Up For Grabs

Since I’m sure no mainstream newspaper will accept this classified ad, I will post it here… (and maybe, if I don’t take enough pills to stave off the crazy, craigslist… I know I’d get bites there).

Free To Good Home!!!

My life.  Yes, you read correctly.  I am looking to get rid of my life.  Current asking price?  Free.  This is a one-time only offer and there are no refunds.  No givebacks, do-overs… it’s a life… you can’t just give it up and start over… 

Hmm.  Well.  Kinda just defeated my own purpose now didn’t I?  Or maybe I just made a good point in a very cool and creative way.  Maybe a little bit of both.  I’ll save that debate for later.  Best to focus on the big picture now.

After all that though, I realize that I have nothing left to add.  I’m only 24… I’ve learned enough to know that I have one life… I have to work with what I get… make the best of it… I may only get one go at it but at least it’s all in my control and not somebody else’s.  I’m old enough to know that there is so much more to know and that I’ve barely made a dent in it.  This is disconcerting at times but it gives me something to look forward to.

That about does it.  I’ve ran out of steam.  I started this with a grand idea but it died quickly… most likely of its own dead weight… I’m learning that simplicity is valuable in everything I do… the rest is just fluff.  So I toss aside grandeur and do the only thing that works: I keep it real. 

   

Slump

April 23, 2007.  That would be the last time I posted anything here.  I have so many things going on in my head, so many things I COULD write about but it never ends up making any sense.  Maybe that’s how it should be.  I’m tired of writing about daily events from my life and while my children provide me with plenty of fodder, I live it everyday and find the subject matter to be very boring.

So… hmm… more later but I’ve chosen a very inopportune time to post this little bit as it is.

Kellen & Kendall

Kellenimgp0049.jpgimgp0048.jpg Kendall

Silly Girl

Dancing on the edge

Hurt before

Risk it all

Wanting to trust

Scared to fall

Too good to be true

Or take it at face value?

Flip the coin

Call it in the air

50/50 chance

Heads or tails

He loves me, he loves me not

So much riding on a quarter……


The coin lands with a soft thud on the carpet.  Heads.  Damn, I think to myself.  Heads means he’ll break my heart.  That was what heads meant, right?  I can’t even remember now…The sound of footsteps brings me back to reality.  Partially anyway.  That damn quarter is still on the carpet where it landed.  I’m sure George Washington is giving me the evil eye.  Old, wooden-toothed jerk.  He set me up.  I look up just as you walk into the room but sneak one more glance at George Washington/the devil.  Following my gaze you spot the quarter and bend down to retrieve it.  You come back up holding the quarter gingerly between your thumb and forefinger, make a big production of inspecting it, all the while grinning.”I believe this is my way out right here, Sweetheart.  You did say heads meant I was going to um, ‘rip your heart out’, right?”

“No!  That thing fell out of my pocket!”  How in the hell did he know that’s what I had been thinking?!

“Riiiight.  I was standing in the doorway almost the entire time, you goof.  You talk to yourself.”

Oops.  Better fix that broken inner monologue.

But before I could explain myself further, he stepped in and wrapped his arms around me, hugging me tightly.  His breath ruffled my hair, I could feel his heartbeat.  My neurotic worries slipped away.  I felt safe.

“My sweet, silly girl.  I can guarantee the only thing I’ll ever be doing with your heart is protecting it with my life.  Keep writing your poems, don’t ever change but please don’t doubt how much I care for you.”

Legs and a couple really cute kids

Time for pictures!  Yay!

Me and my legs.  Yes, I am proud of them.  They do such a great job taking me from point A to point B.

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More leg but watch out for the guns…they’ll get ya

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Last but most definitely not least, here is a picture of my girlies giggling their little hearts out.

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Oh yeah…

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Good times.  I’m not conceited, I swear.  Just bored.

Ridiculous

 This is for the over-40 women (NOT MY MOM – SHE KICKS ASS!!) directly from my gloriously sharp 24-year-old mind.  None of these really apply to men besides, old guys are way cooler than younger guys.  Okay, back to the women.

Hi, hello.  We need to get a few things straight.  First of all, twenty-somethings do not want to “hang” with you.    We just want you to sit at home, watch CSI, or how about just ACT YOUR AGE!!  You do NOT listen to Fergie, Ludacris, or Justin Timberlake and more importantly, you do not “shake your booty” to that sort of music.  You see that person over there?  Yeah, that’s your kid.  Right now they wish they were dead because you’re trying too hard.  Low-rise jeans.  Uh-Uh.  Do not pass Go.  Do not collect $200.  Stop dead in your tracks, march your goofy ass back to Abercrombie and return the low-rise pants you just bought.  Then redirect yourself to the regular section at Macy’s and look for a cute pair of jeans in the classic fit.  While you’re at it, please find a shirt that covers your belly.  Your stretch marks will thank you.  They’re a little self-conscious it seems.

There’s fabulous after 40 (like my mom) and disastrous after 40.  There is nothing wrong with staying fit, looking great, and having fun at that age but I think everybody knows a person who doesn’t want to let go of their youth and embrace the aging process.  They are trying to be cool but end up acting ridiculous in the process.  I’m so thankful for my mother who has always managed to be supercool but maintain her dignity….she is my idol and my inspiration…beautiful and fun-loving without being over the top.  She exudes class and intelligence – I only hope I can be half what she is when I’m 40. 

Oops

Could’ve picked a better post to disappear with.  Out of Sorts.  Ha.  I hate it when I do that.  I’m fine.  Somehow it always comes back to that: I’m just fine.  No matter how shitty life gets and it’s been pretty fucking shitty lately, I end up fine.  I just said “fine” three times.  I can’t decide if I really am or if I’m protesting too much.

The kids find it acceptable to get up at 4am the past couple of days.  They do have a little bit of a cough.  Not enough to get up at that hour but whatever I guess.  They crash again a few hours later if I just roll with it.

I’m in a slump but I expect to be back in full force at some point.  Peace out.

Out of Sorts

Yeah.  The title says it all.  I’m out of sorts.  No, I’m not on my period so no comments from the peanut gallery.

I’m a little worried I may be on a swing of some sort.  I haven’t really determined whether I will go up or down but I can feel a change coming…I know myself too well.  I’m hoping to swing up in a hypomanic episode rather than dip in depression.  Depression is the worst enemy of someone with Bipolar II (like me) simply because while our mania may not be as severe, our depression is deeper and darker than a person with Bipolar I (somebody who experiences full-blown mania versus hypomania which is a lesser form of mania).  In fact, patients diagnosed as Bipolar II have a much higher rate of suicide than any of the other forms of Bipolar.  I know this will scare my mom which is not what I’m trying to accomplish…I am NOT suicidal….I am medicated…I am also trying to give a clear picture of just what I’m up against every single day. 

It’s not pretty.  Some days it’s fucking terrifying.  Sometimes days or weeks pass and nothing…I’m just me…regular Shayna…which is high-strung anyway.  Even during the times when the Bipolar seems to be dormant my mind is constantly working, thinking, observing, watching….and processing - I can guarantee you that nothing slips past me…I’m not being arrogant…I pick up on everything, very quickly.   I see a lot of things I don’t want to see…unfortunately I ignore the bad stuff…somehow I’m thinking that has nothing to do with the Bipolar and everything to do with me being a …gulp… coward.

What the fuck does that have to do with this though?  I hate it when I get off track and I do it all the time…even more when I’m talking.  It seems like I’m always asking somebody, ” What was I talking about?”….too many things going on upstairs…I live so far inside of myself that sometimes just dragging my thoughts out into reality is a mammoth task.  You’re probably wondering how I can be so perceptive but be so ditzy at the same time.  Couldn’t tell you…it’s the weirdest thing ever.  Magic of the disease. 

Now you probably think I’m talking crazy but you’d have to know me to understand.  I could lament my bad luck or whatever gave me Bipolar but I don’t.  Instead I embrace it.  Even when I’m out of sorts.

Dying Rose Petals

Sounds like a title to a very bad poem.  The kind of poems I read everyday.  The kind of poems I have most likely written but would never, ever share for fear of being ridiculed.  But as usual I digress.  Bad poems are not the point of this post.  The actual scent of dying rose petals is taking center stage and I will commence forthwith!

I recently bought some body mist while I was shopping at the Gap outlet in Woodburn.  It was an impulse buy…a little purse-sized spray bottle sitting in a display next to the cash register.  It caught my eye…I had been thinking I needed a lighter, more floral scent to wear for spring.  Anyway, the stuff I bought was called “So Pink” (so not the usual Shayna fragrance but hey I was looking for a little variety) and it said it was a “blend of citrus and flowers”.  Okay.  Flowers.  Spring.  Makes sense.  I grabbed it, paid, and got the hell out of that teenager-infested hellhole.

I’m not the kind of person to spray the new stuff as soon as I’m back in the car…I decided that it would make more sense to just wait to use it until after my shower the next morning.  If I tried it right away it would just mingle with the fragrance I was already wearing and I wouldn’t get an accurate idea of whether or not it would work for me.  Yes, compulsive but it’s efficient and foolproof.  So I waited.

The next morning I emerged from the shower eager to try out “So Pink”, so-not-me.  I sprayed it all over and patiently waited a few seconds….one….two….three…..gag…..gag…..oh fuck….it is horrible!  It smells like dying rose petals!  Any woman knows the smell.  Her guy has surprised her at least once with a bouquet of roses despite being told (many times!) that roses are so ordinary and lilies (my personal fave but just an example at the point)  are much more exotic and would be a more well-received gift.  Woman keeps the roses to save guy’s pride, all the while secretly gagging at the sickly, sweet scent the roses emit as they slowly die.

 Good God I’m overdramatic today.  First the bad poetry thing and now the roses.  Jeez….hopefully getting it out of my system.

Normal people would have chucked the little $2.99 bottle in the trash but me, being frugal me, decided that I would use it as room spray instead.  Ingenious, Shayna!  Body mist becomes room spray!  Next step world domination!  Whatever. 

Turns out it wasn’t such a great idea.  My entire house smelled like dying rose petals.  It was so bad I had to open all the windows and spray my regular room spray all over.  Guess I’m not a genius after all.

So much for stepping out on a perfume limb.  I’d like to take this opportunity to thank “Sensual Amber” for hanging in there while I played the field. 

Playing Catch Up

I dropped off the radar for a few days.  Miss me? 

Let’s see…last post was Thursday.  Today is Monday. 

I didn’t write on Friday because I had to drive to Portland.  Not too exciting…I spent the better part of a beautiful 80 degree day in the car with cranky kids.  My dream come true.  There was an accident eastbound on Highway 26 and we got stuck in it.  Other drivers were impatient and cutting through the grass median to get to the westbound lanes.  Not this kid.  It was hilarious to watch at least three other drivers get stuck  in the grass though…including a perfectly-coiffed, business suit-clad woman driving a $100K Mercedes sports car.  Got a good laugh at her dumbass expense…especially because not two minutes after she decided to try to cross the median the accident was cleared and traffic was moving.  Good times.

I didn’t write on Saturday because we were meeting Mom, Dad, my sisters, and soon-to-be brother-in-law at Chuck E. Cheese’s for a belated birthday/Christmas/just because celebration for the boys.  I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again:  Chuck E. Cheese’s is exactly how I picture hell.  Screaming, out-of-control kids hopped up on birthday cake, root beer, and too much excitement.  To top it off the mascot is a rat.  *shudders*  Kendall was terrified of Chucky….rightfully so…I don’t blame the poor kid…Chucky gives me the willies too.  To top off the whole experience we sat right next to this guy who kept combing his hair.  Long, stringy, greasy, gray hair.  HE KEPT COMBING IT!  AND COMBING IT!  AT THE TABLE WHERE HE WAS EATING!  OH….MY….GOD!

I didn’t write yesterday because it was Easter.  Not because of the holiday itself but I was busy with Easter activities.  Had to play the bunny in the morning and then police the amount of candy consumed before breakfast.  Later on I volunteered watching children at an Easter church service.  That was crazy but oddly fulfilling.  It felt good to help out and…wait….stop the presses….I believe I may have honestly befriended the “plastic” woman I mentioned in a previous post.  Most of that was a joke though since I am a person who always tries to have prolonged contact with a person before I truly pass judgment.  Before Easter I really had no opinion of her at all. 

Until yesterday I had very little contact with her simply because our paths just didn’t cross.  During the Easter service though I noticed that the other women…more matronly types….flat-out ignored her.  That seemed wrong to me especially because she is so good with the children.  They love her…she’s like the pied piper.  I am definitely not a “matronly” type like the other women but I think they talk to me because I’m friendly and open and I don’t have a huge rack to distract attention from my other good qualities.  Plastic girl is actually quite shy so she has to contend with that on top of her unnaturally perfect knockers (LOL…I had to say “knockers” because it makes me giggle like a 12-year-old).

I’ve made a short story long as usual though.  Basically I had a really nice conversation with her and she is a very nice person.  I’m very much looking forward to volunteering with her again.

That’s about it.  Today is still in progress so I’ll talk about it later.  Peace out, Cub Scouts. 

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