I am forever keeping score. I'm behind Brant by six games in our Cribbage matches. I'm vitually tied wins to losses in Words with Friends. I've done 36 loads of laundary to Steve's two. He's gotten up in the morning with the kids 182 times; I've gotten up with them 182 times in the middle of the night. My dear friend Kris has twice as many followers as me on her blog (hence, I can go longer keep track of how many people follow me). I will only arm wrestle people I know I can win (hmmm....six year old girls), and will quit absolutely everything (grad school, weight loss, writing....) before I actaully become the failure, I know I already am. This thing goes waaaay past being competitive--because it would be a good thing if it just kept me striving until I got better. But, that's not what happns. What happens, is my entire self-worth becomes tied up in numbers and games and who gives more than I do. My entire self worth depends upon if I'm good enough, or smart enough, or doing enough. And since more often than not...actually way more often than not...I do lose...well, maybe self-worth is over-rated.
Right now, I'm thinking, why even write this? Blogs are supposed to be for the good of all, right...I'm not as eloquent and uplifting as Kris, not as brilliant as Brant (sorry guys that I pick on you--you're my "I wish I were like them" right now--love you both). I merely take up space complaining and who in God's name wants to read that. But, I need to do this; I need all of this shit out of my head--and you're the ones who get to read it (so, adivce: stop reading now...you'll feel much better).
So, weight wise--you'd think 40 pounds would make me feel fabulous. Not so much, because Steve has lost 60, looks so much better than me, and because I'm so angry at him for that, I've started eating....for three days now I've had movie popcorn, frosted cookies, donuts, french fries and ice cream (probably 10000 calories in less than 40 hours) . And, you know what, I don't feel better--the scale goes higher (my self-worth goes lower) and my anger at Steve for getting smaller doesn't seem to abate.
Two--This last six months I've been having lots of pain--if you've been around me, you see me hobbling, because my feet hurt so bad, I can hardly walk. I've now been diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis (which appropriately enough is a diease where your body attacks itself--a perfect one for me). And I'm now taking a low dose of a cancer drug--which makes me feel pretty crappy. And I so badly want to feel bad for myself (w/o feeling guilty), but I can't, because Steve's mom is really, really sick with complications from a lupus-like disease and is in the hospital...so she's actually sick...and now he's gone to take care of her and I'm angry that he can't stay home and take care of me. Honestly, what kind of person thinks these things...
I simply want to go bed for about three days and cry...and just so you know that butterfly crap I wrote about last post is well...nonsense. So, here's the real me--bitter, angry, tired, full of self-pity, and someone who in the next four hours has to write a sermon (that should go over really well...)...If you've actually read this far--you are indeed a saint...and maybe next time you see me, pretend you don't know my deepest, awful thoughts. I'd tell you to pray, if I really thought it mattered...so think kind thoughts for Donna (mom-in-law), tell Steve he's a great man for no leaving me yet, and simply tell me there are plenty of people with real problems in the world and to get over it...
until next time (if I don't quit this whole blog-thing)
your ridiculously unholypastormommy