My inability to be normal.

Forgive my submarine blogging! Apparently, I forgot about this thing for nearly a week. I have one question...

Who am I?!

Well, I know I'm back. I also know that Michael Jackson died, which to my surprise, is no surprise. Billy Mays, however, I am in shock about. Sure, the death rate per person is still 1 to 1, but come on... Billy Mays?! I thought that guy would be yelling about how great I was at my funeral. I suppose that is out of the question now, and so is my invention of the "Billy Mays Alarm Clock"! This poor mans death has slightly put a damper on my life. Did I mention that I am no longer selfish?

I guess I can reveal what I have been up to for the past couple of days. I shall do so with pictures:

Step One: Prepare the bag

Step Two: Hold your nose and do the deed of the scooping the doo.

One can imagine what it's like to have a boyfriend who house sits and has to walk the dog in a neighborhood where alarms just may be set off if a dogs prize is left on a lawn. So, since the boyfriend is too much of a pansy to pick up the poop, the girlfriend steps up to the plate and takes it on. If you're wondering... yes, it's warm.

I've also been very busy attempting to save money for New York and crying to the movie 'My Sister's Keeper'. I literally had to hold back from weeping, but so was every girl in that theater. Whomever decides to read this, I feel for you. My life is a big ball of floating awkward and unstimulated fun. Really, you should hang out with me. I promise we'll do nothing.

Oh, Pooh.

Irritable. That's been my mood lately. If I had to put a face to my mood, it wouldn't be a a little child that really has to poop, but it would be of a very ravenous woman who just wants to get her sub, but it's lunch time and she's stuck behind a man who's toting two small, rowdy children (school is out) and various other bodies that are motionless with faces that seem dead, and all I want is my sub.

But I don't get my sub, because my impatience grows higher and wider than the building walls can contain. My time is precious and limited and I cannot stand for any longer. What the heck is wrong with me? Ah, to come to this conclusion that it is me, and only me, that can solve my problem, because, well, my problem is... me.

It's only gotten severe in the past couple of days. Then it has kind of clicked: I've lost my humbleness. I've lost the shrug in my shoulders to blow off the small things. I've lost the ability to bounce back from things that should absolutely have no affect on my life. Instead, I get asked to do something and my brain turns it into a statement, rather than a question and I am mentally demanding a "please". I believe a lot of it has to do with the law firm I work at. I feel depleted and have grown such a negative mindset to this place. It's not even really the people I talk with on a daily basis, it's more to the poor girls that have to put up with me. I am quick to be snappy and defensive. I suppose it's the fact that I just do not like to be bossed around. Sure, no one likes to be bossed around, but I am a receptionist and my job description does not involve half of the things I do. The ladies feel okay with giving me more work. Fine. I'm fine with that. But I am perturbed when I am told to do something and instead of being asked. Am I being too cynical of this?

Maybe I am. I feel, as a Christian, I should just keep my composure and be patient with a lot of things. At the same time, I know that I am human and I am in no way perfect. That still does not legitimise my act to be impatient and have the urge to harm a large animal. As Pooh Bear would say - "Oh, botha".

In other news, one thing I am very excited and not cynical about is the movie "Year One". My humor boat is easily rocked, so this movie should give my belly a good workout.

Oh, and his name is Matt. He puts up with my irritability.

'Tis all.

Indifference with a taste.

I honestly never thought I would be at home the day my little sister's belongings were sat down at my front door by a man driving a big, brown truck labeled 'UPS'. I never thought I would breakdown crying as she reappeared into my life as a little hospital gown and a little blue bear.

Karli passed away in 1990, and it seems so long ago I would walk in on my mom crying in her bedroom. But as I unfold the little cloth that wrapped her tiny little body, I'm suddenly filled with so much grief, as if we lost her just yesterday. I'm not even sure why my biological father felt compelled to open that door by sending these belongings in a box. If I am not mistaken, he is the one who kept these things from my mom for years; He is the one who took it upon himself to hide her life away in a closet and move on with his life. My mom had never been ready for that. So why now, 20 years later, is he going to open this door that has been closed?

It is then that I am reminded of recent murder of Dr. Tiller. He was shot and killed inside of the church he had devoted his time to. The shooter was dubbed as Scott Roeder, whose obvious pro-life stance had fallen off its rocker. While there is no justification in the murder of Dr. Tiller, there are pictures as to what Dr. Tiller did for a living:

Is there truly any caption needed? His time spent devoted to the church is what those on the left want to remember him as - not what he did for a living. His money was made by mastering the 'skill' of Partial-Birth Abortion. I know I cannot be the judge of what God decided this mans judgement was nor can I judge where his heart was with God; what I do know, is that the Bible states:

"Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart" - Jeremiah 1:5

What does that say for a guy who starts killing off Jesus' little creations? Just sayin'...

However, there are the critics of many sorts, towards the Bible and any religion, so my argument may fall short there. Therefore, I'll spark the match of asking why anyone would ever want to do this to a child? There are many columns and many activists regarding partial-birth abortion, but Greg Gutfeld's 'Gregalogue' today made more sense than any MSM column or documentary I've ever read. Want to know why? Because it's common-sense. It's not scientific, it's not about when a baby is formed (hence: the partial-birth part) or any kind of rambling that bores the unaware. It was straight to the point.

But, I am also well aware that this is not a black and white world, and shades of gray are formed in between. I know that there are those women that suffer through horrific pregnancies, where something can go terribly wrong before birth. I know this. But what I also know, while being pro-life, is that even though you may have to do such an act in order to save the mothers life, you're still saving a life; thus, constituting the act as pro-life.

I may have the argument all wrong in some views, but my stance stays the same. My little sister died only a couple weeks into her life, and even that is heart-wrenching. Anyone who would be in support of such an act, outside of saving a mothers life, makes me want to throw up.

And while this story is tragic, so is the story of the Army recruiter who was shot and killed by some domesticated terrorist, but I won't go there. The rest of the mainstream media and the White House are too busy dressing up this Dr. Tiller. Too bad those babies never got a chance to be dressed up. The indifference in this country has a taste that kills.

A fickled apology

I received another text from you this morning. I figured these would have died off once I told you that I was emotionally forced to delete you from my life. Whether it's from Myspace, Facebook, phone book, e-mail or saved texts - you had to leave. But you won't. Your simple text this morning of "Already in a relationship. Be careful, Bre." seemed sincere, maybe, but it was also drenched in 'I'm still wondering what you're doing'. I'm sure if this message had a specific scent, it would reek of wet clothes that have sat in a car for far too long. That scent that causes car doors to slam and nostrils to sting. My car door is trying to close, but a piece of clothing hangs in my way.

I've already explained that I've tried so hard with you. I gave everything I had, to the point where I was emotionally and physically drained. I felt pathetic for crying over a boy, when I knew all along that a guy should never make a girl cry. I kept pushing to make it work. The states that kept us apart seemed minute to the fact that you never wanted to talk or hear about my days or wonder what I was feeling. Maybe it's because I'm a hopeless romantic at heart, but I will stand on my own two feet to flee from becoming dependent on someone. At least, someone who does not want to give an equal amount into a relationship. I look at what I tried to give to you for that time as everything. My emotions were drained and my heart was spent. I could not make you see. Now why should my heart ache any longer, because, possibly, you're rolling around to 'she's really gone'. I can't let that happen. I cannot and will not allow myself to fall back into the mix of these feelings where I'm always wondering what is going on in your head and why you're acting the way you do. Not when I have come across someone who is eager to talk and asks what I'm thinking and how I'm feeling. I can't.

What a dislike most is that I feel slightly bad for slightly hurting you in my actions of moving on. It's not out of spite or out of retaliation. It's none of these things. It's more that I've gathered my composure surprisingly fast, and I've decided to get to know the guy in the group I've been with every weekend for the past two months. I'm sorry, but I'm not. This guy really is everything I wanted you to be. Again, I'm sorry, but I'm not.

"I loved you 'til it killed me, so my logic wouldn't hurt you. I know you might blame me anyway. Well I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. You're not helping yourself to me. I've tried all the things they told me to do. Trying to close up the wounds left open by you. And if I seem doubtful, distrusting... I am."