Fear and Loathing, in Pennsylvania

 

Sitting in my hidey hole, licking my wounds from a world I often find to harsh to bare.  I’m isolating because my ego is raw.  Ego has no place in my life, and although I try to banish the mere idea of self importance, you and I are human-we hurt for various reasons, but I know in my very heart that Jesus is standing right by us, and our pain and grief are never, ever in vain.

Working two shifts in the ER this week-emotional for hormonal and health related issues-I broke down by my second shift this Friday.  No one was more surprised by my tears than me; looking back I regret my weakness.  But then again, it was a part of His plan all along-and although I look forward to the new blessings and assignments-I will miss my work with the patients in the E.R.  

I couldn’t take another minute-the feelings of absolute isolation, around my colleagues in an Emergency Room I have volunteered in for almost a year.  I am rather intuitive, but when it comes to other people liking/disliking me: I am often the last one to know one I once called friend, turned out to be a foe instead.  I think it is a combination of naivety and the fact that I really, generally, don’t give a frog’s fart about what people think of me.  I am here to tell you all that, for women, high school never ends.

I have absolutely dreaded going in to work these past few months.  Was it the getting up early?  No.  Did I enjoy what I did?  Very much.  Was I afraid of disease, while working around the infirm because of my Lyme disease?  A little.  I prayed.  I went back, and gave it another shot this past month.   The people I work with are not the same crew I was trained by.  A few are the same, but not the sweet, fun loving women I had started out with.

The problem?  A click so exclusive that any one outside of it was ignored.  Flat out “you are invisible” treatment, from adults who should have compassion and respect for others.  The health care field is full of these miscreants.  They get into the health care field for financial reasons, and from what I have seen as of late?  I pray I to God almighty that I am never at the mercy of hospital nurses-or doctors for that matter.

I was standing in the E.R. with about eight other employees.  They were talking to the EMTs who had just stopped in to chat.  I tried to get into the conversation, but was blatantly ignored.  Later, going to sit next to one nurse who could be friendly, at times, I didn’t stick around.  Nothing.  Not one word.

Never a good morning, a thank you or please.  Never a question about my life, my interests, my background.  Nada.  I went blithely on, baking them cookies, bringing them a nut tin for Christmas.  I thought I would make a friend or two at least, as was the pattern in my years of being with groups of people-in any situation.  Church.  Work.  Grocery shopping, for crying out loud-I love people, and having friends or a lack of has never been an issue for me.  Yet this is how I began my life, or the first eleven of them, anyway.  Shunned for being overweight (combined with my mother’s thrift shop finds.  Mom was a fashionista, but the kids at school were vicious.

People hate what they don’t understand.

I read that quote this week, but can’t remember the author.  I worked my patootie off for people who were sitting on their hefty behinds and:  shopping online, playing with their phones, gossiping.  Hell, the last day of work I ended up running to the warehouse for a nurse, and it clicked:  she wasn’t doing anything.  She was shopping, there were no patients.  I left the Emergency Room two hours before my shift was up.  I did not say goodbye.  I finished my work and walked away from the painful truth.  I did not fit in-I was not liked or given any respect whatsoever.

It still makes me a bit sad, but it is what it is.  I have been transferred to patient registration, and I so look forward to the next chapter of my life-pitfalls, assholes and all.

Respect yourself.

 

Q Anon=JFK, Jr.

 

What if I were to tell you that John F. Kennedy, Jr. is alive?  And what would you think if I told you he had faked his own death in 1999?  That is correct, they pulled a mannequin out of the murky waters of Nantucket, and he trusted one man with his plan-that man would be:  Donald J. Trump.

Would you or would you not believe me?

When I came upon this news, yesterday, whilst sitting in my sweaty gym clothes-preparing to write-I was filled with a knowing, the discernment that comes from Jesus.  This video caught me dead in my tracks.  On a search for the truth, which will indeed set us free, I began researching the phenomena that is our POTUS.  In doing so, I learned of things no one should ever have to know.  It is a grueling, nerve wracking journey-and every single minute up until this revelation?  It’s been worth it.  You see, knowing the TRUTH enables you to pray for the right people, keep yourself safe-your head above water.  Since my CPTSD diagnoses, I have a wicked fear inside of me.  I don’t want anyone or anything to sneak up on me.  Now that I have the gist of this, I can write, and please know that I wouldn’t be saying this if I hadn’t done hours and hours of research.

Why would JFK, Jr. fake his own death?  To avenge the death of his father and uncle.

Was his magazine George named after Washington, as most believe, or could it be named after the man who is responsible for his father’s death?

George Bush, Sr.

Watch the video, if you would like.  There are more like it out there, but hard to find.  What are your thoughts?

The air is sweeter, the stars shine brighter, my heart is at peace.

“Be on your guard; stand firm in the faith, be courageous and strong.” – QAnon

 

 

DON’T FEED THE FEARS….

I took my third dose of Doxy today, and admittedly I am feeling better. I can tell you that the biggest red flag for me, when something is wrong with my body (she’s been through a lot)is emotion. Whether it be mild irritation, weepiness, or flat out rage-this is my indicator that something is amiss. Believe it or not, I am not a weeper. But I’m not afraid of my tears, we need the release as anxiety and depression often rule the day.

I had big plans for my husband today, BIG PLANS I tell you. First stop-Good’s store in Schaefferstown. I rose at 6:30 this morning, eager to get out on a Spring-like day. My mood had vastly improved since yesterday, and my attitude was decent as I descended on the store. We get anything and everything at this little Mennonite boutique, from paint to outdoor wear, to kitchen appliances. I love their clearance department, and together, Dwain and I have spent approximately three million dollars on necessities. I was there to pick up a few cards, gifts and mainly-to return my husband’s dress pants that I had purchased at Christmas-they didn’t fit, but the tags were there-as was my receipt of purchase.

I was dealing with a sweet young girl, Olivia-she was telling me that she had to have a manager look at the pants before we could do an exchange. As I was leering at the candles (please, I have SO MANY candles, but for whatever reason-I always want more)when a gentleman in his forties called after me.

“Excuse me, Ma’am?,” I associate that name with little old ladies, and even at the age of 56? It isn’t palatable, from anyone.

“We cannot exchange these pants. There is a hair on the pocket of the brown pair, and the blue have a few hairs on them.”

INCREDULOUS, I told him the pants had never been worn, just tried on.

“Maybe if you took them home and cleaned them up?”

It took all of three seconds for me to go from status quo to flat out deranged angry. The cashier behind him, mildly alarmed at the tone of my voice, busied herself with a return.

“Sir, I panted, DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MUCH MONEY MY HUSBAND AND I SPEND IN THIS STORE???????,” I half screamed in indignation.

“Sorry, Ma’am, these can not be sold again.” I felt the rage wash over me like hard rain. I counted to ten. I took a deep breath, but none of these things helped to quash my Irish temper, and only now, looking back, do I regret the way I acted.

“I WILL NEVER, EVER, EVER SPEND ANOTHER BLOODY RED CENT IN THIS STORE!!!! I HAVE NEVER BEEN TREATED IN THIS MANNER BEFORE, AND I HAVE HAD IT WITH THIS F***ING, PIECE OF SH*T STORE, NEVER!!!!!!!!!”

My words echoed in my head as I headed to the parking lot. I almost broke the sliding glass door on the way out, and for that I am sorry…..but I pity and I mean PITY the jerk who sent me reeling. While at the grocery store next door, I bawled into the phone whilst standing in the dog food aisle. My poor husband, furious as well but trying to calm me down, told me he didn’t need a Valentine’s gift, that I was enough, to stop crying and go home and rest.

And I didn’t hold back a giggle when he said, “I’ll stop in with the man on my way home tonight.”

Like I said, I pity the fool……….

Greta Garbo and Monroe

 

I learned to dance in my father’s living room.  Creedence Clearwater Revival, the Stones, Harry Belafonte….dad had an eclectic collection, back in the days where the music came from the stereo/bar/liquor cabinet combo.  What can I say?  It started something deep within me.

I wouldn’t dance again until college, some ten years later.  And the music was confusing-B52s, Talking Heads, Elvis Costello and Devo…we did the POGO and when it didn’t work?  We blamed it on the booze.

I went to any concert I could beg my way into.  Actually, back in the day?  It was fraternity boys and grocery store clerks-innocent as that time was, there was never any innuendo or making a move.  I might have known these boys had a crush on me, but I never let on-just, hey thanks for thinking of me.  Elvis Costello you say?  Front row, really?  I played it cool until I arrived at the concert, then all bets were off.

And I danced right through my alcoholism.  I remember one evening at a local bar, my husband’s ex showed up, and I loathed her like poison.  She put me down every chance she got, and didn’t have an interest in Dwain until I entered, stage left.  You snooze, you loose, sister!  For whatever reason, I wanted to show her up that night.  I spoke to the DJ, requested C&C Music Factory’s Everybody Dance Now..and I danced the patrons into a frenzy.  Sadly, Kathy was at the bar and never took notice.  Oh well…

And then sobriety.  No dancing.  I begged my husband, please, PLEASE TAKE ME DANCING!!!!  Dwain didn’t dance, and he certainly wasn’t about to take me to a bar, so…I haven’t been to a formal  club in over twelve years.  I missed the outlet, I missed the exercise…and I missed the freedom of movement.

One day, two years ago, Depeche Mode’s Personal Jesus was on the radio in the kitchen.  I took to dance and was so over the moon, my golden retriever joined me!  It has become our dance tune, and I laugh tears of joy each time he puts his cold nose on my hand and I allow him up, the two of us, doing the tango to the music of an era I will not soon forget.

B.O. and Bad Sushi…

I don’t know where to begin.  Ahem.  I don’t blame this on anyone but me, and I have come to the place of acceptance, and laughter-and a deeper understanding of my profound love for my husband.

The morning began with a decision.  Dwain had gone target shooting with his son, (thank you for your prayers, dear friends-that situation is healing) and I was left alone, looking at the darkened sky, hearing the rolling thunder.

“Should I risk driving to church with the jeep top down?”

I knew darn well that every time I stayed home because of the “weather” I missed out on relationships, the lunches, the shopping.  I decided then and there-I was going to chance it.  My friend Leeny awaited me.  A sinus infection had kept me away from the every other Sunday service (we are members of a church in Lititz, Hosanna A Fellowship of Christians) I had promised her, upon learning of her recent health scare.  I just wasn’t about to let her down, that’s what it came down to in the end.

At the service, just as the preacher began his sermon on the prodigal son, thunder shook the chapel-the congregation laughed.

“The Holy Spirit has joined me,” he chuckled, to the delight of the crowd.

All I could think, was crapstastic.  And oh, how tastic the crap became.  I left the church, in a light Summer frock, no jacket-to buckets and buckets of water.  On the way to my jeep, I see a poor woman fall-flat on her poor face-right down the backdoor stairs.  The EMT in me assesses the situation and kind men pick her up and set her on her feet.  Prognoses?  Possible broken nose.

I run as fast as I can in heels, on slick parking lot, without killing myself.  I open the door, the jeep has at least 2 inches of water puddled on the floor.  It’s pouring and I am chilled to the bone.  I see that traffic isn’t moving because a big, black truck is trying to come towards us-he is going the wrong way!  Son of a BITCH!!!  

Now I’m in full panic mode.  I reverse and try to go the other way.  It won’t work.  I see the car in front of me move, so I do a U-turn and try again.  This time the truck is coming alongside my vehicle.  The parishioner is asking if I want him to help me put the top on.  I just want to get the mojo out of there, and I brush him off.

“JUST GO!!!,” I scream.

And just then, it hits me.  The “parishioner” is my husband.  Later, he will tell me that when he hit the Pretzel Hut (a local ma and pa burger joint) he realizes that I am at church with the jeep top down and it is raining cats and dogs.  He says he drove 100 mph (frowny face indeed!) on slick roads to come to my rescue.  When I get home, he apologizes profusely, saying had he not gone away with his son, I wouldn’t be shivering and, well, drowned is the only word that comes to mind.

I tell him he’s ridiculous.  He needs to spend time with his son.  I am not a child, I am accountable for my own actions.  In the shower, I beam and my heart swells with love and gratitude.  I take my time in the shower, jump into warm clothes and my favorite bunny socks, take a little bit longer with my makeup.

I nuzzle up close to my man, and he is pleased.

“You smell like B.O. and bad sushi,” he gushes.

And he laughed and laughed and laughed, until I found the little piece of flesh, on his inner thigh, and twerked it-as hard as I could.

 

 

They Do the Sharp Turnoff…..

 

 

Just back from an uneventful walk in the woods. The poor dog, he can hardly stand waiting for ol’ grandma to catch up to him on the trails. He keeps turning around and looking at me, like, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD, WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY HUMAN? This too shall pass.

Today I want to talk about all of the talk, innuendo, and just plain information there is out there-about God, Jesus and the Kingdom of Heaven. If you listen to Oprah Winfrey (please don’t :))you may believe that there are many ways to Heaven, that Eckhart Tolle and Abraham Hicks have all the answers, and that there is no such thing as Hades.

WRONG. WRONG. WRONG. WRONG. JUST PLAIN MISINFORMATION, OR PURE EVIL?

That’s right kids, I am getting on my high horse for a moment. And no, I am not judging a single person, far be it for me, a lowly sinner to pass judgement on anyone…..it isn’t my job, it’s God’s and only God’s. The ONLY way to HEAVEN is through Jesus Christ-asking Him to come into your heart and life, giving your worldly life to Him only, and through that spiritual and personal relationship we can enter God’s presence, and the eternal kingdom of heaven.

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There is no such thing as “Christ consciousness.” Jesus is NOT an ascended Master, He is the one and only son of God who put on human flesh, suffered human despair and longing, and carried His cross throughout his life-never pretending to be anything more than what he was, our Lord and Savior. He died on a cross to pay for our sins. That’s right, we are covered by his blood and thus all of his children will be forgiven their confessed sins, and given a fresh start. The word repent? I used to hate it until I found out what it meant in terms of Yeshua. Repent means “think anew,” leave your sinful ways behind and do your very best (we are human and God knows we will sin again) to be the hands and feet of the man who sits at the right hand of the Father, and who will one day return-to bring justice to those who have harmed his children.

He’ll be back with a vengeance one day-and the Good News? He’s taking his beloved with him, to paradise-to live for eternity in the land where milk and honey flow like water, and reunite us with our families and loved ones alike.

Come as you are. He isn’t picky. He loves you more than you could ever imagine, and this I know, this I have experienced.