OCD.... OH BOY

It's official, although some of you figured this out about me long ago. I am OCD. You know about my counting; stairs, steps, etc., But it's gotten worse since the car accident and getting PTSD, but in all honesty... I have to ask you a bold question. How could you not be OCD in today's world???

I stopped at a local Dollar General store to get some small, clear tubs to store some of my art supplies in. On my way to the back of the store where storage products are kept I heard a woman coughing. Not just a "clear your throat kind of cough" but the kind that makes you wonder, "Why isn't she at home in bed?" Then I saw she was stocking shelves, and breaking down the boxes to put in a recycle cart. I remembered I needed a small box to send a special surprise goody box to my kids.

My first thought approaching the bin of multiple sized cardboard boxes was not which one fit the size I needed BUT rather, "Moly Holy... She touched all of these boxes, and they are now contaminated with who knows what!"

She coughed again. Deep chest cough, the kind that once you start you know will cause a landslide of more gut wrenching coughs to follow. "Ewwwww... grossness!" My mind was racing. I need a box. But do I want one of these boxes she touched with her cootie hands?

Next I begin chastising myself for being so paranoid about germs and cross contamination. Geez... What is wrong with me??? I make a decision based on availability, easy access and then ask her if I can have a couple of the boxes in the bin.

"Sure. Help yourself." She said which immediately sets off a chain reaction of coughing by just talking to me. I could visualize angry, hungry germs flying through the air looking for a host, a body to cling to, a victim who's nose was inviting to swarm in, a..... I could go on, and on, and on. [I know pathetic, isn't it?]

I rationalize to myself she couldn't have touched every inch of the box, and pick it up with my thumb, and index finger which I immediately wipe on my pants as if THAT'S going to instantly sanitize my mitts. I proceed to look for tubs, and for a moment the voices in my head quiet down.

I'm overjoyed when I find some suitable storage bins in festive colors in the clearance aisle. YIPPY SKIPPY! I'm doing a happy dance in my head until I notice there's no price on the bins. I look up to see the woman still stocking, and coughing. I hesitate to ask her if she knows the price because I'm afraid she will want to touch it with her germy, wormy hands. But I do. AND yes, much to my horror she asks to see it, and reaches out for me to pass her the plastic bin.

"Oh God, no!" My heart races at the very thought of her touching it but I reluctantly hand it over to her like it was my child in slow, and I do mean IN SLOW mowwwwwwww-tion. Of course she didn't know the price, and handed it back to me telling me to take it up to the cashier to get it scanned for a price check. I take it back, thumb and index finger flexed as protective pinchers, then immediately place it back on the shelf faraway from the other bins I gather up to take to the cashier for a price check.

I turned my cart, complete with cardboard boxes stored down below away from my new found storage treasures, back toward the check out counter. I'm meandering through the aisles looking at off brand name labels, and too good to be true 20 lb canned hams for only $5.00, humming softly to myself. For a moment, I am not thinking of all the germs lurking in the shadows waiting to pounce on me like a vampire, when I hear another person coughing. Oh great, the woman stocking is up at the cashier counter--just my frapping luck.

BUT Nooooooooooooooo.... it is not her. It is another employee happily chatting, and coughing while she's scanning a woman's purchases who appears to be totally unaffected by the non-stop coughing. I'm trapped with coughing, hacking people in surround sound. Suddenly I have claustrophobia, too, and it's all I can do to keep from running out the door.

"Suck it up!" I command myself to stop the OCD chatter rolling through my head at warp speed. I also remind myself to refrain from tucking my head down in my tee shirt because she may think I'm going to rob her with just my eyes exposed above my make shift mask.

It's now my turn. Every item in my cart has to be turned over to her to touch. At this point I have to point out to her that she has a nasty cough. Why? I suppose to scold her just a little, and to make myself feel a little better. But it was also a covert way of telling her to "GO HOME if you're sick! Don't you know you are spreading your disease to all of us out here in Dollar General Store Land????"

"It's a dry cough!!!" she barked back, and her friendly check out demeanor ended right then, and there.

The only thing that consoled me a bit was the fact that she didn't have to touch everything, just one of them if I showed her how many I had in my cart by counting each one out loud to her. This gave me the courage to continue, and less time to have to stand there breathing as shallow as possible without passing out. I'm doing just dandy until it comes time to pay for the items. I run my card through the machine, and want it to be registered as credit not debit which I have to ask Miss Cranky Coughing Pants to change.

"I'll have to see your card." She says without giving me any eye contact. Had she been looking up she'd have seen the green pallor wash over my face. My credit card is not signed on the back. I have always printed Ask For I.D. on the back of all my cards. Not only did I have to hand her my credit card to look at but I also had to hand over my driver's license. I'm screwed... any way you look at it I'm a sitting duck for the cooties to land on.

It was raining when I left the store, and I suppose it washed away some of my anxiety--soothed my wrinkled forehead still frowning in disgust. I know, I know. People have to work, and they may not be able to afford missing a day of work. BUT BUT BUT BUT BUT!!!!! People need to understand some of us out here do not like volunteering to roll in a petri dish of potential Swine Flu!

OK I've said. I let the voices in my head out to chat to you. Someone please tell me I AM NOT NUTS and it's OK to be protective of your personal breathing space! Thank you!

Testing... One, Two, Three...Testing

Just a quick post to let you know I'm in the new house. My sense of humor has been tested left and right. I'm still under fire. The new house reeks of cat urine. Carpets soaked everywhere. No wonder the owners had every window open, and fans running every time I came to look at the house.

Opie is not here yet--that would only add to the challenge. Cats will be cats when they smell another cat, and Opie has never lived where other cats have lived before. I'm requesting an S.O.S. from the land lady to get this rectified ASAP.

Meanwhile back at the ranch..... I'm wearing a mask and neighbors are wondering if I have the swine flu... Or just want to be a surgeon when I grow up. Can you all see my smile under the mask??? It's still there.

What'sThat Smell?

Last night we stopped by the Tree House to pick something up on our way to Superman's Fortress after helping Dylan install a new door knob at her place. Superman ran in to get it and came out with a face that looked like these grapes.

I was like "WTFeline.... Did Opie have an accident?" [which of course he never does. Sweet baby but I couldn't imagine what caused Superman to look so green]

"You better come inside and check this out." He said.

"Is it cigarette smoke? I asked, cautiously exiting the car to go inside.

"No, it's not that. I don't know what it is? Except it smells worse than an old fart."

Oh geez, I think, to myself. What now???!!!!

I opened the door and was greeted by a pungent smack to my nostrils.

"Cabbage???? OMG the neighbors from Carnie-Ville were boiling cabbage. One of the hottest nights we've had all summer, and they're boiling frigging cabbage!

WTFRAP!!

This came on the heels of vacillating all day, and second guessing my plan to leave the Tree House... I was kicking myself after seeing so many people coming through to see the Tree House and them saying, "What are you? Nuts? Why would you want to leave this????"

LMAO

Life is hysterical.

Smoke on the Water...

I've been wading through a lot of anger this past month. I would not be moving if it weren't for the new people who moved in below me. Last night I was woken from a deep sleep [again...] with the smell of cigarette smoke filling my bedroom. Despite 5-6 times of him being told not to smoke in the building, he still does. I feel a bit childish now but last night I did a bit of stomping on the floors, or rather walking heavily. VERY heavily. The woman doesn't smoke and I believe he must sneak a smoke inside after she's fallen asleep. Too lazy to get up and go outside on the deck to puff. I wanted to make sure I woke her up with my foot tromping. Next time I'll put some bad ass boots on. I actually typed that.... Yikes.

I understand addictions. I especially understand nicotine addiction. I have had the same demons wake me up at night to sneak a cigarette. Nicotine has caused me to get out of my hospital bed with an IV pole attached, in the dead of winter (wind chill well below 20) to smoke outside wearing only my hospital gown, hospital issued non-slip socks and a blanket thrown over my shoulders. I stood there freezing, puffing, and avoiding the glares people gave me driving or walking by. I was close to getting frostbite on my fingers and face just to have a cigarette.

So, yes, I understand the power and hold a white filtered kiss of death can have on you. You know it's slowly robbing you of life, and yet it feels like gold between your fingers in the middle of the night when you cannot sleep. A cigarette is so small, and yet so huge. It was during one of these freezing treks outside the hospital last December that gave me the will, the courage and the wisdom to quit.

No one knows [unless you've quit, too] how hard it was to return home to the tree house and work through all the triggers here that constantly reminded me I should be lighting up a smoke. The triggers were everywhere, and constant at times. I wore a nicotine patch, and ate Ativan like candy on some days. But I did it. I'm celebrating 9 months of being smoke free.

So when my world was invaded by a smoker I got mad. And I became afraid. The fear of being seduced in a time of weakness by the smells of tobacco is a genuine concern. And the constant stress this has caused is also a concern. I have literally cried every day for weeks now in sadness at my peaceful, slice of tranquility being blown up in a cloud of smoke. But my sanity, health, and well-being has more value than than living on a lake. [at least that's what I'm telling myself LOL]

In order for me to find some peace about moving I've chosen to call on my greatest resource to help me make it through the night, and the next 3 weeks--my sense of humor. Here's a few more reasons the season for lake living is withering away. Hopefully this will be even funnier one Day.... [I hope...]

• I went out on my deck last week and much to my dismay saw a rope nailed from one tree to another. On this rope was a bevy of underwear, blowing in the breeze. Mind you we live right next to a major boat ramp so every boat going by saw the flags of bras and granny panties hanging like a party from the trees. [Ahem... doesn't this woman know I'm the only one allowed to hang my undies out for every one to see??? Oh wait that's on my blog... not for a make-shift clothes line....] Cup of coffee, cool breeze, and Grandma's undies tainting the pristine views.... I have pictures. Dare I post them??? Go ahead beg me... [insert wicked smile]
  
• Superman & I came back to the Tree House one evening after dinner with plans to lie out on the grass on the point of the island to watch the meteorite showers. When we arrived we found that they had strung lights from every possible tree on the island, the flag pole, and their deck railing--all jury-rigged together with orange extension cords. It looked like the Midway at a carnival. Hello people we live on a lake! Bug City if you use mammoth sized light bulbs near the water in mid-summer. I can no longer see the lake at night because the island is lit up like a frigging used car lot. Hence the carnival music I had playing on my tunes for a few days. remember the Chevy Chase movie about Christmas, and all the lights? This is what their deck looks like. I kid you not... The island could now pass for an airport landing strip. This could be trouble because the Tree House is in the flight pattern for a fairly large airport 10 miles south of here. Yikes!
  
• They have three vehicles, and are only given 2 assigned parking spots. Last weekend he had a fourth car parked here all weekend he was doing repairs on. Told ya... a car lot. Or the graveyard for Cash for Clunkers.
  
• They are having a big party this weekend, At least I've been fore-warned. Gulpity-gulp...
  
• I want to rent a huge industrial strength fan to blow the smoke back down on them from my deck. Monsoon wind-like conditions suddenly kicked up on the lake. Craziest thing.....

OK I'm done now. Simply put it's time to go. I would rather believe I am on the horizon of something wonderful waiting to show itself to me in my future than being kicked out of my nest by force. I'll work to keep my sense of humor intact, and my boots ready to slip on. Hee Hee Just kidding.... I'll make Opie put on roller skates & practice leaping over barrels. [I have wood floors] My bad...

...UPCOMING NEWS...

I'll be filming the tree house, and will post the video for everyone to take a tour soon. Opie is practicing his opening welcome. He always greets our guests with a warmth, and sweetness that is akin to a red carpet being rolled out. Purely adorable.

Next up, when I get a few pictures of my new place, I'll hold a contest to name it. It will be open to you, my friends, and followers to name. I will award the winner with a piece of my art work. I will add pics as soon as I can. It's a white cottage like bungalow that sits on top of a hill. Get your creative thinking caps on...

I need your help & encouragement to make this move away from the Tree House a fun-filled adventure. All anyone really desires is a simple life, and I'm going to get me one of those! It's already on my Dream Board.

Thank you everyone! Comments are encouraged!!!

...Monkey Pants Part Two...

The Kittenhood of the Traveling Monkey Pants

Part Two

Have you ever watched a kitten play with total abandon? Chasing its tail? Racing its own shadow? Or running from invisible foes only kittens see? What makes a kitten or cat suddenly do a back flip, or peel out with all four paws up your drapes then back down over the back of the couch like a wild fire is chasing it?

I have a theory as to what makes a kitten or cat scamper....

They're probably wearing their monkey pants.....

And every wise little monkey knows that there's an endless amount of sass in your step when you are wearing your monkey pants.

*~* And any childlike,
~*~* utterly silly,
*~*~*~* totally fun,
~*~*~*~*~ giddy,
*~*~*~*~*~*~ giggly,
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ jumping on the bed .....

can only occur if you are sporting a pair of monkey pants.

Opie Wan Kenobi, my wise, and sagely guru reminds me of this daily. He is never too "grown-up" to participate in a full on scamper up and down the stairs, nor will he turn down a chance to bat at my fingers when I wiggle them so deliciously over the arm of the chair.

He understands the importance of

keeping his kitten-like, child heart intact and active.

His imagination knows no limits. His love flows like an electrical current, just like his cattitude.

Opie Taylor wears monkey pants.

He never worries about tomorrow, or what he will eat today. He is grateful for a bowl of water, and his Tony The Tiger bowl I keep full of dry food. It is a celebration when I open the can of moist food. He knows when Dylan or Superman come over he will get a well deserved treat, and lots of love from them. He dances on his hind legs. He gives them a meow filled with joy.

The white text on the picture above marks the bottom edge of his bloomers.....

I told you he wore monkey pants.....

[kitty giggles inserted here]

Animals have so much to teach us.
Part three tomorrow......

The Kittenhood of the Traveling Monkey Pants

The Kittenhood of the Traveling Monkey Pants
Part One

Stay tuned for Part Two of this story where I will reveal how Opie Taylor acquired his monkey pants. This is a must read for those of you who need a splash of color in your lives or have just always wondered, "How can I get a pair of my very own monkey pants?" For the rest of you wondering what the heck are monkey pants? I'll give you the scoop next post..... (disclaimer: I am not responsible for lack of sleep readers may experience waiting for part two)

I don't have baby pictures of Opie Taylor--not "real" baby pictures. He came to live with us when he was just shy of being four months old and the only way I figured out how old he was is because he still had a few of his milk teeth. I wasn't exactly planning on adding a kitty to my already busy life with my son, our dachshund, Miss Frankie, and myself. We'd just moved into our 1929 Tudor style cottage, nestled on two acres dotted with apple trees, and overflowing with tranquility. I was much too busy making it a home, and learning how to mow all the acreage let alone think seriously about getting another pet.

I had merely mentioned the notion in a passing conversation that it might be fun to get a kitten. It was just a thought, an idea that slipped out of my mouth one day when hanging out with some friends. Jake, my son, and I laughed about how Miss Frankie may not share the same idea as fun, or good, or anything else. She'd been teased relentlessly by an old tom cat named, Big Red, we'd had in CA. His greatest fun was to hide in the flower pots on the front porch each morning, and wait for her to come out for her morning potty break. She always ran straight back to the front door quickly because breakfast was waiting for her. Thus her continual oblivion to Big Red lying in wait for her return--she was distracted by the thought of kibbles in her dish. Miss Frankie would bark to let us know she was ready to come back in. We'd open the door and she'd scurry back in but just as her little lamb chop legs bounced over the threshold into the house, Big Red would reach out, seemingly from no where, to swipe her tail or bottom. She'd yelp, always taken back a bit from the cat spanking. He'd run off before she could retaliate, and we'd comfort her trying our best not to laugh in front of her because of Big Red's morning antics. But in our defense, it was funny. When you're a wiener dog the entire world is huge, very huge. So when we moved away from southern CA, Miss Frankie never once asked where Big Red was. Not once. She happily had her people all to herself.

One day I was surprised to come home from work to find some kitty paraphernalia lying about in the living room. My son, and a friend was there, both looking like a cat that had just swallowed a canary. This particular friend had a passion for buying gifts that were not on my "got to have" list such as the time he purchased a ball python, complete with tank, lamps, etc., for my son. How do you tell someone to take a gift back after your kid thinks he's just won the lottery? So when I saw the kitty toys, kitten food, and litter box, I felt an inner heat of righteous anger rise to my cheeks in knowing he'd just crossed the line again with me.

"Where is it?" I asked barely managing not to turn into a banshee. I was furious. How dare him bring a kitten home without my permission? Picking out a kitten, puppy, or any pet is a highly personal thing. I'd always had a specific type of kitten or cat I preferred, and how could he make that choice for me? So my first instinct was to find it and then make him return it to wherever he got it from. I stomped about the house, not angry at the kitten, mind you, angry that this friend had taken liberties he did not have, and I wanted to impress upon him that he had pushed the wrong buttons in me that day.

I saw the door to my bathroom was closed. I turned to see both my friend, and my son cowering behind me. "Is it in here?" I asked. Both nodded their heads up and down in a nervous yes.

My plan that afternoon was to walk into my bathroom, pluck the kitten up and hand it back to my friend without so much as a pet on the little fluff ball's head. I just knew it would be a kitty with a skinny face, weird set eyes, and no personality. I opened the door to my bathroom, and there on the floor, crouching behind the toilet, was the sweetest face I'd ever seen in a small bundle of cat fur. He meowed at me, helpless, and frightened with such an innocent, wide-eyed stare, I melted like a snow cone on a sidewalk in mid August.

"Awwwww....." The sound of instant love escaped my throat for the entire world to hear. I heard snickering behind me, but my mothering instincts were in full swing so I didn't turn around to slap both of them in that moment. I was too full of love to do anything but surrender my heart and soul to the kitten who came to live with us that summer afternoon.That was ten years ago, almost to the day, that little Opie Taylor came home to live with us. He teased and tormented Miss Frankie with his kitten like ways. She tried to act like she didn't like him, just like I did, but we'd come home and catch them cuddled up together on the couch. They mooched food together and played chase. Opie Taylor somehow figured out the game of swatting Miss F's bottom when she came back in the house after her potty trips. And Miss Frankie taught Opie the rules of the house, all the "no-no's" and "how to's", such as how to kiss Mama (me). Miss F knew I didn't like doggy kisses directly on my mouth or face so she learned to dip her head when approaching me so I could kiss her on her forehead. Opie does that to this very day, just like Miss Frankie did. It's like getting a two-in-one kiss.

Miss Frankie left us a year ago last March. She wears a sparkly angel suit instead of fur now, and often comes to me in my dreams. She's always smiling when she sees me, and is wiggling her tail which leads to a full body wag when you're a wiener dog. I miss her so much. And now in a strangely comforting way, Opie channels her intuitiveness and her all around sensitivity to my needs. Just like Miss Frankie, he knows I'm hormonal before I do. He is my guru kitty. He's always there by my side to comfort me, make me giggle, and he always seems to know when I need him to dip his head to give me a kiss. I used to call her my "hot dog bottle" when she wouldn't leave my side when I was sick. Opie does that now, too.

If I'd have demanded my friend remove that kitten that day without ever really seeing it, I would have missed out on knowing Opie Taylor. He'd already been abandoned by someone, and dumped like so many cats and dogs are, out in the country. He came from a rural area that had several batches of barn yard kittens, and none of which were his litter mates. No one had any attachment to him whatsoever. He was one of the last kittens to find a home because he was older that the others. I had no way of knowing seeing him huddled behind the toilet that he was on his way to an animal shelter if no one picked him by the end of that week mid July 10 years ago. I just knew I loved him, flat out adored him, in an instant.I'd like to believe Opie Taylor somehow picked me not the other way around. I cannot imagine my world without him in it. Or my life without monkey pants...

To be continued......

Self Portrait A.K.A. Face Dancing

No one ever really looks at themselves when they talk. Well, I take that back. I have known some people who cannot look at you and talk if there's a mirror in the room. They watch themselves. Ummmm.... Never mind, that is an entirely different blog topic, and a personal pet peeve. ~~shiver~~ Did I just type that out loud???

Anyway, the video below was edited from another video I made a couple of weeks ago taping me while I told the story of how I flipped my kayak. (You remember that Lucy-like episode???) I gathered 163 frames from the original video, kept them in sequence, and captured the many faces I make while talking. The original film was 2 minutes and 20 seconds long.

Psssssttttt.... JUST IN CASE YOU'RE AT WORK....THE VIDEO HAS SOUND.
It's a great song so crank it up if you can :-)



I probably should go ahead and draw a big D on my forehead for being such a dork. But it is me, goofy faces and all. I never knew I had a so many different facial expressions. I made this for the Creative Every Day Challenge that Leah Piken Kolidas created for aspiring or established artists and for people who just want to explore their creative sides. It's a no pressure, non judging format, and has quite a huge following. If you haven't checked CED out before, I'd highly recommend you do. Leah has inspired me, and helped me keep my focus on my 101 creative to do list.

This month's creative projects focus on "self"--hence my "video self portrait" better known as Face Dancing.

PTSD, dentistry and learning to understand the "why's" of it today and this time tomorrow

My experience yesterday at the dentist went far better than I'd ever imagined. Did it come without fear, tears and dread? No. I could hardly sleep the night before. I had such anxiety my chest felt like it was stepping on land minds every time my heart beat. The most relief I felt was while blogging and posting pictures of Opie Wan Kenobi. ~~~ OK, that, and yucking myself up at how corny I am. Pitiful isn't it when you laugh like a loon at your own goofiness. But laughing is what helps me most of all to put things in perspective.~~~

I also read an article when researching one of the meds, Triazolam, I was to take the next morning just prior to my visit to dental land, that made me cry, and feel a huge sense of relief at the same time. One of the hardest things to understand about PTSD is that it affects you in ways you don't always connect the dots to with certain behaviors.

I could NOT figure out why WhY? why? why??? why? wHy why.... I was having such a hard time facing going to the dentist. It seemed magnified in my mind, and heart. I felt like a baby, an idiot, unable to control the flooding my mind had with thoughts of doom, and overwhelmed by a sincere wish to runaway, isolate, hide in the tree house forever more--broken toof and all.

Here's an excerpt from the article I read that helped me (below) and a great link to check out if you have dental phobias like me . The medication I used was Triazolam. Sedation Dental Care

********

What is dental phobia and why do so many people hate the dentist?
Dental phobia is a severe fear of the dentist that over time causes loss of teeth because of the patients inability to go to the dentist and receive regular care. The heart of the matter is that dental phobia can rob patients of their self esteem as they become embarrassed about the appearance of their teeth and withdraw from friends, coworkers and loved ones.

Why do people hate and fear the dentist ? Fear of the dentist is most commonly something that patients learn from traumatic personal dental experiences. If these experiences occur as a child and are accompanied by a real sense of panic, the resulting reaction to the dentist may become deep seated, visceral and life-long. Such patients don't feel safe in the dental chair. Patients recall of their traumatic childhood experiences often includes being held down against their will, being yelled at, pain and terror. A recent article in the Journal of the American Medical Association showed that people, who suffer abuse as children, may have life-long alterations in their response to stress. If a patient suffers from post-traumatic stress disorder, the dental office may be just one of many situations where such patients feel unsafe. Patients who suffer from panic attacks associated with dental care will do anything not to have that awful feeling again. Sedation, which can block the panic response, can be particularly helpful for dental patients with anxiety attacks.

*********

Superman picked me up yesterday morning and had to talk me out of taking the Triazolam close to 23 times earlier than I was supposed to during the car ride to the dentist. I secretly wanted him to carry me into the dental office & plop my drugged, limp body into the dental chair. Being in control is something I fight to have all the time now since the accident. I hate not feeling in control. But the thought of having a drug to help me numb my fears was appealing. I doubt I'll have to go to a rehab any time soon but for this case I was ready to be medicated. I waited until the time I was told to take the med which meant I had to walk into the office on my own two legs, wobbly knees, and all.

It's probably a tell-tale sign you are the patient when the receptionist greets you with, "Ohhhhh, good morning. YOU must be the one with the appointment. Oh my, you look scared. It will be OK. Hi, I'm....." As she introduces herself to me, she shakes my hand, and looks like she wants to hug every little fear right out of me.

I started bawling right then and there, YES I did.... and the tears flowed like a leak in a garden hose for the next 25-30 minutes....until the nitrous and the happy pill, Triazolam, started working. The staff stood by me with compassion, never rushed me into anything, handed me tissues to dab my sprinklers gone wild, and allowed Superman to stay with me the entire time. He never took his hand off my foot or leg. Not once the entire time.

It took almost 3 hours to clean my toofs, repair my broken molar, remove 3 old fillings of bad, bad, bad silver, and refill, and shape my new toof. I fell asleep a couple of times with the good Dr. Caring-Kind-Gentle Doggie Houser at my side, and staff, calmly working away....stopping anytime I looked the least bit ready to claw my way out of the chair, and telling me what an awesome patient I was.... (ohhhhhh, flattery and excellent meds will get you anywhere with me... I am such a compliment ho....)

I have never EVER EvEr EVerrrrr had such a pleasant trip to the dentist.

For all of you who expressed the same anxiety that robbed my sleep, and peace of mind, about going to a dentist.... do yourselves a HUGE favor. Find one who uses oral sedation, and go.

Your smile is worth it....

I am learning daily about me and this "Dis-Ease" called PTSD. I'm learning to conquer, cope with it, and am discovering its covert ways. And everyday I uncover a little more about the Whys.... Each time I do, I stop beating myself up for not having control over every single minute of my life. Letting go is growth. Allowing myself to feel is healing. Tears are cleansing. And fears can become little pip-squeaks when you face them....

Sharing the journey with you is the BEST medicine. Thank you for reading.

All is well...update coming this time tomorrow

Opie Wan kept watch over me all day.

More about my trip to Dental Land and what I learned tomorrow.

Too tired and still a little groggy.

He waits on the stairs for me until I come home. See his face peeking through the curtain?

May the force be with you.

Full moon rising this time tomorrow

It will soon be dark at the Tree House. It's a full moon weekend. I'd like to try to get some shots of the moon if the clouds cooperate to give it a chance to smile in the spotlight. From my bed, and from a large portion of my windows, I watch the moon crawl across the heavens each month like it's waltzing with the stars. The shimmery glow on the water is mesmerizing, and calming.

My goal for almost a year has been to kayak at night during a full moon. I'm not brave enough to take my camera out on the lake but I am brave enough to take my hiney all white and shiny out there to see what it looks like on the water. I'm talking about the glow of the moonlight on the water... But ~~no pun intended~~ is it any coincidence they refer to one showing their hineys as "mooning" someone?

And here you thought I was waxing poetic in this post....

This time tomorrow has some sweet stuff to show you

Looky what I received from Sunflower Ranch!!!!

Thank you very much, Sunflower Ranch!!!

Please give Sunflower Ranch a visit. She has a really cool "Writer's Challenge" she posts on Fridays. I found the challenge fun, and worthy. Oh yeah......

These are the rules in accepting this award:

Deliver this award to eight people (or as many-few as you'd enjoy giving it to or have time to) bloggers who then must choose and deliver the award to eight more (or as many-few as you'd like to) and include the following text into the award.

• "These kind bloggers aim to find and be friends. They are not interested in self-aggrandizement. Our hope is that when the ribbons of these prizes are cut, even more friendships are propagated. Please give more attention to these writers."

OK peeps... go see what these awesome peeps have to say, show and share about.....

Some Sweet Stuff.....

1. Jase at fool-stop
   
2. Owen
3. Joanne May
   
4. LouLou
5. Red Rain Photography
6. *SparkleMirror* Kiln-Fired Art Studio
7. Magdalena
8. lovelyprism

The Duel between the Perfectionist and the Procrastinator. Maybe this time tomorrow I'll have it all done....

Somehow I think this may be a hard task to finish or accomplish or keep that way. I believe the perfectionist in me will lie to the procrastinator I'm trying so hard not to be. And the procrastinator will always want to take a nap if it isn't perfect to begin with. And so my journey creating my dream studio begins...... here are some before pics. The after pics will have to happen after it's finished. LOL




First project on my list is my studio. I'm beginning to believe a studio is a work-in-progress, too—just like me. I've only just defined a space as the home for my creative treasures, well, a physical storage-work space.

My brain is my permanent house for my studio. It's taken me awhile to figure out where to set it up and I have had it in a few places—but never finished.

I live in the perfect place for creativity. On a lake—actually on an island. I have had to deal with some rough places as a studio space in during my life but my challenge here on the lake is I have too many places to set up my studio. Challenge? Yes, too many choices can be hard. Too many places to get trapped in perfecting the spot instead of perfecting the craft. There's such a thin line between procrastination and perfecting something. I can get totally stuck in the getting everything just right before I can cut myself loose to start playing. One of these days I'm going to just cut loose and play anyway... (see I'm procrastinating)

My boyfriend, Superman, just helped me tremendously this past week. I needed him as a sounding board. I pointed out all the pros and cons of various locations to set up my studio in the Tree House (what I call my home). All had potential, promise, and all posed problems. All had bits and pieces of my art supplies strewn about like clothes in a teenager's room. Well actually kinda like my bedroom. (hehe) He liked my ideas and told me they made sense. I needed some validation. I also need a strong arm... He gave me some guide lines to work under. If it is not creative—it does not belong in my studio. Sweet! I can work with that.

Here's my usual pattern. One room, one space in my world has always been the dumping ground, the holding tank, the clutter catcher, the junk room, the room you keep the door shut at all times and pray no one stumbles upon it looking for the bathroom, “Fibber MC Gee's closet”, my shame, my lack of perfection. My nemesis. My undoing. The proof I do not have things together. I am and always have been very hard on myself about this. It seems if I had it all together, I would be perfect but to get there everything must be perfect. I hear screaming.... Oh, never mind... it's just me.

Plus, I do a bit of hoarding. Holding on to things, so to speak. “I might be able to use this sometime.” Sentimental alley. Broken babbles, and stacks of papers. I do not know how to toss things. Throw it away? Yikes!!! I have dried out paint bottles for heaven's sake! Scraps of paper that was trimmed off of something. Buttons that belong to a pair of pants or blouse I no longer own. It's a cluster fuck in my mind and world. “What if I need this?” “How could I use this?” This is a project waiting to happen.” “Wow, that would make the perfect ____, or _____, or you fill in the _____. Blankety, blank....

I have stood in the middle of one of my storage tanks of creative possibilities and been so overwhelmed I left the room, garage, etc., and took a frigging nap. I've turned in circles like a ballerina with no choreographer. My toes are raw. My mind is weary. Where do you start??? I need the peace of finishing a room, especially my creative space. It's usually the place that sits in the most chaos, and it's the place I need to be in the most to heal. I want a studio where I know where everything is. I can reach for a tool I need. I can walk in and simply begin creating.

I just want to paint and maybe that's the trick to all of this.... Just Do IT!!!