Saturday, August 15

Risk Anything

It's an indescribable feeling, really. It's something I've tried putting into words for years now, and despite my best efforts, this is all I've gotten: it's like standing in front of a room full of your harshest critics, naked, knowing that they're watching your every move, eyes burning with disgust. Whether that critic be a complete stranger or your own bathroom mirror makes no difference-- the feeling of discomfort becomes so overbearing you want nothing more than to hide... run away... do anything that will take their unforgiving eyes away from you.

And that's the cruel joke-- as much as you run, you can never hide from yourself. Believe me, I've tried.

Living with a disability is like a perverse game. Who gives in first? Is it you who have spent years trying to mask your differences to appease them? Or is it them? Those who feel you don't deserve to be treated as a human being because you don't fit into their warped view of perfection? I wish I was strong or courageous enough to say that for me it was the latter.

I have never been able to walk into a public place without that ever-present burning shame trickle down my spine. I have never met an individual without first thinking to myself, "PLEASE, please, please... just don't try and shake my hand." I have never looked into a full length mirror and actually liked what I saw.

I cannot even begin to explain how tiresome it is waging an all out war with your own body every time you look in the mirror or catch that condescending look in a person's eye.

That's all it takes, really, to tear down those walls you had tricked yourself into believing you had built. No matter how strong your support system for those walls may be one withering stare or insensitive comment is all it takes to destroy you. Because what those close to you don't realize is when you're around them, you can almost start to pretend that there's nothing different about you. For a few blissful moments that burning shame of being you disappears and it is though your problems never existed.

I would give anything and everything to never have to lose that make-believe world.

The real one is a cold, unforgiving place that spins you around the moment you step into it, leaving you on the ground wondering what just happened. It's a place where you can choose to defend yourself or let your loved ones fight your battles for you, desperately wanting them to stop and let you earn your dignity but standing your own ground; yet too weak and scared to do anything on your own, eternally grateful that someone even thinks you're worth fighting for.

Thursday, June 11


I think my biggest problem maintaining a blog and actually posting on regular basis is that I feel the need to entertain everyone (who am I kidding?) that reads this; unfortunately, my life just isn't that interesting so I end up in some weird limbo-- wanting to write but not because I just know it will suck.
In the time that I have been absent my life has consisted of:
  • Fighting with the bank about my overdrawn account not once, not twice, but three times in a span of a week. The kicker? The final banker who misinformed us has yet to call me back to explain why exactly he told us incorrect information without ever actually correcting the issue. Several messages that have been escalating with each call and still, not even a courtesy return message of "Oh, yeah, I fucked up. But my boss won't let me fix the fuck up... so you're screwed. Sorry, and thanks for calling Bells Dargo!"
  • A brief relapse into alcoholism for Russ, the subsequent struggle of "I'm stubborn and will do what I want even though it's killing our relationship," one and a half weeks of too many tears, and finally the four days of hellish withdrawal symptoms. Again. For the second time since April. Repeat after me: I love him, I love him, I love him.
  • A terrifying bout with the supernatural that involved taking our Husky up to my parents house at 5:30 in the morning and four days of doing anything but being inside this farking apartment.
  • A new puppy! Then two new puppies! Then one again, thank Baby Jesus. Insert a long rant about ohmygod this thing never sleeps, why are you pooping on the floor again?, bite me again you little shit and you're getting some frequent flyer miles, and the most common ohmygoshlookhowsquishyandfluffyandsweetmustpetandholdandcoo!
  • An impromptu five day mini vacation from work.
  • Finding the house of our dreams, only to discover that because the economy sucks the landlords will be unable to work with us on the deposit, thus requiring that in order to move into said house they will need $2000.
  • Ask everyone we know and then some if there was anyway any of them could loan us $2000, or at least part of it. We would, of course, pay them back mightily with interest.
  • Discovering that holy crap the economy really does suck, everyone is in the same position as us.
  • Hate everyone and everything that told me, "Well if it's meant to happen it will somehow." But! I want my house! Sniiiiiiiiiiiff.
  • Come to terms with the fact that I'm probably not going to get the house after all. Double sniff.
  • And as recently as last night: watching the neighbors kids for the night and subsequently trying to maintain order in a tiny little apartment with four kids, three dogs/puppies, and two adults.

On that note, I think it's time to go. Little Man is awake, wandering and demanding marshmallows for breakfast. (Ignore the mess or the puppy gets it.)

Thursday, May 21

Big Rig

My husband is an extremely intelligent man. The depths of his knowledge of information that you really never thought you would need to know astounds me on a daily basis. Did you know, for example, that pine trees excrete some sort of "poison" around it's roots to prevent anything from growing directly around the base? No? Neither did I, until Russ so eloquently told me. When I first met him and we were in the throes of puppy love and adoring everything about each other this little quirk charmed the pants off me, quite literally. Three years later, however, it has become more tiresome than anything else. I would love to be able to drive past a field without knowing the history of both who created the field, every plant that dwells within that grassy little area, and how someday xyzblahroot may someday save my life.

Regardless, I love him. Through richer or poorer, through sickness and health, etc. etc. My point is Russ is very, very smart. About most things. In fact, in the 36 months we've been together, I've rarely seen him make what they call a "duh" moment. We've gone several months without one of these little oopsies-- on his part, at least. I make them on an hourly basis -- until this morning. My darling husband has been working his butt off for the past several months to try and get into a trucking school so he can get his CDL for as in order to drive them big fancy trucks and make his family some money. Personally, I do not see the appeal in this career and everytime I think about how much he would be gone I sort of want to cry. But this is one of his biggest dreams. Russ dreams of getting out and seeing the country and travelling with nothing tying him down (except his beautiful wife, of course). Doing this and getting paid at the same time would make Russ the equivalent of a kid in a candy store. Because of this I support him in his quest and smile and nod when he talks about how exciting it's going to be.

The biggest issue he is having getting into a trucking school is the money. Anywhere from two to six thousand dollars up front is a whole lot of dollars when your account is negative. How negative, I don't know, because I'm still too busy eating corn dogs. But! There is good news! He can apply for a grant which would just give him the bucketfuls of money as grants are so beautifully meant to do. So he's been going through the process filling out forms, digging through mountains of paperwork to prove that he's not a felon, spending hours in line at the DMV to get his driving record, and pretty much just holding his breath and crossing his fingers and toes. About a week ago Russ got an email inviting him to WorkPlace's big two hour workshop that will qualify him for the grant and tell him everything he needs to know. This morning he woke up like a kid on Christmas morning at the crack of dawn and did the manly bathroom things. Fresh as a daisy, smelling of cologne, and looking as sharp as ever he woke me up, kissed me goodbye, and told me to wish him luck.

Now seeing as he's unemployed and I rarely get time to myself, I popped out of bed as soon as the door clicked shut and relished in my me-time for a total of twenty minutes before I got a text message saying "There's no workshop today... I'm confused. Can you check my email and tell me when it is? It's from Elizabeth something or other." After scanning through the mountains of spam mail I finally found something that looked like an invitation to a work shop from a woman named Jennifer and opened it up. He had the day of the week and the time right. Thursday, 9am to 11am ... on June 11th. Considering the fact that he mistook "Jennifer" as "Elizabeth" I guess I could see how he managed to jump a whole two weeks in advance.

He's home now. My 45 minutes of mememe was fabulous, thank you so much for asking.

Wednesday, May 20


This seems to be the millionth second or third blog I've created for internet-land ... I always feel guilty for creating blogs only to leave them rotting in the land of forgotten after a maximum of five (5) posts because I either get
1) too lazy
b) too paranoid that someone I actually, like, know will read this crap (I love how important I pretend to be)
or III) ... I don't really have a third reason.

See?? I haven't even written ten sentences and I'm already bored with myself. This could end in tragedy. Regardless, I've been getting that oh-so-familiar itch to whine moan write so here I am. Again.

I guess I should begin how most good writers begin and introduce myself to an audience that doesn't actually exist yet. At least that way I know I am safe from judgement. Har dee har har.

The name's Sarah. My last name and the names of other parties in my life will probably remain secret because, again, I fear that somebody might actually read this drivel and discover I have some horrible dark secret- like the fact that I have a very, very deep love of corn dogs. I recently married a man who I have known was my soul mate since the day I met him. Let's just call him Russ. We live in a tiny little apartment with two - soon to be three, we hope- dogs and an array of fish, snails, and frogs. I work in customer care for Big Unnamed Company and I truly believe it is sucking the soul out of me on a daily basis. I hate it with a passion. The good news? My husband is currently unemployed because I don't know if y'all have noticed this or not but our economy pretty much blows big donkey chunks. Oh. Is that not usually considered good news? Crap. Ok. Well what about the fact that he is a recovering alcoholic and doing so extremely well I would totally buy him a pony as a present if he was into that sort of thing? Yeah. That falls under the "good news" category quite a bit better. As a couple we're terrible with money and are lucky to have $5 in our bank account at any given time. Right now? It's somewhere in the negative. From what Russ tells me this actually isn't our fault for once so I'm taking the mature approach by letting him deal with the bank while I eat corn dogs and avoid logging into our bank's website like the plague.

As for me, I enjoy things like double gulps from 7/11 filled to the brim with cherry vanilla cherry coke (not a mistype. Our local 7/11 has extra syrup you can put into the soda. That is flavored. And free. And have I mentioned local? As in... right across the street?) , camping, reading, being as obnoxious as I can to my husband just to see how he reacts, our dogs, ranch dressing, cheeseburgers, barbecuing, large stuffed animals, purses, corn dogs, and cell phones. I am not ashamed to admit the last three are bordering on a slight obsession. I consider it a productive trip to WalMart or Target if I do not leave with another unnecessary $15 purse. As we speak -- er, type -- I have over a thousand dollars worth of cell phones sitting in front of me. Granted, they're all paid for and have been for quite some time now but when I came home with the last one Russ turned a very strange shade of purple. So I'm trying very, very hard to stay away from Big Unnamed Companys website as well because their employee discount is just a little too tempting. If you're wondering-- the last one was a shiny new Blackberry. And oh how I love her. And yes, she is my fourth (4th) Blackberry. He just doesn't understand I needed this one because it was different and better and whinewhydontyoulovemeenoughicannevergetwhatiwantpleasedontbemadiloveyouuuuuu. I will never admit this to him but a part of me thinks he's a saint for putting up with me.