You know those days when you have a ton of thoughts running through your head, but nothing to say. Today is one of those days. I just don't know what to say. So I will ramble. For some reason I cannot handle life changing in the blink of an eye, yet it happens. Actually it is not that I can't handle it, I can, for I have no other choice. I don't want to handle it. I don't want to expend the energy, either mental or physical, to change course to develop a new perspective. After all I put so much time and energy into the old perspective. I realize that change does not always come in the form of monumental occasions. It comes all day, every day. Life moves forward, and forward means alteration. There is no hanging on to yesterday, the morning before, the hour before, the moment before, or the thought before. Life is continuous movement from one second to the next, from one breath to the next. There is no stopping it. Terrifying.
"There is nothing to fear but fear itself." The fear of fear is better known as anxiety. The fear that something might, possibly happen and I have convinced myself that it will be the worst possible thing that could happen. I hold my breath hoping that it won't happen, but my mind won't let go of the thought that it will. So does the anxiety disappear once that "thing" has happened. Once the fear has been realized and conquered? Who knows? I am supposed to know. I wish I knew better.
I just don't know what to say.
There is a fine line between sanity and insanity. Sometimes that line breaks for just a brief instant, and sometimes it disappears never to be recovered. The blessing in this comes in the grace that those who are truly insane are oblivious to their plight, while those who still have it fight very hard to keep it. Wouldn’t it be easier to just give up the fight and live in blissful ignorance? Sometimes I wonder.
I just don’t know. Sometimes I think I do, and then something happens and all I have a questions. Endless, unanswerable questions.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Monday, January 5, 2009
How to Make A Cat Hate You
Okay, so it's not like this one is too hard. I think you actually have to work overtime to NOT get your cats to hate you. However if you ever need a sure fire way to turn your mostly gentle and docile feline into a raging maniac, I have the answer.
First, despite your better judgment you enter Bed, Bath, and Beyond with three children in tow who have spent the last four hours of their life grocery shopping.
Second, again against your better judgment allow your shopping weary children to talk you into purchasing one of the "as seen on T.V." gadgets aka The “Pedi-Paws.”
Third, for a moment forget that your children do not actually have the cognitive ability to think logically, and actually believe their long speech about how the cats need their nails trimmed, and this will be so much easier than clipping them as they endlessly recite the annoying commercial to you (while you are half listening and trying to maintain every ounce of sanity left). Did I mention that I had been shopping with three children all day?
Fourth, locate “C” batteries for new contraption.
Fifth, read the directions VERY carefully because that is what the box says to do. CAUTION!!! Read all direction carefully before using this product. The directions say something like yadda, yadda, yadda, you may have to lie on your pet until they get used the sound and feel of the monster, time saving gizmo. But, remember you are CRAZY in charge, and your animal needs to know that you are CRAZY in control. They may as well have written. WARNING! IDIOT! THIS THING DOES NOT ACTUALLY WORK! IT IS ACTUALLY A SECRET PSYCHOLOGICAL TEST ASSESSING THE LEVEL OF MORANIC COMMERCIALSM PEOPLE LIKE YOU WILL STOOP TO. Now that I think about it, there were NO pictures of cats on the directions. Only a dog.
Sixth, find your unsuspecting victim, I mean cat, and pet him lovingly like one who is enticing a victim to certain doom. Hold cat down, Lie on top of the cat (but not too hard), find a claw, attempt to “file” the nail with the mini-buzz saw, calmly, easily, and effectively. Just like the commercial says. YEAH, RIGHT! Cat squirms, cat meows, cat makes God awful noises that I am sure are only heard in the depths of torture chambers, ummm, I mean psychological interviewing cubicles. Walla! Forty Five Minutes later, multiple attempts to restrain a cat. Did you hear me!!!!! I have sunk to new levels. I actually attempted to restrain a cat! What is wrong with me? Anyway, back to it. Multiple attempts to calm the cat and convince him that he was all right (oh yeah, I so lied), three scratches, and sweaty pajamas later we have 18 un-perfectly groomed claws. The cat got up and looked at me with that look that says, “WHAT DID YOU DO!” I HATE YOU! I WILL PEE ON YOUR CARPET FOR THAT and walks away.
Seventh, find the smallest cat and try it all again! Because the first time was soo successful. Again,multiple attempts to calm the cat, wrap the cat in a towel in order to avoid being ripped to shreds by the razor sharp claws you are so carefully trying to file down, listen to the bigger cat in no uncertain terms tell me that if I did not free his brother, my hostage, he would pee on my bed tonight, endure several scratches, and listen to the poor cat scream like a banshee, finally give up.
Eighth, try to appease the freshly tortured cats with bacon and ham, and whatever else they might like. FYI, cats are NOT forgiving creatures and their forgiveness cannot be bought with food, until children and dogs.
Ninth, return said tool of the devil, contraption to the store. When the nice lady at the counter asks me why I would like to return such a wonderful tool I kindly reply, “My cats now hate me, and I just don’t think it is worth dying to have perfectly groomed claws.” There has got to be a better way. And that is how to make a cat hate you.
First, despite your better judgment you enter Bed, Bath, and Beyond with three children in tow who have spent the last four hours of their life grocery shopping.
Second, again against your better judgment allow your shopping weary children to talk you into purchasing one of the "as seen on T.V." gadgets aka The “Pedi-Paws.”
Third, for a moment forget that your children do not actually have the cognitive ability to think logically, and actually believe their long speech about how the cats need their nails trimmed, and this will be so much easier than clipping them as they endlessly recite the annoying commercial to you (while you are half listening and trying to maintain every ounce of sanity left). Did I mention that I had been shopping with three children all day?
Fourth, locate “C” batteries for new contraption.
Fifth, read the directions VERY carefully because that is what the box says to do. CAUTION!!! Read all direction carefully before using this product. The directions say something like yadda, yadda, yadda, you may have to lie on your pet until they get used the sound and feel of the monster, time saving gizmo. But, remember you are CRAZY in charge, and your animal needs to know that you are CRAZY in control. They may as well have written. WARNING! IDIOT! THIS THING DOES NOT ACTUALLY WORK! IT IS ACTUALLY A SECRET PSYCHOLOGICAL TEST ASSESSING THE LEVEL OF MORANIC COMMERCIALSM PEOPLE LIKE YOU WILL STOOP TO. Now that I think about it, there were NO pictures of cats on the directions. Only a dog.
Sixth, find your unsuspecting victim, I mean cat, and pet him lovingly like one who is enticing a victim to certain doom. Hold cat down, Lie on top of the cat (but not too hard), find a claw, attempt to “file” the nail with the mini-buzz saw, calmly, easily, and effectively. Just like the commercial says. YEAH, RIGHT! Cat squirms, cat meows, cat makes God awful noises that I am sure are only heard in the depths of torture chambers, ummm, I mean psychological interviewing cubicles. Walla! Forty Five Minutes later, multiple attempts to restrain a cat. Did you hear me!!!!! I have sunk to new levels. I actually attempted to restrain a cat! What is wrong with me? Anyway, back to it. Multiple attempts to calm the cat and convince him that he was all right (oh yeah, I so lied), three scratches, and sweaty pajamas later we have 18 un-perfectly groomed claws. The cat got up and looked at me with that look that says, “WHAT DID YOU DO!” I HATE YOU! I WILL PEE ON YOUR CARPET FOR THAT and walks away.
Seventh, find the smallest cat and try it all again! Because the first time was soo successful. Again,multiple attempts to calm the cat, wrap the cat in a towel in order to avoid being ripped to shreds by the razor sharp claws you are so carefully trying to file down, listen to the bigger cat in no uncertain terms tell me that if I did not free his brother, my hostage, he would pee on my bed tonight, endure several scratches, and listen to the poor cat scream like a banshee, finally give up.
Eighth, try to appease the freshly tortured cats with bacon and ham, and whatever else they might like. FYI, cats are NOT forgiving creatures and their forgiveness cannot be bought with food, until children and dogs.
Ninth, return said tool of the devil, contraption to the store. When the nice lady at the counter asks me why I would like to return such a wonderful tool I kindly reply, “My cats now hate me, and I just don’t think it is worth dying to have perfectly groomed claws.” There has got to be a better way. And that is how to make a cat hate you.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
A Helping Hand to Crazy
This is it. The last night of Christmas vacation. Tomorrow starts the daily grind of early mornings, coffee before I can see straight, showers, breakfast, lunches, backpacks, and "good-bye, have a good day, I'll see you when I get home." In preparation for the upcoming return to madness I decided to make jell-o and pudding for the kids to take in their lunches. Somehow I feel better about making the stuff myself instead of buying the way over priced pre-packaged stuff from Wal-Mart. Anyway, so I am very busy laboring hard holding my newly purchased hand mixer (the old one finally gave up after fifteen and a half years of service) when my middle child asks me what I am doing (duuuhhhh!) So I give her my usual answer, "Going crazy." To which she replies (obviously not hearing my witty answer to her question), "Can I help." My husband who is busy looking at different shelf designs to build in the garage interrupts his research project an pipes in, "You mother does not need any help going crazy!" Truer words were never spoken. I have not met a mother yet who needed any extra help on her way to crazy.
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