inspirational

“Sooner or later, everyone’s story has an unfortunate event or two…The solution, of course, is to stay as far away from the world as possible and lead a safe, simple life.”
― Lemony Snicket, The End

I was driving to the hair salon to see my beloved Reny and get my grey amped up.

Yes, you heard me, I’m embracing my inner crone, who is making her debut in my life one strand of coarse grey hair at a time.

On my drive through the canyon that morning, the traffic was light, so I was tooling along at a pretty good clip; lost in my thoughts, thinking about some drama from my past, when a motorcycle startled me – zipping past me on the left.

As you know, we ride a lot and there is a practice, splitting lanes, which is riding between lanes of traffic, and is legal here in California.

Before I rode, I used to think those riders were jerks who just wanted to get where they were headed faster than the rest of us fools, who were stuck in our cars.

Au contraire.

I got schooled by the hubby in the beginning of our relationship when we, to my horror, split lanes in traffic on the 101 freeway, and I yelled for him to stop acting like a criminal. “Let’s not be that guy, shall we?”

“Motorcycles are air cooled” he informed the very naive, backseat driver behind him on his bike, “so they have to stay moving, otherwise you’ll have a bunch of overheated bikes tying up traffic even more.”

Mea culpa Big guy, I stand informed and corrected.

Still, it hasn’t lifted the jerk stigma that I KNOW the other, not as clued in drivers, level on us as we wind our way between their cars during rush hour.
I’ve seen the stink eye they give us as we go by, so I close my eyes now.

If you can’t see people, they can’t see you – right?

As we weave in and out of the lanes of slow moving vehicles, we cut it thisclose to their rear view mirrors so I’ve asked him on several occasions: what happens if we hit someone’s mirror?
“We keep going.”

Jerk factor just ramped up several notches. Did you feel it?

We never have, thank God. I would have had to hear it, since I’m blind with my eyes closed, and I wear my invisibility cloak.

But low and behold, after I had this lane splitting flashback, I came out to my car, (with a lovely, new, fabulous silver wash over my hair) to a mangled rear view mirror on my drivers side, that I suspect was the unfortunate recipient of motorcycle karma.
As I looked for a note or flowers or some kind of clue as to the identity of the culprit, my husband’s voice echoed in my ears “we don’t stop, we keep going.”

Still Jerky.

And karma…. you have the wrong car! I’m just a passenger; a blind, invisible, unwilling participant.

When I was meditating later, and asking about the whole mirror, Karma debacle, you know what the Universe said? You’re gonna laugh, I did.

“You were thinking about some past drama too much, it wasn’t motorcycle Karma at all (besides, Karma doesn’t make mistakes) it was to get your attention and to remind you to move forward, stop looking behind you – stop living in the past.
Rear view mirror – get it?”

Ha. Got it.

What signal, signs, metaphors does the Universe send you? Do you always recognize them, or are you dense, like me?
Tell me about it. Help a girl out.

Sending love and good Karma,
Xox

https://soundcloud.com/jbertolus/audio-recording-on-wednesday

Check your thermometers and change your vacation plans because,
HELL HAS JUST FROZEN OVER.

That is a picture of a GUN in my hand.

Don’t get your panties in a bunch now, relax, I’ll explain.

This morning my expert in all things gun related, paid me an early visit; while I still had both courage and coffee running through my veins.

My husband you say? No way!

His lifetime allotment of patience wouldn’t be enough to allow him to tackle teaching me about weapons. Although he is an aficionado and quite a good shot, ( I framed a target from the range that one of his buddies brought me. There’s isn’t a mark on it – except for a giant hole in the middle, where he emptied his pistol) we both agreed that Ernie is up to the task at hand.

Ernie is the guard at the jewelry store I used to work at, and since he is allowed by law, to carry a concealed weapon at work, he has to stay very current and adept with his gun skills. I have always been silently grateful for that, since my life was in his hands; and I’m ashamed (only slightly) to admit to having plied him with cake, brownies and cookies to stay in his good graces – so he would save me first.

He takes everyone (my husband, his friends, my friends – everyone’s friends) to the range for practice when he goes, and is a very skilled, thoughtful and patient teacher.

I’ve never gone. I’ve always declined because I’m scared beyond all reason.

Ever since I can remember, I’ve had an irrational fear of guns. 
I can’t look at them, let alone touch one. (Check out the old dog’s face, she can’t believe what she’s seeing).

If I even catch a glimpse of Ernie’s gun it makes me cry, so he never removes his jacket; even when the air conditioning broke and it was an oven in the store.
Yes, he’s THAT nice, and yes, I’m THAT mean.
I’m telling you – it’s irrational.

When I was in line at a fast food restaurant and a couple of cops were next to me and wearing their weapons, I froze, then I started to shake and cry, and I had to run out.
I wasn’t nine, I was forty nine. That’s crazy, I know.

Since I’m in my fifties I’m all about confronting my fears.
They are imaginary after all; just the stories I keep telling myself. A gun is plastic and metal, and is only dangerous in the wrong hands, and it cannot kill me if it isn’t loaded. Still, I must be shown ten times, that there is no bullet in the chamber before I will even LOOK at it.

Let me set the record straight, I’m no fan of the second amendment.
I can’t fathom why, in the twenty first century, we need the right to bear arms. That all made perfect sense to our founding fathers because it was the 18th century, and the only thing I know for SURE about guns is that their only intended purpose is to kill.

That always makes me say: I HATE GUNS, when the more accurate statement would be: I’M SCARED OF GUNS, I HATE GUN VIOLENCE.

That being said, I find myself surrounded by men and women who take guns and that amendment very seriously. They are well trained, and practiced and I gotta tell ya, if the zombies come, I want them on my team.

Another thing I know for sure: Knowledge is Power.
At this stage of my life there aren’t a lot of things I know NOTHING about, yet, I am completely clueless where guns are concerned, which has started to make me feel…..disempowered. That does not sit well with me at this age. I want to conquer my fears. I want to know how to load and hold and fire a gun.

There. I said it.
(It still makes me shake.)

Can bungee jumping and sky diving be far behind?
Yes, yes they can. Maybe sixties for those.

So… It’s time. I’m going to pull up my big girl Annie Oakley pants and I’ve made the commitment to go with the whole gang to the range on Monday.
That’s why Ernie started the aversion therapy today.
Part two will be Thurday. I suppose what comes next will be me holding it for more than thirty seconds.

I may forget to be home Thursday.

After getting all testosteroned up at the range, they have a tradition where they all go to Hooters for lunch – because the chicken wings are so good. I swear, that’s their story.
I think the sight of boobies helps them back to balance.
I’m a good sport, so I’ll be tagging along.
I’m looking forward, no, I’m actually counting on the boobies bringing me back to balance.

I’ll let you know how this goes….

What fears are you conquering? Have you waited as long I have?
Who’s afraid of guns out there? Who hates them?
Yell at me, talk some sense into me.

Love you,
Xox

Being in my fifties, most of my friends have grown kids.
But since age is just a number and I’m  just immature enough, I have several younger  friends with very small children, kids under the age of ten.

I was talking to one of these younger moms and she asked my advise.

Not about mothering of course, since I forgot to have children, but about the level of commitment she and her girlfriends have to their kids and their spouses, and how they don’t take time for themselves.

Seems she was chatting with a friend of hers, a fellow mom, and they were joking about how clueless their sons and husbands were. That without their loving guidance they would be feral, running in packs, eating garbage and living under bridges with trolls, and that it was an all-consuming job with no time off for good behavior and no vacations.

We laughed of course, but it all sounded very familiar to me because that has been a recurring theme for most of the moms I have known.

“If it weren’t for me they wouldn’t eat, or they would live on Cheetos and Dr Pepper and be spindly and stupid from lack of proper nutrition.”

“If it weren’t for me they would wear the same filthy clothes, brush their teeth once a month when they showered (or fell into some water and called that a bath) and their ears, fingernails and feet would be caked black with dirt and their lice would have lice.”

“If it weren’t for me they wouldn’t have one manner, as a matter of fact, they probably wouldn’t have much of a grasp of proper English, or any social graces whatsoever. They would grunt while never looking up from their phone, iPad or computer. They would be complete social misfits.”

In a nutshell, if it weren’t for the tireless sacrifices, commitment and love to these guys (and girls) they would be just shells of their current magnificent selves.
They would have NEVER made the team, passed fourth grade, gotten that big job, done a speck of homework, learned music, gotten braces, written that speech, etc, ect , ect.

It’s okay if it’s a two-way street – but let’s get real here – it can be very one-sided.

So I listened, and laughed and then got tough with her – because I love her – and she asked.

“That’s all ego talking. You have to justify all that time and energy so you tell yourself basically, they’d be nothing without you.”

Is any of that true? Probably not. As a gross generalization, woman DO tend to bring out the best in men. And children. And small animals. And other women too.

I explained to her the oxygen mask theory. It’s amazing actually.
The airlines have to tell you that in the case of cabin depressurization, it is imperative to put the oxygen mask on yourself FIRST and then your child (hopefully your husband can put on his own or you have bigger problems than you think.)
They give you permission to go first; which seems completely counterintuitive to mothers –– so they have to be reminded.

“You and your girlfriend have to put you oxygen masks on first, otherwise you’re no good to anyone.”

Then a thought entered my mind like a lightening bolt. I got chills it was so profound. It was Divine Guidance. I certainly didn’t come up with it, it was too good.

“Oh Jeez, hey, I just got this.
If you really believe what you’re saying, who would YOU be if you had devoted the same time, energy, commitment, sacrifice and LOVE to yourself, that you have put into your family all these years?”

Then we both teared up.
Holy shit that’s big.

If you’re devoted to making everyone around you great, when is it your turn?

A ton of woman do it when they become empty nesters, but why wait?

This doesn’t apply to only kids and family.
I did it with my boss and my job, until I wised up, woke up, and set boundaries.
We make their lives easier, smoother, more fun and better, while we lose sleep at night.

I think it’s time for the oxygen mask first thinking to prevail, and taking the time to figure out how to make our own lives become great too.

Are you with me?

Can you relate to this kind of sacrifice and commitment to family? Have you found a balance? Let’s hear it in the comments.

Big love to the moms out there,
Xox

Between the violence in the Middle East, the weird weather, several plane crashes and Ebola coming to the states, this could go down in our collective memories as The Bummer Summer.

People are jittery.

Everyone I know is walking around with at least a mild case of malaise.

As someone who has been labeled an “energy uplifter” by several teachers through the years, (more commonly known as a Pollyanna) I will do my best to remind you that many experts, including Steven Pinker, have the statistics to prove that the world is the least violent and dangerous now, than it has EVER been in recorded history. That seems hard to believe, I know.

“As one becomes aware of the historical decline of violence, the world begins to look different. The past seems less innocent, the present less sinister. One starts to appreciate the small gifts of coexistence that would have seemed utopian to our ancestors: the interracial family playing in the park, the comedian who lands a zinger on the commander in chief, the countries that quietly back away from a crisis instead of escalating to war.

For all the tribulations in our lives, for all the troubles that remain in the world, the decline of violence is an accomplishment that we can savor—and an impetus to cherish the forces of civilization and enlightenment that made it possible.”
—Mr. Pinker is the Harvard College Professor of Psychology at Harvard University. Excerpt from his book, “The Better Angels of Our Nature: Why Violence Has Declined,” published by Viking.

Let’s all get a grip, shall we? We’re safer than we’ve ever been.
Like the above graphic says, 50 thousand planes landed safely, 7 billion people lived today.

So why is it, you ask, that things in the world feel as if they have gotten worse and we all feel anxious and poopy about it?

I blame the news, whose aim it seems, is to scare the bejeezus out of us between the weather, pop gossip and traffic reports.
If you can step back and gather your wits, it’s almost comical. I’ve laugh snorted coffee out of my nose while watching the first half hour of GMA more in the last three months than I can ever remember. Maybe that’s just me.

This Ebola coverage is crazy. It plays like an SNL parody of those pandemic movies, with the doctors in hazmat suits catching the damn thing SOMEHOW, and then the bright idea of an airplane transporting the Americans back here, to the states to see if we can save them…..
(Cue cheesy music)
I’ve seen the movie, I know how this ends.

Shit.

(The Universe with her wicked sense of humor, has just seen to it that for dramatic effect as I write this, we have just been issued a Flash Flood Warning – in Los Angeles. WTF? Can’t it just rain?)
I received this alert on the TV, radio and that other culprit, the inter web, simultaneously.

The internet also alerted me this morning to the fact that there was a pretty severe earthquake today in China. I have a CNN app that makes sure I know when anything happens – the minute it happens – anywhere In. The. World.
I can be reading or writing on my iPad; feeling Sunday unplugged, and WHAMO, there’s a chime and something awful comes up on the screen to get my attention.

Some things I just don’t want or need to know, but I don’t seem to have a choice anymore.

I don’t know how to disable these alerts without deleting the app, but I’m thinking that’s my next step if I want any piece of mind at all.

I’m advocating a collective dismantling of the fear machine AKA the media in our lives and the quickest way to do that for yourself is to stay as far away from the news as possible….and read real books if you REALLY want to be unplugged.

Plane travel is safe, people are alive and Ebola, well, Ebola is in Atlanta for now.

Ommmmmmmmmmmmmm….

Let’s get our peace of mind and our summer back.

Now who do I talk to about this weather?

Love you more,
Xox

*This is a little poem that the Universe dropped at my doorstep (it does that occasionally) about a year or so ago. It’s always good to get these little reminders to change our perspective. I’m also attaching another chant by Deva Premal that I’m obsessing about since you all loved the one to Ganesh so much 🙂
Sending Sunday Love,
XoxJ

YOU CANNOT SEE ME, WHEN YOU’RE LOOKING FOR WHAT’S WRONG
I’ll be hidden, out of sight,
In the middle of a fight.

Being snarky?
Passing judgement?
With nothing nice to say?
It will seem that I’m not with you,
As I stay above the fray.

Don’t look for my agreement,
when you justify your meanness.

I cannot see things as broken,
I can only see them whole.
While you see someone in ruin,
I can only see their soul.

We’re on separate paths,
you and me,
When mistakes are all you see.

Fault is always found,
when you’re looking at the ground.
Lift your heads up higher,
if it’s truth that you desire.

That is where you’ll find me,
when you start to see the sun,
In the eyes of those around you,
there is light in everyone.

Consider them as flawless,
like I do with you each day.
Do the best you can,
choose kindness,
If that doesn’t work…
then pray!

Chant for Serenity

http://youtu.be/d63COahIpVM

As you wake up and become more conscious, you start to clean up all your messes from the past, mend fences and take responsibility for all your decisions. It’s called accountability.
It’s ALL part of the process.

Have a great Saturday my loves,
xox

We’ve all been there.

We have the practical knowledge coupled with the willingness, which is a tough thing to gather together at the same time really. We usually only have one or the other at any given moment.

We are ready to tackle – for good – a situation, relationship or problem that we’ve been chewing on for awhile.

Conquer. We are going to conquer it. For good this time.

We are ready to transmute it and send it back from whence it came.

So……what were we supposed to say?

How were things supposed to be handled?

What was that opening line that was going to finally start the conversation?

Oh shit. We’ve lost our nerve.

We’re not ready.

This will NEVER work.

We can’t do this.

Now We’re stuck.

Here’s a great tool that will help you become un-stuck.
My friends and I have become obsessed with it, it’s THAT good.
It’s a chant to Ganesh, the Hindu elephant God, the remover of obstacles; done beautifully by Deva Premal.

http://youtu.be/OTFWfD7L5QA

One of my friends had a sticky situation with an old friend, we chanted as a group, she downloaded it and chanted everyday, and in less than a week the situation had resolved….itself.
Favorably.
That’s some pretty good stuff.

Don’t say you don’t have the time. You do.

Don’t say you don’t like chants. This one’s gorgeous – and effective.

Don’t stay stuck.

Go ahead, unburden yourself – start the weekend with a chant.

You’re welcome. 😉

*Thank you Danielle LaPorte for turning me on to this.
DanielleLaPorte.com

Xox

Last night on the bike path I passed a well-dressed citizen, walking along with a bottle of water. I was stunned to see him finish his water and hurl the bottle into the woods.
I stopped and said, “Hey, please don’t do that.”

He looked at me with complete surprise and said, “what?” as if he didn’t understand what ‘that’ was. His conception of the world seemed to be that there was two kinds of stuff… his and not-his. The park wasn’t his, so it was just fine to throw trash, in fact, why not?

The challenge we have in the connection economy, in a world built on ever more shared resources and public digital spaces is that some people persist in acting like it belongs to someone else. When they spit in the pool or troll anonymously, when they spam or break things, it’s as if they’re doing it to someone else, or to the man.

Too often, we accept this vandalism as if it’s a law of nature, like dealing with the termites that will inevitably chew exposed wood on a house’s foundation. It doesn’t have to be this way. Over and over, we see that tribes and communities and organizations are able to teach people that this is ours, that it’s worth taking care of and most of all, that people like us care for things like this.

Seth Godin, whom I love, and also has the audacity to blog EVERY DAY, wrote this today, and as usual he hit the nail on the head about what I was sitting and stewing about this morning.

He was articulate. 

I’m REALLY hoping this doesn’t turn into a rant.

I wrote yesterday, in a humorous way, about someone in the neighborhood choosing to put out rodent poison, and the consequences. By this morning I was finding it as funny as a root canal.

I get it – I REALLY do. But here’s the deal.

The Eco system in our neighborhood is out of balance.

Since California has been suffering through its worst drought ever, the wildlife in the hills above our neighborhood has taken to the streets. The coyotes have come down and have been feasting on our free range cats. I lost my two Siamese in the space of a week a few years back.

About a month ago a couple of people in the hood pulled out sixty years worth of mature trees along with tons of ivy. Apparently the ivy had provided a lovely home for these rodents, and has for the sixty years it’s been there. 

They now find themselves on the move.

Since the coyotes have finished off most of the neighborhood cats that were keeping the rodents in check, their population has exploded this summer and we’ve seen and heard them in our Bougainvillea.
They’re not near the house, but the yuck factor in the evenings when you can hear and catch a glimpse of them is high.

Like I said – I get it.

We have contacted pest control who basically will come out and poison them. The other options are just as heinous; sticky tape that traps them (they either stay stuck and starve or you have to kill them; or traps, which often aren’t a quick kill. 
I hate killing anything. I carry spiders outside.

Anyway, they’re suffering.
Again, I am not a lover of rats and when they’ve gotten into the house we’ve resorted to killing them with a trap that electrocutes them instantly. We took the time to research our decision.
Still awful, but fast.
They never know what hits them and I’m okay with that if they’re eating my insulation and wiring and making a nest in my kitchen towel drawer, and in fifteen years we’ve had to kill maybe six. Previous to my cats dying, they did the dirty work for us. 

Here’s the parallel with Seth’s tale:
When I do that, it only affects ME and The RAT.

Whoever poisoned the rodents, took the easiest, cheapest, way AND they have started a chain reaction of collateral damage that will push the neighborhood that much further out of balance.
Not to mention the now FOUR suffering mice that we’ve found in our yard the last 24 hrs and have had to put out of their misery. They were dying a long, drawn out death, while my puppy played with them, and contemplated eating them.

We have owls and hawks who will eat the poisoned rats, so will the few feral cats that are left, and a couple of dogs that don’t know better. The squirrels and possums and raccoons will eat the poison and die horrible deaths too.

That poison doesn’t discriminate, and the wildlife is hungry this long, hot summer.

All because someone didn’t care about anyone or ANYTHING else.
They wanted the rodents to go away. Just like that guy didn’t want to carry around an empty plastic bottle.

I get it. I really do.

What I’m getting at is this: there are those of us that give careful consideration to others and the affect our actions will have on those around us. It is more than just MY rodent problem, it is OURS. Your decision has now affected the neighborhood, everyone’s pets, the wildlife and general peace of mind. 
Waking up to suffering animals and having to be hyper vigilant with my dogs is a pain in the ass.

Please, please, please my darling people, don’t throw your plastic bottle in the woods and don’t throw poison down and leave a mess for everyone else to clean up.

Be concious. Look around.

It screws up the balance.

It’s OURS not just yours.

I ranted huh? I’m Sorry……Thanks for indulging me.

Xox

Holy Cow.
Jesus, Mary and Joseph.

There’s some weird energy out there and it’s been difficult to keep an even keel.
I feel the huge need for ice cream and donuts and pasta carbonara; that’s my sign that some shit’s about to hit the fan.

I kept it together yesterday. I made a salad for dinner even thought I wanted to carb load.
Uh oh. Rough water ahead.

Watched something on HBO last night that I shouldn’t have, I know how non-existent my tolerance for violence and especially violence against animals is, so I kept having to leave the room – but I could still hear it.

BTW, I’m no critic, but the show, although highly acclaimed, sucks balls. So fucking dark, no redeeming qualities or message, just gloom and doom and twisted violence.
What’s wrong with you people?
‘Nuf said. “Hey, horrible, horribly popular show, you will not be adding me as a viewer.”

So it should come as no surprise that I had nightmares.
The one I had right before I woke up, heart pounding, sweating and feeling defiled, was that someone; a team consisting of a sinister fat man and a middle aged woman from that fucking show, had my boxer shark puppy. (Cue sinister music)
Once I discovered her after she’d been missing for awhile, they would not release her to me.
They were holding her for ransom for the sum of $300,000-!
He, the fat man, actually informed me of that figure with a straight face.
I knew I didn’t have that in my wallet, so I started beating them both with my red, five inch stiletto heels (you know, the ones you run around looking for your missing puppy in.)
I grabbed the dog while they were defending themselves against my very brave and surprisingly effective shoe assault, and ran from the scene, scream crying and barefoot.

Then I woke up, winded from running and still in fear’s grip.
Whew. That was a close one.

I know enough about dream interpretation to know that what matters most is how it made you feel. I felt anxious and afraid for my eight month old puppy, who I’m madly in love with, but tests my patience every day.
But, it was just a dream and I needed my coffee – bad.

Mistake number one: coffee won over meditation. 
It’s always a fight and I can tell you how my day will go, by which one wins.

I needed a reset. I should have meditated the fear away while it was weak.

Los Angeles has switched weather with Mumbai the past few days, so we have been opening up the house, all the doors and windows in the morning for some fresh, cool-ish, non air conditioned air. The dogs love it. They run around out back through the sprinklers while it’s still cool, doing their doggy business, while we have our coffee, faces buried in our iPads.

This morning I noticed that it had been awhile since I had been slimed or my feet stepped on with muddy paws by the puppy. When I listened….too quiet.
Just like a toddler, that is NOT a silence you want to hear.
I stuck my head out in time to see her playing rambunctiously with a dying mouse on the lawn. It was just barely breathing, not a bite mark on it, it had clearly been poisoned.

I screamed for her to stop and screamed RAPHAEL at the top of my lungs.
That is his signal to come quick with a shovel because some form of wildlife has breeched the perimeter and it’s not okay.
Although most would call where we live the burbs, it is teeming with squirrels and possum, raccoons, skunk, coyote, mice and tree rats. I have no idea why, but they often pick our property on which to make their earthly transition – to die.
I love it and I hate it.
They must know the big guy lives here and won’t let them suffer.

It’s barely seven o’clock and poor man has to finish off a dying mouse.
Thank God for him.
I could NEVER.

The older dog is……indifferent.
The puppy? She’s in a frenzy and since I’ve now shut all the doors, she’s looking for a place to make a break for it. I close the gate to the grass, leaving them just the small poop area.
We agree that someone is poisoning the rats and mice, which is sad I suppose and was really just a matter of time (there are SO many this summer and they’ve been very conspicuous and vocal at night) and we don’t want her looking for bodies in the bushes, woodpile, etc.

No sooner do we finish that conversation and he walks back into the house; I spot her doing the one sided game of catch with another dying mouse in. the. poop. area.

RAPHAEL!

Shovel, kill, toss. Its seven fifteen. It’s been that kind of morning.

So did the fear of her safety manifest this threat to her safety?

I did call the vet; he said she’d have to ingest the poisoned rat to become poisoned herself.
Whew.

What the hell? When I dream of travel or food or sex with an A-list movie star (you know who you are) they NEVER appear in my real life, damn it.

FEAR is a POWERFUL emotion. Let’s just be clear about that.
If you stay stuck in its grip, shit will go down.

I hightailed it to the gym with chanting in my earbuds and shifted the energy.
Then I drove back to Shangri-La.

Do you ever let your dreams color your whole day? How do you break their spell?
Tell me, I’d love to hear about it. I clearly need the help 😉

You’d rather listen? Okay!

https://soundcloud.com/jbertolus/shovel-kill-toss-its-seven

Love from Wild Kingdom,
Xox

On those days when you’re finding fault with EVERYTHING – the sky isn’t the right Tiffany Box shade of blue and the air conditioning is blowing too cold; how do you get yourself out of it?
Do you, at some point realize your ridiculousness and slap yourself across the face to snap out of it?
Or do you marinate in the fact that you’re so contrary that if George Clooney sat down beside you, you’d tell him he needed a haircut and an Altoid?

I know you know when you’re being an ass – because I know it when I am.

We wake up every day and there are two sides of the bed on which to get up.
The sunny side or the dark side; the right side or the wrong side.

The question I’m asking is this: if, by some cruel twist of circumstances and hormones, you put your feet on the floor when you wake up in the land of EVERYTHING’S WRONG, do you indulge and make those around you miserable, or do you do your damnedest to climb out?

I’ve done both. I DO both. Guilty as a charged in the court of Nit Pick.

These dark days do not come natural to me, but when I’m under their spell – watch out – and know that I DO know what an asshat I’m being, I just can’t help myself right. this. minute.
So sorry.

The kitchen looks the same as it did two days ago when I was feeling so grateful.
The bright summer sunshine lighting up the couple of places that have chipped white paint make it look charming and cozy. Our coffee maker broke, we replaced it, no harm no foul ( thank you Amazon). The wine stains on the wood countertops were just faded purple reminders of a really fun party last summer.
Today, (wrong side of the bed day) I’m seriously entertaining throwing a grenade behind me and shutting the door, giving us the opportunity for a fresh start.

You’re welcome Honey, what can I say, I’m a giver.

Don’t tell me I’m acting like an ass when I am, because that’s like taking a hose of lighter fluid and spraying it on a fire.

I KNOW I AM. IM WORKING IT OUT.

But I will deny it….with my dying breath I will tell you I’m “fine.”
I’m sorry if your feelings and our kitchen have become collateral damage. If you want to survive this:
Don’t make eye contact and DON’T try to hug me. I have a fork in my hand.

The best strategy in the past has been to isolate myself for awhile.  Take a lovely walk outside in nature (I can’t today, with the heat index and the humidity, it feels like Thailand.)

Meditation is a good way to snap back into a loving place along with exercise. Neither of those have worked, so I’m still marinating.

Hormones, I’m blaming hormones. 
I remember feeling this out of sorts during puberty, but the Good Lord had the common sense to deal me that hand when I wasn’t old enough to marry, operate heavy machinery or carry a firearm.
Whatever shall I do now?

The trick for me is listening to my own words as they spill uncensored from my lips.
If they make even me cringe, I need to make a correction.
I need to shut up and realize I’m acting like an ass.
Is that what you do?

Try it.
Just listen to yourself. Step up and out of your body as you berate the waiter or the lady at Ralph’s or your husband.
If every other word is a critique or fuck, chances are you’re having THAT kind of day.
Sometimes, what I hear ME say is so vile, it makes me laugh, which then breaks the spell.

If that doesn’t work?
Do everyone, including yourself a favor.
Be quiet, go to bed early, and before you go to sleep, say a little prayer for a better disposition tomorrow.

Love you anyway,
Xox