Tag Archives: Friends

Perceived Privacy

Perceived Privacy

Over the past year I’ve followed a blog called Raptitude. David, the author of the blog, publishes a new article on the average of about 1 every week or so. Almost as soon as he posts a new article I’ve found myself eagerly waiting with anticipation for his next bit of genius to post to my Pulse reader. I have a few favorites that really resonated with me. Some have even changed the way I tend to view and even interact with the world. I will add links to my favorite Raptitude articles at the end of this post for anyone interested.

Today I was pleased to find my Pulse reader had a new Raptitude article, of which I quickly devoured every word. It is again an article that delivers insight and perspective on the day to day happenings of a large part of the human race that is an interesting perspective to say the least. I hope you read it as well as take some time to dig around the Raptitude website, as there is sure to be something that everyone can relate to and enjoy reading.

 

You are a public figure

New Year’s Eve, for the first time, I had an alarming moment when I realized spaceships really were watching me through the ceiling. They knew where I was in the house. I was troubled by it and said so to my friend, but by midnight I forgot, and felt much better.

Rewind a week or two. I was taking adorable pictures of my toddler nephew typing on his grandmother’s iPad, when I had one of those bewildering, revelatory moments.

I realized I was photographing a member of the first generation that will be able to revisit its entire life in sparkling, high resolution. Between me, his parents and his grandmother, there are easily more photos of him than there have been days in his life.

His brother is six months now. In 2081, when they’re both old men, they’ll be able to access their childhood in extraordinary detail. They’ll see their first Christmases, their first bike rides, their graduations and wedding days all in high resolution images and HD video, and it might seem strange to them that previous generations did not have much access at all to their pasts, aside from memories and a few grainy photographs.

Contrast that with my father, (1947-2008) of whom I’ve only seen one or two pictures of as a child. In those pictures he’s someone I don’t know. He has a smooth sepia face that could belong to just about anyone except my dad. He wore a moustache from the day I was born to the day he died and I couldn’t recognize my father in any other face.

The kids born after about 2007 constitute the first generation that’s younger than Facebook. Today, it’s fairly normal for human beings make their first appearance on the internet when they are less than a week old. Think of how many newborn photos you’ve seen posted by your Facebook friends this last year.

(Read More…)

 

David also sites this article  which was written by a fellow wordpresser about 4 years ago. What then seemed kinda Jetsons-esque then, now is very close to reality. Interesting.

Here are some of my favorite Raptitude articles:

What we refer to as happiness is really just what the absence of suffering feels like.

 

Defeated, I stood on the mat and let the cold air flood over me. I watched the ice fog pour over the sill like freezing smoke. I just let it have its way with me. I didn’t get mad at it, I didn’t shiver or scramble to dry off. I just let it feel like whatever it was going to feel like, and noticed something peculiar.

It didn’t hurt me.

Life is uncertain by its very nature.  Except for this:No matter what is happening right now,
It will never happen again.

Why should *I* be forced to help someone else?

Here’s why:

Because you’re better off if other people aren’t suffering so much.

life is the present only. The past is thoughts in the present. The future is thoughts in the present. You can argue all you want that the past “existed”, but the notion of something having existed is also just a thought in the present.

 

 

Lessons of Failed Relationships

image

Plinky prompt:
Share a lesson you wish you had learned earlier in life.

Every failed relationship you have ever had is your fault.

I’m not saying that you were the reason your ex cheated, absolutely refused to work, or was abusive… but you chose that person to be your partner – potentially unaware of the ‘type’ of person he or she was, and remained in that relationship up to a certain point… that point was when you learned your lesson.

… think about your last relationship, and why it ended…. There was something there that you just would not accept… and because of that, your relationship came to an end. Something else happened, though… you became smarter.

750 words 1-2-12

Today my inspiration for writing will be taken from the closest book to me. A wrinkle in time. I opened it to a random page, 90, and chose a random sentence to write about…or not. I guess we will see were this goes.

The sentence:

This was far worse than the nothingness had been; while she was nothing there was no need to breathe, but now her lungs were squeezed together so that although she was dying for want of air there was no way for her lungs to expand and contract, to take in the air that she must have to stay alive.

Ok, I’m writing on my cell phone keypad so this might take a while but here we go.

While writing out the sentence from the book it brought to mind times when I was a child playing with a friend named jeffrey. His mother and my mother were best friends so we played together often. Jeff had a swimming pool and we spent many hot south carolina summer days in that pool. It was an above ground circular pool so one of our favorite game was to try to create a whirlpool. Everyone i n the pool would push the water with their bodies around and around traveling around the perimeter of the pool until all of the water was moving so fast that you could lift your legs and float on the current. The passage from the book reminded me specifically of another game we wpuld play. We would try to see who could hold their breathe the longest under water. I remember a time that I wanted to win so badly I stayed under the water so long that my body started taking over and trying to force itself to breathe. It was almost as if my body was convulsing in a way. What the hell was wrong with me. Had I lost so many times that I was that desperite to win a silly game. I remember when I finally came up and took my first breathe it was like it was insufficient. Only after many many very deep breain the of are and quite a bit of time breathing heavily did I feel like the oxygen was getting to the places it needed to be. I don’t recall whether I won that round or not but I damn sure remember how my body took over and tryed to force itself to inhale and exhale while I was under water.

We had a lot of fun in that pool. Makes me wanna buy one for my kiddos. That’s not even a possibility right now as I don’t know how much longer I’ll be aloud to live in my house. Foreclosure is a little slice of hell on earth. In a way, this foreclosure business is very similar to that day in the pool. I’m underwater holding my breath trying to hold on as long as possible just looking to win a little extra time in my home. I can feel myself suffocating, dying a little inside as time presses on and presses in on me, presses down on me and compresses my chest, the thoughts of being homeless knocks the wind out of me.

I bought the book, a wrinkle in time, for my teenage daughter. I remember being in elementary school and one of my teachers read it to our class. It was magical. When I seen it at the store I asked if she had ever read it. She said she hadn’t so I bought it in hopes that she to would love it like I had. Well, she hasn’t read it yet, she’s been reading some vampire series. Not the twilight one, something different. So while she indulges in vampires I decided to read the book again to see if it still held the same magic it once had. I just started reading it today and I gotta say, I’m having a hard time getting into it. Maybe the magic is reserved for young hearts. I don’t know but I guess after I read it I’ll know for sure.

I guess in a way the magic you experience in your youth will forever remain locked in your young heart, something to be relived through the magic and mystery of that bittersweet thing we call nostalgia. I’ve played the “who can stay under the water the longest” game with my kids in my mom and dads pool and it has lost its former appeal. Now the joy is letting my youngest win the game, who had previously been to scared to put her head under water and just discovered this past summer that she could safely and that she liked it. Or trying my best to talk my oldest, who refuses to play childrens games, into playing.

image

This is the analysis after my writing. I love the 750 words website. Its so cool.

The Reality: What was actually lost

ParentsPstcrd_052010.jpg

Image by Carolyn_Sewell via Flickr

So, it’s been 621 days, or, 1 year 8 months and 12 days since my children and my world came to a crashing halt.

I keep wondering why I havent healed yet. Why am I still so profoundly damaged and why can I not integrate back into the world with even a minute amount of success. What is wrong with me. I was diagnosed with PTSD  which made me ask myself, does this mean I will never heal. And if I can recover, WHEN?

After beating myself up for failing to get on with life, I figure it might be time to assess the gravity, the magnitude, the reality of what was actually lost.

Before I go on, Please understand, I would have it no other way. The relief I feel knowing that my daughter had the guts to stand up and protect herself by telling her secret is remarkable. I am grateful for her bravery. I’m also relieved that her suffering has come to an end. However, I’m writing this blog post to get a better understanding of why I am having such a hard time healing from what was lost.

During some of my darkest, most painful days I recall describing what I was experiencing like this…

My husband was murdered, my daughter was raped, my home was set on fire, my job was terminated, my bank account was robbed.

And all of this occurred in one day, in the blink of an eye. I went to bed one night and life was normal. I woke up to find everything I knew and loved had changed. Life from this moment forward would never be the same.

It’s funny because the above description is not exact, but for me, it’s the closest way I can describe how I feel and for the most part it’s the equivalent of the reality.

The Breakdown of what was lost

My husband was murdered

Everyone knows someone who has lost a spouse way to early. About ten years ago my husbands best friend died in a car accident.  Of course we were devastated. After all, our friends had recently married, which we celebrated as a new and exciting beginning of two friends sharing a wonderful life together. In his death, he was buried and honored with a funeral where all of his loved ones were able to pay their respects to the deceased. There was closure. Sure, it was painful to say goodbye to a friend. There was peace in knowing we could visit his grave, place flowers on such a good friends final resting space should we desire.

The bottom line is, I have spent every day since midsummer of the year 2000 with my husband. I truly loved this man with every part of me. I was still in love with him, which is quite remarkable. heck, I’ve been in relationships where the flame is snuffed out, and pretty quickly to. But this wasnt the case with us. I still looked at him with passion, still thought he was the most gorgeous man I’d ever laid eyes on.

No, in reality my husband was not actually murdered. trust me, there is a weird part of me (the part that has never actually experienced what that might be like) that feels like this would be a less painful scenario. Had he been murdered I would have been able to bury the man I loved so deeply. I could still look at him with love. Me and my children could visit his grave and place flowers. A gravestone for me has recently become something tangible that you can go to when the person you held so dear is no longer there. My husband, my children’s father is no longer there. There’s nothing. THERES NOTHING. Just an empty space in my home and in my heart. I feel his absence in the depth of my guts. There’s nothing left but the good memories that swirl around the new and bad memories. I still can’t think of him, talk about him, look at his things, go to sleep next to the spot he occupied, and yes, survive every holiday without feeling the tremendous sense of loss of this person in my life. I miss the man I thought he was. I miss my best friend. I feel like it was my husband who murdered the man I loved.

My daughter was raped

This is such a painful thought that I still have a hard time thinking about it, much less writing candidly about the feeling and emotions that are buried in my mind and heart. And for that reason I’ll simply say… this is self explanatory…and move on to the next item.

My home was set on fire

I see news stories all the time about families displaced by fire. Families that are homeless in the matter of moments. Nothing left of the comforts of home but a heap of smouldering ash. This is tragic and reported as such on the news, usually with a cry for help and where good citizens can send donations to help out the newly homeless.

For my family, our home is on fire, burning just under the surface. It feels like the Alzheimer’s disease for the exiled. without an income, saving my home, my children’s home is useless. we’re just watching it smoke, waiting for the day that it’s all gone. The saddest part is, there aren’t any nor will there ever be any distress calls from the local news media for my family. We will lose our home. My children will lose the last bit of normalcy they have left. Childhood friends, classmates, routines that provide comfort will all be gone. I cannot explain what its like to walk into your house and know that the very sights, smells, and personal space that brings peace and shelters you from the cold hard world, just outside your door will be gone. I don’t know the date but I know its coming.  My husband was ordered to pay the mortgage but he never has and my lawyer didnt push the issue. Because I was and still am absolutely broke, I’m unable to pay my lawyer. The last payment that was made on our family home was april 2010. I’m still in my home but its in foreclosure. I’m not sure how much longer before we are completely homeless.

My job was terminated

My husband and I started our own business in 2006. I took pride in working both with him outside of the home and as the accountant in the home. I wont lie, ive never loved doing receipts. I kinda despised getting all the paperwork prepared for taxes. But I did it, for years I did it. I did love the physical work though. It wasnt to difficult and I really loved going to work with my husband everyday. We were a team. We were business partners. We were best friends who got to hang out every day. I look back on these times fondly and unfortunately so. If I hated the daily grind than maybe that’d be one less good memory to grieve the loss of. Now my everyday is a struggle just to get to the end. Our business was and is a fairly profitable business. We did well for ourselves, making enough to live on and have a bit left over for the fun things in life. We enjoyed entertaining friends at our house, hosting the occasional get-together. He took the business. He was the only one we listed on the LLC. We never paid ourselves paychecks so I couldn’t file for unemployment. It’s as if I havent had a job since 2006. I miss enjoying my day-to-day life. I miss working and I miss the motivation I once enjoyed as a small business owner.

My bank account was robbed

Within the first week after the discovery and while I was still in shock at my mothers house, my husband cleared out our bank account. I had not a dollar to my name and three kids to support. This has not changed and I don’t expect that it will. He took every dime that we together made and saved and left me with nothing. I went to sleep one night with a certain degree of financial security and woke up to find I couldn’t even buy toilet paper. “I couldn’t even buy toilet paper” it’s what everyone who is running low on cash says…I had to steal toilet paper from a gas station bathroom. It’s not an exaggeration, it was our reality and it was humiliating. As something ive kept a secret from everyone I know including my children, its something I still cringe privately over.

So, what’s next

When I look at the list above it reads like the Holmes and Rahe stress scale, seriously. How much stress can one person suffer before they break? I’ll paste a link I found to a site where you can do a quick assessment. I don’t need to do the assessment to know that I’ve had a multitude of stressful life changing events happen in a short amount of time but after reading over it ive decided I need to get myself back into therapy. Heres the list:

Choose Life Events In the last 2 years, did any of the following happen in your life?

  • Minor violations of the law
  • Major holidays
  • Vacation
  • Major change in number of family get-togethers
  • Change in eating habits
  • Major change in sleeping habits (a lot more or a lot less than usual)
  • Taking on a loan (car,etc.,)
  • Major change in social activities (clubs,movies,visiting,etc.)
  • Major change in usual type and/or amount of recreation
  • Major change in church or temple activity (i.e.. a lot more or less than usual)
  • Major changes in working hours or conditions
  • Changes in residence
  • Changing to a new school
  • Trouble with boss
  • Revision of personal habits (dress manners, associations, quitting smoking)
  • Major change in living condition
  • Spouse beginning or ceasing work outside the home
  • Beginning or ceasing formal schooling
  • Outstanding personal achievement
  • Major change in responsibilities at work
  • Son or daughter leaving home
  • Trouble with in-laws
  • Foreclosure on a mortgage or loan
  • Taking on a mortgage (for home, business, etc.)
  • Change in number of arguments with spouse
  • Change to a different line of work
  • Death of close friend
  • Change in financial state
  • Sexual Difficulties
  • Gaining a new family member(ie.,birth,adoption)
  • Major business readjustment
  • Older adult moving in
  • Pregnancy
  • Change in the health/behavior of a family member
  • Marital reconciliation with mate
  • Retirement from work
  • Being fired at work
  • Marriage
  • Personal injury or illness
  • Detention in jail or other institution
  • Death of close family member
  • Marital Separation from mate
  • Divorce
  • Death of spouse

Read more: Life Stressors Chart http://www.medindia.net/patients/calculators/life_stressor.asp#ixzz1gZweOThD

I don’t know how long my pain will be so raw but I pray that it wont be forever.

The Revolver- Look Closer Edition by David from Raptitude

http://www.raptitude.com/2011/07/the-revolver-look-closer-edition/

At the beginning of American Beauty, just as Lester Burnham is beginning is spectacular breakdown, the movie’s tagline can be seen behind him, pinned to the wall of his cubicle. A little white sticker reads, “Look closer.”

Photo by: Senscience
http://www.raptitude.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/07/roundabout.jpg

Another GREAT Post from David @ Raptitude…

Another GREAT Post from David @ Raptitude…

I can’t say this enough times, Raptitude is an amazing website full of well thought out and elegantly written posts that, if you give yourself the time to read, has the potential to a enhance your quality of time spent on this watery rock called Earth.

I will be sharing a link to his posts often but i encourage anyone who reads this to bookmark Raptitude and subscribe to the rss feed.


photo by: David Cain and the Raptitude website

The link:

The internet allows us to share a brain, sort of. You have an idea, or an understanding, and now it can be anyone’s, with no need to get a  publisher to agree that it’s worth sharing. If that idea changes the way someone lives, that change can change the way someone else lives, and that’s all culture is. Twenty years ago this medium wasn’t a part of our lives, and now we’re influencing each other at an astonishing rate. This is evolution.

http://www.raptitude.com/2011/07/the-revolver/

Technology, meet my mom…

http://www.loc.gov/jukebox/

My mom emailed me this link this morning, which is monumental in itself…due to her technology disability. So the fact that she emailed me a link for a website, and one i will love, makes my heart smile.

So, Technology, meet my mom. Mom, this is technology. Its the one I’ve been telling you about. Isn’t he dreamy…

Oh, and tech, i love the way you’ve digitized historical recordings for our listening pleasure. You’re a genius. (fluttering my puppydog eyes all sloppy in love)

http://media.loc.gov/player/flowplayer/size/small/width=439/.commercial.swf?0.9866484776139259

http://media.loc.gov/player/flowplayer.commercial.swf?0.9866484776139259

<a href="http://media.loc.gov/player/flowplayer.commercial.swf?0.9866484776139259” target=”_blank”>http://media.loc.gov/player/flowplayer.commercial.swf?0.9866484776139259

Text Message Eti-QUIT IT ALREADY!

A Lesson In Text Message Etiquette

A Lesson In Text Message Etiquette

Thank you to writer Lucia Stacey and thoughtcatalog.com for the funny piece that inspired me to rant a bit. Below my own thoughts on the subject, I’ve pasted the article written by Lucia Stacey as well as a link to the article on thoughtcatalog.com.

I have recently experienced a new and much bolder breed of “double down texting bandits” and just commented about this last night to a specific text etiquette faux pas Récidiviste. Don’t worry, said texter only suffered minor bruising to the ego and is certain to recover in no time at all. Don’t worry, said texter only suffered minor bruising to the ego and is certain to recover in no time at all. Sorry about the sentence double down. I sure hope the afore mentioned affliction isn’t contagious.

***** *******: Getting closer to trash nite….
Message Received: 10:48 PM, June 14

***** *******: Getting closer to trash nite….
Message Received: 10:51 PM, June 14

Me: Ya know, I’ve never heard you stut-tut-tut-tutter when ya talk but I’ll be damned if you don’t stutter when ya text.
Message Sent: 10:53 PM, June 14

***** *******: Lol
Message Received: 10:54 PM, June 14

Now, I’m not usually to bitchy when it comes to the text messages I receive. I don’t have the heart to kick every tacky texter in the teeth. This would include almost (but not all) everyone I know. Btw, the worst offenders… are my children.

So I’ve learned to live with it and have found that, during times of mind numbing boredom, deciphering some text-a-tretchification can be entertaining.

I’m familiar with the usual suspects:
1.) Lolz, c u l8r, roflmaoasimp ect…
2.) Yur gunna hafta chry hawrd tu n-turp-wrut tha n-flex-shun uv dis un.
3.) The “Text-a-Turret” who fires of so many texts, and so fast, that you don’t have time to respond to the previous 3 before being pelted with the next round of texts.
4.) The “Oops, sorry I must have texted you by accident, lolz” who will send you a text about something random and completely out of the blue in effort to elicit a response, start a convo, or just generally pique your interest or pluck your nerve. It looks a little like this;
No silly, what would make you think that?
Side note: me and my friends had a list of such random sentences we would use to play a game while bored together. I’ll elaborate on the rules and details we came up with to occupy ourselves in a seperate post.
5.) The “Dooms Day Inspirational Chain Text Sender” who will send you no less than 5 of the longest winded, graphics and sound included, if you don’t reply to me and forward 10 times you’ll die a skank but because I think so highly of you I sent this to you to remind you how great of a person you are. Yes, we all have that friend, and they’re probably websurfing for the next Fw:Fw:Fw:Fw:Fw:Fw:Fw:Fw:Fw:Fw:Fw:Fw:Fw:Fw:Fw:Fw:Fw:Fw:Fw:Fw:Fw:Fw:Fw:Fw:Fw:Fw:Fw:Fw:Fw:Fw: Chain text to Blast right now.
6.) The “Slow to never Reply Texter” who has no concept of the Time/Text ratio. (I admit, I’m guilty of this one myself)

Truth be told, I could probably go on forever adding to this list. But I’m sure I have a text or 4 to respond to and this post is about to excede the blog length/attention span ratio.

Reblog from thoughtcatalog.com:

JUNE 15, 2011 By: Lucia Stacey

http://thoughtcatalog.com/2011/a-lesson-in-text-message-etiquette/

To text twice in a row, or not to text twice in a row? It seems I’m asked this at least once a day, during semi-formals week or at the start of a friend’s new relationship maybe 6 times in a day. I can tell you of about a hundred (thousand) or so terrible incidents my friends and I have run into with the dreaded double text, and how it can make you look
a. like a freak
b. completely desperate
c. beyond stupid

So let’s start with some extreme examples.

Example 1: My best friend, let’s call her Lauren (because Lauren Conrad is my dream television best friend and it makes sense to me), had a particularly bad case of the double texts a few months ago. She’d been hooking up with this guy for about five months, but like a lot of the men we seem to come across he was commitment-phobic (or maybe they all know how neurotic we are). It was a typical Friday night –we were all having drinks and bitching about our weeks and preparing ourselves for the madness that would be the rest of our night. Lauren decided to text –let’s call him Adam –and ask if he was headed to the same party that we were headed to. Forty minutes passed, as did three more rounds of drinks and we decided to head down to the party. We arrived at the party but decided to head down to the party. We arrived at the party but Adam wasn’t there. Lauren had another drink and thirty minutes later decided to text him…again, “Wanna meet up later?” She waited another hour or so (2 more drinks), and when still no text was received she decided to send the absolutely forbidden triple text, “Yo, where are you?” [NOTE: never ever ever ever ever do this] Five minutes or so later Adam texted her back: “Headed back to my house with Ashley” (Ashley being the girl he used to hook up with). Let this be a lesson to you all friends. This particular malady was remedied by a late night cheeseburger, four more beers, and an endless tirade of bitching. You don’t want to be the girl pouring your heart out to the drive through attendant at McDonalds (I’m usually that girl and it’s honestly no fun).

Example 2: Another one of my friends sent a booty text to a guy she’d only hooked up with once: “My room? Now?” Two hours later, in a state of embarrassment and bad judgment she sent a follow up, “Or tomorrow?” –No response. Ever. There is hope though (sort of –things didn’t end up working out with this guy…typical) but anyway, here’s a time where the double text resulted in absolute success.

I’d been hooking up with this guy for an entire weekend (basically a lifetime) and I wanted to carry this ‘romance’ on into the coming week. He’d mentioned that his dog was coming to town (yes, to visit him –his mum was bringing the puppy to stay for a couple of days). Around 4 o’clock on Monday (almost 24 hours since I’d last seen or heard from him) I decided I’d send the ever so tempting “bait” text. A “bait” text is when you say something that is supposed to illicit you the response you hoped for and simultaneously tests the guy’s intelligence level and level of interest in you. The most typical example of a “bait” text is, “I’m tired, I need a nap!” Now, if the boy is interested and remotely intelligent it is expected that he will take the bait and respond with, “We could nap together” (NOTE: you cannot send this text too early in the relationship, otherwise if he does get the implication he may freak out –but more about that another time).

So back to my dog-lovin’ lover –I’d decided that it was time to text him (again NOTE: if a guy doesn’t text you for more than 24 hours after a hook up then your actions should be carefully monitored by cynical and objective friends) I was trying to think of bait with which to snag his interest when it came to me, the dog (not literally, obviously). So I sent him what I boastingly told my friends was guaranteed to illicit a response: “How’s spending time with your dog?! Are you happy to see her?”

2 hours passed, then 4 hours. I did the usual: deleted his number, swore I was over the whole thing, realized I wasn’t, Facebook stalked until I found a group he’d joined where someone had dropped their phone in a pool and needed numbers (don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about), got his number from there, and decided to send the dreaded DOUBLE text. At this point, even more time had passed and all hope was lost anyway, so, dignity between my gritted teeth, I sent a second message, “Do I get to meet your puppy?” 5 minutes passed and just as I was getting ready to crack open the emergency bag of ‘feel better’ BBQ chips I keep in my drawer, my phone dinged:

“Yeah, definitely! Want to come spend the night and meet her?”

So, there is one success story of the double text, though I’m pretty sure it’s an anomaly and shouldn’t ever be used as rationale for your own double texts. In general though, double texts are rarely acceptable and ONLY appropriate if:
a. There was a typo that you have to correct from the previous text
b. There was misinformation in the previous text that you need to correct
c. You’re already dating the guy and he doesn’t care
d. You don’t mind throwing your dignity to the wind and gaining five pounds from ‘I need to feel better about my self’ food binges.

SHATTER THE SILENCE



This Day…

This day will never happen again…


This is true for everyday. Maybe posting something about the good days will help me remember how blessed my family and myself truely are.
After all, its always easy to remember the crappy days. The key is… to help myself remember, and focus on more of the good days.

May 16, 2011
This day will never happen again…
Today was the first time I worked with my father. It was hard work, but not to hard. It was also very much of a relief that my dad got the contract to do the job. We have both been in need of work for quit some time. Granted, our individual circumstances for being in a “work drought” are vastly different, it matters little when work presents itself.
He’s pretty easy to work for. As a laid back and easy going guy, hard work just doesn’t seem as hard as it could be. More importantly, I had the great fortune to see my dad smile more than he has in a while. He thought he would get me back for all the times I’ve taken pictures of him. Often sneak snapshots of him doing silly stuff, like the day I was fortunate enough to have my camera ready, just in time to catch him doing a dorky dance while leaving the pool house and on the way around the pool to where we were all sitting. He was trying to make us laugh. We did. Then I was able to make him cringe with a sneak snapshot.
So, guess who was the pic taker today….



On the long drive back from pawleys island this is the picture message I got. Ugh, he got me! No, I wasn’t doing a dumb dance, I was doing “BOY” work. Ugh, double ugh. Oh the humility of femininity demished and caught on film. I’m gonna wear extra lipgloss today, lol, to recuperate.

750 Words

So, another sleepless night has found me tripping from site to site. I tripped over one that was awesome enough to share.

http://750words.com/

For anyone who loves or loathes writing, you must check out this site. The writing analysis is pretty awesome. I’m thinking I might cps (copy,paste,send) some of my previous blog posts just to see how its weighted.

Parents Helping Parents

http://parentsupportforchildsexualabuse.com/default.aspx

Omg, if only I had known of this websites existence a year ago, six months ago, yesterday. My God. I don’t feel completely alone in my tortured feelings and emotions. One of the first threads I came across had a response that was written on the page as though it was my own personal dialogue downloaded directly from my brain and displayed in in black and white, my language, a font that my browser can understand. This is the post I read from someones brain that has heard my thought.

I find that CSA is the “gift that keeps on giving”. It ruins you emotionally, psychologically, physically, financially. We are approaching the 1 year mark since my daughter’s disclosure. It is “easier” than last year. It is “easier” than 6 months ago. I still feel the sadness, rage, disillusionment and every other feeling I’ve had, but it is not every day. There are good days, lots of them and often many in a row. Then there are the bad days. While I don’t believe it will ever go away, I do see that it gets better. Hang in there, you are in my thoughts.

Omg, I’m not alone!

Beer Bottle Caps Wanted

I am increasing aware of how difficult it’s gonna be to save the amount of beer bottle caps it will take to make the pixel picture art I want to make.

This is an official SOS (send out supplies) call for help. If anyone, anywhere happens to have a stash, be it small or super size, that they’d be willing to part with, your donatation would be put to good use. Not to mention that I would also be forever grateful of your generosity. SO PLEASE, ANYONE AND EVERYONE…SEND ME YOUR BEER BOTTLE CAPS!

Just comment that you’re interested and I’ll tell ya where to send them : )

Oh, and wish me luck. When I finish the piece I will post pictures and the names of any contributors that helped make it happen. (Any contributions/contributors that wish to remain anonymous will be noted only as anonymous.)

SO GRAB A COLD ONE AND ENJOY, AFTER ALL, IT IS SUMMERTIME…FOR THE LOVE OF ART

Refugee

We got concert tickets as soon as we found out Tom Petty was coming to the coliseum. As the date for the concert grew closer so did my contractions. August 15, 2003, the night of the concert, I knew for certain that my size and irregular contractions wouldn’t allow for me to go to a concert I desperately wanted to go to. Danny took my place next to my husband and reported his enjoyment afterward. They had a blast.

My 3rd child was born less than a week later. Kieran Emily Sumpter came into the world on a very stormy August evening. The lightening was so intense that it knocked the power out, on the labor and delivery floor for as far as I could tell, just briefly until the backup generators kicked on. The only thing that was left unrestored in my delivery room was the machine that monitors heart rate and contractions. It wasn’t long before I was in more pain than I’ve ever been in in my life. My epidural drip had run dry. Next to me was a gentleman who was working tirelessly to restore the HR/contraction monitoring machine that would have validated my pain had it been functional. He never did get it back up and running before my daughter made her grand appearance. Much like the anesthesiologist who never made it back around to my room in time to refill my empy epidural drip. My 3rd child, 2nd daughter and 1st natural child birth all occured the same day, August 21st, 2003. Though I had given birth to two children previous to her, I had never experienced such pain in my life. It was foreign to me, and scary. I kept saying… I’ve already had two children and I didn’t feel like this. Somethings wrong. I’m ripping in half. Please help. I was wrong in that nothing was wrong at all, it was what women had felt while giving birth for all of humanity up till recent and the marvels of modern medicine had unveiled this wonderful little thing called anesthesia.

The song Refugee by Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers is a song me and my husband held close to our heart. It was a song we cranked up loud and sang the hell out of when it came on the radio. It was a favorite we played on our home stereo via cd. We sang it word for word, loud as possible and probably even more hideous than loud.

Its a song that I haven’t been able to listen to without crying, and I mean the ugly kind of crying to. The kind of crying that you should hide your face from any onlookers due to the painful contortions ugly crying cause your once pretty little face to be mangled into.

The words have recently sounded different to me. The lyrics mean something new. Not good new. Just new. It occurred to me that for the past year, my children and myself have been living very much the life of refugees and would like to be granted a much needed asylum. There’s no place like home, and for us, for now, homeless is where we are, and where we’ll be until we can find our way back. Back home.

Refugee

Writers: TOM PETTY, MIKE CAMPBELL By Tom Petty and Mike Campbell

We got somethin’, we both know it,
We don’t talk too much about it.
Yeah it ain’t no real big secret,
But somehow, we get around it.

It don’t really matter to me baby,
You believe what you want to believe,
You don’t have to live like a refugee.

Somewhere, somehow,
Somebody must have kicked you around some. Who knows why you wanna lay there and revel in your abandon.

It don’t make no difference to me, baby, Everybody’s had to fight to be free,
You see you don’t have to live like a refugee.

Baby, we ain’t the first.
I’m sure a lot of other lovers been burned.
Right now this seems real to you,
But it’s one of those things you gotta feel to be true.

Somewhere, somehow,
Somebody must have kicked you around some. Who knows? Maybe you were kidnapped,
Tied up, taken away, and held for ransom.

It don’t really matter to me, baby,
Everybody’s had to fight to be free,

“Refugee”

Nolongeravictim asked:

nolongeravictim asked:

http://nolongeravictim.tumblr.com/post/4532465407/i-think-its-time-to-post-this

:/

I think it’s time to post this; The date was March 26th. The day before the 2010 Flowertown Festival. A friday night, I believe. I was at my boyfriend’s house. I don’t remember where his sisters were, but they weren’t home. My boyfriend’s mom (Holly) & step dad (We’ll identify him as “Asshole” here, as I don’t think he deserves a name) were there. We were just hanging out, watching tv, the normal stuff. Asshole was going to North Carolina for some reason so Holly asked him to fix the tire on her car before he left so she could go to the Festival with her kids & a friend the next day. After that, I’m not so sure why, but they got into an argument. I’d never seen them argue before. First they were downstairs, Holly saw it was making me uncomfortable, so she went upstairs, Asshole followed her, then after a few minutes he came downstairs. I was sitting on the couch, I had cramps so I was kinda hunched over. My boyfriend was in the bathroom. Asshole walked past the couch into the kitchen, as he did that, he looked me right in the eye and said “I hope you don’t think I’m an asshole, that’s not really me,” my reaction to that was just a smile, but I was thinking, “Stop screaming at your wife, your being a dick!!!!!” My boyfriend came out of the bathroom and sat on the floor in front of the couch. Asshole got another drink (He was drunk, which made things worse). Asshole came up behind me, ran his hand up and down my back a couple times, flicked his fingers over my belt towards my butt, ran his hand up my back again, rubbed my shoulder, and snapped my bra. The way he did it was like, he was trying to be sensual, or intimate. To be honest, I thought it was my boyfriend until I turned around and saw him. My boyfriend didn’t see him do it, he just heard my bra snap & me say ouch. His reaction to that was standing up and saying “Dad, what the fuck?!” Asshole just smiled. Holly came downstairs, looked at me, looked at her son, then went back up. Of course, Asshole followed, restarting the fight. I remember she said “Just stop it, you’re making all of the people in this house sick.” I didn’t realize it at the time, but now I know she said that because after he did that to me, I looked like I was going to throw up & since she didn’t know he did it, she thought it was because they were fighting. I balled up on the couch and cried. My boyfriend thought is was because my stomach hurt & I had cramps. He still thinks so, I don’t have the heart to tell him any different. About 10 minutes later, Asshole left. My mom came to pick me up about 30 minutes after he left. My boyfriend told her that my stomach hurt so bad I was crying earlier. Again, I didn’t have the heart to correct him + I was totally weirded out to the point that I wasn’t talking to anybody. I got home, my mom told me to go to straight to bed so I’d feel better in the morning. I didn’t. As soon as she went to sleep, I got up and took a shower. I felt gross & disgusted. I thought about what he did. That water in the shower must’ve been 200 degrees. I just wanted to feel clean…and I didn’t. My boyfriend’s dad’s hands on me, my best friend’s dad’s hands on me, my mom’s best friend’s husband’s hands on me. I threw up. About a week later, my boyfriend called me at 10:23 pm. I will never forget that phone call. He told me his step dad was going to jail… Shocked, I stammered to ask what for. “Child molestation…” His voice cracked, like he was trying not to cry. I fell off of my bed, crumpled on the floor, and cried. He didn’t have to tell me anything else, I knew he molested my best friend. Because he touched me, she and I are close in age, it made sense, or something. The only words I could make out were “That stupid son of a bitch…” My boyfriend told me to stop crying, that he’d cried all day & he didn’t want to anymore. Now, over a year later, court is ongoing, Asshole is living as if he did nothing wrong and he left everyone to just pick up the pieces of something he broke. I’ve only seen him once since then. About a week after my best friend told what he did. I was in Lowe’s with my boyfriend & Holly. I don’t really remember exactly what happened, but I remember my boyfriend seeing him and telling me to walk down an aisle, I was not having that & I tried to walk over to Asshole. I was gonna spit on him, scream at him, hit him, kill him with a flower pot or a garden spade, I don’t know what would have happened had my boyfriend not grabbed me and dragged me down the aisle. We drove back to Holly’s house to get some things (they were staying at Holly’s mom’s house) , I remember her saying that if Asshole was there, that me and her son would have to leave, because she would have killed him. We pulled into their neighborhood, I was in the back seat of the car, they were occupied with something, I’m not sure what, I think Holly dropped her phone as it was ringing. They didn’t see, but as we turned, I saw Asshole, in his truck driving on the road outside of the subdivision, he must have been either leaving, or have seen us and decided not to come in the neighborhood. I’m not sure which. I also recall seeing a friend of my dad’s named Bryan who lives in the adjacent subdivision drive out right behind Asshole. They had met before, so I kept thinking “I hope Bryan either doesn’t know what Asshole did, or if he does, he won’t recognize his truck,” because Bryan’s the kinda guy who would have no problem killing a child molester. That is something I never told anybody but my dad, and that was months after this happened. I could tell so much more, but that’s all I can stand to type right now. Now you all know, in detail why I run this blog & why it’s important to me. Stay strong, survivors! You’re all fighters & I’m here if you need anything. Posted at 4:11 PM 5 notes Permalink ∞

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