Guys, I think I’m having, like, a mid-life crisis or something.
It’s not even shark week and yet I want to punch the majority of people on my newsfeeds in the proverbial junk.
I alternate between being rage-y and being sad. Like, soul-sad.
People. Are. So. Mean.
Opinions are permitted even when they insult someone/something else.
Judgments are given without hesitation to people already at the bottom of the esteem ladder.
How do people live like this? But, when confronted with the inevitably harsh critique…call the feckin’ waaaaaaaaaaaamulance because ho. lee. shit. that’s SO not cool.
I’ve been more and more longing to be alone. Not in a hide-y hole. Nope. Just…alone. Accountable only to myself. Taking care of only myself. Dreaming of things only for “Me.” 🙁 And, I feel the guilt.
Then, I start dreaming over on Pinterest (who the hell came up with Pinterest…cuz sweet mother of snickerdoodles I am friggin’ addicted and might need therapy just to manage it!!). It’s an open account. I don’t have shit that I look up that I hide from anyone.
One of my boards is “Cosmos tattoo.” Because, yes.
THEN…I get this statement in a message:
[enter throat clearing, stage left]
“Huhn. I can’t imagine that someone would spend so much money on something that they might not even have for long.”
Hey, Fucktard of Epically Brutal Inappropriateness…no one makes it out of life alive, man. There are rules.
Then I deleted them. I don’t need that negativity in my life. Over a Pin. On a virtual wishing board. With money I don’t actually have, anyway. Because I might…y’know…die or something silly like that with a mo-fo autoimmune disease that’s eating up my heart, kidneys and gods knows what else.
Fuckernackles, peeps. Seriously.
I love sharing with people…I do. I’m as transparent as a freshly Windex-ed window. But, c’mon, friends…you need either a filter or another friend.
One does not simply address mortality in casual conversation with someone who has an autoimmune disease.
You want me to talk to you about how I perceive my worth, honour and life while facing the possibility of just being snuffed out on any given Sunday? Sure. And, you’d best have an extra-large Timmie’s coffee, or…better yet…a mocha-choco-vodka-valium-latte. Because, bitch, that shit is deep. Cosmically, so.
[enter Cosmos tattoo board irony, stage right]
Straddling creosote log walls.
Took the gingerBrynns geocaching today. Been seeing posts by my friend, Jen, about just starting into this piece of geeky awesomeness and realized that it’s been WAY too long since my husband and I have gone out for some caches.
Went down to the Ottawa River. Beautiful day, ridiculous pain levels and not a care in the world.
Why? Because “Do.”ing has this funny consequence: The brain shuts out what is “normal” and focuses moreso on the crazy random happenstances that we create for ourselves when we try to do shit. Epic shit.
Like, when my husband did that “kind of grimace” and said the last cache we were after was a ‘3’ on the terrain (harder than most)…I looked at him like he’d just bet against me in the World Championship of Getting Shit Done In Life.
The hell I’m not trying it…
So, I did what any normal, somewhat Go, Go SpazzyAss would do:
I gave my husband the mental version of the *middle finger salute* and I went in.
And, by “I went in”…I mean almost dove headfirst into the woods with a stick up my ass as I made my way up a guesstimated 60 degree incline to a creosote-soaked log wall within which said cache was purported to be residing.
Ever tried to look around a log wall on an almost 60 degree incline? No? It’s hard.
It also rained like a sumbitch this past week, so we were also dealing with mud. Slippery, leaf-crusted mud.
Huhn. Well, that’s a buggernackle, right there, then.
So, I did what any normal, somewhat Go, Go SpazzyAss would also do:
I hoisted my I’ve-earned-this-ass up the creosote log wall and straddled that sumbitch like I was on for 8 seconds.
Right at eye level, it was.
Spotted its mocking canister before any of my younglings even had a chance.
Sing it with me, peeps:
“Do the best that you can with what you’ve been given…but by the gods, “DO.””
My safety was not in question. Ever. I’m not stupid. Slightly bat-shit crazy, but certainly never stupid.
I was going to hurt today no matter what I did.
So, I made a choice that the “what I did” was spend an amazing afternoon watching the boats leisurely traverse the Ottawa River as we introduced the younglings to a really fun activity we can do as a family, outside.
Oh, I’m lubed up with Extra-Strength Voltaren, with a side of Tramadol, I can assure you. The heating pad is being brought out momentarily.
But, for 2.2 hours today…nothing else weighed on my mind. No hate, no meanness, nothing of the sort. No people.
Put another deposit into my Memory Bank.