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Friday, March 25, 2011

Licking the wounds

I love blogging. I really do. I write blog posts every week.

Now, PUBLISHING what I write is another story. I bet you didn't know I have over 80 blog DRAFTS for this blog. Over 80!

So... what's the deal? Truth be told (long-time readers may have noticed from the change in tone of my blog posts over the past year or two) things have been a little heavy on my side of the screen. I know my neighbors and friends have noticed I'm just not the same Adhis.

You know how one or two big life events bring with them their own high level of stress? I've had about a dozen life-changing events in the last two years that have leap-frogged (lept-frog? leaped-frog?) over each other. A couple of the events have been of the wonderful, positive nature, and the rest have been crappy extensions of crap: dealing with deaths, near-deaths, divorce (not mine! We're okie-dokie!), legal drama (not me!), jailtime (not me!) (or is it?), abandonment, cruelty, false accusations and my family of origin falling far, far apart.

I have been doing my best to hold my life and my responsibilities together. Many times, I have wanted to call in for substitute teachers to take over my personal finance class or my Sunday School class, but I have stayed faithful knowing that interacting with people and serving them keeps me on this side of sanity. But so often, I wish to apologize to those in attendance for my not being wholly in-tune. I desire so much to serve them better. I truly do.

More than anything, I wish I would have been more emotionally present to enjoy my Maya's first year of life. Babies don't wait for Mommy to feel well before they go on to their business of growing up. I am, however, grateful that my husband David loves his girls so much and has cared for them when he gets home from a long day at work so I can just sit and vegetate alone.

I won't go into details since so much of the hard news involves others who may not want the details shared, but suffice it to say that it has been one of the most spiritually, physically, and emotionally painful phases I have been through. The worst damage was probably caused by my internalizing others' choices and way too much of everyone's crap. (Don't YOU ever do that to yourself, OK?)

At least, I have gained a lot of insight about me and about how everyone reacts differently to "heavy application of pressure." I found that when things get tough, I face them head-on. But when things get personal, I retreat, I hide, I close off, I try to disappear so no one will make "just one more demand" of me. Just one more tiny demand of me would kill me. Maybe not. But that is what it feels like at times. Am I the only one?

Anyway, I am still here, and I do still write, I just... you know... took on too much, but I *am* healing and I *am* learning to let go.

I apologize for ignoring those of you who have reached out; truly, I have been trying to protect you from me as I neglected to keep my emotions and bitterness in check. I apologize to my friends for failing to hold up my end of our friendship. I am just now shaking off the dust and tweezing out the splinters. I do love you. I love people very much and do love you very much. I am licking my wounds, and I'll soon come back out to play.

Thursday, March 17, 2011

Talking to Myself

It's no secret I talk a lot. I do it even to myself, so much so that I have caught myself many times doing it in the grocery store.You know the stuff that people are usually thinking when they shop? Or what they say to someone else who is shopping WITH them?

"Hmm... this one is 50 cents cheaper than that one."
"Oh my gosh, that's a great deal!"
"Wait a minute, if I use this coupon with this variety, I'll get this for free!"
"I wonder how David is doing with the girls."
"What?!?!? You've got to be kidding me!"

I say those out loud while I'm shopping by myself.

I hadn't given this habit much thought until today when for some reason, a brief scenario flashed across my mind in which I was the OTHER person shopping in the same aisle as me, quietly looking for the chunky salsa when the process is interrupted by thinking a customer is talking to me and then realizing they are loudly talking to themselves. I can see where I might come across a bit off-balance.

If only I could wear a shirt that states:

I'm not crazy. 
I have small kids 
and am holed-up in my house most of the week 
with nary an adult to talk with 
and the grocery shelf offerings at least listen quietly
and without spitting up on me.
Please, don't kick me out of the store.

Then, I wouldn't look cuckoo.


I should accept now that I shortly will be one of those wiry-haired old ladies muttering about how many carrots will be just the right amount to buy taking into consideration the humidity in the fridge and the disposition of the cats living in the kitchen, all while other customers around me politely fake a smile and step far, far around me.

Or maybe it will be a good 30 years before you find me in the produce section cackling at my muttered puns, stroking my bristly chin hair, and wearing my newest cotton/polyester Blair special ordered from the Sunday coupon insert.

Either way, please, smile politely.