Letters to My Family

I challenged myself to write a letter a day, for 40 consecutive days, to my husband, my son, and my daughter. That came to 120 letters. In a word-exhausting.

What I learned:

• that this was more a learning experience for me, than a sharing experience with my family because I don't think they were impressed with the letters,
• that trying to stay positive when I was having down days proved almost impossible,
• that letter-writing is overrated,
• that I don't have as much to say as I thought.

All in all, I'm glad that I've hit my goal, but I'm more glad that it's over. I know that my children will probably be relieved that they won't need to accept any more letters.

It was an interesting...experiment--one that I don't think I'll try again, at least not to this extent. Not along with writing multiple blog posts and a poem everyday. Too much is too much. I'd like to have enough time to say something, if not insightful, then at least practical. Some days I know I only blathered because time ran short.

I guess there's another lesson in there somewhere... I encourage everyone to lose their minds in this experience--and then find it again at the end.*

*I don't necessarily guarantee that your mind will be found again.

It's Hard to Give Compassion

How do I stop when I'm hurting and just turn to one who has hurt me and still treat that person with respect, dignity, and love? At a time when you don't feel any of those things?

Sometimes I feel like generosity favors those who are contemptible. Because, really, they are the ones benefiting from mercy and grace. They don't reciprocate, just take, take, take. What is the point?

I think these things like this, but in the heat of the moment, I know that I will err on the side of forgiveness. Especially if someone is in need, not matter what my past history may have been with that person.

Yet after I'm out of the moment, I regret treating someone who treats people wrong with respect. It never comes to good, or so I think. I dwell on all the person's negative aspects and can't see their worth.

It's difficult to remember that I may be seen as despicable to someone else and that person withheld hate and instead gave me what I did not deserve. But every now and then the realization hits me, and I can't but help but to pass that gift on to others, though they may not know how to receive it.

A Day Off

Ok, not a day off. But I'll do less than usual. Eating out is going to be tricky with a milk allergy, isn't it? Not many want to cater to people with restricted diets, yet there are so many who require them.

I'm going to a buffet-style thing, and I'll have to bring my own food even though I'm paying for the food to get in. I don't feel like going over what has what in it. Much easier this way. If they cared, they would ask about those with restricted diets...the diabetics, the Celiac-stricken, the low-salt eaters, the whatevers. They don't have to make an entire menu for each one, either. Just some simple foods as opposed to the pork and beef drenched with heavy sauces usually offered.

But like I said, it's easier this way.

Allergies Part 2

I had a follow-up appointment at the ear, nose, and throat doctor. My ear pain is better and I was basically just getting further information about some allergy tests I took.

Well, I'm allergic to dust. More specifically dust mites. I learned that there are different kinds and that I'm allergic to all of them, apparently? He just kept listing weird species and saying that I was allergic to them. Oddly, no ragweed pollen even though it makes me tear up like nobody's business and even my eyes swell up.

Whatever. Also, cockroach waste. We don't have those so...not thinking about that. I do have dust. I don't like to dust because well, I officially know I'm allergic to it. Ha! I'm officially allergic to dusting. I'll tell my husband immediately.

I'm supposed to use nasal spray now. Ugh. I hate that stuff. I guess it'll only help me and keep my ears from hurting, but...yuck.

Ten Days...No Migraines

I guess the whole diet, prescription medicine, life crisis regiment is working. The headaches aren't a thing so much anymore. If I get them, they aren't noticeable, so what's the point of counting them.

For a while there, I thought I was going to have to prepare myself to live with these things for years. I didn't know how I'd be able to do that. Don't know if they'll be back, but since most of it went away when I changed my diet, that probably won't happen.

Yet if they do, I'm going on a cheese binge.

April Calendar Is Full

Boy, I sure do have a lot on my plate (metaphorically speaking because I'm still not eating so much because of the dairy restriction) for next month. For some reason, I've decided to write two stories at once. I'm also doing daily prompts for National Poetry month at an online forum I sporadically help to moderate, and I'm about to take on further responsibilities with my son's schooling, along with who knows what.

I sure am tired--pronounced 'tahd'...Don't worry; it's a good tired. I'm sleeping like a breast-fed baby.

When Will I Feel I'm Home

I'm an alien in a strange land. This is not where I belong. I'm on a journey to my home; every day I make a step closer to that rest, that promise.

My extended family on my mother's side has been here for seven or so generations. Yet I don't feel this country is truly our home. If I saw on the news that a bill had been passed and that our family had to pack up and go because of whatever loophole the government or whoever made up, I wouldn't be surprised.

I bet we'd go, too. And without a fight. This doesn't feel like our home. We're tolerated here. Allowed. Not welcomed, not accepted. How can this be our home? When can we go home?

New Adventure

I've been wrestling with something lately (well, something new), and I think I've been worn down enough to accept what I need to do.

The only problem is this seems like a lead thing, rather than a follow thing. I don't do so good with leading. No one wants to follow me, for one. And I actually want this cause to be furthered, for two. I don't think I'd make much progress by myself. And the thing is I think I'll be by myself for much of this. That's a big part of why this is a problem I feel I've been led to tackle.

I'm so scared. Mostly that nothing will come of this, and I'll know that nothing can be done about the problem even though there are solutions. Easy ones.

An adventure...and a long road ahead.

Dairy Update

Still not consuming the milks. Still bites the big one.

Made a 'cheesecake' with cashews (can't vegan stuff be cheaper?) from some random Internet recipe that was okay. Too much lemon juice. Really snappy flavor that hit the back of the throat. Real bright. I think I'll cut it with half fruit juice next time. I really liked the date and macadamia nut crust, though (as well I should---expensive!).

I'm going to try to figure out cheaper ghetto alternatives (are there ghetto vegans?). Too poor for this.

Too Afraid to Hope for Rest

Isn't Sunday the day that I'm supposed to rest in the Lord? Yet I haven't really done that in a long time. And when I make the effort to plan that, those plans fall apart like one of my German chocolate cakes (but the cakes, at least, taste better when they crumble apart). Things come up, and I find myself running here and there and filling my day with this and that until it's time to sleep (or in my case, fall unconscious), and I've barely done the things that were piled on my plate.

Why is resting so much work?

Motivating Yourself When You're Behind

I feel like I can't ever catch up. There's a million things in front of me. It's not like I can just say, "Well, I'll just let them go." They are important things; that's why they are in front of me. I also have a billion things behind me that I've had to let go.

My days go by in a blur, and I have to cram, cram, cram it all in. I'm starting to learn to say, 'No' however. I guess that's a good thing? Doesn't feel so good.

Right now, I'm running in place. Might as well be running backwards. I have somewhere I need to get to, but for the life of me, I can't get there. I'm making no progress. I'm too weighed down to move.

Drastic Steps for His Well-being - Part the First

Today I sent my son back to school...with a few changes. Around this time every year my son has asthma symptoms. The nurse calls me, insists that my son is so sick, and demands that I pick him up. They do this for about five or six days during pollen season. Meanwhile, my son tantrums because he's frustrated and suffering.

The thing is, he has asthma medication at school. Before school every year, I run around updating the form, getting new medicine at the pharmacy, and send it in to the school. At the end of the school term, I get back the inhaler. Unopened. Unused.

What in the world is going on here? If they just use the medication, he'd be fine. It works. He does well at home. In fact when I take him to the doctor because the nurse acts like I'm the worst parent on the planet, the doctor usually finds my son's breathing to be normal. Because I use his medication.

So today, I sent my son to school with a note: basically says that he has asthma and allergies and that he is to be kept inside during pollen season. Next are instructions on how to use the inhaler. Last is an indication for how often the nurse can give him the medicine.

You know, since they can't figure it out themselves. Yet every time that nurse calls me, she's giving me unasked for, illegal (that school is just waiting to be sued) medical advice on what meds might control his asthma. But she doesn't have the common sense enough to know to give him his inhaler when he's wheezing? To maybe tell the teacher not to have him outside exerting himself when the trees are full of pollen and it's windy? Oh, but she goes on and on about steroids.

The nerve.

Migraines

I've been fighting migraines for half the year in 2013, since July. At the end of September the sporadic pain became more frequent-- I'd wake up with a headache, experience it for the duration of my waking hours, and go to sleep with a headache.

One thing you have to know about me: I hate going to the doctor. I despise it. What's the going to this person who, even though it's her or his entire job to provide me with a service, acts as though I'm getting in the way of doing their job? I'm somehow wasting their time with my pain and sickness. Who needs to be treated like that? So it's a testament to how much pain I was in (and how much better my new doctor is) that I decided to make an appointment.

The Ibuprofen prescribed did shorten the duration of the migraines so that I wasn't having them in the morning, but that still left the afternoon and night. On top of that, after exactly four hours the pain would kick back in, even though they were supposed to work for six. My doctor called me after a few weeks, and she changed it to two new medicines: one to prevent, one to stop an oncoming attack. The one that's supposed to stop the pain does nothing. Nothing. Plus, the side effects were a bit too strange for me. I don't take that anymore.

The one that prevents the headaches does much better. Some days I don't get headaches, but I still get them a few times a week. Coughing/sneezing, stress, and fatigue sets off the headaches easily so I'm taking things easy.

My priorities have changed dramatically. I have to be careful even how I clean the house. I can't lose control of my emotions. I have to be careful not to overwhelm myself. These things make me look at my life very carefully to see where I'm dragging around unnecessary weight.

It's time to lose the baggage.

Who Are Budgets for, Anyway?

Budgets are not for me, I can say that much.

They are a way to manage money. How can someone manage what they don't have? I might as well learn about investing my money too. How about retirement funds? What a waste of my time.

If all of my money is going to bills, with less than nothing left over, what am I budgeting exactly? Some people try to make me feel guilty about it. The reason why you're so poor is because you are wasting your money and are not spending it wisely. 

Ex...cuse me.

A Stripped Down Life

And I say "Holiday Season" not because I'm trying to be politically correct (what a useless concept), but because I'm including Thanksgiving.

This year I'm not decorating the house or giving presents that I haven't made. I'm not in the Kwanzaa spirit, nor am I rebelling against the materialistic system that turns a holy day from being about the celebration of The Emmanuel who has come to Save us to being about buying a lot of gifts for people who are barely liked and going into debt.

Yay, holidays?