Perhaps I spent too much time worrying. After all, it wasn’t my problem but I couldn’t seem to stop ministering to his lack of self-control. I care more than he ever did and in the end I divorced the bottle, not him.
Category Archives: addiction
It’s all over
13 CommentsMy dad was a staunch believer in always giving 100 percent effort. His mantra played over and over in my head every time I wrote a test in school and every time I had to put any form of exertion into a task.
Somewhere along my journey through this life, that chant of success began to increase in volume and unwittingly seeped into every other aspect of my life. Sometimes it felt good and other times it felt more like punishment.
I began to take most things to a new level. And going overboard on simple achievements was just the beginning. Realizing I couldn’t attain perfection led me into a pattern of over-eating.
When the over-eating became much more noticeable, I began to over-analyze and over-think everything about the problem instead of just recognizing it for what it was and dealing with it head on.
Of all the things I do with the utmost intensity, over-thinking is the worst of them. I cannot seem to let what will be just be. My brain configures numerous scenarios, all with different outcomes, and will not stop when it should be satisfied. There is always another possibility. This is a fantastic gift to have when I am writing fiction but, when it comes to creating plot lines based on my reality, it is a detriment to normal productivity.
I expend a great effort each day to quell those thoughts. I could take an issue so benign and have it twisted into something so distorted from its original form that it becomes a gnarled version of what it once was and something so far removed from what it ever should be. If I could ever transfer these thoughts to pages of a novel, it would be quite the story.
For now, I will wait out the current situation that has me over-thinking. I will listen to those little voices as they churn out ending after ending but when I reach the point that I eventually find out what will really happen, the wait will be over.
A single wish
21 CommentsThe glow burned my eyes but I couldn’t take my gaze from its mesmerizing emanation. It stood like a sentinel, guarding my emotion. Although it was a single flame, that lone candle represented the one person I wished was here with me.
The good, the bad and the truth
7 CommentsHow quickly we lose our tenuous grasp on the things that used to seem so simple. How fleetly we relinquish our grip. How easily we let go of the reins only to watch those reins get wrapped up in the wheels of the coach we struggle to maintain control of as we steer ourselves into our future.
In those rare moments in our lives, in the moments when we think we can marginally and genuinely separate the good from the bad, the truth will always do its best to expedite that process. We are fools to think that we can fool ourselves. And although good and bad are formidable opponents, the truth will always come out the victor.
Knowing our truth may sometimes feel like nothing more than a burden. We may carry it with us, hidden under a shroud of secrecy, hoping that it remains hidden. But eventually that truth becomes transparent, if not to others at least, to ourselves. And in that moment, in that split second when we realize we can no longer pull the wool over our own eyes, the pressure of that burden no longer holds any weight.
Suddenly the reins are back in our hands. That feeling of losing control is replaced by a new calm and the knowledge that everything that seemed to be bad can be good again. The truth did, indeed, give us a sense of freedom and the moment we began believing in that truth, our change was inevitable.
Dealing with the good and the bad in ourselves is human nature. That concept evolved long before we began our journey through this lifetime. But being able to recognize the truth, to embrace the strength and the weakness that brought us to our truth, is the genuine definition of our character.
True strength is not measured by physical endurance alone. True strength does sweat, it does bleed. But it also cries, accepts, forgives and heals. True strength inspires us to be better and, somewhere along that rugged path, our truth can inspire others as well. #mjs
You can’t have too much of a good thing
2 CommentsI thought I would have an overwhelming sense of guilt about my day yesterday. But the truth is, I do not. I hadn’t deviated from any plan of what I should have been doing but, instead, forged ahead with my original intention and spent the majority of the day on my couch binge-watching the remaining episodes of Breaking Bad on Netflix. There, I said it….I’m out.
I did manage to feed myself the required meals to sustain my ability to swear at the screen and I did tend to my puppy dog, as the job did seem obligatory. But any task outside of those parameters took a back seat and I was glued to the screen.
As the credits rolled and I waited for the next episode to begin, I had to face the harsh reality as the screen changed to the standard Netflix screen and not the profile of the characters I have come to know so well. No longer would I be captivated by Walter White and his transformation from meek Chemistry teacher to the tower of greed and felonious intentions that he slowly became. I had to call it – time of death, 10:39 pm.
I will slowly acclimate to the reality I once knew. My blog will learn to recognize me once again. My Kindle will be dusted off and my vacuum will feel the familiar touch of my hands as I learn to live my old life. I’m sure my friends will vaguely recall what my voice sounds like once I pick up the phone to re-establish contact. I just hope I can remember not to call them all “bitch”.
Breaking Bad could ruin my life as I know it
18 Comments
Okay, so I’m a little behind the times. Breaking Bad ended in September of 2013 and I, admittedly, had never had any interest in watching it. What an egregious error in judgement.
At the urging of a friend, and the consequent risk of losing that friendship if I didn’t watch it, I subscribed for a Netflix trial, poured a glass of wine and began watching Season One, episode one. That was a few days ago and I am now on Season Two, Episode Nine. In that short period of time, I have also been working my full-time job as well as managing my daily household tasks. Sleep is for wimps.
Sunday was a challenge when I was out of power for six hours and kept myself warm by rocking back and forth in the fetal position wondering when Heisenberg and Jesse would once again grace my laptop screen.
My vernacular has taken a sudden turn as I now end every sentence with an emphatic “bitch”, and I have developed a growing attraction to a mild-mannered Chemistry teacher turned bad ass.
If I am suspiciously absent from your blog sites, I apologize. If my blog site goes unattended for a few days, I can accurately blame it on the Crystal Meth and feel safe knowing that my hallucinations are a result of sleep deprivation and not drug use.
Love is subjective
6 CommentsI have found love where I least expected to find it. It caught me off guard, rendered me helpless. I always thought I knew how true love would feel but this deep emotion is far greater than I anticipated.
I can stare at my new love without feeling the need to speak. I can touch my new love and feel the warmth being radiated. I was nervous to admit to myself that I had fallen hard, but I can’t fight a love like this.
I have no fear of being the crazy cat lady as I approach the impending new decade that lurks a few years around the corner. I will happily be the crazy crockpot lady. I had dinner cooking in this little gem last night as I busily chopped and prepared five more meals for my freezer. To say I am obsessed is an egregious choice of adjectives.
I do think that my circumstance could be much more dire than it currently is – not only have I found a love that shares my passion for food, but together we are helping people who can use a bit of a break.
When you find the right love, everything is a win-win.
The dog days of summer….and fall
2 CommentsWorking in the hospitality business goes hand in hand with working strange and long hours. I can adapt to the hours but my dog is the one who takes the brunt of my lifestyle. I will never leave her outside on a chain to battle the elements – she is firmly ensconced in our home, lazily spending her hours watching the wildlife from the comfort of my bed. I have several people who are more than willing to come over and let her out during the day because she is such a happy dog and, for me, having her be the excuse to leave work for thirty minutes is wonderful. She is never a prisoner in her home – she is akin to a wealthy home owner with servants to look after her every whim.
During these long days, I often wonder how she bides her time. Is she going through kitchen cabinets? Has she mastered the satellite remote? Does she inventory my refrigerator? But each day when I get home from my struggle to survive my sometimes 10-14 hour days, she is there to greet me and nothing in the house seems out-of-place. Until a few months ago…..
I returned home from my usual work day and I was greeted by the reassuring excitability that I have come to expect. The house, as usual, was completely intact. The garbage was untouched and the serene ambiance wrapped its arm around my shoulder and pulled me into its embrace to welcome me home.
My attention was immediately diverted to the duvet cover and what seemed to be a single article of clothing bunched up in the middle of the bed. It wasn’t shredded and remained intact, however the entire shirt was extremely damp. She had been licking my shirt for the better part of who knows how long, focusing on the remnants of deodorant I had left behind. The baffling thing was, had I not known where the shirt was originally, I would never have known how she got to it. My closet is masked by a cloth shower curtain that poses itself as a makeshift door. Somehow, she was able to remove the shroud of the curtain, gingerly lift the shirt from the pile of laundry in the basket and replace the curtain so nobody would catch on to her devious plot.
As much as I miss her during my day, it struck me at that moment how much she truly missed me during her day. The writing was on the wall, or in this case on the bed. My scent comforted her during her lonely day and it made my heart ache to realize that fact. We have a very close bond and one that she feels as much as I do.
I can only take solace in the fact that my work days will soon become shorter and more structured. My time with her will increase and perhaps her need to be close to my deodorant-saturated shirts will abate somewhat because I will be here in the physical form and not just the odoriferous form.
And who knows, perhaps in the meantime I can save myself a fortune on laundry.
Ahhh….the profanity comes flooding back….
1 CommentI don’t have children but my countdown to the beginning of the school season is just as exciting. There are no giant red X’s on any calendars but the anticipation for the first week of September is palpable. While the teachers prepare their rooms with the letters of the alphabet strung across the top of the chalk boards, I am only concerned with three of those letters. N-F-L
(one of my favorite pics of my dad)
My child-like excitement for the sport is well-known throughout my friends and family and especially by many others who are members of my football pool. My incessant emails begin during pre-season and escalate substantially as the NFL ramps up to the first kick off of the regular season.
I prepare my dog for the blast of profanities (my sports-related Tourette’s syndrome) that will inevitably be passed from my lips only to fall on the deaf ears of the referees. This is a beloved family tradition passed down from my grandparents and who am I to argue with tradition? They were masters of the verbal barrage of expletives and were not selective when it came to yelling at referees – hockey, football, baseball umpires, nobody was safe. I reserve my assassination of the English language specifically for the line judges, field judges, side judges and back judges of the NFL. There are also a few well-placed curse words expelled during fumbles, sacks and interceptions. (I don’t discriminate.)
I have been busy over the last few days preparing my three pages of football sheets for the over 60 participants in my football pool. Let the games begin and let my grasp of the English language be slightly marred. Hell hath no fury like a woman watching football!!
The prodigious exultation of being a word-nerd
Leave a commentBlogging has allowed me to become a true, and very contented, word snob. I have always loved words. As a teenager, I kept a duo-tang (who remembers those?) filled with lined paper and would make note of all the unfamiliar words I came across while devouring all the books I used to read. Those words that eluded my pubescent mind became a staple of my vocabulary once I had defined them and cemented them into the library of my brain. They circled my imagination and urged my cerebrum to come out to play. They tickled my tongue and they began to flow like blood in my veins.
![IMG_1886[1]](https://polysyllabicprofundities.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/04/img_18861-e1428260559708.jpg)
(look at how lovely my penmanship was in high school)
I assiduously began to incorporate those words into as many scenarios as I could. My teachers were duly impressed. My fellow students merely looked at me like I had three heads. My flamboyant wordiness was an ephemeral fantasy and I had to tone down my elevated rhetoric to become a conventional high-school student filled with angst rather than synonyms.
Today I still continue to incorporate those words into my daily conversations, not to sound more intelligent but, because I enjoy the way those words sound when I say them aloud. I relish being able to use the phrase ‘alarmingly verbose’ instead of just saying “he talked a lot”. I enjoy describing winter as arduous and not just “shitty”, although shitty can truly encapsulate the past winter months and potentially the ones to come. And I will forever want to be mystified by language and not speak simply to communicate. I want to thrive in my love for words.
My enthusiasm for articulate phrases has never waned. It has followed me throughout my journey. It has haunted my sleep and clandestinely pursued me during my conscious hours. May those words forever churn in the maelstrom of my imagination and may I always be able to maintain my romance with the language of expression.
polysyllabic profundities 