Definition of insanity, right here!

If you always do what you’ve always done, you’ll always get what you’ve always gotten. Duh. This seems like an easy concept to not only grasp, but to put into action. Change. Just do it. After all, the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. Why is it so hard to recognize our own faults, yet we stay in the same old rut we’re always in?

I am not afraid to admit that I grew up in a less-than-desirable household. My parents verbally and physically abused each other until I was 9, when they had both finally had enough to divorce. Then, when I was 13, they decided to try again at a relationship with one another, and of course, the abuse began again. I was sometimes verbally abused in the way of my mother calling me fat (AFTER she fed me fried food or fast food or what-have-you). Very twisted behavior. Needless to say I didn’t have any self-esteem growing up, and I’m just now gradually starting to have a little. This was the example that was set forth before me. These were the role models I had. I never really had any idea of what a loving, normal relationship looked like. My mind and emotions were formed around dysfunction. This was just normal. At 18, literally like 2 weeks after I turned 18, I tucked tail and RAN. I moved in with my boyfriend at the time, and proceeded to attempt to play house, and genuinely thought I could have a better relationship than my parents. I thought surely this was easy. This set me off on a series of lots of different boyfriends from the age of 18 up until now. That’s 16 years of attempting and failing at having a long-lasting, stable relationship. I’m 34, and I’ve never been married. Aside from one person, I’ve been the one to end all these relationships when I had finally had enough. My method of dealing with anyone has been to just leave them and close that door for good. I’ve burned more bridges than a pyromaniac. I can look back on all these unions and see where I was at fault. I can see where I acted just like my mother. Nagging, yelling, belittling, cussing, fronting like I didn’t care, when in reality I cared so much. I went from wanting to marry these people one day, to cheating on them and wishing they’d leave me the next. This doesn’t mean my significant others didn’t also have their flaws. This doesn’t mean they didn’t make mistakes. At that time, though, all I could see was their shortcomings. Each and every time, when the relationship was over, then and only then did I step back and see all the ways I messed up and all the ways I could have been a better mate. In reality, with one relationship in particular, I had an almost perfect partner and was blind. All I was focusing on was what he could do better, and how he could improve.

So now, here I am, at 34. I started yet another relationship almost 2 years ago. We are in counseling to learn to communicate better. It seems that maybe we’ve both had the same checkered, dysfunctional past. I am trying, this time, to stay and face my demons head on, because my love for this man far outweighs the desire to call it quits. I can only change me. I can only change the way I respond to him. I can choose grace, forgiveness, and love over revenge, malice, and harm, and I will. After all, if you know better, you should do better, and I definitely know better!



This is my most favorite quote from one of my most favorite movies. I can relate. Sometimes I feel like jumping off the back of my “ship”. I’m not talking actual suicide of course, but this quote sums up how I feel a lot of the time. At home. At work. At Kroger. I feel like I have to repeat myself a lot, with no change. The problem with repeating yourself is that people get pissed, yet they don’t want to take one second to stop and hear what you’re trying to tell them. If they’d pause for 30 seconds, listen, and say “Maybe she has a point.” this skipping record would stop. Unfortunately, this is one of the hardest things for anyone to do, especially in the middle of an argument, or a game of Wii, or anything that causes tunnel vision.

People just don’t get it. The world is void of empathy, sympathy, grace, and understanding. The world is void of people caring about other people. Genuinely giving a shit what happens to another being of flesh and blood. The human race is comprised of people that are for themselves. It’s dog eat dog. Why have we all become this way? I’m pretty sure I’m right in the middle of this selfish bunch. Do I listen to people? NO. Do I care what anyone tries to say to me? Not half the time. From the moment I get up in the morning, it’s eat, get the kids ready (which is really chaotic, and I lose my cool a LOT), work, home, bed, repeat. I see beggars on the corners occasionally. I see cars broken down on the side of the road. I could pay for the person in line behind me at Starbucks. I could give so much more of myself than I do. I could concede to lose an argument. I could be the bigger person. But, like every other prideful, selfish human on the planet, I count the cost of doing those things. I think of the hassle, or the repercussions, or whatever may result if I take the time to just CARE for another one of God’s people. The conclusion is that I suck, and so does everyone else. The End.


An apple a day is what I should have been doing all along.

I don’t do doctors. I could have stage 4 brain cancer and would never know it, because I avoid conventional medicine at all costs. Yes, I take the occasional Midol, Advil, or what have you, but to be a regular? Not me.

For three years now, I’ve woken up nauseated about 37% of the 1,095 days in that time span. I have what many would call a “nervous stomach”. It has been way worse than ever lately. So today, I broke down and saw a doctor for a “wellness” visit. I can’t recall having one of those since my mandatory 6th grade physical. The prognosis wasn’t great. Probably ulcer caused from H. Pylori bacteria that I was treated for 6 years ago. SIX YEARS. To add insult to ulcerated injury, she says I’m probably still carrying around the bacteria because only 50% of the people treated for H. Pylori actually rid themselves of it the first time.

You have to know that stomach issues have plagued me all of my life. I think it’s a solid byproduct of being anxious by nature. I’m a worrier. Since I can remember, I’ve worried about everything. This has caused constant “butterflies” in my stomach for 30 years. These are not your average, run-of-the-mill Monarchs with beautiful, flowy, carefree wings. These motherfuckers are vicious. They have spiky wings and red, sharp, fiery tails. They flutter to kill. After they shred my stomach, they never fail to find a way through and out the other side. This has been my life for all of my life.

So the doctor’s strict orders for the next 30 days were as follows:

No caffeine. No chocolate. No carbonated beverages. No tomato-based ANYTHING.

This translates to the following:

No coffee, no tea, no sanity. No PMS relief. No afternoon pick-me-up from the RC machine at work. No pizza. No happiness.

But do I want to get well, or do I want to suffer for the rest of my days?

The answer is I want to get better. My actions don’t really relay that too well, because when I got back to work from this trip to the doc, I had Olive Garden and sweet tea waiting for me. Now my cubicle smells like a retirement home cafeteria, my belly is full, and I have to start fresh at supper. Like most things in my life, this is one where I’ll never learn.

Do unto others…

Why can’t the Golden Rule actually BE a rule? A law? Like if you get busted doing something awful, you have to take a polygraph that asks “Would you put up with that if someone did it to you?” And if you lie, you have to do 10 Random Acts of Kindness as restitution. Like buy me Starbucks every day for 10 days. Shit like that.

People just treat other people horribly. I don’t watch the news, I try not to hear the news, and I don’t deliberately read the news for this reason. Most people are nosey and want to know what’s going on in the world, but I’m happy inside my little bubble of naivety. While I’m not an ignorant person, being ignorant to all the murders, car wrecks, home invasions, child abuse, and morons truly IS bliss. I accidentally see the occasional murder story posted on Facebook or something, and that’s enough to have me in a cloud of depression for an entire day. Imagine if I actually read the paper or watched at 10pm like a normal person. I’d then need a concoction of anti-depressants and uppers and a couple downers to counteract the uppers. Then I’d be like everyone else. I’d be a depressed, numb, insensitive, doped up mess like a lot of people on this planet. I think mind altering prescription drugs are more normal now than 2.5 kids, a dog, and a picket fence. I don’t know the percentage but I’d be willing to bet like 8 out of 10 people take SOMETHING to regulate mood.

Maybe, just maybe, these mind-numbing drugs are why people walk around without a care, and why they treat people like shit. Maybe, just maybe, if we relied on exercise and good ole sunshine to lighten our moods and our loads, we could feel again. We could care, and care enough to treat everyone as we want to be treated. Happiness isn’t made in a lab dish. Get outside, run, play, smile, swim, and treat others with kindness and respect!

I hope this starts a ripple of goodness for all who read it. Albeit a little random, I feel it’s a relevant message. Now, stop reading and go do some good!

Summer is inevitable, and so is my displeasure.

I’ve hated summer. I hate summer. I will hate summer again, God willing. I burn easily. Then I freckle more. Then I have scary, unwanted moles on my body. If we didn’t need the sun to live, I’d wish it banished from the universe. It’s May 8th, and the high today is 87. That shouldn’t be allowed. It’s still spring. If spring is this hot, will I sizzle on the sidewalk like an egg when summer ACTUALLY arrives?

If I was a bear, summer would be when I decided to hibernate. I would relish the fall, winter, and spring, and sleep away the unbearable heat. In fact, in summer, I become a bear. I’m grouchy. I growl. I grumble.

Until I see the first fall leaf change from green to crimson, such is my life. It always has been and always will be.

I suppose I could embrace the waterparks, popsicles, and booty shorts, but I don’t think I can get to that point since I’ve had this attitude about summer for all of my 34 years. Any of you people that bask in the blazing heat and love it, you need a padded cell. Seriously.

In the beginning, there was red hair, and it was good.

I came into this world a kicking and screaming at 4 pounds 15 ounces on April 13th, 1981. I was early. I was small. The doctor cut my neck trying to get me out before I died from strangulation by my own umbilical cord. You could say my life was tumult from the start.

I started this blog today in hopes that this would be cathartic. I started it also in hopes that someone could relate and not feel so bad about their lives or situations. I started it to make people laugh. I started it because there are very few REAL things left in this world, especially people.

I promise to be real. I promise to be funny. I promise this blog will be worth reading. Happy Tuesday!