I'm Sorry

I had a blogpost written about love, but something happened in my day and I needed to deal with it.

Lately, I feel like I've spent most of my life apologizing. I wasn't the perfect child. Back in the day, words like "introverted", "depression", and "anxiety" weren't used as easily as they are today. It's taken me all my life to find words to explain why I am the way I am.

I wasn't the daughter my parents necessarily wanted. I was mouthy. I had an attitude. I didn't date. I preferred to lock myself in my bedroom. I wasn't the most beautiful girl in my class. I didn't have the most amazing social life. I didn't want to be involved in sports. I was simply me. It was as if I was never satisfied.

I wasn't the most popular girl. I had a few close friends, but that was it. I kept my nose in a book. I wasn't thin by anyone's standards. I was plain in so many ways. I didn't want to be noticed.

I married someone I liked well enough, but that's all that can be said. I tried my best to be a good wife, but, if I listen to him, my best wasn't good enough. There was always something to find fault with.

I am not the best student. I work hard for my grades and they often fall short. It's not because I don't try. I try so hard, but I have professors who tell me I need to try harder. I work 40 hours a week plus go to classes plus have to clean my house, etc. plus a ton of homework to do. When I tell you I'm doing my best, I promise you it is the truth.

I'm a shitty dog mom! I buy Diesel the best food I can afford. He has toys and treats, though the treats are no longer homemade like they used to be. I have time to walk him around the yard and snuggle with him at bedtime, but that's it. We live in a fucked up house with a landlord who refuses to fix things, yet constantly brings up when I fall short of his mark.

Which brings me to: I'm not the best tenant. When I ask you to work with me so I don't have to live in my truck and you say, "Sure, not a problem," I take you at your word. When I have a lawn service all set to mow the grass to keep my end of the month to month lease that was signed (with my former roommate) three years ago and you proceed to mow of your own accord, I think you are doing it to be kind. My yard service cancelled my account because I had to cancel them too many times and now you complain?

I'm not a size 2 or supermodel pretty! I take up space and maybe it is more than I deserve, I don't know. I try to be more than pretty. I try to be kind, supportive, friendly (as I can stand), generous, loving, and happy. I try to make the world a better place every day. You'll never understand what it takes for me to get out of  bed some days.

I'm not writing. Believe me when I say, I try. My characters want their stories told. I've hit a rough patch with the next Cedar River book and I don't want to write what I know must be written. My dragons aren't "dragony" enough. My goal was to write about special people not have them embody their animals. I'm so unsure of myself, my writing, and my life that I have no idea when I'll put cursor to Word again.

In a world gone mad, I know I'm not everyone's cup of tea. That's fine by me! I don't fit into the mold most people have for me. I'm just trying to be the most honest version of me I can be. I'm not one who pretends to be someone I'm not. My house is a mess. I have a laundry basket of dirty clothes. There is a stack of bills that need to be paid. I have boxes that need to be gone through and stuff to get rid of. I need to plug up the mouse holes with steel wool to keep them out of my closet, kitchen, etc. My hair is a mess. My dog needs a bath. My truck needs an oil change and a bath. I'm running on fumes. And I'm tired of apologizing for that! I'm doing my best and that is truthfully all I can do.

Kings and Daddies

There's a meme out there that tell us that you can tell when a man was raised in the arms of a Queen. I was a daughter, raised at the knee of a King.

I've been having a lot of conversations lately about why I am the way I am. I've always been blessed by the men in my life. They are the standard by which I measure the men I date. And trust me when I say that to date me, you've got some pretty high standards to achieve.

To me, my grandpa was Superman! He could do anything! Leap tall buildings in a single bound, save a neighbor girl from certain danger, melt a Tupperware bowl with butter in it on a hot toaster. *G* He and I had such a special bond. I was his only granddaughter.

He was determined that I would grow up to be a lady. He taught me the proper way to hold my silverware and how to wear my hats so I didn't get "cauliflower" ears. If it had an engine, he could fix it. His grease-stained t-shirts and green pants stick in my memory. Every time I had a chance, I'd make him cherry pie and take it to him. It was his favorite. What I wouldn't give to make him one more cherry pie and sit for a Sunday afternoon visit...

Some girls are lucky enough to be raised by their heroes. I know I was. This happy boy in this picture had more demons to deal with than he ever imagined. However, he taught his daughter what it means to be strong and to play the hand that Life deals you.

His teasing ways taught her to take a joke and enjoy the little things in life. He worked hard. I don't remember a time when Dad wasn't busting his ass for something. He, like Grandpa, could fix anything with an engine. He might have to cobble it every now and again, but he'd make it work. I can't begin to count the times when he'd call me and say, "I'm changing oil in the cars today. I may as well do yours while I'm at it." His knuckles were often scraped and bloody, his hands calloused. It couldn't be said he took the easy way out of anything.

And his sense of humor knew no end. One year, he made a "sponge" cake for the minister's wife. He frosted it with Cool Whip and made it quite pretty. We were having a dinner at the church that day and Dad carried it in with pride, telling her how he made it himself. The poor woman felt so bad as she tried cutting it with a butter knife. I remember Dad sitting there laughing so hard with tears streaming down his face. The minister's wife was so relieved to find the sponge under the whipped cream! She didn't want to hurt his feelings. Then, there was the year of the balloon cake. He blew up balloons, coated them with Cool Whip, and refrigerated it for his girlfriend's daughter. He was damn proud of himself! The girl cut into the cake and whipped cream flew everywhere! When it was all over, Dad was on the kitchen floor, laughing so hard he couldn't stand. (Yes, he did clean up the mess!) He loved to make people smile. 

I've been told that I'm a Queen because I was raised at the knee of a King. Actually, I was raised at the knee of a couple of Kings. They were my heroes. They were the center of my world, even when they didn't know it. They were the first men I ever loved. They have both left this earthly realm and I miss them so much! They taught me what it means to be loved and to not accept anything less than I deserve. They were men among men and I am so blessed to be able to call them mine! Happy Father's Day!!

Step into the Mind of an Overthinker...

I had a blogpost all set to go entitled "It's Not Easy Being Me...", then I put it aside and thought about it. Okay, I overthought about it and pressed the delete button.

This is my problem: I tend to overthink. Every. Single. Thing. I'm talking about things that happened back in high school. Things that happened 10 years, 10 months, 10 weeks, 10 days, 10 hours, 10 minutes, 10 seconds ago. I replay every little detail and pick it apart, telling myself that I am an idiot for the things that I've done or said.

Truthfully, very few people from high school remember me and those who do only remember the quiet girl who always had her nose in a book. If I knew you 10 years ago, then I am a much different person than I was then. I behaved much differently and was more unhappy than I have ever been. I know people rarely think of the things I've said or done, but the introvert in me believes she is the most awkward person out there.

Let me give you a shining example of my awkwardness: Mr. Charismatic Smile (from my math class?) sat beside me one day and said "I'm not getting this." It was a pretty basic algebra problem so I attempted to explain it. Now, I could have said simply "What you do to one side, you have to do to the other", then showed him the way to do it. Instead, what came out of my mouth haunts me to this day. I said, "Think of the problem as a menage a trois. What you do to one, you have to do to the other." Yup, that's me! Don't ya just love it?

This is what led to this blogpost. I'm an overthinker. I tend to second guess every move I make until the moment has passed. (Now, I can tell you that the above explanation led to a very interesting conversation that went WAY off the algebra trail and probably told Mr. Charismatic Smile more about me than he needed to know, however, I keep thinking that he had to have thought I was an idiot. He didn't, for the record, but still...) 

I have received the rights back to both of the books in the Cedar River series. I've been re-designing the covers myself. (Are they good enough? You aren't talented enough! You're an idiot!) I've been re-reading the books, deciding what needs to be fixed/added/removed. (You're a hack! You'll never make it as an author! Give up the dream!) With the books being removed from the various online book sellers, the reviews have come down. (No one will ever want to review those pieces of trash again. You're lucky they reviewed them the first time! HACK!) I had some very lovely reviews written about these books. I've had one horrible one. Care to guess which one I dwell on? Bingo! The horrible one!

My ability to overthink everything has me second-guessing every move I make, every word I say, and every path I take. I'm beginning to think of this particular "gift" as a talent. I know people who overthink, but to this degree? This has to be a special talent in and of itself.

I try my usual tricks when I can't shut my brain down. I meditate. I burn candles. I light incense. I walk barefoot in the yard (which is dangerous with an English Mastiff). I attempt to write, then delete every word because it isn't good enough. I cry. I rage. I decide to never write again. I open my journal and write it all down, then I cry some more.

Commiserate with me! Are you an overthinker? How do you cope? Any secrets? Better yet...wanna share your awkward moments with me? Let me know that I'm not alone? You can even email them to me. I won't tell a soul, I promise!