Back To Normalish

Another five inches of snow last night. We have tunnels outside each of the doors. More snow forecast for today and tomorrow. Supposed to let up on Sunday. Good grief I hope so.

I think I have found an outlet for my passion and my obsessions. Cindy suggested it. "Why not fiction?" Why not? I no longer want to act out my manias. Way to destructive. But they reside in me and holler and moan for recognition. So okay, I will recognize them. I will fictionalize them. I already have an outline in my head for...what...a book? I may be able to exorcise my daemons. Will probably not be for public consumption. I can't see myself as a writer of bodice rippers. And considering my past, this will probably have some little ripping writing in it. I need a computer of my own.

I think the dog may have broken her tail. It hangs funny and she is chewing on the end of it. What next? Vet visit in the works. Whomper Dinky has stopped peeing. We are crating Socks up for the night and this seems to be making an impression on her output also. No new pee spots for a couple of days. House still smells of vinegar.

Food. Big sigh inserted right here. I am wending my way back toward my food plan. Have purchased healthy food and have finally eaten up all of unhealthy food. Anybody ever heard of the F-Factor Diet? I ordered the book because I hope it will contain some high fiber recipes. I am getting bored with Kay's. A person can only eat so much oatmeal, beans and turkey before they go nuts and binge. I am not an inventive cook.

My exercise of late has been shoveling snow. I want to walk. I feel guilty walking on the treadmill with the dog laying right beside me. We should be walking outside, but the snow and the cold have got the best of me. Where the county road is plowed I am afraid we will get run over. In the unplowed areas the snow is deeper than the dog. This weekend we are going to get on the roof and shovel off the snow, but I guess in the main, it is the treadmill and guilt.

Yeah, the county plow just came through. I may now be able to get out to go to the store. But first I have to shovel the drive way.

Farewell from Nanook of the North. Love Bea.

Compassionless

"I hate depressed people. They piss me off. I want to send them and their long faces and dirty hair out onto an ice flow never to return. All that whining and fatigue just make me wild. They drag around uselessly and someone else always has to take care of them. They get to completely abrogate responsibility under the guise of "depression." They are putting it on so as to be lazy. They are weak.

Don't come moaning to me about how tough is your life. Get some gumption, get up off your fat ass and do something. I am no longer willing to listen to how hard you have it. If you can't pull yourself up by your bootstraps you are a pointless person and should pack it in and give the remainder of us a rest. If you are so damn depressed you can't function shut the fuck up about it and just die."

I have been very depressed for the past couple of months.

I am grateful God and Blessed ones love me.

My anger originates with my depressed mother who could not care for me. I cared for her. I was frightened, overwhelmed and ANGRY. And I had not words. Rage now pours out of me when I am faced with someone who is depressed. I want to kill them, and put me out of my misery.

I have known for years about the anger but could never get to the heart of it. Enter the dog. Such angst I have endured over this dog. My mother was clinically depressed as are many members of my family of origin. Nothing was ever done to help her. She just got worse and worse. I was born into and from her hopeless pain. This shroud of agony was my swaddling blanket. I have also been protected from birth. I always knew the pain was not mine. I knew I was healthy in a way my mother was not. And I was a child. I resented (and resent) not being able to function as a child. I resented (and resent) having to comfort rather than be comforted. In never receiving comfort I never learned how to comfort myself. I stumbled onto the anesthetic powers of food early. I have held on tightly ever since.

The dog. I identify with abused and abandoned animals. Only common sense has kept me from adopting hundreds and living in a kennel. I rescued Mollie. Then we brought her home and all my rage broke loose. Some how this dog became me and I became my mother. Then the roles would reverse. Then the cat's began to pee everywhere. I have gone the gamut of all my emotions...with no control. I have been my mother, and myself as a child. The onslaught of "stuff" has been staggering. I am protected. I am grateful for my unconquerable soul and for my husband and Mentor Mary.

Self hatred propelled me to consider the delights of suicide...again. I'd kill the cats and the dog and me and then Mark would not be troubled by any of us. This thinking sent my to my knees. God has revealed many things to me in the past few days. The hardness of my heart was just one of the revelations. I am broken. My indomitable will has been rent asunder. I am weak. I had and have to accept help. This does not make me "pointless" it makes me human. I am humbled.

I am not so angry. After my mother died I was raised by an iron willed woman who concealed her own insecurities through work. I admired her strength and chose to identify with her rather than with my "weak" birth mother. I willingly let Aunt Wilma pound into me the notion that anyone who didn't pull their own weight was "useless." My poor mothers. One bore the burden of weakness and the other the burden of strength. I am more blessed. Apparently I don't have to bear either.

Fragile but recovering. Take care of yourselves. I am taking care of me. Love Bea

Lookin For Trouble

It is a darn good thing I am fifty, fat and married. I am so bored I could spit. That is what is wrong with me. I am not sad or tired or depressed. I am stagnant. In the past I have addressed this problem in...uh...less than healthy ways.

Nothing like a little seduction to stir things up. Either as the seduced or the seducer. I have had a go at both. That being said we went to see "P.S. I Love You" at the local theatre. I am not even sure how this movie came to be here. Not typical small town fare. I have written before about my infantuation with Gerry Butler. I thought I was cured. Then he stripped...to an old Elvis tune. My cake and eating it. And not a calorie in sight. Whoa Nellie. I'd like to cover this guy in carmel sauce and lick him dry. My husband hates him. Says the only good acting in any of his movies are the death scenes. And there are a lot of them. He is a virtuoso dier. In fact he is dead in this movie.

Anyhoo, the minute he stepped on the screen I knew what my problem was. No not that. Okay maybe some of that, but I am happily married so it was not a problem without a cure. What seeing Gerry again brought home is that I am without passion in my life. I am not involved in anything that seres my senses and beguiles my mind. I need an overwhelming interest outside of myself. In the past, younger, thinner and single, I used promiscuity. No longer an option I choose. So what to do to get the same high? Has to have seduction and power as components. Has to be something my Sunday school class would approve of. Has to be cheap. Has to be semi overwhelming. May have to have something to do with words. Has to take me out of my comfort zone but not scare the crap totally out of me. Has to have a physical component. Has to be fun.

So, if all of you can figure out what to do about cat pee, how about working on this? Is soul shattering passion possible outside of sex? I will be VERY interested to see what you come up with.

Thanks, Bea.

P.S. Found a local friend who wants to join me in using Kay's food plan. She also wants to walk! This is a Godsend for me.

Salsa and a Free Cat

I am so glad to know about the salsa. I thought I was some sort of nut. Chipolte salsa, I have been eating jars of it. Arlene, the vinegar thing is so right on. I never thought about it before. If it has vinegar in it I can't stop eating. Pickled anything, sweet and sour anything, apple cider vinegar by the glass. Also V8 juice. Whole bottles of it. I thought I was being healthy because most of that stuff does not have obvious sugar. But oh the salt. I think it is is the salt I crave. My mouth is watering thinking about V8 juice. What a revelation.

I may be able to abstain from vinegar after this week. Have you ever inhaled the miasma emanating from hot cat urine and vinegar? Brother. The cat peed under the baseboard heater, I poured vinegar on it. Waaaay to much vinegar. Now no one can sit in the living room without a gas mask. Makes your eyes water. Mark says it is one way to keep the floor dry.

Markovian Theory: Pet plastic surgery will be the newest craze to sweep the country. Lipo for the fat cat, face lift for the dog's sagging jowls, botox for the wrinkled hamster. Will restore the appearance of youth and vigor to aging pets. To match the owners.

After the last wetting incident Mark is thinking of sending Socks on her way. He has a red bandanna and is packing it with stuffed mice, string and a half pound of cat food. He will tie the bundle to a dowel, put it over her shoulder and push her out into the snow. He assures me some nice housewife will take pity on a fluffy, fat, black and white tramp with a red collar and bell.

Mark is gone south today so I have the opportunity to unpack more books. So far I have had a nap, read three chapters in a novel and played frisbee with the dog. I think I'll now have lunch. What a slacker. Maybe I'll wash the towels just so I can feel like I have accomplished something.

Thanks for all the advice and concern. I will soon have to investigate my latest dip into the pit but I'm not yet ready. Mentor Mary said something to me yesterday that threw me. She said I was still exhausted. I sure look it. I have aged ten years since the last day of August when we signed for the house. No amount of sleep seems to lift the crumpled look of my face. I slump more when I walk. And my steps are heavy (and not just with the extra weight.) I feel like something vital has gone out of me. I assumed I was just depressed again. Mary says I am bone weary. She says this type of fatigue can't be cured with just a few weeks good sleep. Renno, moving, holidays and dog have sapped my joie de vie (or however you spell that). Self care was what she recommended, without salsa.

So today I am trying to care about myself. Is an uphill battle. I can care for my self, but not about. There is a difference. I need to ponder this. I'll get back to you.

Take care and thanks. Love Bea.