I’ve been thinking about how often I find myself thinking “Go fuck yourself.” while someone’s talking to me.
Maybe, whenever I’m thinking of saying it, I should just say it.
Of course, this would mean I’d be saying it more often.
But, I think that would be a good thing for everyone involved.
People deserve to know when it’s time for them to go fuck themselves.
If I don’t tell them, they’ll never know that they should be off somewhere, fucking themselves.
If they don’t know that they should be fucking themselves, then they’ll still be standing there, yapping about some bullshit that makes me think, “Go fuck yourself.”
I can commit to this. Yes. I’m willing to take one for the team and say what everyone else is thinking.
I’m not a hero. (Debatable.) I’m just a woman. A woman who doesn’t want that bullshit all up in her face. A woman who needs a motherfucker to pump those motherfucking brakes for a motherfucking minute, and listen carefully, because she only wants to have to say that shit one motherfucking time.
“Go fuck yourself.”
This is me. Solving some goddamn problems. You’re welcome.
Our neighbor is out with his snowblower. In the street. He’s snowblowing the street. He is clearly an overachiever. While I do not understand him, I support him 100%.
So, today we salute you, Mr. Overachiever Snowblower Guy.
Without you, we’d all be trapped in our driveways, not knowing when the giant snow plow trucks equipped with copious amounts of rock salt would free us (in 20 minutes).
Because somewhere, down the block, a hipster is mocking you, but will later respect you for clearing the road for his fixie.
Because you give us something to believe in, and that something is that crazy old dudes can clear an intersection like a motherfucker.
So crack open that bottle of brandy, Mr. Overachiever Snowblower Guy, and throw back those Old Fashioneds.
And remember, when someone says, “Did you see that car almost slide into that crazy old bastard with the snowblower?” You can say, “Get me another goddammed Old Fashioned.”
This morning I stood in front of the bathroom mirror after my shower, as I tend to do when my birthday is coming up. Which is probably weird. Whatever.
This time, as I looked at my two c-section scars, that little pouch of saggy, fatty skin just above the long scar (the one that shrinks over time, but always seems to hang around), and the stretch marks (turned mini craters) that appeared each time my abdomen had expanded, I was kind of glad they were there. A few years ago I wouldn’t have looked at them that way. So it’s something kind of new for me.
Instead of the “Ugh, gross.” I’d have normally sighed, I kind of, sort of, smiled a little.
(Fucking *smiled*. Where the hell did that come from? Such a weirdo.)
Ok, but the “imperfections” seem pretty perfect now. They’re reminders of what this body was once capable of. Those marks are part of what it took to get my girls here.
So, they’re perfect scars, perfect, saggy little marks peppered across my belly.
With my birthday coming up, I’m happy to be at a place in my life that I am able to admire my body for what it has created. I’ve decided not disrespect it by wishing those imperfections away.
Besides, it’s like having a few extra guests at my birthday party. Gross. Just kidding. Probably kidding.
THIS HAS BEEN YOUR TMI POST FOR THE DAY.
While thinking of the best way to say thank you to the amazing people who came to help me in a time of need, it occurred to me that what I had to be thankful for was bigger than I thought. Not only did a community come together to help a friend, but through their generosity and kindness, they put something even more beautiful into the world. Something that will ultimately change more lives than one.
I’ve always believed that a single act of kindness could live well beyond that one act. That act, no matter how big or how small, becomes a spark of generosity that brings out the best in everyone it touches. It can be left to fade away, or it can find a place in people’s hearts and grow into something brighter. In time, that spark can become something much bigger, and it can live forever.
Whether you perform an act of kindness, receive kindness and generosity from others, or bear witness to other people giving of themselves, you can choose to be part of keeping that spark alive. There are people who think that many of the overwhelming challenges that some people face are too great to overcome. They figure one small act of giving won’t make a difference anyway. Some people give up ever even trying altogether. What they didn’t figure is that one day they may feel like something is missing from their lives. They might try to fill that empty feeling with money, fancypants things, or excuses. The truth is, the only way for them to get what they need to fill that void is to remember how to give. Giving of yourself makes your heart whole again. Basically, what I’m trying to say is that a single act of kindness and generosity, no matter how small, can change lives, give hope, and inspire others to take that spark and ignite something incredible.
This is a story of one woman who needed a spark of hope, just a glimmer of brighter days ahead. Instead, I was showered in an act of kindness that could light the night sky.
Not so long ago, I blogged freely about my neurological challenges. Just before my trip to Mayo Clinic in 2011, the progression of my condition began to accelerate. I found myself in increased pain, neuro-related symptoms, and periods of significant mobility deficit. When I began to notice the beginning of cognitive changes and episodes of memory loss, one of my neurologists insisted on a new EEG. Fucking epilepsy. (For fuck’s sake.) That’s when I stopped writing about all my medical bullshit. These changes were happening too fast for me. I was trying hard to accept the new challenges, and I spent most of my energy hiding my symptoms from the public eye. I had gotten very good at hiding it. Still, many plans were cancelled, many meetings rescheduled, and some days I would work out of my home so no one would have to see me at my worst. I guess I felt that if I shared what was happening, it would make it all very (too) real for me. I wasn’t ready for that yet. Plus, complaining about my shit when everyone has their own shit to go through makes me feel like an asshole.
It took many months for me to make a decision about applying for a service dog. Every time I considered filling out the application, I’d convince myself that I didn’t need it, that I could handle everything on my own, that I was stronger than my disease. It took a long time to decide to do it, but some very good friends reminded me that accepting help is another form of strength. If I do everything in my power to keep myself active and safe, then I win. Then I’m still stronger than my disease. It also gives me the opportunity to show my children that it’s okay to accept help when you really need it, and that everyone needs help sometimes. If you let your pride get in the way, nobody wins.
Due to all of this neurological fuckery, we budget a significant amount of our income to my medical care. We’ve always managed to take care of this expense by carefully managing our finances and tightening our belts, so to speak. Unfortunately, a service dog was not something that we could fit into our budget. Asking for help was uncomfortable, to say the least. When I sent an email to my family and closest family friends, my stomach was in knots. When my friends Kate Barrie, Amy Kant, and Mare Aehlich wanted to fundraise for a service dog, it took me some time to be ok with it. It was their encouragement and support that got me to stop feeling like I was going to barf at the thought of letting everyone know how my condition had progressed. So, on Sunday October 15th, I agreed to let them do whatever it was they had up their sleeves.
On Monday October 16th, I was texted a link to a “Sara’s Sidekick” fundraising campaign on IndieGoGo, and I actually lost my breath for a moment. The fundraising amount kept growing higher, and the words of encouragement and love were overwhelming. Once the fundraising goal had been reached, people kept giving to help other disabled people receive a service dog. I cried. No, I sobbed. (I’m talking big time ugly cry, y’all. Big. Time.) And so, I wanted to share my story with all of you, and try my best to thank the people who helped make all of this happen, even though it is sure to fall short.
To The Amazing People Who So Generously Donated Towards a Service Dog:
To say that I am grateful for your support and generosity (not only for me, but for other people who need assistance) is a gross understatement. I am so fortunate to have such amazing people in my life. I am overwhelmed and humbled. I will never find words to express my gratitude properly, so I’ll do so by carrying the spark you all have created and passing it on to other people who find themselves needing a little help, and I’m grateful for that too. With all of my heart, thank you. xo
To Kate, Amy, & Mare:
The three of you already know how much I adore you. You all inspire me to be better every day. Your unwavering support and friendship is such an incredible gift, one that I never take for granted. The spark you lit has already grown into something amazing. Thank you. I love you. xo
I love you turkeys. All you turkeys.
P.S. I know this post was super long. Sorry. (Not sorry.) You were like, “Oh shit, she’s getting all sentimental and serious again. I should pee and grab a snack before I start reading.” which was quickly followed by, “What the fuck is she even talking about?” and topped off with, “Gross.” I’m totally ok with all of that.
P.P.S. I’ll eat you up, I love you so.
P.P.S. This is my favorite band, (and one of the greatest songwriters, Guy Garvey) singing a song that makes me think of all of you. Thank you for always receiving me with open arms. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for letting my sense of ‘home’ take up residence in your hearts.
Everyone on the internet always seems to be doing an awful lot of talking. Always. We talk about ourselves a lot. It seems we spend a lot of time thinking (talking, blogging) about ourselves, our businesses, our children, our issues… Anyway, there’s just a lot of talking.
Maybe not enough doing (?)
And not just doing so that we can talk about what we did on our blogs.
I get scolded a lot for not blogging frequently enough. I feel really flattered that anyone cares to read what I write. But lately, I feel like doing things more than I feel like talking about doing things, or talking about the things I did.
I think that’s ok. I think it’s ok for you to let your blog go dark for awhile so you can go do things.
To be honest, there are quite a few people that might benefit from taking the time to get out of their own heads for a while. To take it a bit further, there are others that would benefit from taking the time to take their heads out of their asses for awhile too. but I’m not going to talk about that today.
I’ve got some doing to do.
And I’m probably not going to report back about any of it. At least not for awhile. ;)