Thursday, February 18, 2016

Back to Front Story

I made a goal with myself that I will not say something behind anyone's back that I would not be willing to say to their face.
Mind you, willing and purposefully attacking them with it are two different things.
I don't like people to lie to me. I don't like people talking behind my back about how horrible I am, and then being friendly to my face.

When I was in University I had many, many roommates. Some were very kind. Most were not. Turns out, while I thought I could get along with most people; I tend to put people off. Well, I put off roommates that don't like me pointing out logic, critical thinking, and that they are disobeying rules they signed a contract to obey. (That last part is a completely different story.)
Yet they acted like my friends to my face. I was informed of their dislike one morning when they forgot that the walls were paper thin.
I lay in bed after working an early morning custodial shift. I had just woken up from my 'nap' (That was honestly more like my second part of nights sleep that was always bisected) and was trying to convince myself to get ready for the rest of my day.
I heard voices from the kitchen. In our teeny apartment, that would be like four steps from my bedroom door. Usually, when I hear voices my Paranoia goes full force and tells me that no matter who the voices are that they are talking about me, hate me, and so on.
Logic tells me this is not the case, so on that morning I tried to block out the voices and get back to psyching myself up to leave the pillow habitat.
Then I heard my name.
It really doesn't help my anxiety and paranoia to know that I'm right.
My roommates, who I could tell person from person by their rather loud voices, were talking about me. I listened carefully to get an accurate idea of what they were saying.
They were complaining about me. That I was lazy and slept all day. That I was on my computer too much. That I brought my brother around too much. That I never got out of the house. That the FHE brothers didn't like me. On and on. Some very rude words were tossed around. Fat, lazy, gross, boring, you get the idea.

Now, there are a few different ways you can deal with someone, or someones, that are going on like that. I thought about yelling from my room, where they could hear me just as well as I could hear them, that "I can hear you!" and imagine their faces of shock and hopefully guilt. I thought of coming out and explaining myself, that I had a second job and homework and long distance friends on that computer for the reason I was on so much, that I was teaching my brother how to cook, that I worked at 4 in the morning so I needed day time sleep. (As for the guys not liking me, I had no excuse.)
I could have come out and drop that all on them in a nice long rant. But as I got up I felt like that would almost be begging them to understand and like me. I wasn't too for that.
I could, of course, come barreling out of the room and scream and call them much worse names than they called me and drop all of their sins on them.
But in the end I decided to wait for a calmer head and tell them later, as calmly as I could, that they had hurt my feelings and talking about someone like that behind their back is horribly disrespectful (not that I held out much hope that they respected me, after what I had heard) and against our shared religious beliefs of conduct.
So I got dressed, still hearing this. I got my feelings in check and put on a good face. Then I calmly walked out of my room.
They immediately shut up and scattered. Cause that wouldn't have clued me in had I not already known.
I didn't say anything and made breakfast.
Later that day, I took one of the girls aside whom was easier to approach, and told her boldly that I had heard the entire conversation. Her face was mortified.
I asked her to not do this again, and to think about how much it hurt me before she ever went into a gossip session. I told her that I was very upset, as I now knew my entire apartment's feelings about me. This is five roommates, mind you.
She said sorry a bunch and would talk to the other girls.
No one else ever apologized. They were sickly sweet to me for a good week, then everything went back to how it was. With a lot of scattering when I came into a room. I tried to broach the subject with some of the other girls, but they just brushed it off and assured me that they loved me and we were all friends.
That wasn't even the worst of the roommates I have had.

To make it clear, that kind of thing really hurts. I felt literally sick knowing that the five girls that lived with me outright hated me. What was worse was that I was never able to get down to the core of the issue about what I had actually done wrong. I can't fix what I don't know I did wrong. So it continued like that, with my knowing very well the opinions and thoughts, and them all assuring me (badly) that we were all friends and everything was fine.
From that point on I made the deal with myself that I would never say behind someone's back what I would not be willing to say to their face. I may not volunteer the information, but if the topic came up, I would always be honest but kind about my opinions and feelings. If I was angry with a person, I would tell them, so they would have a chance to repair the damage, if they so desired.
It has served me well. I sure have a lot of opinions, but all of my few friends know how I feel about things.
When I am concerned about something, I tell the person that is concerning me. When I am upset, I tell them.
When I particularly don't like someone, I may not come out and shame them, but I don't go around pretending that we are buddy buddy. That is dishonest. That is like literally lying to their face when you gossip behind their back.
Also, I'm really awful at lying (when not a wonderful surprise in the works) and controlling my facial expressions, so this way just seems like less agony on both sides.

Please, ladies. And gents. Please stop the gossiping. If the person that you are going on about was sitting in the next room hearing every thing you said, would you say those things? Because sometimes they can. And it hurts. It still upsets me to this day, years later, to think of what was said and the way they were talking about me. And it hurts worse when they act like we are friends and make me out to be rude when I refuse to play that game. Stop gossiping.

And if that isn't enough reason to stop; think of this. When you start bad mouthing people behind their back, the person you are trash talking with is going to be wondering what you say about them behind their back. Because chances are that you don't limit yourself to one target. When people are wondering what you say about them when they aren't there, they will be a lot less likely to really let you in on their lives. You are hurting your own relationships by doing this.

Smile Always.

Friday, February 12, 2016

Story on Depression

I simply wondered how someone would explain Depression to a child. This is what I came up with.
*
The mother sat at the kitchen table after dinner was finished. Her eyes were tired and moist with tears she couldn’t shed. The children were in bed for the night. After bath time that had turned into a splashing war and trying to get them into their pajamas, which resembled wrestling, the kids were finally tucked away. The mother was waiting for the inevitable wave of little feet down the hallway which would mean she would have to start the battle of keeping them in bed until they actually fell asleep.
She turned and looked into the living room. Her husband was sitting in his chair in front of the television. His favorite program was on, but he simply sat there was eyes unfocused. He was not asleep, but yet not truly awake. He had had that look a lot lately. He had no interest in anything. He was taking his medications faithfully, but it was a bad time in his condition.
“Mama?”
The mother turned to see her daughter at her side, holding her stuffed kangaroo toy and looking very serious.
Before the mother could start the bedtime ritual, the girl spoke again.
“Why is Daddy sad?”
The mother stopped. She looked carefully at her little girl. How to explain a condition like Depression to one so young? Was now the time? What could she say?
Instead of ignoring the question and getting the small one to bed again, this mother decided to teach her. Depression was complicated. A serious condition that is mostly not visible. All the child knew was that her Daddy didn’t play anymore.
The mother closed her eyes for a just a moment and said a fervent, silent prayer to her Heavenly Father that the words would come to her so she could teach and comfort her child.
When she opened her eyes again, she picked up the girl and put her baby on her lap.
“You know how Grandpa’s heart is sick?” She asked, referring to the scare they had had with her Father’s heart attack. He had lived, but after a long stay in the hospital and a scar for his time.
“Yeah.” The little girl replied, watching her mother carefully.
“You know how you get sick sometimes and your tummy doesn’t feel good?”
“Yeah.”
“Daddy is sick right now. But it isn’t his tummy or his heart that is sick. He has Depression. That means that his feelings are sick. He doesn’t feel good right now. Depression makes him very tired, but it gives him bad dreams. He is very sleepy and sad when he is awake, too. When his feelings are sick he doesn’t want to play. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you. He loves you very much. He will never stop loving us, no matter how sick his feelings get. We just have to love him too and be really good to him.” She hugged her daughter. “We are trying to find the medicine that will make him feel all better. But it might take a while. Right now we have to be very nice to Daddy, and to each other. We have to fill our home with love. We have to keep saying our prayers to Heavenly Father.”
“And hugs.” The little girl said very calmly.
“Yes.” The mother agreed. “We should give lots of hugs.” She squeezed her child again. “Sometimes when you want to give someone a hug it means Heavenly Father knows that someone needs one from Him.”
“Can we give Daddy a hug from Him?”
Tears now came freely as the mother smiled at her wonderful little girl. “Yes, honey.” She said. “Let’s go give Daddy a hug.”
Mother and daughter came into the living room and approached the father on his chair. He looked up in surprise as both embraced him without a word. After a moment he rose his heavy arms to wrap around them too.

“That is from Heavenly Father, Daddy.” The little one said, hugging him with all her strength. She wiggled up so she could kiss his cheek. “And that is from me.”

*

Smile Always.

The Greatest Love Story Ever Told

Romeo and Juliet is not the greatest love story ever told.
In fact, it is not a love story at all.
I had an experience in University where the topic of Romeo and Juliet came up. It was not an English class. I stated my opinion that Romeo and Juliet is not a love story at all. I was immediately bombarded with denial from the majority of the room, one girl in particular telling me that Romeo and Juliet was the greatest love story ever because they died for each other. The Professor told me I obviously had no idea what love was. As I was engaged to my now husband at the time, I took offense, but decided to remain silent as he moved the class on.
I still stand in my opinion. Romeo and Juliet is not a story of love. It is a story of passion.
Don’t get me wrong, there needs to be passion in love. Keeping the spark in a relationship is important. But just because there is lots of passion and emotions does not mean that it is truly love.
The girl in class stated that Romeo and Juliet was the best love story because they died for one another. I don’t find this reasoning to be sound. Dying for one another is not the greatest testament to love. Dying is a moment at the end of a life. Just a moment. A decision made, in their case. That is not love.
Love is LIVING for each other. Living each day for the other person. To make them laugh and see them smile. Love is getting through the hard times. Not just one moment at the end, but all the moments in the middle. It is the struggle of misunderstanding and communication. It is the dinner of a can of chili because you can’t afford anything else. It is letting the other person cry while there is nothing you can do but hold them. It is wanting to endure their pain for or with them so they don’t have to suffer. It is sleepless nights. It is talking for hours about nothing and everything. It is taking a walk in the rain because that is the only time you will have together all day. It is finding the passion after it has been lost in bills and laundry. It is living those moments together through time. That, to me, is love in a way Romeo and Juliet never reached. They had the passion, but never the love.
Today the world sees death as romantic. I cannot count the number of times I have heard of a story of one person dying so their lover kills themselves to be with them. How many times does the hero of a story take the bullet for the other, and that sacrifice is the proof of love?

Why can’t the sacrifice being looking forward to a piece of pie all day long, through a bad day at work and a cranky call from the in laws and the dog ate his favorite tie? He wants the pie all day, and that is what gets him through. He gets home, pulls out the pie, fork at the ready. Then his love comes in the door looking gloomy, but not saying much, giving him a tired smile. He then grins and hands over the fork. That is love. A moment built into a life of moments. Living for love.

Smile Always.

Murder Called Help Story

View point of an extra personality/Depression

She can only see me, while I see all.
Can’t communicate to save my life.
She takes pills that hurt me.
She smiles as I fade.
I’m stuck while she is free.

Murder called help.


Thursday, February 11, 2016

Sissy-Poo's Shooting Story

My Sissy Poo is a photographer.
I have her business card. It is all very official.
One of my favorite photos from my wedding was from her. She wasn't our photographer. She brought her camera and creepered behind our photographer and stood on banisters and crouched in her fancy dress. It showed a lot of leg, but that is photographers for you.
Yesterday I got to see her in action again. And by this I don't mean that this is only the second time I have witnessed. I pretty much demand to see most of her work. One of my favorite pictures she took is hanging on our wall, all canvas like. But, yesterday she was taking family photos of friends of mine for Valentine's Day.
So, naturally, I was her helper. I strapped all the bags of equipment, and coats, and extra things on to my person and tried to keep up. When they stopped to take photos I held the really big round thing (I am told this is called a diffuser or some such nonsense. It is a really big circle with a tent material in it that makes a soft shadow and is not fun to hold over my head for over five minutes) so they wouldn't squint. It was a snowy day in winter, but the sun was bringing it's game.
Before my friends were able to show, Sissy Poo and I were doing some test shots and scouting the area. We had come to the park that they liked, but decided to just stay in a small part of it. Because it was cold. Really cold. Unless you were in the sun for too long. But still cold.
You know those days where it has been snowing and is very much still winter so it is frigid cold, but then the sun shows up to the party and stares at you really hard and it makes you uncomfortable? That. One side of me was in the sun and feeling like I was going to get a sunburn, through my coat, and the other side of me was in my own shadow and felt the winter chill and threatened to produce icicles of proof.
I was very confused. Sissy Poo more so when I kept turning in circles.
Also, Idaho, you have no trees. You call this a Nature Park? I'm pretty sure those were just especially tall grass. I will rant more about that story later.
While we had some time, because the couple has a child and we know how that goes, so Sissy Poo decided to get a closer look at something. She ran like a drunk gazelle and squatted down to take a picture of a net.
Photographers, I tell you. The snow was mid calf at best.
I took this from my phone. I am not a photographer. But I love it how she looks like she is crouching like Gollum in the snow. To take the picture of a net. I hope the picture turned out okay, because it completely soaked her feet.
The family came for their photo adventure, and Sissy Poo went from Sister mode to Professional mode. It is great to witness. The shy shy girl I grew up with has come into her own. She is so cool.
We had a good time. I ran after them with the big round thing. The daddy gave his little girl a rose and she was SO happy about it. She would not let it go the rest of the shoot.
After the rose bit, Sissy Poo tried to take the parents aside for some couple shots while I held the two year old. She was having none of it. The poor thing immediately started crying and screaming for her daddy. (They were really good about taking the photos without showing the stress of screaming toddler just behind the camera. Good thing pictures don't have a sound option, yes?)
I apparently have lost my touch with children. She wouldn't look at me the rest of the time.
I can't share any of the photos. They aren't mine. Sissy Poo is editing them and will hand them over. I'm not sure they would be okay with me showing them off on my awkward little blog anyway.
We had a great time. At least, I hope we all did. They seemed to enjoy it, and we kept it short for cold purposes.
I loved spending time with my Sissy Poo. I don't know if I was that much of a help, but it was great fun.
 Smile Always.

You guys do realize that her name isn't really Sissy Poo, right? I just don't want to give out personal information to the inter-webs without her permission, and I do call her Sissy Poo when I want to be obnoxious and sappy.
Just making sure.

Wednesday, February 10, 2016

The Weight Loss, Gain, Loss, GAIN, loss Story.

I have come to accept the fact that I will never get back into my 'goal' jeans.
Mainly because I bought them when I was young and stupid and there are rhinestones all over the back end. Never a good idea. Also a contributing factor; I was underweight at the time, have gained about 100 pounds since then, and they are skinny jeans besides.
Jeans are just a staple of the American girl's wardrobe. Most of us have worn jeans, and more than a few at that. The trouble is, finding the perfect pair (or brand) of jeans that you can stick with while you go up and down in sizes (which we all do, don't lie) is really difficult.
To explain, when I was a teenager I had a very interesting relationship with food. I didn't get hungry or full. Some people don't believe me, but this has been the case for most of my life, until recently.
I am very tall, for a female. So my not being interested in food while I was growing became sort of a problem. I hit my full height early, but I had no real interest in food.
There were a combination of reasons for my lack of appetite. I may or may not have watched a documentary (guilty pleasure) about the process food takes through your body. The entire process. Someone swallowed a whole blueberry so a camera could follow it through their system.
It was an unfortunate decision on my part. I didn't need to know what happens to blueberries. Add that to a childhood incident with a blueberry muffin, and I'm really off of that berry.
So, I knew exactly how gross the process of the breakdown of food was. I wasn't getting hungry, so why should I eat if I don't want to? This led to my only eating what I considered tasty. I am a chocoholic, by the by.
What really didn't help is that everyone was complimenting me constantly about how pretty I was and that I should be a model, and on and on. I was a young teen, albeit with terrible acne, that was being told constantly that I was so pretty because I was thin.
I developed some bad habits and lost weight. The first loss. I ended up at 116 pounds at 5 feet 10 inches tall, and I was gaunt. I had hallowed cheeks and bird bone wrists and you could see every rib. My father finally had enough and took me to a doctor. I was very angry about it at the time, but the doctor told me that I had to gain 20 pounds by the end of summer, which was just starting, or he would put me on a feeding tube and pump me full of drugs that would swell my eyes so I couldn't wear contacts (that was the scare, honestly. My sight is so bad that the glasses were very heavy and would fall down my nose over and over and give me blisters) and that my metabolism would be ruined forever.
So I gained 20 pounds. And I discovered, while I still wouldn't get hungry, I really liked the taste of food. And the social and emotional effects of food. I just fell in love. My weight crept up slowly, but nothing that I was worried about, as I was still on the lower end of healthy.
Then I was in college and visiting my brother. I think (at least hope) he meant well, but he made some very pointed comments that I was getting a gut. It was a pudge on my stomach that really wasn't bad, but the words hurt my feelings. I laughed it off, but I started noticing and caring about my weight.
I slowly started losing weight again. Not by any unhealthy means this time, but I just let my lack of actual hunger allow me to eat less often and skip the things that were truly bad for me.
That is when I bought that silly pair of 'goal' jeans. My sister in law was throwing a party for a friend that was doing the multi level marketing thing and was peddling these really fancy jeans. They were on a size system I had never encountered before, little sheltered me. They were not a size 6 or 8 like I was used to. They were a different system that I didn't understand. So I just picked some jeans that I thought (wrongly) were cute and tried them on. It took a few to find something that fit on my bony hips. And they were slightly loose.
But they were 60 something dollars.
I know very well that a lot of women pay much more for jeans. That 60 isn't necessarily all that much for a good brand of jeans that fit you well. But I had never spent over 10 dollars on a pair of jeans, and usually much less. (We are bargain shoppers in my family) So over 60 dollars was a lot.
I consoled myself by saying that these would be my 'goal' jeans and as long as I fit these jeans I would be healthy and that I never wanted to get any bigger than that size.
Excuse me while I die laughing. It is okay to join me. It is hilarious.
I kept this weight for a good while. Well, a good while for me.
Others things started happening (Did I mention that I have extreme anxiety and Cyclothymia?) and I was put on a lot of different medications until I found one that worked. It worked so well and we kept with it. The problem? Side Effects! (Imagine me singing that. Badly.)
I gained near 100 pounds in just over a year. I ballooned so bad and so fast that I have stretch marks everywhere and my mother, who cares a lot about my weight and health, was even more upset than I was. I was dealing with the emotional conditions better, but I was just packing on the pounds, no matter what I did. I cut out all cake, ice cream, and chips. And even after the initial weight blow up, I kept slowly creeping up.
Also, the other side of not getting hungry was that I didn't get full. When you never get satisfied with a meal, you eat and eat until you can't anymore. I would only stop eating if I got bored with the taste, or, more often, when my stomach literally hurt because it was overstuffed.
I was able to see both sides of the weight issues and body shaming. When I had been stick thin I got so many compliments with the occasional thin shaming (Skinny B***h, that sort of thing). Some people sat with me and would go on and on about fat people and all the (false!) things about how they were gross, lazy, and slobs, yada yada yada. Then I got big fast. And suddenly I was on the other side of things. People that hadn't known me before were calling me these things and assuming I just didn't know how to eat or cook or take care of myself. Most people I talked to right out didn't believe me when I said that the weight was with the medication. They thought I was making excuses. Then the big girls would sit with me and try to go on and on about thin people and (incorrectly!) how they were vain, pathetic, and dishonest, yada yada yada.
I am sitting here living both sides, and let me tell you; there is never a good assumption to make about another person's size. You don't know what they are going through or what they deal with. There are more than likely valid reasons why they are the way they are. I haven't even touched on eating disorders. (These come on both ends of the spectrum.)
But, back to the jeans. I was then amazingly too big for those jeans. I was never going to get my now thunder thighs through those leg sleeves. I didn't even try. I'm not going to now.
But, good news. I have recently been able to get off of that medication, for separate reasons.
And I notice a change at once.
I took the last pill of that medication on the last day of November. It is now February 10th, and I am down 24.5 pounds.
Victory!
It WAS the meds.
Also, something amazing happened. For the first time that I can ever remember, I am getting hungry and full. More about that for a different story. But, it naturally limits how much I am eating, which helps.
While I do NOT want to get back down to where I was, and I do NOT want to get back in those jeans, I am hoping for a good healthy weight. The number I am looking at is the mid to higher end of my healthy range, according the the BMI charts. I am even okay if I am just on that 'overweight' color of the chart. I don't mind. I like my curves. My husband likes my curves. I will most likely always weigh more than he does. I am okay with that.
When I hit the number I want to be I will be going out and getting new clothes. I have been living on hand-me-downs since I started gaining so fast that year. I need my own clothes, no matter how much I appreciate the charity.
I will be getting a new 'goal' jeans. In a healthy size. That I would actually like to maintain the size of.
A pair of jeans that doesn't have sparkly stars on the butt.
What was I even thinking?

Story of the Sleeping

I am pretty sure that Sleep is actually a very hassled, anxious college student that is always late and only picked up with Sandman Inc to keep up with student debt.
Don't get me started on student debt. That is a story for another time.
No, Sleep is only part time. At least, the one that is assigned to me is. She checks her pocket watch (because all Sandman Representatives are given a pocket watch at the end of their two hour training seminar. Obviously.) after she gets her homework done every night. She always underestimates how long that homework will take and has a habit of cursing when she picks up the watch. She is late. Again. She has to make her rounds before her first class. It will put everyone on her list off on their preferred REM schedule, but she really can't help that. Also, most everyone on her list is also a college student, so they were likely all up doing homework all night anyway. No one even noticed she was absent. But now the sun is coming up like a creeper and she is going to get complaints if she doesn't get out now.
So Sleep drops everything and grabs her crap-tastic club that they assure her is a wand, that she uses as a taser to keep up her times. Without brushing her hair or even looking at her make up counter she flies out the door like a bat out of Hell. (Fruit bats anyway. Meat bats actually prefer a half cooked flesh environment.)
Sleep starts her rounds of overworked fellow college students. Just as they are nearing the end of their essays and homework she jabs them in the back of the head with her 'wand', and they fall hard. Some are able to messily put their work in a pile or in a bag and fumble off to a cushioned area, but most just head butt their desks and start drooling on their equations and keyboards. Sleep moves on quickly, content that they technically can be ticked off the list. She puts out budding engineers and creative types alike. Even Type A students that rather be taking stimulants get jabbed when they pause long enough. They all go down. Sleep even gets a few shots off at students that are in transit. Bus seats don't make for good napping, but she has a quota, people. The students that are technically their own transportation? She wrestles with her morals and compromises in having these students able to function basic tasks in a waking sleep state. You know how you drove that one place and don't remember anything, or 'zoned out' while talking to that one relative or friend? That is Sleep taking a half point in your box and calling it good because she has to move on.
Students in class are just out of luck as Sleep starts getting to the end of list. Sleep is an artist at making interesting teachers boring and monotone teachers a lullaby. She sneaks into early morning classes and jabs them in the back of the head, right in the brain stem. Eyes cross, then close, and Sleep checks your box. Too bad.
I am on the last of her list. I was recently a student. Sandman Inc has a backup in the refresh of their system. They still have me as a student, All-Nighter class with Early-Working achievement. These types of students are usually safe to leave to the bottom of the lists because we do our homework too late and go straight to work, coming home at normal Waking hours for our 'naps'. I did this for years.
But I would really like it if they updated that system, because I haven't worked early mornings in quite some time, and have petitioned for night-sleeping again. All my requests have been ignored.
So when Sleep gets to my place, I have been in bed for over an hour. I am under all the blankets, frowning. I usually have those night sounds on my phone going. I have tried everything. I am upset and this point and thinking of just getting up and calling it a miss with Sleep.
But she came. Way late, already thinking about the class she is also going to be late to. She tries to jab me. She fumbles. I fall into a very light agitated sleep. She jabs me again. I am now in the deepest sleep I will be all night. When she checks her wand's Sand levels she realizes she is low. Again. I will only stay asleep for a few hours, between each cycle of sleep waking up completely and only getting down to a light sleep between those. It is the best she can do.
Sleep promises she will do better tomorrow night. She will keep an extra pack of Sand so she doesn't run low and the bottom people on her list, like me, won't get only dregs.
But she is late for her own classes. She has to turn in that project. She has to get going.
So she leaves me and puts her wand away. She forgets about me.
But the Early Bird Corp. representative doesn't forget about me. He is there earlier than needed, or wanted. Because he is a sadistic freak that likes to come around before his rounds even start. Rooster Level and gunning for that free car, he is more than happy to wake me up before dawn. He calls me a valued customer and visits me multiple times a day for the Second Wind promotion and Late Night Jolt extra.
I really can't decide which one I hate more.

Tuesday, February 9, 2016

My Story.

My story is interesting. And boring. And magical. And expected. And romantic. And, really, none of those things.
My story is just like a thousand other stories out there. The difference? I tell it with a lot of sass.
I am one of six children. I grew up in a small town. Blah blah blah. I'm already bored. You'll get all the interesting bits through other stories if I am good, won't you? Do you really need a long winded explanation of all my growing up in order to know me?
What you really need to know about my growing up is I was the kind of kid to play Witch Trials with my barbies.
Oh yes, you read that right. I really did. I made Barbie out to be the witch living in the suburbs, and then I had the others, that should be doing all the play house activities children usually act out with their dolls, gang up on Barbie and hang her. Usually from the blinds pull.
I don't remember learning about the witch trials, to tell the honest truth. It was just something I always seemed to know. Most likely I saw a show or heard someone talking about it. I have no idea where I got it from, but looking back, I had a lot of detail.
Most of the time Barbie was hung. From the blinds pull on my window. I had her swing there for good measure. It was very important that she would swing. I also filled the bathroom sink, that I shared with my five siblings, and would drown Barbie. Then I would leave her floating there as I went about my day. I tried a few times making Barbie a broom, that usually was only a stick in order to be proportional to her size, and threw her as hard as I could out the window. My reasoning was if she were a witch she could fly and escape, and if not... we all know there was the same flaw to the actual witch trials, so there was that.
I also 'stoned' Barbie by leaving her behind the wheel of my Daddy's truck, but we don't talk about that.
The only thing I didn't reenact with Barbie that would have fit the theme was burning her. Because playing with matches was wrong.
That was the kind of child I was. I had the imagination, liked to learn facts to make my imaginings more believable, and had a bad habit of bringing others into my story telling. As far as the creepy constant murdering of Barbie, I am sorry, Sissy-Poo, for bringing you into that.
But that was me as a child. I am a fully functioning adult now. I married a wonderful man. I love to do anything crafty or book related. I am working on writing my second (and third) novel.
And I really just love to tell a story.