Split Email Personalities

I’ve never succumbed to Twitter, Instagram, and Snapchat, or whatever the newest form of social media is out there. I do though, believe that the internet has taken over my life in other ways. I have a sort of multiple personality when it comes to email accounts, that won’t let go of me, or at least the accounts are hard to let go of.

I have three family emails. One that we started out with. It was free. We use that for personal communication with friends. Then the one that we got when we signed up with our telephone company. We use this to give to businesses and keep contact with our church and school. Then one we received when we signed up for our TV. Pretty much we don’t use that one. Hope I don’t have to use it. I have forgotten the password.

I have four personal emails. One is for my work. One is connected to my computer. Don’t know why. My son said I had to have a specific type to link my computer to the internet. One is for my writing projects and one is for my blog.

I have two Face Book accounts and one Word Press Blog.

I have all these and no time to use them. Why can’t I let go? Why can’t I just have one? I do know that when I feel a certain way, I gravitate toward one over the other. Say I want to go to a friend, I go to my family friend account. If I feel like writing, I go to my Word Press or the email connected to it. If I want to connect to my writing self I use yet another. I wonder why I can’t use one for everything?

Maybe I need to give myself permission to jump into another world for awhile. A world where only certain people know me. I know that one of my problems is wanting to be liked by everyone. So if I express myself in certain ways, I need to make sure I don’t make one group of my people mad. So I go to the ones who will listen and accept. Then when I need a different sort of connection I will go to those others who would be bored by my other self.

Sounds sad as I watch myself type these words. I can hear you telling me to just be me and not be worried about who I am to others. The most important thing is that you are true to you. I hear you, but easier said than done. So I continue to split myself and wonder why I am tired.

One small thing

I came home to a flood. The second floor air conditioner had been pouring water nonstop, while we were unaware at work. It seeped it’s way through the wooden floor to the downstairs ceiling.

Digging through the mess under my son’s bed tonight while sopping up the water, we pulled out suitcases, blankets and found baby photo albums. I dropped everything and dragged the photo albums downstairs, dripping as I ran. I tore the cover off from the front of the album. I ripped each paper page from the plastic envelopes that carefully held my treasured photos. I was amazed that not one photo was harmed. (I did find one photo in the back loose, that was damaged beyond recognition. That’s it.)

Here I sit waiting for piles of wet towels to be washed and dried. There are suitcases and blankets all over the house. My ripped pages with photos are draped all over the house to dry the edges before I carefully pull each of them out.

I want to cry for my disaster, but I have to sigh. God watched over what was most important. It could have been worse. I am blessed despite my difficulties.

Great As Is

rabbit

Today I decide to let go of the, “I am not good enough” chain that I usually wear around my neck.

My deeds have defined who I am. My sacrifices have determined my worth. I give of myself till I’m dry.

If my house is a mess, do not think me lazy.

If I fix frozen pizzas and boxed macaroni and cheese, don’t feel sorry for my kids.

If my bills are late,  my clothes wrinkled and stained and my pile of dishes are higher than the friends that I can count, please don’t sigh for me.

My life is one step in front of the other. That is all I can do. The homework,  the office,  the responsibilities consume. I am but a to-do-list with legs.

I long to stare at a wall, to have no one want anything from me.

I want to be invisible, yet appreciated for who I am.

I desire to magically suspend the balls that I juggle each day.

“Good enough” is a sickness and I want to be free.

Instead, my new operating system says that I am, “Great as is”. No updates are necessary. No Martha Stewart life for me.

Bring on the messy, the late, the I don’t know where I put that.

I choose to never be behind, but exactly be right where I am supposed to be.

I am exchanging my would of, should of, and could of existence for an- I am who I am, and I am proud.

That is me! I am great as is.

Life is a lot like knitting…

20170108_161058I just finished a Saxon Cable Infinity Scarf that I have been working on occasionally over the last two years. I am proud of myself.  I have a lot to learn,  but already I have come to the conclusion that knitting is a lot like life:

1. It takes practice,  patience and persistence.

2. Beauty doesn’t happen overnight.

3. Sometimes it is challenging,  sometimes things fly by smoothly.

4. Things go better for you if you follow the pattern.

5. Mistakes happen.

6. Some mistakes can’t be changed; just accepted.

7. Depending on your perspective, you’ll either see a tangled mess, or a beautiful pattern.

8. You must stop for the knots and tangles. Sometimes you even may have to cut the yarn completely and reconnect to a healthy strand.

9. As long as you are connected to the yarn, you can keep knitting.

10. When you come to a stumbling block it is always wise to ask for help.

11. It is ok to admire your accomplishments and wear them with pride.

12. There is always a new adventure ahead of you,  with endless possibilities to create beauty.

 

Permission to write?

questions

I have a question,  if anyone knows a literary lawyer- all the better.

A couple of years ago I wrote a book.  An acquaintance of mine told me an awesome miracle story about her abusive ex. I asked her if I could use it and she said yes.  I wove that short clip into my story,  changing names and a few other details. It really is a great story.

I saw her recently and we talked about my book.  I reminded her that her story contributed to it being great.  She acted shocked. She asked me to take it out.  What happens if he reads it?  He will know she told it.

Now my question, and I am afraid I already know the answer. .. Do I have to take it out?  I do not see this girl ever. The story is about a construction project and a few bricks ( sounds boring but it is not. ) I am sure my book will never be a best seller,  just might eventually put it on Amazon.  I use a pen name and the man does not know me.

Anyone have any thoughts on the subject?

Thanks,  Meghan

 

 

What’s your one word for 2017? I’ll tell you mine… — Holley Gerth

{my graphics are free goodies for you} Sparrows dressed in feather coats reach into sidewalk cracks outside the window of the restaurant where my husband and I have gone for brunch New Year’s morning. The little birds are feasting on what’s been lost or dropped or abandoned. They seem to be content. This is not so simple…

via What’s your one word for 2017? I’ll tell you mine… — Holley Gerth

Miserable Night, just have to cry…

Photo by Occhi Rivoluzionari

I didn’t sleep. I cried all night. Now I have to go to work.

It started with my son buying not one, but three forbidden violent shooting video games he knows I hate. Then he says he is old enough to make his own decisions. He plays it in my house while I cry in my bathroom. He is 15 years old. I am a terrible parent.

Then my youngest comes running to the bathroom in tears. “Mommy help me!” he cries. “I just spilled my juice on my computer.” Another disobedience, they know I’ve told them not to have food and liquids next to the computer. Now the computer is dead.

Told the kids to go to bed. Then I noticed that their phones are gone off the chargers. They’ve taken them to bed. Another disobedience. I storm upstairs and grab the phones. Now they are grounded during their Christmas vacation.

Then my husband yells at me that I don’t do enough for him. He says that I always put the kids first. I cry, he goes to sleep. I am so alone and over worked. I do the cooking and the cleaning and the bills and the wash and the groceries and the dishes and the vacuuming and the schedule and the help with homework and the driving to and from school. He comes home and sits on his computer. He says that he will leave me because I do not make him first priority. I am a terrible wife.

I am so tired and just want to give up. Nothing goes right. I work too hard and the world is against me.