Lots to say, little talent to do so!

Wow. Aren’t I quite the ass to accuse you of not having passion. Well, it’s not quite like that, so please put the stones in your hands down and read on.

I do not generally like to shy away from speaking my mind, but this particular situation involves very dear friends. On the surface, it’s not really that big a deal … unless you’re sensitive to false impressions about yourself as I am. Here are the facts; you decide for yourself what you would feel.

I was involved in a situation that involved  group of people who, while most of us were not leaders per se, were in a leadership role. This was an activity I absolutely loved that I believed would be a part of my life until I either died or developed arthritis of the fingers. I am or better said, was, a bassist. No, not a particularly good one, but I did what I could. Anyway, I dealt with a group of people who, in my opinion, undermined the purpose of our “band”. I dealt with this for a long time. Sometimes, I was a baby about it and threw a visible fit. Other times, I bit my tongue and plowed forward. The point being that the intended purpose of our band did not reflect most of its members outside of the band. Condensing this vaguely told situation - to protect my various friendships, of course - I decided that perhaps the best solution was for me to do the very difficult thing of leaving something I deeply loved.

As things unfolded and I talked to other leaders involved with the band, I was simply told that I did the right thing, considering that being a part of the band simply was not one of my passions. This hurt me deeply. Who is anyone else to judge for themselves what I am or am not passionate about and how could they take the liberty to make their own conclusion about the situation? Anyway, I was pretty upset.

What I would have liked for everyone involved to see is that I made a sacrifice for the good of my own sanity, spiritual being, and maybe even the band members. I know of some very special individuals who have gone beyond their own needs for the sake of making something or someone else better. It’s no easy decision to do this, folks.

It has been some time since I left the band and from what I am told, the band members have had a sort of growth. From my perspective, this is what the situation required all along.

Someone replaced me at bass, and the new person is very gifted not just at that instrument, but with others. To add, this person posses other very admirable qualities. I applaud the band, yet I cannot help but feel a sort of sadness that what I saw as a sacrifice was not seen as one nor have I ever been acknowledged in any form for my actions. Ugh!

There’s irony to this story to boot. It turns out that the band leader chose to share … and give up …control of the band. When I heard this, the first thought that came to me was to say that there simply was not enough passion in this leader, but that would have been the spiteful and unfair thing to do. I simply see it as this person needing to find a way to balance something in their life - it clearly has nothing to do with lack of passion or commitment or anything else. It was simply time for some change.

I do not know if the winds of change will be for the better or worse, but I sincerely hope it all works out for the best.

• Love Downtown Seattle

OK, pardon the English, but I had to say it. So, in the flash of a moment while I’m waking up this morning and tasting my foul mouth, it hit me.

Long story short…

My parents immigrated to America pretty much head first. Neither knew the language or customs, but they made a go at it and I would say they lived a modest version the American dream. Until my dad lost his career job. Anyway, after decades of being in this country, one would think the parentals would have enough sense to learn the language inside out. Alas, they had different ideas.

My dad grew up a very quiet, aggressive, and emotionless person. To add to his being, he smoked, womanized, drank and fought a lot. He got into pretty serious stuff. And then along comes a wife and family.

My siblings and I grew up without the knowledge of expression and emotions. We rarely verbalized our feelings toward one another, but were quite good at letting the garbage spew like vomit.

Back to this morning.

I am waking up with a memory of my dad standing at the back door, smoking and pondering. He said nothing, and just walking by him was uncomfortable because it meant we might actually have to acknowledge one another or even worse, make eye contact. This image pretty much sums up the “social” life of my father after moving from the southern U.S. to the Pacific Northwest. So, in that flash of a memory, I asked myself how I would be, act, and feel if I had minimal social contact with anyone outside of the walls of my own home? Sure, he should have learned the language, etc., but he made many mistakes. I cannot imagine living the majority of my life without some sort of social interaction outside of the immediate family I love and care for so much.

After thinking about it over a cup of coffee, I realized just how little I knew back then and how judgmental and unfair I was to my dad. Make that parents.

I knew back then how both my parents were brought up, but what I have now is years of experience of my own fatherhood that gives me a different perspective. Thankfully, me and my parents eventually learned to communicate some  years back ago, but boy, when life wants to slap you across the face for seemingly no reason, you sit there, stinky foul morning mouth and all, and take it.

Simply put: Because it’s necessary. I realize points of view vary, and I’m grateful to live in a country that allows us that freedom, but I’d like those who despise Christians that not all Christians are the same, even if our goal may be.

In my own personal experience, I’ve discovered that much of what I do is directed as much, if not more so, to the self-proclaimed Christian. This may seem a bit harsh, even extreme, but it’s true.

I get discouraged at times when I see idle Christians sitting alongside me. For those who don’t know, they are called, “Pew warmers”. Why take in the word when you don’t intend to follow it? For those who don’t know, yet again, don’t be too critical or eager to second anything I say here because it’s really much more complicated than that.

Listen, all I’m saying is, if you’re going to be a Christian, LIVE LIKE ONE! Ah, but, unfortunately, many will get all knotted up into bunches because living like one seems to require definition. Not really.

Many a time, we, the Christian, are our own stumbling blocks: Why do people despise Christians or Christ himself? Sadly, it’s because of how man has shaped “religion”. Don’t be hatin’ now, but it’s true.

For the “non-Christian”, don’t be too quick to judge - something we, the Christian, is criticized for. How do you like them apples? *Smile* Get to know some of us, so that you can see how the new Christian lives. A warning to the wise though: We’re just as human as the rest of you. In other words, we make mistakes, believe in science, and even curse at church (shame on you, “Angela”), but we do acknowledge a God, one God, what He did (does) for and asks of us.

I recently Tumbled across another Tumblr blog that had many images posted of dead people, an autopsy, maimed and beheaded, with a person posing beside the body. I stopped to think and ask myself why would the owner of this Tumblr blog feel the need to post such things? Is this someone who would be quick to judge and criticize me for who I am and what I stand for? Ultimately, I had to wonder whether or not this person might be a believer - of anything good or positive, and my feeling is that he/she is not. I proceeded to wonder what the average non-Christian might think about him/her. Would they equate this individual to a Christian? Would they accept a cordial conversation from this individual and get to know him? Am I deserving of the hate, disappointment and resentment others feel toward Christians because I am no different than Tumblr X? The same questions apply to Christians. Do you, as Christians, truly believe the normal Joe Blow? Well, I suppose I’ll never know the answer, but at least I’ve presented some food for thought to anyone who sTumbles across this post.

• Love Downtown Seattle

julie911:

I’ve noticed that as more people become aware of FM, there are more misconceptions about this illness going around. In the last few days I have read and heard others say that:

1. FM is a rheumatic disease
2. People with FM have low pain tolerance

Both statements are incorrect.

1. FM is not rheumatic in origin. FM is a neurological illness, originating in the brain and spinal cord.
2. People with FM do not have low tolerance for pain. In actuality, we have a much higher pain tolerance than healthy people. It is our pain threshold that is low. And those two are not the same thing.

What’s the difference? Adrienne Dellwo, medical journalist and FM patient herself explains:

It’s true that we feel pain when other people don’t. However, we also deal with more pain than other people do, and we generally deal with it better than they do as well.
What’s at work here is the difference between pain threshold and pain tolerance. Here are the definitions:

• Pain Threshold: the point at which stimulus is reported by a person as pain.
• Pain Tolerance: the amount of pain a person can withstand before breaking down, either emotionally or physically.

So yes, our pain threshold is incredibly low. When confronted with stimuli other people’s bodies consider harmless, our nervous systems sound the alarm, turning up the volume on pain.

When it comes to pain tolerance, though, we can blow most people out of the water! I had a good friend who recently was laid out by an ingrown toenail. Sure, it hurt, but does it really warrant constant complaining, stopping your life and spending a few days on the couch? Meanwhile, we deal with so much pain that it becomes just another part of who we are. For me, it’s like, “I’m a Mom, I’m short, I wear glasses, and I hurt.” I work in pain, I socialize in pain, I parent in pain. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be able to do them at all. It takes a heck of a lot of pain to break me down, physically or emotionally.

So when someone looks at you as if you’re weak for being in pain, look back at them with all the strength it takes to live with pain as your constant companion and ask, “Who here is stronger?”

Any FM patient can attest to that.

In my case, I broke my leg one night of 2007. Alone in the house, I pulled myself up on the good leg, made it to bed and waited there, without taking anything for the pain, until the next day, when I made an appointment at my doctor’s office, all the while planning to go back to work in the afternoon. I didn’t even go to the ER.

Then, I had surgical repair of that broken leg, got plates and screws in, and took only a total of 4 pain pills in the days following the surgery. That’s all.

And through the first 18 months with this illness, I worked in the EMS 40-50 hours a week, lifting heavy (and I mean HEAVY!) patients, squatting inside wrecked cars in the most godawful positions during extrications for extended periods of time, and doing other EMS-related physically demanding work daily.

I hope this post goes around and many healthy people read it, because this misconception hurts.

When I hear others say that FM patients have low pain tolerance, it kills me a little. I know it does the same to all that suffer from this horrible illness.

girl11eleven:

No matter how much I try to explain this, it will never make sense. It just sounds like a story of crazy coincidence. Which I guess in the end, maybe that is all it really is.

I dated 3 guys for a total of almost 11 years. There were a few gaps in between where I lived the single life and then for the past 3 years (next week, as of February 4th) I have been perpetually single.

Boyfriends 1, 2 and 3 were all men I loved. I spent 5, 4.5 and 1.5 years respectively with them. That is not the kicker of this story, as we have all had long term loves and people in our past. But rather it is something that falls into line with a topic most people think is random, bizarre or worthless.

Birth dates. Signs. Astrology.

Any guy that I have really cared about, who has been in my life in some capacity was an Aquarius. Those guys I mentioned above were all born in the same week. Jan. 29, Jan 30 and Feb 4th. How odd is it that all 3 of the men I spent over a decade with were all born days apart? Add that the other guys that were either my closest friends or business partners, every guy (aside from my father) that has ever meant the world to me was born in that same exact week.

In addition, from Jan 27th to February 4th, some of the biggest events that have defined my life have occurred this exact same week. Most of them have happened in concurrence with the dates of my ex’s birthdays. It is at the point that when this week approaches now, I want to hide in the basement with a case of vodka and not come out until the 5th.

I know most people do not believe in astrology or birth dates, but I am one of those that do try to understand it. At this point, I can’t deny that there is something about this week and those dates that I am attracted to. How can you have three boyfriends in a row, a business partner, a best friend, not to mention a slew of potential love interests ALL be born in the same week? Now when I meet a guy and he tells me he is an Aquarius, I run like Forrest Gump.

If you need me in the next week, I will be in the basement, drunk and on Astrology.com trying to figuring out what I should do next.

Fate. ;-)

iamcaressa:

Accidentally overhearing someone say something nice about you.

Waking up and realizing you have a few hours left to sleep.

First kisses.

Making new friends and spending time with the old ones.

Singing in the bathroom.

Sweet dreams.

Hot chocolate.

Making brownies and cookies.

Holding hands with someone you care about.

Watching a sunset.

Sleeping in.

Taking long, hot showers.

Sweet tea.

Knowing that somebody misses you.

Yup.

“OK, guys, it’s time to pick up your balls!”

She was telling the kids to put their toys and bouncy balls (no, not the ones between the legs of a male) away.

• Love Downtown Seattle

Any of you get grossed out by blood? I don’t. I don’t like the feel of it when it dries on my skin, but it’s nothing that grosses me out. OK, coagulating blood on the floor is gross, but it’s not enough to make me turn away.

Yesterday evening, I was taking part in an event watching 4 and 5 year old kids, teaching them some stuff. It was fun! I had an absolute blast! The kids took well  to me, which made me feel quite nice. Adults don’t take too well to me because I don’t look like the nicest person in the world, though I think I can be nicer than most. Anyway, bloodsport.

The evening, as far as I am concerned was, a total success. Almost. *CRAP* I had the kids playing London Bridge, answering questions, and singing. Those lil bodies were getting hyper by the second! Wow were those critters filled with energy. I couldn’t wait for their parents to come pick up their little angels!

I got this idea, and thought to myself, “Hey! These kids have so much energy, why not have them play some Freeze Tag?” What a GREAT idea, right? *SMILE* OK, so parents are beginning to arrive. One parent, in particular, sticks his head in the door and greets his little cutie. She is running like the wind, hair going this way and that way, and then she spots dad and takes an unexpected change of direction…right into a little boy.

We’re all quiet, waiting in anticipation of that screech kids make when in pain (or not). I was initially relieved because the little girl cried just a bit, and the little boy started out OK, but then began to cry. No harm so far, but within minutes, just as his mom is walking in, his nose begins to gush blood. There was little people blood all over. *SAD FACE* Thankfully, the mom was really good about it, and aside from the bloody nose, the little boy was doing fine.

Oh, the guilt! I’m half expecting to get fired from my volunteer position, half hoping to hear that the mom is really OK about it. We’ll see. Is there a moral to this story? Maybe, but I don’t care for it. :-)

• Love Downtown Seattle

A mind is a terrible thing to waste. Perhaps. However, using your mind does not necessarily mean it was not ultimately a waste anyway.

So, I am reading this book, LOLITA, and while I find the book’s subject disturbing, it’s a really good book. I hate saying that because it is about a middle-aged man who loses the love of his life, whom he cannot get over, and is looking for love in all the wrong places. To be exact, young girls under the age of 15.

What I need is for someone who has not read it and is looking for a book to read to try it out and let me know their thoughts. I have to wonder whether the author fantasized about young girls himself with how well detailed and demented the character is. Supposing the author was not even remotely interested in young girls, having to conjure up the events of the story alone has to have been creepy!

I should be completely done with the book tomorrow, so if anyone comes across this, go get your copy and give me some feedback!

• Love Downtown Seattle