Double Ugh

My last post was titled "Ugh," so I only find it appropriate that this blog be titled "Double Ugh," since "Ugh" was already taken and I couldn't think of anything else that captured the moment.

My fingers are cold. No, not just cold; COLD. Brrrrr. If I wasn't so darn cheap, I'd turn the heater up, but for some (unidentifiable) reason, I'd rather have cold fingers than see the heating bill go up 2 cents. Yes, I am THAT pathetic. (At least I'm honest, give me some credit for that!)

My Christmas Break is over, back to school tomorrow. Part of me looks forward to the scheduled days, the fulfillment (why does "fulfillment" only have three l's and not four?) of a job done well, and the other part of me loathes the intense emotional drain that comes with such a big responsibility. Sometimes I think I'm insane to homeschool my kids, but at the same time, I'm very concerned about the lack of education that "The System" brings...or doesn't bring, amongst other things.

I've considered stopping this blog. Thinking that people might actually read it is a bit of an insecurity for me. Odd? Of course. Weird? Yes. Why? I'm not sure. If I don't know you, say you're from China, and I'll never meet you, then you have permission to read my blog and know all about me. I'm okay with that. BUT, if you're someone I see every day, say someone from the gym, then I start to squirm a little. You see, I'm a very honest person, just not a very "open" one.

And I'm not sure why.

Perhaps it comes with my personality? Perhaps I just haven't found the right person to "unlock" me? Perhaps I'm deficient or damaged? Perhaps I'm perfectly normal and it's the rest of you sickos that are whacked out. Why yes, I think that's it. And here I was begining to think that I was the one with the problems. (Did I offend you? I hope not, for I don't like to offend people.)

Which brings me to another thread within myself. How is it that a person who doesn't shy away from conflict doesn't like to offend people? Is that a curse or a gift? (Let's go with gift, okay?) I love people, honestly I do. When I pass you, I'll smile and say, "Hi." I'll hold the door open for you and offer to take your shopping cart back into the store if I'm headed that way. I'm always the person who stands up for the underdogs of society, who helps Grandmas across the street, who has compassion on the broken hearted. I do love people. But, to be around or with people, that's a different story. I don't like that so much.

Infact (which is technically two words and not one), the holidays almost killed me. First there was vacation which contained people, then there were parties and more parties, which contained people, and get togethers, which contained countless people, then invitations to dinner, which contained people. People, people, they're EVERYWHERE!

(I'm just having a moment, I'll be done soon.)

So, here I love people, even disturbed people like Jason (the man who was going to set himself on fire in front of my neighbor's front door), yet I don't like people. I am a work of art, ain't I? And to think, not only did I leave my warm cozy house to go across the street and persuade Jason, the crazy man doused in gasoline to drop the lighter he held posed in his hand, I then tell the crazy man, "It's okay, drop the lighter and come to me." Yes, I actually told the six foot two gasoline drenched man to "come to me." (Now, let's really evaluate who's insane here.) And, as I hold my arms out to him from the side of the road and say very calmly, "Jason, come to me, come over here, " what do I, the person who doesn't like people do? I hug the insane man as he embraces me and sobs into my hair and shoulder, the smell of gasoline so powerful I want to vomit on my new best friend. Yes, I hold him like a mother holds a frightened child, gently rocking him back and forth and speak softly into his gasoline-reeking ear.

AND I DON'T LIKE PEOPLE.

And after I get him over to my front lawn and start rinsing him with the hose (and took off my shirt so he could use it as a rag to block the gasoline from running more so into his eyes), and watch the unfolding of the take down once the police rush in and cuff him, what do I do? I go VISIT the man while he's in the mental hospital. And I bring him clothes and cigarettes, books, music, and yes, I even give him a ride to the train station once he gets out. But, let's remember, that I don't like people.

Are you convinced yet?

(By the way, if you're going to rinse off a man who's just doused himself in 5 gallons worth of gasoline, make sure you do it on your neighbor's lawn, and not yours, as the gasoline will leave a big dead spot on your much beloved green, perfectly manicured grass, which lasts the entire summer--the big dead brown spot, that is.)

Boy I sure am cold.

I've just slipped on my favorite vest, but guess what--the zipper is broken. Broken! I am so forlorn. Whatever shall I do? I was on my way to take a nice hot, steaming bath, but somehow I found myself here, in my secret little place, rattling on about how I love, but don't like, people.

Ya know what one of my reference's put on my foster application? They said that my only fault was that I "Give too much of myself to others." I was bothered by that. And still am. Can it be true that you give too much of yourself to others? The obvious answer may, at first, be "yes," but if you really think about it....Of course, this argument IS coming to you from the person who "gives too much of herself to others."

I give up!

I guess if I gave with the intention of receiving, that'd be one thing thing. But what's wrong with giving just to give? Giving just for the very joy of giving? Is that so wrong? Of course, now that I type this, I do realize that giving is one of the main ways I give and receive love. So perhaps you could use the words "giving" and "loving" as synonyms when it comes to me. (And yes, I did spell that right on the very first try, even with blue, frozen fingers: synonym.)

Okay, I've confirmed it. It being that yes, I am infact (two words!) a fruitcake.

But you love me, don't you, my little Dell? You'll always love me, right? And give me little gifts so I can confirm your love for me. (Lindor truffles {the mixed bag}, silver jewelry, a little love note, a new car will all do the trick. I'm easy. {And yes, I do actually still want a pony...somethings you just don't grow out of!})

Am I really talking to my computer again. That is sad, folks. Just plain old SAD.

But that's okay, isn't it? I can be sad in my own little private place. With cold fingers. And, infact (don't even mention it!), I am shivering now. My teeth are close to chattering. But NO! I refuse to touch the thermostat. I'll freeze before I give Intermountain Gas another dime! Take that! Can't make me!

Okay. That's enough. Off to shave my legs, look at color samples (I can't decide which color to paint the main bathroom, so I have a wall full of taped-up color samples sitting above the tub, for me to gaze at while letting Calgon take me away), and think about whether or not I'll actually sleep tonight.

Which brings me to thinking....all I've had to eat today is half a piece of pizza, a protien shake, a coffee (what's happening to me, I'm drinking a lot of coffee lately!), and breakfast with an egg, hashbrowns, and bacon...why am I not hungry? And not sleeping? I'd say that something's eating at me, but I just have such a hard time eating lately. And sleeping (did I already say that?). Barely eat, barely sleep. A lot on my mind. Haunted. I'm being haunted. By thoughts, memories. Perhaps that's the culprit? Or perhaps I just "give so much of myself to others" that I don't want Mr. Sandman to feel left out. That's it. I'm keeping Mr. Sandman company on all these cold, long, dark, lonely nights. Mr. Sandman and me, out snuggled up in front of the fire together in the late hours of the night and wee hours of the morning (I don't recommend sleeping on wood floors--painful!)

Okay. That's enough already! Fingers, stop typing! Go get in that tub and try not to cut your legs with the new razor this time (in my own defense, I was only half awake the last time I shaved--not a good idea. I only lost a couple gallons of blood, but still--not a good idea).

So, good-bye, good night, may you sleep well, eat well, and live long and prosper.