Last time I published a post, I wrote about recently being diagnosed with fibromyalgia. Before that, I tried to find out what was wrong through the usual method of self-diagnosis: search engines. To tell you the truth, I’m not any happier to be able to put a name to it, especially since there isn’t much known anyway. Now I’m digging through the entire library of the Internet (which is, of course, absolutely huge) to find information. Continue reading
About 3% of the U.S. population has it and approximately 83,000 are women. Although there’s lots of guessing by the medical community, there’s no known cause, no known cure, and most people consider it a “catch-all” diagnosis. Even some doctors believe it’s a psychological condition. Hypochondria, anyone? Well, it isn’t in my head. Continue reading
A few months ago, my dad bought eleven chickens. He has since summed up the chicken caring experience like this, “Now I know when someone calls you a chicken, it’s really an insult.” Our little egg layers aren’t even laying eggs yet since they aren’t old enough to breed.
A few oddities:
One of our hens is a Silkie, given to my daughter by our neighbor who decided she needed a pet. J, who has unsuccessfully tried to name a series (and wide variety) of creatures Nala, now has a Nala of her very own. Apparently, Nala will be laying little eggs small enough that it’d take four or five to make a regular sized egg. I’ve never seen a chicken that looked like it had fur. Continue reading
I went and got my feelings hurt today because of a careless remark about a tattoo of mine. It’s the first time I’ve ever ended a conversation with my best friend feeling… well, less than beautiful. I wanted to cry. I wanted to smack them. Their words hurt, and it was about something I can’t change.
I’ve had this tattoo for over half my life – so long, in fact, that I barely notice it now. It’s just a part of me. And I think that’s what hurt. It felt, on some deep down level, that I had been rejected. This is someone who genuinely cares about me and is one of the most loving people I know. I knew better, and yet it still hurt.
As I’m dwelling on this, trying to swallow the hurt I know wasn’t intentionally inflicted, I got to thinking. This, as some of you know, is quite dangerous for me to do. And yet, sometimes, a little clarity and understanding comes out of it… Continue reading
I’m convinced pretty much anything can be a metaphor for life’s experiences. I’m also convinced pretty much anything can be positive or negative, depending on one’s outlook at the time. In fact, as I once wrote, I’m sure our reality changes depending on… well… us.
Take, for instance, a garden. If your life were a garden, what would you be growing? Weeds? Flowers? Vegetables? A haven for critters? Continue reading
Hope… it’s such a crystalline word, isn’t it? It seems so fragile and so easily destroyed. Looking back over my life, I can see times when hope seemed so far away as to be nonexistent, and times when I burned brightly with it. I’ve been wondering what makes the difference between hope and hopelessness, and I think I finally have the answer. Continue reading
Wow… this week started with a bang in the “no self control” department. Anger and I have been friends for a long time, but it’s been awhile since it’s visited so frequently. Of course, the fact that we’ve been hanging out again is probably due to anger’s co-conspirator, frustration, as well as a healthy visit by insomnia (which, by the way, still refuses to leave).
Let me tell you, frustration and lack of sleep are not conducive to a peaceful attitude. I woke up Monday morning growling, and didn’t stop growling for several hours. A seriously intense conversation with myself was as futile as picking dandelions one by one to get them out of your yard. They just grow back and multiply. Continue reading