Not Quite Abandoned, Not Quite Forgotten, Possibly

So for my two faithful readers, and the third person who occasionally stops by and knows to whom I’m referring, I would LOVE to have more time and energy to write, but life sucks and I’m in depression mode. 5 or 6 weeks ago, I think, I started feeling the wave approach. My Boy Scout thing for the fall is disappointing so there’s that. Add, 3 weeks or so ago, my mother-in-law died, under medical “care” and “practice.”

Life’s other “issues” continually keep me realizing how much more money I need than what I have, just to keep the plates all spinning. Well, mostly tires and car repairs I can’t afford, but yeah, one of the teeth I need is starting to ping a bit. The expense of mental health counseling, if I had to foot that bill, would add, as my daughter has had a few triggers recently and is feeling more depressed.  God help me if I actually went to counseling.

And then, just to add a bit of comedic irritation, my cell phone fell and broke after flying off the car onto the highway. Well, it made my daughter laugh (at me). Apparently THAT’s too important for me to do without, though, for Mrs M.  She immediately ordered a new one ($50 is no problem, but a few thousand we don’t have is what is needed for teeth and car things.

I’ve had the week off to be available at home for any crises while the kids are off on fall break.  And to be a driver, and to try to get rid of popcorn since my scout and the rest of the troop with him, have had a disappointing year of sales while I’ve smiled and encouraged and promised prizes for high sales.  Well, disappointing to me, just because I’ve got to return what I can next week.  I don’t want to do it next year.  Maybe I’ll just help whomever replaces me.  I promised myself I’d clean, well, I haven’t had the energy for more than just bare-minimum maintenance- dishes, trash, nothing really extra.  So there’s the self-disappointment too.

Of course we could add Mrs. M’s chronic disappointment.  Unless I surprise her with having completed several tasks about the house, in addition to carrying on with other life-commitments I’m going to drop as soon as possible, she’s disappointed with my lack of effort.

This morning on the news or whatever they did a segment talking about how people are lonely and depressed and how bad that is.  They talked about how people don’t connect online as well as people need to, and how face-to-face interaction is superior to online interaction, to which I say, perhaps, and perhaps bullshit.  I don’t WANT to interact face to face with people if I can avoid it, and I frequently feel better connected, and fine with it, with a few of my readers, than I do with people that life forces me to interact with face-to-face.

I went to the doctor and lied through my well-concealed panic and my holey teeth that the medication is helping me concentrate and helping me with my depression, he renewed it.  I’m thankful because I have no fucking clue how I’d be if not for that little bit of help.  I mean, maybe it’s helping and I’d be worse without it.  But maybe we have different expectations about   It is not getting better yet.  I’d rather have not had to go at all.  I still have too much stress and things to keep spinning.  If I do nothing, I’ve done nothing, and if I do something, it’s never enough.

I understand my daughter’s depression full well, but she’s involved in school and weekend work and a huge Girl Scout project that I get to help with, and researching and testing for college and financial aid, and other things, and keeping her plates spinning is depressing her.  The poor baby.  Her dad should have been rich enough to handle things, and optimistic enough to have not passed along any of the negatives of life along.  But alas, she got this one, and he sucks.

Mum said that when watching someone do something, performance or whatever, at the end, if you can’t celebrate because you enjoyed it, celebrate because it’s over.  Well, the plates are spinning (cue some circus music for the freak), the shit’s everywhere and after the show there’s the cleanup, I’m enjoying my own show almost half as well as everyone watching in disappointment and a hint of horror, and I can’t wait until it’s over.  But yeah, I’ll celebrate when it’s over.  If I get a chance to clean up after.

I’m not suicidal, not since I was 14 or so, but I am rather depressed.  So I might respond to you, I might not; I might write in my blog, I might not; I might accomplish the house work shit (just picture a hot guy in a french maid outfit, complete with the black stockings with the lines up the back, drinking coffee), I might not.  But I know if I try I’ll feel less in agreement with all the disappointed people in my life that I have to interact with.  Was it Good Morning, America?

I’ll bet I’m not the only one who wants to cry at the end of Pink Floyd’s “The Wall” because the court and the mob wanted to take the protection “Pink” had built around himself.  It feels cruel and inhumane.  My bunker?  No, don’t tear it down.  Tell the real world to leave me the fuck alone until I am ready to come out and face it.  Which, from the state of things, may be never.

On the plus side, with the stress and all, I’ve lost more weight.  And Mrs. M hasn’t filed divorce papers.  OK, I wrote something, for what it’s worth.  Time to do something so Mrs M doesn’t make me feel completely worthless.  It may be true I’m not worthy

But I think I might at least try to do something to show I care.

Here’s to coping the best we can, and hoping for better days and fewer plates to spin soon.




The Wisdom of Rush

I was going to share the lyrics of a song with my Bible study group, but I decided to leave it out.  I was sure it would be misunderstood and taken incorrectly, and used against me.  Why do “Christian” (or religious, or social, or political, or other) leaders need such a death-grip on being the authority and being the source of “truth?” Anyway, at the risk of being judged a “heathen,” by some, and “religious” by others, I’m going to share what I was thinking here.  Can I assert that neither of these labels really fits?  Or will I be told that both are apropos?  (Hey, WordPress? When did apropos become one word instead of two? I think I always thought it was “a propos.” But am I being corrupted by my son’s French lessons? French à propos, to the purpose from Classical Latin ad, to + propositus, past participle of proponere, propose  I have to wonder, since Jesus took such a dim view of “religion,” as it was being practiced after the corruption of corrupt teachers and lawyers, that maybe being irreligious isn’t a bad thing depending on who you follow.  The problem is that if you follow someone who isn’t political, it can become a “religion,” and then it gets rules, like “we don’t smoke, and we don’t chew, and we don’t dance with girls that do.”  I’m sure if anyone noticed that I drink alcohol sometimes, that’d rile them up too. Or whatever.

Some just say they don’t dance.  But I say unto you, “we can dance if we want to.”

The moral uproar! Same reaction as the controlling Pharisees and Sadducees, and as David’s wife in II Samuel 6:20, to be more apropos  (I’m not “uproar+pro,” but if ” target=”_blank” rel=”noopener”>“the people are revolting,” maybe the situation should be analyzed until the best, wisest solution is found).

I’m also not exactly sure about being heathen, exactly.  I’m mostly almost conservative. I just disagree sharply with a lot of things conservatives think are good for them, so they must be good for everybody else.  It’s the very definition of pharisaism.  Or Congress, or anyone presuming to speak for Congress.  Is it close to your existing rules?  Add a rule to clarify your rule.  I disagree with the idea of rules because trying to force people to not do something is a whole lot harder than teaching them TO do the opposite, plus, as soon as you make a rule, someone’s going to break it.  Eve?  Adam?  Everyone else who’s ever lived?

I was going to share a song, and why I agree with it, and I’ll get there, I promise.  These distractions, though.  It just came to my attention last week or two ago, reading a few old things I wrote, that I used to be a lot more light hearted about my heavy heartedness.  So I thought I’d try more of that.

What I believe should be the standard for law is a whole lot different than “law.”  It’s libertine.  Instead of don’t this and can’t that, it should be conscience deciding what to DO, rather than restrictions saying what to NOT do.  Is it selfish? Not a good standard for moral relevance or personal behavior.  Is it generous?  Do that.  Is it appropriate?  Do that.  Is it helpful?  Do that.  Is it positively impacting you or someone else, without interfering with or harming someone else?  Do that.  Does it help other people to get along nicely?  Do that.  Is it following the original intents and purposes of a design? Do that. (One doesn’t use a hammer and screwdriver for a hammer and chisel- something’s going to break; or a pen-cap for a cotton swab-something’s going to go wrong or get scratched; or a raw chicken instead of a cooked one-someone’s getting sick.  One doesn’t rape someone else and call it “love.”  One doesn’t use the wrong word or the wrong spelling, usage or punctuation in a business email and expect to be seen as intelligent, or get the bonus or promotion; don’t verbally abuse, traumatize, or grossly underpay someone who works for you and expect ravingly positive feelings and great work performance (unless one works at my company, of course; that means you’re senior management material) .

The difficult part is convincing the world that I’m right, which is why there are “don’t do this,” and “don’t do that” laws in the world.  There are murderers, rapists, and thieves, and other varied forms of ass hole, scattered throughout the whole world.  But I’m distracted again.  The point of this article was to tell you about a song I wanted to share with my class in church, and felt I couldn’t.

I wanted to teach that God respects people’s free will, and although He has a set of standards, He knows we’re human and will not measure up to His perfection.  Just as people will never be perfect grammarians, and never completely follow those standards, nor will everyone spell everything right, especially in a blog, and I have learned over time to be more tolerant of people’s various social foibles, as long as they’re harmless and not motivated by selfishness.  Those selfish motives tend to piss me off, because nobody wants to do it MY selfish way, everyone wants to do it THEIR OWN selfish way.  Oh.  Right.  Free will.

There’s a stupid question that people who don’t want to hear about God’s grace will ask to distract someone who doesn’t get that it’s a distraction:  “If God is all-powerful, can He make a rock that He can’t move?”  The answer is “yes.”  But the rock is the heart of the person asking the question.  God doesn’t force people to do anything they don’t want to do.  He made humans with a free will-the ability, and the intelligence, to choose for themselves.  And although I know it grieves Him when we choose to do something a) stupid, b) harmful to ourselves, or c) harmful to others, He doesn’t swallow us in a fiery crack in a rock like He did once to some people in the Old Testament.  Those were people who had been living under His direct protection, who should have known better, who had ample warning to not do what they were doing.  It’s the same for me – I know some things I should do, but not enough to actually make a success of anything.  I know some things I shouldn’t do, but I have bad habits and want what I want when I want it.  I have that rage thing going for me, too… yeah, that’s setting a great example for everyone.  Did I mention I’m kind of glad about the whole not opening up the earth to drop me into a boiling lake of lava and then close up the earth leaving no evidence I was ever here?

So we’re pressing on to the song I was thinking about.

He has His standards, but God isn’t pushy.  Look how Jesus treated the lady “caught in the very act” of adultery.  Was she breaking the law?  Yes.  Was she bound to be judged by her peers?  Yes.  But Jesus, respecter of free will, saw through the scene.  Sure, the lady had done something, but not alone, and there she stood, alone, facing a bunch of guys who wanted to make Jesus pass judgement.

Can you see Him there writing in the sand with His finger?  They saw, and they could see what He wrote.  We don’t get told what it was.  I can only speculate.  “Thou shalt not kill.”  Gone were the guys who just wanted to get an adrenaline rush from watching a poor lady bleed and get abused, and then die, under their power.  Ass holes.  “Thou shalt not bear false witness.”  Gone were the guys who said they saw the whole thing but weren’t turning in the guy.  Yeah, he was supposed to be stoned too, according to the law, but,  “…um…er…ah… He got away.  We couldn’t catch him.”  “Thou shalt not commit adultery.”  Gone was the guy who she had been with, the fucker.  Oh, yeah.  In my mental picture he was THERE, with a fucking rock in both hands, because when he got home to his wife, she knew and wanted him to end that relationship.  Also, gone were the other guys she had been with, who told this guy “she was easy,” when what she really wanted was someone to love her, to care for her, to protect her, and all she got was used.  Shitheads.

The song is right, on so many levels.  We do have the ability to make choices in life: what to do, what to believe (or not believe), what to think.  Sometimes, not choosing one thing means you’ve picked, when there are only really two choices even if it seems like there are a lot.  Sometimes there’s one right choice and a lot of other wrong ones.

There, I finally got to the song. Told you I would. The wisdom of Rush.  And yeah, while I’m not blaming the evil one for things I choose to do, I’m not a puppet on God’s strings either.  It’s complicated.  Sometimes I WISH I were a puppet on God’s strings, because then I wouldn’t choose the stupid thing, or worse, the sinful thing.  But I’m not.

I still have a free will and don’t always choose wisely.  But I choose to be a Christ-follower because He’s the only One I ever heard of who ever came back from the dead and then went to Heaven after promising He’d be back to pick up his followers later.  All the other religious leaders who started their own movements are dead.  Still dead.  And I am probably very narrow-minded for all my apparent broad-minded love.  But if Jesus said “I am the way, the truth, and the life,” and He did, then all those other ways people are trusting in are going to fail.  I’ve made a choice. I’ll leave your choice up to you, but please, choose wisely.

The Last Time I Wrote was…

Ugh!  This SUCKS!  Here I am, FULL into depressed mode, with an AMPLE portion of rage.  I have taken today off work, to channel my rage into either sitting in a corner and crying, or fucking cleaning the hell out of everything I touch, or baking something.  So far I have shopped for what I want for breakfast this weekend and into next week, put away the dishes I washed last night.  Whatever comes out of this, I want it to be something good.  I only wish I had taken two days in a row instead of this “half-Fried-day” shit.  It’s half-fried, because I only get one day off instead of two like on a full Fri-day.  Or four if the company gave a 3 day weekend and I took an extra.  But I get my revenge next week, when I have the whole fucking week off.

My boss started to give me grief about having too much time off saved up, so I’m spending a little.  The only reason I have a lot is because I thrive on structure and discipline even though I hate that shit.  Even though I hate that shit, I get so much more accomplished when I force myself to do the routine, to fake that I’m fine, at least some of the time.  Go to work.  Work my ass off, brush off the idiotic criticisms and finish the shit that needs to be finished and if that’s done, if there’s time left in the day, and I’m not too swamped with bullshit landing on my desk and phone that needs to be handled, do extra so my boss can fuck me over when it’s time for raises and ignore you when a promotion is warranted and a position is open.  And, tell me I’m great, but I suck just enough I don’t deserve the raise or promotion.  But, the discipline is to be prized, and also having a job is better than telling the boss where to put the bullshit and abuse and scorn.

Wouldn’t you know it, my children have taken the day off from school with vague symptoms and sore throats.  Shit.  Did I mention I cleaned up after my daughter made herself a sandwich while I was at the store?  She left out the cheese, the meat, the bread, the mayo, the mustard, and the plate, and a few sundry things that were trash, like random wrappings and boxes…  What did I say again about having to keep up with these horrid, loveable children?  My son, now… I just put away the frying pan I washed and put in the drying rack last night, and now he wants breakfast for brunch.  And wants to get into next week’s plan.  I can’t be mad, I expected it.

Probably should have just gone to fucking work and let the little (not so little, they’re almost as tall as me now, and still might grow some more, and eat twice as much or more as I do; sometimes it’s frightening and I’m afraid I’ll lose an arm if I dare reach for something on the table) darlings fend for themselves.

I’d better get the cooking and cleanup done so I can get back to the shit I wanted to do on my day off before Mrs. M calls and tells me what I could do so she won’t be completely disappointed in her choice of a husband.

This is “high functioning” depression.  I called the doctor for a script refill and scheduled an appointment for Monday, the earliest available appointment.  They don’t want to refill my prescription unless I have come in for it.  I haven’t heard whether they were willing to fill it based on my promise to come in Monday yet.  So I skipped today because I’m out.  Oh, joy.

But let’s see.  Why am I depressed?  Is it because I have depression, as I felt the depression creeping in two months ago, and it was not an “episode?”  Or is it because life is depressing?  As the depression came on, the volunteer work started sucking because the fundraiser I’m supposed to be helping with isn’t going even a quarter as well as I was expecting.  And then my mother-in-law died.  And then my cell phone got destroyed and the asinine FedEx driver “tried” to deliver the newer, smarter one we ordered, in the middle of the work/school day, fucking TWICE, refusing our “no signature required” request, and had to have known damned well we weren’t going to be home.  So today, I’m home, and the idiot driver isn’t here.  Ass hole.  Probably won’t come until I go to mum’s to do some work if I get to that point and still have any rage energy, so I can miss him a third day in a row and it can be returned .  Hoo-fucking-ray.  There isn’t enough time in the day, or energy in my enerraged soul, to get it done.

Fuck it, maybe next week will be better.  Yeah right, who am I trying to kid?  Wish me luck.  And a winning lottery ticket.

Fuck Yourself to Death, universe fucker!

The expression “mad as hell” doesn’t fit.

I’m full into depressed mode, with a large side of rage.  I’m in a house with flies buzz bombing me, and we’ve killed more than 20 of the little fuckers.  That’s the smallest part of the physical bullshit.  It’s the little things that add on, and eventually, after the baseline has been exceeded, it doesn’t take much after that to break my spirit.

Well, it’s broken.

I lost a fight against the universe fucker again, this one was big for me.  Had to happen, eventually, I know.  Death visits and randomly hacks at life whenever it feels like it.  It’s just I didn’t expect that.  Mrs M’s mom… It happened so fast, so unexpectedly.  I can’t imagine how she feels, if I’m broken.  She fought hard to live, and I prayed harder than I’ve ever prayed in my whole life.

There are verses about healing, promises about deliverance from death, yadda, yadda.  Yeah, well, whoever and whatever the fuck those are supposed to be good for, they weren’t for her.  I don’t think I’m supposed to be angry and bitter, although Kubler-Ross says anger is part of normal grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance, yeah well, fuck that, I went straight to anger, and depression, and acceptance, and I’m still in all three, and never did denial or bargaining.  I never was “normal” about anything.  I literally did it to myself again- I prayed, I kept on praying, I fully expected Him to heal her, and instead she was gone two days after the doctors said they had her stable and I left the hospital.  I don’t think she wants the Lazarus thing, so when I was told, I quit asking.

So prayer can work, it just didn’t work the way I wanted this time.  I remember the last time my prayer was answered how I wanted it, and it was nice for a while and then kind of shifted a bit and became not quite what I thought I wanted but still mostly good I guess with some bullshit mixed in, and yet acceptable, and then I realized it wasn’t going to change in my favor and be what I wanted.  The same with prayer and life and faith.  I still believe, sauced with the actual facts of prayer not answered how I want, life not happening how I want or expect, and seasoned by faith sometimes not being worth anything.

Life is temporary.  I don’t want to hear any platitudes or reassuring Bible verses, they don’t reassure me.  Death happens, and it always sucks.  Shit happens, fucks up whatever it can fuck with, and I’m not expecting to be exempt.  I truly believed she would be healed and restored, and the answer was no.  I’ve accepted the facts, but I’m still madder than hell.  I wanted my faith to somehow make a difference, and it didn’t change shit.  So maybe my faith is smaller than that damned grain of mustard seed, well, I could have used a bigger portion but fuck me if that’s all I’ve been given.  First Corinthians 12 says God’s Spirit decides who gets what kind of faith, so mine gets to be the tiny kind that doesn’t see the miracles when I ask.  I should just stop asking, but I know I’ll be led down that fucking road again and ask again, and we’ll see what happens when it happens again.  The Bible talks about faith growing (Second Thessalonians 1:3), so maybe even my shitty little faith will grow eventually, and be worth something to someone I care about.  If I had any more doubt mixed in with my faith, I could even doubt my own eternal fate, but since I was about 8, I haven’t doubted eternity.  I may end up there with a hell-fire singed robe, smelling of sulfur and brimstone and smoke, but so far, I believe I’ll get there.

It’ll be fine.  Depression is a dish best not served at all, just my opinion, but as the Master Chef has decided to serve that shit up again, I think the rage adds a lovely complimentary flavor to the bitterness.

(Not) Finding Motivation in Depression

I have a lot I want to do, and more that I have to do than I want to do, but I’m not feeling motivated to do anything.  Took the day off and have a half-day of volunteer work for Boy Scouts ahead, but I need to do house things.  And the garage door just announced it was fucking up, as the inside lock bar is somehow not in the same place it’s been in since the house was built, which makes perfect logical sense.  Yay.  Another de-motivator.

It’s been interesting not accomplishing anything all morning. Well, I did wake up to shove the kids out to the bus, fed the dog and took him for a walk, and took trash and recycling to the curb to avoid burial under it.  But it’s not enough, and today, I’m not sure I’m enough.

I didn’t have to work at work, and really want to feel accomplishment at home, but I’ve got nothing.  With the garage door, less than nothing.  Depression, thy name is shit.

Whiskey Glass

Whiskey Glass, 09/10/2017, Deon Mumple
In Memory of My Ulla

In her memory, in memory of love,
I raise my whiskey glass because I can’t sip
From the vessel I’d prefer to drink out of,
Soft, willing, fragile, between curvaceous hips

I tell her she will never be forgotten
I will never, ever forget loving her
I love her, and her memory, now, as then,
I loved her instantly, as second-nature-

Novel flirtation, a navel libation,
Savored and sipped, loving lips nearly burned by
The heat of whiskey, sweet words, my elation,
Make it a double, leave the bottle, oh why,

Did you leave without one kiss, kiss me goodbye?
Everyone recognizes true love, I knew.
I raise my glass, I remember, and I cry.
Make it a double, and know I still love you.