A Million Different People….

I hate it when this happens, when I rail at God, spewing my venom of choice, carrying on like a mad woman, banging appliances and, more than likely, injuring myself in the process.  It is time to admit that I am “dopic” as my husband calls me, which means clumsy in Pennsylvania Dutch.  Sweet Jesus, no wonder I drank.

Whilst “redding up” the house (I love the people here, but sometimes I wonder if I have awoken in an old Mayberry, RFD rerun…..my GOD, there he is, Gomer Pyle, sitting on my front porch swing)  I lied.

Anyway, tortured by my living situation, (across the street from the in-laws, frown) the fact that the stepson was there, AGAIN-sorry, but I have CPTSD.  There is nothing funny about having to hold your breath in anticipation of the worst possible scenario happening at any given moment.  Call me crazy, but I walk around with mace in my underwear, for crying out loud.

…the combination of my pms and the full moon situation (I always go apeshit when the moon is full) I fought with my husband this morning, then, after a nice snow laden hike with my bestest canine I proceeded to fight with my Abba, and I will say this:  it is a miracle I made it out of that tirade with a bloody finger, and not the roof caving in on my head.  It was brutal, and I insisted that He had mistaken me for some crazy martyr, who had a chip on her shoulder and a death wish.  I fussed and fretted, cried and took my ire out on the houseplants.  Finally, after the Holy Spirit told me to get some ganga, I calmed down enough to NOT throw myself out of the second story window.

And then I got to thinking, my life is more than victimhood.  I am only a victim if I buy into the theory that I have it harder or crappier than anyone else.  And I do not.  Yes, this is a very painful time in my life.  If I could say anything to my stepson it would be this:

You, sir, are the human version of period cramps.  🙂

 

A Million Different People….

I hate it when this happens, when I rail at God, spewing my venom of choice, carrying on like a mad woman, banging appliances and, more than likely, injuring myself in the process.  It is time to admit that I am “dopic” as my husband calls me, which means clumsy in Pennsylvania Dutch.  Sweet Jesus, no wonder I drank.

Whilst “redding up” the house (I love the people here, but sometimes I wonder if I have awoken in an old Mayberry, RFD rerun…..my GOD, there he is, Gomer Pyle, sitting on my front porch swing)  I lied.

Anyway, tortured by my living situation, (across the street from the in-laws, frown) the fact that the stepson was there, AGAIN-sorry, but I have CPTSD.  There is nothing funny about having to hold your breath in anticipation of the worst possible scenario happening at any given moment.  Call me crazy, but I walk around with mace in my underwear, for crying out loud.

…the combination of my pms and the full moon situation (I always go apeshit when the moon is full) I fought with my husband this morning, then, after a nice snow laden hike with my bestest canine I proceeded to fight with my Abba, and I will say this:  it is a miracle I made it out of that tirade with a bloody finger, and not the roof caving in on my head.  It was brutal, and I insisted that He had mistaken me for some crazy martyr, who had a chip on her shoulder and a death wish.  I fussed and fretted, cried and took my ire out on the houseplants.  Finally, after the Holy Spirit told me to get some ganga, I calmed down enough to NOT throw myself out of the second story window.

And then I got to thinking, my life is more than victimhood.  I am only a victim if I buy into the theory that I have it harder or crappier than anyone else.  And I do not.  Yes, this is a very painful time in my life.  If I could say anything to my stepson it would be this:

You, sir, are the human version of period cramps.  🙂