Ever have that feeling that the deck is stacked against you? Nothing seems to go right. Murphy’s Law is dictator. Trust me, I know this for a fact. If it can go wrong in my life, it typically does.
Yes, I know this sounds fatalistic. But I do feel that way at times. I had someone tell me that I exaggerated things. Well, they sat through an evening of my day and saw it first hand. I have the worst luck.
If it can go wrong, it typically does. That makes those few times things go right very precious. I just wish they came around a little more often.
Why do I use the term voodoo doll? Well, I began using that about 18 years ago when everything in our lives began to go wrong. My husband developed pneumonia. A few months later right before I gave birth to our last child, he ended up in the hospital for reasons doctors could not determine. Right after my daughter was born, I was told I might have cancer. Scared me to death as my father was already dying from that very unprejudiced disease. I had surgery that changed my life. It wasn’t cancer, but it was a lifelong issue I had to face. Dad died. My husband went into the hospital and discoverd that all his problems were symptoms of Chrons. He then lost his job due to being out sick too much. Credit fraud happened right after that. We moved in hopes of getting a fresh start. Medical problems only got worse as did our financial issues. Seemed we couldn’t trust anyone. Everyone went wrong year after year.
Each New Year, we toast that it will be better than the year before. Each year, we have to swallow those words. Things just don’t get better, no matter what we do. Oh, well.
Each New Year, I am determined to keep hope alive. You thought this was going to be an entirely depressing pieces, didn’t ya? I couldn’t let that happen. There has to be some fun in life.
Yep, the cards seem stacked against me, but I know how to play a few games such as poker. I will lose a few hands here and there. Okay, I will lose way more than I will win. But the important part is that I’m still in the game.
Bring it on!
No, I really didn’t mean that. Fates, just kidding.
Do you ever have those times when you just need to get away? Just going to the coffee shop won’t help. The stress of life is just minutes away, waiting to pounce on me. It’s not enough.
I need a vacation!!!!! From LIFE!!!!!
Think of all the stresses from life. They come in various forms, twenty-four seven.
Work – This stress takes up most of my days. I go to work and deal with idiots. Okay, not all are idiots, but I think there are a good number. I have to repeat myself over and over because a few people don’t know how to read their emails. Then there are the drama queens and those who try to throw you under the bus every chance they get. That’s not even touching on the lost shipments and computer issues. (I think I need an asprin now.)
Family – Oh, the family. How they make us want to jump off a cliff! They demand your attention and presence at every family event. And that doesn’t include the drama you are drawn into.
Kids – These buggers have to be fed and clothed. If they are older, they have to be at soccer practice or picked up when they are done with after school activities. That doesn’t include when you try to go to the bathroom and they come a knocking.
Husband – When does the husband not stress you out? There is the stress of having to watch that football game and then what is for supper.
House – Cleaning never seems to get done unless we do it ourselves. The magical world of Mickey Mouse doesn’t bring the mop to life when we leave the premises. The dishes can wait, but there comes a time that you need to have clean underwear.
Fun Stuff – Even what you do for fun can be stressful. I love to crochet. Now I’m learning to knit. That is soooo stressful. There are the interruptions from kid and husband as well as from life. Then there are the mistakes I am learning as I go. ARGH!
When can I fit in sanity? Nowhere.
There comes a time when you need to step away from it all. You need to get away from even your cell phone. That thing can drive a saint to cussing. Get away and let the brain relax. Give the nerves a chance to breath and not snap.
My husband gave me a slight one the other week. He dropped me off at Starbucks for 4 hours. That was so productive, but it wasn’t a real vacation. I need to sleep in for a few days straight. I need to not have a single person call my name. I need to be pampered and relaxed.
Maybe one day I’ll have that escape, that vacation from life. I can hope can’t I?
I recently visited where I was born in Kentucky. My family’s farm has been sold and the house removed. I hadn’t been there since it was sold three years earlier. For my own closure, I needed to go there.
It was hard to see the empty space where the house had been. I couldn’t stop the tears. I walked the area and pointed out where memories lived. It was a bittersweet moment.
Later that day at my sister’s, a spot on the back of my leg began to itch. A mosquito must have penetrated my jeans. In the middle of the night, I woke up, clawing at my leg. Dozens of spots were on my leg and itching to the point that I would gladly have made them bleed.
Over the next twenty-four hours, dozens more popped up. I had never had so many mosquito bites at one time. Then they got worse. More appeared. Nothing helped. They weren’t mosquito bites. They were chiggers buried in me!!!!
For days, I clawed at my skin. My entire left leg was covered. Then the right joined in. It moved up my body until all by my neck and head were covered in bites that bleed every day. I couldn’t stop scratching. During the night, I’d wake up clawing at them. My husband kept yelling at me to stop before any got infected. While he was right in doing so, I couldn’t stop it.
It’s been a couple of months now. The bites have stopped itches, but they left scars. Every time I look at any part of my body, I am reminded of the agony of that trip. I did not enjoy the trip as I should have all because of the misery. But I also see a lesson from it all.
There are times we can’t control our actions.
I’ve always been told that you can control how you react to things. To a degree, maybe. Yet our body and mind take over at times when we are unable to fight it. I couldn’t stop the itching. I couldn’t stop my nails from scratching while I slept. It was going to happen no matter what. These scars were destined to be a part of me.
I could lament them. I could think of all things I could have done differently. Aside from tying my hands while I slept the headboard, I was going to scratch myself. By choosing to get out of the car and walking my old home, I set in course something I could not change. Do I regret walking the homestead? No, I had to do it for saying goodbye to part of my past. That meant I had to exchange peace and smooth skin with closure.
How many people have to make exchanges like that and don’t even realize that? It gives me a different perspective I hope I can channel into my writing.
My daughter asked me a simple question the other day. It was very simple, yet I cannot shake my…answer.
The daughter who has been married for a couple of years asked, “Mom, if work gave you an opportunity to move to France for two years, would you go?” I work for a French owned company who send interns over to work in the States for a specified period of time. So in that aspect, it was a simple question.
Let’s start with the fact that I would never be asked to do that. I’m in not in a position in that company to ever be offerred that, but it still got me thinking. That was even more so after I quickly answered, “No!”
Catherine asked me, “Why not?”
“Well, there are things to consider like my house here, my husband, my….” That’s all I had. She pushed for more concrete answers, and I could not give her a single thing. I couldn’t even use my job as an excuse as it would have been my job sending me there. Therefore I would have income.
She hung up, and I kept hearing that question and my answer in my head. Shame swept over me. I gave a coward’s answer. I would be afraid to move to a different country and have to live in it for more than the time I would have spent if I had gone on vacation. Adventure would have awaited me, and I would have run from it.
I’m boring. It’s just a fact. I’m boring as watching sand fall through an hourglass. Telling anything about my life is blah. No one wants to know anything about me because there is nothing interesting. I read. I write. I work. I crochet. I’m learning to knit. Aren’t you excited to hear more? I’m not even interested.
I want to have my tombstone say, “She lived a hell of a life!” It won’t say that if I kicked the bucket today. I hang my head in shame.
I know why I’m like this. I was raised to be safe, to take the conservative route, to not take risks. My very upbringing prohibits me from enjoying life to its fullest. Only brother dared to break from that. He joined the Navy and has gone on adventures nearly every year of life even after leaving the Navy that took him throughout the Western hemisphere. Even though he moved back to within a few miles of where he had been born, he goes to places like Africa and experiences life. I’m so jealous of him. Note: I am jealous in a good way that only a sister who idolizes him can.
I want to do that. I want to live life. So I have decided to start a real bucket list. I’ll be fifty in a couple of years. My youngest is leaving home next year. I have the chance to live my life in a way like never before. I’m actually going to it.
I’ll share with you my list. I’ll share with you as I prepare for them and actually do them. World, watch out! Who knows what story ideas I’ll get from my adventures.
Hobbies can help a writer relax. They are meant to give inspiration and clear the mind. Unless you are learning to knit. Then you find that it drives you insane and sends you cussing worse than a sailor.
I’ve been crocheting for years. It is easy for me. I can crochet as I watch TV and with others around me talking. Not much distracts me. How much different could knitting be once I broke through the language of it and actually learned the basics.
Boy, was I wrong!
I have found that knitting is very foreign to me. I cannot count the stitches as easily as I can with crocheting. That means that when I am interrupted, I struggle finding where I was. That is just the beginning of my frustrations.
Knitting calls for my complete attention. I mean complete! I try to knit. I’m reading the instructions and trying to get it right. Then I’m interrupted.
ARGH!!!!!!! Leave me alone! I’m trying to get this one row done. I can’t get this pattern done. Shoot, I can’t even get the next row complete.
I thought this was supposed to relax me! It’s not!!!!!
I’m not too inspired. I don’t want to be creative. I want to get the hang of knitting. Maybe I need to go back to crocheting.
I will go back to knitting. I want to make items that are only knit, but I’m going to have to do it when I’m doing nothing else and no one else is around. That may never happen now that I think about it. Then again, I find time to write. Maybe I need to create the writing environment but for knitting. Or hire killers to take out family members who interrupt me. Both sounds pretty good.
No, I am not contagious. At least I hope not. It is a horrible thing to have. Once it starts, it only seems to get worse.
I got up the other morning and knocked my glasses onto the floor. With a groan, I retrieved them which was difficult since I needed my glasses to see. Then my phone fell on the floor with a clatter when I sat back up from getting my glasses. Good timing as I had my glasses then to see where it was.
All was good for a few minutes until I dropped the soap in the shower. As I reached to get that, I knocked over the shampoo bottle. The day was not starting off well, in case you hadn’t noticed.
After dropping the car keys twice, I managed to get into the car and start toward work. You’ll be glad to know that this serious illness did not show symptoms on the drive to work. Myself and all other drivers remained safe.
At work, the symptoms resurfaced at an alarming rate. Sitting my purse on my desk, it tumbled over and spilled half its contents. Thankfully, the kitchen sink remained buried at the bottom with anything useful I typically need. It only got worse from there. I sat down in my chair and knocked the stapler over which then caused my pen to roll off the desk and bounce onto the carpet.
Needless to say, I was not exactly in a sunshiny mood or even a partly cloudy one. My boss walked in, and my good morning was far from good. Coffee was needed. No! It was a necessity.
It was good for a spell as I poured the coffee and put in the cream and sugar. Picking up the cup, I sloshed coffee on the counter. Geez! Could it get any worse? Yep, I said that. Stupid me actually asked that question.
I cleaned the mess up. That well pretty well for which I am thankful. On the way to my desk, I took a sip and dribbled quite a bit of coffee all over my light beige top. Yep, day was still going great.
For a couple of hours, the symptoms subsided. Lunch rolled around. Still things were okay. It was in the middle of a meeting, the symptoms showed themselves again. A pen fell onto the floor, not once but three times. I knocked over my bottle of water. Then I tripped as I stood up to leave. Great presentation.
The symptoms continued after I got home. I gave up cooking dinner when I dropped the chicken on the floor much to the delight of the dogs. I’m on the way to bed. Hoping the symptoms continue to be controlled I can get things done right.