Oh my gosh! No matter how many times I make these things, it is always like the very first time………. I was introduced to them in elementary school. I’m talking cookies that you would swap your FRIED CHICKEN for!!
They can be eaten as is, or you can put them in a bowl of milk and lap them up with a spoon after a little crushing. Mmmmmmm. No bake and easy!
You will notice after each ingredient I even informed you as to how we’re meeting most food groups with the wonderful cookies. (Okay, just let me enjoy the fantaasy.)
1 stick butter (dairy) ½ cup milk – I have used both skim and whole (dairy) 3 Tbsp cocoa powder (vegetable – well you know, cocoa bean?) 2 cups sugar (I know…I know)
Boil these first four ingredients for 3 minutes AFTER the mixtures comes to a rolling boil. When finished boiling, add the following:
½ cup peanut butter (crunchy or creamy) (protein) 3 cups rolled oats (starch…fiber?)
The recipe calls for a Tsp of vanilla, but I never add it. Just doesn’t need it.
You can either drop by spoonful onto a cookie sheet, or pour it on the sheet and smooth it out to cut into the right size.
DO NOT under any circumstances go to the trouble of figuring the calories or “points”, and for goodness sake if you do, don’t tell me.
So empty inside is how I feel. Blank. Like a zero. Like all there is, is an empty space where a sea full of tears are sitting, waiting their turn.
I try praying and I don’t feel anything that would lead me to believe He is listening. The last few weeks, I KNEW He was there. I felt His presence. Now nothing.
I have had several good weeks. I mean busy, good, happy (mostly) weeks. Out of the blue, like being hit by a semi, this comes again.
I know it will pass, I KNOW that. I’ve been living it my entire life, but I STILL don’t see it coming until it knocks the shit out of me.
I am not actively suicidal, but I prayed this morning (to what seemed like an empty sky) that God would take me on to Heaven. The thoughts of being like this for 20 – 30 more years is so exhausting.
Now I sit here at work, trying desperately not to cry, and of course it doesn’t work.
One little word, yet most women don’t even need an explanation.
When I was getting ready for work yesterday morning, I noticed a dead cricket in the middle of the shower floor. I am not a morning person and not being the “dead bug” person in the house, I left it.
Last night, when I went to get into the shower, AFTER MY HUSBAND HAD TAKEN HIS SHOWER mind you, the dead cricket was still lying there.
My husband is 6’5”. He weighs about 280 lbs. Some how, he managed to shower around this dead cricket.
My question, an even BIGGER question than how, is WHY????
A few weekends ago I noticed that half of my housework is spent picking up crap he leaves laying wherever he happens to be when he finishes using whatever the item might be. Because I was slightlyPMS, I shared this startling new insight with him.
My better half (snort) advised me yesterday we have a little perfunctory supper we are to go to at our church next week. Since the moment he mentioned it my stomach has been in knots. So today, I've been doing some reading up on Agoraphobia. There is a lot of information out there, which causes me to believe there must be a lot of people like me out there. Bless their little hearts.
I have always tried to pinpoint when this problem first came up for me. I always thought I used to be fairly sane, but in the past just under 10 years, this has made a huge impact on my life.
While reading one article, the memory of the first (?) episode slapped me right in the face! I was standing in line at a store, waiting to pay. I don't remember when it was, but I do remember the instance I first recognized the extreme discomfort of being in public.
Looking back I can see my grandmother out in public...twisting and twiddling her fingers together...folding and unfolding a hankerchief...wiping sweat off her face...her hands shaking as she would hand the clerk cash to pay for her purchase. I did not have this problem back then, I felt sorry for her but I didn't really understand.
Grandmother did NOT do "SUPPERS" ! I am 48 years old, I think I have paid my dues. I'm not doing suppers anymore either.
Because my heath insurance does not consider Manic Depressive Disorder important enough to treat, by clicking on my website, you have agreed to be my shrink for the next few minutes while you surf.
There is no couch, but feel free to take notes. Oh, and there is coffee over on the counter.
Just the ramblings of a scrambled mind. Sit right down and have a listen.
Know up front though, that we do not adhere to any of the politidcal correctness running rampant today.
