Getting my Sparkly Back

bodyglitterYes, I do know that it has almost been a month since my last post.  Plagued by a very late starting spring, resulting in compressing all the things that should have been done by now into the very shortest measure of time before the 5 minutes of summer comes, I was in danger of shedding my sparkly Pollyanna skin to something more dark, sinister and leathery…hence the silence.  I discovered, that I can handle the major stuff in life with relative ease, that is where my problem-solving, common sense super power kicks in.  Those irritations like: lost keys, wallets, glasses, bikes, forms…none of which are mine but somehow fall into my purview of responsibilities; broken things that interrupt the flow of the day, like the computer my son just built that shuts down 10 times a day…of course he’s only finished his freshman year in computer engineering, or the eroding land that may cause our pool to fall into a ravine; and those never-ending tasks of life that you swear you just took care of and like going through a time warp, there they are again demanding attention like running out of toilet paper, kitty food, dish soap, laundry soap, razor blades, etc…; and lastly, all the man things that I live with every day too numerous to list here.  All these irritations have worn my sparkly skin down to paper thinness, so I can see the serpent skin underneath.  What’s worse are the responses I get from the men in my house: “I didn’t touch it”, “Just dump some dirt on it”, “Just turn it back on”,  I’ll do it later (loose translation, NEVER) or my least favorite, “Just buy a new one”.  It is just not acceptable…I almost died…of irritation.

So, that explains the silence.  I saw my weakness and got help, not the psychological kind, but someone who will clean my house and organize the chaos, so those other irritations don’t kill me.  Now, I don’t have to worry that the fire coming out of my mouth will burn everything in it’s wake.  My sparkly skin is coming back…even through the gob of flem I just cleaned out of the many used glasses that the men in my house love to spit in…I will survive.

Tangled up in Dental Floss

winterI’m a deep thinker…I think you’ve figured that out by now.  Today I picked up 25 pieces of used dental floss.  Used, man dental floss.  Grossly discolored dental floss.  I think this is why the universe placed me in crazy town.  It’s in the details people.  I refuse to put a picture of it on this post, so instead, here is a picture of the new kitten that someone left at Wal-Mart and decided crazy town would be better.

Febreeze Test

cleaning_ladyOk, you know those commercials when blind folded people are led into a room and smell nothing but freshly washed clothes, or a summer breeze?  Then, they take off the blindfold and they are standing in the middle of complete filth?  Yeah, that was me utilizing my time while my husband and eldest son were in Montana for college orientation and registration, only without the blindfold and the febreeze.  I know I’ve blogged about it before…but I make it a point to never go into the man cave…but since it is also the room that leads out to our patio, where we are having a graduation gathering in a couple of weeks it was necessary.  There were things down there that would frighten a Yeti…but not me.  I spent days down there with my yellow rubber gloves and cleaning products and now, there is a lilac theme and smell to the bathroom.  Ceiling tiles were replaced with ones that weren’t stained from the toilet that broke three floors up.  All the dead rodents stuck to said stained ceiling tiles were given a proper burial, i.e. they were thrown into the woods to support the cycle of nature.  The thousand air-soft bee-bees were suctioned up of the floor along with tokens of football parties past, along with walls that have been wiped clean of the DNA packed particulars that come with the spewing of beer and brat filled man talk.  When I was done, I actually closed my eyes and sat on the floor and breathed in deeply.  I smelled lilacs…I really did.

God’s Humor

teethAs it so happens, when I am able to articulate a bit of wisdom, or share a challenge of sorts… others may sit back and breathe a sigh of relief they were able to move a bit down the path of righteousness…I  just close my eyes and wait for the karmic tumble that I know I’m about to take.  Generally, it manifests itself in a couple of ways, 1) In the form of a shit storm, most often metaphorical, where I am barraged by spiritual excrement in the attempt to call  “hypocrite” and make me take back what I said, or 2) In the form of a person who makes it almost impossible to put into practice what I’ve just put out into the vastness of cyberspace.  This time, it was number 2…yes, pun intended.  Mind you, rarely does anyone put my teeth on edge like this particular person…a person who at our clinic in a full waiting room, once showed me a disgusting souvenir that his Philippino “girlfriend” sent him and was just barely able to scream at him to put it away before I vomited in my mouth.  This is a person who after bringing me to the edge of my fragile sanity so many times finally stopped speaking to me because I wouldn’t let him come over to our house and use our pool for “rehabilitation”.  Finally, I was free…of course until I shared my words of wisdom about seeing everyone through the eyes of grace.  HMMMM!  Was it the devil or God who decided to test that notion?  Whatever, it doesn’t matter…because I get it.  Sometimes it’s HARD, so hard that when I picked up the phone with my bright message of, “It’s great day at Edling Chiropractic…”  that horrible, horrible voice, forgiving me for being so inhospitable made my hand involuntarily rise to my temple and start pounding the phone against my head until the phrase, “See him through eyes of grace” popped in there.  Lord of All, I love you with all my soul…but that, my deity, SUCKED BIG TIME!  Ok, I tried.  I was kind.  I kept my boundaries.  I wasn’t mean.  I listened, even though he only called to talk about his bracket for March Madness.  I am humbled, and now I need a shower.

Boys are Stupid

Please note: if I had multiple personality disorder, this post would belong to an emotional primordial element of myself that I blacked out into after walking downstairs into the man-cave and stepping on cat vomit on the carpet that has been there for months because it has literally petrified.  I try to never go into the basement…for that very reason.  Once in a while, though, I succumb to my optimist self, and believe the men in my house when they tell me the basement is clean and venture down into the pit.  Well, like Charlie Brown keeps falling for Lucy’s football schtick I was blinded by my own optimism.  The bastards lied.  I didn’t lose emotional consciousness right away…I have dealt with all sorts of clashes with bodily fluids and wastes that are not my own, it was the array of filth, the biodegradable kind mingled with the non-recyclable  kind and the ensuing stench rising up from the metamorphosis that pushed me over into blind rage….you know the kind that produces spittle from screeching unintelligible sounds like a she devil that has been caged way too long.  I saw all too literally the remnants of all  things tasteful  and beautiful about our basement decor crumbling away and remember screaming something about acting like they were from the backwoods of Appalachia only to realize that I was insulting those poor backwoods people in Appalachia for using them in comparison to these animals.  I know, by the look on their faces that I needed to put myself in a time out, so I opened a good bottle of white wine brought up some olives, salmon and almonds on a beautiful dish and locked myself in my room.  After watching a mini Gilmore Girls marathon I felt my sentient self returning a bit…although I felt dizzy every time I heard them call me from the recesses of our house.  I used to laugh at the antics of living in a household of boys.  Now that they’re huge burgeoning men…I just think they’re stupid.  The fact that their frontal lobes are non-functioning and they’re bombarded with hormones is of no comfort when their father mirrors the very things that are leaching away at my psyche.  Pray for me.