How I Know God has a Sense of Humor

We always hear about God having a sense of humor. I mean have you seen a turkey...or an ostrich...a baboon? But I have proof that is a bit closer to home. Me and my husband. Only an innate sense of humor would have ever put us together. We could not be more opposite. I am convinced that when people get bored up in heaven God says, “Wait! Look! Look right down there. In Louisiana. No not there-- right next to Texas.” And then He flips on the movie projector of our life.

First of all, all you have to do is look at us, and you will get your first clue. I am short, very short, and on top of that I have short legs even for my height. Michael is tall. Almost a foot taller than me, and he has long legs. Like runner's legs. Not me. I have walk really slow legs. When we walk together, if he is walking at normal speed I have to just about jog to keep up. That came in very handy when I was working retail, since I often had to hustle, and I was already in practice.

Next, look at our work space. Michael is a pile-er. He has stacks of what I am convinced is trash EVERYWHERE, and it is all askew. Folders, papers, post-its. They cover every square inch of his desk. My desk? Clear. If I have several things to do, they are in one stack with the most pressing at the top of the pile. That way I can work my way down. Need a pen? I can show you right where it is, but I won't need to because you will be able to see it all on your own. My bulletin board? It consists of only clear tacks with 3x5 cards placed straight down and across—evenly spaced. Oh, that 3x5 card is messed up? Don't put it back. I will rewrite a new one. In the same color ink as the others.

Closets? His: just hang the clothes on the pole. As long as they are not on the floor—we're good. Mine: Pants on one rod, separated by type and color. Shirts? Organized by color according to the spectrum of the rainbow, within each color the shirts are then separated by sleeve length.

Housecleaning? Me? I start at the top and work my way down to the floor and out of the room. I get corners, behind objects: I lift the cook top to get underneath. Him: (looking at stove) “That comes up?!”

Vehicles? Mine: Don't leave anything in it. Other than a bag of recyclable bags in the back. His? Need a place to sit? “Just toss all those papers in the backseat. I'll get them when I sell the car.”

You get the idea. This makes for some interesting “conversations” at our house, especially if someone is coming over.

I spent the first 10 years of our marriage going behind him to apologize. “No really, he didn't mean that the way it sounded.” I mean, the man has NO tact. None. On top of that I seem to be super aware of other people's perceptions, so I am always trying to fix things. I finally just gave up because, well, did I mention he has long legs? He can cover a lot more ground than I can, and it's just tiring.

But, in spite of all these differences (I could go on, but the internet is only so big), I love him, and he loves me—even though my pickiness drives him up a wall. That's ok, though, that's why he has a job. God must have a sense of humor because if He didn't He would have never put us together, and he certainly wouldn't have known how much of a sense of humor to give us, so that we could put up with each other without involving bloodletting in some shape or form.

When Your Internal Clock is Off...WAY Off

In the beginning of July I hurt my back. I hurt it bad enough that for the next 2 to 3 days I lived on painkillers, muscle relaxers, ice packs and heating pads. Ever since then I have had trouble sleeping. Before this happened I was coming off of an early morning work schedule. I had to be at work at 6 am, so even though I had stopped working a couple of months prior to our move, I was still up and around by 7 am. After living on painkillers for several days, painkillers that completely knocked me out, I was going to bed late, and waking up later.

Since then I have tried forcing myself to go to sleep earlier. Result: me tossing and turning until 4 am. Did you know that if you hold your hand up to the light of your alarm clock your nails look like you have a blue french manicure? Neither did I. I do now.

I tried just laying down a couple of hours before I wanted to fall asleep and reading myself to sleep: Result: an out of control book budget. I can read for hours. I can read fast. Reading for hours just results in more books read, not earlier sleep.

I tried forcing myself to get up super early, so I would be tired at a normal bedtime. Result: falling asleep for 3 hours in the middle of the afternoon. There is only so much the human body can do on 2 hours of sleep when there is no adrenaline involved, and apparently all this human body can do is stare uncomprehendingly at the television, or, I don't know, the WALL, until the will to stay awake loses to the force that is “The Sandman”.

I even tried over the counter sleeping pills. Do you know what those things are??? Benedryl. Do you know what Benedryl does to me? It knocks; me out, just like the painkillers. The problem? The painkillers and the sleeping pills knock me out for waaaay too long. Then when I am finally able to move the lead weights that are my arms and legs, I am groggy. Super groggy. That results in absolutely nothing getting done.

So, I am back to just kind of hoping I will miraculously start to get tired at a normal, reasonable hour. That results in days like today.

Get up very late.

Feel guilty for getting up late even though I slept for a very normal 8 hours—almost to the minute.

Have a general feeling of lethargy all day long while trying to convince myself to get some chores done.

Start becoming clear minded at about 9 pm.

Between 11 pm and 12:30 am:
Complete 2 loads of laundry, including ironing.
Vacuum carpets
Sweep and mop kitchen, entry way and bathrooms
Clean master bathroom
Hang pictures
Write blog post
Screw down door organizer in pantry
Feel really, really awake!! REALLY awake!
Give up on ever sleeping again.

Around 3 am decide to read in bed by the light of my cell phone.

4-4:30 am Finally fall asleep.

Start all over again.

I am really starting to wonder if God is trying to tell me that my next job will be the night shift!

Cymbalta: Or How My Husband Gets to Remain Sane Without Locking Me Up and Throwing Away the Key

And he doesn't even have to take it. That's how it works in our family. I *suffer* from second hand sleep apnea. (My own term for being the partner of someone who has sleep apnea.) He reaps the benefits of a wife on Cymbalta. I don't really see how that is quite fair. Suffer/reaps the benefits. Do you see the issue here? That's okay, though, because I have learned in the last week that if my husband dies before me I am moving to Australia to find the man of my dreams--literally. The man who invented the sleep apnea machine.

Of course, the drawback to being able to have dreams is the Cymbalta. I have some crazy, stressed out dreams. The latest included me, on a team trying to make a beautiful two dimensional wedding dress cookie out of sugar cookie dough.

The problem with these dreams is this: In the beginning of the dream I am "all that!". I can make the most beautiful pastry you have ever seen! Then the mechanics start-somehow I make dough. Then somehow I roll out this dough into a perfect rectangle. Then I realize my teammates aren't helping me. Now, I am mad! Why is no one helping me?! This is supposed to be a team effort! Wait! What are they doing? Oh no, they are performing CPR. I must help, but the judge is here telling me to hurry up I am running out of time. So, I do what all rational people would do and continue to roll out teeny tiny layers to put on my wedding dress cookie.

It's about this time that I "remember" that I have no idea how to decorate cakes, cookies, or pastries of any sort. Not only that, but I am not artistic, at all! I am not able to make whatever it is in my mind come out of my fingers. This is not good! Then I look over and one of the judges has decided to "help me" with my cookie by drawing the outline of some Picasso-esque face with black piping gel all over my cookie. WHY?! I don't know, but she totally ruined my chance of winning a car.

Now everyone wins a car, but me. :( Then I notice the car my friend chooses has a big black dent and scrape along the side like it was his by a burning softball. I try desperately to get her to choose another car, but the cars are all like that now. They weren't a minute ago. HEY! These contest organizers are trying to cheat us out of our brand new cars!

Now. Don't you feel rested? Me neither. I wake up trying to figure out how to make the cookie. Oh, and the person receiving the CPR? Don't know. Never bothered to even check up on the guy because in my dreams I am compassionate like that.

So, I get the crazy dreams, but Michael gets the wife who does not sit in the car stressing over the fact that he is driving in the left lane and we have to turn right in just 3 miles. Hello! Don't you see we need to turn? And there are other cars! In the right lane! If we wait we may never get over! And you know what happens if we don't get over! No, we don't turn around. How are we going to turn around when the world has just ended?! We really need to get over now! After all we are turning in just 2.5 miles. Do you see my finger tapping against the door frame? It means you are not doing it the way *I* would!! And that is just wrong!

He loved driving with me.

Michael also gets the wife who gets dressed, puts on make up, drives 20 minutes to a restaurant, and will, get this, get out of the car! Even when there are more than like 3 other cars in the parking lot. I no longer get somewhere and just freeze in my seat like if I go in there something terrible is going to happen. We may not know it, but believe me it will happen.

I am surprised he never starved.

The most surprising effect has been that I even went to the gym. By myself. 5 times a week. For several months before we moved. That is a miracle unto itself! Now that was a gym I was somewhat familiar with. Now, I just need to find one here.

Hmmm. Come to think of it this was good for him. I wonder why he doesn't have cut abs?

Oh, AND, I can actually relax! Some. I don't feel the need to be doing *something* from the time I get up, until the time I go to bed. This is big! Just ask Michael. I mean do you know how hard it is to watch a football game when someone has decided they must dust the entertainment stand right now. Like really right now or the dust might form a coalition and take us all out. Or the carpet must be vacuumed. Also right now! I mean, if the NFL would just call me before they set up their playing schedule maybe we could work something out. But no, they don't care that some grass just fell off of someone's shoe.

Of course, now he wishes I would stand in front of the television and clean. Have you seen the Cowboys play this year?

So, thanks to Cymbalta I get crazy dreams, and Michael loses crazy wife. Too cool!

By the way, I was actually put on Cymbalta in order to help control the Fibromyalgia pain. It is only been discovered that I actually, certifiably have anxiety issues because of how much I have changed since being put on the Cymbalta. I thought this was normal, but in a way I feel like my world is opening up. And I have learned 2 things you don't want to hear from your doctor. 1. When describing your reaction to being in the "wrong lane of traffic: "No, that's not "normal". Not in my world." and 2. When awaiting blood test results: "You are one sick pup!"

Fibro Friday: Weeks 3 and 4: totally slacking

The last two weeks have been a struggle. Towards the end of week 3 I started going in to a flare.

I noticed this time that the flare seemed to start with burning in my shins. Painful, can't ignore it burning. Kind of like, or maybe exactly like, shin splints. This was followed by extreme exhaustion. Cooking fell by the wayside, and my housework was the bare minimum. It was a struggle first of all to get out of bed, and once out to stay awake. After the exhaustion was foot pain. I always have heel pain, but this was throughout the entire soul of my foot and in the tendons.

I also noticed increased "fibro fog". This was most noticeable in my speech patterns. I was constantly stopping in the middle of a sentence because I just couldn't find the word. I know this can be normal, but not when it happens this much.

My last observation is how much the cold weather effects my pain. I suspected before, but I was conscious of it this time, so I am trying to make sure to keep warm as soon as I notice I am chilled. Hopefully that will help some, too.

During this past week, week 4, the major symptoms started to subside. They actually started to subside in the same order I noticed them coming on. I didn't really expect that. I finally started getting some energy back, and I was able to reorganize the office earlier in the week, and do some of the deeper cleaning throughout the week.

Today I started back with the bike riding. One time around the block today. My thighs are a bit sore, but I have high hopes that I will be able to get further with it this month than last month.

I plan is still to learn to be my best with this "disease". I guess that will have to start with becoming aware of what is going on with my body.

I Smell Dead People

Ok, I don't really smell dead people, but I smell everything else. This causes some tension in our house since most of the time I am the only one that can smell the horrendous odor that is emanating from...well, somewhere. We have many conversations that go something like this:

Me: Do you smell that?

Michael: Smell what?

Me: (Crinkling nose) That smell. It stinks!

Michael: There is no smell.

Me: Yes there is! It's coming from...over there...somewhere.

Michael: You mean that field of cows we drove by? Three days ago?

Me: Yes! Yes! That's it! Where's the candle? We need to light the candle! We need to light the candle and put it close to my nose! Hurry! Please, I can't handle the smell anymore!!

Michael: (Getting a candle and shaking his head) Do you mind telling me when, exactly, in the 20+ years we've been married you crossed over the line into certifiably insane? It was so gradual I'm not sure when it happened.

Me: (sticks tongue out and pouts while breathing in candle air)



It's very annoying this super power of smell. My poor husband can only eat fish at a restaurant, out of town, after I die. That is really sad because the man loves fish...and shellfish...and cabbage. You know, all the stinky stuff. I can smell it for days. I think it hangs around in my nose just trying to make me ill. You would think that the fish would love me since I don't want anyone around me to eat them, but apparently they want to be eaten because they insist on torturing me with their smell. I just want to say, "I wanted to save you! Why don't you go torture HIM?!"

I also have to be very careful when I am cooking to not smell the raw meat. If I smell the raw meat, then I can't eat the cooked meat. One can only survive on Golden Grahams and Frosted Mini
Wheats for so long.

On the other hand, my wonderful sense of smell could come in very handy. It's a good thing our son doesn't smoke because who wants their mother marching through the school with her head looking like an expanding red balloon, and her body shaking uncontrollably while screaming (Yes, I mean screaming, not yelling. Yelling isn't forceful enough.) "WHAT were you thinking?!"

Then again, if he ever wanted to get rid of me, and send me to prison, all he would have to do is call the police, and tell them I assaulted him with my big head that just blew up and shot pieces of brain and shards of skull at him. I mean, who would the judge believe? 1. Soft-spoken, matter-of-fact, calm young man with an actual hair cut, or 2. Crazy, out of control, screaming woman who they suspect might be auditioning for the token psycho on the "Housewives of Crazyville"? Not that I would care because my brain already blew up, so there!