29 December 2015

2016 Is Not the Year of the Pep Talk

Writer: Beth Hallman | I’m not fixin’ to give y’all advice on how to herald in the New Year. We’ve all been in this moment, startin’ another year. Maybe we’re ready to make more of those resolutions, primin’ the pump by readin’ about how we’re gonna love ourselves just the way we are, wear what we want, be fat and proud, live out loud, and dance like no one’s watchin’. I bet some of us have that last one embroidered on a pillow…
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28 December 2015

Hope

Mental illness is wily, y’all. I look back over the last few weeks and see how I’m making excuses for not leaving the house again, how I’m supposed to self monitor my medication and I’m not takin’ it every day. I see all the twists and turns my thoughts are taking when I’m not taking care.
 
I hear my life at a distance like a party a few doors down. I fake it, not just for everyone else, but for me as well. I put on airs and make excuses about what’s going on. Days pass. A film of guilt covers the top of murky waters I no longer care to tread.
26 December 2015

The Other Side of Christmas

Christmas morning, as is my custom, I’m the first to get to the tree. I give the room a once over with cup of coffee in hand. I think I just want to see what this side of Christmas looks like one last time. I love to see my Littles’ faces when they open their presents. The anticipation of gift giving, I appreciate this magic more as I get older.

Right beside the tree is a window unit and, as much as it pains me to do it, I turn that baby on before everyone gets in the room. I’d rather not sweat through Christmas. Like my seasonable sensibilities, my old house can’t handle an air conditioner and a tree full of Christmas. A loud pop’s followed by complete darkness and shouting. It’s a very Christmas Story moment minus the Bumpus hounds.

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15 December 2015

11,613,000

Night before last, the little-Little asks me why people hate refugees and why people hate Muslims. Boom. My philosophy of parenting has always been to give my children no more than they can carry. As I begin to stumble my way through a response, she hits me with a series of questions.

What would happen if America is at war and we have to leave our house and our dogs and the new kitten? Who will feed them? What if I get lost? What if we can’t find one another? What if we have to live in a tent with no electricity? How will we eat? What if people think we’re dangerous because we’re Americans? What if we have to hide? Will I have my books? What if Dada dies?

I’m terrified by the time she stops asking questions.

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10 December 2015

The Break Room

You know how folks in other countries have all this high productivity on accounta they’re taking naps during  the day? Well, listen. I don’t take naps. When my Littles were of the age when they napped I was all about it, ’cause it was either nap or take amphetamines. I’m in that in between stage right now. I don’t have any small children to exhaust me and I’m not old enough to require my own naps. Other folks take naps. Y’all might long for them yourselves. I’m more of a fan of the break. My productivity is pretty damn high.

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