What's Up, 2010

1. Take better care of myself.

This includes my hair, my weight, my eyesight, and Bob. I'm trying to grow my hair out but I can't shake the habit of always keeping it up in a ponytail (so lazy). I need to gain at LEAST 15 lbs. Being 5'6 and 110lbs is getting old. It's nice to know there are 8394872384 weight loss programs out there if I ever get fat though. Also need contacts! Or at least a new pair of glasses. Bob is my cyst and I think it's time for him to move out.

2. Finish college.

It's been seven years now. Come on. Pick something and stick with it. Go to the counselor. He's not going to bite your head off. Yes, I'm talking to myself.

3.  Pay off at least HALF my debt and my entire car loan.

I hate bills. Gotta get a job.

4. Keep more in touch with my friends and family.

You know you're awful when you only talk to your bff once every three months...

5. Have a positive outlook on life.

I placed this last because once all of the above are fulfilled, this will be much easier :)

I Was Born in the Wrong Time Period

Seriously, I would be fine just living in a nice quiet little lush green village, have babies, and take care of the house, while my sweet husband has a decent honorable job. I'd give up my car to ride in carriages or to walk everywhere. Bike, even. Don't care for war, but I want my husband to have honor in himself, his family, and his country. Barely any technology, just a few computers and telephones. I love writing letters. I used to have a penpal in Germany, France, and South Africa, but lost touch with them a long time ago. That's all I want. Have a nice family and be happy.

Below is a picture of Shirakawa Gifu, Japan, which was used as a basis for a fictional village in one of my favorite animes, Higurashi no Naku Koro ni.

Rude Awakening

Two mornings in a row now someone sends me a little reminder of something I've left undone, and it's screaming loudly in my ear. This time it's a little more personal than any readers might like, starring my favorite of every month. Yeah, that.

A couple years back my mother started me on birth control (her second successful attempt; i refused to continue taking it after 30 days the first time she made me do it....when I was 13 and had NO interest in dating whatsoever). Before BC, everything was perfect. Rarely ever had cramps, headaches, and the "curse" barely made itself present. It was perfect! I had no idea why people would pull the PMS card whenever women were cranky. Then the BC (patch) came, and it allllll went downhill. Now every month I curl up in a nice little fetal position, sometimes without painkillers because they make me nauseous and keep me awake. Last night I was awake until 2am. It doesn't even have a regular schedule anymore, and lasts for 2-3 extremely painful days. Never thought I'd ever want to extend that, but sorry, I'd rather have my 5-day no pain gig back again.

It makes me SO angry, and I blame my mother for all of it. Always. Seriously, who makes her child take birth control for no reason? And at 13?!?!? I was not out ho'ing around. I was a straight A student with nothing but after school activities in high school. I was at school from 6am to sometimes 11pm Monday through Friday every week. Doing what? Clubs. Robotics, MESA (cut by budget costs), Medical, Computer. I didn't even want a boyfriend until after college. Boys can't do anything, but what? Buy me something I could buy for myself? They can't help me pay my bills! Well, I didn't even need that.

Anyways, aside from the cramping, I also have a benign growth in my uterus. It's like the size of a baseball. I know because I can feel it. They discovered it when I had to take myself to the emergency room because they thought I had appendicitis. The result of that visit? Feeling faint from having blood drawn and some extra strength Ibuprofen with a side of "I don't know". That "I don't know" cost $4000 for the ultrasound alone. They didn't seem too worried about it, so I continued to try to pretend it wasn't there. It gives me a small belly and when I'm bloated it looks like I'm pregnant. I know, I know. I'm supposed to go to the doctor and get rid of it. Why don't I? I'm afraid. I hate doctors. They stuff you up with pills and tell you, if it still hurts after these are gone then come back. I've only had one doctor that I liked, and that is a huge stretch. I voluntarily went when I was feeling bad. Now? I have to feel like I'm dying, or just be sick and tired of being sick, to go to the doctor.

So, as part of my New Year's resolution to find a purpose for myself, I have to make sure I'm going to live through it. I'm going to make a doctor's appointment for myself, finally, after...three years of carrying "Bob". That's what I named my cyst. At least I hope it's just a cyst. And to be honest, for some reason, I don't even care if it turns out I can't have children. I feel like I should care, but I just can't. Maybe my mind or heart is just lying to me. When it comes time to have kids, will I be happy or sad if I can't? I can't even answer that question. Probably because I don't mind being alone, but at the same time, I don't know if I'd want a man who didn't want kids.

No matter how I look at it, the first step to recovery is to finally go to the doctor. Maybe after Bob is gone, I can let go of the hate I feel every month for my mother's actions, and my lack of will power to stand up for myself.

The Sunday After Christmas

Early this morning I woke up in a half sleep to a familiar voice that I used to hear often when I was younger. After a moment or two of listening, I realized it was Dr. Charles Stanley. Not thinking about what I was doing, what time it was, or where I was supposed to be, I kept listening. He was talking about the true meaning of Christmas, and the symbolic meaning of the manger that some of our politicians would love to get rid of. Strangely, I remember most, if not all, of his sermon. Let me explain why listening to a church sermon is out of the ordinary for someone like me.

When I was small, I adored my great grandmother Sarah (love you grandma). Anyway, my family moved from Grandma Sarah's home for some time, and when I returned, I went straight to see her. What I found was not my grandmother, but some other person who looked like her. Bed-ridden, gnarled, with no sense of time or place and no ability to form words. This was not my beloved grandmother. Her room smelled of betrayal and diapers. She had left me. I left that room without so much as a hello or goodbye. I had disowned her and cast her aside as if she was never any friend of mine. Some time after, I heard my mother say, to some extent, that it was my grandmother and her children's fault (aunts and uncles), that Grandma Sarah had become this way. They had stolen her from me, and so I had come to hate them all. They were no family of mine. I thought, how could they let that happen to her? I lived at that house, with my ailing great grandmother, filled with the most putrid and soul hardening disgust of that family. The same family that attended church every Sunday, every Wednesday. Walked around carrying Bibles as if they were totally and utterly sinless in every way. At least, as a child, that's how I saw it. Hypocrits, they were. So, in turn, I came to hate the church. I couldn't bring myself to stand being in the presence of one, let alone inside it, to stand in prayer with the very people who had taken away the most religious and caring person I ever knew. There was no way.

After my parents separated, or perhaps even before, my mother always listened to Dr. Charles Stanley, because he never talked about money like Dr. Price did (although I liked his music better). He never yelled, always made sense, and had a soothing voice that didn't put you to sleep. He was the one person I would ever listen to, despite my dislike for anything having to do with a church. So I suppose it makes sense that all of a sudden, one Sunday, I wake up to Dr. Charles Stanley's sermon on tv. Maybe Someone is trying to tell me something? I like Dr. Stanley simply because he makes sense. Doesn't just preach straight out of the bible, he tells it in ways regular people can understand. Isn't that what a preacher, reverend, etc. is supposed to do? Anyway, while he talked about the meaning of Christmas and it's significance as the turning point of religion, I remembered that I had always wanted a Bible but could never afford one. After the sermon I went to see how much they were on their website. Of course, the one I wanted would be $89, a leather bible just like Grandma Sarah had (at least I think it was leather). I registered on the website anyway and read through their magazine. Santa Claus was real! Well, he was never called Santa Claus back then, but his name was Saint Nicholas, and he didnt live in the North Pole. He lived in what is now called Turkey. So what does that say about all the people who say he wasn't real? As the year comes to a close, I wondered what will be my New Year's resolution. I suppose it would be to answer the one question that has been haunting me for half my life now. What is my purpose?

If you don't know who Dr. Charles Stanley is, look him up on his website, intouch.org.

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