Humane Treatment

Humane TreatmentHumane Treatment

Sometimes it surprises me how some people treat other people. Sometimes we justify it, saying that it’s not that bad. When kids are bullied, we tend to say, “All kids are bullied,” or, “it happened to me when I was their age.” When we’re mistreated, we tend to say, “Oh, they mean well, but they just don’t understand.”

Quite frankly, I call bull crap on that, “Oh, they mean well,” thing. If you treat a person like dirt, there’s really not an excuse. You can make a conscious choice to treat someone better than you do. I was treated poorly for a long time and a lot of the time I didn’t even realize that I was being treated poorly. I wrote off these moments as joking or personality, when in reality, these moments were hurtful and mean.

I went for years, having almost everything I did, or said, be ridiculed in some manner. If I exercised, it wasn’t doing much at all because I wasn’t running faster, or for longer, or because I wasn’t sweating more. If I watched a show that I liked, artfully directed and portrayed, it was a stupid show. If I liked a funny video, it was childish. If I liked a ghost show, it was Satanic. If I cleaned, it wasn’t clean enough. It was my fault if XYZ thing was done to me. This went on for years, and while I wasn’t physically beaten, I was trodden down mentally. Nothing I ever did was right, or enough. It didn’t matter how hard I tried.

Fast-forward to today, I’m treated well. I’m treated great. I’m treated as if my opinions matter. I’m treated as if I’m smart, which I am, very smart. I’m treated as if I’m beautiful. My interests and endeavors are worthy. I’m not treated as an inferior. I’m not treated like a child. I’m not constantly told that things I’m interested in are weird, stupid, or too much. I’m not always told my efforts are too little. I am appreciated for what I do.

This is a stark contrast to how my life used to be. Part of me has a hard time with this. I know not everyone is the same, specifically men, and I know that not all men will treat me the same. They don’t treat me the same. I’ve had wonderful treatment from men, since I’ve been dating again. I’ve only had one or two people who even said anything remotely mean to me out of a lot of people who I’ve talked to. Even though I know this, sometimes I still have trouble realizing that some people actually know how to treat other people.

I was conditioned to believe that being treated like a person wasn’t a thing that happened in relationships, but it is. I’m treated as if I’m more than a person actually. I’m treated like I matter. Kindness isn’t begrudgingly given to me. In turn, I try my absolute best to treat my man-friend(man not boy) with the most humanity and respect that I can muster. Treating another person like a person goes a long way.

My Sock Party

My Sock PartyMy Sock Party

Some time back, I said I was going to have a party when I got divorced and it was going to be a sock party, well, it happened.

The entire premise of this party is based on the Harry Potter series, which I love. I’ve read the series multiple times and find the lessons and values in the series to be wonderful. In summation, you stand up for what you know is right, even when there is danger in your path, even when it’s difficult, even when you may lose friends over it, and even if a strong political type group says otherwise. You do the right thing.

In the series, Dobby is a house elf, essentially a slave. When Lucious Malfoy unknowingly give Dobby a sock, Harry’s doing, Dobby is freed. Dobby was not allowed to wear clothes, proper clothes anyway, as a house elf, read “slave” there, or actually, whatever you feel would be appropriate.

I was in a relationship that was mentally abusive and controlling. I already had problems with depression and low self-esteem, which made me an easy target. Some things happened to me because someone did them to me. Someone wanted to be manipulative and mentally abusive to me, but some things happened to me because I allowed them to happen because of the depression and low self-esteem. If I would have stood up for myself a lot earlier, I wouldn’t have gone through half of what I did, but I didn’t think I was worth it.

I felt trapped, even more so when I was separated and trying to get a divorce because the treatment was worse than it had been before. I felt I was outright being terrorized and was scared to death. For a time, I literally carried my phone and keys with me everywhere, even inside the house, so I could call 911 at the drop of a hat or make a dash out the door and to my car, if I had to.

I identified with Dobby from Harry Potter. I wasn’t physically kept in the situation I was, but I was kept there mentally. It was difficult to get away from that, very difficult, as such, when the divorce was over, I wanted to celebrate the break of that tie. I felt as if I had been freed. I was no longer legally bound to someone who made me feel as if I wasn’t a person. This person no longer knew where I lived. I no longer owed anything to this person, nothing. I no longer had to be scared.

I came up with the idea of a sock party from Dobby’s story. Dobby got a sock; I wanted socks. I have a very nice friend who loves Harry Potter as much, or more, as I do and she organized the party. She has also been there for me throughout the entire divorce. She was one of the first people I told about it and was there during pivotal times. She stayed with me and kept me away from home the entire day my ex was moving out of the house, and outright taking things he shouldn’t, but that’s over now. She helped me move. She even helped me scrape lighthouse wall-paper off of one of the bathroom walls.

My Sock PartyMy friend was nice enough to make reservations at a restaurant I liked and send out invitations for my party. She even made a cake. The cake was a gluten-free Funfetti cake. It’s not easy to find gluten-free cakes.

I had a good group of friends and co-workers show up to celebrate my freedom and they brought socks with them. I ended up with quite a few socks to start my new life out with.

My Sock PartyAs you can see, I got socks of all assortments. I got Doctor Who socks, awesome. I got long socks. I got cat socks. I got pink socks, I got red socks. I even got cactus socks. I’m calling the magenta, grey, and black socks my sexy socks.

A pair of the socks even came with a naughty present and I’m still not sure what that thing is, but it was a good laugh and laughs are appreciated.

I got enough socks to last me near two weeks, obviously, I’m going to have to wait until it cools down to start showing all these socks off. It’s just too hot right now. South Carolina, and the southeast in general, is pretty brutal during the summer.

We had fun. We laughed. They could hear us downstairs, which was awesome. The waitresses wanted to join our party. I admit, it was kind of a nerdy way to celebrate my divorce, but I’m kind of nerdy and I liked the symbolism.

I realize that not everyone would be thrilled about the idea of my celebrating getting divorced, or anyone celebrating getting divorced for that matter. Look here, when you’re in a situation and you feel like you’ve been controlled, terrorized, and abused, celebration is in order when it’s over. I don’t care what type of situation it was, a marriage, a parental house, an imprisonment, a toxic friendship, whatever, if you can breathe a giant sigh of relief when it’s over, it’s worth celebrating even if fundamentalist fuddy-duddies say otherwise.

I’m free now and these are the socks I can wear in my new life.

Take that, Lucious.

Moving Out and Moving On

Yucca bloomsMoving Out and Moving On

I got to see my yucca plants bloom one last time before I moved out of my house. It was a bit sad, but also a relief. Someone finally made an offer on my property, at a bit of a loss, but I took it. I had to get out of the situation and away from my ex. I had to get out of a situation where he had power over me and as long as I was still in my house, as much as I had enjoyed living there, he had power over me, so I had to leave.

I saw the irises, peach trees, yuccas, and apple trees bloom one last time.

Moving was difficult. I couldn’t find a place to go. There was literally nothing to rent. Apartments were getting snapped up like crazy. There were no duplexes for rent. There was nothing. I had nowhere to go. I finally found a place to go, paying more than I wanted to, but it’s a nice place to transition to a new life.

I had some very nice people, and my family, help me move to my new place. Organizing was the first thing in the line of business when I moved.

Organized Spice DrawerOne of the first things I organized was my spice drawer. I used to have spices on my wall. In my old house, before I redid the kitchen walls, I had bars mounted on the wall and my spice jars sat between them. In my new place I have a drawer big enough to hold them. All my spices are in uniformed 4-oz mason jars with the name of what the spice is written on top of each lid with a dry-erase marker. The marker just wipes off so no one lid is doomed to always be one type of spice.

You have to admit that various sized mason jars are just about the handiest thing in the world.

My spices are currently organized alphabetically, makes them easier to find. I also have other spice paraphernalia in the drawer, such as vanilla extract and a nice set of measuring spoons.

KitchenI put some artwork up in the kitchen, which makes my kitchen a bit nicer. I have actually added more artwork than this and at some point I will take photos of everything in its organized state and post it all online.

One thing I have learned from living in this place is that high ceilings are good for displaying artwork. So if you happen to have some nice tall ceilings in your place, put some artwork up there.

The next line of business was my closet. For the first time in my life, EVER, I have a walk-in closet!

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I have organized it with origami shelves, tensions rods and curtain rods. It’s pretty awesome. Tension rods are just wonderful. In my closet tension rods are used in several places.

I have used tension rods to store hats and shoes, but also my head scarves and bandanas. I have used curtain clips to clip each head scarf and bandana. I have used cheap shower curtain clips to store my knit hats as well.

For the scarves, I have used curtain rods through rings. You can go to Wal-mart and buy an entire bag of metal bits, called findings, from the craft section and they’re just good for all sorts of things. I ended up making a chain out of them that I could put curtain rods through, then I put my scarves on the rods and hung the rods/chains from one of my closet shelves.

Having an organized closet is wonderful. The closet was one of the first things I did when I moved in and it’s still that way. Pretty awesome, huh?

There will be more to come on the status of my organizing, but these are the first highlights. I think organizing things has definitely helped me to feel grounded in my life, if that doesn’t sound too cheesy. It helps me make sense of where I’m at in life right now.

I’ve had some awful experiences since I’ve moved out of my old house, but I’ve also had a lot of good experiences. Being able to take charge of my surroundings has really helped. Things are organized how I like them. I don’t have someone else telling me that I can’t decorate how I want to decorate or telling me I cannot organize things a certain way and it’s pretty great.

I’m slowly getting out of the controlled type of mindset that I used to be in. I think I’ve made excellent progress. Control is such a fleeting thing. Things always change in life. I didn’t have control over anything for such a long time. Throughout the entire divorce, I didn’t have control over anything. Nothing went my way, nothing, because my ex called the shots and got things his way and it was just easier to let him have it. Even after the divorce was over, and selling the house, I had some health issues, still do, which I can’t control. I can’t say one way or the other to be well or not be well.

Organizing my new place has helped me feel some sense of control. This is where my clothes go. This is where my spices go. This is where the couch goes, which I totally have. I have an actual couch that I picked out. I decided where to put my bed. My books have a place they live and nobody is complaining about it. I have a studio set up, but that’s another post.

This is my place and things are how I like them. It’s a small piece of the world to have control over, but it’s my domain and that’s what counts.

Papasan Chairs, the Addams Family, and a Cold

Papasan Chairs, the Addams Family, and a ColdPapasan Chairs, the Addams Family, and a Cold

The past couple of months or so have been really crazy for me, like seriously, awful crazy. I’ve had to get divorced, sell my house, move, work a big event at work, and go on a business trip. There have also been assorted doctor’s appointments thrown in along the way, on multiple days. I’ve taken more vacation time and sick time in the past couple of months than I have in a while.

I did manage to do a project.

I went to the thrift shop one day, on a day I was actually supposed to go out that same night. In the thrift shop, I saw two papasan chairs and a stool. I really like papasan chairs and I had nowhere to sit, so I asked how much they were. The guy there gave them all to me for twenty-five dollars. The whole deal.

The problem was that they didn’t exactly fit in my car on first try. They wouldn’t fit in the trunk, even if I folded the seats down. I almost thought I wasn’t going to get them home, but then I stuck them in the back door and pushed, and pushed, and pushed and finally they just kind of popped into my car. During this whole thing the thrift shop guy was watching me push papasan chair bowls into the backseat of my car. It was kind of odd, but whatever.

I took the chairs home and dumped them in my living room because I was actually supposed to be going out that night.

A nice guy took me to Greenville and we watched a musical about The Addams family. It was pretty great. The particularly theater company, Center Stage, used video mapping as part of the set. There were traditional props as well, but the video mapping was nifty. The play was very good, so kudos to all the actors, and also, whoever did that video mapping. That was impressive.

Just a side note, if you do go to Center Stage and see a play using video mapping, sit more towards the middle because it’s difficult to see on the side.

After my date, I went back to my house. The next day was crafting day for me. I had to tackle the chairs.

Papasan Chairs, the Addams Family, and a Cold

I decided to spray paint them blue. Do you know how much paint this took?! It took at least four bottles of spray paint. FOUR! Someone else may have a better way of painting stuff like this, but I used at least four bottles of spray paint.

The big dilemma over this whole thing was cushions. Papasan cushions are expensive. I got the bright idea to make them myself, and it mostly works.

I ordered a big box of foam pieces from Amazon, which you can do. I found fleece throw blankets at Wal-mart to use as my fabric and I set to work.

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As you can see, I have cushions now. Each side is a different pattern, because I couldn’t find a good combination of patterns, so if you don’t like it, that’s your problem. The throws are 50″ X 60″ and if I had this to do over again, I would use a bigger piece of fabric. I would probably go for 60″ X 60″ or even 70″ X 70″. This size of fabric creates a cushion narrower than the frame. It still works to sit on, it’s just not as pretty as I would like.

Filling these cushions was awful. The foam stuck to everything. EVERYTHING. The cat kept coming into the room and getting into stuff. You can see her investigating in one of the photos. I swept foam up for days after this. Foam here. Foam there. Foam in my underwear, well, not there, but you get the picture. It’s like when you go to the beach and you still find sand in your underwear four months later and you didn’t even take those underwear to the beach.

I tried to funnel the foam into the cushion shells with the bag, but it didn’t work very well. Foam was just sticking to me from all over. I finally got the cushions sewed up and then I tufted them.

Tufting cushions gives them a bit more firmness than they would usually have were they not tufted; it also looks nice. Tufting is not hard, but you need a big needle and strong fingers. I used yarn to tuft my cushions, probably not the best choice, but it worked.

The next thing I wanted to do with my cushions was to make covers. I ordered cheap mandala wall hangings and zippers. I ended up being awfully sick though. I got an awful cold-throat sort of thing. I was miserable. I felt so awful. I was just stuck at home all weekend, feeling puny.

I watched an entire season of a show about people who lived in interesting houses. Some guy got mad at me because I wasn’t giving him my full attention when I was sick, but whatever.

That Sunday, I finally felt well enough to do a little bit of work. I decided to make the covers for my papasan cushions. I wanted to make cushion covers so I could swap them out easy and wash them easy. I chose red mandala patterns and blue mandala patterns.

The tapestry wall hangings are actually cheap as far as fabric goes and is sturdier than you would think. It’s actually a great buy for the amount of fabric that you get. So keep that in mind when you have projects to do. I added a zipper as well because I wasn’t going to seam rip the covers every time I wanted to wash them or change them.

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Getting the cushion in was the hardest part. I rolled it up like a giant colorful burrito and then straddled it like I was trying to ride one of those fake bar bulls, and slowly got the cushion into the cover and zipped it up.

The results are what you see.

One side is red and the other side is blue, so I can change my mind, if I want, about the overall feeling I want to put off.

I haven’t gotten to making a cushion for the foot stool yet, but I will.

I ended up making two papasan cushions for around the same price as one papasan cushion would cost.

Keep in mind–if you use that foam, it will get everywhere, your children’s children will find it, still, lingering around, and clinging to everything with static electricity so strong, it’s almost satanic.

One Big Giant Itch

One Big Giant ItchOne Big Giant Itch

This past weekend I had endeavored to get a lot done outside. One of the things I endeavored to do was to mow the lawn. Well, as things often are, it was difficult, probably because I couldn’t get the mower started. I was ready to be a lawn-mowing champ, but one can only be a lawn-mowing champ if one actually mows the lawn.

I have a lawn mower, a push mower, and it’s new. I took it out of the room it had been stored in and pulled the string. Nothing. I tried again. I tried priming it. I tried letting it sit and pulling the string again. Nothing. Nothing. Also more nothing.

I Googled on the internet and it said that maybe my gas was old. Good point, my gas probably was old. I had to leave the house anyway for a showing, so I decided to skedaddle away to Wal-mart. I bought some things I needed for my yard work and also some new gas, and came back home. I put new gas in the mower.

…and when I pulled the string…nothing happened.

Nothing. Nothing again and nothing some more. I tried everything in my limited knowledge of mowers to try to get the thing to start. My only ideas are either that my mower is having a problem or that I should generally pull my arm out of the socket each time I try to start it. I’m not sure which case it could be. Maybe my arm needs to come out of the socket to get it started, who knows.

Needless to say, I didn’t get the lawn mown.

No matter, I would do other yard work. I weeded the cactus bed, ouch. No matter what gloves I wear when I weed the cactus bed, I always get cactus stickers in my fingers.

Then I decided I would wear another circular bed in the yard. I pulled a bunch of stuff out of it. Then I decided to dig up the flower bed beside my house. I dug it up, three times. I took rocks out of it. I mixed in some new soil. At Wal-mart I had bought some Gladiolus bulbs to put in this bed. I planted those.

After this I decided to move some irises. I had a bunch of irises that were growing outside of a bed. I dug those up. I planted them beside the house. I planted some in the circular bed. I also dug up some odd little plant that was also just growing in the grass. It’s an actual flowering plant, not some random thing. I just don’t know what its name is.

I was worn out. I was sore everywhere. My toenails were even sore. I went to water my newly planted plants, and as it turns out, my hose was all busted up. I got in the shower and back to Wal-mart I went. I had to buy more hoses. My good hoses were ruined. No doubt because they weren’t taken care of very well.

I came back from Wal-mart and watered my plants. I decided to relax after this as I was about dead.

The next day, I noticed some red marks on my arms. Yep, poison ivy. It wasn’t too itchy that day, but it increasingly became itchier. Honestly, the best part about having poison ivy is putting it under scalding hot water. It really helps with the itch. It’s a lot worse than the picture now, but isn’t too itchy because I’ve been on this rodeo before. I know how this stuff works. It’s getting dried out or so help me.

Believe it or not, I’ve been using a lot of Dawn dish soap on this.

Mostly, I feel gross as if I’m developing some weird scaly skin, but I know it’s just poison ivy and it will go away. I just have to deal with the nasty itch until it does. It’s like many things in life, it’s annoying until it isn’t anymore, but it’s a pain in the butt as long as it’s annoying.

My Imaginary Boyfriend

My Imaginary BoyfriendMy Imaginary Boyfriend

Last night, I was sleeping, as a person does in the night-time and I had a weird dream. I dreamed that I had a boyfriend. I know it’s so weird that I would have a boyfriend right? Must be a dream. We were like in high school or college or something, and we got along pretty well. We had a class together and I would sit beside him and put my legs on his lap.

One day the teacher assigned seats and I quickly took my legs off of my dream boyfriend and sat up straight. I didn’t get my seat switched, but the teacher made sure to say specifically that we weren’t supposed to put our legs on other people. What is this kindergarten? I can put my legs on my imaginary boyfriend if I want to. Moreover, it’s funny that the teacher specifically mentioned it. Apparently, it was a problem.

Knowing me, it probably was a problem. During the course of my life, I’ve put my legs across some laps.

At this point, imaginary boyfriend has really short hair, almost shaved. It’s darker. He wants me to sing for him and I’m like, “Nah, not that song.” Come to think of it, maybe we were in a chorus class? Or a drama class? It was something laid back.

So imaginary boyfriend and I somehow have a disagreement.

Imaginary boyfriend ends up going to a funeral for someone he knows, I don’t know who. and I decide to go for moral support. It took me a lot of effort to find imaginary boyfriend at this funeral alright. So I get there to give imaginary boyfriend a hug of consolation and he’s like, “No way!”

At this point, imaginary boyfriend has dark curly hair. I guess he grew his hair out.

He says, “I know I probably shouldn’t do this to you…”

I don’t know what he’s doing to be specifically, but I come back with, “Yeah, you shouldn’t.”

Then I walk away in a huff.

So he broke up with me…or I broke up with him? We broke up with each other? I don’t know why imaginary boyfriend was mad at me in the first place.

Holy, heck, even my dreams have to be all dramatized sometimes. I have an imaginary boyfriend, or a dreamĀ  boyfriend, and he breaks up with me. I don’t even know a guy with dark curly hair.

What in the heck did I do to imaginary boyfriend to cause him to break up with me? Or maybe it was all him. Maybe he was just a dork. Goodness, I don’t know.

If I see a guy with dark curly hair and he asks me out, I’m going to think about this dream and I’m going to be like, “…um, yeah you already broke up with me in a dream and now you’re asking me out?! The nerve!”

At least I sort of recognized that I deserved better. I knew he what was up to with my, “Yeah, you shouldn’t,” comment. If my imaginary boyfriend is going to be all wishy-washy, then maybe I should just go find a different imaginary boyfriend, or maybe just dream about something else, like how the other night I dreamed about how I could fly and I was trying to fly away from dragons and there were single-wide trailers involved and somehow, I found a flying minivan. I’m not on crack, I promise.

Am I in a Stephen King Movie?

Am I in a Stephen King Movie?Am I in a Stephen King Movie?

Do you ever have a moment when you’re wondering if you’re secretly in a Stephen King story that’s been made into a movie? I had one of those moments today, or rather a few hours.

Today a friend and I decided to meet for lunch and to hang out a bit. We were like, “Let’s go to Newberry.” I’m not even going to disguise the town name. It’s a cute little town. It has an opera house. There’s nothing there to do otherwise.

When I first pulled into a parking lot I was sitting there and this minivan comes around the corner. I think nothing of it, but it slows down. The windows are rolled down and the guy inside drives reeeaaaaal slow by me. He looks directly at me. “Weird,” I think, but I go on with my day.

My friend and I go to a place called Figaro’s. It’s supposed to be like the best thing to do in Newberry, besides the Bojangles. We walk in the door and everyone stops to stare. Flat-out, no disguising it, they’re staring at us. They put down their forks to stare at us. We had brunch anyway; it was tasty by the way. Figaro’s didn’t let me down, well besides their miniature Diet Cokes…

As there isn’t much do to in Newberry, we sat in a parking lot for a bit to try to decide what to do. Another car pulled into the parking lot and just stayed there. The woman inside, stared at us. We finally left and took a drive around the area.

A car was behind us and when we pulled off to turn around, instead of just driving past the car pulled on the same road and stopped a minute, to stare, before driving off. What the heck?

There’s nothing to do in this little town. There are just a bunch of farms. The Japanese garden is a joke.

How I figure it is that the local townspeople are looking for sacrifices for their harvest god. Anybody from out-of-town is fair game. They size up anyone who comes into town and assess whether or not they’re worthy sacrifices to the harvest god.

“Yes, those people will make a good sacrifice to our harvest god. No one will ever miss them. We will erect an effigy of the great harvest god and burn them inside with honey.”

At one point, I saw a black SUV just parked out in the woods. Seriously, Newberry, can you get any more weird?

Am I in a Stephen King Movie?

Am I in a Stephen King Movie?Am I in a Stephen King Movie?

Do you ever have a moment when you’re wondering if you’re secretly in a Stephen King story that’s been made into a movie? I had one of those moments today, or rather a few hours.

Today a friend and I decided to meet for lunch and to hang out a bit. We were like, “Let’s go to Newberry.” I’m not even going to disguise the town name. It’s a cute little town. It has an opera house. There’s nothing there to do otherwise.

When I first pulled into a parking lot I was sitting there and this minivan comes around the corner. I think nothing of it, but it slows down. The windows are rolled down and the guy inside drives reeeaaaaal slow by me. He looks directly at me. “Weird,” I think, but I go on with my day.

My friend and I go to a place called Figaro’s. It’s supposed to be like the best thing to do in Newberry, besides the Bojangles. We walk in the door and everyone stops to stare. Flat-out, no disguising it, they’re staring at us. They put down their forks to stare at us. We had brunch anyway; it was tasty by the way. Figaro’s didn’t let me down, well besides their miniature Diet Cokes…

As there isn’t much do to in Newberry, we sat in a parking lot for a bit to try to decide what to do. Another car pulled into the parking lot and just stayed there. The woman inside, stared at us. We finally left and took a drive around the area.

A car was behind us and when we pulled off to turn around, instead of just driving past the car pulled on the same road and stopped a minute, to stare, before driving off. What the heck?

There’s nothing to do in this little town. There are just a bunch of farms. The Japanese garden is a joke.

How I figure it is that the local townspeople are looking for sacrifices for their harvest god. Anybody from out-of-town is fair game. They size up anyone who comes into town and assess whether or not they’re worthy sacrifices to the harvest god.

“Yes, those people will make a good sacrifice to our harvest god. No one will ever miss them. We will erect an effigy of the great harvest god and burn them inside with honey.”

At one point, I saw a black SUV just parked out in the woods. Seriously, Newberry, can you get any more weird?

Things I Used to Dream About

Things I Used to Dream AboutThings I Used to Dream About

Throughout my life, I’ve had many recurring themes in my nightly dreams. There have been places I’ve been to in my dreams multiple times. There have been situations I’ve dreamed about multiple times. I’ve dreamed about my teeth or my hair falling out one too many times while sleeping, and quite frankly, I wish my brain would give it a rest, because those dreams are pretty terrifying to me.

Those types of dreams pop up every so often, but something I don’t dream about anymore is my dad. I used to dream about him every so often. I used to dream that he was alive, somehow. In those dreams I was always looking for him or there was some mystery involved. It was never a day-to-day normal type of situation, because I never had a day-to-day normal type of situation with my father.

Dreams are often based on our realities, and sure, maybe you’re flying in that dream, but so many other things are exactly like something you would do in real life or exactly like something you would say in real life.

My father died when I was young. He died in 1995. I wasn’t even ten yet. I don’t remember being with him, my mom left him, had to leave him, when I was only around two-years old. It wasn’t that my mother just wanted to up and leave her marriage to my father; it was that the situation was too bad to stay in for her, and for me. So anyone who can say my mom just wanted to be out of a marriage or didn’t try hard enough can go shove it.

I loved my father, but he had problems. I understood that. He had problems that made having a family life downright impossible. Even as a kid, I knew it was silly to fantasize about both my parents being together. It was silly because it would never happen. I was wise enough to know there were problems that couldn’t be fixed.

When my father died from cancer, I still occasionally had dreams that he was alive somehow. I didn’t get to go to his funeral. I only remember seeing him once before he died. I’ve never seen his grave. I’ve never seen the little bit of info that would say his name and the fact that he was born in 1960 and died in 1995.

I guess because I never really had a father, I would dream that he was alive. I wanted to have someone to treat like a father. Really, the closest thing to my father is my grandfather. I do have a step-father, but we have never really been close. I don’t really know what it’s like to have a dad.

At some point, I just quit having dreams about my father. I don’t know when that was. Was it when I was a teenager? Was it when I got married? Was it sometime after I got married? I don’t know.

I guess I quit needing the idea of a dad. I guess maybe I grew up enough not to want it as I had.

A Purple Limo Peels Out at a Stop Light

A Purple Limo Peels Out at a Stop Light A Purple Limo Peels Out at a Stop Light

I see some strange stuff when I’m out and about. Maybe I’m just more observant than the regular person, but…gosh, some of the stuff I see and observations I make…true life is stranger than fiction, at least that’s what they say, whoever they is.

Saturday, I was shopping. I was driving down one of the main roads in town when I see a purple limo. It has a custom paint job. There are little bolts of lightning painted on the back. The windows are tinted, of course. It’s in the lane to the left of me at a stop light. The light is red. The light turns red and that limo spun tires. There was a black patch of tire rubber a hundred feet long on the road, no joke. I could smell burnt tires in the air.

Is this normal? I mean, seriously, limos although not a common sight, aren’t exactly that out of the ordinary, but purple limos with custom paint jobs? Purple limos with custom paint jobs peeling out at a stoplight?

Do other people ignore this stuff?

On that very same day, I believe, I saw a guy riding a motorcycle, but he wasn’t sitting upright, he was lying on his belly and his feet were extended out behind him into the air. He didn’t really look distressed so I guess he meant to do it.

I also make interesting observations when I’m out. For instance, at Hobby Lobby, there’s a sign that says not to take merchandise into the bathroom. I know it’s to prevent shoplifting, but I want to believe that they’ve had problems with people crafting in the bathrooms.

“Gosh Darnit!! Someone knitted the stall doors shut again!!”

“Another hot-glued toilet paper sculpture?!”

“Who carved up our soap?!”

“Really?! A silk flower archway over each stall?!”

“When will they ever learn? Crafting and bathrooms don’t mix…”

The other day, as I was waiting to meet up with a friend, I went to Joann’s. There were frogs doing yoga there! Seriously, why are the frogs doing yoga? Why do frogs need to do yoga? They’re already pretty flexible as it is without doing yoga. Of all the things I would want in my house, apparently, I need frogs doing yoga. There was also a cat doing yoga. Look, cats are acrobatic enough as it is, they don’t need to be doing yoga.

Look, the world is full of all kinds of crazy stuff, even if you’re just going shopping.

Now keep your darn crafts out of the bathroom. Shame on you guys, making Hobby Lobby put up a sign to keep merchandise out of the bathroom. Just can’t wait to craft until you get home, can you? You probably take your knitting needles and go knit out back behind Hobby Lobby’s dumpster right after you get out of the store, just to get your crafting kick as soon as possible.