I’m about to admit something personal and I hope all of my 2.5 readers don’t get uncomfortable. Ready? I am a crybaby. Not in the complaining and whining sense (ok, maybe a little bit) but literally someone who cries. Let me explain before this gets forwarded to budding mental health therapists who need practice diagnosing poor saps. I am a social phobic which means I experience my fair share of panic attacks. Most people think I’m experiencing a panic attack when my face turns red. That is usually false. My face turns red when I talk and it has nothing to do with nerves until somebody points it out. Then the panic attack hits. My most common panic attack is actually crying. How embarrassing is that? I’m a grown woman and I start crying in public. Years ago I saw a mental health therapist. Her suggestion was that I let the tears flow uninhibited when I feel like crying. I’ve never been able to do that public display so instead, I’m going to write about it and post it on the internet. Maybe it will have the same end result?
The Lessons of Life and Character I Have Learned in the War Chapters of the Book of Mormon
When I first read the Book of Mormon, the war chapters at the end of Alma were my favorite. Instead of being as deep as the other parts of the book, it became more like a novel. Such drama! But after I read it through a couple of times, and I knew how it would end, and the major plot points, it became rather difficult to read. I became a little bored with it.
When I was serving a mission, however, I noticed there were lessons to be learned – even in the WAR CHAPTERS.
Nice
I AM being nice,
I am, I am, I am.
Please understand
This is as nice as I can be.
If you’re expecting
Someone sweet (yuck!)
That is not me.
I Am a Visiting Teacher
I am many things. To name a few, I’m a daughter, an aunt, a sister, a sister-in-law, a church youth leader, and a visiting teacher. Most of those titles may make perfect sense. But what’s a visiting teacher?
Visiting teaching is a responsibility in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. Members of the church visit other members of the church once a month. We check on their temporal and spiritual well-being. I know it was divinely inspired. It is the life blood of the church.
the driftwood
a piece of driftwood
floated down the stream.
no control of its destiny,
or so it seemed.
A Pet Peeve
Organization is only beneficial if it increases efficiency. If it does not, or it becomes organization for the sake of organization, then it moves from the realm of effectiveness and becomes a fruitless obsession. People brag about having the skill of organizing as if that is the most important skill in life only attainable by a select few. Unless the doing follows the planning you’re only dreaming. True organization, or the lack thereof, is plainly manifest and doesn’t need to be explained or excused. Don’t apologize for being “too organized,” because if you do have that coveted skill, you just made my job easier.
NJ and Crudy
I feel left out. A co-worker and I were talking the other day and somehow, our conversation turned to the topic of imaginary friends. I never had one. Some of my cousins had one. Their friend’s name was George and he wandered around their house. Now, some of their children have a friend named George – but only when they visit their Grandma and Grandpa in the house my cousins grew up in. Okay, that’s weird and causes chills but that isn’t what this article is about.
I read a 2008 article at psychologytoday.com that said 65%of children have an imaginary friend at some point in their lives. Which means having a make-believe friend is the norm and not having one is abnormal or even weird. I wish I would have had one. It would have been nice to have a friend around all the time or even a scapegoat when I needed to blame someone for something I did. I wonder, do the children actually see someone or do they merely want to see someone? And where do they come up with the name?
My younger sister, NJ, had an imaginary friend when she was young. Her friend Crudy (rhymes with Rudy) showed up sometime after NJ could talk and went away right around the time NJ started school. I recently asked NJ if she could see Crudy and the only thing she remembers is that her friend had short, curly hair. Because of the stigma associated with imaginary friends, NJ was a little reluctant to answer questions regarding Crudy but I managed to get a few answers from her before she caught on to the theme of the questioning. Did her and Crudy have some sort of a farewell or a goodbye? Or if, in a very unromantic fashion, did Crudy simply disappear from NJ’s view and NJ saw her like the rest of the world saw her friend, as nothing? But when I asked NJ, she simply responded, “Um, I grew out of it.”
I remember Crudy was a pretty loyal friend to NJ. She was around a lot of the time. If I gave NJ a hard time (as is my older-sister prerogative) NJ would simply look past me and carry on her conversation with Crudy. She’d speak louder as if letting me know how rude it was for me to interrupt.
Crudy was a bit of a troublemaker. Whenever NJ would get in trouble, she’d put her hands on her little hips showing her displeasure and doing a miniature-momma stance, “Crudy, what did you do?” Sometimes I found myself waiting for Crudy to respond. Then I remembered, she didn’t exist and only NJ could see her.
The name of NJ’s friend is quite irregular. I’ve never heard it before or since so I have no idea where her three year old brain came up with it. But Crudy provided some entertainment for our family for a couple of years. I wish I could have met her. But then, I’m sure Crudy got an earful about me from NJ.
On a Dime
Thursday: I was assigned to a CPR class at work. The annual CPR class is a requirement for each employee. The teacher told us that on average, each person will have to use CPR at least once in a lifetime. As I was getting ready to leave the class for the day I had a feeling I would be using the skills I relearned. I scowled at the thought. But the thought occurred to me I’d be using it soon. Perhaps, even that weekend.
Sick Day!
I could feel it coming on for a couple of days. Finally it hit yesterday afternoon and there was no mistaking it. I was sick.
Last night I tossed and turned and didn’t get a restful sleep. Instead I got mini-catnaps which produced a weird blend of reality and dream world. Thanks to my Blockbuster.com membership, the last thing I watched before going to bed was season one of Castle. I remember one brief dream which involved Richard Castle. For some reason, instead of being his romantic counterpart (I could totally be a Beckett), I was his daughter. I’m only two years younger than Nathan Fillion so I’m not even going to try and delve into my subconscious and figure out the interpretation of the dream. I woke briefly and drifted into another restless sleep. This dream involved my intense, irrational fear number two. It was “Can’t get enough of Titanic” on AMC this past weekend and in my dream I found myself on the doomed ocean-liner. Again, not as the romantic lead.
Needless to say, it was a long, long night. Close to the early morning hours, I decided there was no way I was going to make it in to work. Which meant, I’d have to call in sick.
I hate calling in sick. Maybe it’s the way I was raised. If any of my siblings or I missed school by playing the sick card, we were banished to our room for the day. This was in the days before there was a tv in every bedroom. Definitely no wii or even its predecessor the Atari. No computer or anything to entertain us. A treat was when I got to sit out in the basement living room watching tv. We definitely didn’t leave the house when we were sick. People who let their children stay home from school and were spotted at the mall later that day, well, those people just didn’t understand how to raise children.
So, I do not take sick days lightly. There’s always a mental test I perform in my head before making the call. Am I really sick? Would I mind staying in bed all day? Am I just trying to get out of something at work?
If I pass the test, the next hurdle comes along. When should I make the call? Do I call early while my boss is still at home and interrupt her morning? Can I leave a message with the clerical staff in front?
Once the timing of the call is decided, the actual call itself is a problem. I try to use a “sick voice” when I call. One that is hoarse and raspy is best. I plan out exactly what I’m going to say. Too much small talk seems to indicate I’m not actually sick. One that barely makes sense is best. Then I can laugh about it with my boss the next day with a comment like, “I was so sick, I didn’t even know what I was saying.”
After the call is made, I wait for proof I did the right thing. Some kind of symptom that demonstrates I made the right choice. If that symptom never comes, it drags into a long day of second guessing myself. If that symptom does come, then I get to spend the day being sick. Bemoaning my fate and wondering if my number is up because in the history of human suffering no person has ever suffered as much as I do with the flu. Those are the days I actually wish I was at work. Now, that’s the sign of a true sick day.
The Magic of Hoffoody
(fiction)
Brrrng!
The class bell caused me to jump. Lunch time, or as I think of it, the worst time of the day. Slowly, I gathered my books as the rest of the class hurried out the door. By the time I closed my locker, the hallway was nearly empty.
I used to sneak to the library and eat my sandwich there. But, one day I was unaware Mr. Peterson was combing the aisles. Right away, he smelled my peanut butter and tuna fish sandwich.
He caught me mid-bite.
No longer was I allowed to hide in the library during lunch time. I took a deep breath and pushed on the heavy cafeteria door.
Noise surrounded me as I entered. Eagerly, I looked at the teacher’s table hoping there would be reinforcements for protection. No such luck. The only teacher sitting there was Nervous Nelson. He earned his nickname because he just sits and sips his coffee. Even during class.
