You Took Me Dancing

 

I wasn’t prepared to write about love.  Today was more of a Grown Ass Woman, by Sharon Lewis kind of a day.  My neighbor told me the pitchfork in my garden was a hazard, as I sipped my morning coffee on our front porch.  Then the dude at the park actually chased me on a front loader, to tell me Jesse needed to be on a leash.  I wanted to say:

I am a GROWN ASS WOMAN.  THERE IS NO ONE IN THIS PARK.  I HAVE BEEN HIKING HERE SINCE BEFORE YOU WERE BORN…GET THE FUNK OUT OF MY FACE.

Luckily?  I was in a pretty good mood, so I walked away.  There is something about people telling me what to do: do I look as if I am mentally handicapped?  Probably.  Do I think people mean well?  Some do, some just get a rise out of the power they hold over others.

Well, you know what happens when you make plans, right?  God laughs himself silly.  Don’t get me wrong, I would much rather have his guidance than leave myself to my own machinations.  He always picks the song-so here goes nothing.

One thing I haven’t done in forever, and one thing I really, really miss doing?

Dancing, baby.

Last night my husband put the blues station on, and, as a result?  I danced my buttocks off, and quite honestly I had no intention of stopping.

Ok, honey.  Time to calm down, you’re getting the dog all riled up.

Has it come to this?  No dancing after 7 p.m.?

It took the lift right out of my loafers.  🙂

Dwain doesn’t dance, and I mean, no way-no how.  I couldn’t get him to join me on the floor-well, once at our wedding.  After six shots of Cuervo.

Who needs a club to strut your stuff?

And, by the way, Jesse likes to lead.

The Sun Goes Down Alone

 

Before I tell the tale (Passion, Intrigue, Flea Bombs!!!! Murder..) I have to share what happened in church yesterday.  You just can’t make this stuff up…so, I’m having a rough week in terms of my self esteem, snakes and figuring out what I want to do with my life…or, more like, what I am capable of doing for the next month or so while I recover from Lyme.  I am NOT a good patient, I do NOT rest nearly enough, and my OCD will not let me rest until my house is clean, the dishes and laundry are done…when I was hit by a Harley years ago, my father thrilled at any doctor’s orders I broke, which were many.  I think back and now I know why-my mother, may she rest in peace, took what the doctors said verbatim.  She didn’t quit smoking; I understand that now as well.  But when a MD said jump, she simply asked if she would need a parachute.

So, I am finally back to church.  I missed my family so very much, and a more joyous morning I can’t remember-until the sermon.  My pastor started out by saying:

“So, what if conspiracy theories are true?  Does anyone really care?  (He used Elvis Presley and Michael Jackson’s deaths to prove his point-what if they were alive?  Who cares right?”

Ok, you all know that once a week I write about supposed conspiracy theories.  I know they are true stories, but fighting against MSM and their insipid drivel is pointless.  God will wake you up in his timing.  But I do remember a line from Ezekiel that said

Tell them even though they won’t believe you.  Tell them anyway.”

Okay, he isn’t talking about me, that could not be.  And then this:

“No matter what venue, the news, radio or Christian bloggers; we Christians blather on about things of no importance.  We talk too much, us Christians.”

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Every member of that church knows I blog.  Actually, I am surprised I wasn’t run out of town-but nothing, no stares or put downs.  Ok, everything isn’t about me, and I know my pastor’s character, it isn’t like him to bash, well, anyone.  He calls Satan ‘Stan,’ for crying out loud.   Yet, as the day went on I became convinced that he was talking about me.  Had someone complained?  After all, I had been sick and I am sure I wasn’t expected at this particular service.

So, in a funk, I laid on the couch and watched old movies-a particularly light and funny one first-Chasing Steve-in which Sandra Bullock plays a delightfully bonkers but brilliant crossword puzzle writer, her parents set her up on a blind date and who comes to the door?  Bradley Cooper-and who in their right mind would say no to him???  Hilarity ensues, and I recommend this movie if you need a lift in your loafers.

Then we have the fucking bugs from HELL to talk about.  I haven’t met a tick or flea who doesn’t love my blood.  I hate them with a hatred that simmers and stews.  I become paranoid, neurotic and driven-if my golden is itchy, it’s bloody WAR.  An unholy war at that.  Diatomaceous earth rules the day-it is sprinkled in every crevice of my home.  Then we have the “natural” flea spray (which really does nothing but make me feel better and smells like cinnamon and cloves) and, finally, the Flea Carpet powder, which I use on rare occasions-like this morning.  Take that! you creepy, malignant blood suckers.

I’ll be AOK.  Soon as the boys of Summer are annihilated?  I’ll be sitting pretty-I praise God through the Storm.  My brother is coming to visit this week and diligence must prevail-either that or I’ll be checking myself into a nice padded cubicle.  I hear they have room service.

affection board broken broken hearted
Is this the end of us?

 

My Analyst Told Me……..

About a week ago, my brother sent me an email with the information for a local therapist. I had given up therapy (God and I had this) and frankly, he was concerned. If I am going to face upheaval and pain, I call my bro, as I can emote at whim and he will not judge me. He gives great advice, so I looked so forward to meeting Nancy. The appointment was made for this morning.

I haven’t eaten in two days. I shake, from my feet on up to my hands. I have crying bouts-I cannot sleep through the night, never a problem before. This isn’t good for my Lyme recovery-let’s face it, what happened Wednesday afternoon wouldn’t be good for anyone. I drove in the wrong direction for 30 minutes, so distracted was moi. Finally, after driving miles on slick, rain drenched country roads. And I drove aggressively, fearlessly-which isn’t really me.

I spoke of the “incident” with my stepson in my last blog. How he has walked around in a state of rage for three months now, first depression-now red hot anger. He went on a verbal tirade about how I was a “blood sucking leach,” that I was a “joke” to the entire family. I was in fear of him punching me, and when I tried to go back inside, he blocked my way.

So here I am at Nancy’s pad. I fill out the paperwork and wait. An attractive and cheerful woman greets me with a hug. We sit down and I commence to lose my shit, and cry like a child. She proceeds to ask me a myriad of questions, mainly about brain fog and forgetfulness. By the time she gets to what she thinks I have? My mind is moving one hundred miles in seventy different directions.

“Dissociative Identity Disorder,” she says in a hushed tone.

She gave me the reasons behind her thinking, admitted that it was too early to be sure, gave me a tissue and rescheduled. As I drove to the pharmacy on the way home, it hit me pretty hard. I broke down and called my brother from said pharmacy. I wept through my interaction with the cashier. They know me well. They were concerned.

I have a few questions for sure. I am not going to go head over heels into this without ensuring that she can help me with my PTSD and Narcissistic Abuse syndrome. The only time lapse I remember was two weeks ago, albeit a four hour lapse. I was reading my bible on the couch in the living room, the clock read 8:00 a.m. When I traipsed into the kitchen for a glass of water (I had just received a very upsetting email from my sister)and the stove read 12:30 p.m.

I would poo poo the whole thing if it weren’t for the dichotomy between my mellow self, and my ‘I will cut a bitch” self. But doesn’t everyone have another side to them? DID happens for a few reasons, but in my case she believes that I suffered such devastating trauma from emotional abuse in my childhood, that I created another persona if you will.

Emotionally and physically exhausted, I made an appointment with Nancy for next week. I won’t let this ruin my weekend, as God has the final say on what I am suffering from, and He alone has the cure. Be blessed family.

Something Wicked This Way Comes

 

I apologize for not being around lately, just down with a bug and down in general-yet there isn’t a day I don’t praise God for the plethora of blessings he bestows on me daily.  A red fox, blooming rose, my golden retriever’s eyes, a budding orchard, pollinating, finally:  great and small he handles my needs.  I don’t believe I have ever sold another human being on Christianity; and I have stopped trying, to be honest.  Yet, I do have the faith that I have encouraged quite a few, in their journey. I will never stop putting out and standing by my faith; I know things.  Call it being a ‘sensitive,” which I do-the Holy Spirit thins the veil for me at times:  slices of hell on earth yet a cornucopia of heaven’s heed.

I will tell you that I in no way am I trying to have my blog taken down again.  I will survive, yes, but did you know that a WordPress executive can deem your content as unacceptable and end it?  I pray this is my paranoia, sadly, I know differently after very similar occurrences on Facebook and Twitter.  So, I am trying to tell you that I won’t stop fighting for what is right and just in this world.  I will do my best to be His warrior, and tell you the one hundred percent truth, to the best of my knowledge, for the entirety of this blog.

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Anthony Bourdain.  Interesting.  Used to watch Parts Unknown.  My man and I adored the show, and really, really liked the host.  We hadn’t hooked up with his new show yet, and after what I now know-I won’t be, ever.   Bourdain, Spade, the dude from the fishing show, and the famous DJ before him, Chester Bennington (more than likely the son of John Podesta.)  From boardrooms to Bel Air, the world is full of people (approximately 8, 682) who are third degree masons, Satanists, the Cabal, Illuminati and other secret societies who want to reel in a New World Order, where Satan, the “Light Bearer,” will reign.  Messed up?  Horribly.  Conspiracy?  Absolutely not, on my mother’s grave.

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Here’s the deal.  Take a look at Bourdain’s girlfriend, who called out Harvey Weinstein for raping her, at the recent Cannes Film Festival.   I don’t believe Anthony Bourdain  killed himself; but if indeed he did?  That may be because of a series of indictments that are going down as we speak.  Apparently, Keith Reniere, of NXVIIM fame (the pedophilic prostitution ring started by the man himself) was singing like a canary in an effort not to go to prison.  You can check out these things for yourself on YouTube.  I highly recommend James Munder, SGT Report and Tru Reporting if you’re interested in knowing the truth.  Here is a partial list that Tru Reporting put out this morning, which he took from Neon Rebel, who can be found on Gab.

  • Jerry Seinfeld
  • David Letterman
  • Roger Stone
  • Stephen Colbert

The Illuminati isn’t a conspiracy theory.  Evil most certainly does exist, always has-but our God is mightier than the enemy.  And here’s the great news:  the good guys are winning the war.   Spoiler alert:  GOD WINS IN THE END.

Pray for each other, love one another and fight for what you believe is right!

I looked at the earth, and it was empty and formless.  I looked at the heavens and there was no light.  I looked at the mountains and hills, and they trembled and shook.  I looked, and all the people were gone.  All the birds of the sky had flown away.  I looked and the fertile ground had become a wilderness.  The towns lay in ruins, crushed by the Lord’s fierce anger.   Jeremiah 4: 23-26

Trust in the Lord and do good.  Then you will live safely in the land and prosper.  Take delight in the Lord, and he will give you your heart’s desires.  Psalm 37:3-4

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My Analyst Told Me……..

About a week ago, my brother sent me an email with the information for a local therapist. I had given up therapy (God and I had this) and frankly, he was concerned. If I am going to face upheaval and pain, I call my bro, as I can emote at whim and he will not judge me. He gives great advice, so I looked so forward to meeting Nancy. The appointment was made for this morning.

I haven’t eaten in two days. I shake, from my feet on up to my hands. I have crying bouts-I cannot sleep through the night, never a problem before. This isn’t good for my Lyme recovery-let’s face it, what happened Wednesday afternoon wouldn’t be good for anyone. I drove in the wrong direction for 30 minutes, so distracted was moi. Finally, after driving miles on slick, rain drenched country roads. And I drove aggressively, fearlessly-which isn’t really me.

I spoke of the “incident” with my stepson in my last blog. How he has walked around in a state of rage for three months now, first depression-now red hot anger. He went on a verbal tirade about how I was a “blood sucking leach,” that I was a “joke” to the entire family. I was in fear of him punching me, and when I tried to go back inside, he blocked my way.

So here I am at Nancy’s pad. I fill out the paperwork and wait. An attractive and cheerful woman greets me with a hug. We sit down and I commence to lose my shit, and cry like a child. She proceeds to ask me a myriad of questions, mainly about brain fog and forgetfulness. By the time she gets to what she thinks I have? My mind is moving one hundred miles in seventy different directions.

“Dissociative Identity Disorder,” she says in a hushed tone.

She gave me the reasons behind her thinking, admitted that it was too early to be sure, gave me a tissue and rescheduled. As I drove to the pharmacy on the way home, it hit me pretty hard. I broke down and called my brother from said pharmacy. I wept through my interaction with the cashier. They know me well. They were concerned.

I have a few questions for sure. I am not going to go head over heels into this without ensuring that she can help me with my PTSD and Narcissistic Abuse syndrome. The only time lapse I remember was two weeks ago, albeit a four hour lapse. I was reading my bible on the couch in the living room, the clock read 8:00 a.m. When I traipsed into the kitchen for a glass of water (I had just received a very upsetting email from my sister)and the stove read 12:30 p.m.

I would poo poo the whole thing if it weren’t for the dichotomy between my mellow self, and my ‘I will cut a bitch” self. But doesn’t everyone have another side to them? DID happens for a few reasons, but in my case she believes that I suffered such devastating trauma from emotional abuse in my childhood, that I created another persona if you will.

Emotionally and physically exhausted, I made an appointment with Nancy for next week. I won’t let this ruin my weekend, as God has the final say on what I am suffering from, and He alone has the cure. Be blessed family.

Serenity Now…

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One way to achieve peace is by shutting yourself off from the world. Isolating, ignoring, refusing life on life’s terms.

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Another way? Being amongst nature, enjoying the beauty that God has created, being among the elements, invigorating.

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Don’t wait for someone to bring you flowers, paint your own garden. 🙂

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Everyone should own a dog.

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Or cat.

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The best way to obtain a peace that surpasses all understanding is to get quiet. Turn off the sound, if you will.

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THE WAY.

My Analyst Told Me……..

About a week ago, my brother sent me an email with the information for a local therapist. I had given up therapy (God and I had this) and frankly, he was concerned. If I am going to face upheaval and pain, I call my bro, as I can emote at whim and he will not judge me. He gives great advice, so I looked so forward to meeting Nancy. The appointment was made for this morning.

I haven’t eaten in two days. I shake, from my feet on up to my hands. I have crying bouts-I cannot sleep through the night, never a problem before. This isn’t good for my Lyme recovery-let’s face it, what happened Wednesday afternoon wouldn’t be good for anyone. I drove in the wrong direction for 30 minutes, so distracted was moi. Finally, after driving miles on slick, rain drenched country roads. And I drove aggressively, fearlessly-which isn’t really me.

I spoke of the “incident” with my stepson in my last blog. How he has walked around in a state of rage for three months now, first depression-now red hot anger. He went on a verbal tirade about how I was a “blood sucking leach,” that I was a “joke” to the entire family. I was in fear of him punching me, and when I tried to go back inside, he blocked my way.

So here I am at Nancy’s pad. I fill out the paperwork and wait. An attractive and cheerful woman greets me with a hug. We sit down and I commence to lose my shit, and cry like a child. She proceeds to ask me a myriad of questions, mainly about brain fog and forgetfulness. By the time she gets to what she thinks I have? My mind is moving one hundred miles in seventy different directions.

“Dissociative Identity Disorder,” she says in a hushed tone.

She gave me the reasons behind her thinking, admitted that it was too early to be sure, gave me a tissue and rescheduled. As I drove to the pharmacy on the way home, it hit me pretty hard. I broke down and called my brother from said pharmacy. I wept through my interaction with the cashier. They know me well. They were concerned.

I have a few questions for sure. I am not going to go head over heels into this without ensuring that she can help me with my PTSD and Narcissistic Abuse syndrome. The only time lapse I remember was two weeks ago, albeit a four hour lapse. I was reading my bible on the couch in the living room, the clock read 8:00 a.m. When I traipsed into the kitchen for a glass of water (I had just received a very upsetting email from my sister)and the stove read 12:30 p.m.

I would poo poo the whole thing if it weren’t for the dichotomy between my mellow self, and my ‘I will cut a bitch” self. But doesn’t everyone have another side to them? DID happens for a few reasons, but in my case she believes that I suffered such devastating trauma from emotional abuse in my childhood, that I created another persona if you will.

Emotionally and physically exhausted, I made an appointment with Nancy for next week. I won’t let this ruin my weekend, as God has the final say on what I am suffering from, and He alone has the cure. Be blessed family.