All Wired Up

Just some things I’ve been working on that’ve kept me busy… I love this.

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And there are more ideas boiling in my head… I’m going to be busy for a while yet.

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Funky White Girl

I’ve been in a real funk lately.

Downright gloomy.

It’s been one of those years.

But…

I’m determined that I’m going to change it.

I’ve had enough of the “downtrodden me”.

I’m headed up, cause I can’t get much farther down without SCUBA gear and a hyperbaric chamber.

So…

I’m going to start back up with something that I did a while ago on one of my other blogs.

I’m going to post – every day – something that catches my imagination, my light, my faith.  Something that brings me hope and/or wonder, that makes getting up worth it. 

It might be a collection of really short posts some days, but I’m going to do it for the whole month of January.

And see if I can’t get rid of these roadblocks in my way. 

The Terminator

When I was little, I was a tomboy.  I climbed trees and threw rocks.  I made mud-pies and rode horses like a heathen.  I was known for speaking my mind and being a very imaginative, creative obnoxious kid.

After we moved to North Dakota in 1981, I changed.  I became shy, due to all the strangeness that came with moving to a new state, new town, new school.  I was an introvert, hiding behind my books and horses.  I was a nerd.  Non-athletic and bookish, I didn’t fit in.  I was still imaginative and creative and obnoxious, but nobody really knew it except my family.

In high school, I changed again.  After my best friend moved to town to live with her dad, I began to come out of my shell again.  I still wasn’t athletic (one of my nicknames was “Jello Wrists” for volleyball, and I still wear it proudly), I was still bookish, and I was still creative, imaginative and obnoxious – privately, for my best friend and a few select others.  Outwardly, I was a model student. 

After I graduated, I went off to college and really started to become my own person, away from being my parent’s “little girl” and my brother’s “little sister”.  I wasn’t compared to anyone, because nobody there really knew any of my family, so I was able to just be me.  Creative, imaginative, and obnoxious.

Then I became a mom, and I changed again.  I was the “Mama Bear”, always protecting my kids, fighting for them, and being firm with them to teach them manners.  My best friend (same one from high school) used to call me “The Terminator”, because I didn’t put up with any crap from the kids.  Whining wasn’t allowed.  Begging went unheard.  Tantrums were met with their bedroom door closing behind them till they could behave. 

I’ve had a reputation for many years of being tough.

When I met OtherHalf and we started dating, one of the things that he said drew him to me was the fact that I wasn’t a “pushover”. 

A few years ago, my very dear friend and sister, Midnite, and her son, William, became part of my “chosen family”.  He still calls me “The Aunt” to this day.  His friends actually fear crossing me. *shrug*  I’m protective, what can I say?  Also, he talks me up a bit, so… there’s that.

What I’m trying to get across, and badly, it seems, is that I’ve had this reputation for so long now, for being the “solid oak”, that it pisses me off when I have a crack in the veneer.

I was so angry at myself earlier that I almost deleted the previous post, and all the comforting and supportive comments that went with it.

I’m supposed to be the glue that sticks everything together and makes it stay.  I’m supposed to be the rock that will not move.  The nurse that springs to action when someone’s in pain or injured.  The strong one that can handle everything.  The mom that’s always there to pick up the pieces.  The Aunt that doesn’t back down or show fear.

And I didn’t.  I’m not.  And I hate it.

Logic states that everyone’s allowed to have off days, to fall down, to be sad.

The Terminator says no.

We’ll see.