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Still on the Warpath: Naiadknight's Battle Tome

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  • Chiro really didn't say what it may or may not be, he speculated that it's related to my old injury.
    Dinner was 2 flautas (homemade by MIL with homemade tortillas & roast beef) with sour cream and guac, as well as tarmartar ghosht over greens.
    Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, steak in one hand, chocolate in the other, yelling "Holy F***, What a Ride!"
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    • [insert rant involving child abuse]
      *TRIGGER WARNING*
      I knew abuse. Never sexual, thankfully, but I knew all it's evil brethren. Physical, emotional, mental, neglect, and being forced to grow up way too damn fast. My father was free with the belt and the flat of his hand. My mother was an undiagnosed depressive most of my young life and my young life reflected that.
      What's the big deal about physical punishment? THis wasn't physical punishment. I got the belt for spilling a glass of milk and smacked for not having the correct response quickly enough. I distinctly remember trying to shield my sisters with my body while he was trying hit all of us for the room not being spotless. I got hit to be given a reason to cry. I can't say I eventually learned the rules, because the rules were always changing. I just learned to quickly ascertain the mood of the house, of my father, and vanish accordingly. Solidity was one thing I wished for as a child. I spent much of my high school career babysitting my siblings or doing school functions. I still flinch or jump at sudden movements and try to vanish when the mood of an area isn't right.
      My mother could've been a travel agent for guilt trips. Emotional blackmail was her game. My father only enabled her. I really didn't have a mother, most of the time. Even though she was there physically, she was never actually a mother. From roughly the age of 8 or 9, I raised myself and my sisters. With her, too, the rules were always changing. Well, there was one constant: don't disturb Mom. Don't show her anything to make her mad or sad, or she'll run away again. I was always the one that had to figure out where she'd run off to, so I could tell my father so he could retrieve her. I knew it wasn't normal, but I lived in fear of the 3 of of being split up and put into separate, evil foster homes. I know that Mom's the reason for a lot of my emotional problems. I was 12 when I talked her out of suicide the first time. I think I was 16 when I talked her off the bridge. Not even my best friend knew what was going on at home, although her folks suspected. I just knew I had to keep it secret, or CPS would take us away and split us up. I never thought to run away, my sisters needed me and I at least had most of my basic needs met (dinner was hit or miss some nights.) I just spent as much time out of the house or in hiding as possible. I made good grades (although I always feared showing my parents less than a perfect report card.) I tried to protect my sisters and do what I could for them, which admittedly wasn't much, especially with the way my middle sister turned out. I couldn't (and still can't) be perfect enough to satisfy myself (or what I thought Mom and Dad needed to be happy back then.) I thought that if only I and my sisters could be perfect enough, if the house was kept clean enough, my parents would be like regular parents.
      We also didn't get much positive touch. Hugs were few and far between, maybe once a month. I don't remember my parents ever kissing me at all. I started trying to hug my parents goodnight in high school and it was stiff, like the end of a bad date. We got hit far more often than we go hugged or praised.
      *END TRIGGER*
      So, yeah, that's why I'm all kinds of FUBAR. I'm so afraid of passing that down to my kids.
      Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, steak in one hand, chocolate in the other, yelling "Holy F***, What a Ride!"
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      • I'd love to know why my body think I need to be wide awake at 545 when I don't need to be up until 630. I slept well, I just wish my body had allowed me to get that last 45 min these past couple nights.
        Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, steak in one hand, chocolate in the other, yelling "Holy F***, What a Ride!"
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        • Seems like just the right amount of time for a snuggle with Geek.

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          • You know your trigger warning rant of yesterday? Well, here are tons of honest bear hugs for you!!!

            Sigh. I could sit on a porch, just watching a Texas thunderstorm roll by, shooting the breeze with you about abusive parents. I had them as well. They were the kind that you are thankful in your post you didn't have. I grew up wishing CPS =would= haul me off (but back then I wasn't aware that foster homes could be evil, too). Regular folks don't know the mental and emotional energy it sometimes takes just to get through the day.
            I have a mantra that I have spouted for years... "If I eat right, I feel right. If I feel right, I exercise right. If I exercise right, I think right. If I think right, I eat right..." Phil-SC

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            • He was still dead to the world. Still is, actually.
              Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, steak in one hand, chocolate in the other, yelling "Holy F***, What a Ride!"
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              • Originally posted by Crabbcakes View Post
                You know your trigger warning rant of yesterday? Well, here are tons of honest bear hugs for you!!!

                Sigh. I could sit on a porch, just watching a Texas thunderstorm roll by, shooting the breeze with you about abusive parents. I had them as well. They were the kind that you are thankful in your post you didn't have. I grew up wishing CPS =would= haul me off (but back then I wasn't aware that foster homes could be evil, too). Regular folks don't know the mental and emotional energy it sometimes takes just to get through the day.
                I generally try not to reflect too hard on it. I am what I am, warts and all, even if I didn't choose some of those blemishes. Last night, I think there was some emotion trapped in the knots the chiro released.
                *Bear Hugs* back atcha. Life's a bitch and she has puppies, but we're making it through.
                Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, steak in one hand, chocolate in the other, yelling "Holy F***, What a Ride!"
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                • This is an awful thing to say, but it made me laugh anyway.

                  "Yeah, but you can still drown puppies."

                  Drowning bad memories is not necessarily a great plan, but I think it's important to let them surface every now and then.
                  Depression Lies

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                  • Today has been hectic so far. Hoping ti slows down in the afternoon so I can get so actual work done, instead of reacting to this, that, and the other urgent matter. I'm hoping to drown a few puppies, so to speak, here at work so things do calm down.
                    Day 1 of the sugar detox went well yesterday. No discernible change, but I've been eating little to no sugar for a little under a month anyways. The sugar detox is just to finish clearing my system. What on earth possessed me to start it during PMS is anybody's guess.
                    Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, steak in one hand, chocolate in the other, yelling "Holy F***, What a Ride!"
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                    • Lunch was leftover curry, kale, spinach, broccoli, half a nectarine, a small tomato, and blueberries.
                      Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, steak in one hand, chocolate in the other, yelling "Holy F***, What a Ride!"
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                      • Wow. Screw the damn neti pot, with it's boiling and cooling and such. I love my little aerosol nasal saline mist thingy, now that I have tried it. That shit's awesome!
                        My afternoon snack was a cheddar pastrami roll up, half a nectarine, blueberries, and some red bell slices.
                        Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, steak in one hand, chocolate in the other, yelling "Holy F***, What a Ride!"
                        My Latest Journal

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                        • Yeah, I came to the same conclusion - now I just snort up some sterile saline. Not very elegant but it gets the job done.
                          My Primal Journal: http://www.marksdailyapple.com/forum/thread53052.html

                          "Freedom from fear" could be said to sum up the whole philosophy of human rights. - Dag Hammarskjold

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                          • Spraying saline spray never seemed to work for me. Maybe I did it wrong. I boil the water I need the night before and then nuke a bowl of water for 60 sec in the morning. It's cooled to the right temp within a few minutes, usually.
                            Depression Lies

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                            • I use the little bullets that we have at work. (Hanging head in shame) I put them in my bra for a few minutes, then they are the perfect temp. Before I used a neti pot, I used to just make some salt water, stick my nose in it and inhale. So the neti pot was a step up. However, I really believe in this type of cleaning so anything that works, just do it.
                              My Primal Journal: http://www.marksdailyapple.com/forum/thread53052.html

                              "Freedom from fear" could be said to sum up the whole philosophy of human rights. - Dag Hammarskjold

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                              • That's kinda my thought on it, Siobhan. I've been needing to clear my sinuses more often than I do, and if the saline spray dingus does it, so be it.
                                I slept for a grand total of 5 hrs, thanks to Geek wanting to talk in bed, having to run to Lowe's after dinner, and video games (I restricted myself to only 1.5 hrs, though.)
                                Dinner last night was a ribeye, half a sweet potato, and caesar salad. I asked for the potato with only butter, and got it with butter and cinnamon sugar (grr.) I scraped off most of it, though, ended up with less than 1/4 tsp total of the mixture and ate maybe half of that. I'm sure there was at least some sugar in the dressing, but I didn't taste it.
                                Have a meeting with a client today. Normally not such a bad thing, were it not for the fact of the bitch at TCEQ deciding for no particular reason that she doesn't like the client's site and therefore will block him from a water well with all her miniscule power.
                                I also have a hydraulic analysis for a change in channel design I need to do. Given that the total depth varies over the length of the channel (it gets deeper as it goes along), that'll be some interesting math. Maybe I can get one of the COE programs to model it for me and send that over. Actually, that might be my best bet.
                                Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, steak in one hand, chocolate in the other, yelling "Holy F***, What a Ride!"
                                My Latest Journal

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