Are You On Facebook?

Let's just pretend it hasn't been over a month since my last post, shall we.

WARNING!!  This post is severely long and terribly rambling.  I'm working through something and I need to use this blog as down and dirty therapy.  Remember we're broke and uninsured. ;-)  Feel free to skip on by if you're not in the mood to witness a middle aged woman unpacking her emotional baggage.   

Anywho . . . Someone must ask me about Facebook every single time I'm with friends, family, or frankly just people in general.  No, I'm not on Facebook.  Mom #2 is not on Facebook.  Baby Boy is not on Facebook.  Collectively, we are not on Facebook.  It's never really concerned or interested me too much; just a different way of wasting time online.  I'm sure people are on Facebook while I'm reading all of your blogs. ;-)

In the spirit of full disclosure, actually, I do sort of have a Facebook page.  It doesn't have any information on it, no photo, no friends, or anything like that and it's not under my real name.  I use it to "like" my favorite companies' websites so that I can get coupons.  I'll do just about anything for a coupon.  I big sparkly puffy heart coupons.  

Well, what set me off is that my sister recently sent me a link to a Facebook group for people who went to our primary/secondary school.  Primary school you say - long forgotten - big deal.  Well it is a big deal.  I grew up in Europe in a very close-knit, conservative,  dangerously-close-to-a-cult, religious group that included a school where we received a highly edited education. We spent many, many years there.  The majority of my developmental years.  The group page included photos from years past, along with more recent photos and updates from a lot of people who checked in.  My silly face was in a lot of those old photos and it really brought back memories.   Some people are still enveloped in a looser translation of the religion, many have moved on to more mainstream lives.  All seem to look back on those years as a fond experiment.  It's kind of like a recently defunct exclusive club and you were a founding member.  Very few people in the world are privy to the experience we shared.  

For a week after perusing the group pages, I proceeded to have raging nightmares.  The images brought up a lot of pain that I thought I was over.  Over the years I have weathered a fairly serious identity crisis as I have grown up, released myself from that religion, came out, began learning about actual science and history, etc . . . There were many lost years and many more rebuilding.  I'm confident in myself now, but that week I was having daily flashbacks.  It was emotionally draining.

Now that I've come out on the other side, I realize there are some people I really would like to reconnect with.  I see their photos, their spouses, their children and how much their lives have blossomed.  I feel the desire to reach out.  They obviously feel the same way or why would they have such a group.  It's like that shared experience is our sun and we're all in tight orbit around it.  The gravitational pull is getting harder and harder to ignore.

But on the other hand, I don't know if I want to live my life "out loud" like that.  I enjoy my anonymity.  I do blog (sort of), but I don't usually give my real name, or the real name of my family members.  I think it's common knowledge what general area of the country I live in, but not altogether too specific.  I like having a veil, even if it's imagined, of privacy in my life.

I have to admit that I am also afraid that I'll be judged harshly by people who are still "in the faith."  I'm completely burned out on religion.  I'm glad it's there for people who need it, including my very own Mom and Sister, but I simply do not partake. I have a long miserably sorted history with church, religion, demon deacons, evil church ladies, being gay, being feminist, being artistic, and being a bunch of other stuff that is  fodder for a whole other post.  Another long post. 

All that is to say, I've been thinking about actually personalizing my page and really joining Facebook, but I probably won't.  Are y'all on it?  What do you like about it?  What do you hate about it?  Give me the scoop!

Who knew a simple question, could conjure up so much . . . stuff.  Such is life, I guess. 

If you've read this far, thanks.  I really needed a listening ear.  If you skipped over all the drama in the middle and are just skimming to the end, I understand that too.  Time is money, Honey. 



43 days of triple digit temperatures.  I just had to mention, it's HOT!   


Until next time . . .

Passing the Torch .....

 Hello Mom #2 here.

I am sooooooo proud of Baby Boy that I requested to blog this exciting news!

Yesterday the starter in our car decided to stop working in the middle of the day when the temperature was 103 degrees!  So after a few choice words I was able to start the car and at least make it home.  After spending more then $200 for the replacement part and a few more choice words, I decided that this would be a great learning experience for Baby Boy.


 So Baby Boy and I got up early this morning and I walked him through step by step on how to change the starter, and . . .

. . . HE DID IT!!!

 

I have spent the whole day with a smile and bragging to anyone that will listen to me that my Son changed his first starter.

Next, the brakes!


Until next time . . .

Dual Daddy Day

My sister, My Mom, Baby Boy, and I threw an incredible Father's Day luncheon for the fantastic Dad and Dad Equivalents in our lives.  We had lots of food, drinks, chit-chat, and don't forget cards and gifts.

Of course, the most important things we had was lots and lots of laughter and love.

Hug, call, or think of the wonderful Dads in your life today!



Until next time . . .

My Cups Runneth Over

First ceramic attempts.  

I wouldn't actually recommend anyone drink out of them, because, well, I can't afford the attorneys' fees or the medical bills.

I am proud of the funky colors I made by mixing waxes, rusts, and glazes. 

I think my actual construction may be getting better, but it's hard to know until pieces actually come out of the kiln.

Turns out, just because you're a lover of the arts, does not necessarily mean that you actually have artistic talent, LOL.  

Luckily, I'm having a WHOLE LOT of FUN!

Until next time . . .

Click, Click, Click, Click . . . Nothing

For the past few weeks I've been having a "clicking" feeling and sound in my right thumb when I bend it.  It sort of sounded like it was popping in and out of socket every time I had to write, wash dishes, unlock a door, etc.  It didn't really hurt, but was noticeable and uncomfortable, so I let it ride.

Flash forward to a couple of weeks ago.  I woke up with a lot of pain and unable to bend my thumb at all.  It is literally stuck in a straight motion.  Even though I didn't injure it, I thought it was broken.  I called my regular doctor, who I really hate - he's always as ineffective as he can be - but he's cheap and we are part of the uninsured who have to pay cash for doctor's visits.  His nurse told me to go to the emergency room (!) to get an x-ray and call them back if it wasn't broken.  OK!

The emergency room doctor said my thumb isn't broken, but that I have De Quervain's Tenosynovitis, otherwise known as "trigger finger." I hate calling it that since I'm very anti-gun (but that's a whole different kind of post).  Hmmm . . . . maybe I have "Windex trigger finger," I do use a lot of  Windex. 

Anywho . . . basically it's a repetitive motion injury.  The ER doctor gave me a cortisone shot, some anti-inflammatory pills, some pain pills, and wrapped me in a splint while telling me to stop using my right hand for a couple of weeks. 

Flash-Flash-Forward to last week.  My injection has worn off, I'm out of all my medication, my hand is still hurting like Hades, so I have to go back to Dr. Good-for-Nothing and let him tell me to stop using my hand some more.  Which is exactly what he did.  He prescribed me another round of anti-inflammatory pills and told me to wrap my hand back up and continue to stop using it.

*SIGH*  I'm right handed.  I'm a student.  I'm a Mom.  I'm a wife.  It's very difficult to stop using my right hand.  I have homework to do.  I have ceramics projects to complete (photos forthcoming . . . I'm simply dreadful, LOL).   

So all that back story was basically to garner sympathy.  My hand hurts. A LOT!  I need to get things done and I can't hardly use my hand.  I spent over two hours yesterday messing around with some voice recognition software on my computer, and I can't figure out how to get it to work . . . so I'm pluck-typing.  It is not fun.  I normally type over 100 words per minute.  In one of my former lives, I used to be a word-for-word transcriber for the deaf and hard-of-hearing . . . Pluck-typing is not cutting it.  At all. 

OK, sorry, pity party over.  I think I'm going to be all right. 

The weather is lovely here, even though it's already hovering around 95 - 100 degrees.  But it's not over 100 yet, which, in Central Texas, is a good thing. Small victories, people.

Have a great weekend, Everyone!

Until next time . . .