Modern Slavery

Modern SlaveryPeople everywhere are attached to their smart phones. I was no different. I used to have it with me all the time, sitting right there beside me but since having LASIK I cannot see the words on my iPhone. I was able to make the text bigger so I can still see texts but websites, apps and Facebook are out. Since I have not been using mine it makes me more aware of how much time other people spend on their phones (namely my husband). When my vision comes back I’ll probably be attached to mine again but for now, I am really not missing out on much.

 

Treat Her Right

Treat Her Right

Men, treat you wife right. She is not another woman. It has to do with appreciating her, with treating her as special. Does your wife feel special? Many husbands do for other women what they wouldn’t do for their own wives. They used to do it. They used to open up the car door every single time, now she’s hoping to get in before the car drives off. When love dies, marriage dies.

She must feel special. How do you make her feel special? By your words and actions from the heart. A random text during the day will make her feel special. Something like, “I’m right in the middle of something, but I just wanted to tell you I love you and I can’t wait to see you when I get home.” She’s going to beat you home! Because you just made her feel special. That took 30 seconds.

You also make her feel special with your gifts. I don’t mean a dozen roses. Writing little notes to her. When she’s making the bed and underneath the pillow is a note that says, “Every night I get to sleep next to you. I just want to let you know I wouldn’t have it any other way.” She’s special. Make her feel it. Sometimes it means telling her she’s the prettiest thing you’ve ever run into. Or that you couldn’t get your mind off of her all day. Sometimes it means drying the dishes while she washes them. Sometimes it means making one side of the bed while she makes the other. Why? Because those things will make her feel special.

If you only do this on anniversaries and such, this is too predictable. When you were dating you didn’t only do it on the anniversary, it would pop up here and there. It would keep popping up. She was bombarded with your love. First of all she probably didn’t like you, she didn’t think you were handsome. But you said to yourself, “I’m going to make you like me.” And you bombarded her with emails, texts, phone calls. In time, she began to say, “Why, he isn’t exactly a frog.” And you kept bombarding her, and she began to say, “He’s kind of cute.” And you kept bombarding her, and she calls up her girlfriend and says, “I’m in love!”

What happened? What happened is you making her feel special, something too many men stop doing once they get married. She fends for herself. When was the last date? I’m not talking about the last time you came home and said, “What do you want to do tonight?” That’s not a date. A date is, “Hey, I got this thing all planned, all you got to do is come along for the ride.” Now it’s not about you coming home, and having nothing to do, and saying, “What do you want to do?” Have the attitude that, “You are not left over, you are my evening!” Make her feel like the special woman she is.

Husbands, you’re the thermostat, you control the temperature. Your wife is the thermometer, she’ll tell you how it reads. So if you have it on 80, and she’s cold, the thermometer’s broken and you can fix it.

 

 

 

 

Silence

Be Careful with Your Words

There are hundreds of quotes praising silence, calling it a “source of great strength”, a “true friend that never betrays.”  Other quotes basically confirm that silence is “heartbreaking” and that it’s “the loudest scream”.

My mother had religiously told me that words once spoken can never be unspoken… she made sure I knew that silence is made of gold and that I can never blurt things to people that I can never take back. Her favourite was, “If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.”  What she didn’t explain that I should never be silent about my pain and let it take control of me, and so, I stopped recognizing my destructive silence.

Years later, I have come to recognize my silence and what it does to me… Silence deafens me, be it mine or someone else’s.

My silence is a cold grip around my heart squeezing tears out of my eyes… my silence cripples my mind until it’s no longer able to tell thoughts apart… my silence makes my body get colder as it feels extremes of both pain and numbness… my silence absorbs the air out of my lungs making me struggle to breathe.

And so does your silence, because it provokes a silent volcano of pleads to not let me dwell on my fears and worries and assumptions that would tear me apart and then hand me to silence for I have nothing to base any spoken words on… and I can’t just speak my worries, my fears and my assumptions, because once they’re spoken, they are real (even if they never really applied) and I can no longer take them back.

So please don’t assume I know, don’t fear my reaction if I know, don’t worry about what speaking would do to me because nothing is as bad as silence… because silence lurks in the blur, away from the cleansing sun light.

Silence has no room between people who trust each other, so don’t encourage my silence with yours.

 

 

The Blues

the Blues

I don’t have a name for it.

It’s a feeling, instead.

It’s like a gremlin sitting on my chest, pushing the air out of me enough so that I can breathe in enough to stay alive, but not quite enough to get the feeling as though life is free and easy. I can picture this little gremlin – he’s green. Horns. Beady eyes. Pigeon-toed and knock-kneed.

I am very grateful for my life. Very, very grateful. I have the kind of life I never thought a loser like me would ever get to live. What I feel – and what I write here – is in no way a distraction from the degree of love I have for my life and those in it.

But I guess sometimes no matter how much time you spend sitting on a sofa, how much you stare inwardly at yourself through the shell you call your body, or how many tissues you cry your way through, sometimes the truth is there are those in the world who are prone to dark… to gremlins. Very rarely, I’ll get into a place where (gremlins again) I almost literally can’t talk. It’s as though it’s just too much effort to talk, to make conversation. It requires too much energy, too much spark, too much of something of which I am short of.

No matter how beautiful and full of light your life is, there can still be gremlins.

You wish things could change. You wish there could be peace and quiet in all parts of you. You wish people would stop demanding things of you in a way that make you feel like a tiny human being. You wish you would quit doubting that you could do those things people demand when you can, you fucking can. You wish time would either slow down or speed up but for Christ’s sake, stop just hanging out here. You wish you could reach out, be a better person. You wish you could be a better person. You wish you could just be better.

I still can’t sleep, and I’m tired all the time in a way that makes me feel as though I’m 80 years old.

I’m not stupid – I recognize this morning some of what’s going on. I got the blues, baby. I got the blues. Minor blues, it’s not major at all, just tinted that side of the spectrum.  Too long of a winter here in the North. A fight with my hubby that we still haven’t resolved. Combination of many things.

Nothing else to do but pull myself up and keep going, right? The body wears out but the mind keeps going. I need to paint myself in rainbow colors, and I need to start with the gremlin. I need to stop feeling dragged through life backwards, naked, upside down through a field of cactus. I was sitting there thinking that instead of living life, life is living me. Only that’s, you know, a stupid thing to say.

I’m not sure what I set out to say here, so I’m going to stop talking now.

 

 

More Than Words

More Than Words

You can say “I love you” as much as you want, say whatever you want, whenever you want. But, if you’re not going to prove that the things you say are true, then don’t say anything at all. Because, if you can’t show it, your words don’t mean a thing. – Author Unknown

There’s always a turning point in any relationship…a moment that makes or breaks it. You took a wrong turn somewhere and mired yourself into the muck, and now you’re spinning your wheels deeper and deeper.  It’s a sand trap, and you’re slowly sinking.  I think most relationships hit this point. I think this happens for a couple of different reasons, but I think the primary general factor that it all falls under is when complacency takes the guise of comfort.

Comfort is a slippery slope. Comfort turns to complacency, and complacency slowly kills a relationship because at some point comfort takes over romance.  Why?  Cause romance is hard work.  So the fundamental difference between comfort and complacency is that becoming complacent is a conscious choice.  You are making a decision to place the relationship on the back burner to work on the other aspects of life.  But generally when we become complacent, it means that we get lazy at working at it.  The comfort monster in our brain tells us “You shouldn’t have to work that hard for love.  Especially in an established relationship.” No matter what, the result is the same and that is an overall laziness…a complacency that becomes the downfall of many relationships.

Eventually, we all come to the realization that saying you love someone and meaning it are two separate things. I’m talking about people who simply stop trying, and live their routine every day believing that the love is there without ever having to work for it. Love can be attained in many ways, but not a single one of them takes an easy road.  There are no shortcuts.  It’s like raising a child…no good child that grew to be a good person, was ever raised in an environment where they were completely ignored and considered to be nothing but part of the “routine.”  No…they grow up to be the children who stab you in the kidney for a pair of slightly worn Nikes.

We all want our relationship to be full of life and love, and constantly moving and evolving. Sometimes it might not be a realistic ideal, but if you really care about each other, you should never stop trying.

Who I Am

Lonely Heart

Today I thought about who I am.

It’s not as easy as you think it is. You order it how you can – I am a woman. I am a mother. I am a wife. I am an employee. I am sister/daughter. I am a blonde-haired cat-owner. Walking Dead fan. I like to hold my hand out the window in warm weather and watch, as I turn my hand a little bit, the aerodynamics demonstrated with my hand how airplanes work. I like to walk barefoot in the grass. I like a heavy duvet on the bed because something about the weight of it identifies the solemnity of bedtime. I like travelling but I always like coming home, too. I am heart-breaker, heart-broken survivor, book-reading, wine-quaffing adult. I am all of those things and none of them specifically. I look back on my life and I remember every moment. The good, the bad, and the ugly.

 

And if I could I would go back and do it all over again, every part of it. Would changing the past make me a different person? One can only speculate.

Before I Sleep

Before I Sleep

I play scenes in my head that I can’t forget. I play scenes I love. I play the impossible.

I practice things I want to say. Then I find out there’s nothing left to say anymore.

I have endless “WHAT IFs”.  Endless.

I make plans for the next day only to realise my days are always the same. Wake up. Go to work. Eat. Come home. Sleep.

I think of all the people I miss. The people I love.

I think of the ones I hate. The one who hurts my feelings. The fucktard.

I ask myself questions, actually more like I have a conversation with myself.

Something’s not right. I sense it. My gut tells me so. This feeling of insecurity again. Maybe it’ll be gone when I wake up.

But still… fuck mind… just shut up and let me sleep.