Words

There's a new 4 letter word...an F word...in my vocabulary now. One I don't like. I don't like to say it and I definitely don't like hearing it. Why? It has no meaning to me anymore. Hey, I'm trying to be happy, not smart, so I'm going to play around with words today. And maybe you'll come to the same conclusion I have...I'm smarter than y'all think!

God, Jesus, David, family, friends, covenant, promise, religion, Father, good, bad, Satan, evil, righteous, judgement, safety, peace, anger, violence, protection, dam, damn, hell, fine, ass, homosexual, transgender, pansexual (I knew one I read about last night), absolutes, male, female, choice, consequence, health, disease, consequences, fairy, gay, happy, fag, cigarette, sickness, sadness, death, son, daughter, heaven, questions, fear, normal, perfect.

Shall I go on? I'm learning that playing around with words can be quite...fun...scary...confusing. What in the world am I talking about? I know this is what you are thinking.

Words are words. They are meaningless unless they have meaning behind them. Unless they have action behind them. If you can't trust them then what good are they? If you don't know what they mean what good are they? (They asked me a bunch of them on IQ tests. When they got to pillattes...or something like that...I started making stuff up. Sounds like a fancy word for Pilates doesn't it? The tester laughed and told me it meant to stretch...I think. I laughed as I tried to talk him into giving me at least partial credit...what do ya'll think Pilates is all about? And later when I need to stretch I told him I needed a second for a pillattes. There you go, my sense of humor in a stressful situation.) Words have so many different meanings based on your life experiences, your education, your culture, your attitude, your religion, and yes, sometimes the words you use or don't show how much money you have.

More money often equals more words and more education. But guess what? This is the new age of technology. If you are reading this you have access to the internet. Google or research what big words mean. Use them if you want. Make people believe you are smart, educated, rich, or whatever it is that is most important to you. In the long run people don't care what you say if you don't have action to back it up.

What am I ranting about now? I'm not ranting. I'm trying to explain that my words have meaning to me when I say them. My new F word that I've told people to stop using around me is FINE. I've come to hate that word. Gasp! I'm being judgemental (sp and I don't care) of a word! I'm using harsh language because I said HATE. Guess what? You are stupid if you fall into that trap of absolutes. Gasp! I said another bad word to some people...STUPID. Guess what? That word doesn't have the same conotation (again with the spelling) to me and I don't care if it offends you. Get over it. Or not. Don't use it in your household. I really don't care.

Back to FINE. What does that mean? OK? Alright? So So? Don't ask me how I'm feeling. I've been taught to put a number to that. "What is your pain level?" remember? Don't ask me how I think when it comes to something you've done. Why? Because I probably won't use the easy 4 letter word of FINE. I can't use short words to save my life anymore since my treatment. FINE doesn't mean good or bad. I need more words attached to that to tell me what you really think. If I use FINE when I speak to you right now that means I've talked till I'm blue in the face and I'm fed up with you not listening. Or understanding. Or trying to. FINE. WHATEVER. LEAVE ME ALONE. I'M DONE DEALING WITH YOU. That is what FINE means to me any more. So stop using it when you talk tome, too. Please.

One more new bad word for me because it has no meaning. PERFECT. What does that mean? Heaven? Hell? Or lack thereof? Does that mean your kids are healthy? Beautiful? Does that mean you are healthy, beautiful, thin, you have plenty of money, you are happy, or what? There is no PERFECT anymore. Good night, folks, look around you! Who has a PERFECT life? Not me. Not you. Who has PERFECT kids? Mary. And she only had one PERFECT child. He wasn't like the rest of us. His name was/is Jesus. Or Jehovah. Those are words I've seen thrown around. You know there are tons more. Sorry if that is a bad word to you nowadays. I really don't care. It is a loving, happy, peaceful, judgmental, happy making word to me. And I'll say it over and over again...I feel sorry for you...I feel pity for you...I feel sad for you...I feel love for you...even if you do or don't believe in His name.

Stop talking to me about perfection. You'll never attain it. I'll never attain it. If you think my life is "perfect" because I can blog when I want you are a fool. If you think my life is perfect because I'm no longer taking 10 prescription medications but I now take almost that many pills everyday to stave off chronic pain you are a fool. If you think I'm perfect because I look like Barbie or use big words or because I try to be happy...well, thank you! You're my new best friend :)...but really, you are a fool.

Perfect doesn't mean anything on this earth because it is a myth. You won't find it. I won't find it. Perfect is a figment of your imagination. No one has a perfect life. They want more money. They want more education. They want a forever family. People to love them no matter what. People to take care of them when they need help. AC. Modern technology. Doctors. Safety. Unconditional love. And sure, who doesn't want to look beautiful? That is perfect to me. Oh, let us not forget PAIN FREE.

That isn't going to happen for me. That isn't going to happen to you. Stop thinking I have a perfect life. I know you don't. I'm not here to judge. I'm hear to talk.

The end of my early morning musings. Have a great Sunday, folks! To me it is a day of peace and rest where I can focus on religion. Hallelujah! I need me one of those days every week. Thank you, God, Father in Heaven, Jesus, America, or whatever/whomever...for letting me take this day every week!

My Morning in Pics

My morning in pictures: Being Happy is Better Than Being Smart…or strong. Whatever, I got it done ;)

I was going to help Dave by mowing the lawn. Now folks, we have ¾ an acre with only a push mower now. And no teenagers to help this morning. Dang, I’m really missing those teenage workers. Definitely not enough to make a new one but I sure miss them just the same. Our kids are good workers and no, we don’t pay them for helping around the house. That’s called “chores” and “part of being a member of our family” around our household. So since our oldest is married, my two boys are gone on missions, and our youngest teenager is busy with church and work all day long, Dave and I decide how to divide and conquer our yard.

Check out the first thing I saw! I decided to use dominion so I grabbed that baby with a stick and stomped it with my Keens. (Sandles that some think are ugly but they got the job done. I love them!)

Did I mention that years ago when I had all the testing some of that was allergy testing? Yeah, I’m highly allergic to grass. Too bad. The grass needs cutting and I want to help Dave. It’s gotta be as good as a teenage job. Right?!?

I thought for sure that answer would be yes. I was super excited to even get ‘er done with only one tank of gas. Well, I was kinda wrong.

First off, I ran over a sprinkler head and it went flying. Not good. David was out weeding that big patch in the back there. He’s throwing weeds and I’m running over them, too. Our lawn mower is no chipper but these are branches, either, so I figure it’s all good. That part is OK. Me trying to explain to Dave that I had hit a sprinkler head wasn’t as good. He shakes his head no. Uhhh, honey, I wasn’t asking permission to do it! I’m trying to tell you that I DID break it.

He quickly understands my limited sign language/ pantomime that sorry, Babe, the deed is done. So much for me helping his job be easier today. Oops.

And then guess what? I run out of gas. Can you see that tiny patch left? Grr. So it’s back to the shed to fill up the tank. Since when does the government have to get involved and tell you you have to buy crapy gas tanks that take two hands to use? Do you know how difficult it is to pour those things by yourself? They are heavy so why do you have to use two hands to pour the stuff? I personally make a bigger mess trying NOT to make a mess with that there gas can.

Whatever, I get it filled but then can’t start the thing. I try to pull and pull that thing but it won’t start. I push the button, the one you are supposed to push 3 times only. Nah, that doesn’t work, either.

So much for independence. Dave has to come start the stupid lawn mower for me. Oh well, I then finish mowing. Doesn’t it look nice now?

Except now the work begins for Dave…fixing the sprinkler head. So trying to be even MORE helpful I grab the limb loppers. Remember those things I used last weekend to half way chop down a tree from my rental property? I decide to use those things again now that I have some practice. We’ve got a LOT of trees in our yard. They are intertwining with the neighbors’ trees, hanging over the pool slide, hitting my head, etc so I decide to start clipping.

That is quite satisfying! You probably can’t tell a difference from the pics but check out the clean up job I did.

Those trash cans are only a small portion of the clean up. The rest I threw in a great big pile along the back fence. We’ll have to get to those later. I’ve never claimed a green thumb, right now I’m just hacking those branches to get more sun light in our back yard.

Look, over an hour later the lawn is mowed, the Keen feet and legs are dirty but hey, no blisters like the last time I mowed the yard!

 

And lucky me, I have a pool in my back yard that I can now wash/cool off my feet. And it’s still earlier than 10:30 am. Too bad there is no OHIO State football to watch later. Cuz my arms are sore. My nose is running. I’m pooped. And now my lucky husband is off to Lowe’s to buy the parts to fix the sprinkler head. Isn’t he the best?

I Know...And it makes me happy

I know. Without a doubt. I'm proud to share this and I feel sorry for you if you don't. You can know. This is more important than puppies, recipes, politics, quotes, memes, or anything else. I am more than happy to share with you how I know. Friend, family, or stranger alike.
https://video-dfw1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hvideo-xpt1/v/t42.1790-2/11181154_387837958089733_1008218375_n.mp4?efg=eyJybHIiOjMyNywicmxhIjo2NzQsInZlbmNvZGVfdGFnIjoicmVzXzQyNl9jcmZfMjNfbWFpbl8zLjBfc2QifQ%3D%3D&oh=5ddd6fca7dc3c571cb3bb667ff156774&oe=55E11C50

Well, that didn't work well, I tried to upload a video from Facebook...yesterday...twice...and it never worked. If you want to know what I know and what makes me happy you'll have to find the link and hope for the best. Or find me on FB and check it out for yourself. Being happy is better than being smart. So I keep trying to tell myself.

After my rant on Sunday (many rants if you spoke with me personally or saw my FB page) I've decided I can not be happy in my current state. I need medication. I need my blog to help me look back and see just what medication I need and how much. And I'm also back to trying herbs to help deal with fibromyalgia. So instead of 10 prescription medications every day, every 4 hours, every day...I now take 1 prescription medication every day and I'm trying these herbs/vitamins.

Is it helping? You tell me.

I've called the psychoneurological doctor twice this week. Reminded the lady at the desk that the neurologist and chronic pain doctors can do nothing without his report. I must be a 3 weeker...as in it would take 2-3 weeks for the results. And I told her straight out, "You do realize I don't know if I'm mentally retarded, right? I also don't know if I'm a psychopath or narcissit or whatever but yet this Dr must think I'm not too bad since I'm still behind the wheel of a car, right? I understand kids going to school will be annoying if they are bouncing around because of ADHD or whatever but they aren't behind the wheel of a car like this housewife. Who takes drugs. And has paid all her bills, too." 

You can imagine how all that went. Today I got an envelope in the mail from them. It was the bill saying I don't owe them anything and they don't owe me anything. Amazing how that's always the first mail you get, huh? So the last I know is that I left a message yesterday on the answering machine saying it will be 3 weeks on Tuesday. I expect an email with the results by then. I'll probably call them Monday just because the squeaky wheel gets the grease.

I copied/pasted that from my bestie who I railed on so much the past week. The one who also tried to talk me down Sunday from my atypical raging at the world. Who I laid into in email after email since she is no longer my friend on FB. And guess what? She is STILL emailing me. Now aren't you jealous that you don't have a friend like that? (And I'm so so glad I didn't throw her under the bus and name names etc. She knows who she is. She knows I love her.)

And one more copy/paste. This time from me to my cop bro in law. It's about TFT training. Another thing you can ask me about if you'd like.

This stuff is awesome! I can't wait for you to come visit so we can practice. No joke...I'm getting ready to look at the groin now. The video...Of a complete stranger...after I'm done gouging his eyes and smashing his throat. 

Now how fun is this!?!

Now tell me folks you aren't going to google TFT right this very minute. I think I'm going to go learn about it right now. I feel safer knowing it and it really is fascinating. 

I'm happy now. Still don't know if I'm smart. Still don't care. Being Happy is Better Than Being Smart :)

Eloquent

Ha Ha! Thanks Darrel, I'm definitely using that new adjective to describe myself. Dave says that is iffy but I'll take it.

Kind of amazing what more prozac, quality rest, and phone calls, texts, comments, etc can do for me personally, huh? Thank goodness the fury of the past few days is over. Phew! That was not good. I'm feeling much better. The phrase, "If Momma ain't happy ain't nobody happy" sure does apply in my household. How about yours?

I'm going to go back and tell you about Day #2 of my first treatment. We'll see how long my happy feelings last. Those are not good memories but they sure are a good story...if you're into that kind of thing. So kick back and listen to my kind of story telling.

It was an early morning spring in Texas...for me that means getting a ride from a lady from church, taking a toll road, driving 45 minutes or so, just to get to the infusion clinic by 7:45 am. Now that woman is a true friend, wouldn't you say? She asked for nothing in return.

This time I came much more prepared. No laptop. No books or movies. Just my water bottle, my meds (because I DID have to take them every 4 hours as prescribed so sometime in there I'm supposed to take prescription pain killers too. If I want to follow all my different rules. No wonder I carry a big purse!), a snack, earplugs, and an eye mask. And of course my cell phone. Because I'm supposed to text or somehow contact my ride home, remember. I believe it was another lady from church. Someone else took over and arraigned all of those rides for me...or maybe I did that myself...I don't really remember.

This time I've learned my lesson! Before I even begin I make sure I use the bathroom. I've even shaved my legs (even though I'm wearing my long comfy fibro pants) and I'm ready to just lie down and trust that I'll come out of whatever it is I'm doing. Of course I get my first question, "What is your pain level?" Who knows what I answered but since I've never gone below a 3 in years I can bet it was somewhere between a 3-7. That was my typical range most days.

This time, though, I'm not led to the private bedroom. Uh oh. I'm led to one of the Easy Boy chairs. Have you ever been on a plane for a 4 hour flight in an Easy Boy chair? Me neither. Wouldn't that be nice? But you probably have been belted in to some other kind of chair/seat for at least 4 hours and I doubt anyone would call it fun. But for me I took one look at that Easy Boy chair and I wanted to cry. It was hard. I wouldn't recline all the way flat. It had hard armrests. All that hardness around me is torture to someone with fibromyalgia. Plus I'm around everyone else who might not be able to see my face, I'm sure going to do my best not to cry out in pain, but there is no way they can't hear me rustling around on the paper pillow covers and everything else. There is NO WAY I can sit still for 4 hours. NO WAY I can enjoy this treatment. So what do I do? Whatever I can to get as comfortable as possible.

I kick off my shoes, put my water bottle and cell phone and earplugs and eye mask all at the ready. And I ask for as many pillows as I can get to surround myself with softness. They give me warm blankets again, too, if I want them. Who knows what I want? I sure don't. So I get hooked up to the iv again, instantly start getting drowsy from the sedatives in that there cocktail that someone has concotted for me (I have no idea who has done that...I've never met him in person. I don't even know if my prescribing doctor/nurse practioner has ever met him.) and try to relax like they tell me to. This time I have a newer model of heart monitor so I only need 3 probes hooked to my body instead of 5. (I shaved my legs for nothing!) And the good ole oxygen reader on my finger.

Just visualize this. What would YOUR pain level be? You are totally drugged with who knows what by who knows whom and now you get to sit there for 4 hours. Wondering what is going to happen. While you are still in so much pain you can't sit still. And you don't want to interrupt any/everyone else around you because they are in pain, too. Duh, that's why they are there! Some people say getting high is fun. Or relaxing. Not me. I say, "Don't do drugs!"

I toss, I turn, I fight the effects of who knows what medication because deep down I am me and I don't want anyone or anything taking away my "me ness". I don't even know if that makes sense to y'all. Sorry, Darrel, I'm not doing to well with the eloquentness. (Y'all like how I make up words now, too?)

I feel like I'm in heaven at times. Other times I feel like I'm in hell. Ouch, my leg has been resting against this arm rest covered by pillow for too long. How in the world do I turn over with all these wires attached? And where do I turn TO? It's just another hard arm rest on the other side...and this one doesn't have crinkly paper wrapped pillows all around it. Why can't I think? Is this blanket falling off my feet? Why do they keep it so cold in here? Hey, who is that lucky lady who has the bed over there? Uh oh, that lucky lady didn't learn not to go to the bathroom first off because now I see her having to be guided to the bathroom, too. Poor thing. I hope she doesn't run into walls or fall down like I thought I would. Hey, what time is it? How much longer do I have to be hooked up to this thing? Is it 10:00 and time for my prescription meds? Uh oh, how am I going to get that out of my purse? Do I really need that pill? I sure don't want it because don't I have enough stuff swirling through my veins right at this minute? Shift, rustle, try not to groan.

And then I maybe sleep. Or not. But I feel Jesus' presence all around me. He is cradling me in his arms while I am crying. He is telling me He loves me and that I'll be alright. He won't give me more than I can handle. But Jesus, I think this is as much as I can handle. I don't want to go back to my body. It hurts. Everywhere. All the time. Please, can't I stay with You? It's so peaceful here and there is no pain. But Jesus says no, I can't stay. I feel him gently lifting me off his lap and I feel myself drifting down. Down, down, down, to something I know not what. Am I'm really really scared.

I cry out, "Jesus, don't leave me! Where am I going?" He tells me He'll always be with me and that as soon as I feel the pulling stop I'll wake up and be back in my body. So I say goodbye and prepare for the pulling to stop.

"Beep. Beep. Beep." My iv line is now beeping because the infusion is done. That is what I wake up to. And a nurse comes right over and turns off the beeping and asks, "What is your pain level?" I stare blankly at her as I try to comprehend where I am, who I am, what in the world she is talking about. And then...SLAM...migraine. Big time. I don't think I took my 10:00 meds.

Oh yeah, I forgot. An anti nausea medication is typical in the cocktail, too, and I think there is some of that in mine. Or I could get it in there if I want/need it. Instead I must look like I'm going to hurl because she asks if I'd like some. I say no but I have some hydrocodone in my purse and I need that RIGHT NOW! Instead she gives me an injection of narcotics. And then I'm supposed to text my ride, somehow figure out how to get up, untangled, get my shoes on, go to the bathroom, and WALK out to meet my ride. All in a matter of minutes.

Here's some eloquent writing right here...that didn't happen. How could it? I was all kinds of a hot mess. And that's where I'll end today's blog. It makes me frown and have a look of disgust on my face. I know it because I feel that on my face right now. And I don't want to feel it anymore. So maybe I'd better go think about what we are going to have for dinner. Or find something else to think/do. Because I want to be happy.

Don't we all? Be careful what you think about today...it really affects your mood. But don't worry or think too much about me...I choose to be happy today :)

Resignation

Guess what? I've figured it out. Now I know why I've been so grouchy, so tired, so foggy minded, so depressed, so angry at everyone and everything the past few days. It's not hormones. It's nothing you've done or said. It's nothing I've done or said, either, really. It's because it's returning...fibromyalgia.

What does that mean? That means I wake up from a good night's sleep and still feel exhausted. That means I can no longer sleep all night without having to roll over because my hips and arms ache. They feel bruised under the skin...though they aren't. They ache for no reason. They are beginning to feel like that picture I posted a few days ago. That isn't happy making, folks. That's grouchy making. Tired making. Foggy minded making. Depression making. Angry making.

That is fibromyalgia. That is what I hope to never have to face again but I do so I will.

Three months ago I was on at least 10 different prescription medications to deal with fibromyalgia and chronic pain. Today I am down to 1 medication...the lowest dose possible...and I only take it every other day. You wanna know what that medication is? Again, it's none of your business, but that medication is antidepressants. I was diagnosed with chemical depression 15 years ago. It runs in my family. Guess what? I'm not ashamed of that. I'll take prescription medication for the rest of my life if necessary because I've tried numerous times to go off of it and that does more harm than good. Isn't that depressing in and of itself? But you know what? If that can help me thru this I'm all over that. And I'd be thankful.

But I doubt it is. It never was before. Nor any of the other medications that treat the symptoms of fibromyalgia. I've tried them...all of them.

So it's back to the drawing board. Back to the beginning of when I was first diagnosed and had to go thru three options that were mandatory at the chronic pain clinic. But this time I'm not going to pay the clinic to do it. This time I can review my notes because I save everything. It's behavior modification, physical therapy, and prescription medications. Sigh.

This is why I'm not feeling happy right now. I ache. I'm in pain. I'm tired...so so tired...and I can't go long without having to rest. Because I know what will happen if I keep pushing myself. More tired. More confusion. More pain. And then it won't go away. It will invite migraines. And then I'm back to three months ago. Without ketamine treatments as an option anymore. Because really, I'm not wanting to fry my brain with that stuff again. Who knows how much is left unfried?

Being Happy is Better Than Being Smart. Being Pain Free is Better Than Being Smart. Being pain free is the best way for me, personally, to be happy.

So go somewhere else for happy thoughts for a while. I'm not happy. I'm very very sad. I'm resigned.

Verbal Vomit/Diarrhea

Verbal Vomit/Diarrhea

Eww, with a title like that how can you not be intriqued? I personally think verbal vomit would be easier to clean up so I like to think of that mind picture instead of what my husband said I made, verbal diarrhea. Huh? You are asking. Or maybe not, I’m really not sure.

I feel, I choose, in my opinion, sometimes vs always vs never…these are all words to hide what you really think. But hey, if I feel like I have a forced confession/apology to make, I’ll give it my best. “I’m sorry if I offended you by some of my posts and/or comments this past week or in the past. And while I’m at it, let me just throw out that I’m also sorry for any other comments/posts/pictures/ramblings that may offend you in the future.”

How was that? Now let me say what I really think. This is my blog. You are choosing to be here. Right now I need to focus on me and what I feel and what I think. Remember, I could be mentally retarded (sorry if you don’t like that word…disabled…damaged…whatever!) and or a raging psychopath for all I know. Professionals seem to think I’m allowed to still be behind the wheel of a car, though, because I’m still waiting for all those tests results. I guess I’m more of a 2 weeker or 3 weeker in my “your tests will take 2-3 weeks to be finished.” Why? I don’t know. I’ve already paid for the tests and results, my insurance has, too. But apparently right now as school is starting kids acting up in class are more important than a possible housewife who wonders what an experimental drug treatment did to her BRAIN. Maybe I should lie and I should have answered one of the 40 different ways they ask if you are suicidal to a yes. Then maybe I would make it to the top of the list??? Snarkiness and sarcasm is totally intended here.

Here’s more. I really don’t know how many times I have to tell you that I am having a very difficult time keeping my mouth shut. Since the treatment I CAN NOT not say whatever I am thinking. Do I need to repeat that? For crying out loud people, drugs just fried my brain and now I have to worry about how many times I have mentioned that to you?!?

But you are on MY page now. Not on Facebook. YOU choose to be here. Quit reading right now if you don’t want to read any more.

Are you still here? Then great, thanks for sticking with me. If not, I’ll be disappointed to know that yet again my ramblings have offended another cry baby. Because guess what? I still don’t care what you think. Get your own blog if you want to cry and whine and feel sorry for yourself. Now you are CHOOSING to read this and YOU are CHOOSING to get offended.

Are we clear?

Because yesterday was a not happy day in the Peart household. Dave and I both agree it was the worst day of our almost 25 year marriage. Why? Because I’ve been told I’ve lost all my social communication skills. Guess what? You aren’t my boss, I’m not your employee, you’re not my husband, you aren’t me so get over it all ready!

Let me say it one more time…I don’t care what you think about politics or religion or whatever. I don’t care what color your skin is. If you are gay, have homosexual tendencies, how old you are, how young you are, whether or not you like chocolate or have food allergies yada yada yada.

I AM NOT JUDGING YOU! I AM NOT SAYING I AM BETTER THAN YOU! YES, I AM SHOUTING AT YOU! I’m not God and neither are you. If you are offended because I said God, bye bye. Get off my page.

I believe in God. I believe in the miracle of life. I believe abortion is wrong. If you see red because I said that…GOOD! I see red, too. Blood. Rivers of blood. Rivers of innocent blood. I also see green. Envy, deceit, and oh yeah, baby…money. Lots and lots of money. You figure out for yourself why I see that. I’m really hoping you see those colors, too.

Why? Because if not then YOU are apathetic. You are the one who will probably bury your head in the sand and say it doesn’t matter. Am I hurting your feelings now? Sorry. That is not what I’m trying to do. I’m merely pointing out that you live in the land of the free. Get out and vote! Learn for yourself what is going on. Don’t take my word for it. Pull your head out of whatever it is in and do your own research.

And quit messing with me and telling me I’m wrong. I’m sick of hearing it. I’m sick of whining and complaining and focusing on the negative. It’s depressing. It’s very unhappy making. And I don’t ever want another day where I am raging out of control, willing to throw, bite, punch, or mortally wound anyone who dared disagree with me to my face.

(Are you feeling sorry for my husband right about now? Yeah, he was wise and gave me a time out…all day long…yesterday. Now that folks, is wisdom.) The Peart household is in for one heck of a ride when I hit menopause, aren’t we. Be glad you aren’t here. Or if you are nearby, you may want to stay away. This little lamb of a Lisa has the heart of a lion we are learning.

So hello and/or goodbye. Take your pick. I’m done trying to please you because this is my blog. Now how is that for the very worst apology ever? Put me in the Guiness Book of World Records. I’d be proud of that. Why? Because Being Happy is Better Than Being Smart.

God

Being Happy is over rated I guess. It all boils down to God. If you don't like what someone says out does you call them offensive, or annoying, or stupid, or ugly, our any matter of bullying names.
News flash, folks. No one likes to be called that or to even feel like people think that. Call me unsympathetic, call me unpc, call me unempathetic, call me whatever you want. I'm not judging you. I'm leaving that up to God because I believe in him.
Now go find uplifting Sabbath day cheer somewhere else today because you won't find it here.
I'm not happy and I'm not afraid to admit it. And yes, I HOPE the correct icon gets put on there today.  :(

Watch out, Lisa is grouchy!