Clem the Mean and Evil

I put the chicks outside yesterday with Clemency just to see what would happen.

At first, the chicks minded their own business while Clemency minded hers. The chicks happily sunbathed for the first time while Clemency chased her shadow around the yard. Like I said, business as usual.

Until Clem noticed their were chicks...in HER yard.

At first, Clemency acted like a nerdy older sister, trying to impress her younger siblings and their friends (reminds me of myself...). She ran around in circles. Jumped on the sunbathing chicks. Then, ran away to the other side of the yard. Clem repeated this action a number of times until finally settling on an even more fun game: tag--except Clem was ALWAYS it... and the tagging was more like slow motion leg biting. I let this go on (squeals and all) until Clemency picked Rex up by her legs and started swinging her around. "Clem," I said to the squawking chicken now safely underneath my arm pit, "be nice to your friends." Clem seemed to get the idea. I placed her down, and she ran off to the other side of the yard.

Today, Clemency was back to her same old shenanigans only this time I let Rufus in on the fun. We had a nice game of chick, chick, dog going for awhile. Then, Rufus left to go eat compost.

My Nose is Stuffed up...

So my thoughts are limited--really limited.

I really hope I don't have swine flu. It's frustrating really. I disinfect my desks every night. I have been washing my hands nonstop. I even tried to get the swine flu vaccination at the grocery store last week being as I instruct students who all but blow snot directly into my face.

And here I sit. I can't hear, taste, or smell. Noses are such silly things. And, oh, do we take them for granted. I know I have. To remedy my lack of appreciation I have written the following poem.

An Ode to My Nose

Dear Nose,
What blows? I cannot hear, taste, or smell.
Delicious food could only but I taste!
I imagine this tasteless purgatory must be hell.

Dear Nose,
What blows? We were so good together.
You, me, and a scented candle makes three.
Your memory I will always treasure.

Dear Nose,
What blows? Do you remember all the good times we shared?
Turkey on Thanksgiving... The smell of the classroom in the morning.
Cool damp mornings, the smell of my mother's perfume. Christmas and Easter ham (I hate ham--but it smells nice). Cinnamon, hot chocolate, egg nog lattes, and chocolate cake. Dark chocolate on cold sunday nights (and warm Sunday nights...and all nights, in fact). The smell of Rufus's breathe before she entered dogdom and started eating her own poo... Those were the days.

When a simple "I am sorry" doesn't cut it

Today is sackcloth and ashes kind of a day. Honestly, reconsideration of this time old tradition of ripping one's clothes while rubbing one's head in a pile of dust on the street would be good for the American soul (at least mine). If it's good enough for David, Joel, and other Biblical greats, it's good enough for me.

I find it impossible to separate my identity from that of my husband's. This is a natural and good thing--but it makes blogging about myself at times like this difficult because it pushes the boundaries of intimacy and privacy. Nevertheless, (for today) I am going to suspend my privacy rules and rub dust in my hair because I need to (gasp) repent.

I am like a windup-toy doll poster child for the attributes of self-pity and self-importance (it's not funny, dad). Somewhere within myself, I am holding onto feelings of need: the need to protect myself and the need to assert myself. These "feelings", of course, all stem from the same roots (pride and insecurity). How is it that I am able to simultaneously entertain such contradictory states of mind I will never understand. What I do understand is that both feelings cause the same overwhelming emotion: the need to control by whatever means necessary--usually by destroying everyone and everything in my path. When I don't feel protected or cared for, I lash out in attempts to protect and care for myself. When I don't feel appreciated, I lash out in order to remind everyone how important I really am. Talk about an effective means of communication...

Last night, I found myself all wound up again taking shots at the nearest victim (my husband). I used to (?) be this way with my parents. This way of being is destructive, and I repent of it. Praise God I have the freedom to walk away from who I am to become the person he is calling me to be. We have a big God, and there is hope--even for little, bad me.

Happy 50th Birthday, Mom.

My Skin is Itchy

Incredibly itchy. I feel as though I am wearing a wool sweater, although, in fact, I am not. I am wearing a tank top and yoga pants. I hate my itchy skin. It makes me cranky and nervous as it is often accompanied by chapped lips and hands. My doctors tell me I have dry skin. They may be right...but no amount of lotion seems to help. I fear my condition is caused by something far more sinister than high winds and change in the weather.

Restlessness.

In high school, I used to tell Ryan that my skin felt too small for my body. Literally, too small. Although today this feeling usually accompanies a day of no exercise, the feeling of small skin was my body's physiological response to general restlessness and uneasiness. "Where will I go? What shall I do? Why do I feel utterly useless?" I used to ponder these questions while staring up at the fan in Ryan's bedroom. I couldn't help but envy the fan as it had found its purpose and was certainly more useful than I.

I think my skin is itching today because I am nervous about the things I can't help--but yet seem so within my reach. For example, the kitchen is out of control and our bedroom is uninhabitable. It seems as though I could easily apply myself to the task of cleaning this natural disaster we call our home. Indeed, I have many times. But this house is like the brooms in fantasia. The more I dust, the more dust appears. The more I fold, the more unfolded clothes appear. I am struggling with my chemistry homework. Surely, you say, I could read my textbook for help. Ha! I can't find my textbook and am too tired to look. I haven't written the test I am going to give my class tomorrow. Why can't I use a test I wrote last year? Because I am a perfectionist and anything I made more than 5 minutes ago is no longer useful. My mother's birthday is tomorrow! Now that really is not my fault (happy birthday mom).

I think the problem is that I just really need a vacation.

A Tribute to my Friends

I am fairly certain they (the two I am referencing) don't read my blog--but here it is anyway.

Dear Scott and Heather,

The next few months will be difficult, but I want you to know that you are not alone. There are no less than 10 of us standing behind you ready to catch you if you fall. Every night while you lay awake crying, we lay awake praying. When you cry out, we hear you. When you aren't breathing, rest assured knowing that we are breathing for you...or at least trying.

It may be too soon to say this, but I am going to say it anyway. We feel the loss of your relationship as a deep blow to the gut--of our church and our own bodies. The last few days have left me wanting to throw up as I see no end to the pain where once there was only love (or at least it appeared). We feel as though we have lost a person. Your happy spirit once lighted our homes and brought us joy. Behind your backs, we laughed at your naivety...but I miss your naivety. For now, you are no longer naive. Ha! You know more about love than we do. I fear, however, what exactly it is that you know and pray to God that I will never learn this lesson.

We love you.

I fought the law (ie: the insurance company) and...

I won.

About two months ago, I went to the dentist's office. I hate going to the dentist's office in general--but this office is the absolute worst. Last time I was there, I had to wait 45 minutes to be seen and ran into all kinds of trouble. I hate that place. Anyway, the dentist found a cavity (surprise, surprise) and recommended I have it filled right away. Now, this seemed reasonable enough at the time and so I agreed. The dentist sent his little office/insurance lady into my cubical to give me a figure.

"$350.00!!!!! ISN'T THIS COVERED BY MY INSURANCE!!!"

"Actually, ma'am, your insurance only covers silver fillings. Isn't that funny?"

"I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW THEY STILL DID THOSE. Can I get a silver filling."

"We don't offer silver fillings."

At this point, I got out of the chair and left. "I'M CALLING MY INSURANCE." Which I did as soon as I arrived home.

According to my insurance company, the dentist has to offer silver fillings--and if he/she doesn't, he/she must provide normal fillings for free. The insurance company agreed to call my dentist and explain the situation. After about 3 rounds of the dentist calling me, me calling the insurance, insurance calling the dentist, we had a solution: The dentist was instructed to order special silver fillings just for me.

Ha! Justice.

I went in today to have my filling. They ended up putting in a white filling for free...all because the dentist was too lazy to order the silver.

This one Gets its Own Post

I love my dog. Here's to you Rufus and your "love" of the bathtub!