of life comes,

Who fills all realms of sound, light and vibration.

May Your light be experienced in my utmost holiest.

 

Your Heavenly Domain approaches.

 

Let Your will come true – in the universe (all that vibrates) just as

on earth (that is material and dense).

 

Give us wisdom (understanding, assistance) for our daily need,

detach the fetters of faults that bind us,

(karma) like we let go the guilt of others.

 

Let us not be lost in superficial things (materialism, temptations),

but let us be freed from that what keeps us from our true purpose.

 

From You comes the all-working will,

the lively strength to act,

the song that beautifies all and renews itself from age to age.

 

Sealed in trust, faith and truth. (I confirm with my entire being)

Courtesy of angelsfortruth.com

Weirdo

And this is the dance Princess Punk was doing in My Mom’s living room for 20 minutes. I think I may have peed myself

Oh yeah… That’s why

I woke up this morning (at about 5:30) to find The Zen Master gone.

He was at the gas station, filling up my gas tank and buying me a very large redbull.

He can always remind me why I continue to put up with all the drama in my life.