Tuesday, May 20, 2014

The Chronicles

I wake up this morning feeling really sleepy, but I manage to get up anyways. There are spots on my back and neck that won't give way so the tightening and pulling continues. I say goodbye to 2 kids and make my way to the car with my oldest kid and oldest dog. I drop off my daughter and stop by chick-fil-a; I promised Addie a sausage, egg, and cheese biscuit. She's about as spoiled as a dog can be. I order and find myself telling the lady taking my order that the biscuit is for my dog. I tell myself it is because I want her to know how special my dog is (which she is), but it is much more about me not wanting her to think I'm a fat slob ordering 2 things for myself. Yes, I've reverted back to my old thoughts. I've reverted back to a lot of my dysfunction. Dang, I thought I was so much better.

I make it back home where I should immediately be folding laundry-but I'm not yet. I'm thinking about my weekend. It was filled with it's normal "I'm dizzy, exhausted, my head is going to explode" moments, but it had one very sweet moment in the midst of our new not so fun normal.

I had lunch with a friend. I met her in nursing school 17 years ago, and it was so good to sit across from a friend and see her face to face. I left telling myself that I wanted to scream to the world how much a simple lunch can do for someone. I know my friend can't fix me or make me whole-she didn't try. I know my friend can't fill up every part of me-she didn't try that either.

She was just there and gave of herself. We talked about normal things-kids, life, nursing, her work-things that I needed-because they were normal parts of life, and we were sharing that with each other.

If you know of someone hurting and lonely, and you can give of yourself-do it. Don't wait for them to reach out, because chances are they are hurting too much to do much for themselves. Wounds can keep people stuck sometimes.

I could explain more about how much we need each other, but I'll stop rambling and just let you read someone who explains it much better than me. Why reinvent the wheel when it is done so well. It's no secret that I love everything she writes. She can explain things in ways that leave me without words, but never without thoughts swirling around my head. So go now and read this. You will thank me and be blessed. Actually, stay awhile at her site and read everything. Oh, and find the VOTE link on the side, click, and vote for her. Because remember, in my imaginary world, we're friends.

But where was I? Oh yes, Monday (which I'm so behind because it is now Tuesday night). The rest of the day I find myself in meltdown mode. I'm stuck and can't get anything done. The number of projects are driving me nuts as our house is torn apart is so many areas. The kids get home from school, and I instantly lose any patience I did have. I am horrible at home remodeling projects so when I attempt them, they usually don't work and have to be finished by my husband. This of course, leaves me feeling completely useless.

And my head won't.stop.hurting!

Shawn and I talk about my jacked-upness (yeah, totally not a word). I ask him half joking, half serious if he will commit me until I can function in this world like a normal, healthy grown up. We try to boil it all down so I can think about just one thing instead of a million, and he nails it:

I feel like I have no purpose in life. I know I'm a mom and that holds a lot of purpose so I feel the weight of the guilt settle in because it's somehow not enough.

I tell myself it should be; enough that I'm a mom.

But the truth is I'm more than that. We all are. None of us are one dimensional. But right now, that's all I am-and I'm not even good at this one thing right now.

All of this equals up, in my head, to zero purpose.

And that leaves this gal stuck; stuck in an icky, dark place that is lonely. Being stuck sucks.

So with that, I'm off to bed.

Friday, May 16, 2014

The Chronicles (The Series-sort of)

So I would have blogged, but my health has sucked these last few days. I tried to ignore it and do some projects around the house (although slowly), but last night my body put a stop to my denial. I passed out from the pain at 7:15 and didn't wake up until this morning. I felt like I had partied like it was 1999. I am so pumped full of medicine right now-and I feel only better, not completely well.

Today was spent taking it really easy as I tried to trick my body into believing it was well. I did a lot of sitting, drinking water, and popping pills. These moments sometimes find me frustrated and irritated, because I just get sick of being sick.

Especially, when I finally find an ounce of resolve to pull through and make this house a home that we love. I try to hang on tight and tell myself that we will make it, that one day this will fill like home, and we will find community one day. My mind starts working on plans for the house; I start processing things; I start writing just to get things out of my head; and I put my big girl panties on-

and promptly get smacked right in the head. It knocks me so hard that my resolve flies out the window. This makes me want to scream at God, "Can't anything be easy right now?!"

But I haven't gotten an answer yet.

I have been thinking a lot lately about what I call half-truths, two in particular. I find myself thinking in circles about them. If I had to debate them, I would stumble and fumble over my words, not being able to stream sentences together that make sense. I can't explain how to separate the truth out from the lie in them. The lies are so tightly wrapped around these truths that it's hard to get to them. We've preached the truths this way so much, and they sound so good-they really do.

But alone, the truths aren't helpful. They become one-sided stories that are one dimensional, and life is so not one dimensional.

I thought about them as my kids sat in counseling, trying to weed through this mess our life has become. As I sat in my van, for one split second, I thought "we will be okay." It was fleeting, but I'll take it. I'm not sure what life will look like on the other side of this, and even though the other side sounds glorious-in some ways it also seems terrifying.

I just looked at the clock and it says 8:15 p.m. I'm listening to Lauren Chandler's CD "The Narrow Place". It's a great CD. My body is doing okay, but my face is starting to feel like it's burning. It's a strange symptom I get, and I have learned to realize it means my body is telling me to chill.

So I'm signing off tonight in hopes of having a good day tomorrow.

Monday, May 12, 2014

The Chronicles

Today I wake up feeling slightly better which I find surprising since I didn't sleep well. I start sorting out a load of laundry before I take my oldest to school. I don't finish before she needs to go. I head out the door and realize that the pain is still there from last night. Various muscles are in knots and I wish the knots were in my butt and abs instead of my head, neck, face, and back-I would have some serious tight butt cheeks and abs.

On my way home, I think about life and it's hurts. I think about how chapters seem to be finishing faster than I want them to be. I wish I knew how to keep writing in these chapters, but I suck at some chapters and seasons-and the pages seem to be glued shut. My head tells me to just let it be, just move on, maybe even shut the book-I mean what is there left to write; but my heart keeps trying to pry open the pages of the chapters; I just don't know how to do it. Once home, I decide that I am going to slowly write my post throughout the day, but I discover something called Bloglovin which sends me down a rabbit hole. I still don't really know what it is to be exact, but I signed up, looked at a few "I wish I was as trendy as her" blogs, and then goofed up the whole widget thingy. First, I added 2. Then, I couldn't figure out how to "claim" my blog so now I have some weird text thingy at the top of my last post, and I still don't know exactly what to do with Bloglovin. I'm techy and cool that way. All along in the back of my mind, I know I have unopened emails or ones that I haven't responded to. I feel pretty pathetic at my dysfunction and the stress those thoughts create. I find my blog title ironic right now, because I feel more of a nutcase than ever before. Hey, maybe that is why I am 10 pounds heavier?

My body hurts, but I so want to be productive today. I don't want to feel lazy and like a loser so I attempt the shower to clear sinuses, but I don't wash my hair. My husband says I do much better when I don't bathe. I seriously think he's right-he's right about so many things. That's why he is awesome and better than ice cream-and even diet coke.

I hurry through my shower since I notice that one dog seems like she is looking for a place to pee in my bathroom which isn't like her so I figure she's really gotta go. I hurry, but not without my constant thoughts in the shower. I think about exactly why I am writing these posts about my days and my thoughts-it makes total sense to me so I will keep tapping the keys until my heart tells me otherwise.

I may never make sense of this season of life, but I will write about it.

My body and head hurt too much to sit in the chair so I decide to just sleep. Production will have to wait. I lie in bed trying to position my head just so as to keep it from hurting. I know I need my meds, but I don't want to get up. The pain keeps me from sleeping, but my wonderful husband comes home from work for lunch. He helps me up, and I take the last packet of my over $100 medicine to find relief. This week has been brutal on my body, and I try to figure out exactly why. It is mainly the weather, but I know I need more water. I tell myself I really need to start doing Yoga, but I don't. This is only my fault.

I am sitting on the couch with a head band around my head, 70's style. The added pressure helps with the migraine, but not with how I look. I want to sing "What a feeling" Flashdance style (well, without the stripper club scene), and maybe I will get a body like that. I figure I will just end up in the hospital if I attempt those moves so I'll just go with the head band for the migraine.

My dog is next to me which always makes me feel better. She is beyond therapeutic for me. She is ever present and just loves me. We are besties, and I think we as people should be more like dogs.

I think about Shawn talking to me about finding something that I enjoy or have always wanted to do. He goes through the list: getting involved in theater, painting furniture, decorating, finding a yoga class; but none of that seems right. I realize that I believe that if I dropped out of Seminary, not doing what I thought God wanted me to do, and am in such a bad place that I have no right to do other things that would maybe make me happy. How can I go join a theater when I can't even finish Seminary? I tell myself it just isn't right. I'm not that great at painting furniture. I don't feel called to do it where it would make an impact on peoples' lives like Miss Mustard Seed (that lady rocks) so it seems futile for me-and okay, a little wasteful since I couldn't sell anything do to poor quality, but whatever.

With meds, I am feeling better. I slowly get things done around the house; pick up trash here, put something away there. I get in the zone, and my son gets home. I have no idea what time it is so he scares me half to death when he walks around the corner. I get the vacuum cleaner out to vacuum for the first time in who knows how long.

A storm blows in with much needed rain. The girls get home, and I keep piddling around the house, washing a load of laundry. Someone shows up to talk about doing some work in the yard, and I go outside-but not before I remember that I have the 70's head band thing going on. I quickly rip it off and imagine the "tattoo" I now have on my forehead from said band.

My husband comes home, starts dinner, and I feel the meds wearing off. My body tells me I'm ready to lie down. My vertigo returns from doing dishes and cleaning the kitchen. The dizziness is too much so I curl up in a chair and lie on my left side-this is the best side when I'm dizzy. The family eats while I sleep. I wake up around 8 p.m. feeling a lot less dizzy so I get up and eat. The kids are getting ready for bed while Shawn paints our middle daughter's room.

We sit down, Shawn pays bills, and we talk about what in the world I could do to feel like I have some sense of purpose in life. We get ready for bed, I squirt stuff up my nose to ward off the allergies and headaches, and we are in bed. I'm tapping at the keys for one last sentence-it's 11:30-time for bed.

Sunday, May 11, 2014

The Chronicles (The Series)


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I've decided that I'm just going to pretend that Saturday didn't happen. The kids got in trouble anyways, and I cursed at them-so yeah, let's just move on. Mother of the Year yesterday.

Today I start stirring to sounds in the kitchen. From past experience and noise level, I know it's my son. After slowly coming to, I realize he is probably making me breakfast for Mother's Day. I drift in and out until I hear the knock on the door. A tray is brought to me with egg on toast, almonds, a doughnut, and orange juice. There is a card from my 11 year old son. I feel special and loved and slightly sad-I so wish I deserved this special treatment of being a great mom. I can tell my head is still not happy. These last few days have been challenging for me physically. The little drummer boy that beats on my right eardrum is back playing me a mother's day song all. day. long. My vertigo is here as well with my pain. I find myself irritated-I just want to feel well.

Shawn and the kids get ready and head to church. I of course stay home. I tell myself that the last thing I want to do on Mother's Day is hear another sermon on Proverbs 31. Actually, Sundays are just not enjoyable for me anymore, Mother's Day or not.

I sleep some more, partly from exhaustion and partly from just the blahs. Sleep takes the problems away. I wake up and think about my thoughts about brokenness. I tell myself I should clarify that I didn't mean she defines it that way, in a nice tidy little box. I want to clarify that I think she is amazing, and I love what she is doing. In my imaginary world, she is my friend, and we talk while we eat chips and salsa. She's okay with my crap. She just seems like she wouldn't run from it, but instead just eat chips and salsa with me while I wrestled with it.

I lie there wondering if I should change the title of this series, and then wonder why I care. It's just a title.

They come home and give me 2 more gifts-both chocolate. This creates a slight problem within since I know I am so large right now-chocolate isn't going to help with that situation, and swimsuit season is here. The kids are already asking to go swimming. My brain says "Ugh".

Lunch is Paradise Bakery and diet coke. Perfect lunch. We sit and watch Boy Meets World. I head to the shower when we are done, and Shawn and I talk about this great house we found just last night. It sits on a half acre in town, but our house is nowhere near ready to sell. I am frustrated and want to pout about it. I play some more new music I bought, and once again find myself not being able to get through one of the songs. Tears form so I turn it off. I just won't allow myself to go there. I tell myself that if I start crying, I will never stop. I find that I can only listen to the songs when I am doing something else. That way, I don't really hear the words.

The rest of the day I choose to all go shopping-the kids really need new clothes. They are busting out of all their old ones. My one condition is that they are patient and kind to one another-that is all I want for Mother's Day. We pile in the van, and we are off.

Things are working pretty well. Old Navy is one destination. Once there, we run into a mom and her girl that go to the church we go to-or Shawn and the kids do. I find that I still can't bring myself to call it "our church". I know that is silly and strange.

We talk as the kids are trying on clothes. She finds out I'm not going, and she wants to know why. I become guarded and just say "it's a long story. I just don't want to be there." She encourages me to go, that I need the fellowship and the support while she rests her hand on my back. The gesture is kind, but I find myself not trusting it. I find myself wanting to laugh at the thought of fellowship and support from the Church, but she is kind. I tell her again that I just can't go, that I don't want to be there, and that it is a long story.

The realization of my messy, guarded, and dysfunctional self becomes very apparent. She backs off and doesn't speak to me the rest of the time. We go our separate ways. I'm partly relieved and partly sick of myself. The mirrors all around don't help.

Target is our next stop. Tensions are running high by now thanks to our middle daughter not agreeing with our decision about "the way too tight jeans" that she wants to buy. It is the size 10 or nothing. I watch her stomp off to get the 10s, and I feel like I'm watching myself as a child. "Whatever" is all over her face. I text my mom to apologize for my younger self.

We all agree that we are done for the night, that not one more minute of shopping for clothes can be done without jeopardizing the safety of all involved.

Restaurants are crowded, and I'm so done with crowds. Dinner is Sonic and the very last episode of The Cosby Show. Showers follow while my wonderful husband goes grocery shopping. I'm so thankful he loves grocery shopping as I absolutely abhor it. I would rather scrub a dirty toilet than shop for food-although right now you would never know it to see me.

The kids are all in bed, I'm on the couch pecking away at my laptop glad another day is over, and my husband just got home. The little drummer boy is still drumming. I'm tired and ready for sleep to come. Maybe the couch will be my bed tonight. Some nights it's just so comfy.




The Chronicles (The Series)

So I'm really bad at this, but my husband and I had a date last night with Jack Bauer so I'm a day late. This is actually my incredibly exciting day from yesterday. Who knows if I will ever catch up. That would require 2 posts in one day.

I wake up knowing it is going to be another lazy, sleepy day-the weather is still the same as yesterday so my head is fighting again. I don't even make it out of bed until it's time to take my oldest to school. My 2 youngest say good bye to me in bed. This always makes me feel like a loser mom.

I take my oldest to school and stop by my usual chick-fil-a. Once home, breakfast is in my study watching another show, a rerun this time of an episode I haven't seen-we haven't had TV for most of our marriage.

I feel the vertigo today with the ringing in my ears. It makes sense since my stress has been higher as we have been talking about our options and how we feel that there aren't many. I take my dizzy pills and manage to fold laundry. The up and down motion makes my vertigo stick around.

I read Flower Patch Farm Girl, and I don't leave disappointed. I can read whatever she writes. She has a way with words that challenges and moves. She could write about toe fungus and capture my attention. Her words spin around in my head as I think about brokenness. I read her words and think she is really doing "Jesus work". And well, I'm not. Not even in the smallest sense. I'm a seminary drop out with a Bible that hasn't seen the light of day in a long time. I'm a left over with nothing to offer to anyone that would be life changing, or even day changing. I tell myself I should be doing something-but what?

I find myself in the shower once again (2 days in a row) with the water dripping down. All I can think about is brokenness and what it looks like. I think about the typical definition of brokenness, and I wonder if we, the Church, have shortened the definition, cramming it into a tidy little box. I think about the things that probably come to most peoples' minds-divorce; a single mom desperately trying to make ends meet; a family that doesn't know where their next meal might come from; a person without a home; parents with bruised knees from hours of prayer for their Jesus denying child; sick children here and on the other side of the world-these are the broken.

You can see brokenness, the hopeless and exhaustion so evident in their eyes.

But my heart tells me otherwise. When did the broken become so defined? Has the Church decided somewhere along the way that brokenness only looks certain ways? Has the Church decided that some are worthy of help out of their brokenness while others aren't?

I feel completely broken right now. My family feels broken. I think that I look like a rag doll patched together with no space left for another patch. I'm unraveling at the seams, but you can't fully see it on the outside. I don't worry about health care, our meals, or if I can buy my kids' clothes. I have an amazing husband. I look around at a house that many would consider a wonderful home.

I feel that the Church maybe doesn't see us as broken, or at least broken enough for help. I think that maybe we forget about our own that are sitting in the seats inside our own church walls every Sunday that are broken, hopeless and badly in need of sewing up at the seams. Yes, we believe we are all broken. That is a Christianeze phrase that we throw around the Church to describe ourselves.

But do we really understand it? Do we really believe that the person sitting next to us is worthy of bandaging up, of stopping the bleeding as they sit there bleeding out? Maybe it is too close to home. Maybe it doesn't look enough like ministry, or this missional living that we are striving to do.

Maybe in our focus on missional living, of going out into our communities and across the globe, we have forgotten our own.

Or maybe, just maybe, it requires too much of ourselves.

So the broken sit right next to us, overlooked, bleeding out, until they no longer show up.

My mind snaps back to the here and now. I look down and realize how fat I've gotten. I'm not happy about this, but I don't do anything to change it. I tell myself I have at least 10 pounds to lose.

I get out mainly just to not have to look at my naked body that looks fat. I find myself on my bed with another migraine and exhaustion taking over. I drift off to sleep for about 30 minutes.

The kids show up one by one, grab snacks like they haven't eaten in days, start homework for a short while, and I find out that someone that was supposed to be a friend was mean to my middle child at school. She was left crying in the bathroom stall, and I remember that I hate middle school. My heart breaks for my kids and how much they are struggling. I buy new music on iTunes, look at the time and rush out the door with my 2 girls for counseling. They each go right now. Actually, we have all been at one point during this move.

In a moment of what I wonder is poor judgment, I tell my son he can stay home. His behavior lately hasn't been stellar, and I imagine coming home to a destroyed home. I tell myself that I am so tired of only doing things just to survive, things just to make it through the day. I exhale on the way to counseling; a place I'm thankful for, but also a place I wish we didn't need so much right now just to survive.

My husband and I sit on the steps outside where it is warmer waiting for the girls. I push play on one of the new songs I just bought. About 30 seconds into the song, I realize my heart isn't ready for the words I hear. Tears well up so I quickly turn off the music. We talk until the girls are done and head home.

My head still hurts so I take some medicine, lie down for a while, and then we leave to go eat out. We have a nice time just trying to do normal things, but you can tell there is something missing. We all look tired to me, aged beyond our years. We see people talking, people with friends, and another seam rips. My kids see friends together, giggling over what girls giggle about, and they stare wishing it was them.

We run by Target to get a few things, head home, the kids get ready for bed, excited that it is Friday, and Shawn and I sit down to watch Jack Bauer in action again. It's our date, as well as our escape.

It's 12:30 when we head to bed. I know I have a post I haven't finished, but sleep wins out. We crawl in bed and sleep finds us soon.

Friday, May 9, 2014

The Chronicles (The Series)

Is it a bad sign that I'm already shortening the title out of laziness? Probably. And considering this was supposed to be posted last night, I would say this isn't going so well. Hey, I wanted to go to sleep before I finished. What can I say?

I wake up feeling sore all over. I can tell this is going to be a bad day physically. I feel like I slept well, but I can still sleep for much longer. I drag myself out of bed anyways, say bye to my 2 youngest kids, and take my oldest to school. It is a dreary day which is contributing to me not feeling well. Weather like today usually brings on a migraine. And yet, I strangely like it because it reminds of Houston-it is overcast, humid, and kind of drizzly.

I skip Chick-Fil-A and head to Sonic for a diet coke. I know I drink way too much at times, but I'm tired and I'm addicted. Breakfast is bread and butter with my diet coke. I eat while I watch another one of my shows, again in my study.

My show ends, I notice how dark it is outside which makes the inside of my home feel cozy, and I take a shower. I can't remember the last time I took one so I stay in there for a long time, letting the water drip over my head wishing it would wash away the depression and hopelessness. My mind turns over and over as I think about so many things, many of them repeat thoughts that I can't seem to process.

I shut off the water and put on pajamas. I at least put on my contacts to feel more awake. My head is fighting to contain a migraine that wants to start, but I'm too stubborn to take my meds. I squirt the stuff up my nose instead that helps with my sinuses.

I'm feeling the exhaustion grow. I text my husband to see if he wants to come home during lunch since he is going to work late. He says yes which gives me something to look forward to. I drag my body to my bed, sit down and start watching another one of my shows. My bed feels good, and the weather is still dreary-the kind of weather that makes you want to sleep. My body still hurts all over.

My husband shows up with lunch, and we talk about life-how we feel like we are drowning. We feel like we spend more time under water than above. We talk about how we are all exhausted of life here and the loneliness that we all feel. We have no answers of how to make it better, and we decide that we feel like we are living in another country because the culture seems so different. Truth be told, we just want a friend-all 5 of us just want a friend. We talk about moving for the 5,326th time, wondering if he should look for another job anywhere but here. We even talk about moving to different states sometimes. We find it odd that only 6 hours from home can feel like we are on the other side of the world. We know that we are still spoiled with American amenities and wealth, but there is something about the culture/people that makes us feel this way. We both talk about what to do and our possibilities to make it better.

I realize that I am so tired and just want a friend. I don't want to be invited to a Bible study. I don't want a church program crammed down my throat. I am tired of being told "I will pray for God to bring you a friend" and then watch that person walk off, never to speak again. I just want someone to offer their time to me, to ask me to lunch or the mall, and not just the obligatory one time. I want someone to do it, because they have a desire to get to know me, to be my friend. I want to be enough for someone to make room for me in their life. I don't want to be a project. I want to be known.

Shawn has to leave now, and I realize the migraine has won. I slip off into dreamland, only to wake up when my youngest gets home from school. I'm still tired, but my head isn't pounding. We wait for the girls to get home as the weather turns bad with tornado warnings. The buses are late, but everyone is fine and the weather calms down.

The 2 younger kids get in trouble AGAIN over not doing homework, and Shawn and I leave to go get 2 bedside tables I found on Craigslist. Thankfully, the tables are perfect-and the people don't turn out to be murderers.

We pick up KFC and Sonic drinks on the way home which we do now more than we care to admit. Just surviving lowers your standards.

We eat, watch The Cosby Show, talk about our days some more, and the kids get ready for bed. Shawn talks a little more with kids, because frankly he has more energy today than me. My body is starting to hurt again, and my head is gearing up again.

Kids are in bed. We sit down on the couch with our ice cream to watch The Middle. This is our therapy so please "decider of shows" people, don't ever cancel it. This is our 30 minutes of laughter as we watch ourselves being played out on screen.

The show ends, and we immediately realize that we are both exhausted to the core. We drag ourselves to get ready for bed, although I forgo washing my face. We fall into bed just thankful that we made it through another day. "We are lonely, but we have each other" we say as we fall asleep. We thank each other again for being best friends.

Wednesday, May 7, 2014

Chronicles of a Depressed and Lost Soul (The Series)

I guess I could also call this series "Chronicles of A City that Sucks", but who am I kidding-this won't be a series. You have to write on a regular basis to have a series. The only series I could really have is "Chronicles of Half-Written Posts". Now that I could do. I think I have more "drafts" than actual "posts", but I'll give it a go anyways.

This morning I woke up feeling surprisingly pretty good. This is odd on many levels, but I felt pretty good physically so I'll take it. Mentally? Not so much. Depression is my ever present friend. Depression is not uncommon in people with my health issues, but throw in just the depression from moving and I find it hard to separate the two-it's all become one giant knot that I can't get out.

Anyways, my oldest stayed home from school today since she didn't feel well. I took two of our dogs to the groomers, stopping at Chick-fil-A on the way home to get my usual-a breakfast burrito with a large diet coke. I don't stop there everyday, but enough that I would consider myself a regular. I think to myself that I find it odd that the workers still act like they don't recognize me, or that I'm not a repeat customer that orders the same thing every time. Back home, I went to different places on a regular basis and always ended up being on a first name basis with most of the employees. It was anything that I did-it was just the way it was back home. They were friendly and welcoming like that.

I found myself back home, and I scraped the insides out of my burrito into a bowl, grabbed my drink and headed to my study. I sit in there a lot. I ate while I watched part of one of my TV shows I watch. Midway through, I left to go to my massage. I get one about every other week to help work out the knots, courtesy of Lyme's Disease, fibromyalgia and North Texas.

After my massage, I went to pick up one of my dogs, dropped off some fabric with cushions to get recovered, returned a movie, and got another diet coke.

Back home, I finished my show I was watching and started watching the other one I watch. The characters have become my only friends. It's really quite pathetic.

I did some dishes, a little bit of laundry, went to go pick up the other dog, read through some different blogs, skipped around the Internet reading the news, and then piddled some more around the house.

My other two kids got home from school and eventually my husband got home from work. We ate dinner, the kids should be in bed by now, and I am writing this post that has about a 1:1,000,000 chance of really becoming a series.

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