I’m in utter awe of my husband. If you know me at all, this isn’t a news flash.
But with all that the furlough is doing (and with the work of countless staff members furloughed at home that is being dumped on him), Chooch continues to report to work and continues to diligently serve the mission he’s employed for, to aid Native Americans.
For ZERO pay, people. Because no income will be received for the work he performs, starting yesterday, Oct 1. For his standard 40+ hours a week but now with ZERO income.
Yup, he has to go in, even if he’s too sick. Or breaks his leg. There’s no one else but him. He cannot take time off for ANY reason.
Why does he do it, instead of quitting and seeking private sector work? Simply for the extra bit of hope that he will be paid at the end of this financial trauma and that our son’s lives will not be further negatively impacted by the childish cruelty of our politicians and failed political system.
Chooch and I pledged our love to each other over a decade ago, and united our lives in marriage 10 years ago, next month.
I remain fully aware that I am Blessed and beyond lucky to be hand-in-hand with a man such as he (him?).
I knew it then, but I learn it again every day he gets up and goes in to that shitty, shitty situation. Don’t bother making “lighter traffic” jokes, it’s not happening. He’s still gridlocked until he enters his nearly-deserted building.
I have immeasurable love and gratitude for each and every person that impacted/impacts the path of the man I will share the rest of my life.
Best of luck to all my friends and family impacted, and to the rest of you that will feel the economic impact soon. Over 2 million hard-working and gainfully employed Americans have suddenly lost their income.
I don’t care what your industry is or politics are, it’s going to hurt for a long time.
Prayers for us all, regardless of political beliefs. (And there are some TRUE assholes revealing themselves right now!)
Prayers for OUR Country(, or whatever non-prayer equivalent you choose).
Prayers that more people act like Chooch, by getting the work done that needs to be done.
Photo by J.R. Blackwell
On a scale from one to awesome, he’s the shit! Just look at him!
A reality check on a rough morning — a truly inspirational woman stars in this 5-ish minute video demonstrating her amazing spirit, ingenuity, tenacity and fearlessness.
We are more than the illnesses, conditions and physical barriers that rule our lives.
We are all bigger, brighter and more fascinating than just a label bearing the most obvious of descriptors.
We must revel in what makes us different and STFU when faced with the choice of judging/mocking others for what makes them different.
A dear friend shared a link to an article in Facebook, with a thumbnail of Alanis Morissette in a bikini. She’s not rocking a super tight body. She’s a real woman. And although I’m envious of her figure, I knew immediately that it’s a photo that the press will put in everyone’s face for mockery. To what end, I’ll never understand, other than giving young woman eating disorders and a need for plastic surgery.
Only, and I mean only, because I trust Bree’s p.o.v. did I click on the link. The blog on the other end was reporting *skim*skim*bikini bottom*something*something*Alanis Morissette. (If you don’t know her, Google her. She’s amazing.)
Looking again, I could see something written on the ass of her bikini and was COMPELLED to click on it.
I have nothing else to say, other to share my amusement at the surprise on my incredibly empathetic husband’s face. He was shocked at my getting choked up while reading it to him, but was still impressed by her statement. I had to remind myself that no matter how much Chooch tries, he’ll never understand what it’s like to be a fat chick in this modern age.
Unverified Tweet from Robin Williams that is circulating on Facebook.
Let’s be clear, the Kardashian empire has not directly made a dime off of me. I have none of their celebrity endorsed products, nor do I seek out their shows. I have frequently questioned the impact of their behavior of girls and young women, and that of others on the covers of the same magazines.
And now, dammit, I have to speak out for one of them. Thanks a hell of a lot, Robin Williams.
Note: I haven’t verified that this image being circulated on Facebook is accurate. I am happy to volunteer the possibility that it could have been photoshopped. I’d rather write this explanation than go to his Twitter account and verify it, simply because it doesn’t matter if he did or if he didn’t.
Some ass decided to copy/paste it and share it. Because hey, it’s not only making fun of a woman for getting fat! It’s also poking fun at a media celebrity. A reality show celebrity. They’re fair game, right?!?
I say nay.
When there’s a baby on board, I believe that allowances should be made. The sheer fact that, whoever she is, I think she should be allowed leeway on a cray-cray flower patterned snug dress. It could have been a gift. It could have reminded her of a deceased beloved one’s garden. It could have been material made from pictures of a bouquet from her man congratulating her on the pregnancy. It could have been the only thing she could bring herself to wear as she left the house, knowing she’d get sliced and diced regardless of what she wore. Or maybe she’s dealing with the horrific changes to her body by trying to channel Mother Nature, being pregnant and all. Who the hell knows?
My point is, who the hell are we to judge what she’s covering her body with or how that body looks? If there is any time period when a human should be allowed to wear whatever the hell makes them happy, it’s people with terminal illnesses and pregnant women.
Period.
In both cases, there is shit going down in their bodies that would keep you up nights, terrified. In the case of pregnancy, the gestational host, err, I mean, the mother, faces tremendous changes to her body. In my experience, from head to toe. Literally. My hair changed from waves to curls and my feet changed, widening along with other body parts that typically widen during pregnancy to accommodate the birth. I’m told this is common, which I think means that shoe stores need to increase their ratio of wide-to-average width shoes. (Am I right, ladies?!? …??? … No? … *hangs head* … I knew it.)
Lookit, whether we like her or not, she has chosen to grow a human. Inside of her. She is sustaining another life from within her body. She didn’t adopt. She didn’t hire a surrogate. If unplanned, she didn’t have an abortion. She’s created life and now she’s feeding herself and her baby, as pregnant women all over the world are encouraged to do.
Except for Kim Kardashian. She gets laughed at for gaining weight during a pregnancy. Clearly, the popular opinion is that she should have taken this opportunity — a heightened metabolism and another, separate life siphoning off calories and nutrition — to go on a crash diet, starving herself and her unborn child. All for the hope of gaining cheers of approval from the media and America for being back in a bikini 2 weeks after delivery, smiling at us from the cover of a magazine.
Silver lining? Since the baby would likely be in PICU, being kept alive by feeding tubes and a team of specialists, Ms. K will have plenty of time for tanning sessions and photo shoots.
Oh, and keep in mind, there are millions of young women that have grown up with Ms. Kardashian all over TV. Like it or not, they are learning. I wonder how many more young women will under-eat, rather than risk being called a fat ass, to the detriment of her child.
This is my one share of the picture and I don’t hate on anyway that has done so or will do so. If it were Tom Cruise, I’d have shared the hell out of his fat, pregnant ass. But since I don’t hate/idolize Ms. K, the first thing I thought of was something else that recently made the rounds of social media:
Body Fibromyalgia is one of my diagnosed Health Blahs. I won’t go in to detail here other than this focus – a kind of pain distortion. There’s a neurological aspect of Fibro that allegedly “turns up the volume” on pain. It’s a sort of biological input distortion filter that is described as a stereo having the volume tuned up too high. This is a confusing concept, as people are likely to dismiss my pain, thinking it’s all in my head. But I assure you, the pain is real. And for me, it’s not even measurable, as in, “The pain should only be at a 4, but we can add another two points for Fibro distortion, for a total impact on the patient of 6.”
Whether caused by the immeasurable “volume” increase or actual pain, it hurts just the same.
Why?
Because pain is pain is pain is pain.
The frustration is tremendous as what I report to the medical community sometimes gets taken apart and evaluated like most others don’t have to tolerate. “Oh, it’s the Fibro amping up the pain, you’re ok.” Or, “Keep in mind that Fibro distorts the pain, what is your pain level separate from that?”
Okay, how about I ask you, “Knife or spoon? You are going to be stabbed with one, and you get to choose. Obviously, you want the one that hurts the least and/or does the least damage. So, which do you choose?”
A spoon will hurt more but won’t go as deep, as easily. A knife will cut an artery, but how much pain will you feel?
Does it matter?
Sometimes, yes. In my experience, the standard 0-10 pain scale (smiley to pained faces on a chart I’ve seen in every ER and hospital room) works like gangbusters, especially when you have a doctor that will actually spend more time listening than their typically double-booked schedules usually allow.
Mind
About a year before that diagnosis, my therapist T-Pain, told me I have distortion filters on things I experience, both input and output, that impact my emotional well-being and create conflict with beloveds. The destructive power of these filters is immense and also far more common than I previously believed possible. Meaning, I’m not the only one with them, I’m just the only adult I know that has had it named (and admits it).
Essentially, I hear things (input) in such a way that I attribute all blame, shame or guilt to myself. All bad things are my fault. I do nothing well, and I am a constant disappointment to those I love or those foolish enough to love me.
It also means that at times I have problems communicating (output). My reactions: awkward, stammering, emotional, clumsy, partial, incoherent or circular in logic. The higher the stress, the worse the reaction.
Over a year ago, when my therapist helped me understand what I’m processing isn’t always what people intended to convey, I was thrilled.
Let me tell my loved ones, I thought, so they may allow me a bit more processing time to ensure that I’m expressing what I intend to express. Communication will be easier. Everything is based on communication, so everything will be easier.
A whole new world promised to open in front of me.
I now call shenanigans. Get the broom.
You see, in trying to leave a better footprint behind me, I have inadvertently opened myself up to having any misunderstanding or differences of opinion can be laid at the feet of my faulty filters. I don’t believe it’s intentionally unkind or dismissive, but it remains extremely insulting.
It’s as if learning that about me gives others some sort of legendary weapon in discussions. After all, it’s far easier to close the issue without examining anyone else’s behavior, because, hey, here’s a trump card that I’ve handed over: “She’s upset because of the way she neurologically processes things, not because of anything I did or said. There, that’s settled.”
It’s become a litmus test for me, finding how different people try or don’t try to connect with me. I don’t even bother telling people about my distortions at this point, since so many people have them but don’t see them or understand what they are or how to start the slow process of disabling them. (Hint: You can do it.)
Soul It’s amazing how much easier your path can seem when you realize many around you are on the same path, trying to overcome their own stuff. Everyone has their own distortions, I’m finding. Since there’s no point in waiting on judgment or acceptance from others, I’mma just keep moving, doing my own thing, my own way. T-Pain says I can’t go wrong.
Call it chasing silver linings. (So fun!)
Call me Little Mary Sunshine. (Mary’s a lovely name!)
Whatevs, I’ll just keep trying to get through life with as much love, bliss and laughter as we can Katamari.
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In that vein, check out my adorable Great Niece #2, Baby A. She’s about a month old and I get to meet her next month when Lil Momma (my far off niece) returns with her family for a visit. Oh, the excitement!
Edit: I’m hoping to post a review of Ravenwood Castleitself, but I first wanted to share thoughts from the social experience point of view, since that was the point. Since I never know how long a post will take me to finish, I will say that I recommend it highly. The board games on hand and the atmosphere of the great hall made it impossible not to enjoy the experience. In short, I can’t wait to go back for another relaxing visit.
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About a month ago, my husband and I were invited to join in on surprise birthday festivities for a friend. It turned out to be more fantastic than we could have hoped, in spite of our high expectations and my Health Blah aggro. There were old friends (comparatively speaking, back to the beginnings of my Twitter experience in 2007), but also new friends. And it takes only a tiny bit of bravery to say that, because I feel the bond of a shared experience, even if I didn’t get to spend much time with each of them.
And while I wish I had been less shy and gotten time with everyone, I prefer to err on the side of not being a pain in the ass (whenever possible). Besides, I cannot imagine being able to retain even ONE more memory or survive one more breathless and teary-eyed laughing fit. As I was trying to gather my scattered and grateful thoughts together to do a post commemorating the heart-container-filling weekend, something triggered a recurring thought, and I’ve decided to use our weekend setting to better noodle through what I keep returning to:
Human interaction is an unpredictable roll of the dice, as ALL parties imprint on shared experiences, depending on their mood, behavior and personality.
And in this case, it was tasty.
Invited party guests were asked to keep it all quiet, both to keep the surprise from the honoree and to avoid hurting the feelings for those that space did not allow to include. It was excruciating not sharing more, but I willsay that with the right combination of people, anything is possible.
The only downside was that we were “roughing it” without internet, cell signal or HD TV’s blasting ticker tape news over a reporter talking in another direction. An insulated bubble was in place around us and we were (primarily) our only distractions. Phone calls were not easily made, people (myself included) were not constantly reaching for their devices to check for messages, tweet, post or otherwise spend their time with a mental foot in the outside world. I found myself grateful to be disconnected with others that were more appreciative to be there than to waste any real time watching for connectivity, save those with important matters to address.
More frequently, people expressed gratitude for the experience and the efforts made by all to keep it truly special and just embraced it. There were some jokes and comments made, but I don’t remember anything other than general statements like, “Well, I’d check IMDB.com to tell you what else Ryan Gosling was in, but I can’t!” Which was typically met with laughter rather than kvetching.
In regards to my Health Blahs, the weekend reinforced in me, after several occurrences, that taking the time to meditate, nap or whatever else is needed to be on an even keel, MUST be done. Not only was my experience improved by trying to manage my neurological symptoms as they arose, but I found it easier to do so knowing that my “energy” or “mood” or whatever you choose to call it, could have a negative impact on the experience for others.
When I wasn’t feeling well, I could easily take my leave and return recharged and ready for the next fascinating and/or giggling adventure. And although he offered, it would have been unkind to allow Chooch to come with me to give comfort when I was fine, just in pain or managing some symptom or another. Better to leave he and the others to their fun and come back to watch or join in on the gaming, if and when I was feeling well enough to, for the greater enjoyment of us all.
But as for the impact of everyone’s mood, I think it’s the same kind of thing that all that advice from the Dog Whisperer and other animal trainers (as well as those that do Super Nanny/rescuing children in unhealthy situations) all boil down to — demonstrating how crappy behavior by those in charge directly impacts the behavior of their (fill in the blank). If your emotions are in conflict, you are likely create chaos in those around you. “Taking Five” or a “cigarette break” or a “mental health break” all fall into this as well. It’s a kindness to all, practicing self-care. This is kind of an epiphany for me, since I always put my energy into helping others and then straggling to keep up when things are in motion again.
It also helped knowing that I wasn’t alone in the need to occasionally isolate myself. Others have similar health issues, anxiety issues, creative projects to work on, or whatevs, so I wasn’t mocked or teased for being a light weight. Or any other weight, for that matter. Even without a moat, I felt utterly safe.
I don’t know what my point is, other than total relief at having found myself in the middle of a group of people in a castle in the woods that were all of a similar mind, all being respectful of everyone else’s needs for the Greater Good. All being fascinating, extremely clever and open to the experience.
And, as always, the kindness demonstrated towards my husband always makes me appreciate the giver more, since I don’t think Chooch has revealed even the tiniest fraction of just how magnificent he really is. I’m an instant fan of anyone that gets that his Greatness. I mean, just look at him, for Glob’s sake!
Again, happy birthday to all we celebrated! Especially to my beloved Chooch, whose 42nd birthday was days later. Here’s to you, my love, and a birthday we’ll never forget.
(Photo taken by the stunningly talented and utterly captivating J.R. Blackwell. Many thanks for an image that we’ll treasure forever.)
Chooch Schubert at Ravenwood Castle in New Plymouth, OH. 03/09/13
I found out earlier today that a friend from my younger days killed himself on Monday. I still can’t wrap my head ’round it. Many tears have been shed.
Confusion voiced, to an unfortunate and extremely sweet friend that I stumbled into immediately after receiving the news. Guilt over being a Debbie Downer on that friend’s evening.
Decision to not wallow, and to celebrate life instead, in Bryan’s honor.
Shame over not reaching out after hearing through the grapevine that his mom passed away last year.
Rage over the waste of confused yet kind person with great musical talent.
Guilt over causing my extremely hard-working husband to delay watching the Walking Dead, out of respect for my raw feelings.
More tears, more rage and a few impassioned proclamations, including one to climb out of sadness and celebrate, again.
Happiness while briefly connecting with a far away beloved for a silly video chat and much giggling.
Guilt over pushing sadness to the side.
And now, just puffy eyes and a simple plea remain, as clichè as it is:
If you are considering harming yourself, don’t. You are not alone. There are resources available to help you. Please reach out to any of the countless suicide prevention charities or local services available to you.
If you know someone may be contemplating harming themselves or someone else, please try and get them help. You cannot “rescue” anyone, only they can. Don’t fool yourself, you are not in control. They are. But you may be able to help them get on the path out of the darkness. And you aren’t alone. Those same organizations will help you get help for your friend. You can Google it for fresh results, but below are a few from my search.
And if you have no one that you feel is in need but still want to help, please consider donating to charities that help those that find themselves unable to cope.
Finding myself in a whirlpool swirling with information from recent web surfing in Health Blahs (my name for my mixed bag of health challenges), and a few have really stuck with me. In my last post, I shared a find on techniques to improve memory and fought with myself about doubling up the goodness. I chose to split the two fave finds from that excursion, mainly to allow myself more time to digest the second post.
The Spoon Theory, by Christine Miserandino has been percolating for a week now, but I am still thinking this is a pretty damned fine way to explain the daily challenges, preparations and planning I need to be comfortable and less needy for whatever may come. Even my therapist, T-Pain, as I call her, suffers from chronic pain and couldn’t find fault with it. To me, the explanation just sings many of the concepts I can’t express.
Obviously, you have to suspend disbelief that you have any tangible way to predict with any certainty what the day has in store for you. Preparations are made and plans are laid to minimize chaos wherever possible. Much of the time, precautions taken end up not having been necessary. But, many times it’s just having done the preparations that gives comfort, rather than any actual need having been met.
Familiar folks: You’ve heard my whining before. Any new folks: I struggle with pain daily. Many that I’m close to also suffer from chronic pain, or love someone that does, and there is a sort of short hand when talking about such things. Traditional follow up questions to someone revealing a new health issue are suspended with an immediate and sympathetic acceptance of the news. This is typically met with a wave of the hand or a “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Anyways, …” It’s a shared experience. No filler words needed. Yadda yadda yadda.
But for those that don’t really get it, I find that it is tough to find a common language to have more than a superficial conversation without struggling to explain a response that is not standard.
As for what I mean by struggling to explain, for example, being fat (No platitudes, please? We’ve grown beyond that.) and not talking about being miserable/ecstatic on a diet and/or exercise program of one kind or another, I find that I am typically greeted with a sympathetic/energetic encouragement to get back into that cycle. If I, in a moment of honesty to strip away a lengthy avoidance resulting in no real conversation occurring, reveal that no, in fact, I really shouldn’t run. As in, I’ve been advised against doing the healthiest and most successful, enjoyable exercise I’ve ever done, I almost always regret it. People don’t really want to go there – to hear that will power can’t always get you through things. It’s terrifying to think, after a life time of doing, doing, doing. So, I find myself greatly censoring conversations to avoid going into that whole realm of explanations and we all have a good time.
It also appears with the standard, societal question, “And what do you do?”
*cringe*
Some day, I shall gather up all my unfinished sentences and talked over comments and silenced words.
They have unrequited purpose.
They are made useless.
They sit like a bag of stones in my chest.
Hi. I talk a lot. It’s a nervous habit. It’s something I do when in the company of trusted friends. Sometimes it’s gold and sometimes it’s shit and sometimes it’s nothing other than shouting into the abyss.
Once I have them all gathered, I shall first pet them and give them ear skritches and make sure they are okay. Then I shall pick them up, one at a time, sit them in my lap with my arms wrapped comfortingly around them and give consideration to what they convey.
Then, lovingly, one by one, I’ll apply the five year rule. Meaning, is it something that will make a difference in five years for myself, loved ones, friends and the world in general. If not, I don’t have to inundate people with my thoughts, asked or unasked. Those I process singly, on my own and try to learn from them.
As an example, not everyone that asks for honesty actually wants it. And it varies from person to person to person to person how much honesty I can dare.
Imagine if like, trying to decide what will have made a difference five years from now? Even with my intuitive abilities, as they’re attributed, I can’t predict national tragedies, personal ventures and tragedies of my own and of beloveds, to know beyond a shadow of a doubt.
So, I suck at it and talk less, but still too much. Which is weird for me, because I always want all the options available when given a challenge. Not just the ones I “can handle.” All the options. All the information. All your words are belong to me. I want to make the best possible choice given all available viewpoints.
Some people only want to hear options that they would want to do. Some only want affirmation that their decision was the right one because it’s all they can handle. Some, like me, want all the options, painful or no.
I will not pretend that I will always handle information with good graces. I may get upset or overreact or think out loud, manically. It’s a process I think I learned from my mother, and it’s hard to break (the thinking out loud thing). But I also drop some funny fucking jokes along the way. That’s a compliment paid by husband, recently.
Something I had said was not only funny but fucking funny.
See what I mean about using more words? Just one more in that statement was enough to make me float on a cloud for the rest of the day.
Off for some Christmas frolicking with hopes that we all giggle more than we groan today.
