If you ever see me with a French pedicure, I’m being held against my will and am trying to signal you to call the police. And I don’t just mean the fashion police either. Whenever I see someone with a French pedicure, I’m pretty sure I need to stage some sort of intervention. After all, they do look like a call for help. (I’ve never seen male feet with one, but there’s no call to be sexist about bad ideas, right?) Read more…
I’ve been fairly open here that I have PTSD. For those of you who don’t live with this particular beast, it is a fiery one. Most times it is just there, like scars from a bike ride gone wrong back in elementary school days. But then things trigger it and it sets off a maelstrom of emotions. For me, sometimes that looks like a leaf on the wind trying to float to the earth rather than plummet. And sometimes it looks very different.
On April 15th, we all know a terrible thing happened in Boston. And many of us know it because the images of the bombings were all over every media outlet. From the beginning, before I realized what was happening, I saw photos of the carnage.
And since blood is a major trigger for me, I immediately started a PTSD struggle.
“Let’s get coffee!” How many times have you said this? If you’re my age and living in the United States, chances are pretty high that number is greater than your digits by a long shot. I’m not sure what people said in 1813 or 1913, but getting coffee has certainly become a part of our cultural norm in 2013. And right along with it comes that other cultural norm: the opportunity for regret.
There are so many rituals in making and drinking coffee (tea is just the same). This is true especially when you make coffee at home. The filling of the device, the smell of the beans, the sounds of the coffee becoming real, the first taste. For coffee drinkers, making and drinking a cup of coffee includes all sorts of emotions and experiences that change it from the mundane into an almost revered thing. So asking someone to join you in that pursuit is both a casual thing and potentially a memory-making event.
Today’s post is really a non-post. It can’t even be considered a place-saver because I know I won’t come back to fix it. Because somedays you just can’t. And today is one of those days. As a blogger, when you just can’t think of anything to write, it’s a ugly pickle to find yourself in.
Actually, I have lots of things I’m thinking about. I just don’t have any thoughts that want to hang together in some small semblance of cohesive thoughts. In other words, it even more drivel-ly drivel than usual. I guess my brain isn’t braining very well today.
My heart is sad and my to-do list has been making bullet-point babies. I’ve overwhelmed and stressed out. The hives are literally popping out on my hands and arms. So today, I’m crossing “write today’s blog post” off the list and hoping you’ll come back on Friday.
Because Friday will have to be better than this, right?
Please come check on me then. Bring some coffee or chocolate or bawdy jokes. Or even bad jokes (like this one which is a personal fav: What is brown and sticky? A stick.)
I’ll see you then.
Another blogging day here filled with chaotic thoughts stemming from Boston. Social media is filled with pictures of an empty Boston. It is an eerie thing to behold. It’s as if Hollywood has carefully stopped regular life’s goings on to make another Armageddon film. Except that it is real.
It’s a scary thing, to see a town disturbed by violence, and yet most of the world knows this too well. It’s new here though.
Well, sort of new. After all, Oklahoma City knows violence. LA knows violence. Seattle knows violence. New York knows violence.
We all know violence, but many of us only know it via our televisions or newspapers. To have it in your actual life is a different thing indeed.