Yes, I haven't blogged in a handful of days. And yes, that's not keeping up with my resolution. As a matter of fact, the first week of my year (aka 2012) hasn't gone anywhere near the way I wanted or expected it to. But I'm not going to let that define me.
2012. My Year. Supposed to be the year of opportunity and experience. The year I learn who I am. The year I learn what I want. The year I learn what I want to surround myself with. So, how has the last week and a half gone?? A good friend suffered a brain aneurysm, and is fighting, still, to overcome it. My aunt passed away. My brother-in-law and niece and nephew got hit by a drunk driver while on a bike ride through their neighborhood. Yes, I'd say that's less than a positive start to the year. But I'm not going to let that define me.
Trying to keep a positive outlook through all of my experiences, I continually remind myself to look for the opportunity in each experience, no matter how hard it may be to see. To keep my eyes and my mind open. Because what seems like the end of the world could quite possibly be the beginning of something amazing. At least, that's what I'm choosing to believe this year. So at first thought, I think, "Dang, didn't keep to my resolutions. Of course!" But, that's not true. I have all year to try to maintain these changes; all year to keep trying to do better. Be better. So, I'm not going to let that define me.
I've decided that as I see myself slipping back into the norm; into what's easy and comfortable, that I'm not going to see that as a failure. Instead, I'm going to notice myself doing these things and...wait for it...CHANGE THEM. It's a minor setback, not a way of life. I refuse to let this define me.
So now, I vow, again, to push myself harder and make the resolutions I set become habitual. I vow to make myself the best I can be in 2012. I vow to, even when I feel like I might break, to push on. Which brings me to something I've held onto since the last time I attended church.
Preface: I consider myself to be a Christian. Not a hardcore Christian. Not a Bible-thumper. Not a Jesus-freak. Just a Christian who is spiritual. I believe in God. I believe in ethics. I believe in the Bible. I don't attend church regularly; not because I don't want to, but just because I don't feel like it's imperative to go to church every week to have a relationship with God. Although, I do think it's important to get to church once in a while to be a part of a congregation.
Anyway, the last time I went to church, I was in a hard place. So, accordingly, it seemed as if the sermon was constructed completely around me. What I remember the most from it, was something along the lines of God wants you to push yourself to the point that you feel like you might break, so that in that moment you realize you didn't, in his grace, and you will have proved your faith and become a stronger person. Again, I'm not well-versed in the Bible, but that's what I got out of it. To not quit. To keep pushing, even if you feel you might break. To not let the struggle define you.
At first, I engulfed myself in the message. I repeated it again and again on mile 6 and 7 of Sunday uphill runs. I repeated it when it seemed like there were no answers. I repeated it when I thought I might break. And I felt so amazing when I pushed through the struggle, only to realize that wasn't the end for me, whether it be the run, the fight, the story. There's more. And recently, this message has crept back into my mind. Not as dramatic or extreme, but subtle. The way I think I need to hear it right now. Saying that just because I haven't run in a while, or because I haven't pushed myself to breaking in boxing, or I haven't exhausted myself detailing my home, doesn't mean that I've failed to keep my resolutions. I will not let that define me.
I will, however, let the fact that I am renewing my faith in myself and in God; that I will change today and hold true to who I want to be, define me. I'm determined. I'm optimistic. I'm faithful. I will make sure, no matter what happens, that 2012 will be my year. My year of years to come. I will not give up, and I will push past that breaking point, and prove to myself and everyone else that I can do it. I will prove I can do anything. This is what will define me.
Showing posts with label health. Show all posts
Showing posts with label health. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Friday, December 30, 2011
Positivity Isn't Just Scientific
I planned out today's posting all night last night. I thought about the positioning of my points so that the reader could emotionally relate, no matter what their life experiences. I thought about the rises and falls. I knew what I was going to say. That is, until today.
Last night, a friend of mine suffered from a serious health altercation, and this morning before I sat to blog, I learned just how serious it was. She is probably THE sweetest person I, or anyone, has ever met. She's one of those people who just radiates positivity, and no matter what kind of mood you're in or what had happened to you in the hours before you crossed her path, she will make you smile, and, even if just for that moment, you will forget all that is bad. And here it is again; another example of shoulda/woulda/coulda. I was with this friend only a half an hour before the ambulance was called. And all I could think was how I didn't say everything I wanted to or that I didn't act as I wanted to, mostly because of all of my own personal drama that happened yesterday.
I decided it's my responsibility to make this horrible and terrifying experience something positive, no matter how hard it is to decipher positivity in any of it. I realize, now, how much of my life experiences I haven't fully dealt with. I realize I've been in this position many times in my life. With the passing of my grandma. With my mom's illness, and basically, the passing of her as I knew her. With my sister's passing. I'm always left thinking how I wasn't able to portray to them just how special and positive they were to me, and then it was too late. Always because I was so wrapped up in the negative drama I just seem to magnetize.
And, then, here I am. Forced to think and re-think every step of my life from the last thing I said or did until now. As if I should have known something was going to happen. But that's not it at all. What it is was that I should have been acting and maintaining myself to the best of my ability. I shouldn't bog myself down with the negativity, so I might be able to really just think back and enjoy my memories.
This is exactly why I'm committing myself to being the best person I can be. So I won't be too consumed to pay 100 percent attention to whomever I'm conversing with. So I will say everything my heart needs to say. So I will do everything my mind needs to do. So I can be just half the positive force my friend always is. So I can help others and change the world, because that is what positive forces do. I don't want another moment to pass that my full potential isn't utilized.
I sincerely ask for everyone's good thoughts, prayers, rain dances; whatever it is in your life that brings luck and wellness, for my friend's quick and true recovery. I hope that the next time I can see her, where she and I are both able to converse, that I will be the person I want to be, and that she will understand just how amazing a positive force like she is can be for the world. And I hope that, through this post, others will realize the importance of detoxing from certain dramatic forces and, instead, substituting them for positive.
Last night, a friend of mine suffered from a serious health altercation, and this morning before I sat to blog, I learned just how serious it was. She is probably THE sweetest person I, or anyone, has ever met. She's one of those people who just radiates positivity, and no matter what kind of mood you're in or what had happened to you in the hours before you crossed her path, she will make you smile, and, even if just for that moment, you will forget all that is bad. And here it is again; another example of shoulda/woulda/coulda. I was with this friend only a half an hour before the ambulance was called. And all I could think was how I didn't say everything I wanted to or that I didn't act as I wanted to, mostly because of all of my own personal drama that happened yesterday.
I decided it's my responsibility to make this horrible and terrifying experience something positive, no matter how hard it is to decipher positivity in any of it. I realize, now, how much of my life experiences I haven't fully dealt with. I realize I've been in this position many times in my life. With the passing of my grandma. With my mom's illness, and basically, the passing of her as I knew her. With my sister's passing. I'm always left thinking how I wasn't able to portray to them just how special and positive they were to me, and then it was too late. Always because I was so wrapped up in the negative drama I just seem to magnetize.
And, then, here I am. Forced to think and re-think every step of my life from the last thing I said or did until now. As if I should have known something was going to happen. But that's not it at all. What it is was that I should have been acting and maintaining myself to the best of my ability. I shouldn't bog myself down with the negativity, so I might be able to really just think back and enjoy my memories.
This is exactly why I'm committing myself to being the best person I can be. So I won't be too consumed to pay 100 percent attention to whomever I'm conversing with. So I will say everything my heart needs to say. So I will do everything my mind needs to do. So I can be just half the positive force my friend always is. So I can help others and change the world, because that is what positive forces do. I don't want another moment to pass that my full potential isn't utilized.
I sincerely ask for everyone's good thoughts, prayers, rain dances; whatever it is in your life that brings luck and wellness, for my friend's quick and true recovery. I hope that the next time I can see her, where she and I are both able to converse, that I will be the person I want to be, and that she will understand just how amazing a positive force like she is can be for the world. And I hope that, through this post, others will realize the importance of detoxing from certain dramatic forces and, instead, substituting them for positive.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Your Workout is My Warmup
A good friend told me "Today is your day!" So I started to really think about it. I have been so consumed with 2012 being my year, that I have been sitting around, counting the minutes of the rest of 2011. I've been lolly-gagging the last week of the year, because 2012 is my year. Not the last week of 2011. That is just the end of a not-my-year year, right?! It doesn't have to be, as I now realize.
So my New Year starts today; December 29, 2011. I am not going to just beg for the days to go by faster so that "My Year" starts sooner. That would mean that these days of my kids being as little and fun as they are would be swept under the rug. My organization practice and figuring out how to fit everything I want to do in my days would be delayed. Today would mean nothing. What kind of living is that??
My first order of business is to make my heart and head lighter. To illustrate my ideas and feelings. To give myself more esteem. I decided, today, to be insightful and inspirational, if not for others, for myself. I want to be the best person, daily, that I am able to be. I want to be organized. I want to be put-together. I want to be well-read and sound educated when I converse. These are all things, that during 2011, I've felt were not maintained at an acceptable level. And, as my 4 year old Stinkyface looks more and more like a 14 year old, both in appearance and in communicative and educational skills, I've decided this is more than a priority. This is necessary. I have to be the best person I can be, so that she will do the same.
I started to think about what it was like to be young, so I can relate more to what it is I'm teaching Stinkyface through my actions. I remember being consumed with my physical appearance and obsessing over my education and wit when I felt inadequate physically. Not healthy!! I went through months of anorexia, bulimia, and other unfortunate "dieting" routines so I could fit into society's and my own ideas of beauty. I worked out incessantly and played sports until I passed out. This is most of what I remember about being young. I, still, have moments of insecurity where I think aloud about how awful the food I eat is for me or that I have to run more because of insert-fat-body-part-here. I would devote myself to books, not because I enjoyed to read, but instead to have more knowledge about everything than anyone else. That way, when someone thought I was ugly or fat, at least they would think I was the smartest person they knew.
I definitely do not want Stinkyface, or her brother for that matter, to have these skewed and unhealthy ideals. I don't want to promote obsessive, extreme behaviors at all, especially when it has to do with health. So, as many of those close to me know, I've taken up boxing. It has become my therapist's office. I can give it all up there. I can be aggressive. I can push myself until I break. And I can pick myself back up and be proud of what I did. I'm not the best or strongest, but it doesn't matter. I'm committed and I finish every class.
But what is lacking from my personal physical approval is my diet. Sometimes I'm on and sometimes I'm off, which not only messes with my energy level, but also makes me less confident and more inhibited, which utterly ends in the demise of my goals. These are the same issues so many women battle on a daily basis, due to societal view of beauty and physicality. And I'm hoping through being more committed to a healthier diet, whether I do or I don't have the body of my dreams, I will have the confidence of my dreams, and teach my children to have the same, and maybe even some other women who come across my writing. And these mini goals give me a whole new window of opportunity for my own personal growth.
Not to overwhelm myself, I've decided to focus primarily on this today, the beginning of my new year. So far, I've been successful (of course it's only 11am, but lets stay positive!!) and I feel great about it. I feel like I'm stronger, both inside and out. I've decided to keep a fit book, to hold me responsible, and also make it easier for me to understand and deal with things I would have normally beat myself up about in the past. This way, my kids will learn to deal with ups and downs instead of compulsively try to change whatever-it-is in any means possible. I can't wait to see where these commitments will lead me in a week; a month; even next year!! And I hope to share the journey with all of you, and hear about your own personal journeys, about diet and exercise, or any other obstacles keeping you from your personal best!!
So my New Year starts today; December 29, 2011. I am not going to just beg for the days to go by faster so that "My Year" starts sooner. That would mean that these days of my kids being as little and fun as they are would be swept under the rug. My organization practice and figuring out how to fit everything I want to do in my days would be delayed. Today would mean nothing. What kind of living is that??
My first order of business is to make my heart and head lighter. To illustrate my ideas and feelings. To give myself more esteem. I decided, today, to be insightful and inspirational, if not for others, for myself. I want to be the best person, daily, that I am able to be. I want to be organized. I want to be put-together. I want to be well-read and sound educated when I converse. These are all things, that during 2011, I've felt were not maintained at an acceptable level. And, as my 4 year old Stinkyface looks more and more like a 14 year old, both in appearance and in communicative and educational skills, I've decided this is more than a priority. This is necessary. I have to be the best person I can be, so that she will do the same.
I started to think about what it was like to be young, so I can relate more to what it is I'm teaching Stinkyface through my actions. I remember being consumed with my physical appearance and obsessing over my education and wit when I felt inadequate physically. Not healthy!! I went through months of anorexia, bulimia, and other unfortunate "dieting" routines so I could fit into society's and my own ideas of beauty. I worked out incessantly and played sports until I passed out. This is most of what I remember about being young. I, still, have moments of insecurity where I think aloud about how awful the food I eat is for me or that I have to run more because of insert-fat-body-part-here. I would devote myself to books, not because I enjoyed to read, but instead to have more knowledge about everything than anyone else. That way, when someone thought I was ugly or fat, at least they would think I was the smartest person they knew.
I definitely do not want Stinkyface, or her brother for that matter, to have these skewed and unhealthy ideals. I don't want to promote obsessive, extreme behaviors at all, especially when it has to do with health. So, as many of those close to me know, I've taken up boxing. It has become my therapist's office. I can give it all up there. I can be aggressive. I can push myself until I break. And I can pick myself back up and be proud of what I did. I'm not the best or strongest, but it doesn't matter. I'm committed and I finish every class.
But what is lacking from my personal physical approval is my diet. Sometimes I'm on and sometimes I'm off, which not only messes with my energy level, but also makes me less confident and more inhibited, which utterly ends in the demise of my goals. These are the same issues so many women battle on a daily basis, due to societal view of beauty and physicality. And I'm hoping through being more committed to a healthier diet, whether I do or I don't have the body of my dreams, I will have the confidence of my dreams, and teach my children to have the same, and maybe even some other women who come across my writing. And these mini goals give me a whole new window of opportunity for my own personal growth.
Not to overwhelm myself, I've decided to focus primarily on this today, the beginning of my new year. So far, I've been successful (of course it's only 11am, but lets stay positive!!) and I feel great about it. I feel like I'm stronger, both inside and out. I've decided to keep a fit book, to hold me responsible, and also make it easier for me to understand and deal with things I would have normally beat myself up about in the past. This way, my kids will learn to deal with ups and downs instead of compulsively try to change whatever-it-is in any means possible. I can't wait to see where these commitments will lead me in a week; a month; even next year!! And I hope to share the journey with all of you, and hear about your own personal journeys, about diet and exercise, or any other obstacles keeping you from your personal best!!
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Squirrels In My Pants
Disturbingly enough, I had an A-HA moment watching Phineas and Ferb today, as I'm sure most mommies have...right??!! Okay, maybe not. Maybe I was reading far to much into a kids/tween animated comedy. Anyway, you know the episode. No, not the one all about aglets. You know, the end of a shoelace. Not the one about squirrels in Candace's pants. Not the one about Rock camp where the little Indian kid feels like he may fail for the first time. Okay, I obviously watch way to much Phineas and Ferb.
It's the episode where Candace, the older sister, tries to figure out what she'll do while her brothers, who are always up to something, choose to have a "do-nothing" day. She couldn't figure out who she was if she wasn't busting her brothers. And here's where it morphs into self-reflection. When I'm not busy trying to figure out what's wrong, why it's wrong, and how to help others that this wrong is hurting, I'm confused as to what I do. I think about writing about travel, or fashion, or any of the other things that otherwise take over my brain, but then I wonder how interesting or entertaining I would sound. Thinking about it now kind of sends me into a coma.
Needless to say, I vow to figure out who I am aside of drama and dilemma in 2012. I have pronounced the year as "My Year!" My year to bitch. My year to smile. My year to travel. My year to sit on my butt. My year to do exactly what I want to do. Maybe not always, as I am a slave to my children; most willingly, but I do realize that standing up for my happiness and sanity is what will make my monkies happy. It is what will make them well adjusted. What will make them smile and respect me. And that's all I really want. I cannot wait for the New Year. And I hope many people will jump on my wagon and take this trip and share it with me!! Cheers to 2012!!
It's the episode where Candace, the older sister, tries to figure out what she'll do while her brothers, who are always up to something, choose to have a "do-nothing" day. She couldn't figure out who she was if she wasn't busting her brothers. And here's where it morphs into self-reflection. When I'm not busy trying to figure out what's wrong, why it's wrong, and how to help others that this wrong is hurting, I'm confused as to what I do. I think about writing about travel, or fashion, or any of the other things that otherwise take over my brain, but then I wonder how interesting or entertaining I would sound. Thinking about it now kind of sends me into a coma.
Needless to say, I vow to figure out who I am aside of drama and dilemma in 2012. I have pronounced the year as "My Year!" My year to bitch. My year to smile. My year to travel. My year to sit on my butt. My year to do exactly what I want to do. Maybe not always, as I am a slave to my children; most willingly, but I do realize that standing up for my happiness and sanity is what will make my monkies happy. It is what will make them well adjusted. What will make them smile and respect me. And that's all I really want. I cannot wait for the New Year. And I hope many people will jump on my wagon and take this trip and share it with me!! Cheers to 2012!!
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Adrenaline Junkie
I woke up early today, as most mothers to one year olds typically do. I was bummed that I didn't get to write yesterday, because I knew exactly what I wanted to say. Basically, yesterday, similar to nearly once a week, I started to feel bad. I felt like maybe I should tell everyone how the Big Man wasn't as bad as it sometimes seems. Like I should explain that a lot of times I'm just emerging from the situation I'm blogging about, so many of my posts are driven by emotion and adrenaline. Like, my situation is really mostly normal and that everyone goes through all kinds of drama in their "relationships."
And, like always, a couple hours go by and I'm reminded why I blog in the first place. Because the good lasts mere hours, if that, and the bad is the rest of the time. My work is discredited. My effort is discredited. My being is discredited. And that is why I write. Which leads me, of course fueled by anger, disappointment, and logic, to wonder if my writing would be anything if I were actually happy. If I was with someone who actually supported my ideas. Who supported my efforts. Who supported me, period.
I do believe the Big Man doesn't want to be the psychotic, immature reactor that he is, most of the time. Until, of course, he says things like, "This is who I am," and "You knew I was crazy when you signed up for this." Doesn't sound like a person apologetic of his words and behaviors. Sounds more like a person who is quite well with the way his life is. He is used to it. He is satisfied.
But, I never signed up for anything! I got pregnant. That's it. Two of the most amazing children, ever, and I'm so proud to be their mommy. And for the most part, I remained in this situation for them. So they could have a daddy. So I could have the flexibility to stay home with them sometimes. Sadly, neither seems to happen. Daddy is rarely around, mostly because he vegges out on his computer or the t.v. while he's home. Or, the latest bragging right, he's become a worldly jet-setter. So pretty much, I'm a single mom who has to do an extra person's laundry, clean up his messes, manage his business, and deal with his tantrums. Yeah, why wouldn't everyone "sign up for this?"
And let's talk flexibility. I get reamed worse, now, if I "call in sick" either because the kids aren't feeling well or I just want to spend some one-on-one time with them, than I would working for someone else. Not to mention, I would get a pay check in any other normal job. What I hear now is, "This is what pays for 'our' life! What do you do to pitch in?" What do I do?? I work from 10am-4pm for no pay. I do more work than the rest of the office combined. I take care of the house. I take care of my kids. I wake up in the middle of the night, every night, with them. I cook. I take care of my health. That's what I do. And, in response to "What? You think you're just going to run out and get a job making barely anything?" Firstly, barely anything is a hell of a lot more than the growing debts his "business" is creating. Not to mention, for the exact same hours away from my kids, I'd actually get a pay check. I wouldn't get yelled at for taking a sick day. And, I have great job experience, so that "barely anything" is a hell of a lot more than what it sounds like!
All in all, I want to take my chances with my writing. I want to see what would come out of being happy. Of being independent again. Of doing what I love. Of being around friends and family without constant negativity and nagging. Of course, I really hope for my writing to take-off at some point so I can ACTUALLY have the flexibility with my kids, but moreso, I just want to free.
And, like always, a couple hours go by and I'm reminded why I blog in the first place. Because the good lasts mere hours, if that, and the bad is the rest of the time. My work is discredited. My effort is discredited. My being is discredited. And that is why I write. Which leads me, of course fueled by anger, disappointment, and logic, to wonder if my writing would be anything if I were actually happy. If I was with someone who actually supported my ideas. Who supported my efforts. Who supported me, period.
I do believe the Big Man doesn't want to be the psychotic, immature reactor that he is, most of the time. Until, of course, he says things like, "This is who I am," and "You knew I was crazy when you signed up for this." Doesn't sound like a person apologetic of his words and behaviors. Sounds more like a person who is quite well with the way his life is. He is used to it. He is satisfied.
But, I never signed up for anything! I got pregnant. That's it. Two of the most amazing children, ever, and I'm so proud to be their mommy. And for the most part, I remained in this situation for them. So they could have a daddy. So I could have the flexibility to stay home with them sometimes. Sadly, neither seems to happen. Daddy is rarely around, mostly because he vegges out on his computer or the t.v. while he's home. Or, the latest bragging right, he's become a worldly jet-setter. So pretty much, I'm a single mom who has to do an extra person's laundry, clean up his messes, manage his business, and deal with his tantrums. Yeah, why wouldn't everyone "sign up for this?"
And let's talk flexibility. I get reamed worse, now, if I "call in sick" either because the kids aren't feeling well or I just want to spend some one-on-one time with them, than I would working for someone else. Not to mention, I would get a pay check in any other normal job. What I hear now is, "This is what pays for 'our' life! What do you do to pitch in?" What do I do?? I work from 10am-4pm for no pay. I do more work than the rest of the office combined. I take care of the house. I take care of my kids. I wake up in the middle of the night, every night, with them. I cook. I take care of my health. That's what I do. And, in response to "What? You think you're just going to run out and get a job making barely anything?" Firstly, barely anything is a hell of a lot more than the growing debts his "business" is creating. Not to mention, for the exact same hours away from my kids, I'd actually get a pay check. I wouldn't get yelled at for taking a sick day. And, I have great job experience, so that "barely anything" is a hell of a lot more than what it sounds like!
All in all, I want to take my chances with my writing. I want to see what would come out of being happy. Of being independent again. Of doing what I love. Of being around friends and family without constant negativity and nagging. Of course, I really hope for my writing to take-off at some point so I can ACTUALLY have the flexibility with my kids, but moreso, I just want to free.
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Missed Call: Message Waiting.
Cell phone voicemails can be intimidating. Especially when they pile up. I don't know whom I've missed their call, who's pissed about it, who's got good news, or who is calling emergency status. But lately I've been very good about my voicemail. I've turned my ringer up, for the most part, and what calls I still miss, I listen to my voicemail as soon as I notice the message icon on my phone. Such was the routine today. Missed call: Sister. Message icon. So I dial my voicemail.
I fully expected an "I can't find a certain Christmas present" message or a "bet you didn't know what happened at my house today" kind of message. Unfortunately, neither of those were the case. To make a long story short, she visited my parent's house today, something neither of us do often enough. She described my mom as "as worse off as she's seen her" and said she is "withering away." Immediately, my mood changed. I withdrew, and just went through the motions. All the same thoughts that I always ponder came rushing back.
To begin with, I've always wondered what would have been easier. Physically losing my mom to her fight with cancer, or what actually happened and losing her mentally for the rest of her life. I still have no idea. But I do know that every time my mom gets more sickly or less manageable, I start to feel guilty. I count how many times I went over to visit her in the last month. I try to remember if I always told her I loved her. Kissed her. Hugged her. And yet, it's never clear and it's always too few times. So today, I began to think about Christmas. What if it's my last Christmas with her, even if she isn't completely there, mentally. What do I give her?? Would she prefer the porcelain doll of the type that she collects avidly, or would she rather have a matted and framed picture of the kids?? Does she want to go to Stinkyface's first tap recital? What would make her understand, that after all these years, I still support her and respect her and love her??
And I've come up with nothing. I don't know if I've visited enough. I don't know if I've told her my feelings enough. I don't know even how she feels about Christmas, let alone what present would mean the most or be the best in the case that it be her last one to share with me on this planet. But I do know that for the rest of the time I'm able to have her with me physically on this Earth, I'm going to make sure to do everything I feel I've slacked on as much as I possibly can until I can't anymore.
I love you mom, and miss your capabilities. But you are still as loving, funny, personable, and great as you always have been and I know that I'm not the only one who feels this way. You are an amazing woman who has survived so much and you will always be admired by women everywhere!!
I fully expected an "I can't find a certain Christmas present" message or a "bet you didn't know what happened at my house today" kind of message. Unfortunately, neither of those were the case. To make a long story short, she visited my parent's house today, something neither of us do often enough. She described my mom as "as worse off as she's seen her" and said she is "withering away." Immediately, my mood changed. I withdrew, and just went through the motions. All the same thoughts that I always ponder came rushing back.
To begin with, I've always wondered what would have been easier. Physically losing my mom to her fight with cancer, or what actually happened and losing her mentally for the rest of her life. I still have no idea. But I do know that every time my mom gets more sickly or less manageable, I start to feel guilty. I count how many times I went over to visit her in the last month. I try to remember if I always told her I loved her. Kissed her. Hugged her. And yet, it's never clear and it's always too few times. So today, I began to think about Christmas. What if it's my last Christmas with her, even if she isn't completely there, mentally. What do I give her?? Would she prefer the porcelain doll of the type that she collects avidly, or would she rather have a matted and framed picture of the kids?? Does she want to go to Stinkyface's first tap recital? What would make her understand, that after all these years, I still support her and respect her and love her??
And I've come up with nothing. I don't know if I've visited enough. I don't know if I've told her my feelings enough. I don't know even how she feels about Christmas, let alone what present would mean the most or be the best in the case that it be her last one to share with me on this planet. But I do know that for the rest of the time I'm able to have her with me physically on this Earth, I'm going to make sure to do everything I feel I've slacked on as much as I possibly can until I can't anymore.
I love you mom, and miss your capabilities. But you are still as loving, funny, personable, and great as you always have been and I know that I'm not the only one who feels this way. You are an amazing woman who has survived so much and you will always be admired by women everywhere!!
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
November 30th
So, as I ponder the subject of today's blog, I'm getting more and more irritated. Is irritated the word?? No. Angry. Resentful. Sad. Today is the third anniversary of my oldest sister's passing. And with that come all these emotions that I've claimed to have dealt with but haven't even come close. And I've decided this posting can go one of two directions. It can be a hateful release on the person I've placed the blame on for losing my sister so early. Or, it can be a very mournful celebration of the wonderful, strong woman she was in all of her short years. I'm really, really going to try for the latter.
My sister was a young mom. A VERY young mom. And the man who knocked her up was an abusive addict. I remember him as ugly. As scary. And besides that, the only thing else I remember about him is his name. He didn't only abuse my sister, a mom to his two children by 16. He also was abusive to the girls. To me. He was pretty much evil to everyone he came in contact with. But I got to be around my sister and my nieces because they lived nearby, and sometimes, back at home with me. I don't know how or when she got the courage to leave this void of a man, but she did, and I admire her for that.
The problem is, she felt like no one would want a mom of two girls. This, of course, was the 80's people. Not like today where Octomom has suitors in a line down the street. People were stereotypical; superficial. People judged as if they were God. And coming from a past where her own father wasn't around, and her step-father was close to the same, she was wanted that validity. For a man to love her. Again, I don't remember when or how she met him, but she met who was to become her next husband. He was younger. He said the right words. He seemed to have a nice family. He was willing to be with her despite the fact that she had two young girls. He married her and that was the end.
They moved to Japan because he was in the military. My sister was gone. My nieces were gone. They were transplanted into a foreign country with nobody, because my sister was being what she thought a good wife should be. They stayed there for years. My best friends became my pen pals, and eventually the letters faded. We would get depressing video journals from my sister in the mail. They were alone. It was constantly raining. But she always tried to make the best of it, for her girls.
My sister got pregnant with an adorable little girl with her husband. It was right about then I remember them coming back. When they finally came back to the states, they moved to Illinois. You have to understand, my sister was still very young, and all she ever knew was her family and friends in good ol' HB. Now, she was surrounded by his family and friends. Thousands of miles away from us. She stayed there. We visited a couple times and they visited a couple times. When I met the husband, I knew. I didn't like him. Not at all. My sister was beautiful. He was ugly. My sister laughed. He put her down. My sister loved her kids. He resented them. I hated the fact they were together. He caused so much drama, not only in her life, but in the life of my entire family. He was abusive. To everyone. It was the same story.
But my sister couldn't let go. Needless to say, she had two more kids with him. Boys. Didn't treat them any better. And it got worse. He blatantly cheated. Lied. Drank. God knows what else. He openly abused my sister and the kids. And the oldest two, weren't even treated like humans. But this is common is abusive relationships. The manipulation. The draining of self-esteem. The control. My sister was a victimized enabler like my mom. She was no longer the bubbly, happy person I remember her as. He took her away physically and emotionally.
And then all of a sudden, the cancer. Stage 4 colon cancer. But she didn't go in for any type of screening like she should have with the history of cancer in our family. She didn't because the "man" she married didn't work. He didn't supply health insurance for her or his five kids. Therefore, by the time they even found it, they had no hope. That's when my closest in age sister and I decided enough was enough. He would create no more barrier. He would ruin no more of our relationship.
We flew out for Thanksgiving. That trip was my favorite. Although, we weren't as close as we used to be, it just took a couple warming up hours to get back. My sister was sick. So skinny. But she had left the waste and was supporting her family alone, while dying. She was sad, but there was a glimmer. I could see her underneath it all. We talked for hours. I told her about my relationship, not much different from hers, and the words that came out of her mouth had come out of mine so many times before. I heard her talking about her husband and I'd said the same things. But I didn't see it with her. He wasn't charming. He wasn't handsome. He was never nice. And then I understood. And, as importantly, someone else finally understood me. She became my idol in the matter of minutes. She was dying. And yet, she had the courage to leave the man who tried to take her light away and turn her into a shell. She was working, straight through her treatments, so her kids could live like normal teenagers. She was so happy to have her family. I was so happy. But like all trips, that one came to an end.
They expected her to pass within months of that trip. But something amazing happened. The cancer stopped growing. I thought that was it. I thought she won. I thought I had the rest of my life to learn from her and be close to her. I was ready to celebrate. But then I got a call saying the doctors had changed her treatment, and the cancer was growing again. I flipped. Why would they change treatments when this one was obviously working?? What the hell were they thinking. The answer I got was that's what Illinois doctors who work on patients with no insurance do. But the doctor's only got maybe 25 percent of the blame I was handing out. That asshole of a man got all of the rest. If he could have just been a man and got her insurance. If he could have just been a man and took her for a screening. If he could have just been a man and loved her. If he could have just been a man.
But he never was. And the cancer persisted. We talked on the phone, my sister and I. She was in and out of it. She fought. She fought hard. And, in the meantime, I was within the exact same relationship she was defending. I wasn't able to spend as much time talking with her or learning how to make all her crafts. I wasn't able to clearly plot a Plan B for her and try to get her out here to the California doctors who are on top of their cancer game. I was too busy fighting. Protecting my brand new baby from alcoholism. I was too busy hating my life, and in the meantime, my sister was slipping away. And the day came. My beautiful, energetic, smart, strong, victimized, martyr of a sister called me from the hospital. I remember the night like it was yesterday. So much fighting. Stinkyface crying incessantly. I was standing at the foot of my bed in the dark, holding a naked baby, and my sister called. She spoke for a while, but I honestly couldn't figure out what she was saying. And then the "I love you's" started. "Take care of that baby girl." "Be good."
I was in shock. I had no idea what to say. At first, the only thing that came out was "no!" and "You're going to be okay." That quickly turned into "I love you. I really love you." That's all I could say. That's the only thing that came out. I regret that now. She passed away. There was no more understanding. There was no more laugh. She was just gone.
For a long time, I didn't know what to do. I didn't know if it was real. I was in a fog. The day we spread her ashes was a terrible day. I hated the world. I hated my family. I didn't want to do it. But I did. And it didn't close one door. Still today, I miss my sister with such vigor. There's not a week that doesn't go by when I encounter a craft that I want to ask her about, or a time when I want to ask her what she did when she was in my situation. But I can't. Most days, I convince myself I've dealt with it, until days like today roll around and I so obviously haven't.
So without making it about me completely, my sister was such an inspiration. Not only to me, but to my siblings, and her children. She raised wonderful babies, and I truly hope I can be as brave as she was and pave the way for a bright future for my babies. Only much earlier in their lives. Deb, you are still my idol, and I love and miss you with all of my heart. And again, speechlessness plagues me.
My sister was a young mom. A VERY young mom. And the man who knocked her up was an abusive addict. I remember him as ugly. As scary. And besides that, the only thing else I remember about him is his name. He didn't only abuse my sister, a mom to his two children by 16. He also was abusive to the girls. To me. He was pretty much evil to everyone he came in contact with. But I got to be around my sister and my nieces because they lived nearby, and sometimes, back at home with me. I don't know how or when she got the courage to leave this void of a man, but she did, and I admire her for that.
The problem is, she felt like no one would want a mom of two girls. This, of course, was the 80's people. Not like today where Octomom has suitors in a line down the street. People were stereotypical; superficial. People judged as if they were God. And coming from a past where her own father wasn't around, and her step-father was close to the same, she was wanted that validity. For a man to love her. Again, I don't remember when or how she met him, but she met who was to become her next husband. He was younger. He said the right words. He seemed to have a nice family. He was willing to be with her despite the fact that she had two young girls. He married her and that was the end.
They moved to Japan because he was in the military. My sister was gone. My nieces were gone. They were transplanted into a foreign country with nobody, because my sister was being what she thought a good wife should be. They stayed there for years. My best friends became my pen pals, and eventually the letters faded. We would get depressing video journals from my sister in the mail. They were alone. It was constantly raining. But she always tried to make the best of it, for her girls.
My sister got pregnant with an adorable little girl with her husband. It was right about then I remember them coming back. When they finally came back to the states, they moved to Illinois. You have to understand, my sister was still very young, and all she ever knew was her family and friends in good ol' HB. Now, she was surrounded by his family and friends. Thousands of miles away from us. She stayed there. We visited a couple times and they visited a couple times. When I met the husband, I knew. I didn't like him. Not at all. My sister was beautiful. He was ugly. My sister laughed. He put her down. My sister loved her kids. He resented them. I hated the fact they were together. He caused so much drama, not only in her life, but in the life of my entire family. He was abusive. To everyone. It was the same story.
But my sister couldn't let go. Needless to say, she had two more kids with him. Boys. Didn't treat them any better. And it got worse. He blatantly cheated. Lied. Drank. God knows what else. He openly abused my sister and the kids. And the oldest two, weren't even treated like humans. But this is common is abusive relationships. The manipulation. The draining of self-esteem. The control. My sister was a victimized enabler like my mom. She was no longer the bubbly, happy person I remember her as. He took her away physically and emotionally.
And then all of a sudden, the cancer. Stage 4 colon cancer. But she didn't go in for any type of screening like she should have with the history of cancer in our family. She didn't because the "man" she married didn't work. He didn't supply health insurance for her or his five kids. Therefore, by the time they even found it, they had no hope. That's when my closest in age sister and I decided enough was enough. He would create no more barrier. He would ruin no more of our relationship.
We flew out for Thanksgiving. That trip was my favorite. Although, we weren't as close as we used to be, it just took a couple warming up hours to get back. My sister was sick. So skinny. But she had left the waste and was supporting her family alone, while dying. She was sad, but there was a glimmer. I could see her underneath it all. We talked for hours. I told her about my relationship, not much different from hers, and the words that came out of her mouth had come out of mine so many times before. I heard her talking about her husband and I'd said the same things. But I didn't see it with her. He wasn't charming. He wasn't handsome. He was never nice. And then I understood. And, as importantly, someone else finally understood me. She became my idol in the matter of minutes. She was dying. And yet, she had the courage to leave the man who tried to take her light away and turn her into a shell. She was working, straight through her treatments, so her kids could live like normal teenagers. She was so happy to have her family. I was so happy. But like all trips, that one came to an end.
They expected her to pass within months of that trip. But something amazing happened. The cancer stopped growing. I thought that was it. I thought she won. I thought I had the rest of my life to learn from her and be close to her. I was ready to celebrate. But then I got a call saying the doctors had changed her treatment, and the cancer was growing again. I flipped. Why would they change treatments when this one was obviously working?? What the hell were they thinking. The answer I got was that's what Illinois doctors who work on patients with no insurance do. But the doctor's only got maybe 25 percent of the blame I was handing out. That asshole of a man got all of the rest. If he could have just been a man and got her insurance. If he could have just been a man and took her for a screening. If he could have just been a man and loved her. If he could have just been a man.
But he never was. And the cancer persisted. We talked on the phone, my sister and I. She was in and out of it. She fought. She fought hard. And, in the meantime, I was within the exact same relationship she was defending. I wasn't able to spend as much time talking with her or learning how to make all her crafts. I wasn't able to clearly plot a Plan B for her and try to get her out here to the California doctors who are on top of their cancer game. I was too busy fighting. Protecting my brand new baby from alcoholism. I was too busy hating my life, and in the meantime, my sister was slipping away. And the day came. My beautiful, energetic, smart, strong, victimized, martyr of a sister called me from the hospital. I remember the night like it was yesterday. So much fighting. Stinkyface crying incessantly. I was standing at the foot of my bed in the dark, holding a naked baby, and my sister called. She spoke for a while, but I honestly couldn't figure out what she was saying. And then the "I love you's" started. "Take care of that baby girl." "Be good."
I was in shock. I had no idea what to say. At first, the only thing that came out was "no!" and "You're going to be okay." That quickly turned into "I love you. I really love you." That's all I could say. That's the only thing that came out. I regret that now. She passed away. There was no more understanding. There was no more laugh. She was just gone.
For a long time, I didn't know what to do. I didn't know if it was real. I was in a fog. The day we spread her ashes was a terrible day. I hated the world. I hated my family. I didn't want to do it. But I did. And it didn't close one door. Still today, I miss my sister with such vigor. There's not a week that doesn't go by when I encounter a craft that I want to ask her about, or a time when I want to ask her what she did when she was in my situation. But I can't. Most days, I convince myself I've dealt with it, until days like today roll around and I so obviously haven't.
So without making it about me completely, my sister was such an inspiration. Not only to me, but to my siblings, and her children. She raised wonderful babies, and I truly hope I can be as brave as she was and pave the way for a bright future for my babies. Only much earlier in their lives. Deb, you are still my idol, and I love and miss you with all of my heart. And again, speechlessness plagues me.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Me. Volume 2.
After a little recovery time, on, on we go. Looking back into my childhood, before age 8, I remember very little past what I've already described. A few other memories include my brother and his girlfriend allowing me to watch Nightmare on Elm Street at an age appropriate 6ish (my own nightmares of Freddy lasted a good 5 years after that!), as well as a few games of tether ball in the front yard, and that pitiful day my favorite tree was dug up while I was at school. I remember knocking on my sister's locked bedroom door begging her to let me help her with her homework (of which I couldn't read or write, and she, being 7 years my elder, probably had algebra or some other "Greek" studies I couldn't begin to comprehend.) Anyways, the memories continue, this random, and this vague.
A little later, we find out my mom has lung cancer. Probably from the pack a day habit she had for as long as I was alive at least. Being so young, I don't remember much of the technical hospital stuff, as I wasn't involved, but I do remember they had to perform surgery to remove my mom's lung, and the chance of recovery they gave her was slim to none. This changed everything. My dad stopped drinking, kinda. We started eating dinner as a family at the dinner table and saying grace. None of these changes were comfortable for me. I didn't have my mom at home. All of a sudden I had no idea what to expect from my father, and I had no clue what saying grace was or why we had to do it. Life, as I knew it, was forever changed. And I was angry.
Long story short, the surgery went okay. And my mom was home but on extreme chemo and medication. She was very sick. But she was there. She wasn't yelling and screaming all the time anymore. And randomly, I don't really remember what was going on with my dad during this time. Life kind of just stopped.
Fast forward a couple of years. My mom was doing well. The cancer was gone and my mom was in a much better mood than prior to the cancer. My dad was sober more often, but that meant more attempts at discipline from him, which, in my preteen condition, made me more rebellious. And if it wasn't enough, my sister was a seemingly perfect example of a child. I had to live up to her amazing grades and good behavior. Around this time, my mom started spending some of her hoarded money on me and after school programs. I was able to dance and play sports because my mom saved money she was given for groceries for the family. But then, something else happened.
My mom started having migraines. Serious migraines. Migraines that affected her day to day. It was chalked up to depression and stress. Until the seizures started. Now, diabetes doesn't run in my family, and for all I knew, seizures were only linked to diabetes. I had no idea what was happening, being only 9 or 10 and never witnessing anything even as remotely serious as a seizure. My mom just started convulsing. My sister called 911 and I freaked out. By the time the ambulance got to our house, my mom showed signs of being conscious again. I sighed in relief. Then, I just observed. I watched the EMTs lock my mom down on the gurney and then they wheeled her down the driveway. I followed like a lost puppy dog. They asked her questions like, "What's your name? What year is it? Where are you?" She answered all the questions correctly. Then I took charge. "Do you know my name?" I asked her. "Yes," she said. "What is it?" I asked. "Umm....I...it will come to me." All I could think is, "How does a mom forget her own daughter's name?"
The only thing I remember for the next couple of years is crying. My mom's cancer came back in the form of brain cancer. She had multiple surgeries, of which some were not completely necessary come to find out. They took out part of her memory, which left her with minimal long term memory and practically no short term memory. We had to teach her everything all over again. And this is why she didn't know me. But she learned. And I learned. And one day I stopped. I stopped all my adolescent nonsense. I saw my mom for who she was finally. She wasn't depressed and resentful because she forgot she was. She wasn't angry and spiteful because she forgot she was. She was happy. She was loving. She was maternal and caring. She was personable and entertaining. I was able to see my mom outside of the abusive shadow and all of a sudden she was in a glowing beam of light. I was happy.
My dad became increasingly less drunk and participated more. We were able to talk more. The trust we built during the sober times could almost be considered the demise of the trust during the drunken times, however. I would cry to him while he was drinking. I would explain what his alcoholism was doing to me. To the family. To him. He cared. I knew he did because he cried. I knew he did because he said he did. I knew he did because he vowed to stop.
But he didn't. He kept drinking. He kept drinking until he was mad again. He would explain to me how he really only wanted my oldest brother; how he never really wanted me. And that would continue into how his behaviors had affected my brother's life, and that would continue into what a terrible childhood he, himself had. This is what my dad's binges were made up of. But the sober was good.
A little later, we find out my mom has lung cancer. Probably from the pack a day habit she had for as long as I was alive at least. Being so young, I don't remember much of the technical hospital stuff, as I wasn't involved, but I do remember they had to perform surgery to remove my mom's lung, and the chance of recovery they gave her was slim to none. This changed everything. My dad stopped drinking, kinda. We started eating dinner as a family at the dinner table and saying grace. None of these changes were comfortable for me. I didn't have my mom at home. All of a sudden I had no idea what to expect from my father, and I had no clue what saying grace was or why we had to do it. Life, as I knew it, was forever changed. And I was angry.
Long story short, the surgery went okay. And my mom was home but on extreme chemo and medication. She was very sick. But she was there. She wasn't yelling and screaming all the time anymore. And randomly, I don't really remember what was going on with my dad during this time. Life kind of just stopped.
Fast forward a couple of years. My mom was doing well. The cancer was gone and my mom was in a much better mood than prior to the cancer. My dad was sober more often, but that meant more attempts at discipline from him, which, in my preteen condition, made me more rebellious. And if it wasn't enough, my sister was a seemingly perfect example of a child. I had to live up to her amazing grades and good behavior. Around this time, my mom started spending some of her hoarded money on me and after school programs. I was able to dance and play sports because my mom saved money she was given for groceries for the family. But then, something else happened.
My mom started having migraines. Serious migraines. Migraines that affected her day to day. It was chalked up to depression and stress. Until the seizures started. Now, diabetes doesn't run in my family, and for all I knew, seizures were only linked to diabetes. I had no idea what was happening, being only 9 or 10 and never witnessing anything even as remotely serious as a seizure. My mom just started convulsing. My sister called 911 and I freaked out. By the time the ambulance got to our house, my mom showed signs of being conscious again. I sighed in relief. Then, I just observed. I watched the EMTs lock my mom down on the gurney and then they wheeled her down the driveway. I followed like a lost puppy dog. They asked her questions like, "What's your name? What year is it? Where are you?" She answered all the questions correctly. Then I took charge. "Do you know my name?" I asked her. "Yes," she said. "What is it?" I asked. "Umm....I...it will come to me." All I could think is, "How does a mom forget her own daughter's name?"
The only thing I remember for the next couple of years is crying. My mom's cancer came back in the form of brain cancer. She had multiple surgeries, of which some were not completely necessary come to find out. They took out part of her memory, which left her with minimal long term memory and practically no short term memory. We had to teach her everything all over again. And this is why she didn't know me. But she learned. And I learned. And one day I stopped. I stopped all my adolescent nonsense. I saw my mom for who she was finally. She wasn't depressed and resentful because she forgot she was. She wasn't angry and spiteful because she forgot she was. She was happy. She was loving. She was maternal and caring. She was personable and entertaining. I was able to see my mom outside of the abusive shadow and all of a sudden she was in a glowing beam of light. I was happy.
My dad became increasingly less drunk and participated more. We were able to talk more. The trust we built during the sober times could almost be considered the demise of the trust during the drunken times, however. I would cry to him while he was drinking. I would explain what his alcoholism was doing to me. To the family. To him. He cared. I knew he did because he cried. I knew he did because he said he did. I knew he did because he vowed to stop.
But he didn't. He kept drinking. He kept drinking until he was mad again. He would explain to me how he really only wanted my oldest brother; how he never really wanted me. And that would continue into how his behaviors had affected my brother's life, and that would continue into what a terrible childhood he, himself had. This is what my dad's binges were made up of. But the sober was good.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Mr. Ed Would Turn In His Grave
I think its funny how we go from a world so consumed with terrorism and child kidnapping and the rising cost of gas on the upwards of five dollars, to a new president and all that seems to be consuming us Americans now is medical animal testing. I've heard on two separate news productions today about the controversy of bunnies and mousies and other cuddly creatures that, by the way, aren't cuddled all that much by these people screaming, being used to find the way to save a HUMAN life from cancer. Now, I know about PETA, and I'm with them. Animals should not die to be a coat, bag, shoes, or hat. Absolutely not!! I also think rabbits shouldn't have shampoo poured in their eyeballs to see what kind of reaction someone will have washing their hair in the shower. If it sounds harmful, and we don't immediately know that its not poison, I think it shouldn't be in our products!!
I know what all two of my readers are thinking....oh no. Not Arbonne. I'm not writing a commercial. Very contrary actually. This is political for me. But as much as I think the Easter Bunny shouldn't be forced to lather in Pantene, I also think animals shouldn't be part of our products. Read the ingredients to your vitamins. You know what they use to mold your One a Days??? Cow intestines. The inner ear of Mr. Ed. Tendons of Babe. Otherwise known as gelatin. That's disgusting. And not only is it in OUR vitamins, but check your gummy bear vitabites for the stinkys. Yep, one of the first 5 ingredients. If you're okay with that because you think, "cheeseburger....gelatin...what's the difference??" then take a big bite of large intestine between two buns and a piece of cheese. Make sure to have a lot of ketchup on hand for the yummy taste you will most definitely have to mask. That's not where it starts or ends. Mascara=bat feces. Soap=lipo fat+roadkill. If you don't believe me, google it. Hell, watch the Fight Club. All I'm saying is if you love your pet, stop using them to pretend your prettier than you are!!
Now on to a different prominent point. There is a difference between lotion and the cure to cancer. I'm willing to donate my cats if I know that with that help my mom/sister/grandma would be alive and 100% healthy today. And I really love my cats. But they're cats, people. They are not humans. If I let my cats out, they wouldn't find their own food. They'd starve. They wouldn't get a job and function in society because, basically, THEY'RE CATS. They aren't people. People dominate. People are more important naturally. I would not allow a guy in a lab coat to test a new spa soak on Miss Universe. There's a difference between life and death and lazy or put together. So all the freaks that put animals on the same life scale or even higher than human beings are just that..freaks.
And that leads to the last point. How do we make sure that animals aren't being shampooed and are instead, living normal PET lives or being useful in finding cures to diseases?? We would have to put that in the hands of the leader of our country. But all I've heard is the changes to credit card application mailers. Changes to how we treat the assholes who blew up all of our loved ones and heroes in NY on 9/11/01. And I voted for this president. I wanted...want reform. But I wonder exactly whats going on when the main topic on news programs is animal testing. Who freakin' cares about the Capital One applications we get 12 times a week in the mail?? We all know they're ridiculously expensive once you calculate the interest. You either care and throw them away, or don't and fill them out.
Its really becoming apparent how political everything is. Everything was TERRIBLE when W was in charge. Not only was it because he became a kook and just failed to make any educated decisions towards the end, but because of just that. It was the end. He couldn't have been president again if he drugged all the voters. Just not legal. Therefore, we see how terrible our society really is at the end of a bad presidency. Teachers seducing children. Mass murders. Terrorism. Even our pocketbooks depleting. What's changed now that we have our first black president?? Umm.......Nothing!! We're even further in debt. There's still terrorism but for some reason, we have to treat them better than our bunny friends. There are still people dying left and right from something we can reform. I really had hope in Obama, but he better step up. I don't want to have to worry about how animals are being treated anymore. Leave them alone unless they can give you the cure to whats incurable now. And lets start making solutions.
I know what all two of my readers are thinking....oh no. Not Arbonne. I'm not writing a commercial. Very contrary actually. This is political for me. But as much as I think the Easter Bunny shouldn't be forced to lather in Pantene, I also think animals shouldn't be part of our products. Read the ingredients to your vitamins. You know what they use to mold your One a Days??? Cow intestines. The inner ear of Mr. Ed. Tendons of Babe. Otherwise known as gelatin. That's disgusting. And not only is it in OUR vitamins, but check your gummy bear vitabites for the stinkys. Yep, one of the first 5 ingredients. If you're okay with that because you think, "cheeseburger....gelatin...what's the difference??" then take a big bite of large intestine between two buns and a piece of cheese. Make sure to have a lot of ketchup on hand for the yummy taste you will most definitely have to mask. That's not where it starts or ends. Mascara=bat feces. Soap=lipo fat+roadkill. If you don't believe me, google it. Hell, watch the Fight Club. All I'm saying is if you love your pet, stop using them to pretend your prettier than you are!!
Now on to a different prominent point. There is a difference between lotion and the cure to cancer. I'm willing to donate my cats if I know that with that help my mom/sister/grandma would be alive and 100% healthy today. And I really love my cats. But they're cats, people. They are not humans. If I let my cats out, they wouldn't find their own food. They'd starve. They wouldn't get a job and function in society because, basically, THEY'RE CATS. They aren't people. People dominate. People are more important naturally. I would not allow a guy in a lab coat to test a new spa soak on Miss Universe. There's a difference between life and death and lazy or put together. So all the freaks that put animals on the same life scale or even higher than human beings are just that..freaks.
And that leads to the last point. How do we make sure that animals aren't being shampooed and are instead, living normal PET lives or being useful in finding cures to diseases?? We would have to put that in the hands of the leader of our country. But all I've heard is the changes to credit card application mailers. Changes to how we treat the assholes who blew up all of our loved ones and heroes in NY on 9/11/01. And I voted for this president. I wanted...want reform. But I wonder exactly whats going on when the main topic on news programs is animal testing. Who freakin' cares about the Capital One applications we get 12 times a week in the mail?? We all know they're ridiculously expensive once you calculate the interest. You either care and throw them away, or don't and fill them out.
Its really becoming apparent how political everything is. Everything was TERRIBLE when W was in charge. Not only was it because he became a kook and just failed to make any educated decisions towards the end, but because of just that. It was the end. He couldn't have been president again if he drugged all the voters. Just not legal. Therefore, we see how terrible our society really is at the end of a bad presidency. Teachers seducing children. Mass murders. Terrorism. Even our pocketbooks depleting. What's changed now that we have our first black president?? Umm.......Nothing!! We're even further in debt. There's still terrorism but for some reason, we have to treat them better than our bunny friends. There are still people dying left and right from something we can reform. I really had hope in Obama, but he better step up. I don't want to have to worry about how animals are being treated anymore. Leave them alone unless they can give you the cure to whats incurable now. And lets start making solutions.
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