God wants me to Write. And Clean my house

I sent a message to an acquaintance of mine, a facebook friend. I complimented her writing. She has a blog that I check up on from time to time. I enjoy her writing quite a bit and consider her an extremely talented writer, as well as an interesting person, and quite a role model as far as writers go. I aspire greatly to write as well as she does.

Her reply back to me surprised me. Not only did she take the time to answer me with more than a "thanks!" but she also said something that leads me to believe that I have received my message from God, as was promised to me yesterday. This is a portion of her reply:

"It seems to me, that you like to write as well...am I right? You certainly don't lack for eloquence, my dear! Beyond OS, I am always looking to connect with writers. I used to be surrounded by writers and took it for granted, now--so lonely! I have connected with some old friends who are writers and even if we are not blogging we share stuff. I am also doing some reader response/editing type stuff with writer friends (sort of like a writer's workshop) all online. Nothing formal or organized but it's fun. But I tell you because something tells me I should, don't know why. [I don't question these random impulses ;)]"

"Something tells me I should, don't know why." If that isn't a message from God, I don't know what is.

As far as cleaning my house goes, I've simply decided that it isn't fair for Rib to go to work all day every day in 90 degree plus weather with near 100% humidity and then come home to a messy house and a fat, lazy wife, eating Oreos on the couch, watching organizing shows on Satellite in the comfort of air conditioning. He mentioned last night that our bedding could use a washing and then on the phone this morning that Desi's room needed cleaning and that our clothes needed to be put away, and that since we have no plans or obligations for tonight that we could do it when he got home. That's crap. He shouldn't have to work when he gets home from work. All I do is sit on my ass and get fatter every day anyway. The least I can do is put away a few clothes and wash a sheet.

Mental note: Talk to psychiatrist about the constant stream of negative self-talk that goes through my head on a daily basis.

Thursday God Wants me to Know

On this day, God wants me to know...

... that doubt is the greatest gift, - it's the space between two certainties.

Any change on its way from one place of stability to the next one, passes through a period of doubt. Your old perspective has to disintegrate, and doubt comes in for a visit - even if only for a moment, before the new perspective takes root. Doubt is your greatest gift, because from doubt you can go anywhere.

Today God Wants Me to Know

I subscribe to this "God wants you to know" thing. Occasionally I check it, along wiht my horoscope or numerology report. I got this message today:

...On this day, God wants you to know...

... that today is a big day for you.

Yes, today. Keep your eyes open for a message. It might come in a shape of a bird flying overhead, or a graffiti on a wall, or a phrase said by a passerby, or... Whatever shape it has, this message has been trying to reach you for years, and today is finally the day. Keep your senses open.

Diplomacy in Honesty

Dear Fake Psychiatrist,
Today I am thinking about honesty.

I am excessively honest. Brutally honest. Overly honest. The kind of honest where you don't want to ask me if those jeans make your ass look too big. I'll tell you that it's not the jeans that are making your ass look big. Don't ask me if you don't really want the answer.

I am working on my diplomacy. I try not to offer my opinion on things unless pressed. ("If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all.") I have found that silence offends people too. I find fake-ness to be more offensive than brutal honesty, but most people don't share this mindset.

The interesting thing is that I am extremely thin skinned, not easily offended but very easily hurt.

Cutting, Bootie, Boiled Frogs etc...

Dear Imaginary Psychiatrist,
remind me sometime to tell you about the following:

1. The nightmares I have

2. The time I sacrificed a frog

3. The scars on my arms and feet

4. My imaginary friend(s) when I was little

5. My constant struggle with my self-esteem and self-loathing

6. How I am more like my mom than I care to admit

7. How the fucking pills you prescribed aren't working

8. How much I love pot, how I don't smoke it enough, and how I wish it was legal

9. My obsession with grammar, spelling, order, and rules.

10. Turn signals, four way stops, tractor drivers who wave