Ignorance is Bliss

It's the loss of innocence, I believe, that haunts me the most. The knowing. And the knowledge that once something is known, it cannot be unknown. You can't go back. You can't take it back.

You can't unsee things too, like the back of that lady who should not have worn skintight leggings with no underwear. That haunts me too.

Some people want to know. They would rather know than not know, and I think I've gotten to a point where the not knowing hurts less than the knowing. Ignorance is bliss. I've reverted to the belief that everyone deserves to be happy, and I hope they are, but I sure don't need it rubbed in my face.

For me, it seems like the more knowledge we acquire, the more miserable we seem to be. And it becomes addictive. The more I know, the more I want to know. And I can't rest until I know everything. But as soon as I know everything, I'm not any better off. I'm not any happier. The only difference is, now I know. Now I have to navigate the world with a little less innocence.

I think I was a lot happier before I was diagnosed with every mental illness under the sun (yes, I have a flair for hyperbole and tend to lean toward the dramatic). It just seems like now the more I learn about my host of mental illnesses, the easier it is to manage them, but I'm more miserable about it.

I don't want to be like this.

And yes, there are several ways to look at it. One can take the pessimistic view of, "This sucks and I don't want to be like this." Or one can take a more positive outlook of, "This is the way I am, and I will just do what I can to handle it and not make it everyone else's problem." After all, everyone has warts, everyone has issues, and no one is perfect. It doesn't mean we are broken. It just means we each have a unique set of problems to learn to navigate, and that's our lot in life.

Or maybe it does mean we are broken. I feel broken a lot.

My own personal view of the Adam and Eve story is that God didn't necessarily want to keep the two of them in the dark. He just wanted them to realize that there are consequences to wanting to know everything. They decided they wanted to know anyway, and thus found themselves in a world of misery and shit.

Literally.

I know my world is full of shit. Literally. Just ask my cat who takes a dump four times a day, and if he runs out of actual poop, he still manages to squeeze a drop of something into the litter box after I've just cleaned it.

My other world of shit is that my flash drive just died, taking a whole folder full of edited short stories with it that I apparently forgot to back up.

The fact, is now I'm well aware of how much work went down the commode because of one faulty flash drive. I know things. And I'm miserable.

I also know I should make sure I back up, and I still managed to somehow forget. I don't think that kind of knowing has anything to do with what I'm talking about, I'm just saying I know. And because I know, I'm angry. At myself. At this flash drive. At my computer.

When I was younger I would have thrown a small tantrum, shrugged it off, and gone immediately to work to rectify the problem, because when one is young and ambitious, one tends to see the glass as half full.

The older I get, the less full that glass is. And you know, it really isn't helpful when people keep pointing out that my point of view sucks and I need to change it.

Yes, thank you, Dr. Phil.

The half full side of this whole debacle is that I do still have the first drafts of the original stories. I just don't have the hours and hours of editing and formatting that went into them afterwards. Because that is all on my flash drive. That died.

Ugh.

But back to the mental illnesses. Over the last ten years I've had a host of illnesses tossed my way: hormone imbalance, gluten intolerance, adrenal fatigue, panic anxiety, atypical depression, low stomach acid, Candida, codependency. With each diagnosis, I am seized in an overwhelming desire to understand my condition and deal with it in the best possible way.

And so that I don't become a burden upon society. I just unleash it all in this blog, and if you don't want to know about it, you don''t have to read about it.

The problem is the more I read and understand my conditions, the more depressed I become because I keep thinking, wow. That's a lot of static and stupidity going on in one messed up head. True, none of my conditions are terminal (yet, there is always the possibility that I lose my will to live), but sometimes I wonder if that makes it worse. Because I know what I'm waking up to every morning. I know that each day it's going to be a struggle just to get through, and sometimes the thought of just not having to do that anymore seems like a better option. And instead of waking up to enjoy life, I'm waking up to another day of exhaustive managing of illnesses.

One thing in particular is the more I understand my codependency, the less I want to subject other people to it. I dismantled my relationship and engagement partially because my codependent traits got so far out of hand, I was making myself miserable. The only way to get out of the rat maze that was my head was to cut everything and run. My anxiety over the codependency was running at about a fifteen on a scale of one to ten. This all triggered a seriously deep funk of depression, worse than I've experienced before, and there was no light at the end of the tunnel.

So many people have to deal with such things. Some with mental illnesses, some with cancer, some with diabetes, or poverty or malnutrition or something. So many things can cause anxiety and depression. Anxiety is actually the not knowing that is causing misery, but one also knows that the anxiety is completely irrational. There is just no way to turn it off. You know, yet you don't know. It's the need to know everything right this minute at a much higher scale, and while you don't know, you obsess about how you don't know.

It's exhausting.

We know that cancer can be terminal, and often it is. We also know that cancer may not be terminal and can go into remission. And some people who are terminal learn to accept this and end up being joyful and living out the rest of their lives happily because they will soon walk into the unknown, a new adventure.

If I had a possible terminal disease I'd be having anxiety over that. I'm a mess just as I am right now. I can't even imagine how those brave souls manage.

Some people are in so much pain that all they know is pain and they know that is all they will wake up to each morning, so they too are eager to walk into something new and unknown.

Where they don't know anything.

And maybe they can be happy again. Maybe we can be happy again.

Spirituality works like that a lot. Much of the science world wants us to embrace the idea that spirituality and God and religion are just fantasy, and we are all going to be worm food when we die. They study and study and study and write and publish, desperately trying to prove the nonexistence of anything in their desperate desire to keep on knowing, knowing, knowing. And then they develop a kind of arrogance about it.

And you know what? They are probably just as miserable as the rest of us. That arrogance is a mask to cover up the terror and misery. Because even they don't know everything, and I bet that causes a bit of anxiety for them too. The vicious cycle.

Hell is the eternal separation from God. The definition of God is trickier, because He is basically whatever people want him to be. And knowing too much separates us from our spirituality, from God. And makes us less happy.

In other words, we might just be in hell.

Or on our way there.

Not because hell is a fire pit of endless torture because we have sinned and are "bad," but because it is the eternal misery. who wants an eternity of misery?

Not me.

I believe another fifty years of being a codependent neurotic mess spinning in my own head over and over sounds a lot like hell to me.

I just reread this post and realized it makes absolutely no sense. It is, however, basically what goes on in my head constantly. I can't seem to ever turn it off. Not even during yoga. Not even when I'm trying to fall asleep at night. Not even when I read my devotionals.

Probably drives God nuts that I can't focus for five seconds on talking to Him without being stuck in my own head.

I'm not trying to get anyone to feel sorry for me. We all have our own version of hell and we are all living through it. We try to distract ourselves. Sometimes we even believe we are joyful or happy.

All I know is that this isn't where we belong. If it is we are already doomed.

Padme: the original Star Wars codependent
I guess I don't have it as bad as her. I didn't get pregnant by a raging sociopathic narcissist

The Face that Time SHOULD Forget

The other day I looked in the mirror and screamed.

My reflection put me in mind of a line from Designing Women when Mary Jo - discussing "that time of the month" - made a comment about, "Personally, I have one day every month when I look like Broderick Crawford."

For some reason every time I get around my period, my face decides to do something weird. I never had this problem in the past. In the past, when I was a couple of days from my period, I would feel all bloated, eat everything in sight, maybe get a pimple here and there, but my face, for the most part, would remain something that I recognized.

The last few months, I've noticed that whenever I look in the mirror around two or three days before my period, my face has become this discolored, blotchy, dry, itchy thing that I just want to peel off and toss across the room.

What the hell?

To add insult to injury, I was recently at a concert for a used-to-be-favorite local band and everyone there was twenty years younger than me, and fresh-faced even without the makeup. Girls that age don't even have to be pretty and they're pretty. They have smooth, even skin, like butter. Sure, they wear makeup, but they don't need it. Sometimes the makeup actually makes them look older and less attractive. They have that dewy young skin that just glows no matter how many drinks they consume or how many burgers they chow down on.

I remember when I first started going to this guy's concerts. That was back before he was big. Now he's big and a huge prima donna on top of it, so he's just not that much fun anymore. When I used to go, I was fifteen years younger, had that dewy, fresh-faced, glowy look, and my makeup looked good on me. Now, when I go to this guy's concerts, I feel old, I'm kind of over him, the place is crawling with girls young enough to be his daughter (okay, that's an exaggeration), and it's so loud I can't hear anything when I leave the building.

You know you're not that twentysomething-year-old anymore when the couch, the German shepherd, a blanket, and Netflix sound like a much better option than getting your ears blasted out by some overrated country western star who still acts (and drinks) the same as he did fifteen years ago when you discovered him.

I have grown up. He has not. And I don't miss him.

Before the concert, I was to meet my girlfriends for dinner, and in the past the joke was always that I could be ready in twenty minutes while everyone else took hours to get ready. This time I was late getting to dinner because I had two makeup malfunctions, and by the time I attempted to fix the second one, I just said screw it. I was already five minutes late, not dressed, and still had to fix my eye shadow.

I used to be able to throw on some tinted moisturizer, some eyeliner and mascara, do a smoky eye, and apply some lip gloss, all in twenty minutes, and out the door I'd go feeling and looking fabulous.

This time the smoky eye made me look like a forty-year-old crack addict who attended one too many parties. I took it all off and started over with a lighter, more shimmery gold, look. The shimmer settled into the lines on my face, making me look like a sixty-year-old trying to pass as a thirty-year-old. The tinted moisturizer did nothing to even the blotchy, red complexion I'd been toting around the last few days, and I had a zit cropping out on my chin.

I gave up and went out anyway. It's not like I was looking for dudes or trying to hustle the prima donna of said band. I just wanted to stand in a corner and listen to the music, which was too loud for me to enjoy anyway, so I ended up pulling a Cinderella and going home before the coach turned back into a pumpkin.

I have officially hit middle age. I'm not even forty yet.

I don't get it. I rarely use makeup, I eat a healthy diet rich in greens and bone broth, I get plenty of sleep, and I drink plenty of water. I don't smoke, drink soda, consume too much sugar or gluten (or grains really), and while I don't exercise as much as I should, I do exercise. I also drink alcohol, but I'm not sucking it down night after night. I drink one or two drinks a night on the weekends, sometimes more, sometimes less. Lately I haven't been feeling it at all, so I haven't been drinking. I use all natural products on my face, smear it with coconut oil, use clay or charcoal masks once a week, and exfoliate.

So why the hell does my face look like this? At thirty-nine??

Maybe I'm not forty yet, but I will be in about two months, and while I'm not exactly dreading it, I am wondering, "How on Earth did this happen?"

I'm sure everyone feels that way as they rapidly approach forty. No one ever pictures themselves at forty. I thought thirty was hard. Actually thirty-four was hard. I guess I had always assumed I'd be living some fabulous life, married to someone fabulous, and maybe have a book or two published by now. Instead, I can't seem to get my writing together, I still work at the same library job where there is no opportunity to move up or forward (and it isn't like I haven't applied to other jobs), I live in a pretty dead-end town that people are fleeing from (at least a lot of my friends are), and I have a broken engagement to show for my troubles.

I am, after all, a complete and utter relationship failure. At least now I can say I have one broken engagement under my belt.

Yes, I'm a little bitter.

Maybe that's the problem. They always tell you (who the hell are "they," by the way? And why do "they" have so much to say all the time? Can't "they" just keep their yaps shut?) that age is just a number, and you are only as old as you feel. I don't think it's so much forty that bothers me as it is what forty means. As ridiculous as it sounds, forty feels to me like it means total failure.

Well, not total. I have managed to sock away enough money in savings that I am not panicking now that my dryer literally blew something out and quit working the other day. It was drying away and suddenly, I heard this very loud pop, like a gunshot, and the thing just quit. And wouldn't turn on again. And since it and the washer are the same age, and the washer is starting to make really loud squeaking noises, I might as well replace both of them.

God, remember when things like that were your parents' problem?

If I have anything to show for forty, I have learned to responsibly adult. I have learned to put money away for a rainy day so when this kind of shit happens I can deal with it without having a total panic attack.

Because that is what else forty means to me. Instead of growing up and becoming more comfortable in my skin, I have discovered a host of psychological problems and mental illnesses that seem to be getting worse as I get older, and not better. And they aren't even getting better with the copious amounts of treatment I fling myself into. On the one hand, I am adulting better than ever. On the other hand, I can't seem to get my shit together so I can actually leave the house without wanting to heavily medicate myself. I suffer from panic anxiety, atypical depression, social anxiety, codependency, and a general feeling of worthlessness and low self-esteem. Most days it's a struggle just to get through.

And my face isn't helping matters. At the very least, it could help me out a little by not insisting on looking like something the cat dragged in last night and then peed on.

See what I mean about that low self-esteem?

The reward for getting older is that you're supposed to feel wiser, or at least feel like you've learned something and aren't making the same damn mistakes over and over. I haven't quite learned that, and I guess I feel that by forty, I should have figured a few things out.

More than just, "Hey, that smoky eye really doesn't work for you anymore, face."

The smoky eye was hard to give up. I remember how much it hurt to give up my favorite glitter pencil that I used on my eyes in my twenties. "They" say women in their thirties shouldn't wear glitter, and "they" are sure right about that one.

Turns out "they" are also right about the smoky eye and women pushing forty.

I guess, if I'm going to steamroll right into my forties, then I should start looking for a new signature makeup look. At least then I can say I've learned a little something.

Baby steps.

I can no longer get away with all this eyeliner. Now, when I attempt it, I end up looking like someone punched me in both eyes.

I Was Pretty Enough to Assault

The whole world has gone crazy.

Accusations are flying, people are losing their jobs, men are blaming women, women are blaming men.

I remember one of my favorite Designing Women episodes, "Reservations for Eight," when the whole clan (the girls and their boyfriends) went away together on a ski vacation and ended up getting into a huge battle of the sexes. Julia, naturally, had the best comeback that shut everyone else down:

"It has been the men who have done the raping and the robbing and the killing and the war-mongering for the last two thousand years.... and it has been the men who have done the pillaging and the beheading and the subjugating of whole races into slavery. It has been the men who have done the law making and the money making and most of the mischief making, so if the world isn't quite what you had in mind you have only yourselves to thank!"

To which Reese responded with: "Oh yeah? That's what you think about men? Well, let me tell you something about women............... They're always late."

Now, there may have been a double entendre there.

Julia Sugarbaker was known for her big mouth and liberal ways, but she also had a heart of gold, and she really wasn't wrong. She could be outrageous and sometimes out of line, but she also spoke the truth about the treatment of women even back in the Eighties.  Designing Women did several episodes on things like the objectification of women, women not being allowed to be pastors in their churches, and domestic abuse.

With all this garbage going on in Hollywood now, as well as in the political circle, the lines have clearly been drawn, and the outcome is worse than the beginning of a Junior High dance. Men on one side, women on the other, and both parties think they are right.

And both parties are right. To a degree. Not all men are sexually abusive pigs treating women like objects. Women should come forward when a crime has been committed against them. The police should not poo poo a woman when she does come forward, insinuating that she had it coming depending on how she was dressed or how drunk she was. Women do have a responsibility in what happens to them as well when they get blitzed out drunk. In a perfect world, one can get blitzed out drunk and lie in a ditch somewhere without having to worry about what might happen to them, but in this world, that is unrealistic and we should take steps in protecting ourselves. That is not victim blaming, that is just a fact. I've been guilty of it too, drinking too much and getting myself into a less than desirable situation. I've also seen the other side, when I helped a young lady who showed up at my car one night at 2 a.m. claiming she'd been raped. I drove her to the emergency room, where she was examined and I was questioned. The cop questioning me actually did say something along the lines of, "Who knows what really happened. The girl is drunk, and look what she is wearing." While giving me a knowing smile.

Holy hell. He's supposed to be protecting his citizens and he basically implied that the girl got what was coming to her because of her clothes and the fact that she'd been drinking. She did the right thing, finding help for her situation, and I took her to the hospital immediately, and yet, we were both treated like silly little females.

And people wonder why women don't always come forward?

The biggest beef men have now is that women are accusing everyone willy nilly and they are afraid to even say hello to a woman anymore for fear it might come back to bite him in the ass. Every man is an abuser! Every woman is an accuser! Hey, that rhymed!

The thing is, I'm not sure this is about sexual assault so much anymore. Sure on a level it is. And yes, women coming forward ten to thirty years later does diminish their credibility. But this is all the symptom of a larger disease. Men are raised thinking they have this entitlement to women's bodies and women are raised thinking that this is just "how men are." So we accept it on both sides. Look at college frat parties. The guys think it's okay to drink like idiots and bang everything in the vicinity, and the women line up, willing to be banged in order to get in good with the frat guys because they think that's just how it's done. Because that's how it's been done for years. It never crosses the girl's mind if she wants to or not.

It's just "what you do."

And I think that might be what has finally stuck in my craw. What I've grown tired of is the blatant sense of entitlement over women's bodies. And not just by men, by other women. By society as a whole. It happens when a group of people think they can tell a woman what kind of birth control to use. It happens when a group of mean girls spreads rumors or speaks snidely of another women wearing a miniskirt, saying they hope she gets gang raped to teach her a lesson. It happens when a man expects sex from his wife in return for doing the dishes. It happens when a man expects a blow job on a first date in return for buying a woman dinner. It happened to me when an ex-boyfriend, drunk after hours of drinking with "the guys" called me up and wanted me to come over because he was horny and I'd better be prepared because I was "in for it" due to his drinking. Then got mad when I refused to come over. It happened when another ex-boyfriend took it personally and got offended when I refused to swallow after sucking him off.

And we are told to suck it up. Literally and figuratively I guess. Blue balls are a thing. Tit for tat. I do this, you pay for it with your body somehow. Don't want to give me a blow job? Give me a hand job instead.

My God, I'd rather just pay for my own dinner.

I apologize, I just read Denis Leary's new book, Why We Don't Suck: and How All of Us Need to Stop Being Such Partisan Little Bitches. Apparently his dirty mouth has rubbed off on me some.

And for the record, Denis Leary wrote a whole chapter in his new book about how he admires women, and how this country will be a better place when we finally elect a woman president (but not Hillary, he didn't advocate for her any more than he advocated for Trump. But I'll end the fangirl rave over Denis here).

There are all kinds of weird sexual proclivities alive and well in this world. And that's fine. I don't judge. As long as there is consent. If she wants to swallow and gets off on it, great. If she doesn't, guilting her into it or telling her that's offensive is not okay. If a guy wants to buy a woman dinner and have the pleasure of her company because he found her interesting enough to ask out, then that's what he signed up for. She does not owe him sex or a kiss or a blow job at the end of the night - unless she wants to do it because she's just as horned up.

And then we run in to, "Well that guy was just a jerk. Just don't go out with him again." But WHY is he a jerk? WHY does he expect that? It's like the situation I got myself in to. Yes, I should have shut it down, and I have taken responsibility for that, but why did he think my body was his right? And why did he think it was okay to get angry when I finally did shut it down?

Men are running scared, and that's sad. Even good innocent men. They are walking around on eggshells, terrified that they might piss off a woman, and then they blame women for it. Well, it's just as frustrating on my end when I make a comment about how sick I am of women being treated like property and I get, "Oh, you're one of those?"

Well, I don't want to be, but hey, buddy, I have been harassed, I have been assaulted, and I have been objectified. I'm not saying you're the one doing it, or that you ever would, but I am saying we need to be aware that this can no longer be acceptable. It's not acceptable to falsely accuse a man of wrongdoing just because we can. But it's also not acceptable for a guy to ask me, "Well, what were you wearing?" when some stranger gooses me at the bar. Or even worse, "That's a compliment!"

I had a conversation with two friends the other day, and one friend made the comment "Men now have to not sexually harass or rape us, and they think that's unfair." This is a person who loves men, has a great husband, great brothers, a lovely dad, and several upstanding, sweet men as friends. She was always one who looked on the bright side, saw the good in everyone, was the first to forgive. And even she has had enough of the misogyny that is flying everywhere in response to women speaking up and saying, "Hey. I want you to treat me like a human being."

And that's really what it is. Some women have stepped up and spoken out finally about how they've been treated and this is what they get in response:

"Soon no man will be safe."
"Why did she wait so long to come forward? I have no sympathy for her if she doesn't report the crime when it happens."
"Another man getting knocked down in this witch hunt."
"Cory Feldman has been speaking out about abuse for years and no one listened to him because he's a white male." (for the record what happened to Cory Feldman was a tragedy, but he was abused by the same pigs and they got away with it, so I'm thinking he probably knows how women feel).
"No wonder men want nothing to do with American women anymore." (as if the sole problem here is American women).
"Women have it great in this country. It's worse in other places." (yes, I should be thankful I don't have to wear a burqa).
"These women were just furthering their careers. If they hadn't cared so much about their careers, they would have reported this sooner."

And on and on and on. Now some of these statements may have a grain of truth. I certainly feel for Cory Feldman. Who by the way is a victim of this greater problem, that some men are in such high positions of power in this society that they think they are entitled to everyone and anyone's body.  But the problem with these statements is that they have managed to make a very real issue about sexual abuse and harassment all about men. And how this is making them feel. And how it is ruining their lives. And making things more difficult for them.

It hasn't been any walk in the park for us either.

There is no easy answer here. There will be women who take advantage of this situation to throw innocent men under the bus. There will be more women not believed because it's become such a shit show. This is a country of extremes, always has been. When something bad happens the response is to swing so widely to the other side that the pendulum nearly falls off the clock and lands in left field somewhere. All that does is cause a host of new problems.

It causes division.

Hell, it causes massive fissures, even among victims. "My abuse was worse than yours." "You did everyone a disservice for not speaking out sooner." Men hate women, women hate men. Women hate each other.

This is not a partisan or a political issue. This is a basic human rights issue. I'll leave you with this thought: On Facebook the other day I saw a post supporting President Trump with a picture of Melania and another picture of an elderly woman. It said "Trump is married to this (Melania) and he forced himself on this (elderly woman). Not buying it, liberals." Regardless of whether one is a Republican or a Democrat, a Trump supporter, or not, that post is offensive. What it is basically saying is the second lady was too old or unattractive for Trump to assault. Why would he when he is married to such a beautiful woman? The second lady must be lying if she's accusing Trump of assault.

So, I guess that means I was attractive enough to be assaulted. Which puts the blame back on me and my pretty face.

As if assault and rape are not about power. As if elderly or unattractive women never get assaulted or raped.

As if assault and rape are some kind of compliment.

Julia Sugarbaker

Maybe Luke was Just Depressed

I take it back.

Everything I said about Luke Skywalker in the last post, I just take it back.

You know, call me cynical, but maybe Disney had the right idea. Maybe how they portrayed Luke wasn't so far off. Maybe that's how it works. One really does just keep skipping through life, constantly making the same dumb mistakes over and over without ever learning a damn thing, ignoring God/the Force or whatever, until one finally loses faith in God/the Force. And maybe that's what happened to Luke. He never learned shit. He just kept doing the same stupid thing over and over despite knowing better, and knowing what he ought to be doing. He finally lost faith in the Force, and stopped listening to it to the point of closing himself off completely.

Then he got so depressed and so disillusioned by his own stupidity that he said "Fuck it all," and took off for a deserted island to hide alone with a bunch of Porgos that actually kind of look like cats (penguin cats).

He's the crazy hermit Porgo guy.

He didn't blame the Force, he blamed himself. But I can understand the reasoning behind giving up listening to the Force/God or whatever. If you are so stupid that you can't even listen to the Force/God or whatever that you just keep doing the same stupid thing over and over, and you know it's your own fault, well, why bother listening anymore? Clearly even the Force/God can't save you from yourself.

So, then, when Luke finally was able to make a life for himself without having to worry about carrying the damn weight of the universe on his shoulders, some Millennial shows up, already knowing everything and being perfect at everything despite having only been exposed to it for maybe a week (like all Millennials), demanding his help, and it probably just pissed him off to no end.

What they didn't show in the movie is Luke telling Rey, "Hey, since you're so perfect and know so much about the Force and can already wield a lightsaber while it took me years to learn proper Jedi training, why don't you go save the damn universe and leave me out of it?" Fucking Millennials.

Okay, so maybe I'm projecting just a tad, but hey, Luke Skywalker is my twin flame. We understand each other. We feel each others' pain. I mean, here's Luke who had to fight and train and scrap for everything he got, and constantly be in control of his emotions, and never get angry because Jedi can't get angry, and never get laid, because well, look what happened to Anakin, and then become a legend with every last hope riding on his shoulders. It's no wonder he went a little crazy when he caused the ultimate of all fuckups by failing with Kylo Ren. He had a total Force meltdown. I guess he can't be blamed for that. And what's worse is, here's this upstart Miss Perfect infringing on his solitude, DEMANDING he do as she says, because, well she's young and female so she's got to be right. All she's whining about is that she doesn't know who her parents are. But everyone should feel so sorry for her because wah, wah, her parents abandoned her.

Well, honey, Luke's dad was Darth Vader. And he didn't feel the need to go cry in his safe place with a puppy and an ice cream sundae.

Not that I'm excusing Luke. As I said, he was well aware that he was just constantly making the same stupid mistakes over and over and seemed powerless to stop himself. Meanwhile, he stopped listening to the Force, because well, when's the last time I had a conversation with God? He's not listening anymore either, because he's tired of my stupidity. Maybe the Force isn't either. And the cherry on top is that Luke KNOWS he's at fault, he KNOWS he's making the same mistakes over and over, and he BLAMES himself.

Eventually one just gets sick of themselves and their own stupidity.

And that's when the depression sets in.

That's when the fatigue sets in.

That's when the desire to run and hide becomes overwhelming.

In a perfect Disney world people do pull themselves up by the bootstraps, stop sniveling, stop whining, and stop wallowing. They get up and DO something. They pull themselves out of it and carry on. They force themselves to seek treatment and get better and keep trying and not give up.

And then God invented antidepressants.

Luke had weird alien milk. That seemed to be the only thing lining his ass out on that island.

At least he didn't become an alcoholic. He had every reason to.

Maybe it was fermented milk.

But that isn't how it always works. They tell you to change things if you don't like the mistakes you're making. They never tell you how to change it. There are antidepressants, and strict meal plans to rebalance hormones, and exercises, and meditating, and yoga. All those things help. But they never tell you how you can actually shift your feelings. You're supposed to just know.

Like a Millennial.

But only Millennials know everything. The rest of us are just mere mortals. So it turned out Luke was also a mere mortal who happened to at one time wield incredible power in the Force. Now he wants to be left alone to live out the rest of his life in peace...and they won't let him. He can't just sit on an island and wallow in depression. No, he has to make everyone else feel better, cease making everyone uncomfortable with his mental illness, and save the universe.

Somehow Rey, Chewy, and the rest of the universe managed to make Luke's depression all about them.

It's like some really bad Dear Abby letter: Dear Abby, Our Jedi Master abandoned us and everyone in the universe to run away to some deserted island due to his severe mental illness, leaving us to actually have to step up and do things ourselves. He's supposed to be our hero and legend, and his selfish mental illness has really made things inconvenient for us. How can we get him to see the error of his ways and return to his rightful duty in saving the day like he always has?

Or, Dear Abby: Our Jedi Master has severe clinical depression and mental illness. How can we make this all about us?

Because that's how it is, isn't it? When someone doesn't feel at their optimal, it suddenly becomes their job to mask it, hide it, fake it till they make it in order to make everyone else feel better so that they don't have the uncomfortable task of actually dealing with someone else's inadequacies and imperfections.

Instead they are told to quit whining and buck up.

But Luke wasn't whining. He wasn't bothering anyone with his depression. He took his intolerable self and depression off to no man's land where no one had to BE uncomfortable with his depression. But you know what? When his depression finally became inconvenient for them, they came looking for him anyway. Then they blamed him for not being what they wanted. They got angry about his inadequacies. They got upset about the fact that even the most powerful Jedi has moments of weakness and humanity. And plenty of moments of stupidity.

How dare he.

And therein lies the real problem. If even someone like Luke can fall from grace and give into his emotions, that means no one is safe from it. Everyone is inadequate and everyone fails and everyone has issues, and eventually they will have to accept that, warts and all. If one chooses to deal with their issues by hiding them and NOT dealing with them and pretending everything is okay, then what gives them the right to demand another person do the same? Because that person's depression and mental illness makes THEM uncomfortable? Maybe Luke got tired of pretending everything was okay, because clearly, it wasn't.

So if Luke wants to wallow in self-pity and depression on a deserted island where he isn't bothering anyone except maybe a mess of Porgos, that should be his right. And he shouldn't have to apologize that his issues make everyone else uncomfortable. Too bad if his mental illness became inconvenient for others. It's not like he was using it as an excuse to mass murder a bunch of people.

If they didn't like it, maybe they shouldn't have gone looking for him.

Though he did, of course, end up saving their rear ends at the end. So he did what they asked and what was expected of him. Despite his depression and feelings of inadequacies and self-loathing, he did what needed to be done.

That probably makes him more of a hero than what he did in Return of the Jedi.

Ironic, isn't it? Because the last thing he wanted was to be a hero. They all got what they wanted. Hopefully, he finally got what he wanted when he disappeared from that ledge: Peace.

Some Thoughts on Star Wars

So, yes, I am a purist.

I prefer the three original Star Wars movies over anything else they've done since, and I'm okay with it. I don't apologize for it.

I like myself.

That being said, people get really angry about this stuff.

I'm really only going by the comments section for reviews on the Internet, and a few comments from friends. I still can't believe how angry people get over this stuff.

Like, if you didn't like The Last Jedi, you're a baby who needs to let the past go and stop crying over the Skywalkers.

Like if you DID like The Last Jedi you're a traitor to the original trilogy.

If you didn't like it, you're not a real Star Wars fan, as the story must continue.

Oh, brother.

I didn't like The Force Awakens. Mostly, I didn't like it because it was basically A New Hope crossed with Pirates of the Caribbean. Star Wars sprinkled with "that Disney magic," which is really the same formula they've been regurgitating for years and years. And clearly they are running out of ideas because they keep taking other people's stories and making movies out of them, doing reboots (which they always have), and now they are even rebooting their own stuff (Beauty and the Beast).

The Force Awakens was like Avatar to me. The same old story with new action figures and special effects.

I didn't like Avatar either. And I really didn't like Dances With Wolves. But that's because I can't stand Kevin Costner, though I will sit through a movie of his given the right circumstances. I love Field of Dreams.

I sat through Avatar three times because of Sam Worthington's face.

But I've gotten off track.

I did not like The Force Awakens. I did like The Last Jedi - for the most part. Mostly just the last forty-five minutes.

That's when shit got good.

What I liked:

Leia: I feel Leia is the only original character that Disney did any justice to. She's still strong, she's still smart, she's still fighting. Meanwhile Han Solo and Luke Skywalker gave up. One went back to smuggling shit and losing his ship (so that Rey could find it), and the other messed up a Jedi apprentice and went to snivel on a lost island somewhere. Through all this, Leia's still kicking butt. And while most people HATED that part where she got knocked into space and she managed to pull herself back, I loved it. I felt that was the only time we got to see just how powerful in the Force Leia really is. It's been implied in some past books (that I suppose are no longer relevant) that she was even more powerful than Luke.

Poe: Out of all the new characters, I liked Poe the best. I like the fact that he's a pilot. I like that he's super loyal to Leia. I like that he thought he was protecting her at all costs by going against Vice Admiral Holdo, when it turned out that she was really just doing what Leia wanted. I like that Poe is loyal to everyone. And he's really cute with his droid, like Luke was with R2-D2 in the original trilogy.

Luke's Death: Okay, anyone who did not anticipate Luke dying and is up in arms about it, my advice is to grow up. Duh, of course he was going to bite it. Disney is setting it up to kill off the original characters and bring in a new generation. There's nothing wrong with that per se. They want to make it their own. While I feel they completely ruined Luke, it wasn't because of his death. His death was appropriate. I liked his last scene. I was impressed with him being able to project himself via the Force to the ice planet to fight Kylo Ren, and I like that he finally got to die in peace. His death is not what bothered me.

I also love the badass stuff Luke got to pull at the end, even if he was just a projection. He finally got to kick some ass.

I'll get to what really bothered me about Luke.

The scene with Yoda: Cheesy, but I enjoyed it, and I liked seeing Yoda again.

The ice fox creatures: They were cute. And I kind of want one.

Rose: I liked Rose. I don't know how other people felt about her, but I liked her. Maybe she was shoehorned in there, and my personal opinion of her is that Disney added her as a love interest for Finn because Finn can't ever be with Rey who he's clearly in love with. But Rose was cute, the actress was cute, and even though her storyline kind of made no sense, she was a refreshing addition. I look forward to seeing more of her in the next movie.

The scene where Kylo Ren tells Rey they need to forget about the First Order and Resistance and the past, and step into a new future together: That's the smartest thing he said in two movies. Killing Snoke was the smartest thing he did in two movies. While it did sort of render Snoke irrelevant (unless they have a plan for him in the next movie), I applauded Kylo Ren on that one. You can't be an ambitious and great villain if you're "mentor" is still hanging around, calling you names, and telling you you've failed him all the time. So Ren must have thought, "Fine. I'll just kill your ass and take over. Who's worthless now, bitch?"

Rey and Kylo Ren: I'm conflicted on this one. My personal theory is that Disney wants to stick these two lovebirds together. They were already giving each other googly eyes through the Force, and even though Ren betrayed Rey when she went to his ship, believing he was still "conflicted," I think ultimately Ren wants Rey at his side. Meanwhile Rey wants to be the next Luke Skywalker, and still holds out hope that Ren can be saved. They are light and dark. They balance each other out. You can't have one without the other. And of course, as an added fun little plot twist, they are in love! Or they will be. So, on the one hand, interesting twist. Makes Kylo Ren's job a little harder. And it makes Rey vulnerable. But on the other hand, that would be such a typical Disney move - turning everything into a love story - it kind of makes me ill, and I hope my theory is wrong.

This moves us into what I didn't like.

What I did not like:

Rey: She's annoying. I'd elaborate, but everything about her annoys me. She is just a little too precious. About the only thing that does not annoy me about her is that she's easy on the eyes.

Rey and Kylo Ren: Again, I am conflicted as they are just tedious. Their scenes were tedious, their googly eyes at each other were tedious. Daisy Ridley totally overacts, and Adam Driver compensates by stepping up his own ability. I think he's a very good actor, but Daisy Ridley growled and screamed and made big eyes through every one of her scenes to the point where I just wanted to pull her off the screen. I guess they balance each other out, as Adam Driver is by no means an attractive man in any way, and Daisy Ridley is knockout beautiful. Meanwhile, she can't act, and he can. Rey is an annoying character. Kylo Ren could be a good character if not for the emo/sniveling/I want to be the boss/I hate Luke Skywalker and he must die attitude. He'll never be Darth Vader. But he might be Anakin if he throws everything away because he clearly wants in Rey's pants, and if he can't have her, he will destroy everything. It could very well turn into Anakin and Padme all over again only in reverse. She will lead him back from the Dark Side instead of sending him over the edge.

While I like the whole "sleeping with the enemy" plot device (if that's what it ends up being), I need the characters to be a bit more likable for me to care if they end up together or end up killing each other.

I was terrified we were going to see Anakin again. Thank God they kept Hayden Christiansen out of this film.

The scene where Finn and Rose went galloping through the rich city, destroying everything: While it was a fun, exciting scene, and I did kind of like those horse/cat creatures, it seemed a little pointless. And then you had the scoundrel/gambler pretending to help them, and ending up betraying them. Gee, that doesn't sound like any other Star Wars movie ever made. Who wants to bet that character will be back in the third movie to help save the day somehow? And maybe he won't be. Maybe he'll end up being Rhett Butler, only out for himself. That, at least, I can respect.

The fact that there is no clear villain, and no villain who is awesome: Who's the bad guy here? Kylo Ren? Snoke? Oh, wait, he's dead. Unless he's not. Kylo Ren is "conflicted," but I wouldn't be surprised if he ends up moving into the light. Vader finally did, and Vader was the most badass Star Wars villain ever. Badass villains seemed to end with Vader. Everyone on the Dark Side in the last two movies are just whiny, with no redeeming qualities. And I understand that Dark vs. Light needs conflict - even Vader had conflict - but there doesn't seem to be a clear villain. I was kind of hoping it would end up being Luke somehow. Or even Leia, just to shake things up a bit.

Luke Skywalker in general: He deserved better. So did Han Solo. I have no beef about killing them off. I suppose that had to happen. But Han did not deserve to die by getting skewered by his spoiled-brat-of-a-wannabe-Vader son, and Luke did not deserve to be turned into Ben Kenobi only worse and more pathetic. I think Luke deserved more than to ultimately fail with his nephew (I mean, come on, Luke, teachers are brilliant, but nobody can touch them all), and then take it so personally as to disappear onto an island to die and snivel about his failure. It took Yoda coming back to tell him the greatest teacher of all is failure (true). I just feel like instead of having grown as a character and as a Jedi, they pushed Luke back into this whiny, sniveling farmboy role where Yoda and/or Ben is chastising him for his recklessness. And while Luke was right. It was the Jedi who caused most of the universe's problems, I don't know if the Luke we have come to know and love would really decide that destroying all Jedi is the way to go. Or closing himself off to the Force. I don't know what I expected for Luke, but it wasn't Obi Wan's life all over again.

As a whole, I enjoyed the movie. More so than The Force Awakens. I felt that Finn redeemed himself. I couldn't stand him in the first one, but I liked him better in The Last Jedi. I felt like Kylo Ren also sort of redeemed himself. He wasn't quite as annoying and whiny in the second movie as the first. And killing one's mentor was probably a good move ambitiously and politically, especially when said mentor does nothing but cut you down. There was no Jar Jar Binks, and that was a plus. The creatures they did add were a bit more on the cutesy side than the creatures in the original movies (ewoks notwithstanding). The cat/horse things looked like Harry Potter creatures, and that isn't necessarily a bad thing.

There were definitely some eye-rolling moments. And a few scenes that went on longer than they needed to, and I began to fidget in my seat, silently thinking "Come on, let's get on with it." Some of the cheesy one-liners were reminiscent of George Lucas, only somehow worse. They were cute in the original trilogy, but fell flat in The Last Jedi. Luke saying "See you around, kid," literally made me facepalm. Yes, Han said it, but it sounded ridiculous coming out of Luke's mouth.

I need to watch it again, because I missed if anyone said, "I've got a bad feeling about this." Yes, it's cornball, but it's just not a Star Wars movie without someone saying that.

To make a final judgment I'll have to see the end of the trilogy through. Until I've seen the third movie, I can't really say if I like this new addition or not. The Force Awakens was rubbish, The Last Jedi rekindled my interest, and now I just want to see how it all ends.

If nothing else, this should be interesting.

Trapped in a Hell of My Own Making

Here was my night the other night.

I got home from work at nine. I fed the beasts, let Tess out to go potty, and then fed her too. Of course, she didn't want food, she wanted a cookie. So she glued herself to the cookie cabinet, blocking the refrigerator and the door to the cookie cabinet so that I couldn't get either one open.

Not helpful, dog.

Meanwhile Willow was screaming at me for her food.

Her bowl was on the floor next to Percy's. He was hogging out. Willow apparently was so distressed by the fact that she believed she had not gotten her bowl that she continued to wail.

I picked her up and put her next to her bowl. She fell silent and began to hog out.

I made the litter box rounds. I cleaned the two downstairs. They were overflowing with crap, literally. Keep in mind I had already scooped them a couple of times that day. Once in the morning and once when I went home for lunch. So the overflowing thing baffled me. But, I'm used to it, so I scooped away. Then I got the vacuum cleaner and sucked up all the litter that had been flung hither and yon, scattered all over the tile floor.

That's when I noticed the small pile of diarrhea that Percy at left on the tile by the steps. I then had to bleach the vacuum cleaner since I rolled it over the diarrhea, and bleach the floor. And vacuum the floor some more, dump the canister (luckily the vacuum didn't suck up the poop, it just got its wheels full of it. I mean, that's a $600 Dyson vacuum. I'd have been PISSED), and vacuum some more.

It still smelled downstairs.

Whatever, it was past nine and I didn't feel like lighting a candle.

I then remembered the carpet cleaner and paper towels were under the coffee table where I'd left them after cleaning up a pile of puke at lunch time. I'm assuming Puckett's pile of puke, most of which she probably already ate. So I finished cleaning the carpet, gathered up the bleach, carpet cleaner, paper towels, trash can, and pooper scooper, and went upstairs to clean the two litter boxes there.

Willow raced after me to jump into her cage and wait for her food. Never mind that she just ate. So I put her bowl in there with her and reached for her litter box.

I'd forgotten that I'd dumped the whole box earlier and forgot to put in fresh litter. I pulled the box out of the cage and promptly splashed myself, the floor, and the wall with pee that someone had felt the need to eliminate in the box even though it was empty.

Willow, no doubt.

She's done it before. Even if there is no litter in the box, she'll just squat in it anyway. It was my fault for forgetting the litter, and they don't really use that box during the day anyway. I guess I can't be too mad at her as she did use the box, but come on. Seriously? There are three other boxes she can use.

I went to the bathroom and rinsed myself off. Then I rinsed out the box. Then I got my bucket from the laundry closet, filled it with vinegar and warm water, and went about mopping the entire floor upstairs, including the wall, and the steps. I also mopped the bathroom floor and the hallway to the bathroom floor.

There is a reason why I have torn almost all of my carpeting out of the house.

I put litter in Willow's box, stuffed the box in her cage with her and her food, and scooped out the box underneath the cage.

I'd already mopped the floor so at least I didn't need to vacuum.

Finally everything was cleaned up. I put the vacuum away, dumped the bag of crap outside (where it was SUPER windy and cold - I nearly blew to Oz), stashed all my cleaning supplies, and put away the wash bucket.

Then I took a shower, because, well, ew. I had pee splashed all over me.

When I showered I was finally ready to eat and get into bed, except that I'd lost my appetite. I turned on a movie on my laptop, put on my pajamas, and decided to get a drink from the kitchen. I went downstairs and there was Percy, sprawled across my countertop next to the stove because I'd forgotten to lay the tinfoil down (which I've had to start doing since the little jerk has decided the area where I PREPARE FOOD is his new throne). He looked at me. I looked at him.

I yelled. He fled.

I spread tinfoil on the counter, got my (nonalcoholic) drink, and went back upstairs to watch my movie and cry.

It was about eleven o'clock by then and I should have just gone to sleep, but I stayed up and watched my movie. Tess slunk into the corner of the bedroom. Willow was in her cage. Puckett was on the dog bed. I don't know where Percy went, but a few minutes later he started thundering through the house, apparently deciding that then was the perfect time to get the kitty rips. Or maybe it was just revenge for not being allowed to sprawl across the counter.

Sometimes at work I think about going home to my pets, and suicide seems like the better option.

And they just look so innocent...

Big White Fluffy Dress

I really don't like weddings.

It's not that I have anything against marriage, or that I don't want people to be happy. I just feel like weddings have become an excuse for people to behave badly.

And spend an atrocious bunch of money.

Not all weddings, just some.

I have never been one of those little girls who dreamed about her wedding day, and what would her dress look like, and what kind of shoes, and what colors, and what kind of flowers? I always assumed I'd never get married, would never have a wedding (unless I married my house, like that nutty woman in Indiana several years ago), and it just didn't matter.

Suddenly I'm engaged and I don't know what to do.

I've been engaged for about a month, and it's the weirdest thing. Engaged ladies are supposed to run around with perpetual smiles on their faces, flashing their rings to anyone who will look, rabidly pawing through bridal magazines, and planning every inch of their upcoming nuptials.

We don't even have a wedding date yet. When people ask "When's the wedding?" I just stare at them blankly.

THEM: Have you started dress shopping?"

ME: I have to wear a dress?

THEM: What colors are you picking?

ME: Colors? Isn't the dress supposed to be white?

THEM: When are you thinking? Spring? Summer? Fall wedding?

ME: Does it matter? Won't I be on the beach?

THEM: Do you have flowers picked out?

ME: I like daisies and daffodils.

THEM: Oh, honey you can't use wildflowers at the wedding!

I am the world's worst future bride.

A friend of mine suggested I go on Say Yes to the Dress, and I think that's a fabulous idea, because I really need the help of Randy, the top consultant. I'll get on the show, and he'll look at me, and just say, "Oh, honey, honey, honey. You are hopeless. Let's see if we can't find you something."

If he can help this clueless train wreck, then he really deserves the title of "Bride Whisperer."

I did look at the application and one of the questions was, "Why do you think you'd be fun to watch on TV?"

My answer? Because I'm a clueless idiot who never thought she'd get married, never thought she'd need a wedding dress, doesn't even like weddings, and knows nothing about planning a wedding. I'll look like the bumbling country bumpkin from Wyoming, and everyone can make fun of me for my cluelessness. It'll be entertainment to the max. "Hey, just check out this airhead on Say Yes to Dress! Randy's banging his head against the wall!"

I think the problem is that I never actually expected to get married. It never occurred to me in a million years that someone would actually ask me to spend the rest of my life with them and hand me a ring. The week after the proposal, I didn't have the ring as it was being resized. When I got the ring back, it spent a day in the ring box because I forgot I had it. Then I put the ring on, and kept staring at it like an alien had landed on my finger.

Actually, it's a beautiful ring. It's white gold with a small diamond, surrounded by two smaller diamonds. I'm thinking of switching the smaller diamonds out with emeralds. The style is simple. California Guy thinks the diamond should be bigger, but I can't carry a big stone.

I guess I can't carry a stone at all, since diamonds have never been this girl's best friend. I just figured I'd never get one, so why think about it?

It's not that I don't want to get married. I just don't know how to do it. I don't even know how to be engaged, so how will I ever be able to figure out how to be married? I'm not a spotlight kind of person. I'm not into being the center of attention. This is why I haven't gone around flaunting the ring, or gabbing a mile a minute about wedding dress shopping to anyone who will listen. I hate being noticed. People see the rock on my hand, and they're like, "Oh, how beautiful! When's the big day?" And I stare at them like they've just informed me they are going on tour with Marilyn Manson.

California Guy is all about the justice of the peace. Why not, he's already been married. He's already had a wedding. He's about as into the dog and pony show as I am.

I figured eloping was my speed. Run off somewhere, grab a stranger as a witness, and just get the whole thing over with.

Then, at the urging of a friend, I looked at some pictures of wedding dresses.

I guess there's a little Cinderella Princess in all of us. I suppose there is no harm in trying on dresses. There's no harm in wearing a wedding dress even if we elope. There's no harm in enjoying the ring either, and gazing at it's sparkly beauty, which I've noticed I've started doing more and more.

And I do get wedding cake.

I could fill out that application for Say Yes to the Dress, too. I'll never get on there, but if I do happen to be picked, I could definitely use Randy's help.

I'll never be a bridezilla, but I am getting more used to the idea of being engaged.

And I suppose maybe there is a small part of me that wouldn't mind feeling like a princess for a day. Maybe weddings aren't so bad after all.

There's this one. I like the bling.

This is my favorite one. Maybe with a little less train.

This one is for fun. I can't pull it off, I'd feel ridiculous wearing it, it's way too formal, but I LOVE IT.