Change Sucks

"Change" sucks! It does. It really does.

I’ve been at my job for nine years. I changed titles 7 years ago because another job came open that I preferred over the one I had. Before the change, I was on call 24-7, had to make middle of the night site inspections, and take client to lunch for schmoozing. After a couple of years, I was getting to the point where the public anxiety thing was rearing its’ ugly head for the first time so when this other job opened up I jumped at the opportunity.

Well, as of this week my job has changed again, but not by choice. I will still be in the same office in the same desk, but my tasks have changed somewhat. I am very thankful I still have a job, and am thankful I am still able to stay off my feet most of the day (because of my back). However, people with bipolar DO NOT LIKE CHANGE.

I had my week planned down to a tee. I knew what I would be doing at what time every day, week after week, month upon month and year after year. I am the same way at home as well. Even my dogs know exactly what will happen when I walk in the door everyday. I raised my babies the same way. I nursed them when they wanted to eat, but otherwise we did everything else at the same time every day. Back then I didn’t know anything about bipolar, I just assumed I was anal. Now I realize why I was the way I was.

So now I have to change my schedule, and so far this week it has been horrible. I’m tense, my entire body aches, I was so ill yesterday (and for those of you NOT from the South,” ill” doesn’t mean I was sick, it means I was in the most horrible mood possible), that I wasn’t worth the lead it would have took to put me out of everybody’s misery.

I am sure that with time I will learn my new job, and I will get it all set up into a new comfy, cozy schedule. In the meantime, just don’t muck around with my emotions.

Obama and the Special Olympics

This is the letter I sent to our President today.

Being the grandmother of a very dear special olympian contestant each year, I Sir, am appalled at the mindset of a president of the United States who would consider that a joke which you said on a talk show this week.

My grandbaby was born BLIND and severely retarded due to his mother going through bone cancer and the treatments it involved during her pregnancy. She risked her life to help her son be born rather than abort her child, while you make fun of what he and millions of others are born into this world as.

He was not epected to live, then was not expected to walk or sit up or basically ever do anything, but you better believe through the love of his family he has grown and leanrs new ways everyday as well as participates in that Special Olympics each and every year.

You smeared a nation of people with that mindset that was behind that remark Sir, as someone who was supposed to be the big social change president, you took us back 100 years and that lost you alot of respect in millions of families across this land.

With all due respect Sir, from this grandmother who has watched this child and his family suffer, SHAME ON YOU!

I signed with my address/phone for any response he might like to send.

Empty Nests

It dawned on me today that my nest is empty forever more. My babies are 28 and 33, but this is “empty nest” thing is just now hitting me.

I was reading all about one of my favorite bloggers' recent vacation, and looking at her photos from that trip. Her descriptions of the trip take me back to our vacations when the kids were small, right down to the 30 mile traffic jam. The only difference is that she can tell the story much better than I could have.

I was a housewife for 19 of the years I was with them and their father. I never once felt I was wasting my time or letting life pass me by. When the baby hit 12 and didn’t seem to need me as much, then I felt kind of lost, but otherwise I knew I was where I should be.

I worried a lot. I was so sure I was screwing them up for life – sure they would wind up in therapy for their entire adult lives. I was never sure whether I was being too strict or not strict enough. I couldn’t decide when to let go a little. I worried that they would be embarrassed when they couldn’t wear the designer jeans, yet I knew the only way they would be able to is if I went to work.

I remember the sleepless nights when they were teething. Now, I can sleep as long as I want. I also remember the nights when they first started driving on their own…those nights were sleepless too until 10:00pm arrived. Soon, one of them will be teaching her own to drive.

I think about the colds that scared me, the stuffy noses, the braces, the broken bones and the swimming lessons. I miss them. Yeah they live up the road and I can see them, but I miss having them little, at home.

If I could do it again, I would worry less and laugh more. I would have bought that trampoline a couple of years earlier. I would have splurged and bought the designer jeans… at least one pair a year. I would look the other way when they grabbed cookies out of the cookie jar right before dinner.

Days of our Lives

I have to tell you, I just have to. I have been hesitant to, but I refuse to let my fear stop me.

I am doing well these days. I am happy. I am finding joy in the little things that make up my life. I love my husband, sexless creature that he is. I love having that time on the weekends to bum around with him.

I love our little family, Thomas and Luke, Wilma and Fred, and all our other furry creatures. The rats and their cages that have to be cleaned often, the birds and their cages...ditto. The giant goldfish who has to have his water cleaned on a regular basis. Even the house that constantly throws crap around while we're at work every day, I like cleaning up.

My job I am so thankful for. It is a sitting job and with my back the way it is I could do no other kind. I have even learned not to panic when the boss is demanding something and I can't exactly put my fingers on what he wants. Heck, I've actually went out for lunch with the guys twice this month.

I will be getting my CWP soon and am on the lookout for a concealer purse for my Sigma 380. This weekend there are plans for husband and I to go out with friends from church. So far, I don't even feel worried about it.

My med cocktail has now been working for 3 years, a huge improvement over past varieties we have tried.

We had snow the other weekend. Not very common here. It was beautiful as you can see. Well...if you could see if BLOGGER were working correctly. Take my word for it it was very pretty!

Things are looking up. Thank you Jesus.

Virginity Lost Forever

I grew up in church all my life. If the doors were open, we were there. I was a deacons’ kid, DK for short. We were only a tiny bit less trouble than the PK’s.

My daddy was best friends all those years ago with another deacon. They’re still best friends to this day. Dad’s friend had a son. He was 5 years older than me.

One day, he talked me into going riding with him in his car. Wanting to look cool to this almost 19 year old I hopped right in. We didn’t drive far, up the road to a trailer park.

When we got out and went into the trailer, I started feeling really weird, scared even. He had another guy with him, an older guy. They started telling me they wanted to have sex with me. I thought they were just messing around, picking on the little kid. Then he started taking my shorts and my panties off and laid me back on the bed.

The bed looked nasty. There was no furniture in the room, just the bed. There were no sheets on the bed either. I didn’t know what to do. I tried to talk him out of it and he said if I didn’t he would take me up the road to the church where the deacons were meeting and take me into him and I’d get in trouble for going off in his car. So, fearing getting in trouble and taking a beating when I got home, I told him to go ahead.

He stands there pulling off his pants and his underwear. I had never seen a man in underwear before, not even my daddy. When he pulled those off I got really scared. I had never seen a dick in my life. All I could think was how big and ugly it was.

He got down on the bed and opened my legs and holding his thing started pushing it in me. He pushed and he pushed and it was hurting. After a few more tries, he jerked it away and told the other guy to come in and try that he can’t get his to go in.

This other man, who I had never seen before came in the room. He already had his thing pulled out and was pulling at it, getting it hard. I immediately noticed his wasn’t as big as the first guys.

He opened my legs and leaned down on the bed far enough to push it in me. He didn’t do it easy or anything, just rammed it in until my hymen broke then he just shoved it in and out until he came.

He stood up, pulled his pants up and went in the bathroom where I could hear him pee. He never said a word to me the entire time. No kissing, no fondling. I was no more than a receptacle for them. The two were laughing at how the first one couldn’t even get his to go in. I was scared to death he was going to come back in there and try again.

I dressed and they took me back to a back road in my neighborhood and let me out. They didn’t talk to me or anything.

On my walk home, I could feel large chunks of blood and tissue coming out of me. I was hurting down there and was afraid to go home in case mama were to notice I was walking funny while I was trying to keep the blood and stuff from leaking out of my panties. It hurt so bad when he pushed it in and it was still pretty sore.

I finally made it home and to the bathroom where I immediately sat on the toilet and hear chunks of tissue and blood falling into the water. When it stopped dripping, I got in the shower and washed. I felt so nasty. So dirty. I didn’t even know the mans name who did it.

I had just turned 13 ten days earlier. One of them was almost 19 and the other older than the first. I don’t know how much older, must have been at least 24 or 25.

I never told this. I was worried about all the blood and tissue coming out but I couldn’t ask. It has been a secret all these years. On Fathers Day I always go to church with my daddy to his church. Every time, I see him, the one who couldn’t get his to go in.

I hadn’t thought about all this in a long, long time until last week when it popped in my mind out of no where. I felt dirty all over again. Nasty. I lost my virginity to a complete stranger. I was barely 13 years old. I had only kissed a boy that summer for the first time. Until he put it in me, I wasn’t even really sure how sex worked.

I still feel dirty after 33 years.