Today, Yesterday, Tomorrow

 ~*~Today~*~

So much for my inner peace from last week.  Quick to come.  Quick to go.  It feels like it’s been nothing but schlock here lately – arguing with myself, moldy mental musings, and psycho babble (two words). So I made a rule that I wasn’t going to post again until I could write something halfway approaching light-hearted and entertaining.  But I lied…to myself…again. 

We make stupid little rules like that for ourselves, ya know, us semi-control freaks. For some it’s: I won’t crack another beer until the next commercial, I won’t write her until she writes me … and so it goes.

Mine are more like: I will no longer think out loud where everyone can see how inane – with or without the s – I can really be.
Well, yeah, but not nearly as much.
Would you believe, not until after coffee?

*sigh*  I’m not even good with rules of my own.

The problem is, I don’t feel the least light-hearted and entertaining at the moment because I’m sick. Again.  What else is new right?  Horking, snorking, SICK, I tell ya. Fucking strep throat! The one body part above my shoulders that’s remained mostly pain free and healthy over the last few years, and it’s gone over to the dark side, for the second time this year.

I said that to my husband, ’cause he’s my poor whine master, and he said, "How about your earlobes?"

Actually, no, ya know, they seem to still be good.

Bastard. If they get infected now I’ll…

So I was honestly going to make an effort to write something somewhat funny, maybe even crack a joke or two. But the universe heard me boast and decided the joke should be on me instead.  So I was doomed from the start issuing that little gem. 

Har-de-har-fuckin-har.

What I meant to say was, "I can’t remember the last time Rob Thomas was in our house."

Hah! So there! Hey, cold, I found one brain cell you missed!
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Now what was it I came here to write about?!? 

Oh!  Yeah.  Some of you who read the entry before this one thought I was talking about cleaning out of material things to make room for more material things.  I wasn’t.  I was referring to the mental/emotional cleaning.  You know?  I was talking about the stuff that gets tossed into the back closet of our minds because it’s too hard to deal with.  Or too painful.  I’ve been kicking myself lately for going in there recently.  But you know what?  Sometimes you have to do that which will cause you great pain to be free of that pain forever.  To clean that part out so I can make room for better memories to store in that closet in the back of my mind.  I’ve really come to realize, as painful as my childhood was, as awful as the memories are, they’re mine.  They make me who I am.  If I had not lived through those things, then I wouldn’t be the person I am today.  I’d be very different.  And whose to say I would be a better person?  I also realized, if given the choice to erase those terrible memories.  I couldn’t and wouldn’t.  Not because I want to wallow in them.  But because each and every one of those memories serves to make up the whole that is me.  And you know what?  One thing hasn’t changed from last weekend.  I’m pretty unique.  I’m finally at a place in my life where I can look at myself and realize, "Hey!  You’re all right just the way you are!"  Gat dem right I’m special.  We all are.  Each in our own unique way because each of us is comprised of the circumstances we’ve lived.  We’re all a solid mass of the memories and experiences we’ve lived. 

~*~Yesterday~*~

In my mental cleaning I did a very bad thing.  I did.  I wondered if my Nasty Nana (mom’s mother) is still alive.  I sat there for hours Tuesday thinking of a way to find out.  So I called information, asked for a listing, received a listing.  I sat there for a long time deciding whether to call.  I finally decided I would.  So I *67’d her number and sure enough the nasty old crow is still alive and kicking.  I hung up when I heard her voice.  Don’t know why I felt the need to *67 before dialing.  It’s not like she even knows my married name.  But just in case.  86 years old this May.  86-years-old with the entire rear of her heart gone because of a major heart attack quite a few years ago.  She lives in the same apartment she’s been living in for years.  I was half tempted to go over there and just lay it all out there.  Give it to her.  All this pent up rage I feel inside over what she said to me when her daughter, my mother, died.  But I decided against it.  Because doing that would leave me no better than her.  Right?  Plus, she’s an old lady and she can’t hurt me anymore because I can just stay away from her. 

I knew it.  Anyone who has ever had the misfortune of meeting her has said the same thing, "She will live forever because she’s simply too nasty to die."

I know that’s an awful thing to say.  I know.  I feel terrible for it and I will pray that I stop feeling such black hatred for her and that I can forgive her for what she said to me when my mom died.  Maybe someday I’ll be successful.  I’m giving it to God.  It’s in his hands now.  All this white hot rage I feel inside towards her, my brother, even my father.  I’m giving it all to God.

~*~Tomorrow~*~

 “Tomorrow is the most important thing in life.  Tomorrow comes onto us at midnight, very clean.  Tomorrow is perfect when it arrives and puts itself in our hands.  Tomorrow hopes we’ve learned something from yesterday.” 

How come when I use that handy little paste from word button it always makes a mess of my damned spacing?  Oh…and how do I put an image into my side bar there?  *points to the left*