Twitter Trial

Last night I was looking up a writer I like and found she, like everyone else, is on Twitter. Me going over to Twitter is like a gambling addict "just browsing" in a casino. And of course I signed up to see what it was all about. Near as I can tell, it's Facebook without the faces. The best part about it was reading my artist friend Jelaine's description of what she does: "sniff paint".

Yes, I signed up.
No, I won't be going back.
I'll cut out the middle man and just tell you what my tweets would be for the next week:


*Ahhhhh! What a joy to have Twitter. Now I can get my fix without going back to Facebook.

*Ponderous heaps of Pachyderm Poop! (No one says that enough.)

*Going out for a walk. If I'm not back in an hour, send a posse.

*Speaking of posses, I saw a funny bumper sticker the other day that said: "Support your local search and rescue --- Get lost!"

*It's good to see old friends. Hope they think the same of me.

*Where the heck is that elusive sippy-cup?

*Where's my Amazon shipment? Where? Where? WHERE???

*My armpits itch. Maybe just the left one. Why is that?

*When did I have four kids? And where are they, anyway?

*We need t.p., Kleenex, diaper wipes, large quantities of juice, and construction paper. Off to Costco!

*Dang that's a lot to spend in one warehouse.

*Should I wear my jeans or my black boot-cuts?

*Did Liza Minelli have these same problems?

*We judged "Parks and Rec" too soon. It's actually quite funny.

*Kevin looks really good in his Batman shirt. And I don't normally have a thing for superheroes.

*Is it bad to tell the kids their tilapia is chicken?

*Armpit still itching. Maybe it's time to go back to the Crystal.

*How often do you wash your bedsheets?

*I'm Googling "bedbugs".

*Going out for a run! Why have the satellites been slow lately?

*Imagine if I'd married Ray Derryberry. My name would be Teri Derryberry. Wouldn't have happened. But I did really like Bryan McCrary. And Teri McCrary is nearly as silly as Teri Derryberry. I've never since met anyone with the last name Derryberry. But I swear I'm not making it up.

*Google my name sometime. It's shocking.

*Nothing puts me in a rage faster than having just cleaned the huge mirrors in my bathroom and my part daughter/part schnauzer shakes her wet head all over them.

Most I've Laughed Tonight

And that's saying a lot since we just watched all our fave sit-coms.

Watch this. (Real Preachers of Genius: Seeker-Sensitive Mega Church Guy)

Here's to you, Jason Morton!

Day past

Never did get out into the drear (much). Traipsed next door for lunch. Ran (literally) to the mailbox in the downpour. It rained for hours. We're going mildly stir-crazy, but soon the sun will shine again and everyone will be healthy (did I mention most of my children were ill yesterday?) and we'll make our way out into the world.

Meanwhile, I'm waiting anxiously for my new mental-health books to arrive and - as I love to do - analyzing the heck out of my average day to see where I want to make changes.

Things I observed today:

Journalling is VERY good for me. I am overly introspective and I need a place to spew all those thoughts and analyses. Putting them in a book just feels good. And getting stuff OUT of my brain and onto the paper is like taking a deep breath and relaxing. As if having it in writing gives me permission to quit ruminating on it.

Praying the rosary is almost vital. When I pray the rosary, I HAVE to focus on Jesus! In my regular prayer time, it's uncanny how even my prayers for others have a way of wandering back and focusing on me. But the rosary isn't about me. Another breath of fresh air.

Cleaning the bathtub makes my back hurt. (Well, it IS something I observed today.)

A little quiet built into the day is also worth the supreme effort it takes. During John's nap, the older kids all have to play quietly in their rooms for an hour. After I talked to a friend on the phone and prayed the rosary I rested on my many pillows and listened to the rain fall. It was only for a minute or two, but it gave me the boost I needed to move into the evening of dinner prep and other assorted responsibilities.

That's it for the observations, as I am observing how worn out I am. It's time to crash on the couch for a while.

Drear

Dreary is a word. Is drear? When I opened curtains this morning and looked outside, I thought, "drear". I'm not complaining. It's just a fact. Rainy and gray. In fact, I like it because of its uniqueness around here.

We have nowhere to go today, but I'm going to have to come up with something so we can get out into the drear.

I'm Firing Elvis

It's true. Time to can my psychiatrist. We gave it a go, we had some laughs, and I spent a lot of money on the relationship - but it's just not working out for me.

I'll spare my beloved readers the sordid (read: boring) details of the breakup, but suffice to say I will no longer be taking any prescription medication.

So... in the grand tradition of all the other wackos out there who "graduate themselves" from therapy, I went online to try to find another solution. At the lovely Amazon.com, I ordered a copy of Potatoes Not Prozac, having heard about it years ago on a mothering website I used to be a part of. Then, thanks to Amazon's clever marketing, I went ahead and ordered Suicide by Sugar and Sugar Blues as well.






Even if it's a longshot, this is in an effort to be proactive and find something that works for me. I ordered the three books above, plus one on running to get me going again, and I'm still coming in cheaper than one visit to Elvis (who I posted about back here). Note: Elvis did eventually prescribe a total of three medications, all of which I tried for many months.

I fully expect this to revolutionize my life, and I will turn into one of those extremists who goes on an on about my own life changes and insists everyone else do the same. I will rename my blog "Sugar Sucks" and while I will no longer be prone to anger and moodiness, those will be replaced with narrow-minded nutritional nonsense and a teeny bit of arrogance. Plus, there's always the slight chance that, failing to live up to my new ideals, I'll revert to my practices as a preschooler when my parents found a shoebox of sugar under my bed.*








*Totally not kidding. This may really explain some of my problems!

First Day of College

Me and hundreds of other students converged on the dorms and I was reading the names written on hanging tags above all the beds to try to find mine. My name was spelled "Terry" on my tag and I'd been mistakenly placed in a room with three guys. I put my suitcase down and set off to find the woman in charge of room assignments. She was quite busy, so I went to the communal bathroom and took a shower. Gave myself a walking tour of the dorm area, including the exotically foreign-looking mall adjacent. There was a beauty parlor, a bookstore, and room after room of bunkbeds. Finally I ran into the room assignment coordinator and she acknowledged the problem but was on her way home for the night. She told me to sleep in the room I'd been given just this one night and she'd straighten everything out tomorrow. It was minutes before eight p.m., which was when dinner was to be served, so I dropped by my room to check on things. There were four guys napping in their beds, one being mine - and one had his son there napping on an air mattress on the floor. He told me they'd be out tomorrow, but this didn't solve the problem of where I would sleep that night. Other than the bed problems, I was quite excited to have this chance to live in the dorms for one semester while finishing my doctorate degree. I was worried that all the young students would think it was weird to have a 39 year-old among them, but then I saw another older woman with pictures of kids older than mine decorating the desk in her room and she seemed to be getting along quite nicely.

And all this after reading about Vietnam right before sleep. Wouldn't you think I'd dream of something else entirely?

Oh no

Kevin and I have been asked to give a talk - together - on Communication for the Pre-Cana group.

Kevin remarked we might as well learn to juggle flaming swords for the talk while we're at it.