Frustration Rising

This is about where I am right now. I’m still learning how to manage this blog from a computer that is not my own. I’ve given up on about sixteen different posts, because I couldn’t get them to do what I want.

  • The layout is wrong (because I can’t use the program I want to make it right, which ran from my laptop).
  • I can’t find the picture I want (because it was stored on my laptop).
  • I had started with a different approach (but, again, it was on my laptop).

I’m starting, no, continuing to be frustrated. I’m annoyed. I’m angry. I’m sad. I’m a lot of things.

I just want my computer back. Barring that, I just want a computer that is MINE.

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Tar Pit Tendencies

Depression

Super bad couple of days. Feels like I’m back in the tar pits. Sorry. I really wanted to post more, and I just don’t have it in me.

Five Minute Friday: Home

There's no place like home!

“There’s no place like home!”

It really didn’t hit me until after my mom died how much responsibility a woman is under to be the thermostat of the home environment. “If Momma ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy,” couldn’t be more true.

So the fact that while I love the idea being a homemaker, I basically suck at the actual practice of it. Oh, I can vacuum and dust like I trained at Downton Abbey, but I’m not good at decorating, and if it wasn’t for Facebook, I wouldn’t send a single birthday card. Preplanning meals and cutting coupons are things I admire and long to do, but along the same lines as I admire people who work with lions at the zoo. Cool job environment, but one to be approached warily.

Maybe it’s the depression and the ADHD or something, but all the best laid housekeeping schemes in the world, all the planning calendars and color-coded file boxes I ever start end up gathering dust while I spend another week in bed with the covers pulled over my head to ward off engagement with the world.

When I played house and dolls as a child, I never once incorporated the line, “Oh, and here’s the mommy doll. She’s too sad to get up today, so the laundry will probably mildew in the washer. Yay!”

Nope. Never saw that coming.

*****5-minute-friday-1

What’s Five Minute Friday?

A blog-prompt project dreamt up by LisaJo Baker, which you can read about here. The skinny is that you spend five minutes of writing, generally unedited (I correct typos, WAY too OCD not to do that), on a prompt that she provides just after midnight via a tweet, then spread the word, and link up. Interested? Join up. Feast your eyes on today’s buffet of tasty entries by clicking on the picture to the right!

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Dreamless

Forest Fire Ashes

My mouth is full of ashes. I’m choking on dust. I can’t breathe any more…

You, there. Yes, you, God. Up in the sky, in my heart, whatever. I’m mad at You. You already knew that. I know that much. I’m not dumb. I never said You didn’t give me gifts, I’m just saying I can’t use them. It never works out. I’m always caught in the starting gate, left out in the cold, stuck on base and never crossing home plate.

“If we persevere, we get the promise.”

Why do we only get the promise in heaven? Why do the evil seem so victorious now? Why are You so far away? I’m so, so, sick of this. Sheesh, these same attitudes are all over the Bible, and things don’t seem to have gotten any bit better. But I’m not taking that well right now. Feeling like the hero of a Bible story, while giving me good company, doesn’t make me feel better, it just makes me feel sick. Yay! “Hey David, and you, Jonah, why don’t you all come and join me and Job around the self-pity campfire so we can moan and groan about God and all He’s NOT done for us. It’s not like you haven’t spent time practicing!” Proverbs 13:12 tells us that it is the deferring of hope that makes our hearts sick, and that the fulfillment of longing is like a life-giving tree. I’m tired of being heartsick. I’m worn out. I don’t feel like I’m getting any of my longings fulfilled.

“He doesn’t hold back because He is not a kind master. He holds back because in the pursuit we become like Him.”

Really? I guess I’m to the point where I can no longer see how I’m becoming more like You. If anything, I’m becoming LESS like You. Grumbling, tired, and bitter. If You’re really on my side, and all things are supposed to be working out for my good, why isn’t that happening? Seriously, I’m forty-seven. How much longer do I have to wait?

You told me, yes You did, right there in Proverbs 37:4, that if I found my delight in You, You would give me my heart’s desire. Yup. You did. Still waiting. Really, do I have to be in a nursing home before anything good happens? What good will it do me then?

I don’t have a God-sized dream. I don’t have any dream anymore. Why bother? Everything is ashes and I’m tired of the sand and dust in my mouth.

Wake Up Call

In a bit of a different twist, I’m lying here in bed, listening to Paul breathe. I can’t believe he’s not awake yet; it’s almost 9:45.

I’ve been up since before 8:00, having attended to a critical phone call that I was equally surprised and delighted to have received. Surprised because it’s New Year’s Eve, and so many places are closed. Delighted because it wasn’t nearly as unpleasant as I had expected and now it’s behind me.

Herein lies one of my greatest problems. I tend to avoid things that I imagine will be problematic. Lots of people do that. I understand it’s quite normal. I tend, however, to take it to ridiculous extremes, even knowing that I’ll probably be sorry later and sometimes in spite of direct evidence to the contrary. In all honesty, I cannot remember a single time when confronting any challenge that I had mentally magnified into something resembling the horror of imminent execution by guillotine preceded by a fifty-yard walk from the tumbrel that it turned out to be anything more painful, in reality, than running into a door frame, and probably less than that. Why do I do this?

It’s time to get up.

Enter a post title

This is how my Windows Live Writer starts every posting. With that phrase in the title box, and then the rest of the screen all blank and waiting, like a new notebook, for me to enter something. Anything.

Enter: A post title. Stage left? Okay.

Post title: So, what do you have to say for yourself.
Me: Nothing.
Post title: Then why am I here?
Me: I haven’t the slightest idea.
Post title: Can I go home, then?
Me: You can’t go home again.
Post title: I think that’s been taken.
Me: Figures.

On and Off the Wagon

I wonder who Julia is?

I have an addiction problem, but it’s not what you think. (Well, except for the chocolate.)  I’m addicted to getting my way. Whatever I like, whenever I like. Don’t tell me what to do. You’re not the boss of me. From what I understand from other people, it’s just like being an alcoholic.

And it’s not good. I don’t just mean from a Christian point of view, although that’s certainly a valid one. I mean, from a basic human decency point of view. It’s just not going to happen, and I better get over it.

For a while, I toyed with the idea that it was about money, or my lack thereof. While I could certainly get my way more often if I had more money, it’s obvious that even Donald Trump doesn’t get his way a shocking amount of the time. (Seriously. Have you ever seen a grown man who acts more like a toddler who has just been told that he may not have all the toys.) No money isn’t it at all.

It’s more like arrogance. (On second thought, maybe it is like Donald Trump.) I guess I have a basic assumption that I’m a smart person, and that I have good ideas. So, when I have a good idea (which is, let’s face it, at least a few times a day), I expect people (or at least myself) to jump. High. Now.

Exactly.

That’s not happening.

And it’s really not because my ideas are, contrary to my opinion, bad. It’s because of my other addiction: sloth. I am such a physical slacker. I could give you a thousand reasons why, but they would all be excuses. I mean, it’s so overcast.