The robins are fat

They're about to pop

With eggs

And then the eggs will pop

With babies

Baby birds

The ground is also popping

With earthworms

Making the robins fatter

And eggs bigger

And babies-to-be grow strong

Time out for a brief moment of Optimism

I thank God for 26 years of a wonderful life, as well as
A loving family
A great husband
A wonderful church community/surrogate family
Thoughtful friends
Supportive co-workers
A stimulating and exciting job
Provision
Health
The beautiful, beaming sun this morning
Warmer temperatures
Fresh air
Three-day weekends
My kitty-cats
Food
The color blue
And I suppose I could go on for quite some time with random blessings, but I'll stop here.

"Praise God from Whom all blessings flow...."

Nit-picking twittiness

I'm really worn down. I am getting tired of being picked-on for little insigificant mistakes, and not even purposeful mistakes, but mistakes born out of mixed information from authorities.
Truth be told, I have a tendency to be critical myself, but at least I can be loving and gracious about it sometimes.
I feel that most people are out to one-up those around them. To look better than the next person. "Well at least I didn't do that."
I have those tendencies as well. I think it's only natural of our human, sinful selves.
All I'm asking for is a break. A long hiatus. And mostly from just one person.
Because it's always her.
She's always the one to find my mistakes and point them out.
And of course she's perfect.
Thin.
Perfect hair.
High-paid position in her workplace.
Perfect family of 2 kids and a husband.

Maybe she has all these things because she has made sure of it.

I wonder if she's an angry person.
If she's really just a big ball of tension stored up inside.
Slowly cutting off her intestines and overloading her heart.

All I know is that it makes me cry.
Because of my own hurt and because of how she is.

There's no winning in this situation. Not unless something changes....
Meaning her, not me.

Yes, that's me screaming at Chris Martin

I have recently realized that I am prone to get caught up in hype. But, I must qualify by saying that it must be quality hype. Or at least hype that seems interesting to me.

For example:

A few years ago, Chris and I went to a Coldplay concert in St. Louis. We had a great time, were able to stand in the front row, and I participated in fan frenzy. At the end of the show, Chris Martin stooped over as if reaching to touch us lucky women in the front row. So what did I do? I screamed and jumped and attempted to leap past the 3 foot barrier in front of me to reach him. Of course, nothing happened, except that I made a fool of myself, along with half a dozen other women. In that moment, I have no idea what came over me. I was not in control of my actions. I became like the women that you see in those old Beatles footage. Screaming and crying and passing out. Well, I wasn't that extreme, but it sure felt as if the same craziness overcame me.

Now, growing up in the 80's and 90's, I watched a lot of game shows. From "Press Your Luck" to "Price is Right" and "Who Wants to be a Millionaire." I wouldn't mind winning a million bucks, or even just a cheesy bedroom suite from Drew Carey. If I could just spin the wheel on "Wheel of Fortune" I think it might cure the bug. Or flip one of the letters for Vanna. That's really all I need to do.

Insomnia

I'm going mad

I can't sleep

I'm tired

I can't sleep

I'm awake

I can't sleep

I can't remember

I can't sleep

I can't concentrate

I can't sleep

I lie down

I can't sleep

I move around

I can't sleep

I can't get comfortable

I can't sleep

I need to close my eyes

I can't sleep

I keep thinking

I can't sleep

I see black

I can't sleep

I see lights

I can't sleep

I hear snoring

I can't sleep

I see you asleep

I can't sleep

Experiences of the surgical kind

When I wake up from anesthesia, I usually cry. A lot. I usually sob for quite a while.

Like after I had my adenoids taken out (adenoidectomy) and tubes put in my ears at 6. That would've been in 1988. Both were done because of my breathing problems and frequent ear infections. The tubes fell out on their own. I remember feeling something on my ear, then I looked down to see a large ball of yellow with a white spindle-type structure in the middle. It was about the size of a lentil. After that surgery I woke up in a room with curtains all around me, 2 strange women looking over me, and my mouth dry as a crusty towel. So they gave me a semi-damp washcloth to suck on. And I cried.

Then, there was the time I had my tonsils taken out (tonsillectomy). In 1995. The last thing I remembered as I was going under was, "It smells like garlic and gas." Plus, I had people holding me down from the 5 failed attempts to find a vein for the anesthetic. I woke up, once again to some strange people, extending a semi-damp washcloth to my blood-caked, dry lips. And as they wheeled me to the elevator, down to my room, I threw up. And I continued to cry.

A few months ago I had my wisdom teeth taken out. I was told it would be pretty easy. But, since I'm fair-skinned, there would probably be a lot of bruising. The IV was placed as if a textbook example. I woke up to 2 women helping me out of the chair and into the hallway, where my husband was waiting with a concerned look. Though I held two icepacks to my cheeks and the gauze inside my mouth was nearly choking me, I sobbed. Nearly uncontrollable. I got home, attempted to take my pain medicine, choked. I said, "I think I want to cry more." I got 2 dry sockets. And nerve pain from a cut nerve. And I cried. Oh dear, did I cry.

Then I set the date for the excision of a right wrist dorsal ganglion cyst. Outpatient surgery. First on the day's list.

The nurse anesthetist, Francesco, was a nice fellow. He had a student, Ryan, with him that day. They assured me that all would go well. I assured them that things usually don't. We discussed superficial things, like how ironic it would be for a physical therapist to get therapy post-op. He was the last one I talked to before I drifted away. He told me as I woke up that all was well. I watched as the team bandaged up my hand and forearm, then removed the tourniquet from my arm. I slowly became more aware of my surroundings, my thoughts, my body. Francesco said I kept talking during surgery, but I remember none of it. I asked if I said anything that would lessen his opinion of myself. He laughed and replied, "no."

As I was wheeled back to my room, I realized that I wasn't crying. I was actually smiling. Attempting to cheer up those that passed as I floated by. I laid in bed, watching Price is Right, sitting next to my husband. I laughed, took a bite of my bagel and drank some absolutely wonderful apple juice.