Thursday, April 28, 2011

Storms 'Brewing

Last night I had a panic attack. I thank the Lord for cell phones and Xanax, or that thing would've lasted all night. It's tornado season, and this one has been a doozie. Every year tornadoes cause lots of devastation in Alabama and cause lots of people to spend time in their basements when they'd rather be anywhere else. But never in my life has tornado season hit so close to home. Yesterday a series of tornadoes broke out and moved across Mississippi and Alabama tearing down everything in their paths. The death toll was in the hundreds. I had known it was coming all day - we had even moved into the basement at 5:30 that morning for a storm coming through. Schools were let out early and everything shut down. My migraine that is working on its fifth week has not slowed down, so the sirens blaring and the news scrolling across the TV screen was making it worse. Just before it was time for us to go to our basement, the weather man began reporting a tornado touchdown in Tuscaloosa on the same street as one of my best friends lives, and down the street from another best friend of mine. Then, the word "fatalities" followed. It was a quiet panic attack. Worrying so much I was shaking. And there was nothing I could do because they storm was upon us now. The rest of my family went up first to see the rest of the storm once we were safe, but I could barely make it up the stairs. I finally heard from my friend in Tuscaloosa Amy that she and our other friend were safe, though Kelli's house was damaged. That was all I needed for last night, and I could sleep.

Today has been a kind of surreal day. Knowing that those closest to me are safe, but not knowing about others, is a strange sensation. Hearing and seeing bits and pieces of the catastrophe makes it hard for me to put a real picture in my head. From just north of Birmingham all the way to Tennessee has no power. Other cities have no power or water. My family was lucky to only have a tree fall on my dad's carport. We also had shingles and insulation from houses that we will probably never see. They came in last night with a debris cloud. One of my brother's friends from school found a Mississippi license plate stuck in a beam in his yard. The beam was holding up a birdhouse, or something. It's amazing what weather can do. I've been avoiding the really gruesome details as much as I can. I checked on Kelli again, because I just couldn't stand hearing about her and not from her. Her house now has only two windows intact, and their side porch collapsed. My friend Sarah's future sister-in-law's house got destroyed while she was up here in Birmingham. Exams at the University of Alabama have been cancelled, except for the law students and the medical students. Which makes me feel faint, because I just remembered another friend of mine who's in school down there that I haven't checked on. Wow, mini panic attack. He's ok. When bad things happen this close to me, I take it very personally. When I can't see it, I'm not bothered so much. I looked in my Little Book of Calm, and it told me that it's ok for me to cry a little. It relieves the stress and soothes you physically and emotionally. So, it's ok to have a quick cry when you're worrying about all of your friends and  loved ones all over the state. And just remind yourself, that it'll get better everyday.

Monday, April 25, 2011

"In Your Easter Bonnet With All the Frills Upon It"

Well, folks, yesterday was Easter, the second most beautiful holiday in my world.And, even with this migraine I've now officially been having for one month, I enjoyed myself. We made deviled eggs in coleslaw birds' nests and bunny cakes, opened Easter baskets, listened to Handel's Messiah, and spent time together as a family. I also did a little bit of reminiscing about some of my favorite Easter memories...

My father loves Handel's Messiah. And so does my stepfather. Yesterday, when we were listening to it, I remembered one Easter when my youngest brother was about two or three. He didn't quite understand what the huge chorus was saying, but began singing along anyway. "Goodnight sheep," he sang, while the chorus sang, "And we, like sheep."

One Easter, the three of us kids came down to no chocolate eggs. Every year the Easter Bunny left a small, communal basket of M&Ms or Robin's Eggs on the coffee table. That year, the Easter Bunny had apparently forgotten that we had a dog who was able to reach the table, came back to find Sophie finishing off the chocolate, and called poison control to see what to do next. Luckily, Sophie was a big enough dog for that amount of chocolate not to effect her, but the Easter Bunny was sure scared.

Another favorite memory of mine is making bunny cakes. Usually there are three: Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cottontail. But this year, we left out Mopsy, since he's made of cocoa, and I can't have chocolate. Plus, none of us really needs three whole cakes this year. One year, my mama even added a standing Peter Rabbit cake. So cute and so yummy. By the way, they are covered with coconut (one white, one toasted) and sitting in a coconut bed of grass and have candied faces with cut-out ears.

But my favorite Easter memory is probably standing in the front of the whole church with my father (and lots of other people) singing the Hallelujah chorus from the Messiah. It is the most beautiful thing you will ever hear. The hundreds of people singing and rejoicing at once, tearing up from the echoes of the choir throughout the sanctuary. Mama never goes to Easter services without a tissue.  I'm sad that I haven't been in a few years, and even since I haven't gone up to the front (my mother wanted me to go with my stepfather, but I couldn't partake in a tradition I have with my father with my stepfather - that's crossing the lines). I miss the Easter services more than I miss hunting for Easter eggs, although that was always fun.. Maybe next year I'll be well enough to go. 

Another thing I love about Easter is what it stands for. Even if you don't believe that Jesus Christ rose from the dead, at least you know that there are millions of people out there who believe in redemption, and that they will hopefully forgive you for something someday. Happy belated Easter to you all!

Saturday, April 23, 2011

Worse than I Thought

Yesterday I was told some good news by my doctor: he doesn't think I have Meniere's Disease. This is good because it means I probably won't lose my hearing and I can eat more salt than I was before. My doctor thinks that I have migraines that are being set off by certain foods. There are so many different foods that can cause migraines, and they are different for different people. The main ones he told me were doable, until he came to the cheese section. Cheese is my favorite food. What am I going to eat now? So, I thought, "Well, at least I can eat Asian foods now." Wrong! Foods high in tyramine are often triggers, and this includes soy sauce, MSG, processed meats, OLIVES, onions, pickles, pinto and other types of beans, nuts, and avocados. Other trigger foods are soups (my other favorite food group), alcohol, kiwi, pineapple, plums, citrus fruits, dried fruits, sour cream, buttermilk, yogurt, artificial sweeteners, caffeine, smoked or dried fish, potato chips, fresh baked yeast goods (donuts, cake, sourdough bread, homemade bread), and chocolate. I've been on restrictive diets before (they change my diets about every three years). But this is ridiculous. I was so excited to be able to eat more salt, but they're taking away everything that had salt in it that I missed! Luckily, it is most likely that only some of these items will be triggers for me. But for now, I have to start at ground zero and work my way up to find what it is that makes me sick. It may even be triggers eaten in combination with other triggers that does this to me. Let's start praying that it's yogurt mixed with artificial sweeteners. That I can handle. I was really looking forward to eating olives and ham again - not necessarily together. No wonder I've lost my muchness - I'm too worried about my health to look for it.

Friday, April 22, 2011

"Wear Donald Duck Underpants"

Today I picked up a book that my mama gave me for Christmas called The Little Book of Calm by Paul Wilson. It's just a small book with lots of different ideas about how to relax - because I definitely need the help. Even though I'm one of the laziest people you'll meet, I freak out way to much. Anywho, I came to a page that I hadn't noticed before. The way to stay calm on this page was to "wear Donald Duck underpants," or keep around some things that remind you of a time when you were more "irreverent, uninhibited," and saw the "joyous side of life." My problem is that I keep to much of those things around, so that they become less meaningful. I have tokens all around my room that I know where special to me at some point, but I don't know why anymore. I think that if I can choose a few special pairs of "Donald Duck underpants" (which I wish I really had), then, perhaps the objects would be more important  and more calming, as opposed to just causing a chaos full of clutter in my life. I also thought it was neat to find this page during my search for my "muchness," or that person that I once was, but can't find the strength to be anymore.

On the opposite page of The Little Book of Calm, the suggestion was to "pretend you believe." It's amazing how little things like this can connect. The other day I thought I believed in all kinds of impossible things, but then I began to question myself. This book explains that if you pretend to be something (specifically calm), then your subconscious will follow and believe you, too. So, here I go, continuing my search for my muchness, believing that I can find it, and believing as many as six impossible things before breakfast. Today, I know it is late, but to get my beliefs in before breakfast tomorrow, I will believe that the chronic vertigo migraines that I was diagnosed with today will be gone by Sunday so that I can fully participate in Easter celebrations with my family; I believe that I will find my glasses that have been missing for the last 10 months; I believe that my doctor is wrong and that cheese is not a trigger for my migraines (it is my favorite food group, you know); I believe that I will have a job before my unemployment checks run out; I believe that my muchness will come strolling back into my life this weekend; and I believe that I will wake up in the morning to find that the house elves have cleaned and organized my room.  Now I won't have to believe anymore impossible things until after breakfast tomorrow.

Time for me to calm down and start believing. Goodnight! Now, where are my Donald Duck underpants?

Sunday, April 17, 2011

I used to be much more... Muchier

I was never a huge fan of Alice in Wonderland. It creeped me out, to be honest. But, after having re-watched Disney's newest version of the movie, I feel like I understand where Alice is coming from. Yesterday I quoted the movie on Facebook, not expecting anyone to understand completely what I meant. A friend of mine, who I haven't seen in a while, but who is still important to me, knew what I was talking about almost instantly and posted a website for me to read. 

I feel that I have lost my "muchness." In the movie, the Mad Hatter says to Alice, "You used to be much more...muchier. You've lost your muchness." And I feel the same way about myself. It's this darned quarter-life crisis I'm going through, which I've been told is ridiculous, but, nonetheless, it's how I feel. This is why I relate to Hannah Montana when she sings about having to choose between who she is and who others want her to be, about where she's going in life, about moving on from everything she loves to find her own way in the world. But this post isn't about Hannah Montana, I could write a term paper on her lyrics. This is about me in search of my muchness. This is about me learning how to be who I am now, without forsaking who I was before. 

According to the website that my good friend Laura sent me, there are six steps to "Reclaiming your muchness." Today, I'm starting with step one. You must start by remembering what you liked to do when you were younger. 

I played make believe - my favorite games were pretending to be horses with my friends, and playing paper dolls, Littlest Pet Shop, and American Girls Dolls, with friends or by myself; if I were in a sandbox, I would pretend that I was at the beach; if I were in a clump of trees, I might be lost in the wilderness. Even though I was shy, I was competitive - I always wanted to be the fastest, the smartest, the best at sports, the fastest reader, you name it. I ran barefoot around the neighborhood with my friends - I never wore shoes in the summer unless they were mandatory. I babysat - I loved to play with kids and to feel like the caretaker, and I got calls from every mom in the neighborhood. I loved to sing - my brothers used to complain because I was always singing so loudly that it echoed through the house, and my mother had to ban singing from the table. I took long walks - I walked my dog almost every day, even if my best friend and her dog couldn't go with us. I went to church every Sunday - after several years of being forced to go, I fell in love with my church and the people there; I learned so much about my faith, myself, and about others, and about what was important to me. I loved to read - sometimes I would be reading as many as three books at a time! I got lost in my favorite movies - I would pretend to meet the characters from the movie Newsies and we would fall madly in love with each other (one newsboy at a time). I loved romance - starting from a very young age I would have my friends act out pretend weddings, scenes from my favorite movies, and surprise my unsuspecting "husbands" with pregnancies when we played house (I always believed that I would one day be able to surprise my real husband like that). Even just a few years ago, I went through a phase where I was the life of the party - the younger kids wanted to be like me, the boys wanted to be with me, and everyone else enjoyed my company (I don't mean to sound egotistical, but I used to be pretty cool - it was a time in my life that started when I was a kid, skipped a whole mess of years during middle school and high school, and came back for a little while during college).  I knew who I was, and I enjoyed being that girl.  

There are so many things that I did when I was younger that I still enjoy today. All of the ones I've listed go into that category.  I play make believe all the time, to the frustration of some of my friends. But it's different now. When I was a child, I believed that those things could actually come true. And now, even though I may believe more than six impossible things before breakfast, do I really believe them? Or do I just wish them? I know, I know. I just wrote a whole post about what impossible things I believe, but truthfully, I only half believe them. And most of the other things I've listed have fallen by the wayside, even though they are activities that I still enjoy. The article I'm reading about reclaiming my muchness says that we can learn a lot about who we are by looking at what we used to enjoy doing. And I still enjoy those things. Okay, so I haven't sprung any pregnancies on any pretend husbands in several years now, but the romantic side of me is definitely still there. I'm afraid that much of my muchness is being clouded out by my disbelief in the world, by my sadness at what my life has become, or not become, by my worry that things will never turn out the way I want them to. I want to believe in the impossible, and I will tell you that I do, but in the back of my mind I'm just not sure. 

From reading what I used to enjoy, I see that I was a believer, a striver, a caretaker, a romantic, a dreamer, a reader, creative, outdoorsy, good company, a child at heart, someone who was not lonely when I was alone, and satisfied with who I was. I just hope that I can find that girl. No. I am determined to find her.

Saturday, April 16, 2011

Impossible Things

My friends know that I'm not the most serious person. I can be very serious, as you've seen in several of my posts, but I don't usually like to be so down to earth.  I try to keep my head in the clouds; it's much prettier and more exciting up there. It's also an escape from the things happening around me that I wish weren't going on. Yesterday I watched Disney's live-action movie Alice in Wonderland. Alice said something that struck a chord with me: "Sometimes I believe as many as six impossible things before breakfast." I feel the same way, and I feel validation in knowing that others do too. When Alice asks her father if she's going mad he replies, "I'm afraid so. You're entirely bonkers. But I'll tell you a secret. All the best people are." And I truly believe that. Sometimes it's hard to accept what is happening in real life, and that is why I choose to believe so many impossible things.

So, let me tell you some of the impossible things I believe, though there are many more than just six.

1. Some day I will marry a wealthy man so that I can be a stay-at-home mother, do volunteer work, cook, and have someone else to clean my huge house and make my bed everyday.
2. I will never be sick again. This includes all of my pre-existing conditions.
3. I will someday be able to eat whatever I want, whenever I want, with no consequences.
4. I will receive my acceptance letter from Hogwarts telling me that I am truly a witch.
5. One day I will open up my wardrobe and find myself transported to Narnia, where I will be named queen.
6. I will travel the world again, but this time, I will spend more than 24 hours in each city that I visit.
7. I will soon get a call from the Travel Channel asking me to host a show for them.
8. Foods that are bad for you will someday be good for you.
9. I will be able to live near three of my specialest friends so that we can fulfill our dream of being like the characters on How I Met Your Mother, but I will somehow still be in very close proximity of my family and my other dear friends.
10. I will never have to file taxes again. It's just a hassle.
11. I will have no more than three children, and I will not have to go through any type of fertilization therapy to have them.
12. I will never have to deal with the death of anyone I care for again.
13. Someday I will be able to travel through time to meet Abraham Lincoln, and we will be great friends.
14. I will be able to lose lots of weight by doing little exercise.
15. I will never lose touch with those who are important to me.
16. I will one day get a signature from every character in Disney World ever. But that's not impossible, as long as I can keep going back there on a semi-regular basis.
17. Tomorrow I will wake up to learn that I have a big beach house. More like a beach mansion.
18. Sister Hazel will play at my huge wedding  - also not impossible, depending on how much money I can scrape together, and if I ever get married (which is part of impossible thought #1).
19. I will have a vacation home at Disney World! That makes #16 much easier.
20. Someday bears and wild cats (like tigers) will make good pets, and they will love me.
21. All of my father's health problems will simply go away.
22. Animals will be able to talk.
23. What Not to Wear will come in and dress me and my mother.
24. I will have season tickets for the Texas Rangers every year, and they will continue to be one of the best teams in the Major Leagues. I might even marry a Texas Ranger...
25. Someday I will own a zoo and the animals will be my friends (because they can talk).
26. I will star in a Broadway musical with Julie Andrews.
27. I will own my own fleet of Boeing jumbo jets - at least one in each size, especially the 747 and the brand new 787. And the 777, because it's my favorite. Just imagine what you could do on one of those if you didn't have to seat over 200 people! It would be like a houseplane! Yes, I would make a house out of an airplane. Add that to my impossible list. I would probably also need a houseboat, though.
28. I will do everything I want while somehow having a positive effect on the environment.
29. Alcohol will be good for you and help you do things better. I know I am a much better bowler when I've been drinking, so why couldn't that apply to other things?
30. The parties thrown at my house will be legendary!  Especially at Christmas. There'll be bands and the best food ever and all the coolest people (you know who you are) and gift bags and mistletoe and reindeer! I can't wait.
31. I will be a famous author. Not only will my autobiography be a best seller, but I will also have a fantastical children's series that will someday become a classic.
32. When I grow up I will be President of the International Olympic Committee.
33. I will be a fashionista. People will want to wear what I wear. Sometimes that will include sweatshirts and pajama pants.
34. Burping will become acceptable in public.
35. I will wake up every morning with perfect hair and makeup.
36. I will someday live like a butterfly, traveling from city to city, but also manage to keep a schedule and routine and a normal home life.

These are just the impossible things I thought of today. Some of them are more impossible than others, but that doesn't make them any less realistic in my mind. I don't listen when people try to bring me back down to reality. I like where I am when I'm in my own Wonderland.

Sunday, April 10, 2011

Waiting for my Real Life to Begin

Any minute now, my ship is coming in I'll keep checking the horizon I'll stand on the bow, feel the waves come 
crashing Come crashing down down down, on me And you say, be still my love Open up your heart Let the light shine in But don't you understand I already have a 
plan I'm waiting for my real life to begin When I awoke today, suddenly nothing happened But in my dreams, I slew the dragon And down this beaten path,and up this cobbled lane I'm walking in my old footsteps, once again And you say, just be here now Forget about 
the past, your mask is wearing thin Let me throw one more dice I know that I can win I'm waiting for my real life to begin Any minute now, my ship is coming in I’ll keep checking the horizon And I'll check my machine, there's sure to bethat call It's gonna happen soon, soon, soon It's just that times are lean And you say, be still my love Open up your heart, let the light shine in Don't you understand I already have a plan I'm waiting for my real life to begin

I have spent so much of my life waiting that I wonder if it will ever actually begin. I've been in limbo; in between. I've been waiting for high school to start, a new job, the day when I can move out, the next Harry Potter book, phone calls, a bill of health from my doctor, my next paycheck, my next day off, graduation. Each time I think that things are finally coming together, something changes and I'm waiting all over again. Right now I am waiting for several things. I'm ready to be healthy for once in my life. I need a job that pays me enough to support myself and pay for an apartment. I'm waiting for my real life to begin.

When I first heard the song "Waiting for my Real Life to Begin" by Colin Hay, I immediately knew that this applied to me. I have a clear vision of how I want to live my life, I just don't have the details in place. And, even if I did, I'm not in a position to fulfill them. I'm too unhealthy to find a job, let alone actually work. What I want is a steady job that I enjoy, a chance to stay close to my family and old friends while making new friends, and activities that keep me interested in life. I don't think that sounds too difficult - it's how most people live. I have a very close group of friends, and we are always coming up with great ideas of things we want to do together. But we never get to do them, because we are stuck in limbo. 

In four months I will be 26 years old. I'll be an adult in anyone's eyes - even my mother's. I don't want to be stuck in the in between, waiting for my life to begin, at age 26. I have a life to live, and I'm ready to live it. Of course, I know that I have done lots of exciting things in my life, but even then I was in waiting: waiting for the next phone call from crew scheduling, waiting to be a full-time flight attendant. Waiting. My question is: when does the waiting end and life begin? I'm not dumb enough to think that I won't always be waiting for something in my life, but does it always have to be so major? I'm prepared to wait for the weekends for the rest of my life. But I'm not prepared to wait to get well for forever. By the time my mama was my age, she was getting married for the second time (she was a widow at age 20). She had been working for years and had been independent for just as long. I'm afraid that I will be that 30 year old person who never completely becomes independent. How can I, when I can't get a job because of my illnesses? 

I thought my life had begun when I graduated from flight attendant training three years ago, but now I'm back where I started. I keep praying to find out what good can come from this, and the only thing I've learned is that I need to look to the future, not the past. I'm waiting to see what else I can learn.

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

Always Be Prepared

When I'm sick I waiver between feeling like my life is a complete waste of time and feeling like I'm getting a lot of things done. This go round, I'm gonna git 'er done! So far, I have caught up on TV and movies I wanted to see and made some plans for the future. I've shown my stuffed Kodiak bear where he and his family are from by watching Deadliest Catch. I've seen history in the making at Rangers Ballpark in Arlington, Texas. I've cried to the movie Sweet Home Alabama, and counted it's inaccuracies (4). I've learned a lot about the history of Broadway musicals and watched a few of the old musical movies. I learned that Mandy Patinka was actually an attractive man in Yentl, even though he did have a full beard. I have also made some very important plans for the future.

I don't ever want to be executed, but if for some reason I am charged with a heinous crime and sentenced to death, I hope that that last meal thing is true. I've got mine all planned out. I don't want them to come and ask me what I would like for my last meal and butcher it because I hadn't properly prepared. So, I will request the following items, in no order:
1. Alaskan crab legs - King and Snow
2. Cheese fondue
3. Cheese grits
4. Maryland crab cakes
5. Sausage balls
6. Fried oyster poboy
7. Eggs benedict with extra hollandaise
8. Sushi
9. Shrimp fried rice from Chop Suey Inn (Homewood, Alabama)
10. Egg rolls from Chop Suey Inn
11. Pickled okra that my mama makes
12. Coconut tofu soup from Surin (Alabama)
13. Olives, lots of olives
14. Cheese pizza from New York Pizza (Homewood, Alabama)
15. Biscuits and gravy
16. Pizza sandwich with extra cheese from Subway
17. Lobster bisque
18. An Artichoke
19. Spinach and artichoke dip
20. Jalepeno Poppers
21. Crab Angels from Surin (Alabama)
22. Potato pancakes from the Bavarian Grill (Plano, Texas)
23. Potato croquets from the Bavarian Grill
24. White asparagus wrapped in ham and smothered in hollandaise with extra hollandaise from the Bavarian Grill
25. Ambrosia
26. Lobster ravioli
27. Pecan pie with whipped cream
28. Calamari
29. Chicken Wings
30. Fried Cheese

This would be my most wonderful feast ever. It also does not include the drinks, because I haven't gotten that far, yet. There are so many other things I'd like to add to the list, but I've narrowed it down. Who could eat any more than that? As a whole, this meal would probably kill me before I could even be executed. I would be killed by glorious food, and I think that's the way to go. All the seafood, cheese, butter, and salt, would be the best way to end my life. Is this morbid? I just want to be prepared. I am already prepared for situations like this: if I had to stock an Alaskan fishing boat full of food and supplies for the crew, I know what I would send. I also know what I would name my children if I had to have 20 kids and name them all J names like the Duggars, or if I had sextuplets what I would name them. I am also prepared for life married to a Major League baseball player without children (Kids make everything more difficult). These situations may seem trivial in everyday life, but when your everyday life consists of watching TV all day, the possibility that you may one day have something exciting to plan for becomes important, and I like to plan ahead. So, for now I'll make plans that probably won't come true, but if the time comes, I'll be ready.

I wish I could have that meal now, not get executed, and not suffer any consequences afterwards...

Saturday, March 26, 2011

Mourning Period

Turning in my flight attendant badge, key, and manual was one of the hardest things I have ever done. I walked into a room where I usually felt comfortable, not knowing if there would be people that I knew or cared about or had never met. I had hoped that if anyone I knew was there, it would at least be a friend. The only person I saw there was a girl who worked behind the front desk - meaning she was a flight attendant who was working in the crew room for a bit, helping supervise the comings and goings of thousands of flight attendants. She was friendly, asked me why I had decided to quit, and asked me if I wanted to speak to my supervisor. Now, I have no beef with Continental Airlines or the company in general. I did have problems with my supervisor (there are bad eggs in every company, and this guy was a real jerk). I left suddenly, after a quick fight with my supervisor, knowing that I would not be qualified for rehire. So when I entered the crew room, I spoke with the friendly girl who worked at the duty desk, and told her that I definitely not want to speak to Matt the Supervisor because he had treated me badly. I also told her that my doctor had been telling me for over a year that this job was making me sick, but I chose to ignore him until the last minute. As sweet as she was, and as much as she tried to help, I left the crew room crying and had to walk alone back through half of the Houston Intercontinental Airport, which as a whole is about as big as my hometown. Luckily, I saw a friend of mine. Not a close friend in the long run, but with flight attendants you grow strangely close very quickly for short periods of time. As soon as I saw him, I made a beeline straight to him and began bawling all over his uniform. The sweetheart that he is, my friend Adnor talked me back down to a calmer state. We had previously discussed why I was quitting, and he reminded me of all the good things about leaving this job. As much as I loved being a flight attendant (which was a ton), I also hated it, and it made me miserable. After saying my final goodbyes with Adnor, the Houston Airport, and the world in which I had lived for three years, I met my father and brother outside. I didn't realize before I quit just how hard it would be, and neither did my father or brother. I finally had to tell them to pay attention to me for a minute because I was in a bad place (they are not the most observant, but they are men). I needed to mourn, and I needed company. 
Lately I've been wondering when I'm going to move on. I'm over it. I'm done with the wishing I could be in the air or wake up in a foreign country. I hate that I miss packing my suitcase and eating airplane food so much. I think it's a bit sad that one of my favorite skills that I have is pouring drinks from two different cans at the same time and not spilling - yes, I was that good. I even miss wearing my polyester uniform that did not breathe. But, unfortunately, I am still in mourning. I've also wondered if it even counts that I'm mourning a relationship that wasn't with a living being. Obviously if I had lost a pet or broken up with a boyfriend, it makes sense. But quitting my job? I broke up, suddenly, with Continental Airlines and my job as a flight attendant, things that meant so much to me.
According to How I Met Your Mother, the mourning period for a break up is one of three options: half of the time the relationship lasted (almost 1.5 years), one week for every month you were in the relationship (32 weeks), or 10,000 drinks (I decided that "from the time it takes you to walk from the bed to the door" did not apply to me, as I am already out the door). I am nowhere close to any of these. Is there some kind of curve for different types of relationships or the way they ended? My dog died over two years ago, and I am still in mourning for her. If the mourning period is half the time of the relationship, then I have 5 more years to be sad! It's too much for me. As much as I loved Sophie, I don't want to miss her like I do for 5 more years. And I definitely don't want to miss my job for another year, or so. I want to remember the good times we had together and know that Sophie is in a better place, and I am in a healthier, happier place than before. I hear myself say these things and think that it is ridiculous to be so attached to something that I have already had at least 6 others before without mourning them. But this is how I feel, and I can't just make it stop. I guess flying was my first true job-love, even though I have had other jobs that I really liked. We just weren't meant for happily ever after. This was also the first time that I didn't end a job on completely amicable terms, which may be another factor, according to one friend of mine. So, please bear with me as I attempt to get over a rough breakup by working on those 10,000 drinks, listening to sad songs and sing them as if they applied to me, and talk about how much I miss flying, even if it was just a job, as opposed to a boyfriend. Truth be told, being a flight attendant is more than a job, it's a way of life. Does that justify my feelings a little bit more?

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Every little girl's dream

Every little girl dreams about her wedding day. I started dreaming so young that I can't remember a time when I wasn't planning a wedding. Throughout the years, a lot has changed: the groom (now he's just a faceless man), the size of the dress (poofy 80s sleeves are so out right now), the bridesmaids (my best friends now are completely different than those at age 12, save for one), and the guest list (I now actually have people in mind, rather than the masses of adoring fans I thought would come to see me wed). But why is this day so important to us? These are the reasons why I shouldn't get married now: I'm not emotionally ready to commit my life to someone; I don't have any money to pay for a wedding; I like having lots of options in my life; and, oh yeah, I don't even have a boyfriend. I'm also at peace with the fact that I may never get married. Not everyone does, and that's okay. But I want my wedding. Last night I was thinking, maybe I should throw myself a wedding to marry myself, like that girl in that Lifetime movie. Then I'll be sure to fall in love with someone and marry them instead. I don't know if it's the fact that my wedding day would be all about me (the groom is always secondary in these situations), or if weddings are just more fun to plan than other things, or if we are all ingrained with the idea that we are supposed to get married, or maybe even jealousy that everyone else my age seems to be getting hitched, but my wedding is constantly on my mind. I am also currently planning my friend's wedding, and seeing as we will be each other's maids of honor, I think I have that right. I don't have a scrapbook or a wedding binder like some people really do, but it's all in my head, and on those websites that let you dress your weddings...
I have my Winter wedding all planned out, and it's beautiful. My Spring wedding is still a work in progress. I want to be prepared for either situation, just in case. Spring/Summer is more difficult because there seem to be more choices. Then there is the question of planning Anna's hypothetical wedding (my maid of honor). I know her so well, but weddings are a tricky thing. You don't want to anger the bride - it's HER day! So I am really struggling with which dress to pick out of two that are perfect for her, and which bridesmaids dresses out of every dress ever.
Flowers are hard to pick, because there are so many beautiful ones. If I have a wedding in the Spring, I want all kinds of bright, beautiful, Southern flowers around. I don't even care what kind. My problem is that my favorite flowers are pansies, and they are more difficult to put in a bouquet. But if I have a wedding in the Winter, they'll be there, mark my words.
The music for my wedding is an easy choice. I recently asked the manager of my favorite band (Sister Hazel) if they do weddings, and SCORE! They do. My future husband is going to surprise me by hiring Sister Hazel as our band for the reception. Isn't that sweet of him? And I know exactly how it will go: He'll get up to make an announcement about how much he loves me and how much he appreciates all of our guests and he'll say to me "It's all for you." Then Sister Hazel will come out and play their song, All For You. I will get teary eyed and jump up and down, screaming. Then, our first dance together will be This Kind of Love, which is such a beautiful love song.
The guest list for me, at this point, is easy. I want everyone that I care about to be there to celebrate me and my love. So many people have had a big impact on my life, and I want to show them how much I appreciate them by asking them to buy me presents, I mean come to my party. But don't think you can have yourself a wedding, not invite me, and then get an invite to my wedding. It doesn't work that way, honey.
So, I have rambled on about weddings that may never even come to be so that you can see how much girls/women actually think about their big day. I'm not sure we'll ever know just why girls start planning for something they may never have at such a young age, or even at all if they aren't about to get married. But I know that it will continue to happen, and that it is something important to us, even if those dreams never do come true. At least we'll have our memories of our fake weddings.

Sunday, March 20, 2011

Is it dizzy in here, or is it just me?

For four days this past week I was almost completely incapacitated due to an extreme case of vertigo. I have Meniere's Disease, so when I eat too much salt, trouble ensues. When I was flying on a regular basis I had a general idea of what my salt-intake limit was. Being thrown around during turbulence and during take-off and landings while going some 500+ miles an hour really helps you determine those limits. But now that I'm on the ground and my body is a lot more stable, I'm having a hard time figuring it out. Plus, this has only happened to me three times on the ground during the past three years, so it's hard to remember just how much makes me sick. My friend Katie suggested a food journal documenting how much salt I eat throughout the day. The problem with this idea is twofold: 1. I'm unreliable when it comes to these sorts of things. I get really great ideas and follow them through for at least one day. At least. Problem 2. Determining how much salt is in your diet is not an exact science. Well, it is an exact science, if you know exactly how much of everything you are eating and how much salt is in everything you are eating. I'm more of a guesstimator. So today, I think I had about 600mg of salt. But that's just a guess, so I could be way off! I need an app on my phone that will keep track of these things for me. They make them for calories, and such, why not salt? Plus, my phone is total crap. It doesn't do anything good. Except for sudoku and crossword puzzles. And it has three different places for lists so you can make lists anyway you want (and I do love a good list). But other than that, total crap. So I guess I'll keep a guesstimation journal of my salt intake. At least for a couple of days.

Friday, March 4, 2011

Beethoven's Queen Sophia

I had the same best friend for almost fourteen years. Her name was Sophie. We went for walks almost every day for the first seven years. She was there for me when I hated the world and I believed the world hated me. My awkward phase didn't phase her. She protected me from those who would do me harm. A friend of mine was a friend of Sophie's. For the last seven years she slept beside me every night I spent at my mother's house. Every time I left for college, she begged me not to go and sulked after I left. When I was away we would talk on the phone so I could tell her I still loved her. She came to me when she was frightened. When I did something wrong, she wasn't afraid to let me know. We played games together, took naps together, built snowmen together (very small ones in Alabama), and dressed for Halloween together. She would play rough, but was always careful not to hurt me. When I made her play with my cats, even though she was terrified of them, she just sat there and took it. If I needed someone to talk to, someone who wouldn't judge me, someone who would keep my secrets, Sophie was always there. If you told her to look for me, she'd come running. She even rescued me one time when I was drifting away at the lake. When I wanted a hug or a kiss, she came prepared. And she could hold it in all day, because she never went to the bathroom where she wasn't supposed to (after she was potty-trained). She was my dog, and I was her girl. Even though she was a family dog and clearly loved everyone else, too, Sophie and I had a special connection. Maybe it was because we were almost like sisters, growing up together. 

This isn't to say that Sophie was perfect. She was no "My Dog Skip." We got into fights, like all friends do. There were times when she would run away from home only to be found at the Piggly Wiggly across the highway. When we put her on a diet, she would get out and eat the neighbor dog's food. She stole other people's newspapers and ate through all of her toys the day she got them (even the so-called indestructible ones). She always fought when you tried to give her a bath. She chewed up several of my Beanie Babies and would steal my socks and hide them. One time she jumped in our neighbor's pool, even though the pool cover was still on, and almost ripped through the cover. She had awful breath and didn't care that I didn't want to smell it. But her gas was the worst: she would let one rip right next to you, then leave the room before it started to stink. There was a time when I thought Sophie preferred my friend Beth to me. She didn't always sit when I asked, and very rarely stayed. One Easter morning, she ate most of the chocolate that the Easter Bunny had left before us kids were even awake. She would step on you with all 80 to 100 pounds of her body (depending on what time of her life you're looking at), and she snored like an old, fat man. She cried when you gave her a bone or a piece of bread. As Sophie got older, she got more crotchety. She started sleeping upstairs in my room (her decision!), even though she wasn't allowed upstairs. At 5:00 on the dot she would bark until you fed her. She would also bark if she wanted to be petted and you weren't doing so.

It's been nearly two years since we had to put Sophie down. Her kidneys had failed her and there was nothing more anyone could do. I remained calm as we made the decision; my mother cried and told us it was for the best. My baby brother, who looks more like a man, began to weep. I held my shaking puppy, bawling, as she peacefully fell asleep. 

Two years later Sophie is still in this house, my mother's house. Some nights as I close up shop, I can hear her following me up to bed. Sometimes I smell a familiar stench and wonder if she's just left the room because it was a doozy. I can hear her breathing, her tail beating against the furniture, her barking. But mostly, she comes to me in my dreams. Dreams where I'm doing everything I can to try and save her from terrible things, all the while knowing that I won't get to keep her. My dreams can be horrible, but when I wake up, I know that it's just my sub-conscious missing my puppy. So, I cherish the nights when I have happy dreams about her, and I smile when I hear her nearby. I know that that is Sophie reminding me that she loves me. Sophie lived for almost fourteen years, which is a very long time for a Golden Retriever. The day that Sophie died, our vet told us that a dog lives as long as the love it gets, and our love was enough to keep her around for a long time. 

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

Twilight: A Beautiful Love Story?

The Twilight series by Stephanie Meyer has become one of the most known pop-culture references of our time. The story of "true love" between a girl and her vampire boyfriend is one that girls and women of all ages aspire to have someday. Edward Cullen's primal instinct to protect Bella at any cost, to keep her from harm's way, is supposed to be beautiful. Stephenie Meyer even references Romeo and Juliet in her novels, suggesting that Edward and Bella have a love just as strong and as pure. I disagree.

I have to admit that I was a fan of Twilight for a short period of time. For months I refused to read the books because people had said that they were the next Harry Potter. I did not want to support anything that was trying to replace the great Harry Potter. I just couldn't! But once I finally gave in and read the books, I couldn't put them down. They were intriguing and exciting. I was hooked. When I enjoy books as much as I enjoyed Twilight, I tend to reread them. I want to make sure I didn't miss anything; I want to know everything about them. But as I reread this particular series, the books lost their luster. I realized that the writing was not by a real author, but by someone who was no more talented than I am (and I have told you, I am not an author). The story doesn't always hold up, there are typos, and the characters have very little depth. But the most disappointing part of the series is that these books are setting a bad example for girls everywhere.

Bella is the root of the problem here. She is too weak to stand on her own two feet. The relationships that I have seen work the best are those with two separate people who know who they are as individuals and what they want in life and work together to achieve those goals. If you aren't enough by yourself, being in a relationship is even more difficult. After seeing my parents get divorced, and my mother remarried, I believe this even more. I pity Bella because she is not a strong enough person to be alone; when Edward leaves her, she barely survives; when Jacob attempts to leave, she threatens to go back into her intense depression. Every relationship ends someday, whether through a break-up or death, and people survive and persevere. But Bella refuses to do that, and I cannot respect someone who won't even attempt to move on. The only reason that Bella finally visits with Jacob after being dumped by Edward is because her father threatens to send her away, and she could not bare to be far away, in case Edward came back.

Stephanie Meyer believes that she is portraying true and everlasting love. Two people who would give their lives for each other, even though they are only 17. Wait, what? I understand that Romeo and Juliet were very young when they died together, but we live in a different time. And I understand that Edward is actually 117, but Bella isn't. She vows to spend the rest of her life with Edward almost instantly after getting to know him and before she can even legally vote. I know that there are exceptions to every rule: that some people really do marry out of high school and spend their lives together. But remember, Edward and Bella are planning on spending eternity together, and that's a bit longer than most people's lives.

My main problem with this love affair is the way that Edward and Bella treat each other. Edward is in charge. When he doesn't like what Bella's doing, he makes other arrangements so that she can't do them. He tries to choose her friends and even stalks her. She has no life or friends outside of their relationship and doesn't want them. All Bella wants is to be with Edward. She finally decides that she likes Jacob alright and will hang out with him some, but only when it's okay with Edward.  This is sick! Little girls all over the world are seeing this and saying "I want to marry a man like Edward." Someone who attempts to commit suicide because he heard you died and he was so distraught that he didn't bother checking the facts? Someone who follows you around, watches you sleep, has to know where you are at all times, and won't let you be with your friends? This is why there are now commercials for teenagers about the difference between caring and controlling. Children listen to these "romantic" stories and hope that they can live them out. I hear them and I'm creeped out. Meyer's version of love is one that belittles women and gives dominance to the man. I don't know if this has anything to do with her Mormon background (though my grandmother and my ex-Mormon grandpa would say it does), but I do hope that Stephenie Meyer never finds a relationship like the one she's portrayed. I hope that this woman finds a man who lets her have her say in the relationship; someone who treats her like an equal, as opposed to a frail, helpless, being; someone who allows her to have her own friends and her own life outside of the relationship. And, most importantly, I hope that Stephenie Meyer never finds a man who wants to drink her blood!

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

A Roof Over My Head

Having a roof over one's head is something that most people take for granted. Most of us go home where our roofs protect from the sun, snow, hail, lightning, and other elements of the weather. Most people don't even worry about their roofs until there is a problem. I am so thankful that my mother and her husband have a roof that they are willing to share with me, because my unemployment checks do not provide me with enough income to pay for my own roof. A couple of months back, I was staying at their house (visiting while I still had a job as a flight attendant) and woke up in the middle of the night by a loud thunderstorm. It was a perfectly routine storm, with one tiny detail that worried me: a dripping sound inside my room. Now there have been two water spots on the ceiling of this bedroom for as long as I can remember. I'm sure they weren't there when my mama bought the house, but I can't remember a time without them there. Mama had known about them for a while. My stepfather Henry had known about them for a while. But no one worried, because the spots weren't hurting anyone. Well, after this big storm, we realized that something had to be done. My imagination went straight to the entire ceiling collapsing on top of me in the middle of the night during the next big rain. Luckily, my hysterical thoughts did not come to fruition, but there was another large water spot and another drip. Henry patched the roof up and called in the professionals.

This morning I awoke from my cough syrup induced slumber to loud bangs and clangs outside my window (yes, I am still sick). The roofers were here. "How am I going to sleep today?" I wondered. Construction noises are generally thought of as a nuisance. But then I remembered, the sound of roofing is beautiful. The ripping up of worn out shingles and replacing them with new ones that will protect us from the weather is a sight to behold. Professionals do this in such a way that it seems easy, but I know better. Some of my favorite times as a teenager were spent roofing houses with my church youth group. Coordinating a team of people to lay shingle after shingle, and have them do it right, is something that I appreciate more than ever. I have known for years how hard the work is: laboring in the heat on top of shingles so hot they burn your skin through your jeans, sweating the entire time that you are trying to line everything up quickly and perfectly, all the while managing to not fall off the roof. But now that I have remembered what having a roof means, the whole process is even more beautiful to me. Before, roofing was about working as a team with my friends and feeling good because we were helping others in the process. But   having a roof, a good roof, means that you don't have to be afraid of the ceiling collapsing and your valuables, whether valuable monetarily or sentimentally, will be ruined. It means not fearing for your life when the lightning strikes around you (which has also happened to me, but we can discuss that later). Having a roof means that you are not sleeping in the snow or wondering if you'll even have a place to sleep tonight. And I understand this now more than I ever have in my life. Cheesy, I may be. But thankful for being able to have a quality roof over my head, I definitely am. So I don't mind the sound of the men hammering away above my head and outside my window as I am trying to take my afternoon nap. I'll just try to pretend that the rhythmic hammering and scraping and pounding of the nail gun is a lullaby. And maybe I'll take some more cough syrup...

Sunday, February 27, 2011

I was recently catching up with an old friend of mine, sharing stories of what we've done since our last visit. During the several years of our separation, I was a flight attendant for what is now the world's largest airline. Somehow my friend and I got to talking about the way people act on airplanes. Any flight attendant will tell you that people do some strange things while flying. My best way to describe the difference is by telling how diapers get changed on airplanes. Now, let me start off by saying that commercial planes all have changing tables in at least one of their lavatories on board. But people don't always ask about those. I have watched mothers change their babies poopy diapers in the middle seat between two complete strangers, in a seat where others will clearly have to sit also, during a food service (on our airline, we still served free food on most every flight). Then, the mothers would attempt to hand me their child's dirty diaper. Flight attendants don't generally wear gloves while serving food, but people ask us to take dirty diapers and put them somewhere on the food or beverage cart. I ask you, if you were in a restaurant, would you change your baby's diaper at the table and hand it to your server? The answer is clearly no. So, why would you do that on an airplane? 
Another odd object that I have been handed is a bloody napkin. A little boy had cut himself on the plastic food tray that we had given him for breakfast. That sucks, but it's not my fault. Another flight attendant had given the boy a band aid, unbeknownst to me. As I was picking up trash with my bare hands the father of the young boy handed me the food tray/weapon with a bloody napkin inside it. I didn't realize this until I was throwing the tray away. I was taken by surprise. I didn't know who's blood that was or what kind of diseases it held, and I was unprotected. I politely explained to the father that next time there was any blood involved, I would need him to throw the items covered away in the lavatory trash bin. Apparently, this request somehow turned into a slur against the son and the cleanliness of his blood, and was my fault for giving him "my" faulty tray to begin with. Luckily, as flight attendants, my crew and I were highly trained in teamwork, so another flight attendant came in and calmed the man down by explaining that the sight of blood had taken me by surprise and that I had not meant to suggest anything about the cleanliness of anyone's blood. All of the other passengers around were shocked when they heard that he had handed me a bloody napkin. Remember, even doctors who deal with blood on a regular basis at least get to wear gloves! Again, I ask you, if your son had cut himself in a restaurant, would you hand the bloody napkin directly to your server? No. Flight attendants have lots of equipment on board, including an entire protective kit meant to be used while dealing with bodily fluids. So, please, next time you fly, don't hand your dirty diapers, bloody napkins, or anything that you would not want handed to you to your flight attendants. And don't be offended if they don't want to touch those objects. And don't blame the flight attendants if the company they work for gives out their free food in plastic trays with sharp edges. Flight attendants have certain powers, and that's probably why food isn't free anymore.
I could go on and on about the strange things that people do on airplanes, but those stories will have to wait for another time.

Friday, February 25, 2011

Singing my troubles away

Well, while I'm wasting my life away with this sickness, that is definitely not Strep or the flu, I have done some thinking about relaxation. Relaxing is good for my lungs: when they are relaxed I don't cough as much. But how do I relax them? How do I keep myself from having migraines or muscle spasms or panic attacks?
One of my favorite ways is to escape. I escape into a comedic movie or TV show, a book that takes me out of this world, or even just a game that keeps me from thinking about the rough times I'm facing. Life is hard enough, and coming home to a hot cup of tea, a comfortable couch, and a How I Met Your Mother marathon sure helps me out. I know that a cold isn't the end of the world, even for me, but it is stressful. And letting myself get stressed doesn't make anything any better. So I curl up and read a good book or watch a show that makes me laugh. Or, I sing (in my head, since my throat feels like I recently swallowed a cheese grater).

When I first moved to Bayonne, NJ as a flight attendant, I left my car at my parents' house in Alabama. It was easier since I never went very far around town. And if I did, there was generally a shuttle or a train to get me there. I got a lot of exercise by walking all over Bayonne and New York City. But one day, I realized that I had lost a very valuable form of relaxation; probably even my favorite way to let go. Singing. Spending all my time surrounded by people on airplanes or in the two bedroom apartment that I shared with seven other people, I never had a chance to belt out my favorite tunes. That's when I brought my car up north. My little Honda Accord is an escape for me. Singing in the shower is great, when you trust those who might be listening. But singing in the car has a way in bringing out the most of my vocal "talent." And the most of my emotions. When I removed this type of emoting from my life, there was an obvious hole in my heart. My mother would rather listen to talk radio. I, on the other hand, prefer music of almost any style. Talk radio is often interesting. For example, NPR has many stories that are enjoyable and informative. But listening to people tell me what's going on in this world does not generally relax me. In fact, it often stresses me out more. I'm sorry, but hearing about the struggles in Darfur doesn't make me feel better about the world in which I live. I would rather belt out my feelings, happy or sad, Hannah Montana or the Beatles. I think that the most important aspect of music is to display emotion. Whether or not you believe that Taylor Swift has true talent, her music touches people and helps those of us who are not writers or poets put words to our emotions. This is why I believe in the power of song. This is why music helps me to relax. I can release all of the pent up feelings that I didn't know how to express and send them into a world where no one in particular has to know what I'm feeling.

By the way, I hope this all makes sense. Cough syrup has a way of making me understandable to no one but myself...

Thursday, February 24, 2011

Wasting my life away...

I am not what you call a healthy person. I have a weak immune system, asthma, a low thyroid, Meniere's Disease, poor circulation, blood sugar problems, a bit of insomnia, and several other issues that I won't mention at this moment. I have so many health issues that it's hard to keep track of them. I have to carry a list of the medicines I take so that I can properly fill out forms at doctors visits. Because of my severe asthma, which has put me in the hospital twice and on bed rest for a total of at least 8 months during the past 5 years, a simple cold puts me into panic mode. Because of my weak immune system, I catch every bug that comes my way. And when I catch something as simple as a cold or as bad as bronchitis, I keep it until my lungs forget how to work properly. They forget how to stop coughing.
So I rest until it is gone, which is easier to do now that I'm living at home with my mother and stepfather and currently unemployed, and I take more medicine than you can imagine. I am currently taking three nasal sprays, anti-anxiety medication (because it relaxes my muscles, most importantly my lungs), Singulair, Advair, Dulera, Allegra, codeine cough syrup, steroids, and having to use a nebulizer for breathing treatments. And don't forget the sinus medicine and sinus rinses, which feels more like water-boarding than a helpful health aid. I'm drinking boocoodles of water to help flush the bad things out of my body, and enough tea with lemon and honey to keep me awake even with all the meds. Honey is supposedly an antibiotic. Oh! I'm also taking an antibiotic pill. The problem is that what should be a common cold has settled in my chest and moved in. It's as though my lungs are addicted to coughing and can't give it up. Every time I get them back on the easy-breathing-wagon, they fall right back off. I seem destined to spend more time in my bed than out.
People say I should be grateful that I don't have something as awful as cancer, and believe you me, I am. But that doesn't mean I'm any less upset about my condition. Asthma is something that people live with everyday. And most days I don't even remember I have asthma. But for several months every year, it runs my life. Hopefully this battle with asthma that I am currently facing will only last a few more days. Please, Lord, no more than a week!
So I am back to wasting my life away in my bed. Quite frequently the time I spend lolling in my bed is my own choice, but right now, I don't have one. The fear of this cold turning into a three month battle is too much for me to handle right now. So I ask God what lesson there is for me to learn from this and repeat to myself that this will only make me stronger, if it doesn't kill me first. But truly, what lesson do I have to learn? Other than to stay away from people who are sick?

Monday, January 24, 2011

And Then I Fell Asleep

I'm not a writer. I've always wanted to write a book, but I was never interested enough to English to be an English major or get into writing. I have so many ideas floating around in my head that I would love to see come to fruition. As a middle schooler I began several books about my life, although a tad bit more sensationalized. Now that I  have become an avid Harry Potter fan, I would love to write my own version of a series about witches and wizards. Sometimes when I can't fall asleep, I close my mind and go to my own world  full of magic and mystery. It's great fun for me, but it's not a book. But what I really would love to do is write an autobiography. My college suitemates always said it should be titled "An Then I Fell Asleep." Probably because I tended to take lots of naps in college. I love a good nap, by the way. I suppose this is probably as close as I will get to an autobiography. I'm too scatterbrained to write a real book, and I definitely don't have the talent or resources to get one published. I don't have the time, either. I am currently searching for a new career, which actually takes a lot of time. Plus, whenever I start a journal, I lose it. This way, it's on the Internet, so I can't lose it. And, whether anyone reads this, or not, I still feel like I have an outlet for the stories in my life, which I often find interesting and even hysterical. So, here it is: The World Inside My Head.
Today my head is full of fog. Last night I took a Zyrtec, knowing that it would make me sleepy. What I didn't know was that it wouldn't make me sleepy until about 18 hours later. Actually, my stepfather said that this particular medicine had that effect on him, but surely that wouldn't happen to me. Unfortunately, I am now walking through a fog and trying to keep my eyes open long enough to finish this post. The last time this happened to me, I was an international flight attendant on my first 24 hour layover in Stockholm, Sweden. I forced myself to get up from a nap after the long flight in and went out to experience the city. I remember enjoying myself, but it's all pretty hazy. I saw the cruise ships at the port, and I tried to get into this really fancy restaurant that was all the way at the top of a tall building and stuck out over the city. It was a bit complicated; you had to go through a mall to get in. I finally realized that, because it was Sunday, the darn place was closed. After 30 minutes of searching for the entrance (I knew it had to be close, I could see the restaurant!) I found out it was closed for the day. I remember that there were vikings and Pippi Longstockings everywhere in that city. Plus Christmas ornaments, which I happen to collect.  I'm not sure if the day was as gray and gloomy as I remember it, or if it had something to do with the Zyrtec putting me in a haze. I don't remember the hotel where we stayed (I've stayed in quite a few in my day), but I know I went back to sleep off the gloom.
That reminds me: I think I'll go take a nap, before I fall asleep at the computer. What I really want is a good Bloody Mary and big, fluffy bed.