Welcome to the Apocalypse, Take #354,427 (or so) We’re All Gonna Die!

the-plague

die

Got news for everyone.  The mortality rate is still 100%.  You’re gonna die of something.

The current pestilence- the coronavirus- is more or less a really bad flu.  It isn’t gonna kill most people. Millions of people get the flu every year and several thousand die from it.  That’s every year.  Four thousand or thereabouts die of flu every year just in Ohio.  So much for living in fly over country serving to any advantage.

I have my suspicions, and frankly I believe the dreaded coronavirus already made its rounds around here back in January when about 70% of my coworkers- all the outside sales people who were in one meeting, and all the accounting department- all got a really bad flu that held on for about 3 weeks.  One of the accounting ladies ended up in the ICU for a couple of days, but even she recovered. Yeah, that was a bad flu, and believe it, I had the Lysol spraying madness the whole time these people were wandering in and out in their various states of illness.  By the grace of God somehow I didn’t get it, but I stayed the flying hell away from everyone, even more than I normally do. I’m all about social distancing. You don’t have to tell me twice to put at least 6 to 10 feet between me and other people. I prefer it. Especially when I have Lysol to spray.

But since it’s an election year, let’s take a page from the Marxist handbook (desperate Democrats) and never let a good crisis go to waste.  Let’s attempt to destroy the economy, while blaming it on a particularly bad flu season, and try to sell socialism that way.

It will backfire.  The crisis will end, sooner rather than later, and that’s all I really have to say about that. I hope and pray that all the overreacting will serve as even more fuel to pour on the dumpster fire that is being created by the Democrats and their corrupt enablers.

dumpsterfire-1

Granted I don’t want to see people die.  I particularly loathe respiratory illness because I have chronic sinus issues even when I am well. My biggest fear is strep throat (which could be more lethal to me than any flu because of my history with rheumatic fever.)  So yeah, I wash my hands and use a lot of sanitizer anyway, especially in the winter when I am surrounded by the hacking and coughing multitudes.  I get the flu and pneumonia shots. I don’t like being in crowds or in loud places and avoid them when I can.  I’m not a huggy-feeler either, and I don’t go around fingering people, or kissing on strangers so I have that in my favor.

The bottom line even with precautions taken – and I have a sharp eye for the macabre as it is- is that we are all gonna die of something. 

I’ve already defied the longevity odds for a person with autism.  The average age of death for a person with autism is 37 years. I made it to 51. Yay me!  To be honest though, I remember my doctor telling me once when I was 30 that if I didn’t do a whole lot of things differently I wouldn’t make it to 35. I did change my lifestyle to a certain degree. Now I know why, but still, the fact that even with a boatload of meds that I am still vertical and sucking up valuable oxygen amazes me sometimes.

Part of the abysmal longevity projections for autistics, I am sure, is that we have a horrendously high suicide rate, as well as a plethora of co-morbid conditions such as heart disease, diabetes, various physical and mental illnesses, lack of social support, and the list goes on.

But coming from the perspective of an autistic, I think I can explain why we die very young.  We aren’t made to live in your world.

Of course everyone experiences stress.  But “normal” people don’t experience the stress of trying to live in a world that isn’t made for them.  Autistic people have to adapt to the “normal” world in much the same way as space travelers have to adapt to the unnatural atmosphere of space.

Some of us learn to navigate almost seamlessly- you can’t see the space suit or the oxygen mask- but they’re there.  We script.  We mask. We mirror.  We do what you do and perfect our acting skills…and it takes a ton of energy to hold up the faςade. Over time this takes a toll.  We have hypertension. We have stress headaches. We deal with anxiety 24/7 because we can’t script, mask and mirror forever without stepping away from time to time.

Those of us who can’t learn to navigate are even worse off than those who can. Those of us who are non-verbal and/or who have cognitive or severe physical deficits on top of autism are at the mercy of the medical industry (whose only “care” is the almighty dollar) or even worse, the public educational system whose lack of common sense and dearth of efficacy is only equaled by its lack of care.  So for people like me- you either figure out things and navigate for yourself, and live with an eternal stress meter pegged out on 11, or you’re doomed to a life of marginalized, institutionalized poverty.

No wonder autistic people die young.

And yeah, every single human being out there, whether you’re “normal” or autistic, we’re all gonna die.

Get used to it.

 

 

The Dark Macabre Month of February, Trying Not to Discuss Theology or Politics, and More Ephemera

dead chick

Time and age have done me no favors.  I feel this ancient and just about this dead. Of course it’s February, and February is the suckiest month of the year.

Yes, central Ohio is usually colder in January than in February.  Even so, it is still cold in February, and always dark in February, and that is worse than the cold.

February always reminds me of the quote from Dante’s Inferno: All hope abandon, ye who enter here. I don’t necessarily agree with Dante’s categorizations of hell (the Divine Comedy borrows heavily on Roman Catholic theology and their belief in purgatory- Dante was very much a loyalist and Papist- ) but I have to admire the imagery he evokes.  Especially in Canto 32 (the Ninth Circle of Hell) where he encounters “the bottom of the universe”- in which is housed the very worst of traitors, those who have betrayed family and country.  This is pretty much hell frozen over- a frozen lake in which the heads of the damned are sticking out of the ice.

stepping on sinner's heads

 

This does not look to be a fun time. Then again, in my mind, betrayal is the most cruel pain that one can inflict on another. That’s why I try not to invest much emotional currency in relationships.  My circle is very small for a reason.

Here is an entertaining thought: if Dante’s portrayals of the circles of hell were to be correct, this is where Obama would end up, along with 99% of Hollywood and 99% of the Democratic Party, but I digress.

I have promised not to get stuck on theological or political themes today.  That’s difficult for me to do, but I can troll about for some ephemera.  There are some good ones I found from Marion County in the late 19th to mid 20th century that are fascinating.

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The Sawyer Sanitorium is not in the greatest shape, but it is still there today.

sawyer sanitorium today

Most of the really cool architecture that survives in Marion County is not in the greatest of repair.  The weather does it no favors, and the general poverty of the property owners doesn’t help either.  It’s hard to maintain Victorian architecture even if you have plenty of cash.  Poor folk usually have to resort to redneck ingenuity, which is somewhat functional, but usually not aesthetically pleasing.

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The cigar store- I can still smell the heady, thick, sweet smell of a hundred years’ worth of tobacco products emanating from this place and everything that was purchased there. I can still see the vintage ads for Newports and Marlboros and the tins of pipe tobacco.  The wooden plank floors were uneven and well worn and stained with the dirt and wear of thousands of pairs of boots and shoes.  The windows were perennially stained with a film of dirt, condensation and the yellow smoker’s haze that clings to glass in places where people smoke. In 1982 it was still socially permissible to smoke in public places, even in restaurants and stores.

Every time I went in there I felt like Orwell’s character Winston (from the book 1984) in the curio store.  I knew I wasn’t supposed to be there, but unlike the store keep Winston encountered, nobody there would have remembered or cared that I was there (even though admission and patronage was supposed to be restricted to those 18 and older) or that I was buying contraband.  Otherwise they wouldn’t have been selling this stuff to a 13 year old kid.

The incarnation of the cigar store in the first pic was many years before I went there to buy risqué literature less the outer covers for $1.35 each. This second pic (below) is more what it looked like when I did my business there.

united cigars

It is still there, however, it is in the process of being renovated and turned into a corner market. I don’t have a current pic of that renovation, and what it will be transformed into remains to be seen.  Even so, feeding my clandestine dirty book habit was probably a better use of my lunch money than buying school food.  The Freshman Building was notorious for not only having cockroaches everywhere, but also for the cafeteria food being burnt on the outside, frozen on the inside. The cook stoves and ovens were probably from 1915 just like the rest of the building.  I don’t think thermostats or temperature controls were a thing pre WWI.

freshman building

Sadly the Freshman Building was torn down in the mid 1980s- 1985 I think.  It was sad.  Especially because I loved the library.  The entire third floor of the east wing. It was a magical place. I can still see the huge oak tables and chairs- nice, heavy, turn of the 20th century, real hand-crafted wooden furniture, well worn hard wood floors and expansive windows facing the east, and rows and rows of well-worn books.  I spent many study halls there, blessedly left alone in my own universe that was condensed to music played through a cheap and somewhat contraband (though the teachers never bothered me about it) battery powered cassette player and headphones, and whatever literature I was currently perusing. That library was a portal to serenity that I have failed to find again anywhere or at any time in my adult life.

I did not love the HVAC in that building though.  It was steam heat, which encouraged the proliferation of the roaches.  Some of the registers would spout off and spray any nearby occupants with boiling water.  Others did not work at all, so one could go from a room 100 degrees or more into another room where one could see one’s breath.  There was no air conditioning to be had, (refrigeration technology being rather non-existent in 1915)  and to make that sad fact even more fun, certain windows would fall out when opened, so opening windows was not always an option.

Even so, there was something about the soul of the place that was comforting but disturbing at the same time.  It was larger than life with its high ceilings and massive windows, (the rooms were designed to take advantage of natural light) and ornate fine craftsmanship that shined through, even though by 1982-3 the building was dirty, poorly maintained and never upgraded.  I am sure the writers of today’s OSHA and building inspection codes would have been appalled by the sheets of ancient lead paint that continually peeled and fell off the ceilings and fixtures.

scioto river bridge

It seems that I’ve gotten old enough that all the places I’d really like to visit again no longer exist, or at least they don’t exist in their previous form.  The library, the cigar store, the old railroad trestle bridge over the Scioto River where I once spent a sunny, warm Good Friday afternoon sitting on the bridge watching the dirty river water flow under the bridge and simply savoring the sun and the breeze and wishing that time would stop forever, are all long gone.

The phrase “mid-life crisis” is not expansive enough to describe the cognitive dissonance that comes about when the things that once were accepted as being permanent and central are revealed to be temporary and transient. Barring some miraculous medical intervention that comes to pass in the very near future, I’ll be fortunate to have maybe another 25 years on this planet.  My life is two thirds of the way over if statistics prove correct- in 1969 the average life expectancy for a white female in the United States was 75.5 years. Considering I was born in a rural, poor part of the country and have a number of medical issues, in practical application, 75.5 years is probably pushing the envelope.

“Midlife” for me- if I take the gracious prognostication of the actuarial chart from 1969- would have been 15 years ago. Sobering shit.

Tomorrow isn’t guaranteed for anyone, I get that, but just knowing that time remaining is a lot less than time elapsed is a little disturbing.

marion night 1958

This was  downtown Marion in 1958- 11 years before I was born.

Marion_Ohio 2018

Sixty years later it’s not as bad as it once was (the 70s through the early 2000s, it was almost completely abandoned and left to crumble) but there is room for improvement. Some of the old late 19th century buildings have been converted into apartment lofts and such.

The lofts are kind of cool in that I love the vintage architecture, the huge windows, and the high ceilings.  I would be concerned about the HVAC challenges involved, and the logistical challenge of living on an upper floor without elevators, with dogs, would not be pleasant.  The view and the ambience could be worth it though.

February will be over eventually.  Until then, memories of a stolen sunny April afternoon sitting on a long gone railroad trestle watching the river go by, or of study halls reading old books and listening to 80s music on cheap cassette tapes in a long ago library will have to do.

 

 

 

 

 

The Outrage of the Morally Bankrupt Molech Worshippers, Useful Idiots, and I Am Neither Surprised Nor Amused

solemani

It’s predictable, yet frightening.  The outrage over the assassination of an Iranian terrorist coming from the Left is not surprising, but downright stupid nonetheless.  These are the same people who endorse, celebrate and take as a twisted sacrament the wholesale murder of unborn children (whose only crime in 99.9% of instances was to have been inconveniently conceived.)  Let that sink in for a moment.

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Of course we forget to our peril that the whole debacle in Iran and in the greater Middle East is Jimmy Carter’s mess that dates back to 1979.  If anything we should remember that negotiating with terrorists only gets you more terrorism.  Obama poured gasoline on the dying embers of that fire- importing unvetted “refugees” from every radical Islamic terrorist nation on the globe and plopping them down in the Midwest- and appeasing the alligators of Iranian terror with planeloads of cash.  Jimmy, in his defense, was probably just a useful idiot being blind to history and too kind hearted for his own good.  Obama, not so much. To call him a cheerleader for radical Islam is mild- his actions have proven him to be at the very least one of their soldiers, if not a flat out traitor.

Trump is not going to tolerate the Islamofascist nonsense.  He sees Islamic terror for what it is- an evil scourge on humanity that makes Hitler’s brand of fascism – Nazism- look like a harmless frat party.   Trump is doing his job as Commander in Chief- taking out known threats to the United States and our interests.  It looks strange, and the Left is offended to see an American president standing his, and our ground, because the Left has become so accustomed to milquetoast appeasers like Carter, both Bushes (to a degree), Clinton and Obama.   They hate Trump 1. because he is right, and 2. because he is not their lap dog.

What most Westerners, and especially the historically illiterate Left don’t realize is that Islam has a long and violent history.  The word “Islam” itself means “submission.”  As in conversion by force- if not to the worship of their false moon-god idol, to at least the submission to their fascist system of government known as sharia law.  Every nation that has been touched by radical Islam has fallen into civil war and brutality.  Think Syria, Somalia, Iran and Iraq, if you need examples from 20th and 21st century history.

Islam in a nutshell, is a form of fascism more invasive and brutal than the Nazis’, because it hides behind a false religion.  Like Nazism, it slips in under the radar in a republic under the guise of “freedom of ideas and/ or religion.”  The unprecedented settling of Muslim invaders in the heart of America was, and is, a trojan horse.  Already, thanks to Obama and to state governors hungry for ill-gotten federal subsidies, there are communities in Minnesota, Michigan and Ohio that have become “Little Mogadishus”- hotbeds of Islamic settlements, paid for by taxpayers’ money, financed by working American citizens via the welfare dole. Democrats need votes somehow, and apparently the cemeteries aren’t proving to be fruitful enough.   Non-citizens get away with voting (at least in Ohio) without ID by providing a utility bill- which has no photo, and one does not need to be a citizen to have utilities in one’s name.  There is a reason why the Left vehemently opposes voter ID.  It makes it harder for them to cheat.

When the fascists gain power in numbers, then everyone else’s voices are silenced.  Again, Nazi Germany and how Hitler used a democratic system to defeat itself is a prime example.  Historical illiteracy- and one needs only go back to the 20th century to see this- is incredibly dangerous.

nazi propaganda

Why the Left has sought the alliance of a rabid bedfellow such as Islam is mindboggling.  Islam is no friend to the LBGTQ, XYZ, multiple gender snowflake movement or to the radical environmentalists.  Conservative Christians may oppose gay marriage- but we don’t behead gay people. Conservative Christians may advocate complimentary roles for men and women- but we don’t require women to wear burqas or forbid them from driving or from entering into contracts.  Conservative Christians may not agree with the radical environmental movement, but we know that the imams are not going to forgo halal butchering techniques (which amount to animal cruelty) any time soon.

The same people who scream for “reproductive rights” (i.e. making killing unborn children a twisted sacrament) are the same people who scream in outrage because our Commander in Chief deems it fit to take out a terrorist who is a scourge on the world and is a deep threat to national security.  It’s hard to make up that sort of hypocrisy and lunacy, but it’s alive and well.reproductive-rights-choose-life

The same people who have no problem at all with infanticide or the Islamization of the West, are outraged at a citizen within his second amendment right to shoot a well placed hollow point to the head to stop a killer in his tracks. They will cry and grovel and finance endless appeals to keep evil killers, rapists and molesters- as well as terrorists- alive and well and comfortable with free health care and cable TV- on the taxpayer’s dime, of course.

The irony is that if the radical Islamists get their way the Left will be bereft of all they hold dear…except mindless killing, and exploiting the American taxpayer to do it.  This is what they have in common.

 

 

 

The Epic Fail of Liberal Ethics, or Antinomianism Doesn’t Negate the Law, Snowflake.

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The phrase “liberal ethics” is quite the oxymoron these days, unless one considers that there are good ethics and bad ethics.  I will quantify right away that my political and social opinions are generally just to the right of Reagan, so there will be no tree-hugging, mollycoddling, brainless touchy-feely nonsense from me. Good and bad are black and white, and this is the first point on which liberal nonsense fails.  Morality is not relative. It came from God in the form of the Ten Commandments.  Not the Ten Suggestions, or Ten Things that are Kinda Nice to Try.

This being said, I will give a disclaimer before I am shot down as some crazy Bible-worshiping hag belonging to a Westboro Baptist or worse type church.

I am conservative both socially and politically in regard to the left hand kingdom. My citizenship in the left hand kingdom is necessarily related to and informed by my citizenship the right hand kingdom.  If my personal assertions smack of confessional Lutheran theology, that’s completely correct and most intentional. Reader, be then forewarned.

If we remember that the Ten Commandments are God’s Laws- not options, not nice sentiments, we also know, if we are honest with ourselves, that every single one of us breaks every single one of these laws every single day.

Even though the best of us break these laws with impunity, the fact that they are laws doesn’t change.  Try to break the natural law of gravity and see how that works. That may help one understand why human beings earn the penalty of death if we are left solely to the judgment of the Law.  Save by the grace of God, humanity is completely corrupted and doomed.

pelosi

Crazy politicians are not helping anything.  And BTW, she’s anything but Roman Catholic.  Molech worshipper, maybe.

Liberal ethics openly defy God’s Law.  It is as if they have intentionally taken the Commandments and turned them around into hedonistic, self-serving bromides.

Instead of the First Commandment- You will have no other gods, the liberal command is: Myself, my god.  MY body, MY choice, MY entitlement-MY right to never be offended or challenged.  The demands of so many screaming, mollycoddled toddlers.

Instead of the Second Commandment- You will not take the Name of the Lord in vain, liberals preach all sorts of false gospels in the name of themselves, and to the cause of obtaining the Almighty Dollar.

Instead of the Third Commandment- Honor the Sabbath Day and keep it holy, we get “all praise to the Almighty Dollar.”

Instead of the Fourth Commandment – Honor your father and mother, legitimate authority that belongs to parents is usurped by the state.  Children are indoctrinated with all manner of subversive and dangerous ideologies via public education (that is, if they survive to be born) that turns their hearts and minds to despise their parents and reject sound authority.

Instead of the Fifth Commandment- You shall not kill- liberals celebrate the slaughter of unborn children in the name of “choice.”  Except that the individuals being slaughtered were never given a choice.

Instead of the Sixth Commandment- You shall not commit adultery- every sort of sick sexual deviance is celebrated, from serial monogamy, to sodomy, to polyamory, to even pedophilia and zoophilia.

Instead of the Seventh Commandment- You shall not steal- liberals work to “legalize” theft through excessive and oppressive taxation upon the working poor to give resources and money away to illegal immigrants, those unwilling to work, and “protected groups” such as “refugees” from terrorist harboring countries whose aim it is to destroy our nation.

Instead of the Eighth Commandment- You shall not bear false witness– the news networks are alive and corrupt with lies that seek to make deviant lifestyles come across as normal, to demonize those who try to live in an upright manner.

Instead of the Ninth Commandment- You shall not covet your neighbor’s property- the race to acquire property and to have the latest stuff is all the rage- whether it is gotten by legitimate means or not.

Instead of the Tenth Commandment- You shall not covet your neighbor’s spouse, livestock or employees, the media glorifies promiscuity and disloyalty to one’s spouse with TV shows such as  “Wife Swap,” and “Temptation Island.”  The tabloids are thick with the who’s who of “who is involved with so and so this week.”

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I don’t claim to have the answers for sinful humanity, and I freely admit that I am part of the problem.  I don’t follow God’s Law 100%.  No one does.  No one can. The only thing that knowing the Law can teach me is just how sinful and wicked I really am, and that I desperately need Jesus.

But just because no one can be 100% perfect does not mean that society loses its obligation to maintain order and standards.

Antinomianism- behaving as though there is an absence of law- does not negate the reality of the law.  One can deny the law of gravity until one is blue in the face but the reality is that if one jumps off a cliff, no matter one’s view on the law of gravity, the bottom still comes quickly and very hard.

This is the fail of liberalism and the fail of liberal ethics.  Denying a that there are consequences for breaking a natural law does not make those consequences go away. And I can say that without invoking my faith.  Natural laws- and the consequences for breaking them- can be proven by science and logic.

That sort of denial, that there are absolutes and laws that cannot be broken without consequences, only breeds more of the irrational self-glorifying navel gazing that is so prevalent today.  The false concept of “multiple genders,” the acceptance of all sorts of mental disorders as being “diversity” and the straight up denial of history are just the beginning.  John Calvin had it right about the total depravity of man.  It’s too bad that in these days we are seeing it played out.

 

Wisdom of an Ancient, If I Could Revise the Past, and Hyperlexic Hazards

parenthood--z

This can’t be real. She has lipstick on. And mascara. I was in maternity clothes for the following 4 months after my son was born because of my poorly done C-section incision….and looked like a complete train wreck for months after that!

Sometimes I read the garbage on various newsfeeds when I’m bored. I shouldn’t do that for many reasons. Hyperlexic people like me speed read, and are compelled to read anything and everything that’s in print (even though I have become more discerning in later years) which means I still take in a lot more unsavory stuff than most people.

I’m pretty good most of the time at scrolling past fake news and garden variety bullshit that I find offensive, or assorted drivel that just pushes the wrong buttons.

Media consumption is much like food consumption. Some stuff is good for you, but difficult to wade through. Some stuff just plain tastes nasty and will make you sick. Other stuff is ok in moderation. Then there is just plain poison.

Normally I don’t read mushy tales of devoted spouses (mostly because I am pissed at myself for tolerating 20+ years of drunk-n-stupid abusive bullshit from mine) or stories involving joyful motherhood. The birth of my only child was many things, none of them pleasant, with the exception of the fact that somehow by some miracle he came out of it healthy, in one piece and blissfully unscathed. Otherwise my “birth experience” was an exemplary display of Murphy’s law in childbirth, a harrowingly narrow avoidance of maternal mortality due to medical ineptitude, and being brought to the realization that my then husband and male genetic contributor of said offspring is a worthless, contemptuous ass.

Being reminded of that experience is painful.  I should have been able to enjoy my son when he was first born, but instead I was sick, browbeaten and powerless.  It was a horrible feeling. Especially wondering why I survived all the medical errors when technically I should have died- and I survived for what?

For many years I wondered why I didn’t die- my parents would have gotten the son they wanted but never got. One can question God and wonder about His decisions and ponder the moral question of why expendable and broken people with deep scars and missing pieces who still linger about suffering and dying a little more every day, suffering slowly while children and young people with lives worth living just die.  I’m still sucking up valuable oxygen for what it’s worth. I really wonder why.

These things disturb me.

Hindsight is 20/20, and with this in mind, I realize that after all these years it shouldn’t bother me. But it does.

I will freely admit I am jealous of women who have men who support them, men who actually love them and their children.

It pisses me off that when I had the one child I could have that his entire birth and infancy was made a nightmare first by my own health complications and the poor medical care I received, then by my worthless ex and his selfishness and hostility.

I’m sorry but I can’t forget being completely at the end of my strength, barely able to stand, being held together with way too many stitches, crying endlessly, holding my newborn while my ex rages, “How dare you bring that thing in MY house…what the hell are you going to do with it…” and so on.

All I could do was sob uncontrollably, helpless and mired in the deepest despair I’ve ever known. It’s hard to find words to describe this even now after a lifetime of space and time in between. Forgiveness, yes, but healing from such a vicious wound, probably not this side of eternity.

And it still took me two years after that to leave the son of a bitch. He would put up a good front in front of my family. He played the game when people were looking, but behind closed doors I was afraid. And he was downright hostile.

There’s something about being hit when you’re down that sticks with you. There’s also something about reading about perfect husbands who love their wives and kids and actually help with the nightmare during and after childbirth that fans the flames of that resentment, sharpens the sting of that pain, and even stirs up my jealousy toward the “perfect people,” even after almost 30 years.

I have a thick skin and am not easily rattled over most things at my age, but I still should not read those kinds of sickeningly sweet stories. Maybe there are guys like that, and more power to the women who find such gems. I just never personally experienced such bliss.

I should have held out for one of those even had that meant I would have lived alone as a “mother” of only dogs and cats. Then again, the axiom: “hindsight is 20/20” applies.

cat lady.jpg

Cats don’t drink beer, smoke cigarettes, or yank me out of bed by the hair at 11PM so I can prepare food for an ungrateful sot who will pass out before he can eat it, just sayin.

I don’t regret my son’s existence or my granddaughter’s for that matter, but if I had things to do over I would have followed my gut on that hot, hot, stinkingly humid hot day in August of 1990 and said hell no, a million times NO to my ex.  Something in the back of my head was telling me I was insane to marry such a self-absorbed basket case mommy’s boy, and Something was right.

Should have said the same thing to Jerry five years later too, but that is another story.

The wisdom I have to pass along on this front is that it’s probably better to hold out for the highly improbable than to settle for the unacceptable.

Some young women- me included, long ago- fall for a man just because he’s vertical and breathing. That’s not enough. It’s not worth it if he has nothing to bring to the table.

Indifferent_Ren

Granted, I have my sensory, emotional and relational issues, and I am not physically beautiful by any standard, but I still deserve better than moochers, drunks and narcissistic ne’er-do-wells.

And I am better off to hold my standards high, even though it’s too late for me to have a positive experience becoming a mother and raising a child.  Said child is 28 years old with a child of his own.

I have no tolerance for drunk-n-stupid, or of being berated, devalued and used. It took me over 25 years to figure that out, or more accurately, to decide they were wrong and I deserved better.

If anything mine is a cautionary tale. I can’t change the past but I can move forward.

And I can stop reading cheesy clickbait pieces especially when someone is gushing about their perfect man, children, family, etc.

Humor and sarcasm are more appropriate domains for me when I have a hankering for the trite or mundane.

I should try to keep my reading confined to higher pursuits such as Scripture (always timeless,) scientific and historical non-fiction, and selected classics. I gave up the bodice rippers and various other sleazy tomes that would be porn if they were illustrated in high school.

bodice ripper

Sadly, I had quite a collection of said bawdy literature during my freshman year of high school.

The occupational hazards of the hyperlexic…

Maybe I should go and read some Stephen King.  His politics may be dreadful, but his stories are great this time of year.

Still a Hot Mess, Nail Repair on the Fly and Mr. Murphy is Alive and Well…

I’m proud of myself, sorta. I broke off both my index and middle finger nails getting in the car this morning and couldn’t find the pieces to glue back.

Fanfreakingtastic… so I go back in and pack up new plastic tips, the fiberglass roll, scissors, glue, all the nail polishes I used on this full set- that was just completed Friday night. So in about 20 minutes here and there and in between, on the way to work and for a bit once I got here, I removed the last of the broken nails, put on new tips, re-did the fiberglass overlays, ground them down smooth, and painted them using the three different colors, glitter coat and top coat, so now they look like nothing ever happened. It’s good I could remember the color combo and sequence I used Friday. I’ve been doing acrylic nails for the better part of 20 years so I should be able to do it under pressure.

It’s a trivial and venial thing but I can’t stand my nails looking like shit.

Mr. Murphy is alive and well.

Next week I am supposed to go on vacation. I need it…desperately, but it’s hard for me to actually do it.

I don’t like leaving the dogs. Steve-o is going to look in on them as he is one of the few people who can come in the house without having Mr. BooBoo remove body parts. BooBoo only really likes a handful of people. He likes Mom, but he is 80# of dog. He is immaculately well behaved 99% of the time, but the rare behavior malfunction could happen. Steve-o can handle him if he decides to get unruly. Steve-o is also less likely to set off the alarm getting in the house to begin with.

No, he is not a “strange looking Labrador,” a Pitbull, or even a German Shorthaired Pointer. Brutus (aka BooBoo) is a Catahoula Leopard Dog. He is one I think of about -five- in all of Ohio. Strange breed…and the glass eyes take some getting used to, but he has been a most excellent dog. Not as excellent as Clara, but very, very close. Clara was the crown jewel of all Belgian Malinois, which are the very most excellent and intelligent of all dogs. There will never be another like her.

I am thankful that he is intelligent and healthy and just a good dog. A good dog is a priceless thing.  Lucy, of course is herself.

Lucy is queen of the resting bitch face, and of puking in the worst possible places on the hardest things to clean. Brutus loves her and does look after her. It’s not good for dogs to be alone. Especially Lucy, because she is stupid.

Lucy is 8 years old now which is amazing considering all the stupid things she has done. Dogs age so much faster than we do.  It sucks, even for the stupid dogs like Lucy.  She’s still endearing, just not very smart.

A lot has changed in the past three years. Mostly for the better, but I still manage to stay a hot mess. Always some kind of crisis. But life goes on.

Unpredictable Grief, Hopelessly Whitebread, and Only by the Grace of God

It’s probably a sad commentary on my current mental state that I really miss my dogs today. I’m ashamed to admit it but my heart aches so much more for these guys than for my late husband (hard to say, and sad- but true.)

It’s been almost three years since Jerry died and mostly when I think of him I guilt trip because I really don’t feel sad about it. It’s like I should…but I don’t. It feels like when Mom dragged us to Confession and I knew I should confess all the unforgiveness I held on to for all the shit my sisters and their friends did to me, but I just didn’t feel the remorse. I was going through the motions because I knew I was supposed to.

This condition of knowing- you- should- feel- bad- but- you- really- don’t caused me a lot of theological cognitive dissonance, (i.e. Catholic guilt…) until I realized that it is God who grants the gift of repentance, and it is God alone in Christ who forgives my sins. This is fantastic news, because in and of myself I just can’t do it. I can’t force myself to regret or feel sorry or to forgive. Back to Lutheran theology and Christ Alone. I get the sufficiency of Christ alone, if only because I am so pathetically weak and emotionally and spiritually impaired. Luther’s explanation of the Third Article of the Creed states it pretty clearly:

I believe that I cannot by my own reason or strength believe in Jesus Christ, my Lord, or come to Him; but the Holy Spirit has called me by the Gospel, enlightened me with His gifts, sanctified and kept me in the true faith. – Martin Luther

Most of humanity, quite honestly I can do without, which may not be right, but I freely admit it. Clara and Lilo, I miss them both, and painfully at times. Even though they were dogs. I love the dogs I have now (Brutus and Lucy) and I am incredibly thankful for them, but there are days. Clara, especially, was my heart.

Emotions are just so damned complicated. Then again no dog ever did anything to hurt me, and I can’t say that about any relationship I have ever had with other humans. Especially Jerry or my sisters, because, well because. The wounds are deep and the scars profound. Can I forgive anyone by my own choice? I can only forgive by the grace and intervention of God, and it’s a long, hard process. The old Adam fights that one with a pernicious tenacity.

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I know part of the human condition is that no one gets out of life alive, but knowing my vulnerabilities and blind spots it is almost impossible for me to be open with anyone because I don’t know what weapon they are going to use against me. I don’t read people well at all. I’m fine with keeping everything on a superficial level but the deep dark secrets? I don’t mind letting others confide in me, but the converse is most certainly not true. I don’t want to rely on anyone because people use me and let me down.

I can’t say I understand what “normal” people think or feel. I’ve never been “normal” or anything close to it. All I know about “normal” is what I can see and script for navigational purposes. I put up a good front, but that’s exactly what it is, a front- a stressful and draining, but necessary, front.

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I don’t think I would have done well with the 1950s housewife gig.

I can only see where I have been and I can only navigate through the mechanics of my own wiring, which has got to be skewed. I am sure that a psychologist would have a field day with me at this point in my life. It’s been over 15 years since I’ve seen a counselor (that probably would be a good idea, but I don’t have the scratch to afford it, nor can I take time off work.) There’s been a ton of crazy shit that has gone down in my life since then.

Oh, yes, crazy shit. Living with an alcoholic and the insanity and crazy-making that goes with that for 20+ years does wear one thin. Then he gets a terminal disease on top of that…which makes him even meaner and more irrational, even though at first he does try to do the right things to a degree. Add having to watch your best friend die, then having to dig her grave, (and I am referring to Clara, who was a dog, so don’t get any macabre ideas) then having to move in a fire sale, desperate sort of way, all while my terminally ill, alcoholic husband is screaming and raging as much against me as he is his inevitable death.

It’s hard to write that. Maybe the delayed reaction is kicking in after all. PTSD – the gift that keeps on giving. We can add in all the other right psychological terms too- learned helplessness, chronic anxiety, and our miserable old companion major depression, who is always camping out on the door mat waiting for the slightest opportunity to slip in the door and come in to stay for a good long time. It doesn’t help that anxiety and depression go hand and hand with autism, and there is mental illness galore in my family history. I even took one of those genetic screening tests for shits and grins (as if I didn’t already know my ethnic ancestry…oh yeah, living advertisement for the Most Whitest Anglo Saxon Ever…)

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The ethnic info was no surprise. It also showed I carry specific genes that increase one’s chances of being bi-polar, and of suffering from major depression and schizophrenia. That explains Mom’s family…and her to an extent, which is scary as hell because there are days when I seriously doubt my mental stability.

Sometimes I want to scream, cry, sleep, run or stage a twisted combination of all of the preceding. I’m afraid to even mention some of the good things happening in my life (and there are a few, and I thank God for everything with everything I can) because I’m not convinced it’s really real…and I’m afraid I’ll jinx it if it is.

There is something deeply sweet and undeserved about being able to be safe and loved in one’s home, and that is both majestic and terrifying because I have never been in such a place before.

There’s still a LOT of pain- emotional, spiritual and always, physical, and I don’t know where that’s going to go. I think it wants to translate into fear. I don’t want to give in to fear. The panic attacks are thankfully getting less frequent and less severe but they still happen. As for the arthritis flares, medication usually keeps it down to a dull roar, but when the fire is on, it’s on, and not much will touch it.

I spend a lot of time in sacred music and Bible reading these days even though I know that forgiveness and healing are not things I can do- but what God does for me.

Kyrie Eleison…