Only Nola

Seriously...

Just because the law says pedestrians have the right of way? Does NOT nullify the merit of the idea that one might benefit from LOOKING WHERE THE FUCK ONE IS GOING when stepping out in traffic. Your 'right of way' won't keep you from needing a hip replacement when you get up close and personal with the F250 you just stepped in front of because you figured, hey, he's got brakes, right? RIGHT?

Fuckwits.

Just sayin'...
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Of Course I Did...

So.  Everyone ready for the latest installment of 'Surely She Didn't?'

Let me paint a picture.  It's about 7:00 p.m. on a rainy night.  The light is fading, it's thundering, and the lightning is starting.  See our favorite female nitwit (and the ubiquitous 12 year old male offspring) driving along a very busy, four lane, divided highway.  Dinner-hour traffic.  Did I mention the rain?  Okay, just checking. 

Driving along, minding her own business, the aforementioned nitwit has one goal... get home and OUT of the generally nasty weather.  Watching everything around her as she drives (as she's a very conscientious driver), our heroine (oops, did I say heroine?  Getting ahead of myself...) suddenly has a 'wtf?' moment...

Was that a kitten?

Still driving, she plays back the visual that just processed in her tired brain.  Small, furry white face, blinking up from the left shoulder of the road.  Yes, definitely kitten.  Kitten with some kind of injury or mental issue, as it was crouched on the pavement just inches from the passing cars and yet it made no move to take itself off to safer places AWAY from tires and things.  Just laid there, blinking and...

Shit.

A mile passes.  Two.  Next exit one mile ahead... you already know what's coming, don't you?

Our nitwit gets off at the next exit.  Cue 12 year old male offspring asking where she's going.  She begins to explain about the briefly seen kitten, instructing him to look for a towel in the back of the car (she's sure she just saw one back there, contrary to his immediate report that all he can find is one of her workout t-shirts.  Oh, FINE, that will do... Abercrombie and Fitch was never intended for kitty rescue, but what the hell) while she turns around and gets back on the highway going back in the direction of the ferocious storm clouds they'd just been ahead of.

See?  Told you you saw it coming, didn't I?

Back we go, racing along (did I mention the RAIN?) toward the site of the briefly glimpsed furball.  See our heroine doing the math and realizing she'll have to go one exit PAST where she saw the kitten, as it's on the wrong side of the exit and... ARRRGGGHHH.  So, down one more exit.  Get off and sit waiting at the bottom of the ramp for the light to change.  That would be the light that is apparently run by SATAN, as it takes approximately the same length of time to change as your average MAN.  Finally, it changes, and our heroine darts under the highway, lucking into a green light on the other side before shooting back up onto the highway.

She is on a mission.

She has the 12 year old scoot over to the left side of the car to help watch for the small, white face that could be easily missed on a second drive-by, especially with the traffic zooming by and the weather.  She's fairly certain she knows where it was, but it was such a flash, and she can't be totally sure.  Driving slowly (incurring the wrath of many drivers that obviously don't KNOW she's on a kitten-saving mission, therefore have no desire to see her driving under the fucking speed limit when they have VERY IMPORTANT PLACES TO BE, DAMMIT!), she scans the road, praying the kitten isn't already flattened by a driver less observant than herself.  She sees nothing.  She finally says, 'I guess she ran away... I don't see her anywhere', and begins to accelerate.

Shit.

There she was.  Just flew by her.

Brakes are engaged, though one can't slam on brakes in a storm.  Eventually coming to a stop, quite a distance from the previously mentioned furball, our nitwit ends up pulled over on the right side of the road under an overpass.  (Anyone remember that the kitten is on the LEFT side of the road?)  Watching for a clearing in traffic, she finally jumps out of the car and begins running down the shoulder of the road.  (Allow me to point out here that flip flops and hip-hugger jeans are NOT the recommended wear for a jog in the RAIN.  Just FYI.)  Cars are tearing by, and she's sure they're all figuring that she's insane at this point (most being oblivious to the KITTEH... that needs SAVING!), and on top of the deluge from above, she's also now being drenched repeatedly by the spray from the cars as they pass.  On she goes, though she can barely see out of her glasses now (they're pretty much useless, covered in drive-by car sludge and rain... did I MENTION THE RAIN?), waiting for her opportunity to cross over to the LEFT side of the road.

Finally it comes.  She runs across, watching ahead for the little patch of white that she prays is still alive.  She can't see it... can't see it... God, please don't let it be.... wait!  WAIT!

Kitty...

There the poor thing is.  It's still as pathetic as she'd seen in that faster-than-light moment... lying there, RIGHT next to the white line, so in shock that it doesn't even twitch when a car or truck goes by just inches from its head.  She approaches, careful to be as out of the way of traffic as she can manage (kinda hard, right on the shoulder, but she tries), and gently reaches out to touch the kitty.  Its face is away from her, and when she touches it, it doesn't even flinch.  No reaction at all.  She scoops it up carefully, bringing its soaking wet body up against her breast as she starts talking to it, attempting to soothe it.  It shakes like a leaf, huddling into her.  So in shock...

Our heroine begins the journey back to the car.  It seems even further now than it was before.  She can't run, as she doesn't know if the kitty is injured and doesn't want to be jerking it all over with the motion of running.  So she walks, as quickly as she can, toward the car.  The wet, dirty, pathetic kitten makes a few small 'mew' noises, but is mostly silent.  Just shaking.  She prays it isn't severely hurt, and curses people that abandon animals on the road.  It happens a lot, people just get tired of having an animal and decide a drive-and-dump is the easiest solution, but if she could get her hand on the asshat that did it right that minute, she'd cheerfully rip his/her arms off and stuff them into a wood chipper.

Just sayin'...

Where were we? 

Oh, yes.  She gets back to the car, and the boy is waiting in the back seat with the workout t-shirt at the ready.  Carefully, she wraps up the pitiful thing in the t-shirt, setting the new guest then in the lap of the offspring, for comfort and safety on the trip home.  The furry visitor collapses in the boy's lap, making no sound, just... shaking.  But at least safe, now.  And our nitwit?  Wet, dirty, and no small amount of confuckled from the whole experience, but still, overall?  Happy that she got there in time.

See?

*sighs*  I swear, I should be sedated...

Poof

Well, hell... I weighed myself just now and I'm apparently being visited by liposucking gremlins while I sleep. I've lost five pounds or so since Friday. I'm now hovering around 101 or 102. *sighs* I'm the incredible shrinking woman (although hopefully cuter... remember that movie? Lily Tomlin... 'Nuff said).

If I disappear entirely, someone please remember to feed the cats. And kick the one that peed on the carpet..
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Monday Already?

I'm lying on the couch with the ubiquitous cats, wondering how long I can put off going to the gym without a) hating myself, and b) turning into the Sta-Puft Marshmallow Man (two points to anyone who gets that reference). I know it's a necessary evil, as I have to keep these legs in the shape they've become accustomed to, but GOD it's a pain. I miss my trainer. She'd have my ass well and truly kicked into a routine in no time. It was a love/hate relationship, obviously.

I'm rethinking a lot of my life at the minute. Never hurts, right? Yeah, right... 'doesn't hurt' the same way a freaking root canal doesn't hurt. Anyway. Just seems like a good time to do some pondering. Like 'The Thinker', only with better fashion sense and not quite so penis-afflicted.

Speaking of penis-afflicted... why is it the older I get, the more I think men should be filed with FDA as a controlled substance? It's not that I don't have them figured out, it's that I HAVE that's the problem. I swear, if they knew a good thing when they saw it, they'd have to turn in their appendage and become a WOMAN. I think they only get their man-card when they can prove they are able to stick their fingers in their ears and go 'NANANANANANANANA!' If they can do it internally, as merely a mental exercise, leaving the actual ear free of anything other than Q-Tips? Then they get the free toaster to go with it.

Just sayin'...
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Crazy

It's been quite the weekend. Connor rode a go-kart on his own for the first time yesterday. It was cute. I couldn't help but have some memories of other times at the go-kart track, and some different wishes about being able to share yesterday with... well, it doesn't matter, but it was still fun for him, and one of life's little landmark moments for me, watching my baby grow up one more notch.

Connor also now has a black eye. NOT related to the aforementioned go-kart. It was a flying remote that decided to crash-land on his face (an accident via a friend of his and some faulty aim... no fault or intent involved). I wasn't there to see the act, but was certainly there to pack ice for the aftermath. And peroxide and neosporin for the part that BLED. God, a mother freak-out is a thing to behold. Although, truth be told, I held together rather well. And Connor took it like a trooper, surprisingly enough. Another sign my baby is growing up...

Anyhoo. There's a minor update for the minute. I'm holding up, all things considered, and looking to dig my head out of my ass. Pretty sure it's been there far too long. Time to resuscitate my writing, maybe. The blog, certainly, among other things. I still have books that need attention, in their various states of incompletion.

Here's hoping each day gets a little less salty than the one before.

And that I find my humor again before someone feels compelled to shoot me.

A priest, a rabbi, and an atheist walk into a bar...

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Of Course

My heart hurts. I can't write much that's more profound right now. I can tell you that seeing something beautiful and full of promise turn into something shadowed and full of tears is a bitter, hateful thing. And I can tell you grief is something I have earned a PhD in.

Trade you...
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Time Passes

Seven years ago today...

I was a bride. Right this minute, seven years ago, I was packing for a trip to Eureka Springs. A lot of chaos, of course, as it was the day Jonathan and I were getting married. So much to do, so far to go. It was a beautiful day. Things went wrong, as they invariably will with weddings, but it didn't change what mattered. The ceremony was lovely. Connor stood with me and Nathan stood with Jonathan. My little men.

I keep typing and deleting, over and over. So many thoughts, so few words that fall in line the right way. Life goes on, doesn't it? But some moments live forever.

Happy anniversary. Connor spoke of you today to Misty, not even aware I could hear, and not even knowing what today is. You are missed and thought of and... I hope you have peace.
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Ask and Ye Shall Receive

Well, I've been awol again (the two miniature BlackBerry posts don't even BEGIN to count... I'm not even going to try and sell you anything different), this time for a record period of time.  My life has been full of things I really couldn't share in a blog that my family members have access to (don't ask and I won't have to kill anyone), so it felt too limiting to try and write.  There were, of course, things that I could have written about safely (note to self: write later about the pubic hair the former tenants left in a strange place in the rental house), but I've almost always used this blog as a rather open window to my life, whether that's a good thing or a bad thing, so it felt... wrong, I guess... to not be able to share the things that I most wanted to.  So, me being me, I ended up sharing nothing at all.  Now I have maybe two readers that check in once every month or two to see if I'm breathing, thanks to my extended absences.  Well, a small audience is better than no audience, right?  They say size doesn't matter, anyway... (don't get me started on that, either.  They LIE.)

Well, as lightly as this started, I actually logged in today to write about something more serious.  I'm sure we've all heard the whole modern psychological theory (well, it's not ALL modern... some of it's actually pretty old-school, if one follows Zen teachings) that no one can hurt your feelings unless you let them, or that our feelings are our own responsibility, etc.  I've always taken exception to this.  To me?  It's a get-out-of-jail-free card for people who are treating others badly.  It takes the accountability off of their shoulders and puts it, instead, on the victim's.  I abhor that.  But I had a big realization today.  Maybe it will change my life (one can only hope, right?), and maybe it won't.  Maybe it will click with someone who reads this and change theirs.  I hold no such high aspirations, but it's possible.  All I know is it was one of those snowballing, lightning-striking thoughts/moments of clarity that hits sometimes in most all of us, so I thought I'd come home and write it down before I lost it.

People can hurt you, whether you let them or not.  I say this addressing you as a regular person, assuming you're not a zen master sitting home reading this in between enlightened moments, surrounded by llamas and communing with your inner french fry or whatever.  If someone I care about says hurtful things to me, or is physically abusive, or treats me in ways meant to leave me feeling small or unsafe, then that is painful, and I didn't have to 'let' them do it.  BUT.  (There's always a 'but', isn't there?)  But... if I read the phrase 'my feelings are my own responsibility' a different way, it's absolutely right.  After the first painful thing that is done, it is MY responsibility to do whatever is in my power to protect myself from FURTHER injury.  In this life, YOU are the only one that, come what may, will always be there... YOU.  No matter what loves or family members may be in your life, things can always happen that will change that.  Divorce, death, distance, conflict... all these things can bring unforeseen separation.  That being the case, if you're counting on someone else to protect you from harm (and I don't mean necessarily the 'oh my god, there's a prowler in the house!' kind of harm... I'm talking about emotional damage), as opposed to setting your own boundaries and establishing what you will and won't allow to be done to you that effects your peace and happiness, then you are far less likely to be happy.  I'm NOT suggesting that a loved one or family member will NOT be protective of you, as well.  My hope is that we all have someone in our lives that is careful of us, treasures us, and wants what is best for us.  But if you toss aside your OWN care for yourself, you open the door to accepting things that are unacceptable. 

Each of us has a responsibility, first and foremost, to the person we see in the mirror.  It all starts there.  If we don't respect ourselves enough to say 'I will only embrace behavior from those that I choose to be close to that honors me and respects me and values me', then we are teaching others to treat us just as badly as we're treating ourselves.  And once the bad treatment starts, we become damaged and paralyzed, unable to then GIVE to others the things we'd most want to if we were whole and at peace.  We become locked in a constant battle of trying to get others to treat us the way we want, when the person who isn't treating us well is... in that mirror.  If someone kicks me, and it hurts, they've done wrong.  But if they keep kicking me and, instead of moving or blocking them or just leaving the environment they're in, I just keep telling them it hurts and waiting for them to care enough to STOP KICKING ME, then there are two people doing wrong, as I've then done MYSELF great injury by seeing the process that is costing me a great deal but not taking effective steps to protect MYSELF.  Attempting to rely on the understanding and kindness of a person that has shown they have no desire to stop the kicking is saying to myself, AND the kicker, that I think I have no value at all.  It is placing more value on the person who is DOING the kicking, because I'm spending all my time and energy trying to support THEM in maybe being a better person and realizing they shouldn't be doing what they're doing, trying to get THEM to like/love me enough to STOP the assault, etc., rather than operating under the assumption that a person who would want to continue attacking me is a) unlikely to change (and that's another epiphany connected to the first, so I'll save us all an entire 'nother three paragraphs of reading by saying simply that trying to change others behavior to try and get them to stop causing us pain is both useless and wrong.  If they're doing what is true to who THEY are, then that's as it should be.  We may not like it, but forcing them to change against their will is no viable option.  We all have the right to be who we choose to be, and if faced with a 'kicker', instead of trying to change them, the only real solution is to change YOURSELF, whether simply your location (out of kicking reach) or your reaction (lots of options there), taking responsibility for making sure their foot no longer leaves dents in your shin, even if it means suffering through uncomfortable feelings.  Trust me, if you're used to not having boundaries and respecting/valuing yourself, it will likely be EXTREMELY uncomfortable as you start making the attempt to), and b) not worried about my well-being in the first place.  That brings me back to this: It should ALWAYS be ME that wants, no, DEMANDS, that I be treated well and valued, because if I wait for others to do it... kicking can and does ensue.

I have suffered a lack in my life that has always caused me great difficulties.  I have lacked the ability to set and enforce boundaries.  I felt that if I did, I was doing something that would either leave me alone at the end of the day, or I'd be being 'harsh' or 'unkind', or be labeled as 'unloving'.  But I've come to realize that a person who truly loves me and values me would never do any of those things.  If they care about me, they'll be the first to support me in having boundaries, as they are only there to keep me healthy and whole and happy.  If they argue with me about my boundaries, calling them unfair or unnecessary or 'selfish', then what they're saying is that they want me to accept anything that anyone does to me, to leave myself open to hurt and damage.  They are also saying that my welfare is far down their list of priorities.  A real friend, or a loving family member, or a true partner... any of those will always want me to be my best, my strongest, and my most fulfilled.  Boundaries are, quite often, part of that.  So if my boundaries are criticized or the attempt is made to make me abandon them, then it's not coming from love.  It's coming from self-interest.  And that is no part of loving me at all.

Yes, I'm pretty sure I just wrote a BOOK.  So sue me.

Hey, at least I'm back!  Right!  Right?  *sighs*

Is this thing on?  *taps monitor*

Oy

Just about crashed and burned on I-44. Pile up as I rounded the corner. Close call.
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Ah, Sweet Fishing Pole!

The fish are biting... I'm the Crappie whisperer!
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