Life at it's finest.

Do you remember the days of planning trips to go do something you've been wanting to do? Long days of walking the century old streets of such-and-such town; while roaming through antique stores and museums? How about making a visit to a particular spot, a few hour drive but you'll have all day just to take pictures and ooh-ahhhh over the scenery?

I do.

I miss those days. To steal what I told my husband yesterday, I hate this. I hate, hate, hate this. I can't plan and it's killing me by slaughtering my spirit one little nuance at a time. He apologized and held my hand, and for that whole moment I felt a little better. I am alone in this, but it's very nice to have someone else behind the wheel of a car at least. <3

For today, I am going to ignore the mess we made this weekend before the kids all left, and I will make the cookies that he asked me to bake for Lodge tonight. I will play Scrabble and cry because I'm doing a much better job at remembering what letters/words I was going to use. I will not get angry that I am too tired to just do whatever spontaneous thing I want to do. (Because I am such an "In-the-Moment" type of person!) And, my husband? Would you like to drive me to all of my favorite antique shops go antiquing with me this weekend? Pretty please with a cherry on top? (Seriously, I'll cook whatever you want for a week I just need to do something that screams JESSICA lives in this body!.)

Hi, hello, where are my hands?

Did you know it was possible to induce a stupor relatively similar to THC without even ingesting anything other than O2? I didn't, either. Until last night! ENTER COMPLETE EXHAUSTION. I'm trying to pick up my house when suddenly in walks two bright yellow spots. And their friend, Mr. Red. Well, hi! Who are you, again? Thanking God my kids are already safely showered and tucked into their beds, (Hallelujah!) I realize the need to sit down.

Or is it stand up?

Or move around?

Or eat?!

Drink water?!!

Something in this cabinet has to take this edge off!!! *rifles through medicine cabinet*

I can feel my heart beat. No really, there it is. In my left ear. And the outer quadrant of my left thigh. Hehe. What a strange sensation... no wait, it's not my heart beat, it's ice! And it's moving down my leg? Ugh.

I find the Q-tips and begin the prodding of my ear, while somehow navigating myself around the house to ensure there really isn't some sort of noxious gas leak.

Nope, juuuuust me. Me and this damn disease.

Hmmmm. Cheyenne wakes up. And walks around the entire house before stopping in the living room with a very blank look in her eyes. "Cheyenne honey, what are you doing?" -me, "Going potty." -her; "NO NO NO NO go to YOUR bathroom, sit on a TOILET honey!" -me, "I am, mommy!" -her...

Somehow she wound up in the correct position on the correct porcelain throne to relieve herself before getting back in her bed, but this story made me laugh for far too long. But back to the events of last night:

I force feed myself lots of pretzels, which tasted far too salty. A chicken flat bread from Schwans. Far too bland. Chocolate chips. Why are they burning my throat?!!?!

I turn on some DVR episodes of Friends only to realize I really am not one of those people that finds this show funnier when out of her own mind, it's even more inane than Chandler's jokes. (haha.)

Try reading, nope-no concentration ability at. all. And those big spots don't help. Hands, wait a minute, I CAN'T FEEL MY HANDS! *enter panic*

I retrace my events as a hero enters to save the day *dadadaDA!* Woody laughs and says IMMEDIATELY "What did you take!? You look GONE!" Well, yes, I was, thank you very much, but all I had this entire evening was two excedrin and a coffee. Hours ago. I follow him around the house rattling off whatever has happened to me that evening, and tell him "I can't feel my hands", making us both giggle; before retiring to bed for humming myself to sleep.

My only explanation is that I must have been sleep walking somehow. Too much activity. I now have a spot on my thigh that feels like I froze an ice pack to it, a very sore back, and this evil need to cry but I refuse to let in. At least I have this entertaining story to share with my future self... or, sorry, past self; should we ever invent a time machine. My future self won't remember but should have the ability to locate this particular thread.

And the nightmare broadens...

I'm going to write a novel. A brilliant, juxtapose of what is real versus what is not. It will afflict the mind in a similar fashion to that of a white hot iron rod emblazoned on the ass. I'm considering splitting the book into two characters, the character that is really living the daily monotony known as hell-on-earth; and the character her "loving" in-law family claims her to be. Will be astronomical differences, and hilarity is sure to ensue. Be prepared to laugh, cry, laugh until you cry, and cry out in outrage at the travesty unfolding before your eyes!

As vexing as it is, my life has been split into two since I moved to the lovely state of Texas. Perhaps another sign that I really didn't belong here, but I have grown somewhat fond of this bizarre locale. I'm not entirely sure what to make of the recent accusations, and the harsh words that have been built up for at least the past few months. Other than to be completely horrified, I'm at a standstill. Grief, heartache, anguish. Essentially all of the synonyms for pain.

Hmm. Now for the back cover description, what will either repel or further draw in...

Cecilia Barnes is a young woman who lost her way-while using a G.P.S.

She's saved by a tall, dark, and handsome man on the side of the road and 

quickly finds herself married to her savior. She settles in to what should be a dream life,

but she soon learns that Adams' family is far from sane. 

Forced to bear a smile while enduring the drama that unfolds around her,

she barricades herself against the onslaught and forges her own sanity.

Or has she?

Adam's family has convinced one another that she is not who she says she is,
and time and again she is confronted with bizarre stories. Her name is Susan,
she's been to bankruptcy court multiple times, she's a hearing aid thief, and she's a pill popper.
It isn't long before Cecilia begins to wonder who she really is, and questions
both her's and "Susan's" entire life.

Intriguing? In need of an editorial hand, but it sounds promising to me. I'm fairly disgusted of the nature of some of the claims being hurtled toward me, but I do believe in Justice and Karma. And I'm holding tightly to the childish rant "I am rubber, you are glue, what you say bounces off of me and sticks to you!"

Living in a nightmare!

Today I had what I thought was perhaps the best day of my adult, mommy-filled life. I thought. Then I reflected a little too much.

Here is my summed up thought: I am not ignorant, I do my freaking research before I form opinions. You should too.


-Pissed in Texas

Lifehouse - Broken

I'm hangin' on another day
Just to see what you throw my way
And I'm hanging on to the words you say
You said that I will be OK

The broken lights on the freeway

left me here aloneI may have lost my way now,

haven't forgotten my way home.

Times are changin'

{ I'm making my own detergents and household cleaners. I would like to build a compost bin-using a cheap garbage can from Lowe's, a few strategically placed holes, and a flat, recycled from my husband's job site. I have also figured out how to build a garden that I don't have to bend over to tend, using the same flats. Using the same concept as the compost bin, I also now know how to build a rain barrel... and I would love to have a hen house. It would be neat to raise a pig, too. I want a house with some acreage in the mountains somewhere, a creek running in the back ground... I'd love a self-built dehydrator for meats, too. }

What is wrong with this picture? My husband thinks I am an idiot. I've stopped buying processed foods, (bye bye Hamburger Helper!) including processed sugar products. I threw away coffees, cake mixes, and a lot of canned goods. I won't buy anything that has "soy" on the label, because most soy products (EVEN organic!) are GENETICALLY MODIFIED and very bad for you; and I even threw away a few tons of flour. (wheat has been ge'ed to the point of most types going extinct or dying out!) I am turning into a granola. Probably one of the fattest ever to walk on this planet, but a granola... :) I am very proud of it, too.

When I walk into the health food store I feel like I've found "my people". I haven't felt more at home since I lived in Missoula, Montana, with the rest of the dread locked, tree hugging crowd. (No, I'm not a tree hugger.) I'll tell you what, I've lived with hippies/granolas for most of my adult life and yet, still feel like I am getting thrown under a bus by all of this information. I wish I'd have been mature enough to step back and ascertain the conditions of my food before, so that it wouldn't be such a shock to the people I love, but I can't go back and make that change. Even if I could, I don't know that I would, because there would be a solid chance that I would not be married to my husband today. (Solid as in HELL no! Are you kidding?! He thinks I'm crazy now, there is no way he would have done anything other than make fun of me!)

Changes aren't to be feared! I still eat out when he goes to eat out, I just order something "generally" okay. I still eat chocolate. (And lots of it, *grin!*) It's just fair trade/organic! I recently discovered Blue Sky sodas, and am trying to introduce them to him... and I still bake. A. Lot. Just with organic local flours, organic cane sugars, and cage free eggs from safe chickens. I have not compromised on the things I love, I just am trying to take better care of myself, my family, and the world God has placed me in. <<This particular sentence is a different topic altogether, but something we are all charged to do, and to be completely honest with you, I am sick and tired of this masculine assumption of power that has overtaken the scriptures, God's love, and the way we have conceived a woman's role to be in this world. Okay, I'll get to that later. For now, I'm going to go sip some free trade coffee with a dab of Dagoba chocolate, eat a sandwich made on my own white bread, and some grapes. It's not hard, it's just something you have to CHALLENGE yourself to do!

Party Pooper much?

As of 8:30 last night, this was me. A sad, pathetic woman (girl, still.) of 25 crawling into the back of a truck to lie down and snooze while everyone else continued laughing and eating in the restaurant. I was too tired to contemplate the implications of this momentous event, but I can now tell you just how horrifying it is for me.

When I finally roused from my slumber, I realized it was ten o'clock. TEN. I slept away the entire meal and missed out on the laughs. (and they are a fun group of people, lots of laughter to be had!) A surprising kick in the gut when I realize no one has come to check on me, either. I climbed out of the back of the truck, grabbed the keys, and made my way for the restaurant when I see they're all in the parking lot visiting and laughing. Approaching like a spurned dog reaching for scraps, I was asked repeatedly how I was feeling.

I am the youngest in that crowd, 8 years younger than my husband and at least 20 for everyone else because the women could all be my mom-yet, I am the party pooper. I slept while they had a good time. Or, rather, they had a great evening despite the ommission of my presence. Lovely. I am 25 and already washed up.

Someone grab the gun, this horse has gone lame.