I have pissues

Okay, we've already established that I have a teeny, tiny bladder, right? For me, peeing is like yawning: I only have to think about it, and I hafta go. I still go before we leave the house, just like my mom taught me when I was wee (heh, see what I did there?); however, within half an hour, I'll have to go again.  I'm sure drinking over 100oz of liquid every day doesn't help, but still.

What's worse is being told I can't go. I remember my very first Provincial Exam: after being prepped by the teacher and being told that under no circumstances would we be allowed to leave the room within the first hour, I vowed not to drink ANYTHING before the test. And I didn't. I also went to the washroom before I left the house that morning AND immediately before entering the classroom. Unfortunately, just knowing I couldn't go again was enough to fill my bladder and make me squirm in my seat for approximately 57 looooong freaking minutes.

Which brings me to (one of) my biggest fear: being stuck on the highway.  There was a sizable mudslide in BC yesterday, shutting the highway and stranding motorists for hours, a virtual parking lot as far as the eye could see. Every time I pass a line of cars stopped on the other side of the road, I thank my lucky stars I'm going in the opposite direction because I know that if I were to be in that situation - even if I'd JUST gone pee two minutes prior - I'd immediately have to go again. And that need? Would intensify (painfully) the longer I waited - I think the anxiety of not knowing when I'll see the porcelain god again makes me have to go more.

Now, I know what you're thinking: dude, if you have to go THAT badly, drop trou and just go already! However, I'm Prudy McPruderson, Mayor of Prudeville, and the idea of baring my ass to a long line of strangers (who I'll then have to sit with for the next elebenty hours), makes me blush while crying. I do keep a roll of toilet paper in the glove box just in case, but I have to tell you how bloody grateful I am I've never had to use it. Yet. Knock on wood.

Do you have a similar fear, or am I alone in Weirdo McPrudypeeville?

Don't put ideas in my head, dude!

Scene:  Chebbar and Chibi are in the office, hunched over their respective computers, both browsing facebook, while Chibi changes her profile picture...

Chebbar (commenting on Chibi's tongue-hanging-out-of-her-face picture):  Ha!
Chibi:  What?  It matches my mood.  Besides, I'm wearing sunglasses, which are sort of summer-like.
Chebbar:  When did you take that picture?
Chibi (checking):  Way back in March.
Chebbar:  Huh.  My favourite is that last one.
Chibi (exasperated at Chebbar's lack of specificity (mostly because "specificity" is a fun word)): WHICH last one?
Chebbar:  That one in your jersey.  It looks like you ran it through some kind of sepia filter?
Chibi:  You mean this really GRAINY one?!?  *blinkblinkblink*
Chebbar:  Yeah!  I like your smile in that one.  It's really nice - looks happy.
Chibi (chuckling):  D'you know my secret to real, authentic-looking smiles?  I think of something that makes me happy...
Chebbar (interrupting with a smart remark, as he is wont to do (because "wont to do" is also fun)):  What, like punching me in the face?
Chibi (sighing dramatically because she's SO hard done-by):  No, silly!  JUST your face.  But now...   *evil grin*

In desperate need of an energy boost

I picked up my much-anticipated copy of Gretchen Rubin's The Happiness Project from the library on Saturday and dove right in - I'm not entirely sure of the concept being able to increase my happiness, but I know a lot of people loved her book and I was interested in seeing what she had to say.  One of the first thing she tackles is increasing her energy.

I've long complained about my never-freaking-ending fatigue; in fact, I just got the results of blood work screening to check my blood sugar level, iron level, thyroid, cholesterol, and some other stuff I can't remember.  While I felt like a shit for secretly hoping there was something wrong with me simply so I'd have an answer and hopefully a course of action, I am, in fact, fit as a (pleasantly plump) fiddle (I *may* have uttered the words "healthy fat" to my doctor; she *may* have given me the stink eye and chastised me soundly for focusing on weight and/or body size).

Ms. Rubin writes about a study that showed that when "persistently tired" people exercised for 20 minutes three times a week for six weeks, their energy levels improved.  Since workin' on mah fitness (hat-tip to Fergie) is already something high on my priority list, I think I'll give this formula a try (mostly because at this point, I'm willing to try damn near anything - I'm so tired of being tired).

So, on top of exercising more/regularly, getting my behind in bed at a decent time, and eating well, what else can I do to boost my energy?  I do take a full compliment of vitamins and supplements (B100 complex, multivitamin, calcium, etc).  I sit at a desk all day - it's not like I'm doing physically demanding work for eight hours a day - yet, by the time I get home at the end of 9.5 hour day (including commute) and drag my ass up 48 stairs (because some days that's the ONLY exercise I get (other than up and down the stairs at work: my office is downstairs and literally everything else is up 15 stairs)), I'm exhausted.  I can't even motivate my ass onto the elliptical for a measly 10 minutes.  This is not cool. 

Thoughts?  Suggestions?  Tips and/or tricks?  Share with me your wisdom you will, please?

A commitment to my body

 I was thinking about my quest to make peace with my body and all of the conditions in which I need to accept my body as it is in this very second; it struck me that what was rolling through my mind sounded a lot like wedding vows.  Hmm, interesting.  Let's see...

I, Chibi, take you, Body, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; from this day forward until death do us part.

I take you to be my constant friend and faithful partner, in good times and in bad, and in joy as well as sorrow.  I promise to love you unconditionally, to support your goals, to honour and respect you, to laugh and to cry with you.

I will cherish our union and love you more each day.  I will trust and respect you, regardless of the obstacles we may face together.  I take you, loving what I know of you and trusting what I do not yet know.  I eagerly anticipate the chance to grow together.

Yup.  I think that might work.  :)


Vows borrowed/altered from about.com.

Things That Can Just F*ck Right Off #63

#63:  This hot chocolate.  

It is neither "rich" nor "creamy."  In fact, it tastes like barely-chocolate-flavoured ASS.  Time to stop being a cheapskate who buys the large container of gross from Costco and start ponying up the money for the better tasting (albeit more expensive) teeny, tiny containers.  Dammit.

Explanation

Phoning it in Thursday!

When you're physically and emotionally effing exhausted, you post pictures.  A blogging life lesson via moi.  TAA DAA!

The green-eyed monster of jealousy

As someone with green eyes, I've always hated that phrase: I've never considered myself to be a jealous person.  Well, until Chebbar came along, that is - I think it was more a matter of never having someone worth being jealous over, if that makes sense.  At this point, I'm not sure if the jealousy is a side-effect of my other issues, or just another issue: due to childhood experiences, I suffer from a fear of abandonment and feelings of inadequacy, and because of a past relationship, I have MAJOR trust issues.  I even have trouble trusting myself.

It's not easy publicly admitting your own short-comings.  It's actually pretty fucking scary.  But carrying around the burden of character flaws I've tried to keep secret has been like a weight around my neck.

Monday night involved us revisiting an issue that has been ongoing for the past three years of our four year relationship.  I'm not interested in going into specifics, but suffice it to say that it involved an ex-girlfriend of Chebbar's, poor choices on his point, snooping on my part, and dishonesty all around.  I'm not proud of it, and I have no excuse for my behaviour; it does end up being one of those things where, if you go looking for dirt, you'll surely find something that will fit the bill (even if you have to twist it to fit).  To be fair, we're both to blame for how this has played out; however, I beat myself up repeatedly, as usual.

The issue reared its ugly head again in an unrelated manner (however, unfortunately with my "history" of insecurity and jealousy where the ex is concerned, he pretty much expects me to react that way with ANY female he has contact with), and things went south fast - he declared he had no intention of discussing it further because he didn't want to cause a fight, which I took as his admittance that I'd have something to be upset about.

We went to bed without more than two words (and neither included "love").  Needless to say, neither of us slept well.

I had no intention of getting into shit before work/school yesterday, but things just kind of... exploded.  I yelled.  Outside, in public.  *shame face*  He put up the stone wall and I cried.  We gave hesitant apologies so we could go on with our days until we got home later.  We were both late.

I had alllll day to think.  I realized that, much as I was exhausted by carrying around pain and anger where my family was concerned, I'm so fucking done with carrying around this constant fear that he'll find someone better than me and leave me (never mind the fact that continuing to act like a jealous, psycho-hosebeast may just be the thing that causes him to run screaming from me).  I don't want to be suspicious.  I don't want to be jealous.  I don't want to feel insecure (especially when that man does everything in his power as often as possible to reassure me).  I'm done.  No more.

I did more thinking and reading and crying and writing.  I did a couple of forgiveness worksheets, both to him and to myself : I realized yesterday that, while I may have (seemingly) "moved on" (read: stopped beating that damned dead horse THIS time) from the not-so-great incidents, I hadn't forgiven him for what felt like betrayals (to me), and I sure as hell needed to attempt to forgive myself for my deplorable (to me) behaviour.  (I then promptly forgot the whole works on my desk when I went home.)

While we discussed things in a more calm, sane manner, it came out that he has issues where his integrity and trustworthiness are concerned due to incidents in his childhood (so my semantical argument that I trusted him:  it was her I didn't trust (I trust him implicitly - I know he'd never cheat on me; she's married and refused to tell her husband, friends, or family that she was in contact with Chebbar, even though she was trying to secretly arrange to see him when she traveled this way) just didn't hold water for him); he said he wasn't really sure why he'd never mentioned it before, but there it was.  He told me flat-out that having his word called into question and having me doubt his ability to make good decisions was awful (to be fair, he's been saying this for ages: I didn't hear him until yesterday, probably because I wasn't ready to get over my self and be open to listening).  And to... sort of defend myself, the specifics on his part that I don't want to spell out did justify some of my mistrust and suspicion - he has admitted as much himself.

However, this is my issue.  Chebbar has graciously declared it "our" issue, in that if it's a problem for *me*, we both need to work on it, but it is my problem to deal with.  Just because one asshole cheated on me with a very willing skanky-whore participant doesn't mean Chebbar will.  Just because people who were supposed to love me ended up leaving me when I was a child doesn't mean Chebbar will.  Just because I haven't been good enough or measured up for some of the people who were supposed to love me unconditionally doesn't mean Chebbar feels the same way.  The fact that he's still here, after all this time, all the repeated arguments (seriously: this is literally the only thing that is a recurring bone of contention for us), all the bullshit I've dumped on him, are testament to the fact that the man loves me and is in this for the long haul - if he was going to leave me, he would have done it by now (his words: my realization (FINALLY)).  I need to stop painting him with the same paintbrush I've used on others because it's not fair to either of us.

I really, truly think I'm ready to let go of the past bullshit that's been weighing me down for so long.  I'm willing to accept that everything that has happened up to this point has happened for a reason, and that everything will work out as it is meant to going forward.  I'm going to do my best to treat us both with love, respect, faith, and compassion.  In my dippy-hippie, New Age, woo-woo way, I feel lighter and hopeful.

ETA:  After reading Princess Jenn's comment, I need to add that, after our last big blow-up in November, Chebbar did stop talking to the ex (albeit because it was what was best for *us*, not because he agrees with needing to halt a "friendship") - he is not in contact with her at this time.

On body acceptance

 

 Source

If you are someone who has hated your body for any length of time, you know just what a hard battle acceptance is - and it is a battle: long-ingrained habits and years of negative self-talk are difficult to change and usually not feasible to do overnight.

I've been reading a lot and doing writing exercises in my journey to accept my body and my self; the idea that you are not your body is very prevalent.  However, my very literal mind rebels at this notion: how am I not my body?  It is an intrinsic part of who I am - it houses my soul, my spirit, my very essence of being - without my physical body, I wouldn't be here.

Logically I understand that how I look on the outside does not determine who I am on the inside.  My pant size is not - should not be - a reflection of my worth.  I am more than just a number, and I should not reduce myself to such a mercurial construct, as I am always learning and growing and changing.

For me, it is important to recognize that my body is a part of who I am - ignoring that feels like denial to me - but only a part: it is the part that allows me to be present in the world and do all that learning and growing and changing.  I also think it's important for me to remember (in a non-judgemental way) that I did this to my body: my body did not do this to me.

I strive to realize that it is up to me to nurture and respect my body for all it has done for me, and all it will do for me going forward - I am the only one who can improve my body.  I also need to practice mindfulness and listen to what my body is trying to tell me; being open to receiving its messages will only serve to help me.

 

Source

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It's a carnival!

A Father's Day carnival!  Of blog posts!  A whole bunch of awesome peeps (including my Chebbar!) submitted amazing Father's Day posts to Band Back Together (much like the Mother's Day blog carnival); throughout the day, those posts will go live.  We would love it if you would stop by, have a read, and leave some love.  And if you'd like to participate, but didn't have a chance to submit it to Band Back Together, Aunt Becky has added a Mr. Linky so you can link up your posts!

Just click that there button to be whisked away to a land of deep fried food on a stick, tilt-a-whirls, and carnies!  Okay, forget that last part: carnies are scary, yo.

P.S.  My Chebbar makes his bloggy debut at Band Back Together today!  SO proud!  :D

What bravery means to me

Self-Discovery, Word By Word is the amazing series started by Dr. Ashley Solomon at Nourishing the Soul, encouraging bloggers to write about what the month's theme word means to them - thoughts, feelings, experiences, and so on.  June is being hosted by Dr. Dana Udall-Weiner at The Body and The Brood: the word she has chosen is bravery.

Bravery is tricky for me.  A number of people have referred to me as "brave," but it's not a word I would choose to describe myself - I don't see anything I do as being particularly courageous.  To me, bravery is a word used to describe police officers, fire fighters paramedics, soldiers - people who make the choice to do dangerous work in order to help others.  However, as Chebbar likes to point out, if I hear the same thing from more than one person, am I really going to assume that all of them - their opinions - are wrong?

I am brave when I realize that I am tired of hanging onto anger, bitterness, and negativity and want to let go of it all.

I am brave when I accept and own my grief, because it is mine and I'm entitled to feel my feelings.

I am brave when I choose to do what is best for me instead of doing what I think everyone else wants from me.

I am brave when I share things I struggle with, because I let others know that they're not alone.

I am brave when I admit that I don't particularly like the way I treat myself, that I want to change, and that I'm willing to start.

I am brave when I speak my mind, even though my opinion may not be well-received.

I am brave when I spill my guts about how I feel about myself and allow myself to be vulnerable.

I am brave when I stand up for what or who I believe in.

I am brave every time I take a chance.

I am brave every time I let someone in.

I guess I'm braver than I thought (although it still feels... weird to refer to myself that way, like I'm tooting my own horn).

About last night...

As some of you may have heard, there was tiny, little, inconsequential hockey game last night.  Sadly, my team lost.  They played a great season and great playoff series, but at the end of the day, the better team won the Stanley Cup.  Congrats to the Bruins and Tim Thomas for winning the Conn Smythe trophy - that man is an amazing goalie!

Last night was harder for me than I had anticipated.  After being nervous all day long (seriously: I was lightheaded and had dizzy spells all. freaking. day.), I was a bundle of nerves when the game started.  I hate to admit it, but I began to worry as soon as the first goal was scored - the first goal scored had set the tone for every game of this series, with the scoring team winning the game.  The scoring of the third goal late in the second period saw me in the bathroom, sobbing my heart out.

When Chebbar came in, I shamefully apologized for being such a baby - it was "just" a game, after all.  He hugged me tight and said that he knew it was about more than just the game.  As usual, he was right.  I had just told Mom the other day that the clearest memory I have of Grandpa involved a math test with a score of 97% and his reaction being "Where's the other 3%?" (are you guys getting an idea of where my not-good-enough issues come from?  *shakes head*); however, love for the Canucks is the strongest bond we shared.  While it would have been bittersweet for them to finally win the Cup ten short days after he passed away, I hoped desperately with ever fiber of my being that they'd win it "for" him.

I'm so ashamed, embarrassed, and heartbroken by the disrespectful and deplorable actions of the handful of moronic assholes who rioted in Vancouver after the game last night.  After the riot in '94, I expected this to happen, and unfortunately was fairly confident that it would have happened even if we had won.   I was disappointed to learn this morning that I was pretty much right: reports are that a group of people had this planned in advance.  Unlike '94, technology and social media has come a long way, baby.

If you recognize anyone in any of the numerous pictures floating all over Twitter, facebook, or the internet in general, PLEASE contact the police:

Want to send photos/video to police to help I.D. people taking part in the riot? Police tell you how

Thursday, June 16, 2011

By Lindsey Houghton, Vancouver Police Department

The response from the public wanting to help the police identify the individuals involved in last night’s criminal activity has been overwhelming. We are grateful for everyone’s help and have included instructions below for anyone wanting to anonymously share videos with our investigators. We appreciate your assistance in getting this information out to the public.
For photos, please send them to robbery@vpd.ca
To anonymously upload videos to the VPD, please upload them to youtube as private videos and share them with robbery@vpd.ca
Here are the instructions on how to do this:
1. Sign in to your YouTube account and upload the video.
2. Once the video has finished uploading, click the Account link located at the top right of any page.
3. Next, click the Uploaded Videos link. Click and choose the video you want to send to us. Then, click the Edit button.
4. Under the Broadcasting and Sharing Options section (on the left-hand side of the page towards the bottom) you'll see Privacy options. Click the little black arrow/triangle to expand and see all your privacy options (if it’s not already open and you cannot see your privacy options).
5. If the video is set to Private, you'll see a section to enter an email. Enter robbery@vpd.ca in this section.
6. Click on Save Changes at the bottom of the page.
For more information visit: http://www.google.com/support/youtube/bin/answer.py?answer=157177

© Copyright (c) The Province

Stanley Cup Hockey Prayer #Canucks #believeinblue

Our Father, who art in Rogers Arena, Hockey be thy name.

Thy will be done, the cup will be won, on ice, as well as in the stands.

Give us this day, our hockey sticks, and forgive us our penalties

As we forgive those who cross-check against us.

Lead us not into elimination, but deliver us to victory.

In the name of the fans, Lord Stanley, and the Canucks,

AMEN!

On letting go

I wrote last week that I realized I was tired of being angry and hurt and bitter: it was weighing me down and I didn't want it anymore.  So, I did what I proposed (sort of).  We went to the dollar store where I purchased half a dozen helium balloons (one for each of the people I wanted to forgive as opposed to one for each *thing* I wanted to forgive - that could've been a LOT of balloons [enter image of me floating away "Up"-style here]).  We then went up to the cemetery and I sat at my great grandparents' head stone and said my goodbyes to old hurts.

The last balloon I released was for myself.  While I intend to write myself a letter outlining everything I forgive myself for (like the beautiful letter Sui at Cynosure wrote to herself), I figured acknowledging that I had things I need to forgive myself for was the first step. 

I still have a long way to go in accepting and loving myself as I am, but I'm taking baby steps in the right direction and it feels pretty damned good.  I feel calmer and more at peace already.  Best of all?  I'm hopeful.

And the hits just keep on coming

We were at Mom's last night, and in the course of conversation with Taylor, Gramps came up.  When I started to talk, I got choked up and teary-eyed, so she asked if I'd like to go in another room and away from the crowd (she is turning into SUCH a wonderful, kind, mature, amazing woman <3). 

I started to go into my version of the back story.  (I haven't gotten to this point in The Story; if I've already blogged about it, I can't find it via Google search.  If this is repeat information, I apologize!)  When my great grandparents moved from their retirement condo to an old folks' home, they had to downsize in a big way.  They had a very large portrait done on their 50th anniversary that Great Grandma decided she wanted me - the first great grandchild - to have (and unless *someone* removed it, I'd bet my front teeth my damned NAME is still on the back of said picture in my Great Grandma's handwriting). 

For some reason, Grandmonster stepped in and volunteered to "look after it for [me]": because of the hierarchy of family - she was Mom's mother, and Mom was still sort of the boss of teenaged me - neither Mom nor I said anything because we didn't really think anything of it (it's not like we lived in a cardboard box and couldn't take care of it, but still).  Fast forward 5 years or so when Great Grandma and Grandpa had passed away (and Grandmonster and Gramps hadn't spoken to me in a year), and I was at their door, asking for my picture back.  Grandmonster told me that Gramps had said I didn't "deserve" it.  (He was at work at the time.)

Because of her propensity to lie her face off, I had a very strong suspicion that if I had driven down to where Gramps worked and confronted him, I would have found that he had said no such thing.  However, the possibility of hearing something so hurtful (and untrue) again was too great, so I got back in my car and drove home.

When I relayed this to Taylor last night, her jaw actually dropped.  She kind of sputtered a bit, then told me that Grandmonster maintains she had told Gramps that she told me I *could* have the picture back IF I went there once he was home so we could talk.  He went god knows how long thinking I didn't care enough or was too much of an ungrateful asshole to go back to talk to him.  (As Chebbar pointed out in the car on the way home last night, after being married to Grandmonster and seeing her manipulations for so many years, at SOME point he probably realized that there was some untruth floating around.  But still.)

It guts me to think he died with that... impression... untruth... of me.  I'm so, so angry.  I don't know that I can forgive her for that.  I mean, on top of everything else, this was a blow to the solar plexus - I literally felt like someone had knocked the wind right out of me. 

However, I also realized last night that I'm done.  I'm tired of being angry.  I don't want it anymore - I just want to be done with the hurt and anger.  After reading all of the wonderful comments on my last post, and thinking about the post I wrote about how I visualize upset away, I've decided on what I can do to symbolically let go.  I'm going to get a bunch of helium balloons this weekend, write down the things I want to let go of, tie each one to a balloon, and release them at the cemetery.  I can say goodbye literally and figuratively.  I can put my visualization to fruition and make it work for me in a tangible way.  I almost feel lighter already just thinking about it. 

Stuck and confused

I'm in this... weird space, lodged somewhere between sad and angry.  I'm feeling all these... feelings, and they're confusing me.  (In keeping with the mindfulness I've been exploring of late, I'm doing my best to sit in those feelings and feel them.)

I'm not sure just how much I'm "allowed" to grieve, given the long-standing estrangement.  I kinda feel like I'm not entitled to be sad because a) I spent so much time feeling angry (because angry is easier than sad), and b) there are others who have more... right, I guess, to feel the loss simply by virtue of the fact that they spoke to him more recently than a year ago. 

I was saddened to realize that I don't have pictures of my grandfather, even from my childhood, when I saw that my siblings had posted his picture on facebook.  Then, I felt uncomfortable, because I realized it might look... "bad" if I posted his picture in tribute as well - like I was a hypocrite or just looking for attention.  Which led to feelings of being judged (in my head) (by Nick, specifically) (but I realize that this is just a response to feeling guilty for how things played out in the past ten years - I don't know for sure that he does judge me for how I handled myself then or now).

There will not be a "formal" funeral, but a celebration of life instead.  I went from being angry enough after the first scene to declare that I wouldn't be attending a funeral, only to be chided by Mom not to make any hasty decisions.  After being able to see him that day and giving it some additional thought, I changed my mind and said I would go, the same way we did when Great Grandma passed away: as late as possible, sitting in the back row (not with the "family" - we learned our lesson the hard way with Great Grandpa's funeral), and quietly slipping out at the end of the service - able to pay our respects with no fuss (only to then have Mom said she wouldn't go, and change her mind again and say she WOULD go).  Once we discovered that it would be more open-format (read: a room full of the same "family" who judged and condemned us without once asking for our side of the story in ten years milling about, all eyes on the door as new visitors enter), we both decided we weren't comfortable going.  I know it sounds childish to say I won't go if my mommy's not going, but in a situation like this, it definitely feels like a matter of safety in numbers.

To be honest?  I'm relieved to not be putting myself in the position of another painful scene in front of a much larger audience.

So, yeah.  I feel like I'm in no-man's land, and it's kind of uncomfortable.  Not quite sure what to make of these emotions, nor how to deal with them.  To be all dippy-hippie, I have a feeling that part of the reason this is so hard for me is that I'm finally starting to grieve my lost relationship with my grandfather, as well as the loss of my grandfather.  I'm just kind of... here, but not.  A huge thank you to all of you who have offered kind words of love and support here, on Twitter, on facebook, and via email - I can't tell you how much it means to me.

Unbreak my heart

This white box has been sitting here with the cursor blinking accusingly at me for the better part of three hours.  I don't know how to write this post.  There are so many thoughts and feelings swirling around inside of me that I don't know how to slow them down long enough to catch them.

My grandfather passed away yesterday morning. 

Mom called Saturday while we were out of town.  He had gone from a prognosis of being moved to a regular room and going home in a few months, to taking a turn for the worse overnight and being on 100% oxygen/morphine with the doctor saying it was "just a matter of time."  Mom had said she wasn't going because she didn't want to see him like that; she did end up going to the hospital because Nick and Taylor were there and she wanted to be there to support them.  I originally said I didn't want to see him like that, either.  As the day wore on, my feelings started to change.

Mom called again later that night and told me about her experience at the hospital with the "family" who chose to judge and condemn us without ever asking to hear our side of the story.  She was asked (nicely) not to go in to see him: he had suffered a third heart attack and his heart was so damaged that doctors worried the slightest excitement - good or bad - could cause him to have another, and his heart just couldn't handle another attack. 

Logically, I know I would've been told the same thing.  However, I've felt guilty as hell for not at least trying.  At the same time, I did not want to be the cause of another scene or more upset: I didn't need that on my conscience.  Talking to Mom on Saturday night, I felt judged for not going and like my feelings were being overlooked and discounted because I hadn't been there.

I'm sad.  I'm hurt.  I feel lost knowing I have no grandpas left.  I feel guilty.  Today, I seem to have moved onto angry: I feel pissed off at the world, because it's so much easier to be mad than to be sad.

For perhaps the first time in my life, I can honestly say that I have an honest to God regret: I regret being so angry that I couldn't give him the benefit of the doubt and wasn't more receptive to him when he approached us last summer.  I have maintained for the last year that Gramps probably didn't even know it was me: he just saw an opportunity to make a sale.  It wasn't until Chebbar picked me up from work when we got the first call that it came up that he could tell by the look of trepidation on Gramps's face that he knew exactly who he was approaching.  

Yesterday afternoon, we went up to the cemetery where my great grandparents are buried.  I asked them to apologize to Gramps for me - to tell him that I've missed him and that I love him. 

I have missed him.  Terribly.  I didn't realize how much until this past week.  I've heard things about how he missed Mom and I.  It's hard not to get caught up in the what-ifs and the guilt - there's a lot of guilt in my heart and it's weighing me down.  I'm trying my best to remember the good stuff so I don't drown in regret.

My grandpa taught me how to brave when he'd push his dentures out of his mouth and tell me to shove 'em back in.

My grandpa showed me how far you can see when you change your vantage point by letting me venture up on the roof with him.

My grandpa showed me the beauty of a peanut butter and banana sandwich.

My grandpa gave me my love of the Canucks.  (They're totally going to win the Cup in his honour this year.  I'm just devastated he won't see it.)

My grandpa left me with a final lesson - a gift: to let anger go before it forms a grudge and to at least try to remain open and receptive.

Rest in peace, Grandpa.  I'll miss you.

Bare-ass-cooties or dirty-ass-pant-cooties: you decide

We went out for dinner last night.  While waiting to be seated, a lovely little twit tottered in on too-tall-for-her-weak-little-ankles hooker heels with... her dad?  She was wearing a skirt that just baaaaarely covered her ass. 

They ended up being seated at the table beside us; I watched with curiosity as she tried valiantly to arrange her butt cover to cover her butt, but it didn't.  Now, in this day and age of the MORTAL! SIN! that is visible panty line, I guarandamntee she wasn't wearing no granny panties or boy shorts - I'd bet my Pearl Jam tickets she was wearing a thong...

Yes, that means her bare ass was seated on that chair.  I'm not sure if I was more grossed out by the bare-ass-cooties that met the poor, defenceless chair, or that her bare ass was picking up other people's dirty-ass-pant-cooties.

Either way, I'm gonna start using those toilet seat protectors OUTSIDE of the washroom now.  *shudders*

This Is Why I Love You: Reason #55

Source

#55:  You know this.  You get this.  You do this.


Explanation

Visualize your hurt, anger, or upset away

I participate in MeYou Health's Daily Challenges - they're quick, simple, little activities that you can do to improve your health and well-being.  You can link up with your facebook account and connect with friends who also participate; as well, if you interact with the community, you will likely find yourself with a number of new connections.  Some of the "challenges" are a little silly and far from actually "challenging," but it's a nice reminder to do something good for yourself, your mind, or your body every day.

Yesterday's challenge was to visualize packing up a negative thought into an imaginary bag and taking it outside to "float away," carrying your stress along for the ride.  The term "float" made me think of my visualization technique, which I picked up from some magazine over the years.

When I am upset or angry or hurt, I visualize "blowing" my issue into a big, red balloon.  I will inhale as deeply as I can and exhale forcefully, like I'm actually blowing up a balloon, imagining the balloon expanding with each breath; each breath symbolizes my stressor leaving me and entering that balloon.  After three or four big breaths, the balloon is fully inflated: I then visualize it floating way far up in the sky, taking those worries with it.

 

Source

It may sound corny or dippy-hippie-ish, but it's worked for me on a number of occasions.  It might be worth a shot for you - what do you have to lose (aside from some stress)?

Do you do anything similar?  How do you deal with getting rid of/over hurt or anger?