The Therapy Journals of the Fat-Headed Klingon Woman

One woman's journey to becoming Her True Self

To D or Not To D April 6, 2016

Hello, all!

“Oh, to struggle against great odds, to meet enemies undaunted!”

“That sounds to me like you’re daunted. Say it again like you’re UNDAUNTED!”

Another word for undaunted might be determined. I need determination right now in so many areas of my life. I need determination to work on my health and weight loss. I need determination in my theater pursuits, to not get depressed when I don’t get cast, and to help promote the theater and the arts. I need determination to do the best I can as a parent and to deal with and face any challenges with my kids that might come up. I need determination to re-train my brain and learn to love and appreciate myself.

So much determination! I don’t know at this point where it will come from, but I know I have to find it.

Today’s poem:

Daring and dauntless

reach for the brass ring.

Grasp the dream and live it

Determined.

Nothing stands

between me and greatness.

I am there.

 

DD

4/06/16

11:26pm

 

Until next time,

D.

 

Merry Chrismarch! March 1, 2016

image.jpgHello, all!  Merry Christmas!  Wait, what?  It’s March 1st?  Super Tuesday?  Oh.  Well, here’s my thinking:  when one works in the shipping and postal business at Christmastime, it causes a certain distaste for the whole season, a certain dread of the holiday and a certain feeling of just looking forward to surviving and to the holidays being over.  So I woke up today thinking about politics, and the haters and complainers and the complete circus the election process has been this time around, and I thought, “Wouldn’t it be great if all the love and good will and peace on earth stuff could be back at the forefront of people’s minds on a day like today??” So I pulled up my iTunes and started digging my Christmas playlist!  Admittedly, it’s not very extensive, consisting mostly of Glee versions and a two-album set by the Osmond family from the late 70s that I utterly loved when I was a kid.

*

So, love and good will and peace on earth notwithstanding, I am coming out of the closet.  I never talk about politics with anyone I expect to get an argument from, because I detest arguing politics.  I don’t like confrontation in general, and the people in my personal circle who are most vocal about politics are not people who are likely to agree to disagree.

*

I haven’t taken the time to research a lot of facts about voting records or the facts surrounding the many scandals, nor have I studied definitions of socialism in a while, or looked at government reports or independent studies.  I don’t know their bios by heart, their successes and failures in the worlds of education or business.  But I do know what I perceive without all that.  Hillary strikes me as utterly corrupt.  Donald Trump strikes me as utterly worthless.  Bernie strikes me as well-intentioned and capable.  The rest of them haven’t been on my radar enough to form an opinion. Carson, I am having trouble describing and categorizing.  He seems like a very decent person and for the most part I like his values.

*

Ok, so I didn’t really come out of the closet very far.  The thing I hate about politics is the way it divides people.  It has broken my heart to see hot-headed people spouting their beliefs with no tolerance for opposing views, even to the point of breaking off ties with family and friends.  Over POLITICS!  Really?  When it comes right down to it, how could these issues be more important than the people in our lives?!  There are a couple of people I know who have voiced support of candidates, and I know how that influences my opinion of them, but I can’t bring myself to call them out on it, express to them that I think they might possibly be crazy.  However, I do very strongly believe in the importance of taking advantage of the great privilege of voting.  That’s the bottom line.  If you don’t vote, you can’t complain.  You can threaten to move to another country, or you can go hide in the wilderness and live off the grid, but you can’t complain.  If you don’t vote, you give up that right.

*

Thanks for reading!  Now GO VOTE!

Until next time,

D.

 

 

 

The Day I Stand Up. The Day I Begin to Speak March 20, 2014

In Memoriam: Jarrae Estepp

Hello all.  My last post was about bullying and how we as humans need to stop hating people who are different from ourselves, and more than that we need to learn to love ourselves and reach out to people.  Today’s post seems like it is probably connected to that in some basic way.  I stumbled across this article in the L.A. Times that just broke my heart for a number of reasons.  One, the girl featured was only 21 years old, less than a year older than my daughters.  Two, she was from my home state.  And three… dear God, after a life of violence and prostitution, this beautiful girl was found naked and dead on a trash conveyor belt!  How could anything be more heartbreaking than that?

*

I don’t even have words.  Everything in me is screaming:  STOP hurting women!  STOP selling ourselves!  STOP!  Just STOP!!!  I started to post this on my Facebook, but I decided I wanted it here instead.  What was this poor girl’s early life, that she ended up this way?  What is the root of this, and how can we rip it out of wherever it grows and obliterate it forever?!   I don’t even know where we could begin.  More love, more life, more words, more beauty, more peace, more kindness, compassion, strength, tenderness, care… more SOMETHING.  Something that touches people’s souls and teaches them that life has value and inflicting pain is wrong and USING people is just WRONG.

*

The knowledge of this girl’s life and how it ended has touched me in this moment.  I can’t say “I’ll never be the same” because odds are, I’ll forget her name and face in a few days, and whenever something makes me remember the story, I’ll think, “Oh, yeah, that was really, really sad.”  But maybe her story should serve as a catalyst for action, a jolt out of an existence characterized by apathy, an inspiration to stand up and shout against something.  I have noticed an unsettling tendency in myself, and that is… I don’t stand up lately.  I don’t support causes, and I don’t oppose causes.  I don’t say what I believe very often.  I don’t agree and I don’t disagree.  I smile and nod, or frown and shake my head, but I don’t use my voice.  I don’t engage and I don’t confront.  I don’t fight.  I think it’s time I started working toward moving in the opposite direction from that.   Some things are worth fighting for, just as some things are worth fighting against.   I have feet, and I need to start standing.  I have a voice and I need to start using it.   It’s past time to choose a side and speak.

*

Jarrae Nykkole Estepp can’t use her voice anymore.  What would she say if she could?  What could we say FOR her, to help make sure nobody else ends up like her?  I urge everyone who reads this to use your voice.  Speak up for something, speak up against something.  Use your voice and your hands and your feet and begin to fight for your beliefs.

*

Until next time,

May We All Stand UP.

D.

 

EDITED TO ADD:  Here is a website that lists activist websites for women’s issues:

http://userpages.umbc.edu/~korenman/wmst/links_actv.html

 

An Open Letter to Bullies. Because We’ve Had It. March 18, 2014

Filed under: Fierce Woman Roaring,Preach It Sista! — DDKlingonGirl @ 3:03 pm
Tags: ,

Hello all!  You know, every so often I get inspired.  I usually don’t seem to be able to spout off these rants as well as some people I know, but today I had a brainwave when I read this article (I didn’t watch the video) about a boy getting bullied for carrying a My Little Pony backpack.  It just really got my attention when (as so often happens) the victim was the one told he needed to change, rather than the bully.  So when I shared the link on my Facebook page, I added this:

*

Dear Bullies of the World,

*
You chose to be mean, cruel, hateful, and disrespectful to someone because they are different from you- maybe they have a physical, emotional, or psychological trait that makes you nervous.  Maybe they have something you wish you had.  Maybe they have something you wish you didn’t, but unlike you, they’re okay with it.  Maybe they believe something you don’t, or don’t believe something you do.  Maybe they are happy, or would be if you’d leave them alone, but you won’t because you’re not.  We can see that.  Really.

*
You know what?  We get that you are insanely jealous of them because they are secure in who they are, and you’re not.  We understand that you desperately want to fit in and be cool and be liked and be like everyone else, but here’s the deal:  YOU DON’T HAVE TO BE!  You can choose to be who you are, just like the kid whose head you shoved into a locker (or adults:  the intern you yelled at in your office ) yesterday.  You can look at yourself and choose to believe that you are ok just the way you are, so that you don’t have to feel compelled to pound the snot out of everyone who already knows that about themselves.

*
You’re the one who needs to change your attitude!  Get it?!  You don’t have to change yourself, but you really ought to look into changing how you feel about yourself!  Because hurting others to try to make your own pain stop is NOT OK!  Ask for help.  We’re here.  We get it.  Love yourself and let others love you.  Things can be different.  Just make an effort to reach out to someone, and see if that doesn’t change your whole outlook on life!

*
Sincerely,

The Rest of Us

*
  So yeah.  As famous, fictional bullied character Forest Gump said, ‘That’s all I have to say about that.’
*
   Until next time,
   D.
   PS  Sorry it’s been a while.  Look for the next installment of the Family Traditions series coming soon!  Thanks for reading.
 

Today…and Yesterday September 11, 2013

83. images of breast cancer http://goo.gl/K4dYp

Hello all.  Today is one of those days I sometimes have, where I feel like I have so much I want to say, and no real plan for how to say it.  Today is 9/11, and as I checked Facebook this morning, I saw the usual abundance of memorial posters and people’s memories of that day.  I thought about adding my own there, but I have a greater need to talk more about my yesterday than  the rest of the world’s today.

*

Yesterday was highly emotional for me, but not for the reason you’d think.  Yesterday was the anniversary of my grandmother’s death in a car wreck with a drunk driver in Gallup, New Mexico.  She was 54.  She has been gone for twenty-six years.  In some ways it feels like just yesterday, but mostly it has been a lifetime.  Literally.  She passed away five days after my 15th birthday and I just turned 41.  All my milestones, all my moments, weddings, graduations, other various achievements, my children’s lifetimes…all that has gone by without her physical presence.  Not without her spiritual presence, obviously.  I know that part of her lives in all of us- me, my aunts, uncles, cousins, our kids.  Part of her influence, her passion, her bravery and adventurous spirit, her love and dedication.  All of that lives on in us.  Whenever I remember to think about it, I want to be like her.  I usually forget to think about it.  But she was an amazing woman, and worth aspiring to emulate.  There’s just really not much more to say about that.  Well, there is, but I want to move on to the main point.

*

Even more than remembering my family’s blackest day, yesterday was also highly emotional because I spent the entire day waiting to find out if there was a possibility I might have breast cancer.  I went to the doctor last week on Thursday (my 41st birthday) because I had been having pain in my right breast for several months.  Not bad pain.  Barely noticeable pain.  Just a twinge every now and then.  Not much more than most women likely experience with PMS, but continuing on a consistent enough basis that I thought I should probably get it checked out.   So on Monday I had an ultrasound on the right side, and a mammogram on both.  And yesterday I waited.  I waited alone.  At first I tried to think positively, but the longer the day went on with no news, I began to succumb to fear.  My thoughts became more and more convinced that whenever the doctor’s office did finally call, they were going to tell me something awful.

*

I called the doctor’s office a couple of times, the last being at almost 5:00, and the girl on the phone told me that they had the results of the ultrasound only, that the doctor had not had a chance to look at them, but that the summary showed nothing abnormal, and that therefore the mammogram would probably be fine too, unless something happened to turn up in the side that wasn’t hurting.  So after spending all day finding it harder and harder to breathe, I could finally relax just a little.  I still haven’t officially heard from the doctor, but the odds are that everything is fine.

*

I am so thankful.  I am thankful that I didn’t have to find out I would be fighting for my life on the anniversary of my grandmother’s death.  But to have 9/11 immediately follow the day I had yesterday has thrown me into an emotional moment where I just feel very contemplative and quiet.  I want to think, but I don’t feel like I can think deeply enough.  I want to talk about loving life and living in the moment and appreciating your family and telling the people you love that you do love them.  All the poetic things that get spouted in this season and on these occasions.  But it all just feels so inadequate.  Nothing I can say can touch the depth of how much I want to honor Alba Dean Findley and all the victims of 9/11 by LIVING.  Just… living.  Really, truly, actively, living with fullness and joy.  How do we do that?  How many millions of ways are there to define the act of living?

*

I don’t have the answers, but I plan to work on it.  Tell the people I love that I love them, no matter how scary it is.  Stop and smell the roses, literally and figuratively.  Appreciate every second.  Fight for the underdog.  Seize the day.  Be brave and fierce and fabulous, just like my grandmother.  I WILL honor the lost by living.  Really living.  I pray the same for all of us.

*

Love and blessings to all.

Until next time,

D.

Note to all women:  stay on top of your health, particularly your breast health.  That is all.

ETA:  Here is a previous entry about 9/11, the Murrah building bombing, and my grandmother.

 

 

Leftover Scars and Pioneer Skirts February 11, 2013

Plaid-Day-Dress 1845-55

Plaid-Day-Dress 1845-55 (Photo credit: AxelStorm)

Hello all.  You know, it never fails to amaze me how some things affect my mind and emotions.  I’ve read somewhere, and I’ve found it to be true, that our sense of smell is actually one of the strongest at associating memories.   Years ago when I worked at a fast food restaurant, I was working in the drive-through window one afternoon, and a car pulled up, the driver rolled the window down, and the scent from inside the car hit me.  Now I couldn’t have described the smell, I couldn’t have identified at all what the exact components of the scent were, but it was exactly, and I mean EXACTLY, like my grandmother’s car used to smell, and she had been killed in a car wreck years before that.  That smell hit me and I instantly burst into tears.  Hadn’t been feeling emotional before that, hadn’t been thinking about her at that moment or missing her or anything, but I instantaneously reacted to a scent.

*

Fast forward to the other night when I got home from work.  I walked in the door, and the offspring were camped out in various poses all over the front room:  one slouched at the computer desk, one in the rocker recliner in full-on veg out mode, and one at the dining room table with her laptop, working on homework.  Nothing particularly unusual there; that’s pretty much how I always find them.  But the most distinctive feature of the scene was the HORRENDOUS ODOR!  It was the odor…of burned-ness.  Something had clearly been burned to a crisp in that house since I’d been in it last.  I sort of began to shriek.  “What have you guys been doing in here!?  Holy cow!  It smells awful!”  Well, it turns out that The Boy had tried to make a “grilled cheese” sandwich in the microwave.   Y’all, he had put it in there for five minutes…!  The sandwich burned so badly that it cracked the plate it was on, and almost affected the microwave turntable!  I had to ask why on earth hadn’t they opened some windows, some doors, chopped a hole in the wall, ANYTHING.  That’s when they informed me that they had, in fact, opened several windows and both the front and back doors, and it still smelled that bad!  I re-opened the kitchen window, but it didn’t do much good.   The next day, I tried to use the microwave and realized that the awful smell was going to come billowing out of there all over again every time I used it!  My mother had always said that heating a cup of vinegar for a couple of minutes would help remove smells from appliances, so I tried that.  It helped a little, but I am pretty sure I will still get re-bombed with that scent every time I use the microwave for at least a couple of weeks.  This normally would be a minor annoyance at best, but every time I smell that odor, I get a tense, tight feeling in my stomach, my head hurts, and I want to cry a little.  And THAT would be because the smell is so similar to when our house burned a few years ago.  In fact, it’s ironic that this whole thing came up when it did, because writing about this reminded me that the anniversary of that lousy event is actually coming up in about a week, and that a couple of days ago was the anniversary of the tornado that struck my hometown that same year.

*

So anyway.  That’s the leftover scars part of today’s post.  A minor annoyance becomes a strong reminder of a trauma, thanks to our awesome scent-memory association!  The ‘pioneer skirts’ part comes from my efforts to find something to wear to church yesterday.  A few weeks ago I had worn this really long, thin, flowing skirt to church.  It was a pretty windy day, and at the time, I thought it would probably be much better if I had something to wear under it.  (Forgive me, Grandmothers, for I have sinned: I do not own a full-length slip.)  I was already out of the house before I remembered that I had another skirt of the same length, but different material and weight, that I could have worn under it as just an extra layer, kind of serving as a slip or a liner.  Which got me thinking about things like Little House on the Prairie, and petticoats, and how every once in a while, I just get in this weird mood where I want to start dressing like Ma Ingalls.  (Yeah, like the title of my last post, I’m just that weird.)  So yesterday, I did exactly that.  I wore one skirt under the other to the morning service, and I switched them for evening services!  It felt much better than wearing one alone, more weight and coverage, you might say.  Felt less likely to catch a stiff breeze and flash the world.  🙂  Don’t worry, I didn’t have a frilly high-neck blouse on top; I haven’t gotten that weird yet- I just wore a sweater that matched the colors.  I did, however, enjoy a brief period of twirling girly-ness in the middle of the dining room, spinning around and watching my skirts swirl.

*

Does anyone else think the world today might be a slightly better place if all women could still feel beautiful and girly by watching their long skirts swirl, instead of having to squeeze into a pitiful excuse for a dress that barely covers their chest and butt and then ruining their feet, ankles, knees, and backs with sky-high heels, and then wonder why men don’t respect them?  Just me?  Ok, then.

*

Until next time,

D.

 

A New Creature February 1, 2013

Hello all.  You know what I love?  Helping people.  Encouraging people.  Always have, always will.  I’m a cheerleader at heart.  I’m guessing there have been plenty of occasions where I have failed spectacularly at encouraging the people around me at the moment they needed it most, but there is not much I love more than trying to pump people up and help them have faith in themselves.  I realize this proclamation comes totally at odds with my last few posts wherein it has probably seemed like I loved nothing more than making like a younger Maxine comic, grouching like an old bulldog about every topic that comes up.  And it is definitely true that I can be a Negative Nancy at times.  But overall I hope I am more of an encourager than a bring-er down-er.

*

I got on Fb last night and saw where a few people from my town were posting about how they were embarrassed for our town and our state by the poor performance of a local girl who auditioned for a certain talent search reality show.  At first I was really angry.  (Which is usually the first indication that a severe case of ‘Open mouth, Insert foot’ is about to occur!)  I could just imagine how that girl would feel when she saw all those comments.  I thought about how disappointed she would already have been in the outcome and how that would be compounded and magnified by the lack of support she received from people in her own hometown.  I had not watched the show at this point, and I had trouble believing how self-centered and snarky people could be in witnessing this girl’s very public failure and then making it all about how it made them feel.  Then I watched the show, and saw that this girl was definitely not a gifted performer.  Or if she had any performing ability whatsoever, her nerves overshadowed them completely.  But not only that, she told the judges that God had told her to audition, which of course made her even more the object of ridicule.  I posted what I saw as a defense of this girl and an admonition against such hatefulness as I had seen displayed.  And then I got really angry, not just for this girl, but for all Christians.

*

I mentioned in my last post that one of the things that makes me unhappy in my life right now is that I feel I should be doing more to share my beliefs, to stand up for what I believe in and try to help others believe it too.  I don’t know that I’ve ever really done that, as it applies to my religious beliefs.  I’ve shared my enthusiasm for TV shows and movies, songs, books, foods, even exercise programs, but I’ve rarely if ever said, “This is what I believe and here’s why.”  I’ve often copped out and said “Well, I don’t know what I believe.  I’m not sure.  I’m searching, I’m seeking, I’m questioning.”  And sometimes it’s because some of the things that are being preached to me are things that I struggle with accepting, myself, and so don’t feel comfortable trying to convince other people.  And very, VERY rarely, I have tiny, brief moments where I wonder, “What if it’s all just nonsense?”

*

But then I decide that I believe God exists.  I believe Jesus existed and was who He claimed to be.  I believe we should worship.  I believe in a Judgement Day and eternity in Heaven or Hell.  But here’s where it gets so dicey for me.  I believe in baptism, immersion in water, for salvation.  I believe that there are some denominations and religions that are completely wrong and that you can’t be in them and be saved.  I believe that if you do what the Bible says, you will go to Heaven, but the trouble is that a lot of groups of people who are doing different things all believe that they ARE doing what the Bible says.  How can they all be doing something different and all be doing what the Bible says?   Jesus built one church.  If you’re not in that church, you’re lost.  That is what I see and hear every single day at my job.  Regarding specific issues, there are a few things that they would call “sinful” that I really struggle with believing are sin, such as using instrumental music in worship, or even listening to “praise and worship” music that uses instruments, clapping hands, etc.  Then there are other issues that I believe they are right about and I’m ok with what I’ve been taught:  the leadership structure of the church, roles of men and women, communion, adultery and fornication, homosexuality, and even, I’m sorry to say, divorce and remarriage.  As much as I’d like to argue the point, I’ve read enough Scripture now to be convinced that my second marriage was not scriptural because I did not divorce my first husband for the reason of unfaithfulness or sexual immorality, and that I am not eligible to remarry until both of my former spouses are dead, if ever.  (Obviously, I really struggle with this one, as well.  Not really thrilled about spending the rest of my life alone.  Some folks say life’s too short, but for me Eternity is too long.)  I will continue to study on these issues and search the Scriptures daily like the Bereans did, but for now, this is where I stand.

*

And I’ve basically lost sight of where I was going with this, but I think that I admire people who have the guts to just state what they believe, whether it brings them ridicule or praise.  I admire people who have the courage to live by their beliefs.  It makes me sad that my adult life has been shaped by a theme of my wants and desires having overridden my beliefs and thus caused my actions, my decisions, my choices.  I’ve been supposed to be a Christian since I was in 7th grade, but I have never really lived like it.  I’ve never been strong enough to live like I knew I should, to publically condemn what I believe to be wrong, and to abstain from it, myself.  But I think I’m going to make it my goal this year and from now on, to walk the walk that matches my talk, no matter what it is.  If I believe that it’s wrong to use bad language, then I can’t only abstain from using it, I have to abstain from watching movies and TV that contains it.  If I believe that certain sexual relationships are wrong, then I can’t condone books, TV, or movies that contain them.  All I can say is I’m going to try.

*

Until next time,

D.

*

[EDIT:  Correction to the above.  I’ve changed my thoughts on the above topic and I now know that a)my first divorce was scriptural.  I know why I went ahead and divorced;  b)my second divorce was scriptural, but some people would dispute that.  Therefore, my conclusion is that I can, in fact, remarry, but I have decided that I will not choose to do so until after Hubby # 2 (hereafter referred to as Old Track Shoes because of how he left, made tracks, as it were, and refused to return) has kicked the bucket.  Not that I have to worry about it really, because I have absolutely zero prospects at the present time. :)]

 

 
The Therapy Journals of the Fat-Headed Klingon Woman

One woman's journey to becoming Her True Self

Shawn L. Bird

Original poetry, commentary, and fiction. All copyrights reserved.

Broadside

Smart and surprising

Mostly Bright Ideas

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

Mad Scientist.Crazy Mom

Welcome to my laboratory: five kids on a farm

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

Crazy with a side of Awesome Sauce

One woman's journey to becoming Her True Self

musings of a madwoman

One woman's journey to becoming Her True Self

Glam-O-Mommy

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 journey into the depths

An Unexplored Wilderness

A writer's journey