confessions of a good girl

Somewhere along the way from childhood to becoming an adult, I dropped the attitude that life is all about pleasing others. It was probably during that time when my personal masochistic therapist Beverly kicked my ass from Dyer to Shelby county and back a few times. On my dime, no less. The sawmill covered a lot but the co-pays came out of my underpaid pocket. I knew that I was sick and that I needed help. The diagnosis turned out to be codependency, something that Melody Beattie made famous with her books and that I hold onto for dear life. In a nutshell, codependency is a state where you live your life for others and what they think or feel about you as a person. There's a lot of shame based behavior in this world of ours simply because the "client" doesn't feel like doing the work to find that inner child dancing baby. You know...the one that has a rosy future where anything is possible. Old Poops read a lot of John Bradshaw and such back in the day. Help us to help ourselves, and amen!

What I learned is that I am who I am and you can love me or leave me. Mostly they leave because folks don't appreciate a strong willed opinionated person with passion for a cause. Or maybe they're just all caught up in their own agendas. Who the hell knows. At my age, the bucket list is becoming more of an addiction than people pleasing ever was, so I'm making notes and adopting the attitude that when opportunity knocks, I'm ready to answer.

My parents are elderly and homebound and I'm sworn to taking care of them 'til death do us part. The homestead situation is complicated what with the owners living up north and our lives in the balance. Mostly, they've lived their lives on faith that next year the crops and the cattle will do better and that their kids will kick in when times get hard. We're doing our best.

We're giving dyersburg electric a break with windows thrown wide open and curtains flying in the breeze. That should help on October's budget. Maybe I can pay the propane guy something. And the doctors. Got a big fat honkin' collection service call from the neurologist who proved without a doubt, for $535 dollars, US, that I had carpal tunnel syndrome in both hands. Sent a couple of letters to he and his business office that times were hard and the bill would be paid but he was impatient to get back to his yacht in Destin so there ya go. Fuck me running.

BG is doing much better with her ex-teeth. The chipmunk cheeks are gone and so is the penicillin, bless her heart. Today is my nephew Adam's first birthday...haven't seen him since February except online and in print. He talks to us on speakerphone when T calls for a chat now and then. Such is life in the fastlane.

Pecans are not falling here on the lane. Considering last year's bumper crop, I'm not surprised at all because mother nature seems to work that way. Maybe next year.

^j^