The Therapy Journals of the Fat-Headed Klingon Woman

One woman's journey to becoming Her True Self

Everything’s Coming Up Roses! December 19, 2014

Up dog

Hello all!  And a very Merry Christmas to you!  Ok, so I think I have just diagnosed myself with a serious disease.  I have dubbed it UDSS:  ‘Up’ Dog “Squirrel!” Syndrome.  That’s where I have so many things flying around in my distractible little head, that I can’t really latch on to one and think about it before another one catches my attention and I go all “Squirrel!!”

*

For right now, here’s what I’m thinking about.  Kindness.  Kindness to a child, is what I’m saying.  Today I had a really lovely fulfilling morning being kind to a child.  The Boy had his last day of school before Christmas break today, and all they were going to do was have breakfast and trade gifts, so I stayed with them.  (He attends a small, private Christian school, where there are only about 12 kids through the whole 12 grades.  It’s basically kind of a group homeschool, and I am not sure how much training or education the two teachers have beyond years of actual experience.  It may sound kind of iffy, but it is working for my son, so I’m not questioning it too much.)  Anyway, there is a new boy in the school.  He seems like a super sweet little boy, but he has a LOT, and I mean a LOT of challenges.  He’s clearly very affected by attention deficits, he has speech delays, and he doesn’t understand a lot of social cues and boundaries.  On the opposite side of that, he is obviously very smart and very interested in a lot of science questions and how’s and why’s, AND the kid was humming “Carol of the Bells” all morning.  So yeah, very complex and very special kiddo.  So I spent the morning trying to help keep this child down to a slow whirl, and I think I was pretty successful.  Ok, he did manage to spill hot cocoa all over his leg, but we got through that.  I tried to listen to him, I tried to talk to him, and I tried to help him behave within acceptable limitations.  It was really great.

*

First of all, it was just awesome for me to be able to actually have patience for a kid like that, because I have been so used to The Boy testing it!  I get so tired of dealing with my own son sometimes, and it was nice to be able to work with another kid and actually handle it well and be able to help him.  Now, here’s where the “Squirrel!” part comes in.  It made me consider, just for a brief moment, if maybe I should go back to school and get my certification to teach elementary level or special education.  I have a degree in English education and a (lapsed) certification to teach middle and high school level English.  But maybe I should look into taking a few special ed courses or ed psych courses, or something to be able to work with these kiddos.  The thing is, I really don’t think I want to work daily in public school.  It’s a mess, and the paperwork and bureaucracy and politics are beyond my ability to tolerate.  I don’t necessarily want to be a counselor, and I don’t want to take that much time going back to school.  So my thought was “I wonder if I should just start my own little private school?”  But that takes money and time and just… I don’t know.  Hard work and stuff.

*

Anyway.  I’m not sure where I was going with all this.  There’s that UDSS again.  I just know it was really nice and fulfilling to spend a morning showing love and kindness and patience to a kid who clearly struggles. Part of me was thinking maybe I could just go visit the school once a week and work with the kids on some sort of social or personal behavior-type issue, and just help be a positive force in the little school.  It was just a thought.

*

Other thoughts:  More theater stuff is on the horizon, as usual.  Auditions for Spamalot are January 4-5, and I’m simultaneously looking forward to and dreading them.  I’ve got my audition song.  I think.  So I just have to breathe and survive until the time comes and see how it goes.

*

ALASKA NEWS!  I actually applied online for some summer tourism jobs in Alaska.  I don’t have the foggiest clue how I’m going to pull it off if I actually do get one of the jobs, but I think I can make it happen.  I’m very lucky right now, my job is pretty flexible.  The kids are older, and it’s time for me to start seeing if there is somewhere else I belong in the world.

*

Anyway, I’m feeling the love and happiness today.  Maybe it’s just a bit of a manic phase, or the excess of caffeine I’ve had today but I feel like I’m firing on all cylinders.  That usually means I’m headed for a full-speed crash into the wall meltdown, but maybe we can avoid it.  We’re going to give it our best shot.

I hope everyone has a wonderful holiday season!

*

Until next time,

D.

 

Couth- And Why Do So Few People Have It? December 3, 2014

Filed under: Fierce Woman Roaring,General Observations — DDKlingonGirl @ 10:10 am
Tags: , , , , ,

politeness

Hello, all!  It’s a cool, drizzly, rainy day outside my window.  The route I took to work this morning followed the route for our local Parade of Lights which was held last night, and in which I took part as a member of Ardmore Little Theatre.  ALT entered a float in the parade, and I was one of the three people walking in front of the tow-vehicle and carrying our banner.  It was a great time, and thankfully, I’m not as sore as I feared I would be from the unaccustomed and rather speedy walking I did last night.

*

It was a well- attended parade.  Particularly toward the beginning of the route, people were packed in shoulder to shoulder.  There were plenty of little ones in strollers and lawn chairs, wrapped in blankets, clearly having a great time.  So what does this have to do with the title of this post?  Well…. it’s not a pretty picture.  This morning as I drove that same route to get to my office building, I noticed the sides of the streets looked very littered.  Candy wrappers, coffee cups, soda cans, and water bottles, just left there on the sidewalks and curbs for… I don’t know, someone else to pick up?

*

Am I the only person bothered by this?  It sickens me.  It astounds me that people will go out to a public event, a thing that is free for them to attend, that hundreds of people have worked countless hours to plan, organize, and complete, and not even be thankful enough for others’ effort, not even be proud enough of a community that offers such pleasant holiday events, to pick up their trash?!  How is this so hard to do?  How is it hard to say “Hey, kids, look around and pick up your trash before we go.  This is our hometown.  Let’s take pride in it and take care of it.”  Am I just completely over-idealistic?  I mean, I don’t know about the rest of the world, but I was brought up on “Let’s leave it cleaner than we found it.”  Same applies for entertainment and sporting events.  It drives me bonkers to leave a movie or a football game and see trash left everywhere in all the seats, floors, and aisles.  BON… KERS!!!! How hard is it to carry it out with you and dispose of it properly?  For that matter, how hard is it to return shopping carts to the store or the cart rack?  I almost always bring in at least one or two carts left in the parking lot when I enter a store.  It’s really not that big a chore, folks.

*

When did people get so tacky?  I’m just asking.

*

Here’s another example.  So many people nowadays, “celebrities” and non-famous folks alike seem to think it’s great to show off their bodies to the general public, both on social media with their half-nude “selfies” and on the streets and sidewalks by the too-tight, too-short, show-and-tell, immodest clothing they wear.  And if it’s not clothing that shows off their own bodies, it carries pictures of others’ bodies, or signs or slogans that objectify, denigrate, and disrespect others’ bodies.  And if it’s not offensive content relating to bodies, then it’s just disrespect in general.  Questionable humor, distasteful words, slogans, language.  When did society decide it was ok to show off the content of our intellect by advertising it on our clothes?

*

I realize that overall, the subject of manners, common decency, politeness, and “couth” as I called it in my title, is a huge, deep, multifaceted conversation to have.  We could talk about causes, roots, contributing factors, and historical culture differences all day long.  I’m not really able to intelligently discuss how or why we got here.  I don’t know.  All I have is a call to action:  My fellow humans…please…Let’s try to have more consideration, more gentility, more refinement, more manners!  Or at the very least, bring a trash bag to the parade.  Let’s just start there.

*

Until next time,

D.

PS:

COUTH:  ko͞oTH
humorous
adjective
adjective: couth
  1. 1.
    cultured, refined, and well mannered.
    “it is more couth to hold your shrimp by the tail”
noun
noun: couth; plural noun: couths
  1. 1.
    good manners; refinement.
    “their hockey team had more talent but less couth”
 

Tomorrow Is the Anniversary of A Sad Story November 14, 2014

Filed under: Bad Luck,In Memoriam — DDKlingonGirl @ 10:47 am
Tags: , , ,

TRIGGER WARNING:  Pregnancy, pregnancy loss, pregnancy trauma

Hello all.  Just a little while ago, I stumbled across a Facebook page called WTH- What The HELLP?  It is devoted to a disease of pregnancy called HELLP syndrome that often occurs concurrently with pre-eclampsia.  There were many stories there on that page of women who had suffered from this syndrome in their pregnancies, and there was a place to submit your own story.  Well, as most people close to me know, I experienced this.  I had pre-eclampsia and HELLP with my first pregnancy in 1992.  It was a pretty traumatic event, and I am not sure I ever realized at the time how seriously ill I was.  Here is my story, mostly as I shared it with WTH:

*

I was 20 years old and pregnant with my first child.  I was in nursing school full time and driving to campus and back, a 40 minute one-way drive every day.  I wasn’t married at the time, and although my fiancé was there, I was dealing with the stress related to being unmarried and pregnant, due to church things. (Believe it or not, our church building had actually caught on fire and burned, and as unreasonable as it sounds now, I was terribly upset because I thought the whole congregation was being punished because of me.)

*

I was approximately 23 or 24 weeks, and went in for a regular appointment with my doctor.  I knew I was extremely puffy and just generally felt unwell.  The night before, after church, I had sat out in the car and cried from sheer exhaustion and wished that I could be admitted to the hospital so I could rest.  At my appointment, I had all the markers.  My blood pressure was high and my urine showed significant protein.  They told me to go straight to the hospital, which was right across the street, because I needed to be admitted.

*

It was Monday night, Nov. 9.  I was admitted to the hospital and they continued trying to treat and monitor me.  I don’t think they started any IVs when I first got there.  I lay there in our small local hospital for a couple of days and started having upper gastric pain.  They kept asking me if it was gas.  Finally, I guess my local doctors decided they didn’t know what was going on with me, (or maybe they knew all along, but thought they could handle it) and they called a specialist in a larger teaching hospital about 100 miles away.  The specialist said, in effect, “Put her on an ambulance and get her up here, NOW.”  They started an IV of magnesium sulfate and sent me from Ardmore to Oklahoma City in an ambulance, and that was the first time I ever got any IVs. (It was also the occasion of several other firsts:  it was the first time I’d ridden in an ambulance, and I also got to experience the joy of trying to use a bedpan in a moving vehicle with a male attendant.  Just, you know, to throw some levity in there.  The mag sulfate IV induced a serious need to pee, and that was one of the few parts of this story that make me laugh a little.  The other part was that one of my anesthesiologists later strongly resembled Superman.)

*

I don’t know how high my blood pressure was at the time, but I’m thinking my bottom number was at least 100 or 115.  I know that my mother, who rode up there with me in the front seat of the ambulance, claims she is positive hers was higher.  (As a side note, many years later I would understand her claim when I too, rode in the front seat of an ambulance to Oklahoma City with my daughter in the back, but that’s a story for another day.)

*

They admitted me to OU Children’s Hospital, and continued treating and monitoring.  They couldn’t find any good veins for IVs because I was so terribly swollen.  They were searching in the tops of my feet, if that gives any idea.  Also they considered starting a line in my neck.  I was incredibly thankful they didn’t have to do that. But the guy who was doing the searching was the guy I mentioned a moment ago who looked like Superman.  That was the only good part.

*

All this time, to the best of my knowledge and recollection, the baby was fine.  She was not as big as she should have been, but I don’t think they thought she had any other serious health problems.  If they did, I don’t remember them telling me.  Unfortunately, the illness and the years have erased a lot of the details.  They began doing all the tests, and I still had sky-high blood pressure, still had protein, still had upper gastric pain, and now they also knew I had HELLP.  They did a scratch test to determine clotting time, and a scratch that should have clotted within a minute took 22.  C-section was ruled out, and delivery was a must.  They gave me medicines to start contractions, tried to start readying my body to do something it wasn’t supposed to do for another 3-4 months.

*

At one point, they were trying to dilate my cervix using something I remember them calling “mechanical dilators” which they said would be painful so they gave me morphine or something.  I remember waking up from my medicated haze, legs in the stirrups, lifting my head, and there at the foot of my bed was practically an entire medical school class, observing this procedure because I was, at that time, an incredibly rare case.  I just closed my eyes and dropped my head back to the pillow and tried not to care.

*

I wasn’t making progress, and they decided they needed to rupture my membrane.  They had put monitors on me and on the baby, and I didn’t know at the time what they knew, that once I had my membrane ruptured, the cord, which was ahead of the baby, would probably become compressed as the fluid rushed out, and as she moved down toward the birth canal, and she would probably die.  They came in and turned the volume down on the monitors, but I didn’t know that was why until later. They had asked me if I wanted to be enrolled in a study they were doing with the use of surfactant, a substance premature babies don’t have yet in their lungs that makes them expand.  I gave them permission to use the baby and give her this surfactant if she was born with any attempt at breathing.

*

My poor mother had finally left the hospital to go shower and rest, and they called her back because they were taking me to delivery.  I couldn’t push.  I didn’t know what I was doing, didn’t know what it was supposed to feel like, and I was sick and exhausted and scared.  The nurse helped push down on my stomach and all I remember was that my mom’s surgical suit was white and the rest of them were blue, and her green eyes stood out.  I thought she looked like an angel.

*

It was November 15, 1992.  Finally they managed to pull the baby out, and I remember the doctor putting her face right in front of mine and saying, “Baby has no heart rate, no breathing effort.”  Ok, then.

*

They delivered the placenta, which I remember hurt worse than the baby. (Because it was actually bigger.)  Katrina DeAnne (Katie) was 11 inches long and weighed 13 ounces.  She seemed to have suffered some significant trauma during birth because her head was misshapen and squishy.  I think they told me she had some water on the brain or something.  They fixed me up and wheeled me back to my room, and here I was, holding this oddly colored, deceased baby.  I felt embarrassed.  I felt that people were looking at her and seeing her as scary or disturbing.  I didn’t hold her as long as I later wished I had, because I thought people would think it was weird to spend time holding a dead baby.  I wish now I’d been a little more sensible about that.

*

I stayed in the hospital a few more days, and I don’t remember any of my numbers- my blood pressure or my platelets or how fast they returned to normal.  I just had to go on with my life.  I had to quit nursing school because they won’t let you make up clinicals and I had missed some.  I finished the semester of my regular non-nursing school class and life went on. Well, sort of.  We had to go through the funeral and everything.  Some people might not have bothered, but it never occurred to me not to.  There was a dear lady who went to our church who actually owned a monument business and she gave us Katie’s headstone as a gift.  My cousin Gene was asked on the fly to lead everyone in singing ‘Jesus Loves Me’ and he never faltered.  It was a cold, cloudy day.  That much I remember.

This was not her actual casket spray but it looked very similar to this.  The real one was destroyed in our house fire in February 2009.

This was not her actual casket spray but it looked very similar to this. The real one was destroyed in our house fire in February 2009.

*

I have since been pregnant twice.  The next time was with my twin girls, who were born healthy and perfect a year and two weeks to the day after I lost Katie.  Their baby brother was born in May of 2001, and he too was healthy and I had no serious problems with either pregnancy.  But my experience with Katie will always be in my mind.  Here is my one other post related to Katie, and how I spent what would have been her 18th birthday.

Thanks for reading!

Until next time,

D.

 

We Journey On… November 10, 2014

Filed under: General Observations — DDKlingonGirl @ 10:33 am
Tags: , , ,

Pos Neg balance

Hello all.  There has been so much I have wanted to talk about lately, but when I sit down to write here, the thoughts just won’t untangle themselves and travel down through my fingers to the keys so I can get them out.  So many things have been on my mind, things that I know are on other people’s minds as well.  A woman I went to college with posted an excellent status on Facebook about social media and isolation.  I wanted to talk about that.  Campaigns and elections happened.  I wanted to talk about that.  Local news and world news and personal news happened.  I wanted to talk about that.  But today, just for now, the thing that is foremost in my mind is:  all of us have a daily battle we fight.  Ok, yeah, most of us fight a couple dozen battles every day.  The one I’m talking about is one that always seems to be in the foreground for me personally, and it is simply this:  positivity versus negativity.

*

I’m sure the rest of you have noticed this battle going on around us.  Just check social media.  You have friends who post every single day about how awesome life is, how good everything is, how happy they are, how “blessed” they are.  You see them post things from Upworthy and ViralNova and whatever sites are the favorites of the most positive-seeming people.  You see them post memes (I didn’t know those had an official name, those things people post that have pictures and sayings on them.  Until I found that out, I always just called them posters.)  You see them post memes with a river or a forest, or clouds, or rainbows, with some expression or scripture on them about peace, love, and happiness.  They post their personal successes, their love stories, their befores and their afters, and they preach the Gospel of Never Give Up!

*

And then there are the others.  The ones who post stuff from places that are meant to absolutely fill you with fear, dread, disgust, etc.  Gloom and Doom, Death and Destruction, POLITICAL criticism, Religious Attack, Medical Attack. General Worldwide Bad Stuff.  And they love Grumpy Cat, and that ventriloquist dummy Walter, and any other person, character, organization, or forum that gives new meaning to the term NAYsayer.  And they post about everything bad that happens.  Their car breaks down, their pants split, their dog ran away, their supper burned and their kid is driving them wacko.

*

And what I’m seeing is that for me personally there is a battle.  A battle to make an occasional appearance in the first category so that I don’t take up permanent residence in the second.  I’m not sure it’s possible to be all Sunshine and Light all the time, and I’m not sure it’s healthy.  I AM sure it’s an awful lot easier for some people to be negative most of the time.  I fight so hard against that.  I know I have a tendency to lean that way.  I know about myself that I am moody at best, mercurial and manic and sometimes positive and sometimes not.  I try.  I try to balance it, is what I’m saying.  I try to acknowledge the reality that sometimes it feels like MY particular life couldn’t possibly suck any worse, while also knowing, KNOWING in my deepest soul that there is beauty in the world.  There is goodness.  There is light. There is HOPE!  Overall, I have it pretty good. I know this, but it doesn’t stop me from feeling the other way in other moments.

*

I guess the main point here is that I’m asking for patience.  We need to have patience.  We need to be patient with the perpetual cheerleaders when we’d really like to punch their lights out, primarily because we feel that they just don’t understand our reality.  Intellectually maybe, they get it, but in their emotional place, they have never put their feet on OUR path.  But pay attention- here is where it gets real:  they have had their feet on their own path, and we don’t know where it has been and our feet have never been on their path either!  The same goes for the Gloom And Doom-ers. We have to be patient when we feel like finally, finally, we are in a good place, having a good day, and darn it if they are not dragging us down like a human crocodile.  Here’s the thing: we don’t wear their ‘perspectacles’ to steal a phrase from Momastery.  (Highly recommended site, BTW.)  We don’t share the events and feelings that they have walked through to get to their current scenic overlook of the world. We know our own path, and odds are it is very similar to theirs, but like snowflakes, no two people’s journeys have been the same.  AND…our own journey is not going to be the same every single day.  Some days we are going to feel like Pollyanna and some days we’re going to feel like Aunt Polly and Old Mrs. Snow.  But we journey on.  Yes.  We journey on.

Until next time,

D.

 

A Big Dream: A Big Move to a Big Place October 31, 2014

Filed under: Whatever — DDKlingonGirl @ 9:55 am
It's all within my reach!

It’s all within my reach!

Hello all!  Here’s hoping everyone is having a great day.  I, in particular, am having a great day because today is just a great day to have.  Ok, there’s a reason.  Several, really, but the primary one is that it’s COLD OUTSIDE!  Cool, anyway.  And thankfully, they haven’t turned the heat on in my office yet, and it’s a meat locker in here, but I have a hoodie, so I’m all good.

*

If you’ve been reading me longer than five minutes, you know I am a freak about Alaska. (Go here to read one of my previous posts about the Alaska dream.)  I have never set foot in the state in this lifetime and yet I am obsessed with the place.  I want to go there.  I want to live there.  I want to see the mountains and the lakes and the glaciers and the wild critters, and just… everything.  I want to drive a snowmobile and watch a dog sled race.  I want to see Point Barrow.  The whole shebang.

*

Always this weird obsession lurks under my thoughts, but in recent days and weeks it is breaking the surface and demanding I dream big and actually start thinking realistically about at least visiting the darn place!  I have lived the biggest part of my adult life in a state of feeling sort of trapped.  Tied down by finances and obligations, I stuff my dreams down in a sock and hide them under the bed and forget they were under there.  Every once in while I would pull the sock out from under the bed, brush off the dustbunnies, pull the idea out and stare wistfully at it for a while, then shove it back where it came from.

*

Not anymore.  I’m polishing it up, setting it on a shelf, and finding things to set up around it that will make it a beautiful reality of my daily life.

*

Ok, so in non-poetic terms, what exactly does that mean?  Saving money, planning for my adult children’s survival without me in the next room, thinking about career moves, and just generally believing in the fact that I can do this if I want to.  And believe me.  I want to.  This is going to happen.

Until next time,

D.

 

Just Breathe. And Trod. October 20, 2014

Filed under: General Observations — DDKlingonGirl @ 9:45 am
Tags: , , ,

Hello all.  It’s been a while, as it usually has.  You know, some days I feel like I have so much to say, and no idea how to say it.  Some days I feel like I should have much to say, and I just… don’t.  Right now, I’m feeling something I just don’t have words for.  I’m tired.  I think this tiredness stems from being too much aware of the complexities and eccentricities of this thing called Life, and humanity, and this world, and the things in it.  Things that are exquisitely beautiful, and things that are so ugly as to tear the heart and soul into tiny little jagged-edged pieces.

*

I wonder sometimes if we wouldn’t all be better off if we lived back in the frontier days.  The pioneer days where we didn’t have to deal with knowing what was going on in so many other places, days when all that mattered was whether or not there was going to be enough food on the table for that day, and whether we were secure from attack by outside forces like foreign soldiers or Native peoples or the unpredictable nature of the weather.

*

Life was always a battle, though.  Life was always a struggle to contend with, a path to be trod with unrelenting determination.  The reward for some was something looked forward to in the unknowable future- heaven.  For some the reward was simply the pride that came from continuing to survive and live to trod another day.  Maybe there are more rewards that I just don’t have the ability to articulate now.  Maybe the only reward for topping one hill is the gift of a brief, easy downhill stroll until the next hill starts to rise in front of us.   Maybe, just maybe, the reward is the view from the path, and the little pebbles and flower petals we reach down and pick up along the way.

*

So many little stresses.  So many things to worry about and think endlessly about.  So many things to try to figure out what’s going to happen about.  Jobs, parenting, friends, relationships, family, beliefs, society, the world.  We can drive ourselves bananas in a heartbeat.  There’s only so much room on a mountaintop in Tibet, or a cabin in an isolated woods in Alaska, two of my favorite locations for “escape jokes.”  We can’t all go there.  We can’t all run away and hide.  Eventually all the problems and stresses and things to handle would join us there and we’d have to find another place to run.

*

What do people do?  What do people do when maybe they don’t know what they think or where they stand or what they can lean on?  How do they keep trodding?  I know some don’t.  Most do.  How do they fill their lives with enough light to see the next step?

*

I realize this post is just chock full of the rhetorical, metaphorical, and vague.  I don’t really know what I’m even trying to say.  These are just my thoughts.  On a day when it feels like you actually have to push up on the air around you to have space to even breathe.  On the elevator to my office this morning I was thinking about some fairly insignificant things I needed to handle, and I sort of growled to myself and thought “Argh.  This is the day I’m going to have.”  And of course many of you might know what immediately happened when the Universe caught that thought and lobbed it back at me with a quick backhand:  “This is the day that the Lord has made.  I will rejoice and be glad in it.”  The words popped into my head as soon as my own thought left it.  So that’s the goal.  Just rejoice and be glad.

*

Until next time,

D.

 

Apologies: Another Opportunity to Grow October 3, 2014

Hello all.  This is a follow up to my last entry.

*

My last post hurt my friend.  I didn’t mean it to, but it did.  I failed to point out a few important facts.

*

I didn’t mention that she was not beating me out for these roles on purpose, trying to take them from me for no good reason.  I failed to point out that she began taking music lessons literally before I was born.  I failed to point out that she has been involved in theater and music since she was in high school, that she has done community theater off and on for years, that she has a degree in music, that she has taught music and acting every day of her career, and that she has yearned to be onstage her entire life.  I posted her picture of her in her first breakout role with ALT because I am proud of how awesome she is.  Despite the fact that I have held my talents and abilities up against hers and found them lacking through my own ridiculous insecure nature, I am proud of her.  She’s amazing to have as a friend.  She gets applause when she merely walks in to audition.  She is loving and kind and friendly and caring, and she’s a wonderful person.  Nothing in my previous post was meant to imply anything different.  She has wanted to be onstage like this her entire life.

*

I have only been involved in community theater for a year and a half.  I auditioned mainly on a whim a year ago, but I have always wanted to sing.  All I ever wanted to do as a kid was to sing and be a mom.  I used to stand in my bedroom for hours, singing along with cassette tapes of my favorite singers, pretending I was giving a concert.  The acting thing I have always thought would be fun, but I always felt like I would never be able to actually make anybody believe I was a different character, so I never tried to do it before.

*

My last post wasn’t really at all about her. It wasn’t meant to be, anyway. It was about me and how I have to decide how to deal with not getting what I want and how to know where to go with the knowledge that I am not as good as I want to be. It was about me dealing with a newly discovered issue, (as if I didn’t have enough already) and trying to figure out what to do about it. She just happened to be the person who cast the spotlight on the lesson. If it were one of our other much more experienced theater friends rather than my best friend, it wouldn’t be nearly as obvious that it was something I needed to realize and learn.

*

And I also realized, amazingly, I have never felt like I was in direct competition with anybody, much less someone who was my best friend. And it’s not like it is a direct competition between me and her, but the reality is this theater thing is somewhat of a competition and I’ve never really even been in ANY competition. I’ve never been in sports or really done anything that was individually competitive like this.  It’s just that I’m new to competition on the whole.

*

I’m really, really sorry, Mama T.  I’m new to all of this, and it’s no excuse, but I’m on the right track now.  Forgive me.  Love you bunches!

Until next time,

D.

 

 

 
Shawn L. Bird

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Some of these thoughts may make sense. But don't count on it.

Mad Scientist.Crazy Mom

Raising 5 kids from a scientist's point of view.

A Clean Surface.

simplicity, organization, inspiration, minimalism, humor...and reality

Princess Nebraska

If I am a princess in rags and tatters, I can be a princess inside. If would be easy to be a princess if I were dressed in a cloth of gold, but it is a great deal more of a triumph to be one all the time when no one knows it. -Frances Hodgson Burnett

She Likes Purple

One woman's journey to becoming Her True Self

One woman's journey to becoming Her True Self

musings of a madwoman

One woman's journey to becoming Her True Self

One woman's journey to becoming Her True Self

happily ever me

a life in progress

Our Little Geekling

"Life is either a daring adventure or nothing." - Helen Keller

mighty maggie

One woman's journey to becoming Her True Self

Writing Finger

Translations of Poetry from Galician and Spanish into English

The Better Man Project

A man in progress. One day at a time.

Bonsai Tonight

The blog alternative to mainstream bonsai media

An Unexplored Wilderness

A writer's journey

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