I’ve been so stressed this week. Frown line, headache, TMJ, knots in my neck, upset stomach, tossing and turning type of stressed. With PMS and no chocolate. Sad life.
Right now, though, I feel content. I had a really great time shopping with Gesika today, and sometimes best friend time is all you need. She was in a bad mood too when we first set out, but we were able to turn it around with the help of some chai and retail therapy.
Ahhhh…I feel better.
Finally!
There’s something that’s going around on Facebook that makes me extremely angry. This is being posted by teenagers and girls in their early 20s who got knocked up:
“There’s a new group of real live super heroes & they’re popping up everywhere. They can easily do the work of two people all on their own. They’re strong & determined, yet gentle & sensitive. They can kiss away boo boos & scare away the boogie man in a single bound. Millions of kids everywhere look up to them. They’re called single moms.”
HA, I say. HA HA HA.
I was raised by a single mother. A woman who had me at 23, stayed with my grandma for two weeks after I was born because she nearly bled to death, and then moved into her own place and never once went back to live with anyone else. I can’t tell you how many girls I’ve known over the past couple years that had kids and are still living with their parents or living off of welfare and buying themselves sparkly things just because they can. And they’re being celebrated for it.
Rubbish.
I saw my mom not know where money was going to come from and get on her knees to pray for an answer. I saw my mom work her fingers to the bone so that we could get OFF of welfare and even when we qualified for it, she refused to take it as soon as we could survive. We always had cable, our utilities never got turned off, and I wasn’t allowed to get a cell phone or internet before she knew we could afford it. We drove horrible cars that were falling apart. I was made fun of into college for not having nice things. I’m still emotionally scarred from my horrible relationship with my horrible father. My mom has always been the person in the background picking up slack for the prideful, showy, lazy people and asking for no recognition in return.
Being a single mother is not fun. Being the child of a single mother isn’t fun either.
A child is NOT a doll, prop or accessory. It’s not like a small dog you can carry around in your purse. It’s a human being, and a single mother (or father!) is totally responsible for that human’s life. It should be terrifying and it should terrify these girls into action- not into lazing around on Facebook patting each other on the back. A babysitter can kiss booboos and scare the boogieman. Guess what? My mom raised me entirely on her own and never once enlisted the help of a babysitter. My grandparents watched me on very rare occasions. Before I started school, we would sit at home for days because we had to walk everywhere and couldn’t really afford to do anything.
She washed all of my baby clothes in the bathtub and hung them up to dry. She said that moving a mile and a half from our old place into a two bedroom apartment in town when I was a year old was such a blessing that it made her cry. She could finally walk to get groceries rather than ask for a ride.
We had little…but we had traditions and did special things. Every Sunday we went roller skating. When I started piano lessons, we went to Taco Bell and bowling after my lesson. We did what we could and eked out every bit of fun we could. We didn’t have much, but she instilled in me to keep the little that I had in good condition and cared for.
The kind of single mother that deserves to be lauded is too busy to ask for recognition.
I like being funny. I like making people laugh. When I write wrote on my novel months ago before I started working at Amazon and my creativity was completely sucked away by pain and misery, I made myself laugh as my hapless character walked the fine line between tragedy and comedy. You wouldn’t know it to read my blog, would you? For some reason, whenever I start writing here, it’s just too blasted honest to be funny.
I’m sorry about that. I really, really wish I could just make you laugh.
The truth is, I’m moving into my new apartment a week from today and I start law school in less than a month. I’m slightly more than terrified. You know how your mouth kind of waters before you throw up? Yeah. It’s been doing that since I got up today, and it’s just because I started poking around the school’s website and staring at my schedule. Nerves of jelly.
To top it off, my car has been breaking down. We paid $237 for a new alternator and then my car was still dead when I tried to leave my best friend’s house last night. Now it’s apparently the fuse box. Hello? I needed that money for furniture! How am I supposed to eat without a kitchen table OR a coffee table? Eep. I’m stressed and I can’t even drive to Starbucks!
Headdesk.
All I wanted was to write and make people laugh.
I had a going away party yesterday. I had it a little early because my beloved aunt is going to have surgery this week and she, of course, had to be a part of everything. She’s having her reconstruction surgery after completely defeating cancer. She didn’t even have to have radiation or chemotherapy. She’s so strong and faithful and God is SO awesome. Anyway.
So, if I defined success by the number of people who apparently gave a crap about me moving away to be bothered enough to come to my party, I’d be a big blasted failure.
You know who came? THE PEOPLE I’M GOING TO TALK TO ANYWAY. *headdesk* I’m not kidding…nearly half of the people that came I had seen that week. I invited so many people that I don’t get to see that often and might never see again, thinking that it would be so cool to have everyone in one place. A couple people had legitimate excuses- my bff came for 30 minutes because she had to go, ya know, be a bridesmaid in a wedding…and we totally hung out last night anyway. But some people gave very vague excuses. I don’t consider, “I had stuff to do!” a legitimate reason to not come to my party. You know what the real reason was? I don’t care about your party.
The only people that showed up from church were my band guys and their wives. A couple people that I have met from church were there- but they don’t go anymore and I don’t consider them “church friends” anyway. I consider them “real friends” and it’s sad that there is a difference between the two.
But for the rest of people at church? Their reason? I don’t care.
The party was at the church.
The people there pride themselves on being so perfect. Yet they are so selfish, so awful, and so stuck up their own asses that they can’t even think about honoring someone else. If I’m truly honest with you, and that’s something that I just can’t keep out of my writing…the thing that makes me happiest about moving away is that I won’t have to come up with excuses to myself about why I’m not going to church.
Here’s the reason. Flat out there. Not an excuse, a reason. I can’t stand most of the people at my church.
Now, I have a pastor that I love here, and a choir member there, and the guys in the horn section, and their wives…and a couple of the greeters, and the woman that works the information desk, and some people in the congregation that I wave to on occasion…
…and that’s, honestly, about it.
But those people? Those people are AMAZING beyond belief and I will never forget them. Ever. They are going to have places of the highest honor in heaven because they’re that spectacular.
Yet I find the majority so clueless, so obnoxious, and so flat out rude and lazy that I hate that they’re the picture of Jesus to our community.
How can they coexist in the same organization?
It’s sickening sometimes. The place operates haphazardly and foolishly. Too much responsibility is put on too many people, and that resulted in hundreds of thousands of dollars being embezzled by the financial adviser. Then after that, someone thought it was a good idea to put the financial operations in the hands of some 20 year olds.
Like that would ever fly in the real world.
I’m so. so. so. tired of stupid Christians.
So what’s success? Right now, I don’t know. I know that the church doesn’t think I’m a success, and I don’t think it’s a success.
I know that this probably sounds like a whole lot of whining. Yeah, it hurt my feelings that not many people came. But I’m so thankful FOR the people that did come that I don’t want to belittle their importance in any way whatsoever. I wouldn’t trade them for a billion fakes. What really makes me frustrated, though, is the picture that this paints. The picture that is so totally unlike Jesus. To love like Jesus is to be a success. But how do we show it? Church is the last place I’d look right now.
I’m listening to Joyce Meyer talking about making peace with yourself. My eternal struggle. I think I do well on it and then I realize that I’ve been in a pattern of self doubt for weeks…or longer. To God’s credit, I’m no longer wallowing in self-loathing. But, oh my gosh, do I doubt myself. All the time.
I’m a nerd. Geek. Whatever. But not in a way that I can actually use. I can’t create something super cool, like a web page or video or some sort of graphic that I could like, prove to someone that I can make decent use of my time. I just love knowledge. I love to Google things out of nowhere just to learn about them. I talk on here about loving story. I get caught up in stories of real life people or characters on TV or in books and I love when they’re in situations completely unfamiliar to me. I love to imagine what I would be like in those situations. I’ve been watching the first season of Dexter…and last night I dreamed about solving an extremely complicated crime. Have I ever really done anything useful with my nerd stuff? Nope. I’ve written a couple things that are sitting in Scrivener and have about 20,000 words so far. Each. For me, that’s HUGE. But not nearly enough to be published, and considering that they’re my first real efforts it’s unlikely that they would be published at all even if they were completed.
So I spend time in my on-screen or on-page worlds, treating these characters as people. Thinking about what makes them tick. Thinking about the people in my real life and what makes them the way that they are. Thinking about my story, my setting, and how I could change things but also thinking about how no one would ever listen to me. When I think about my church, I think about how I could change EVERYTHING there and make it so much better. When I worked for Amazon, I saw how everything was so blasted inefficient and it drove me bonkers. When I look at the city of Huntington, I see how stunted it is and how we NEED something better- but no one is doing anything about it. Yet no one listens to me and I barely to go church anymore because I can’t stand it, I quit my job and I’m moving away.
I wish I didn’t run away. I wish I didn’t live in denial. I met a new boy recently, and I warned him- I’m a nerd. He’s super country. We’re like, total opposites. But I said that I’d try to take it easy on him. I hid it away and tried to find common interests for us to discuss. I didn’t want to scare him away. And then, oh gosh. One day, it happened. We were looking stuff up online and I stumbled over some nerdy things and totally. freaking. fangirled. It was one of the most embarrassing displays of excitement I’ve ever exhibited. After a few minutes, I looked up to see him smirking at me. I stopped mid sentence and played it off with a joke. He wasn’t phased. I was.
Thinking about it takes me back to high school, when I was treated with derision because of things like that. When I tried to hang out with the “cool” people at church and told that fiction was stupid and that watching TV meant that I was not a good steward of my time.
I’m so tired of being made to feel like a loser over what makes me unique.
Hearing Joyce talk about this gives me hope, though. She said that she was always embarrassed by her voice. It’s rough, deep, and loud. She’s not one of those sweet, mousy, quiet women that the church likes so much. She is brash. Has presence. In my opinion, she’s a great speaker and I love her manner. But she used to hate her voice, and felt that it was what would stop her from becoming a success.
Look at her now. She has preached the gospel to millions and is doing absolutely amazing missions work all over the world. God has used her tremendously, especially in my life, and I believe that He caused me to find her podcast at the right time to keep me from committing suicide.
To this day, when she talks to people on the phone they think she’s a man.
I hope, so much, that one day my obsession with story will help people and be used for good. But in the meantime, my biggest obstacle is being okay with being me.
Hey there! Glad you stopped by to read my genius musings. Just kidding. Sort of. I plan to review books, expound on life with sage wisdom, and rant like a redhead here. I can be quite practical and objective, yet I'm a huge dreamer at the same time. Hence the heading and subtitle of the blog. Leave me a comment and a link to your own blog!
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