Not only are there illicit drug user websites, but I also learned that some of these morons – instead of the good old fashioned method of snorting or injecting cocaine ... I mean, why stop there? … are plugging it. What is “plugging,” you ask? Well, I am SO glad you asked. It means they are putting cocaine in their ass. Yes, you read that here. Double quadruple ewww. That is some hardcore shit. No pun intended. **
And speaking of asses, people don’t change. I think I learned this before, but really – sometimes this can’t be learned enough. And not only don’t they change, they don’t really want your help either. It’s really hard to see people make the same mistakes over and over again, you know, like Wile E. Coyote. Except that cliff you just fell off? I’m sorry – we couldn’t save you this time.
I am damaged. Like, not mortally damaged, but more like - - superficial-wound kind of damaged. I have trust issues. It stems from my most recent past, and my fear of people not seeing me as credible… because someone else spent many years making me feel that I wasn’t. And, if I may go out on a
for just a moment, I think that is how abusers control their victims. By making them feel like no one will ever
believe them, and so that they never tell anyone. My issues are currently around authority –
like judges, police officers, lawyers, and even therapists. I feel like I’m guilty, until proven
innocent. A recent experience with one such
“authority” dredged up the old wounds and made me feel supremely uneasy. And I now find myself questioning whether it
will ever be “okay” for me to speak up again.
It’s possible to post too much on Facebook. Some people post the minute things, like what’s for dinner or the surgery on their hammertoe. Others post all manner of political fare, chewed up and spit out for everyone else to jump on like flies on shit and wage verbal wars with one another. Then there are those that post quotes – big quotes, little quotes, sad quotes, funny quotes, so-many-they-are-drowning-everyone-else’s-posts quotes. And then there are the cryptic posts alluding to some unmentionable issue or hinting at a possible mental illness or emotional diarrhea. And then there’s Me. I recently posted a number of the former, and I can’t really explain why other than that I needed to be able to say something. Even if the majority of my friends had no idea what I meant. But what it caused was an avalanche of concern that made me wish I’d never said anything at all. Let this be a cautionary tale, friends. Keep it light and shut yer trap!
Adolescent girls, coincidentally, need to learn that particular lesson… illustrated by an encounter I had with two of them in a Wawa restroom. They each were occupying each one of the two stalls in the women’s bathroom. And they were talking to each other VERY LOUDLY about getting their period, and one of them was in fact not bleeding after all, and better safe than sorry, and well, sometimes I usually have really bad cramps for, like, 3 weeks before I actually get it. I did a sideways glance at the 60-ish appearing woman waiting for an available stall next to me, and she was smirking. And then these two little girls come out after what seemed to me WAY longer than it should take to pee and/or put in a tampon (which they were also discussing, but I will save you the TMI details. You’re welcome) and didn’t seem the least bit embarrassed to see us two old chicks standing there.
God answers prayers. Yeah, this isn’t exactly a newsflash. And I really already know this too, but my faith has been tested a lot this summer, and I found myself questioning a lot. And then the proverbial light went on inside the darkroom of my soul and I realized that, while I believed I was suffering, God had actually answered my prayer. It didn’t diminish what I felt, but there was a moment when I remembered Psalm 23:4… for thou art with me.
I couldn’t wait for school to start. I see many people posting the back-to-school photos of their kids, lamenting how much they will miss them… and I wonder: wtf is wrong with them??!! Did their kids play nicely together, do arts and crafts every day, clean up after themselves and offer to help with the dishes and housecleaning, and not argue about bedtime? Did their kids not argue with each other incessantly, and climb up their mom’s ass all day long? My oldest just wanted to play video games all day (though he happily went to the pool), and my youngest treated me like Julie the Cruise Director every day. What are we doing today that’s fun? Which translates as, how can we spend all the money you don’t have today? Don’t get me wrong, I love my kids more than life itself. But they needed to get back to “work.”
Miscellaneous things that scare me:
- Twinkies have been re-released this summer, with the same recipe, except now the shelf life is 3 weeks longer than it was before. What is it that they put in there to make them last that long? And how safe is it?
- Tractor trailers carrying “infectious waste.” With the high incidence of tractor trailer-involved accidents, this rates right up there on my anxiety meter with my daughter using uncovered public toilets.
- Renters. It’s been another long, arduous journey to remove yet another delinquent renter from Todd’s house. $$$$ delinquency aside, the interior aftermath we have been (and continue to be) working on for the last 3 weeks has me positively exhausted and shaking my head at just how disgusting and oblivious people can live. (This whole story deserves its own blog post.)
- I am 17 pounds heavier than I was 2 years ago. Anyone who has seen me recently would find this hard to believe. I do have a little bulge in the waist, but I certainly don’t look like I need to lose 17 pounds. Anyone who saw me 2 years ago, would have (and has) said I didn’t look well. Amazing what stress can do to the human body.
- Remakes of classic songs from my youth. Um, I mean BAD remakes. As in Summer of ’69, a classic anthem I belted out many a time in my car on a road trip, now annihilated by One Direction (this alone explains it all) who have managed to dismantle the tempo that defines its classic-ness, into some sort of clubby boy band song that sounds like a bunch of drunken frat boys are singing it. Bryan must’ve had a heart attack. That’s why we haven’t heard from him. (Go on – Youtube it and you decide.)