Love is for suckers...

As Valentine's Day draws to a close let's reflect on the day. I was up early, which sucked big time, and I have a cold so I felt crappy all day, but no biggie, I'll get over it so enough. I'm not a big mushy gushy kind of girl. I'm pretty simple and down to earth. This year, in plain English, I expressed the desire for a simple hand written letter from the hubby to mark the day. I made this request three weeks ago. I even told him I wasn't looking for fancy poetry or long declarations of undying love, just something simple.

Guess what I got? He waited until today and then, while I was taking a nap after the cold medication kicked in, he typed up a little note. Now, this really would have been good enough for me. I would have even been pleased with it..except...

He plagiarised a poem from some random guys website and tried to pass it off as his own. And it wasn't even a good poem. He stole a crappy poem. I guess he thought I would be more likely to believe it was really something he wrote if it sucked bad enough. And there's more...not only was it a shitty poem, it was a shitty poem this guy had written trying to sell it to a greeting card company. So it was a FAILED greeting card.

Apparently I don't even rate him sitting down and trying to write four or five lines telling me that I mean something, anything, to him. I can't even bring myself to say anything to him about it. I feel a little sick inside and a lot hurt. I feel cheap.

To quote J. Geils: " Love Stinks"

Pride Goeth

Last night, after days and days of 50 degree temperatures, we got bombarded by a winter storm. It didn't just start snowing, the sky opened up and a biblical amount of snow fell on our little slice of heaven. Last night I mentioned to my dear sweet husband that perhaps he should call his friend with the big big truck and ask for a ride to work this morning. He pooh poohed me. It continued snowing and I renewed my request that he call said friend and ask for a ride to work. We've only had the car for a week and my fear was that he would slide off the road into a ditch or a telephone poll, or heaven forbid, another car. I was again pooh poohed.

Fast forward to this morning....

It is still snowing. There is now well over a foot and a half of snow on the ground and while the main roads may have been plowed, our little side street has not. As hubby shoveled the driveway, we watched one of our neighbors with a newer car with better tires get stuck in the street. It was five a.m. Still plenty of time to call friend with the big truck. More pooh poohing from hubby. I mean, what do I, the insignificant wife know. I mean, I only lived in NORTH DAKOTA for most of my friggin life, right? I couldn't possibly know anything about how a car, low to the ground, with front wheel drive and non-all season tires is going to drive on 20 some odd inches of unplowed snow... pfftt...

Fast forward again....

It is now six a.m. and husband is ready to back the car out of his carefully shovled drive. I stand in the doorway and watch. Down the drive he goes and...BAM! He hits the street and the unshovled, unplowed roadway and STUCK. Tires spinning, car not moving...stuck. I watch him for a moment, then I pick up the phone and call his boss to let him know that my idiot of a husband will be late for work. Then I put on a pair of jeans and my winter gear and out I go to help shove the car back into the driveway.

I suggest that he try to call for a ride. Nope. He picks up his shovel and, are you ready for this? He starts shoveling out into the street. I swear. He shovels a good three feet out and then gets back in the car. He goes roaring down the driveway and GETS STUCK AGAIN. Only this time he's blocking the whole street because he's at an angle. I go out again and help shove the car forward so the car coming up behind us can at least pass and then I watch as he guns himself forward inch by inch, slipping and sliding the whole way, toward work.

I don't know what pissed me off more, the fact that I had to go out, at six a.m. and push a fucking car because he wouldn't just ask for a ride, or the fact that god in all his pot smoking wisdom (because I'm a firm believer that god tokes up) allowed him to actually get to work, thus vindicating him in his eyes and making it that much harder for me to win the next argument.

(NOTE: This post was going to have pictures, but blogger is being stupid at the moment and won't let me upload. I'll have to post the pictures later, which, admittidly, is a little anti-climatic.)

And people wonder....

I was supposed to have an appointment with my therapist today but my son has had the flu all week and I've gotten ill myself. Instead of taking a contagious disease into an office full of people I called in ten minutes prior to my appointment time and explained the situation and asked that she call me. I then waited until twenty minutes after my scheduled appointment time to call back.

This is what I was told: "She's on a crisis call, would you like her voice mail?"

If I had been there in person, she would have been in session with me and would not have been given a crisis call, but apparently, because I wasn't there, I just don't count. People wonder why men and women with mental illnesses don't seek the medical help they need, I can start a list for you if you want.

It begins with feeling marginalized. Because I have Bipolar Disorder I am often told I'm "overreacting" if I get frustrated or angry in situations where "normal" people would react the same way. I have to watch how and when I chose to allow myself to become upset. People who do things that are insensitive or rude can often blow it off and blame it on me having an "episode" so somehow it isn't really them. Even professionals do this.

How do you react to this? Where do you go with that? When you get repeatedly told that you don't get to have normal reactions to frustrating or upsetting situations, where do you take those feelings? When you, as a "normal" person get to be angry at someone, what do I as a "unbalanced" person get to do? I have to worry all the time about how I'll be received.

What a load of shit.

I named my MP3 player. Whenever I get done uploading music, my computer says, "You can now disconnect SERENA."

Most days, that's exactly how I feel.

Does this meet the definition of irony?

These are the three men in my life:


Yes, he really was upside down when I took this. I could write a whole blog just about him and his antics, but I think it would only be interesting to me, his father and his grandparents. But still, that face will make you smile.

This is my eternal toddler. My Melkor. This dog is the biggest baby I've ever had and the sweetest animal. He keeps my feet warm on cold nights and gives me love when I feel blue.
]
This is Russ. We've been to hell and back in the last five years. We still haven't figured out how to have that relationship you see on television where people laugh with you when you screw up and all is forgiven in thirty minutes, but we love each other and I think that's all that matters.

That's it, no profound message right now....just wanted to share some pictures.

Depression Hurts, But you don't have too

I hate those commercials, I really do. They make it seem like all you have to do is pop a couple of pills and all the pain and suffocating hopelessness that goes along with depression will just magically evaporate. It just doesn't work like that, not even with medication.

Part of the reason I stopped writing this blog was because I was depressed and I didn't want to "burden" anyone else with it. After what happened yesterday I've decided to write about everything, because maybe just one person will read it and realize what's going on before it's to late.

I was lucky, there was someone home with me. Someone to call emergency personnel and get me medical attention. That saved my life...physically. What it didn't do was fix this feeling inside that I'm pretty much worthless. Is it rational? No. But it's there all the same.

Right along with it is this overwhelming sense of shame and guilt. I'm supposed to be the one people can come to. I'm supposed to be the one who knows how to fix things. I'm not supposed to be the one that messes stuff up, that's not me. Except this time it was. This time I fucked up. This time it was all on my shoulders. And I just didn't know where to go anymore.

And I still don't know where to go with it. So I'm sitting here in front of this computer, writing these words and trying to find something to hold onto that will get me through today. Then I can worry about tomorrow.

things to do on a monday

(1) Go to court believing that because you're right means someone will listen and take you seriously.

(2) Get slapped in the face with reality and realize that you are an idealistic idiot who has just made a mess of her families life for nothing more than principle.

(3) Sink further into the depression you have been suffocating in for the last two weeks.

(4) swallow a bottle of pills

(5) spend the day at the emergency room drinking activated charcoal and feeling even more depressed and stupid for doing something like that.

(6) get home and deal with the reality that was still waiting for you

(7) go to class


So, how was your monday?

There's an article out today talking about how consumers are locked into their cell service contracts. It likens the experience to being in jail. I read this article and just sort of grinned. You see, my family is probably one of the only remaining families on the planet without cell phones. We have recently begun discussing the possibility of purchasing a prepaid phone for emergency use, but we aren't even considering a "regular" cell phone.

This article just highlights for me one of the reasons why I don't have a cell phone. As a society we have become complacent about what we allow and how much of it we allow. It has invaded all aspects of our lives. Cell service companies, the cable company, the oil companies...they all have rights that we don't and we have allowed it to continue and even get worse without taking any real action mostly because they provide the things that make our lives EASY.

People don't actually NEED cell phones or cable and I'm living proof that you can survive by car-pooling or taking public transit.

How did it get this bad? And how much more of our lives are we going to concede before we stand up and say, enough is enough?

I love my kid. That's it, I don't have anything else to say tonight.

And then there was silence......

Let me just start by saying: "Please don't ask me where I've been." The answer to that question would require several long, complicated, drawn out blog posts and I just don't feel like going into it. I'm sure that over time the saga will leak out in bits and pieces that will make you go, "What the fuck was that all about?" Let's just leave it at that.

So, for now, let me just say...I kind of missed you guys. I missed having a sounding board. I missed seeing your smiling little faces. I just missed everything.

The author of one of my favorite series of books has passed away. I usually don't say anything about the passing of a celebrity because I don't know them personally, but this saddened me a bit.

Madeleine L’Engle, you will be missed. I will share your work with my children and my grandchildren. I will carry your memory in my heart. You made my life brighter and I am sad that you are gone.

I remember with clarity the first time I read "A Wrinkle in Time". I remember how excited I was when I finished it. I remember rushing to the library to get the next book. I remember feeling that same rush of excitement last month when I read it again.

Madeleine L’Engle did what I hope to do as a writer some day, she inspired imagination. She sparked creativity and a passion for dreams. Madeleine L’Engle was a builder of worlds and an architect of futures.

If you have never read her books I encourage you to do so. If you read them as a child I encourage you to read them again. Read them to your children. Read them to your grandchildren. Read them to your nephews and your nieces and your neighbors children. Volunteer at a local school and read them to a classroom full of wide eyed fourth graders. Share this marvel with a whole new generation.

Madeleine L’Engle you will be missed.

A topic I seem to discuss a lot.....

Since I started college again, I haven't really been doing a lot of blogging. Today, I was reading over at CUSS and at the end of the post Suzanne asks that anyone that supports Planned Parenthood blog about it. I think I will.

Planned Parenthood is a good program. If it received more funding and wasn't restricted by so many nonsensical things it could do more good. People who make the assertion that giving away free condoms will urge teenagers to have sex are just morons. There's no other way to say it. Teenagers are going to have sex, teenagers have always had sex. Not giving them birth control isn't going to make a sixteen year old boy who's about to get some go, "Oh, wait. I should stop and consider what this might do to my future." (As I type this I am making a very unladylike noise...you know the one, the *phtt* "AS IF" noise...)

Planned Parenthood often does what most REAL parents are not willing to do. It talks to teens about sex. More importantly, it provides services to more than just teenagers.


Now.....

Earlier in the post, Suzanne talks about how the "pro-life" groups amount to nothing more than terrorists. On one level I agree with her. The people you read about in the paper and see on the news are horrid people, concerned more about their own political or religious views than they are about doing any real good for anyone. But it is important to remember, that just like the fact that the picture painted of "pro-choice" groups in the media isn't accurate, the picture painted of the other side is blown out of proportion a bit as well.

I have met some of these "save the baby, no matter what" people. I know they exist, but I also know several people who are right to life because they firmly believe that those children would be loved by a family, even if it isn't the woman who gives birth to them. They believe that these women should be given adequate access to health care during their pregnancy. Emotional support should be made available and that they should be given financial support if it is necessary. They also believe that education, to prevent another unwanted pregnancy from occurring, is vital.

Calling ALL pro-life individuals terrorists, is like calling people on the pro-choice side murderers. I could make a case for that. It wouldn't make it accurate or true, but I could make a strong, fact based, rational argument for it...using things I've seen in the media and examples from personal experience. It boils down to this: Not everyone is a fucked up as the people you see on the news.

Still not done......

I'm really, really hoping that the portion of Suzanne's post where she talks about the unborn being easy to care about because they're quiet was meant to be slightly sarcastic. If not, it's highly offensive. I've had children. Five of them. Two were planned, three were not. One was in my teens. One in my twenties. And the last three in my thirties. I know exactly what being pregnant will do to your body at most stages of life. I know it's a hell of a lot easier being pregnant at 18 than it is at 35. I also know that just because a child is unborn, doesn't make it "quiet". Unwanted or not, it's a human being. Unwanted or not, it is a CHILD.

I want everyone reading this to know that I'm firm in this belief. It's very easy to talk clinically about "when life begins". Bravo for advanced society. What I don't hear anyone talking about is the fact that we have dehumanized the killing of a person. There, I said it. If you were to read in a newspaper or see on the news about some person hunting down and cutting unborn children from their mother's wombs, you would think, "murderer". I have heard people, time and time again, make the argument that if a person kills a pregnant woman they should be charged with the murder of the unborn child as well. Why? Because someone WANTED that child? Is that what it takes to make the difference between "ending a pregnancy" and "murder"?


When you denigrate human life by saying that abortion is okay because it's "not really" a person, you steal humanity from us. Throughout history I can point you to cases where horrible atrocities have occurred using that very same argument. Our own nations history is peppered with them. "It's okay, they don't really count." It demoralizes our society, it makes it easier for our young people to rationalize bad choices and it is, at it's core, an empty argument. There are those of you reading this that are poised and ready to type,"It isn't the same thing. Those were..." Go one, finish the sentence...those were... "people". So are the unborn. They may not be able to walk among us, but they are people. And the choice we talk about so freely is never given to them. While we are in such a rush to protect the woman who didn't want to be pregnant...while we're in such a hurry to protect her right to have sex when she wants, with whoever she wants, as often as she wants...with no responsibility...we have stopped giving a DAMN about the child no one wants.

Except there are plenty of people who do want them. There are literally thousands and thousands of families out there waiting for some woman to be kind enough to provide them with the one thing they can not get for themselves...a child. I never hear anyone talk about adoption. I hear plenty of, "who pays for the diapers? who pays for daycare?" Who says she has to KEEP the baby? Where is that option? In the grand argument for choice? Where is THAT argument? No where to be found.

It boils down to, a woman shouldn't be "forced" to be pregnant. Fine. If you want to be pro-choice, great. Be pro-choice. I've said before that as long as it's a legal option, women should have access to it. But do NOT insult those of us who have chosen to give our children life. Do not dare to even whisper that those babies were less human. Part of the choice in "pro-choice" is taking responsibility for the fact that you are ending a human life. You can't have one without the other. You don't get to be all comfortable and safe and say that you aren't really supporting "that". You are. And if you're okay with it, for whatever reason...fine. But be big enough to stand behind it.

I have had three unexpected pregnancies in my life. Each time they disrupted my life. Financially, physically, emotionally. Each time I have had long standing, far reaching consequences. And each time I have made a CHOICE. I chose to give my children life. I chose to find a loving family for my children. I was a mother first, a woman second.

I take great offense when I hear people talk about the unborn as though they have no value. It angers me. It hurts me. It makes me want to scream. And it makes me cry.

The unborn are not silent. The unborn are not less valuable than the person sitting next to you. It makes me sick to my stomach that our society cares more about it's animals than it does about it's children. Don't believe me? I can point you to hundreds of "animal cruelty" websites designed to prevent me from eating that poor helpless cow up the street, but when I try to point out that abortion ends human life? Suddenly I'm an evil anti-woman throw back that wants to prevent women from having free choice over their own bodies. Chew on that one for a while.

Before I get into this post I want to say a couple of things. First I want to say to one person in particular who may be reading this: Nothing you are about to read is aimed at you. You have never been anything but kind and thoughtful. You have been loving and supportive and more wonderful than I can ever tell you. Please do not think for a moment that I believe you minimize me or trivialize my feelings or importance. I have been lucky in the extreme. Our's is the example all others should follow. There would never be another bad experience if everyone took the time you have.

Second: I want to say that I acknowledge and understand the very real pain, frustration and depression that parents trying to adopt go through. I have seen it in the eyes of women I know. I am not trying to downplay that. I am not trying to minimialize that. That is not what I want to talk about right now.

Recently I overheard a slice of conversation. It is not the first such slice of conversation I have heard and I do not kid myself by thinking it will be the last. Two women were discussing a family member who had recently had an adoption fall through. One of them fairly hissed the word "birthmother" like it was dirty in her mouth. They spoke about the woman who had changed her mind as if she were vile and loathsome, full of evil, cunning and hate. It made my stomach roil. I actually felt as if I were about to vomit.

Because I understood the pain they were feeling on behalf of their loved one I kept my mouth shut. On the inside I was screaming. Crying out on behalf of the woman they were scorning so casually. They were talking about her as if she had no right to the child she gave birth to. As if by simply considering adoption she had lost all rights to call that child her own. I wanted to lash out.

Any of you who read here regularly will know that I have placed three children for adoption in my lifetime. One at the age of nineteen and two in the last two years. None of the adoptions were easy for me and I have in my possesion journals filled with page after page of anger, self loathing, jealousy, hatred, self doubt, self pity, bitterness, depression and venom soaked words aimed at a world I could not understand. All the pages are dotted by my own tears.

The thing I wanted most to tell these women was that simply because a woman considers or even goes through with an adoption does not make her any less a mother. What makes a woman a mother isn't a piece of legal documentation. You can't snatch up a baby, holler, "Mine!" like it was a baby doll on a playground and run off expecting that the other person, the one who gave birth to the child, will have no further feelings. And yet I see it over and over again. I see adoptive families that talk about birthparents like an afterthought. They talk about them like they did some huge favor and, "Oh wasn't that nice of them...but their gone now." I don't know that it's intentional, which is why I never say anything, but it's insulting, to say the least.

I'm sure that someone will point out to me that there are situations where the birthmothers don't care. That some children are taken from their natural parents. That's not what I'm talking about here. I'm talking about women like me. Women who, for one reason or another know that we can not provide the best home for our children. For me it was knowing that without access to consistent medical care for my Bipolar Disorder the stress of having three children under age three in the house would likely push me into a state where I would end up dead or permenantly hospitalized. I had to weigh the welfare of not just the two infants, but the two already at home.

When I signed those papers, I didn't stop loving my children. I stopped being their parent, but I will never stop being their mother. That never stops. That love never goes away. Every day I think about them. Every day I wonder how they are. Every day I thank God for finding a safe and loving home for them. Signing those papers took away my legal right to have a say in how they are raised and to obtain information about them. It didn't take away my right to love them.

When a woman who has said she will place a child for adoption changes her mind it is often because she can not face that very thing. There is a terror there. How can I be sure? If I don't have the legal right to know that these people are treating my child well, that my child is safe and healthy, how do I know? What will I do if I find out later that something happened? What if they turn out to be abusive? What happens if they die and my child ends up with someone I don't even know? Can you even imagine that terror? Or the guilt that goes with it?

Its hard enough trying to find the words to explain to this precious little life why you couldn't keep it. Why you gave it to someone else to love, protect, cherish and watch grow. How do you find those words? Where do you even begin to look for them? For some women, there are no words and trying to contemplate finding them hurts so badly, they simply stop the process. It becomes easier to deal with the unwanted pregnancy than to deal with the aftermath of placing a child.

The after effect of placing a child for adoption is just like losing a child to death. You go through the same grief process.

Yet when a woman changes her mind she is viewed as a hideous monster. Lower than low. How could she hurt someone that way? How could she cause such pain and torment?

Who cries for her? Who heals her broken heart? No one.

As birthmothers we sign a piece of paper and we leave the hospital and that is that. We are expected to walk away from a living breathing child and never look back. There is no counseling offered, no support. Even what is called "open adoption" isn't really open. Most often it amounts to a letter and some pictures once or twice a year. We are cut out of the childs life forever. We have no place in that world.

The next time you read a story or hear about a birthmother who has changed her mind, think about this story before you judge her harshly. Think about your own feelings as a parent and what you would do if someone asked you to simply walk away from one or all of your children without looking back. How easy would it be for you?

I covet. Not just one thing. There are several things I covet. I have found that in my dark corners I have secret yearnings. I feel I must confess this sin.

Furniture from IKEA. The funky chairs. The oddly shaped couches. The sleak-lined beds. The endless supply of storage boxes. I want it all.

Books. The feel of them. The smell of the ink on the pages. I don't want e-books or audio books. I want the real thing. Hard bound. Soft bound. Trade size. Mass market paper back. Childrens books. Young Adult. Science Fiction. Non-fiction. I read it all.

Disney World Vacations. Odd? Yes, I know. I sit and day dream about spending a week in this magical place. It calls to me. The brightly colored commercialism. The sureity that I won't have to do anything. The laughter. The fun. I want it.

You may be thinking that I have used the wrong word to describe my feelings for these things.

To Covet:

cov·et /ˈkʌvɪt/ Pronunciation Key - Show Spelled Pronunciation[kuhv-it] Pronunciation Key - Show IPA Pronunciation
–verb (used with object) 1. to desire wrongfully, inordinately, or without due regard for the rights of others: to covet another's property.
2. to wish for, esp. eagerly: He won the prize they all coveted.
–verb (used without object) 3. to have an inordinate or wrongful desire.

I lust for these things. Against all my better judgement. I practically drool when I think of them. I am jealous of those I know that have the them.

I am a sad, sad shell of a human being.

Because when you're rich "Crazy" becomes "Eccentric"

Let's face it, if you went to pick up one of your friends for a night out on the town and she was dressed in a white bikini, Jedi cape and Velvet Muk-Luks, you would have her checked for drug usage.

I give a big thumbs up to Bia Ling. She's either crazy as the day is long or she just doesn't give a shit! Either way, I love her!

Debtor's Prison....An Idea whose Time has come Again?

As I was reading the news this morning, there was an article about the Fed slashing the rate charged to the nation's "least credit worthy commercial banks". Apparently this was done in response to pressure received from Wall Street and the White House and was supposed to help the Economy. The consensus seems to be, however, that it will have the opposite effect.

About half-way through the article there's a link that says:

Talk back: Time to bring back debtors prison?

I stared at this for a moment, stunned. Was the person that wrote this serious? Surely no one could think this would be a good idea. Curious now, I clicked the link. Sadly, there were actually people who thought it might be a good idea. They were limiting it to the housing area, but seemed oblivious to the larger picture.

Walk with me down this twisted path, won't you?

Tomorrow the United States Government reinstates "debtor's prison" making it a criminal offense to renege on a debt. This offense is punishable by time in a federal prison. It is meant to keep people from taking on debt they can not realistically hope to sustain. (Because we all know how good Americans are at preventing crime....that's why there are NO drunk drivers in this country, right? Because people KNOW it's illegal.)

Now, the law goes into effect and suddenly Joe down the street is being arrested. You look at your spouse and you say, "I didn't know Joe was behind on his mortgage payment." Your spouse replies, "Oh he wasn't. Last year Little Sally got sick and they had some medical bills they couldn't pay. That's what he got arrested for."

Two days later your at work and Tammy, the girl in the next cubicle, doesn't come back from lunch. You inquire about what happened to her. Your coworker says to you in hushed tones, "Oh, didn't you hear? Last winter she ran up a huge gas bill that she hasn't paid off. She got arrested for it."

How about that movie you forgot to return? The library fine you forgot you had? The teenager that writes a bad check? Let's not even get started on credit card debt....

Meanwhile, you start to notice that there aren't any wealthy people being arrested, even that guy down the street that you KNOW hasn't made his house payment in six months because he's paying alimony to three wives. Why? Because he can pay an attorney.

Debtor's prisons punish the poor simply for being poor. It's why they were done away with in the first place. Instead of even entertaining a discussion about bringing back such an arcahic and useless system, we should be discussing the real problems. Credit card companies that extend credit to people when they know those people can not possibly make the amount of money required to pay off the balances in a realistic amount of time. Mortgage companies that will offer finance rates that suddenly change, thus making a home look affordable when it really isn't.

And the most important factor? Teaching people to live with in their means. Sure you might be able to afford a $3800.00 house payment, but can you still afford a $3800.00 house payment when you add in the actual cost of the home? The electricity, gas, water and upkeep on a home that size? Does your family really NEED a home that size? Do you need five credit cards? Why not save up for what you need?

Most banks offer pre-paid Visa or MasterCard that can be used to shop online or take on vacation. Keep one that you use for emergencies or hotel reservations and car rentals if needed.

It's called Common Sense.

I am hereby forming the Citizens Coalition for Common Sense. If you join, it will be your job to scoff openly at the idiotic lack of common sense in society today. When you see someone doing something blatantly stupid it will be your job to laugh openly, but not explain why your laughing. More importantly, it will be your job to work for the implementation of Common Sense in everyday life.

They say, "If it ain't broke, don't fix it." Well it's broke...we need to fix it. FAST.

Who do we blame?

I was talking to a friend of mine this weekend and we ended up discussing the topic of the culture of excess that thrives in our nation. As a country was have come to rely on things that are not actually necessary to our everyday survival and that self entitlement thought pattern is passing into our younger generations.

We treat luxury items like they are everyday necessities and worse a vast majority of people don't stop to think about how what they buy and the price they pay for it effects the overall picture.

Stay with me on this for a moment. I've had this discussion before, most memorably with a co-worker who wanted to buy a Rolex. I asked why. His answer? "Well, because it's a Rolex." He was confused that I didn't understand his desire for this item. I asked him if a Rolex told better time than a $24.99 Timex. He looked at me like I was stupid,"No, but it's a Rolex." Then I asked him if perhaps magical elves were making the watches and that's what made them special. He snorted at me and said, "Now you're just being stupid." I shrugged and said, "Well, if you're wanting to spend 10,000 on a watch I don't know that that makes me the stupid one." He didn't talk to me for about a week.

I hear people talk all the time about how hard they work for their money and how they deserve to have the nice things in life, but I often wonder what that means. Does spending $100 on a pair of jeans make them better or more special? Does having a particular name stiched into the back of your shirt make you a better person?

Most of these same people talk about the good works they do. The charities they support. I can't help thinking that if they weren't spending $200 on a single shirt, they could have helped more. I will never make a good rich person. I just don't understand the mind-set.

The only reason stores like Abercrombie and Fitch or Banana Republic can charge what they do is because people pay the prices. If no one shopped there, you can damn well bet the prices would be much lower.

How does this effect the big picture? Think about it for a minute. Why do you suppose so many young people are looking for a way to make money quickly? Why do you think teenagers look down their noses at jobs that pay minimum wage? There's a culture in our society now that says that to be successful you must wear Item A and own Item B. To fit in with the people who matter you have to look one way, act one way, smell one way.....and the majority of people don't even question it.

My husband has three pairs of Doc Martin boots, several designer lable shirts and jeans and I have a few myself. You want to know where I got them? At the used clothing store. I paid no more than $5.00 for each piece in the closet.

We talk a lot in todays world about how to make things better for the people who don't make that much. How about simply making it so that everyone can afford to live? Stop paying for the $300 shoes and the $40,000 cars. If no one bought them....

The next time you go shopping and you reach for something, stop a moment and think about what you're buying and how much you're paying for it. Think about why you're buying that particular brand. Maybe if more of us start thinking about the little things we do everyday we can bring a larger sense of social conscieness back into our world.

The Mayo Clinic and You: What Are You and Your Family Dying of Today?

The Mayo Clinic Website has this handy little symptom checker so you can go online and find out if the symptoms you, your spouse or your children are suffering from are serious.

A little information is a dangerous thing my friends. Go play with this thing for a while. Pick a symptom, any symptom and then chose some things. It gives you a list of matching illnesses ranging from the mundane to the OH MY GOD I'M DYING!!!

Here's the problem with this thing. There are a lot of people out there that aren't going to notice that the list of accompanying symptoms that go with the illnesses listed are MANY and that the ones you choose are in bold face type. If only one or two of these is in bold, chances are you don't have that...if all of them are in bold, well then, okay you can panic.

Seriously fun though. Go ahead and see how many different ways you can kill off you and yours. So far I've had about fifteen serious life threatening illnesses. Good times!!!

Whine Whine Whine

I was watching television the other day when all of a sudden I was looking at the face of this little bald headed girl. There was a voice over begging me to send money to help keep her alive. Cancer, of course.

I'm so tired of all the articles I see and the non-profits begging for my money. I mean seriously, who cares if you have cancer or diabetes or lupus or any of the other fifty thousand "life threatening" illness that seem to plague our country.

I don't know these people, but someone really needs to tell them that everyone has problems and we really don't give a damn about theirs. I don't want to have to look at any more coffee cans in convenience stores with badly photocopied pictures taped to them, a sob story scrawled out in some family members shaky handwriting, "Bob is dying. He has three kids. Won't you help?"

Who cares? Jesus, suck it up. Move on with your life. Get over yourself.

By this point I'm sure that anyone reading this is either waiting for the punchline or so pissed off they can't see straight. Furiously composing scathing replies to my callous treatment of those in our society afflicted with life threatening illnesses.

I would never speak that way to or about someone with any of those illnesses. Yet I receive that same treatment from society on a regular basis. I have Bipolar Disorder and because my illness doesn't come with a tumor, a disfiguring surgery or a string of sympathy inducing commercials I hear, "Well it's not really that big a deal, is it?" or "Just get over it. It's all in your head anyway."

I can't get health insurance that will cover the cost of treatment or medications. I'm not eligible for protection under FMLA should I have a serious episode that causes missed work. My medications cost over $400 a month out of pocket so I have to buy a month, ration it to make it last for three and then buy it again. This means I can't function the way I would if I were treated properly, but because I have the medication I don't qualify for benefits like disability.

I wish that mental illness came with some hideous physical side effect, something that would make it obvious to those of you in society that don't live with it what it is and that it's real. I wish I could find the words to describe what real depression is like.

Everyone gets funked out sometimes. We all have crappy days at work or fights with our families and friends and sometimes the stress of life just weighs on us and we feel down. That passes. I'm talking about being trapped inside your own mind. Hearing your own voice in your head telling you to get up...move...do something..anything....and not being able to respond. I'm talking about staring down at a bottle of pills and thinking, for even a brief moment, that if you swallowed them you'd just drift off to sleep and never have to feel this way again.

I watch the news and I see the stories about mothers killing their own children and I feel a terror grip my heart. I know what it feels like to be so mired in darkness that the world seems hopeless. I know how it feels to want to die because you can't see a clear path through. And I know that if those women had access to reliable and affordable care for their problems and support from society, the tragedies could have been avoided.

With Bipolar you get the upswings too and everyone thinks you're the life of the party. They don't see the other side of it. Days without sleep. Outbursts of irrational and uncontrolled anger. Impulse control issues that can lead to risky behavior. Embarrassment because when it's all over you know you've said or done something that has upset or hurt someone else and they expect you to apologize. So you apologize and you feel humiliated. And you know it won't be the last time.

And the whole time you're watching yourself, like a bad movie you can't shut off. You're screaming inside because you want it to stop, but you can't make it go away. So you look at that bottle of pills again and you pray. You pray for the strength to get up tomorrow. You pray for the strength to take that next breath. You pray that tomorrow will be a "good" day.

And you smile. You smile so the people around you won't have to struggle to find something to say to you. You smile so no one will look at you like your defective. You smile so everyone will think your "normal"...because, after all.....it's only in your head, right?

Two Whole Weeks....

I bet ya thought I died and went to Blogger Heaven, huh?

Nothing quite so terrible. I've just been, well, for lack of a better word, sad. And more than a little distracted. And a lot scatter brained. And a whole list of other things that have long names and medications to go along with them. None of which are contagious.

This would be one of those times my therapist would accuse me of using humor to deflect the real issue. To which I say: Damn Straight! At least I'm not drunk and dancing on the bar of the local biker hang out. (Hey, don't laugh, that happened once. I made $800 bucks)

Anyway, I'm back and mostly in place. Next time I promise to leave a forwarding address.