Much has happened this week; I can’t even begin to categorize the events that have taken place. My mother in law is in town, so my floors are immaculate, and my laundry has never been so done. I believe that she has actually almost mastered the art of training the laundry to run into the washer and begin washing itself. I wrote a profile on this woman, for she is quite a profound being. I’ve never met anyone like her and I am absolutely sure my future holds no duplicates either.
One of the suggestions that were made to me to improve an early stage of this profile is to include some negativity in it. I kind of chuckled inwardly at this notion because in all reality, this is completely viable and would apply to anyone else, aside from Lindy. I’m one hundred percent sure that she will eventually make a couple of miracles happen, thus earning her a well deserved sainthood.
With my floors sparkling, and my clothes freshly laundered, John, Lindy and I headed off to the Doctor for my monthly checkup. We had decided that we would do our best to guilt the doc into performing an ultrasound—I had a good reason, I really did. Now, this is going to sound a little irrational, and I’m not sure if it is or not, but it most likely was a hormone induced form of paranoia. So, anyway, I’m becoming more and more concerned as the days go by. I’m 15 weeks pregnant right now, and I’m not showing. Not only am I not showing, but I haven’t gained ANY weight. Not a single pound.
This maintaining pre-pregnancy weight stuff is cool for a month or two, but by now, my uterus is the size of a lemon, and I have a baby in there who has all their fingers and toes, and is moving around doing dances and such when I’m relaxed. So here comes the irrational part… I started to worry about whether or not I actually was pregnant still or if for some reason I was much earlier along then previously hypothesized—it just didn’t seem possible that I could be almost four months along and not look pregnant yet.
Needless to say, John took the high ground, and assured me over and over again that he was absolutely positive that everything was OK, but he would do his best to partake in the guilt laying process thus clenching our spot in the ultrasound room. He performed amazingly well, and with nothing more than a bat of his ridiculously long eyelashes, and a well spoken, “Doctor, would it be possible to get an ultrasound? I mean my wife and I are a little concerned about her lack of weight gain, and we just want to make sure everything’s all right.” We were off and running to catch a black and white shadowy glimpse of our baby.
It was amazing. My baby was doing flips in there, was posing, showing off all of its fingers and toes, and turning every which way. The one thing the little sucker refused to do was give us a glimpse of the goods, so we will have to wait yet another month to find out what we’re having. Aside from the suspense, everyone went home with a party favor; Grandma got her very own picture, I got some relief, and John got to finally hear the end of me constantly asking him if he thinks that everything is OK.
The ultrasound room was crowded—although I was thinking of some of the other people who I know would love to be able to catch a glimpse of this little shadow creature. My sister by choice, and the baby’s fairy god mother (one and the same), Ms. Beth would have been ecstatic. This revelation was coupled with a strong feeling of anguish, for Beth needs me right now and I’m so far away.
She is an incredibly strong girl and I know that she will pull through this rough time, and the tremendous pain that the loss of a loved one will bring, but I so wish that I could be there to listen to her tell me tales of her grandfather and the times that they shared. She has been tasked with delivering his eulogy, and as much of an honor as this heavy job is, it also weighs on the soul. I have no doubt that her days are filled with thoughts of him, and silent films played in her mind of her most cherished memories.
These memories may seem insignificant to many, but to someone who shares such a close bond with another human being, tranquility and order can be harvested from a simple glimpse, or the sound of your loved ones laugh. I’m preaching to the choir here, for we all will be, or have all been in a similar situation, yet it gets no easier with time. No words of wisdom can soothe this hurt, and nothing but time can dull its sting. I feel helpless to do much aside from offering a listening ear and a loving heart from across the country in her time of need.
Such events have weighed heavily on my mind, brining a much needed perspective back to its rightful place. I will not go into depth at this moment, (and I apologize if you have read this far only to feel cheated by surface statements), I just feel too tired to fully express my intended meaning. My friend Bob let me know that he could tell I was stressed by reading my blogs… I apologize for this, as it is not their intended purpose. I have yet to find out exactly what their purpose is, but I am sure eventually I will deduce something that makes a semblance of sense.
I feel profoundly lucky to have people in my life that can sense my mood through my written words, or that can make me realize that while there is nothing that I can do to alleviate their pain, I am needed for other things. I have people in my life who know that I will make something of myself and follow me blindly—even when there is no clue offered as to what that something may be. Such tremendous support and pride is thrown my way and I have never felt so nurtured even in a time of intense stress and painful growth. I know that everything will turn out OK in the end, and for that I am deeply thankful.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Friday, March 21, 2008
Dork
My brain feels like mush. I literally hurt it this past week. I was so stressed out that I’ve had a headache for a little over a week now. All I can say is, thank God it’s Spring Break. I felt like I was an asthmatic who left their inhaler on the bed side table, but found myself running the last leg of a marathon on a smoggy day anyway. In case that description didn’t illustrate quite how overwhelmed I was feeling, I’ll just say this… I don’t know how I made it.
I had a Calculus test last night, what a nightmare that was. I keep finding myself sitting in that class and pondering the reasons why I’m there in the first place… Why exactly was it again? Oh yeah, stupid Mr. Siehl… That, and at least one day I’ll be able to tell my kids that I took Calculus in college, and actually passed it… I don’t think that will gain me any cool points with them though; in fact, John seems to think that every single one of us in that class is a dork, including myself.
I suppose that I am quite a dork, I really can’t deny it. I’d rather have my nose in a book then be parked in front of the TV. This proved to be somewhat of an issue when I was younger… I can vividly remember being GROUNDED FROM READING when I was 13 or so. Now, before you get all up in arms, I have to interject a few words in my parent’s defense here. Apparently I had come home from school and gone straight to my room (which was not unusual on days that I didn’t have any other extracurricular activities occurring). I informed my mother that I had a ton of homework to do (which was the truth), and that I intended to finish all of it immediately (which was quite a lie).
Anyone who knows me or even anyone who’s read some of my previous blogs will be able to tell you that I am a well established, extremely proficient procrastinator. This does not mean that I will sit on my bed and stare at the ceiling and do nothing, no… I will simply find TONS of other things to do to fill my time. Homework was not on the list that particular evening. My mom allowed me plenty of time (about six hours worth of it), completely uninterrupted to finish up my school work. I spent the entire six hours behind closed doors finishing up one book and starting another.
She walked in half way through my indulgence. No knocking, so I couldn’t even hide my indiscretions. She caught me, red handed. Book clasped tightly in my fists and nose buried firmly within the pages. My backpack sitting unmolested at the foot of my bed told the story of just how little homework I had completed that night. Her hands went to her hips, and she narrowed her eyes at me, “Have you been reading this whole time?” “Uh, um, well, I lost track of time, how long has it been?” “Six HOURS!” She turned on her heels calling over her shoulder that dinner was ready, and she expected me at the table minus the book.
That fateful night, I was grounded from reading. Well, not completely, I could still read, I just had to show proof that my homework had been completed before hand. I guess, that story goes to filling out my dork card a little more completely, but what is to be expected when my reward for being good, or getting good grades was my mom taking me out to the bookstore and letting me buy whatever I wanted. I was spoiled when I came to Barnes and Noble, God I love that place.
My father didn’t help either when it came to firmly affixing my dork label. Every night he would come into my room to tuck me in and we would read together. We read Robinson Crusoe together from cover to cover before I was six years old, and that was just the start.
I feel so fortunate to have grown up in a family which had a fully stocked bookshelf in the house. Wandering through the living room was like being lost in an aisle of Barnes and Noble for me, because I could spend hours shopping for my next read. As if it wasn’t enough having floor to ceiling bookshelves in the living room, I also had my own bookshelves in my bedroom, and sometimes, my mom would let me grab a book or two from my parents bookshelf in their room.
It seems that all families have their quirks, and most share at least one passion together, be it playing tennis, or watching college football. My family's just so happened to be reading, and furthering their careers in dorkdum. So yeah, I guess I kinda belong in calculus class.
I had a Calculus test last night, what a nightmare that was. I keep finding myself sitting in that class and pondering the reasons why I’m there in the first place… Why exactly was it again? Oh yeah, stupid Mr. Siehl… That, and at least one day I’ll be able to tell my kids that I took Calculus in college, and actually passed it… I don’t think that will gain me any cool points with them though; in fact, John seems to think that every single one of us in that class is a dork, including myself.
I suppose that I am quite a dork, I really can’t deny it. I’d rather have my nose in a book then be parked in front of the TV. This proved to be somewhat of an issue when I was younger… I can vividly remember being GROUNDED FROM READING when I was 13 or so. Now, before you get all up in arms, I have to interject a few words in my parent’s defense here. Apparently I had come home from school and gone straight to my room (which was not unusual on days that I didn’t have any other extracurricular activities occurring). I informed my mother that I had a ton of homework to do (which was the truth), and that I intended to finish all of it immediately (which was quite a lie).
Anyone who knows me or even anyone who’s read some of my previous blogs will be able to tell you that I am a well established, extremely proficient procrastinator. This does not mean that I will sit on my bed and stare at the ceiling and do nothing, no… I will simply find TONS of other things to do to fill my time. Homework was not on the list that particular evening. My mom allowed me plenty of time (about six hours worth of it), completely uninterrupted to finish up my school work. I spent the entire six hours behind closed doors finishing up one book and starting another.
She walked in half way through my indulgence. No knocking, so I couldn’t even hide my indiscretions. She caught me, red handed. Book clasped tightly in my fists and nose buried firmly within the pages. My backpack sitting unmolested at the foot of my bed told the story of just how little homework I had completed that night. Her hands went to her hips, and she narrowed her eyes at me, “Have you been reading this whole time?” “Uh, um, well, I lost track of time, how long has it been?” “Six HOURS!” She turned on her heels calling over her shoulder that dinner was ready, and she expected me at the table minus the book.
That fateful night, I was grounded from reading. Well, not completely, I could still read, I just had to show proof that my homework had been completed before hand. I guess, that story goes to filling out my dork card a little more completely, but what is to be expected when my reward for being good, or getting good grades was my mom taking me out to the bookstore and letting me buy whatever I wanted. I was spoiled when I came to Barnes and Noble, God I love that place.
My father didn’t help either when it came to firmly affixing my dork label. Every night he would come into my room to tuck me in and we would read together. We read Robinson Crusoe together from cover to cover before I was six years old, and that was just the start.
I feel so fortunate to have grown up in a family which had a fully stocked bookshelf in the house. Wandering through the living room was like being lost in an aisle of Barnes and Noble for me, because I could spend hours shopping for my next read. As if it wasn’t enough having floor to ceiling bookshelves in the living room, I also had my own bookshelves in my bedroom, and sometimes, my mom would let me grab a book or two from my parents bookshelf in their room.
It seems that all families have their quirks, and most share at least one passion together, be it playing tennis, or watching college football. My family's just so happened to be reading, and furthering their careers in dorkdum. So yeah, I guess I kinda belong in calculus class.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Poetry
I have to say that this long weekend has been incredibly short. So much has been done, yet I feel like so little has really been accomplished. I’m ready for Spring Break… In fact, who’s idea was it to tease us with staff development days on Thursday and Friday the week before Spring Break begins anyway? It sounds like a fantastic idea upon first pondering of the possibilities, yet as I find myself bidding farewell to the weekend, I can no longer feel the love.
I owe this distaste to nothing more than the fact that this upcoming week will be quite simply, the week from hell. If it wasn’t for the fact that school will be out for a whole week (gasp) starting on Friday, it wouldn’t be so bad. As it stands now, all of my classes have at least one BIG project due before break. Trust me, I would not be moaning about these extra days off if they weren’t spent writing 7 page research papers, studying for a Calculus test, a Chemistry test, typing two Chemistry labs, and polishing up an essay or two. I suppose that I should look on the bright side of things though… At least when Spring Break finally gets here, (if it ever does), I will have much more free time, because I’m so overwhelmed at the moment with this giant load of crap, ahem, school work.
I can’t say that my entire weekend was awful though, in fact, much to my delight, John had the weekend off and we spent a good portion of the time that I wasn’t studying, together. We took a drive about an hour or so away at lunch time on Friday and picked up a sandwich at a little Deli in Moultrie. From there, we headed home, sandwiches in hand, keeping a keen eye on the side of the road for a good place to pull over to have us a “hillbilly picnic.”
We found us a spot, down a dirt road, bordered by a field to the right and a little pond to the left. Backing the truck off the road, we were able to frame our view of the pond, and sit on the tail gate to enjoy our lunch in the sun. It was so peaceful, that it made me wonder why I ever eat a meal inside when we have a perfectly good pickup truck in the driveway.
Conversation that gorgeous afternoon touched many a topic, but for the most part, it stayed firmly grounded on how important moments like these were in our lives together. We’re coming up on our first wedding anniversary, and I swear we’re more in love today than we have ever been before. I never thought that I could be this lucky. He told me he was a hopeless romantic—but really, what guy doesn’t when he’s trying to win a date or two? I know now, that he’s an honest man, for his romantic streak has not faded in the slightest.
We’ve been craving a drive lately… It’s kind of a ritual for the two of us. I guess you could say that we’re boring, but the bulk of our free time together in California was spent driving down Kanan Dume, with its view of the ocean, and taking a left at PCH. Keeping the ocean to the right, we’d head South until we’d get to Topanga Canyon and then take the twisty Canyon, the long way back home. Music would always be playing in the car, evoking cherished memories, some new, and some much older.
One gorgeous day when we decided it was time for a Malibu drive, we loaded up in John’s trusty pickup (may she rest in peace) and after a couple tunes on the ipod played through, Jimmy Buffet’s Cheeseburger in Paradise made its way to our ears. I was taken back to when I was maybe 12 or 13…
You see, my father and I did not share all the same tastes in music, (he threw my brand new Beastie Boys Licensed to Ill CD right out the window one sunny afternoon, claiming that he “wasn’t sure what that was, but it certainly wasn’t music.”). Upon this declaration, my dad turned the volume up on the stereo in an effort to school me on what REAL MUSIC was.
Fast forwarding over Jimmy Buffet’s Let’s Get Drunk and Screw (apparently too inappropriate for my young ears), we came upon my father’s favorite song, you guessed it, Cheeseburger in Paradise. This song prompted stories to come pouring from his grinning lips of his days as a Merchant Marine, back when he couldn’t wait to get to port to have himself a gigantic cheeseburger, for wherever port was, was certainly paradise if there was a good cheeseburger to be had.
Ejecting the Jimmy Buffet Cassette (remember those?), in went “one of the greatest poets of all time” Mr. Bob Dylan. He told me to “listen carefully, because even though his voice sounds a little odd, he tells such a good story.” He showed me just how unnecessary paper is for poetry. We’d turn the Volvo station wagon into a makeshift convertible—rolling down all the windows and opening the sun roof, so that we too, could enjoy our drive down PCH headed back home to our house on a hill, with the ocean to our left, the sun to our right, and poetry blaring on the stereo. Amazing how good music, gorgeous scenery and perfect company can create a memory which only grows stronger with time.
When I get homesick now, which happens occasionally, or when I simply need to remember some good times, my iPod has provided me with ultimate comfort, for it carries quite a stockpile of Bob Dylan and Jimmy Buffet tunes, all ready and waiting, for me to catch up on my poetry.
I owe this distaste to nothing more than the fact that this upcoming week will be quite simply, the week from hell. If it wasn’t for the fact that school will be out for a whole week (gasp) starting on Friday, it wouldn’t be so bad. As it stands now, all of my classes have at least one BIG project due before break. Trust me, I would not be moaning about these extra days off if they weren’t spent writing 7 page research papers, studying for a Calculus test, a Chemistry test, typing two Chemistry labs, and polishing up an essay or two. I suppose that I should look on the bright side of things though… At least when Spring Break finally gets here, (if it ever does), I will have much more free time, because I’m so overwhelmed at the moment with this giant load of crap, ahem, school work.
I can’t say that my entire weekend was awful though, in fact, much to my delight, John had the weekend off and we spent a good portion of the time that I wasn’t studying, together. We took a drive about an hour or so away at lunch time on Friday and picked up a sandwich at a little Deli in Moultrie. From there, we headed home, sandwiches in hand, keeping a keen eye on the side of the road for a good place to pull over to have us a “hillbilly picnic.”
We found us a spot, down a dirt road, bordered by a field to the right and a little pond to the left. Backing the truck off the road, we were able to frame our view of the pond, and sit on the tail gate to enjoy our lunch in the sun. It was so peaceful, that it made me wonder why I ever eat a meal inside when we have a perfectly good pickup truck in the driveway.
Conversation that gorgeous afternoon touched many a topic, but for the most part, it stayed firmly grounded on how important moments like these were in our lives together. We’re coming up on our first wedding anniversary, and I swear we’re more in love today than we have ever been before. I never thought that I could be this lucky. He told me he was a hopeless romantic—but really, what guy doesn’t when he’s trying to win a date or two? I know now, that he’s an honest man, for his romantic streak has not faded in the slightest.
We’ve been craving a drive lately… It’s kind of a ritual for the two of us. I guess you could say that we’re boring, but the bulk of our free time together in California was spent driving down Kanan Dume, with its view of the ocean, and taking a left at PCH. Keeping the ocean to the right, we’d head South until we’d get to Topanga Canyon and then take the twisty Canyon, the long way back home. Music would always be playing in the car, evoking cherished memories, some new, and some much older.
One gorgeous day when we decided it was time for a Malibu drive, we loaded up in John’s trusty pickup (may she rest in peace) and after a couple tunes on the ipod played through, Jimmy Buffet’s Cheeseburger in Paradise made its way to our ears. I was taken back to when I was maybe 12 or 13…
You see, my father and I did not share all the same tastes in music, (he threw my brand new Beastie Boys Licensed to Ill CD right out the window one sunny afternoon, claiming that he “wasn’t sure what that was, but it certainly wasn’t music.”). Upon this declaration, my dad turned the volume up on the stereo in an effort to school me on what REAL MUSIC was.
Fast forwarding over Jimmy Buffet’s Let’s Get Drunk and Screw (apparently too inappropriate for my young ears), we came upon my father’s favorite song, you guessed it, Cheeseburger in Paradise. This song prompted stories to come pouring from his grinning lips of his days as a Merchant Marine, back when he couldn’t wait to get to port to have himself a gigantic cheeseburger, for wherever port was, was certainly paradise if there was a good cheeseburger to be had.
Ejecting the Jimmy Buffet Cassette (remember those?), in went “one of the greatest poets of all time” Mr. Bob Dylan. He told me to “listen carefully, because even though his voice sounds a little odd, he tells such a good story.” He showed me just how unnecessary paper is for poetry. We’d turn the Volvo station wagon into a makeshift convertible—rolling down all the windows and opening the sun roof, so that we too, could enjoy our drive down PCH headed back home to our house on a hill, with the ocean to our left, the sun to our right, and poetry blaring on the stereo. Amazing how good music, gorgeous scenery and perfect company can create a memory which only grows stronger with time.
When I get homesick now, which happens occasionally, or when I simply need to remember some good times, my iPod has provided me with ultimate comfort, for it carries quite a stockpile of Bob Dylan and Jimmy Buffet tunes, all ready and waiting, for me to catch up on my poetry.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Mortality and Morality
I’ve spent much of the last couple of months focusing on the excitement of the prospect of bringing another member into mine and my family’s loving arms. This new life, new person, new member focus has been an uplifting testament to the true belief in innocence and good in the world. Much of my home life and personal discussion time with my family and close friends revolves around this topic and the expectation of good things in the future. I’m thankful for this positivity, for as all of this occurs, much of my scholarly life has not proven to be on such a positive level.
I’m currently doing research for my American Government Topic Statement, which could eventually evolve into a thesis statement for a dissertation at a much later date; and in all honesty I’m becoming more and more disenchanted with the notion of the good in all people. I have been spending much of my time researching the Eighth and Fourteenth Amendments and how their applications to state laws have affected the implementation of capital punishment. Much of the argument against the death penalty has been incited by extreme social abhorrence for the very principle of putting someone to death.
The Supreme Court actually ruled that the death penalty was unconstitutional in the case of Furman v. Georgia (1972) citing for their reasons an extreme shift of the opinions of society as to the “cruel and unusual” aspect of the amendment. Basically, all five concurring Justices were of the belief that the death penalty was “incompatible with the evolving standards of decency in a contemporary society.” Public opinion polls were used as tools to bolster this ruling, and in an unusually rare occurrence, public opinion swayed, nay, altered the general understanding of the 8th and 14th amendments entirely.
Here’s where my morals start coming under fire… As much as I’d like to say that my support for the death penalty has dwindled in the past years because I too am a compassionate human being and I do not find it to be an acceptable method to humanely carry out justice, I cannot admit to such sentiments. While in fact, I believe that there should be a moratorium placed on the death penalty once again, it is not because I care so much for the rights of the condemned.
I feel absolutely horrible saying this, but my issue is on a much more personal, selfish level. “Nationally, during a 23-year study period, the overall rate of prejudicial error in the American capital punishment system was 68%.” This intolerable number boils down to this even more insufferable idea… “[C]ourts found serious, reversible error in nearly 7 of every 10 of the thousands of capital sentences that were fully reviewed during the period.” (Broken System: Error Rates in Capital Cases, 1973-1995) Such deplorable numbers have not swayed my consciousness completely from one side to another for any other reason than the simple self preservation notion.
It seems that it would be horrible Karma for me to continue blindly supporting a method which has such a high rate of proven error involved in it. What if I somehow ended up finding myself as an innocent facing the possibility of capital punishment? I can’t even imagine how helpless one must feel in such a situation—unfortunately for many; this has proven to be a reality. It is unacceptable that my conditional support or lack of support of the death penalty is deeply rooted in my own personal irrational fears. My thinking is clouded and I find myself becoming very emotional over this topic.
I am not going soft, for there are many people out there who I not only feel deserve to die, but deserve to die with a tortuous end to their existence. There is one such man living half a mile away from me. He was convicted of aggravated child molestation which is defined under section 16-6-4 of Georgia Law as: “A person commits the offense of aggravated child molestation when such person commits an offense of child molestation which act physically injures the child or involves an act of sodomy.” I am of the belief that this particular breed of monster should experience tremendous pain before they receive a slow dispatch from this life into their afterlife which if there is any justice will be spent in infinite pain for all eternity.
You see, I’m a hypocrite, one of the worst kinds. It would be so easy for me to jump on the humane train and tout my reasoning for the evolution of my beliefs as one which falls within the “humane” argument, and the fact that I’m tempted to do so attests to my hypocrisy. If only it weren’t for the simple fact that I wish the imposition of such a permanent and irrevocable punishment on a whole new faction of society, my abilities to ride away into the sunset upon my new found vehicle would be possible—but alas, I’m stuck here, in reality, fully aware that I have not become more evolved, I have simply become pickier in my bloodlust.
I’m currently doing research for my American Government Topic Statement, which could eventually evolve into a thesis statement for a dissertation at a much later date; and in all honesty I’m becoming more and more disenchanted with the notion of the good in all people. I have been spending much of my time researching the Eighth and Fourteenth Amendments and how their applications to state laws have affected the implementation of capital punishment. Much of the argument against the death penalty has been incited by extreme social abhorrence for the very principle of putting someone to death.
The Supreme Court actually ruled that the death penalty was unconstitutional in the case of Furman v. Georgia (1972) citing for their reasons an extreme shift of the opinions of society as to the “cruel and unusual” aspect of the amendment. Basically, all five concurring Justices were of the belief that the death penalty was “incompatible with the evolving standards of decency in a contemporary society.” Public opinion polls were used as tools to bolster this ruling, and in an unusually rare occurrence, public opinion swayed, nay, altered the general understanding of the 8th and 14th amendments entirely.
Here’s where my morals start coming under fire… As much as I’d like to say that my support for the death penalty has dwindled in the past years because I too am a compassionate human being and I do not find it to be an acceptable method to humanely carry out justice, I cannot admit to such sentiments. While in fact, I believe that there should be a moratorium placed on the death penalty once again, it is not because I care so much for the rights of the condemned.
I feel absolutely horrible saying this, but my issue is on a much more personal, selfish level. “Nationally, during a 23-year study period, the overall rate of prejudicial error in the American capital punishment system was 68%.” This intolerable number boils down to this even more insufferable idea… “[C]ourts found serious, reversible error in nearly 7 of every 10 of the thousands of capital sentences that were fully reviewed during the period.” (Broken System: Error Rates in Capital Cases, 1973-1995) Such deplorable numbers have not swayed my consciousness completely from one side to another for any other reason than the simple self preservation notion.
It seems that it would be horrible Karma for me to continue blindly supporting a method which has such a high rate of proven error involved in it. What if I somehow ended up finding myself as an innocent facing the possibility of capital punishment? I can’t even imagine how helpless one must feel in such a situation—unfortunately for many; this has proven to be a reality. It is unacceptable that my conditional support or lack of support of the death penalty is deeply rooted in my own personal irrational fears. My thinking is clouded and I find myself becoming very emotional over this topic.
I am not going soft, for there are many people out there who I not only feel deserve to die, but deserve to die with a tortuous end to their existence. There is one such man living half a mile away from me. He was convicted of aggravated child molestation which is defined under section 16-6-4 of Georgia Law as: “A person commits the offense of aggravated child molestation when such person commits an offense of child molestation which act physically injures the child or involves an act of sodomy.” I am of the belief that this particular breed of monster should experience tremendous pain before they receive a slow dispatch from this life into their afterlife which if there is any justice will be spent in infinite pain for all eternity.
You see, I’m a hypocrite, one of the worst kinds. It would be so easy for me to jump on the humane train and tout my reasoning for the evolution of my beliefs as one which falls within the “humane” argument, and the fact that I’m tempted to do so attests to my hypocrisy. If only it weren’t for the simple fact that I wish the imposition of such a permanent and irrevocable punishment on a whole new faction of society, my abilities to ride away into the sunset upon my new found vehicle would be possible—but alas, I’m stuck here, in reality, fully aware that I have not become more evolved, I have simply become pickier in my bloodlust.
Sunday, March 9, 2008
Headaches
I have spent this entire weekend and most of Friday with a pounding headache. Excuses have been delivered my way with regularity by people who really care and are trying to help, and they normally fall along the lines of: “Oh yeah, that’s just a hormonal headache… I remember when I got those when I was pregnant, they sucked.” Now as generous as these people are for attempting to diagnose my ailments and the causes of, I still can’t shake that feeling of “I don’t care what the hell is causing them, because they still hurt.”
I guess that my patience level for this kind of pain has worn down with time. I’ve had migraines for a good portion of my life and they have killed many a day, and at times week for me. I feel totally unable to accomplish the things that I set out to do, for I am not only hurting but physically tired because I’m fighting it all day.
I awoke this morning with a much milder headache than I went to sleep with last night, which was a pleasant surprise. It’s still there, I can feel it trying to make a comeback in the back of my skull and right behind my right eye ball, but I am attempting to hold it at bay with HAPPY THOUGHTS! No, I haven’t gone crazy, I’ve just gone desperate. The weather outside is absolutely beautiful and that in and of itself makes me not want to be a reclusive vampire today, nursing a stupid headache in the relative darkness of my room. So, first thing I did upon waking this morning? I stepped out into the bright sunshine, inhaled deeply, and cringed, for the sun is so damn bright and the birds are intolerably loud and my head began to pound with the assault of my senses.
I know, I sound like a grump, but I’m trying, I really really am. I think maybe I need some ice cream, then I might stop whining a little bit. That sounds like a really good plan, which should be the highlight of my evening tonight. I feel bad for the people around me when I’m dealing with one of these ridiculous phenomena’s. John knows that it’s best to kind of keep his distance, and to by no means ask me what’s wrong, or if I’m feeling better. Sometimes he comes over and pets my head while I lay in bed, reminding me of yet another reason I love him so much.
I’m hoping that this thing will subside by later today, for I look forward to the weekend so much because I call my dad at least once during it. Not that I don’t get to talk to him at all throughout the week, because, of course I do, but I like the feeling of both of us relaxing a little bit when I’m on the phone with him.
I normally call him around noon or so his time, and I can always picture him and Vicky (his girlfriend—Yeah, my dad’s a stud) sitting out on the deck reading their favorite books and waiting for the Blue Jays to swoop down and steal the couple of peanuts that they have lined up along the railing. My father started “taming” the Blue Jays with me when I was much younger. He and I would sit out on the deck at our house in Malibu and shake the peanuts in their shells so that they would make a rattling noise. He would tell me that the Jay’s could hear this rattle from far away, and likened it to a dinner bell. I was unsure of this knowledge at first, but, my dad was the person telling me such things, so it had to be true right?
Anyway, we would shake these peanuts and then lay them out on the railing about five feet from where we were sitting, and sit ever so still, watching and waiting. At first, the waiting part took quite a while, it felt like hours, but I’m sure it was probably more like five or ten minutes. After some time had elapsed, a Jay would alight on the railing, looking at us like “What the hell is this all about?” “Is this some kind of trap?” It would hop around, looking at the peanuts and wanting ever so badly to grab one. Normally it would fly off and watch from a tree a few feet away, and then fly back when its belly could stand it no longer and grab the peanut as quickly as possible.
After this initial pass, things got much easier… Jay’s are brazen birds, very sure of their abilities to kick some butt if need be. With this bigger than life attitude, they were rather easy to “tame” and before long, they would swoop down and steal peanuts from our fingertips. I remember sitting at our dining room table, which had a big window looking out onto the deck, or more accurately called: The Blue Jay Feeding Trough, and eating lunch one afternoon with the family. We were just finishing up our midday snack, when a Jay landed on the sill and rather angrily began pecking at the glass. I suppose that we had been late in our afternoon feeding for if he had hands to put on his hips and a foot that he could tap at us impatiently, I am positive such actions would have been taken.
I believe my father’s lessons in Jay taming are much of where I got my patience from. I’m willing to wait for things now, and I don’t mind sitting quietly, knowing that if I give it long enough, that Jay will be showing up any second ready for lunch. Thank you dad for your non-traditional teaching methods for they are lessons I will never forget.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Home Is Where the Heart Is
My mother informed me a couple of months ago that she was going to have to sell her house. She could no longer afford it and it was unnecessarily large for her purposes. The thought of my mother faced with the harsh reality that something that she loved could no longer be hers sent me into an introspective mode and in all honesty led to a slight bit of depression on my part.
I thought to myself, I bet when my mother was younger, she never dreamed that she would be 60 years old and staring foreclosure in the eye. I bet she never thought that this kind of uncertainty would plague her even into this stage in her life. I bet that she thought that by this stage in her life she would have been happily married, probably living in Hawaii again (for that has always been her dream), and able to relax after a lifetime of hard work. I suppose that she is a testament to the truly unpredictable nature of life and its meandering journey.
She has been a mother for most of her life. The oldest of six kids, and the child of a woman who passed away far too young, made it all but impossible for her to not grow up ever so quickly. Motherhood is something that my mom did exceptionally well, although I didn’t always tell her as much.
We’ve had our rough stages, and in fact I have made her life infinitely harder than it needed to be, but, nevertheless, she succeeded in instilling a sense of belonging and faith in her love for me from the time that I was born until this very day. I always knew that I could do anything, be the most hellacious youth (believe me, I tested the limits on this one) and still be accepted back into her arms without hesitation.
The relationship that I have now with my mother is one of friendship… She’s my mother and always will be, but she is my friend, the person I turn to especially at times like these to ask endless questions about pregnancy and motherhood, questions she never gets sick of answering. Such a strong bond of friendship has opened our lines of communication immensely and some of the things that we talk about now are so painful. I’m beginning to realize that my mom is a human being, one which struggles with fighting some of the very same battles I find myself engaged in.
This latest battle with her house has been exceptionally difficult. I’ve found myself at times not wanting to call her, simply because I can’t stand to hear the hurt in her voice, and the strain that it is taking on her essence. It pains me that I cannot help, there’s simply nothing that I can do. Even with the knowledge that my mom will never be homeless, for she will always have a place to stay, I still find myself fretting about every last detail of her life.
I suppose this latest development of panic incited insomnia is karmically destined to belong to me, since I’m sure that no calendar could fully register the amount of sleepless nights my parents spent wondering if I was OK, or if I was possibly going to come home sometime soon. I find myself wanting to protect her as if she is feeble and unable to do so herself. Such rubbish that is, for she has made it through trial after trial always proving her strength and ability.
I don’t know why the house situation has been such an ordeal for my consciousness… It is not my childhood home and the time that I spent there was largely unhappy because I had to cohabitate with my ex-husband; although, I was also much closer physically and emotionally to my mother during this period of time than I have ever been, and I do miss her presence tremendously.
I’m thankful for the phone call I received two days ago from her to inform me that the house sold and things are looking up… I still find myself wishing that I could stop all of this reality from rearing its ugly head at this point in her life… I feel responsible now, like it’s my turn to protect. I want to give her her reward for being such a wonderful person… I want her to be able to relax finally, it seems that it will never be a possibility.
I thought to myself, I bet when my mother was younger, she never dreamed that she would be 60 years old and staring foreclosure in the eye. I bet she never thought that this kind of uncertainty would plague her even into this stage in her life. I bet that she thought that by this stage in her life she would have been happily married, probably living in Hawaii again (for that has always been her dream), and able to relax after a lifetime of hard work. I suppose that she is a testament to the truly unpredictable nature of life and its meandering journey.
She has been a mother for most of her life. The oldest of six kids, and the child of a woman who passed away far too young, made it all but impossible for her to not grow up ever so quickly. Motherhood is something that my mom did exceptionally well, although I didn’t always tell her as much.
We’ve had our rough stages, and in fact I have made her life infinitely harder than it needed to be, but, nevertheless, she succeeded in instilling a sense of belonging and faith in her love for me from the time that I was born until this very day. I always knew that I could do anything, be the most hellacious youth (believe me, I tested the limits on this one) and still be accepted back into her arms without hesitation.
The relationship that I have now with my mother is one of friendship… She’s my mother and always will be, but she is my friend, the person I turn to especially at times like these to ask endless questions about pregnancy and motherhood, questions she never gets sick of answering. Such a strong bond of friendship has opened our lines of communication immensely and some of the things that we talk about now are so painful. I’m beginning to realize that my mom is a human being, one which struggles with fighting some of the very same battles I find myself engaged in.
This latest battle with her house has been exceptionally difficult. I’ve found myself at times not wanting to call her, simply because I can’t stand to hear the hurt in her voice, and the strain that it is taking on her essence. It pains me that I cannot help, there’s simply nothing that I can do. Even with the knowledge that my mom will never be homeless, for she will always have a place to stay, I still find myself fretting about every last detail of her life.
I suppose this latest development of panic incited insomnia is karmically destined to belong to me, since I’m sure that no calendar could fully register the amount of sleepless nights my parents spent wondering if I was OK, or if I was possibly going to come home sometime soon. I find myself wanting to protect her as if she is feeble and unable to do so herself. Such rubbish that is, for she has made it through trial after trial always proving her strength and ability.
I don’t know why the house situation has been such an ordeal for my consciousness… It is not my childhood home and the time that I spent there was largely unhappy because I had to cohabitate with my ex-husband; although, I was also much closer physically and emotionally to my mother during this period of time than I have ever been, and I do miss her presence tremendously.
I’m thankful for the phone call I received two days ago from her to inform me that the house sold and things are looking up… I still find myself wishing that I could stop all of this reality from rearing its ugly head at this point in her life… I feel responsible now, like it’s my turn to protect. I want to give her her reward for being such a wonderful person… I want her to be able to relax finally, it seems that it will never be a possibility.
Saturday, March 1, 2008
Tattletale
John told on me. Just outright, and as quickly as he could told the Doctor that I have yet to gain any weight. He did it for laughs, but I couldn’t believe the betrayal. He had been snickering at me the entire three days before my Doctor appointment; for I had been worried about my impending lecture I was positive I would be receiving. I am almost three months pregnant now and haven’t put on any weight. Not because I’m dieting but simply because I’m eating the same things I was eating before and working out (when I’m not sleeping or dreading a test of course)the same amount. I looked it up and apparently my baby is the size of a plum and comes with this disclaimer:
EATING FOR TWO
Actually, you aren't eating for two. You are eating for one and .000007865! Realistically, at this time, you only need to increase consumption by 300 to 500 calories per day. That's just one bran muffin and a baked potato! (http://parenting.ivillage.com/pregnancy/wkbywkguide/0,,c32nvwcn,00.html)
I laughed pretty hard when I read this… For I cannot even count the amount of times I’ve heard: “You’ve got to eat for that baby!” Sometimes I feel a little guilty if I’m not stuffing my face with something or other, but for the most part I eat really regularly, not a huge meal, but a bunch of little snacks throughout the day. I’ve been one of those fortunate few (so far, thought I should qualify that before it comes back around and bites me in the butt), to not have experienced morning sickness at all. This has made it even more possible for me to maintain a steady flow of food from hand to mouth while adequately avoiding the perpetual hangover that is pregnancy for many women.
Aside from John telling on me and busting up laughing as I turned beet red and asked the Doctor if it was OK that I had yet to pack on the 30 pounds which is normal weight gain for a full term pregnancy, the appointment was absolutely amazing. The Doc informed John and I that my weight was fine, and that he was sure that the baby was healthy, and before long, come summer time, I would be wondering if I will ever fit into my jeans again, great. I shot John a look that was intended to kill, but it just made him laugh even harder. He couldn’t help himself, he saw an opening and ran with it. Whatever, I love him, but damn him and his tattling ways.
So, back to the awesome part… The Doc pulled out his amplified stethoscope and while squirting some jelly on my belly informed me that I should not panic if he can’t find the heartbeat right away, that sometimes it could take a couple of minutes to locate and that everything is fine. I braced myself for the wait which I was sure would feel like an eternity. The Doc went to work, and as soon as that stethoscope made contact with my jellied belly, a strong heart beat was located. At the risk of sounding really sappy, I can’t tell you how beautiful that sound was to me. John and I looked at each other and I knew we were both feeling the same thing. That was our baby, we could hear our baby. I can’t even describe how it felt, so I don’t even know why I’m trying.
I feel so incredibly lucky to be in the situation that I am in. John has made it to every one of my Doctor appointments and swears that he will be at each and every one following. This means more to me than he will ever know, just the fact that he is so involved this early on is what I always dreamed of for the beginnings of my family. I love looking at his face while he talks about plans for the future and how he thinks things will be when we are actually parents. He gets all wide eyed, and excited, and I feel so blessed to be sharing this experience with him.
Just a few more brief bragging bits for you guys, you can stop reading now if you’re feeling sick, I’ll wait… I came home from school on Thursday night to all of my chores being complete… I mean, the laundry was folded, the trash was taken out, and the dishwasher was emptied and reloaded, and turned on none the less… I walked in the door and John informed me that I would not be doing any more homework that night, and that I had an appointment with the bed and the TV clicker, (which was rather generous seeing as how, this was the CLICKER we were talking about). He insisted that I sit my butt down and not do anything for the remainder of the night… The royal treatment, ah yes ladies, bask in the glory that is my husband, and just don’t tell him I brag about him, his ego might explode.
Another one of the many blessings I count amongst my own are the friends and family I have. I spent about an hour chatting on the phone last night with my mother in law, listening to how excited she is to be here and how she wants to spend every moment she possibly can with us and the baby. She also called to inform me that I should be expecting a giant box of goodies being sent my way, but that we are not to open them until she arrives. I can do that, Christmas in March is a good thing.
Shortly after my mother in law hung up, Beth and I were chatting. Beth has officially been adopted into the family, for she will play the part of Godmother to our child. She teared up when I asked her if she would be willing to play that important role and told me that she had never felt so honored. I knew as soon as I made the decision that Beth was to be it, that it was a flawless one. Beth is one of those people whom I knew I would always want to have in my life, a sister of sorts, and well, now it’s official. I was her maid of honor in her wedding and she will serve as an integral part in mine and my child’s life forever. I could not think of a person better suited for the job.
We have also selected a Godfather, John’s former employer and best friend, Mike. He is an amazing person and so incredibly strong, both in character and will. I’m at such peace knowing that we have adopted two people into our quickly growing family, and that these two are absolutely perfect. Who says you can’t pick your family?
EATING FOR TWO
Actually, you aren't eating for two. You are eating for one and .000007865! Realistically, at this time, you only need to increase consumption by 300 to 500 calories per day. That's just one bran muffin and a baked potato! (http://parenting.ivillage.com/pregnancy/wkbywkguide/0,,c32nvwcn,00.html)
I laughed pretty hard when I read this… For I cannot even count the amount of times I’ve heard: “You’ve got to eat for that baby!” Sometimes I feel a little guilty if I’m not stuffing my face with something or other, but for the most part I eat really regularly, not a huge meal, but a bunch of little snacks throughout the day. I’ve been one of those fortunate few (so far, thought I should qualify that before it comes back around and bites me in the butt), to not have experienced morning sickness at all. This has made it even more possible for me to maintain a steady flow of food from hand to mouth while adequately avoiding the perpetual hangover that is pregnancy for many women.
Aside from John telling on me and busting up laughing as I turned beet red and asked the Doctor if it was OK that I had yet to pack on the 30 pounds which is normal weight gain for a full term pregnancy, the appointment was absolutely amazing. The Doc informed John and I that my weight was fine, and that he was sure that the baby was healthy, and before long, come summer time, I would be wondering if I will ever fit into my jeans again, great. I shot John a look that was intended to kill, but it just made him laugh even harder. He couldn’t help himself, he saw an opening and ran with it. Whatever, I love him, but damn him and his tattling ways.
So, back to the awesome part… The Doc pulled out his amplified stethoscope and while squirting some jelly on my belly informed me that I should not panic if he can’t find the heartbeat right away, that sometimes it could take a couple of minutes to locate and that everything is fine. I braced myself for the wait which I was sure would feel like an eternity. The Doc went to work, and as soon as that stethoscope made contact with my jellied belly, a strong heart beat was located. At the risk of sounding really sappy, I can’t tell you how beautiful that sound was to me. John and I looked at each other and I knew we were both feeling the same thing. That was our baby, we could hear our baby. I can’t even describe how it felt, so I don’t even know why I’m trying.
I feel so incredibly lucky to be in the situation that I am in. John has made it to every one of my Doctor appointments and swears that he will be at each and every one following. This means more to me than he will ever know, just the fact that he is so involved this early on is what I always dreamed of for the beginnings of my family. I love looking at his face while he talks about plans for the future and how he thinks things will be when we are actually parents. He gets all wide eyed, and excited, and I feel so blessed to be sharing this experience with him.
Just a few more brief bragging bits for you guys, you can stop reading now if you’re feeling sick, I’ll wait… I came home from school on Thursday night to all of my chores being complete… I mean, the laundry was folded, the trash was taken out, and the dishwasher was emptied and reloaded, and turned on none the less… I walked in the door and John informed me that I would not be doing any more homework that night, and that I had an appointment with the bed and the TV clicker, (which was rather generous seeing as how, this was the CLICKER we were talking about). He insisted that I sit my butt down and not do anything for the remainder of the night… The royal treatment, ah yes ladies, bask in the glory that is my husband, and just don’t tell him I brag about him, his ego might explode.
Another one of the many blessings I count amongst my own are the friends and family I have. I spent about an hour chatting on the phone last night with my mother in law, listening to how excited she is to be here and how she wants to spend every moment she possibly can with us and the baby. She also called to inform me that I should be expecting a giant box of goodies being sent my way, but that we are not to open them until she arrives. I can do that, Christmas in March is a good thing.
Shortly after my mother in law hung up, Beth and I were chatting. Beth has officially been adopted into the family, for she will play the part of Godmother to our child. She teared up when I asked her if she would be willing to play that important role and told me that she had never felt so honored. I knew as soon as I made the decision that Beth was to be it, that it was a flawless one. Beth is one of those people whom I knew I would always want to have in my life, a sister of sorts, and well, now it’s official. I was her maid of honor in her wedding and she will serve as an integral part in mine and my child’s life forever. I could not think of a person better suited for the job.
We have also selected a Godfather, John’s former employer and best friend, Mike. He is an amazing person and so incredibly strong, both in character and will. I’m at such peace knowing that we have adopted two people into our quickly growing family, and that these two are absolutely perfect. Who says you can’t pick your family?
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