Cue the laugh track

I like laughter.  More precisely, I like to laugh.  But lately, laughter is hard to come by.  Driving home from a friend's house tonight, I realized how much I miss laughter.  Especially raucous, uproarious laughter.

We were part of a group of friends who used to get together pretty much every weekend.  We'd giggle well into the night.  We'd laugh until tears streamed down our cheeks and our voices were hoarse.  We'd laugh until our sides ached and our bladders threatened to explode (and sometimes did).  And then we'd just get silly, and every little thing made us laugh all the more. 

Where did it go?  When did my life become so serious and my times with friends so far between?  It's not that there's no joy in my life.  There is.  It's not that I don't spend time with friends.  I do (though not as often as I'd like).  But the silliness, the abandon, is gone.

It feels good when I laugh, though it would probably be better not to do it at inappropriate times.  I can't help it if the things that amuse me don't make sense to other people.  In fact, thinking back on some of those kind of moments makes me laugh right now. I mean how could anyone not find it funny when Mel Gibson, in Conspiracy Theory, has his eyelids taped open and is strapped in a wheelchair, trying to escape his captors?  I laughed so hard, out loud, in the movie theater that people gawked at me, prompting the hubby to shush me.

Is there such a thing as laugh recovery?  I think I'd sign up for it.  Or maybe a seminar.  It seems sense of humor is subjective, but laughter need not be.  I'm not sure where to start, but watching Conspiracy Theory might be a good idea.

Nice 'do... not

Have you ever noticed that the people with the long, stringy un-nice hair are always the ones playing with it and flipping it all the time?  It drives me crazy!

I was once sitting behind a group of teen-aged girls, swimmers with fried hair.  The rows of chairs were packed entirely too close together, which meant the hair of the girl directly in front of me practically touched my lap when she hung it over the back of the chair.  It was one of the most distracting things I've been subjected to in a long time.

Her hair was almost waist-length which is already a problem for me.  The ends were split a good six inches up the shaft.  It didn't look like it had seen conditioner EVER.  She kept running her hands through this mess, shaking it from side-to-side, as if it were spun gold.  And each time, stragglers would fall into my lap while the rest came precariously close to touching my face.

I was going over the edge!  I teetered dangerously close to reenacting the scene from the second Pee Wee Herman movie where he is compelled to run his hands through Winnie's hair.  I wanted to reach out and grab a handful of that mess as she flung it back at me.  I wanted to ask if she had never heard of conditioner or when she last had a good haircut.  But I couldn't.  Etiquette forbade it.  My husband would have been mortified!

Since when does having long hair mean that you sacrifice it's care?  Have some pride girls!  And should you dare to abuse your locks, I suggest you not flip it in my face.  Like Pee Wee, my hand might take on a mind of it's own.

the swap

Everywhere around me I seem to be seeing people replacing one addiction for another.  Cigarettes for drugs. Exercise for overeating. Volunteering for workaholism.  Church involvement for a guilty conscience.  How does this make any sense?

An addiction involves making something an idol in your life.  ANYthing that is made an idol is a negative thing.  Even things done for a good reason can become a negative in your life when it's distorted out of proportion. 

So, how do we restore balance in our lives without it looking like apathy, laziness or complacency?  I think we stop worrying about how it looks to those on the outside; particularly those who don't really matter.  Too often, we give our power away to people who don't deserve to have it.  Since when does every single person we've ever met have the right to make us feel insignificant and like we need to prove ourselves to them or get their approval on our lives?

It's time to stand up!  Find out who you are.  Soul searching is not a fun or easy thing, but it's the only real way to know yourself.  Unless we know who we are, intimately, we can never really know another or expect them to know us this way.  Find one or two REAL friends, people of character, grace and love who can speak truth, honestly, into your life.  Then listen. to. them.

Open letter to Mr. Jacobson

Dear Mr. Jacobson,

Thank you so much for ripping my heart out.  I thought it was nice of you to want to buy our house for your daughter.  Then, as quickly as you placed your offer, you yanked it back.  I imagine your daughter is as devastated as me.  But I guess when you're some big attorney you can't be bothered by the trivial feelings of us normal, insignificant people.  I can only imagine what your relationship with your daughter must be like.  How sad.

I find it strange that your daughter is a full-grown adult, whom I've met, and unable to get a mortgage on her own.  And she obviously acquired your social skills in that she never even bothered to tell us things fell through.  That was extra classy.

Thanks to your arrogance and need to control your daughter's every move, and her immaturity and inability to get along with you long enough to have closing a on house you wanted to buy her, we have lost the house we wanted so badly in the city.  You all strung us along just long enough for someone else to swoop in and buy it out from under us.

Actually, it almost feels like a relief to not have to be legally involved with either of you.  So, I guess I owe you a "thanks" for that.  I'd wave good-bye but I can only get one finger to stand up.

Regina

The new normal

The problem with having an "invisible" disease is that no one knows you're "sick".  I am in pain every single day; just some days are less pain-filled than others.  It's a big adjustment for me.  I went from being a healthy, active person to one who can barely get out of bed some days.

There's a lot of things I can't do anymore, like open jars, work out every day, put in a full day's work or have sex as often as I'd like.  But I do what I can, when I can, hoping things don't pile up too much when I can't.  In my attempts to feel normal, I sometimes overdo it.  That's my fault.  But it doesn't mean you shouldn't let me try to do it again the next time.

This is my new normal.  I'm tired of being in pain and feeling bad.  I'm tired of feeling bad because people think I should be who I used to be and do everything I used to be able to do.  This is not about you.  It's about me.  I did not choose this, but I have to live with it.  And live I will.