The Cat's Got My... Heart

I'm a dog person. I've always been a dog person. I love their furry, slobbery, waggy-butt selves. Everything about them makes me happy. I've had a dog since I was nine and I will likely have one until I'm 99. I love dogs.

I'm a dog person.

I've never been a cat person.

I don't dislike them. They're fine. I just never wanted one. But my daughter did. And so, when we were able, we got one. Rue. And she's lovely. She's a bit stand-offish, as cats (in my experience) are wont to be, but she's sweet and affectionate in her way. She loves our dog and he... likes... her. Everything was going along just fine.

And then I took a client into our local cat shelter for a cuddle visit.

While we were there, this little orange kitten dove at me. I caught him and held him like a baby. He promptly reached his little paws out, grabbed my hand, and started sucking on my finger like a pacifier. He fell dead asleep and stayed that way for the entire time I was at the shelter.

Uh oh.

My heart.

I got his story from the shelter workers. He'd been abandoned by his mama at just a day or two old. No one knows why. His foster family bottle-fed him until he was old enough to eat on his own and go to the shelter. As a result, he seemed to be under the impression that he was a human baby. A 3-month-old, fuzzy, 4-legged, human baby.

Oh, my heart.

I texted Ryan and told her about him. She went down later that afternoon to see him.

And we both went back later that evening and adopted him.

(Pip, Day One)

Two cats. We had two cats. Actually, we had one cat and one kitten. And our cat wasn't crazy about the kitten. We felt really guilty at first, thinking we'd ruined her life. She eventually warmed up to him. Mostly.

We called him Pip, after the character in Great Expectations. He is known by many variations of his name, including Pipsqueak, Pipster, Pippy Longstocking, as well as (the more appropriate) Monster, Little Red Menace, Rotten, Fatso, Chubby Checker, Chunkenstein, and Piggy (he'll eat anything, and I mean anything, and he has to be confined in another room at mealtime).

He's a handful.

 

I have never met a cat like this one. To be fair, I haven't met that many cats. But Pip is perhaps the most loving creature I've ever known (possibly because he was babied like a human when he was tiny)... and he's also the evilest. He's a toddler in the throes of the Terrible Twos, but in feline-form. When he's very quiet, you have to look for him because he's usually up to some sort of mischief. But when he's through being the rottenest of rotten things, he will dive at me, making this growly sound that I imagine is him saying, "Mama mama mama mama," hit me hard, and suck on one my fingers 'til he falls asleep.

It gets me every time. The puddles of drool the suckling creates, however, I could really do without.

I can't sit down without him sitting on me. He can't get close enough. And I can't get enough of his snuggles.

  

Though he's getting older, the mischief is still strong in him. We find him in unusual places (and he has prompted the purchase of child-proof locks for the cabinets and pantry)...

 

His brother and sister love him. Sort of. Mostly. Sometimes. They tolerate him, anyway... 

As for me, well, I still don't think I'm a cat person. But this cat? Well, I love this particular cat more than I ever imagined it possible to love a cat. He's not even a year old yet and I simply cannot imagine life without him. 

He is my baby. My sweet, soft, snuggly, rotten, mischievous, demon-spawn, funny, love-bug of a baby-cat. And he has my heart - utterly and completely (and surprisingly). But I wouldn't have it any other way.

I love him. 

Politics, Yo

Politics, yo.

I know some people love the process. They revel in it. Want to be a part of it.

I'm not one of those people. 

I hate it. I hate pretty much everything about it. I think it's a vile system that thrives on greed, power, game-playing, and dishonesty. Mostly, I hate what politics have become for the ordinary person - this polarizing, living, breathing entity of US versus THEM.

If you're not with us, you're against us.

Have we ever, as a nation, been so divided? I don't think we have. I mean, every election year is ugly, no doubt, but right now? It's all so disgusting, so mean, so unpleasant, so... 

                                                                  Disheartening.

I've always been a politically opinionated person. I've always called myself an 'Independent', though I pretty much always vote one way. And since there are really only two ways to vote, I probably always will. Though there are similarities in the parties (I believe they are both controlled by corporate America), there are some significant differences, and several of those differences are so important to me that I will probably never jump the fence.

If I could? I'd remove myself from the process entirely. I'd ignore everything about it and go about my merry way, completely ignorant and blissful. But I can't. I feel that I have to vote, if for no other reason than to honor the women who fought so hard for my right to do so. And in order to vote, I have to be informed (as difficult as it may be to inform oneself, given the unreliability of the media and unbelievable amount of utter garbage that people spread around). But I will vote in this election as I have in every election in which I've participated - with a heavy heart... with the knowledge that there is no one who makes me feel really good about casting my vote.

No one.

There are, however, those who would make me feel much worse and I see it as my responsibility to do my little part (for whatever it's really worth) to make sure those people don't make it to their desired offices. But in the end, there isn't, nor has there ever been, anyone I feel wholeheartedly good about voting for.

Someone asked me the other day who my ideal candidate would be. Though there are a few people in national government I would like to see make a play for the presidency at some point, it's hard to say whether or not I'd want them to be elected until they actually do it and spell out their plans and platforms. I know the sort of person I'd like to see, though...

First, I want an atheist - someone who is not ruled by dogma, but by Humanism. A woman would be great. A black woman would be even better (as long as the country grows up and doesn't spew the ugly bigoted vitriol that's been hurled at our current President for the past 8 years). Yes, a black woman atheist with degrees in economics and perhaps the law or education. With kids in public school. I want a candidate whose moral compass is always pointing north, who always tries to do the right thing, regardless of who's trying to line her pockets. I want a candidate who sees all citizens as equal under the law, and who somehow inspires every lawmaker under her to do the same. A candidate who understands that we live in a global society and that peace is what we should be actively striving for, across the globe. I want a candidate who truly understands what it's like to live in the REAL America - the America that will bankrupt you if you get sick, the America where affordable housing is a joke and the homeless are treated like a disease, the America where the social care systems are designed to keep people in poverty, the America where for-profit prisons and the 'war on drugs' only creates more criminals, the America where guns are more plentiful than common sense, the America where wanting a college degree means being so far in debt upon graduation that you have to work for decades to pay off student loans, the America where being old is absolutely terrifying for a large number of seniors.

And I want a candidate who can find a way - some way - to make the parties work together.

I don't know that such a person exists. Well, that's not true. I'm certain she exists. She exists all over America. But I can't imagine her wanting to be President. And maybe that's the problem.

Anyone who actually wants the job is someone I don't want to have the job.

So, we're stuck with the ones who want to run. 

So, for now, though I can't remove myself from the process entirely, I will do so to the extent that I can. I'm as finished as I can be and still be informed enough to vote. I don't care what anyone else says or does about any of it. Few people want to discuss or learn; most people simply want their points of view to be heard... but hardly anyone's listening.

This next year is going to be torture. Thankfully, I don't have cable, so I can't see the campaign ads. I'm still in the process of limiting my social media feed and for the people I don't want to stop following, I'll just scroll quickly past the posts I don't want to see. I have to remind myself to stop reading the comments after nearly every online article, political or not, as in an election year, everything becomes political.

I'll make it through.

And then the election will be over.

And the bitching about the new President will begin.

Yeah. I'm really not happy about this.

I Like Blue... But...

Man, I have really been struggling lately. I'm struggling to keep my head above water. I'm struggling to keep a positive attitude. I'm struggling to feel happy.

Ryan once told me that the little round sad girl in that Pixar film, Inside Out, reminded her of me.

"She's you, if you were blue."  

I didn't want to, but I totally saw it. And right now? I resemble her more than I care to admit.

I'm blue. 

And it's making me so tired.

Part of it is personal junk I just have to deal with, part of it is the weather (I'm cold all the time and so ready for spring), and part of it - a big part of it - is all the negativity floating around right now, especially online. I expect the air will only get thicker, as we're in an election year, and it's proving to be an ugly one. I thought the last presidential election was bad but this one promises to (continue to) be horrible. Not only are the parties at war, there are mini wars going on within the parties.

It's too much. 

And it's making me so tired.

And it's not just politics. It seems that everyone is walking around so offended. By everything. And if they're not offended, they're annoyed. Or they're angry. And angry, annoyed, offended people can be mean. Really mean.

It's too much. 

And it's making me so tired.

I've toyed (a lot) with the idea of just bailing out of social media altogether... just giving up. And though I haven't ruled it out completely, the truth is, I gain a lot from my online interactions. I love my peeps. So, for now, I'm continuing to whittle down my exposure to the negativity. I've stopped following most news sites. It's helping. I've stopped following people who consistently post things that are contrary to my personal views (not because they're contrary, but because they're often factually wrong or they're simply mean-spirited opinions). It's helping. I've stopped following sites that post things that make my heart hurt (like animal abuse stories). It's helping. And I'll keep doing all of that.

As for me, myself, and I, we're making a vow... 

I saw this a while ago and I thought, what a wonderful a concept - to put into the world positive vibes by talking about everything you love, instead of inviting conflict and ugliness by talking about the things you despise. The idea wormed its way into my psyche and ever since, I've seen a shift in myself and what I'm putting out into the world.

But the shift hasn't been big enough.

As always, I have work to do. 

So, from this point forward, I'm making a concentrated effort to leave the bashing, the complaining, the whining, the butt-hurt, the vitriol, and even the passive-aggressive jabs to anyone who feels it necessary to spit it out, in-person or online. 

I will, from this point forward, only promote what I love. I will no longer bash what I despise.

And I hope (I hope!) to be a better, happier (not quite so blue, much less tired), healthier person for it.

It's My Party and I'll Cry if I Want To

Today is my birthday. I'm 51. I don't feel 51. I don't know how old I feel, to be honest. In some ways, I'd swear I'm but a few days past 22. In others, 82 would be a closer bet. Usually, I'm kind of split... part of me still feels like a kid, like I simply can't believe some idiot would heap all this responsibility on my head long before I was trained up to deal with it. The other part of me feels completely and utterly world-weary.

Tired.

I've dealt with depression a few times in my life. And one of the warning signs, a sign that I'm on that downward slope, is fatigue. Not just I need a nap fatigue, but that bone-tired, I don't wanna move ever sort of fatigue.

That's how I feel right now.

Depression, for me, is situational. It's usually the result of some significant stressor - death, divorce, money woes, illness. In fact, the first time I really dealt with it (that is, acknowledged and faced it), after my dad died, I wouldn't even admit at first that it was depression. I didn't believe it was depression. I always believed things would get better (I always believe things will get better), and I thought that if you knew there was a light at the end of the tunnel (even if you couldn't yet see it), you weren't depressed.

I was wrong.

Depression, for me, is not about medicine. I understand that it's necessary at times and that it works for others, and I'd never say people shouldn't medicate when necessary. But I've never found it necessary. And the therapist I saw for some time, during the deepest depressions I've weathered (after my dad died and after my marriage ended), didn't feel it was necessary either. And since medicines seem to rarely work for me the way they do for other people, I'm quite happy about that.

 So I'm in this state of significant fatigue at present, fending off a bout of depression I do not want or need. I spent much of the year after my 50th birthday celebration dealing with the stress and worries that come from having and being treated for cancer - the side-effects and illness, the financial difficulties, the single motherhood aspect, the residual foggy brain and memory problems, the realization that I am, indeed, mortal, and that mortality can be quite a fleeting thing. And I thought it was all over for a while. And then it wasn't over after all. And a whole year has passed in the blink of an eye and everything feels... not right. And all of it has left me tired.

Exhausted.

Most days, I plug along, cheerful enough, my sense of humor intact, grateful for all I have and for the people in my life, with the ability to turn that gratitude into positivity. Most days.

But some days? Like today? Even though it's a day when oodles of people have taken the time to wish me well and say wonderful things to and about me, all I want to do is STOP. I want to take a long vacation - like MONTHS long - in a warm place, where all I have to do is sit in the sunshine and swim and read books and eat healthy food that someone else has prepared for me.

I know, I know. Everyone wants that. Can you blame them?

But that's not Life, is it? Life is getting up every day, even when it's cold and rainy and miserable out, taking the dog for a walk, cleaning the cats' litter box, cooking meals (mediocre though they may be), playing chauffeur, going to work, doing laundry, figuring out how to make a paycheck stretch much farther than it really should, and trying, trying, trying to get from Monday to Friday without breaking down, falling down, or bringing everyone else down.

Exhausting.

Thankfully, depression, for me, is not (usually) a long-term thing. So, in a few days, weeks, or, heaven forbid, months, I'll feel mostly fine again. Not so worried. Not so tired.

But today? On my birthday? I'd just like the world to stop. Just for a little while.

It's not so much to ask. Is it?

It's Just Sunday...

I'm not a big fan of Valentine's Day. It's not because I'm single. I've never been a fan - not when I was a kid, not when I was part of a dating couple, not when I was married.

It's partly because of the color scheme.

Pink and red together? Make me want to hurl. 

See? Blech! My stomach gets upset just looking at it. 

It's also partly because so many people wig out about the gifty part... must give the perfect gift... must get the perfect gift... 

Me? I was happy if I got a separate Valentine's Day present and birthday present (I was born on the 15th). 

It also drives me absolutely nuts that a lot of people feel like failures if they're single on Valentine's Day. I suppose it's understandable, really... every television, magazine, and Internet ad from January to V-Day features loving couples giving each other romantic gifts and having romantic dinners (oh, and don't get me started on the fact that it's damn-near impossible to go out to dinner [just plain dinner] on V-Day). It's enough to give a single person (especially one who would like to be in a relationship) a serious inferiority complex. 

Pfffttt.

It's one day. It means nothing in the grand scheme of things. The way I feel about Valentine's Day is much the way I feel about Thanksgiving. I hate that such a production is made over being grateful on one day (a day followed by the greedfest that is Black Friday). If you're grateful, be grateful every day! Think about it, say it, show it. Every. Single. Day. And if you love someone - or several someones - tell them. Every day. Don't wait until Valentine's Day to give them a gift or send them flowers. Do it when you think about it. And show them, not by giving gifts, but by doing for them.

My kid forgets Mother's Day every year. Well, sometimes she doesn't actually forget it... she just lets it slide by without so much as a card (never mind a gift). It used to hurt my feelings. A lot. But then I realized that she gives me gifts every day. She does chores without me having to ask. If I do ask her to do something out of the ordinary, she does it, with no whining. She keeps up with her schoolwork and she follows all my rules. She makes my life so much easier than it might be, as a single mother. She sits at dinner nearly every night and tells me about everything going on in her life. She says thank you when I do for her. She makes me laugh. She makes life good. Every day. And I don't need a gift or a card on Mother's Day to know she loves me, to know she appreciates me. She shows me. 

All the time.

And that's what love is about. 

Every day.

So, my suggestion for whole Valentine's-celebrating world is this:

Don't sweat it.

Love your people up - all your people - all year. Make them feel special all year. Whisper (or shout!) your I love yous, give your gifts, make your special dinners all year. 

And if you're single? LOVE YOURSELF UP! All year. 

Don't you love how I give advice I haven't worked out how to manage myself yet? 

But I'm trying. 

Remember that you are a fully-formed human, all by yourself! That whole 'you complete me' thing? Bullshit. You complete you. Don't forget it!

Just because other people are in relationships (yay for them!) doesn't mean you have to be. It doesn't mean you matter less or that you're deficient in any way, Stop comparing yourself to other people. Damn it. Comparison is the thief of joy (I think Teddy Roosevelt said that. He was right).

Being single can be really cool. You know this. And if you don't know it, trust me. It's true. I wouldn't lie to you. Look here... you've got no one to answer to but you. You can do what you want, when you want, and you can eat whatever you want in bed without anyone whining about cracker crumbs. And? And? There is no snoring to keep you up. I swear to God, that was reason enough to get a divorce in my house. 

When you're single, you have time to heal yourself from past hurts. Of course, you have to do the work (which might not be easy), but that healing is so important. It's really, really important. So take the time. Do what you need to do to take care of you. 

Believe that you are fabulous. And if you don't believe it - if you're not in that place yet (and I so get not being in that place), start doing some things to get you there. Get up, get out, and do things that make you happy! Do things that challenge you! Do things that make you feel alive and accomplished and the very best version of you! 

And do all this stuff all year. For yourself... for the people you love... 

And next year? You'll be, like, "Valentine's Day? You mean Tuesday? Whatevs."

And maybe, just maybe, we can banish all things pink and red once and for all!

Incoherent

Sometimes, you come across a group of words that could have spilled out of your own head, were you coherent enough to have formed them and strung them together.

What's the Plan, Stan?

I like plans. I like thinking about them, making them, having them.

I do not always follow them, however. 

But that's not what this post is about.

When Life is stressful or worrisome, it helps to look forward. To plan something to look forward to. 

Summer vacation was the plan on tap this week.

Ryan and I go on week-long camping trips every summer. I've been taking her since she was two (the first couple of trips with her dad as a reluctant participant). We do this for a few reasons. First, the vacations of my childhood were taken in a tent and they were the very best days of my summers. I wanted to make sure Ryan had those experiences as well. Second, connecting with nature and being able to completely unplug for a week is good for the body, mind, and soul. Third, camping is much cheaper than staying in a hotel and, given our budget issues, it's really the only way we'd get any sort of decent holiday every year. 

We've camped from Maine to Florida and back to Maine, always staying in state or national parks. We learned the hard way that south is not the direction to go in August (and we always go in August, as we wait until swim season is over). One of our favorite parks is Anastasia State Park in St. Augustine, Florida, but after a trip during the hottest week of the entire year, we decided we would only ever travel north. 

Heatstroke is a bitch, yo.

For this summer, we considered Cape Cod (one of my favorite trips when I was a kid) and upstate New York (Finger Lakes and Thousand Lakes areas). In the end, we decided on Canada - La Mauricie National Park in Quebec province, to be specific. 

Halfway between Montreal and Quebec city, there are promising day-trips on the agenda, between hiking, paddling, biking, and generally lazing around on the banks of Lake Wapigazonke. 

That name seriously makes me giggle.

Wapigazonke.

Heh.

But look at this place... 

How fabulous is that view? 

I made the reservation and got a pleasant little surprise... the exchange rate! So the cost for seven nights in that majestic place is less than one night in a hotel at any vacation destination in the country. 

Can't beat it, baby!

In less than six (short) months, we'll be heading north, for a week of peace, quiet, and cool nights in a tent... 

(The orange one is mine.)

This week, when things were feeling less-than-stellar, it felt really good to put some plans into place... plans that will lead to something really good. 

Life is hard. It's peaks and valleys, ups and downs... and planning an up when you're in a down can make all the difference in the world.

This I know for sure.

The Voice

Since my daughter could talk, no topic of conversation has been off limits. We talk about anything and everything. And we talk a lot. Topics include school, friends, boys, family, the future, current events, social issues, politics, religion, movies, books, art, writers, influential people. Everything. Anything.

While some of my friends have difficulty getting words out of their teenagers, I have difficulty getting mine to stop talking. Dinnertime can last hours.

I don't mind.

Not in the least.

I'm lucky, I know. I don't pretend to believe she tells me everything she thinks and does (I probably don't want to hear it all), but I get so much.

So very much.

I know things a lot of moms probably don't know. I guard this information; I keep it close to the vest because keeping her confidence is one of the most important things I think I can do as a mother. I want her to come to me. I want her to talk to me. And I know she'll stop if she can't trust me or if she thinks I'll react badly.

I never had that sort of relationship with my parents. I mean, my dad and I could talk for days, sure, but our conversations were about issues or events; they were not about feelings or personal struggles; they most certainly were not about uncomfortable topics (you know the ones). I never had those conversations with my mom either.

I still don't.

I vowed I would have a different relationship with my child. And I do. And I'm grateful.

Early on, I made sure she understood that the way I think, my opinions, and how I view the world are all about me and my experiences. I made sure she understood that the way she thinks, her opinions, and how she views the world have to be about her and her experiences. I've always told her that if she thinks like me, that's great... and if she doesn't think like me, that's great, too. As long as she's traveling her own path, as long as she reaches her conclusions through research and thoughtful contemplation, I'll be happy.

OK, maybe not happy. I mean, my dad surely wasn't happy when I disagreed with him about pretty much everything. I think he would have rather had a child who thought the way he did (and he did get two of them), but I think he was secretly quite pleased that I sorted things out for myself.

I have worked hard to make sure that when we discuss issues of the day, she gets to hear, to the best of my ability, all sides - my view as well as other views, the merits and negatives of all perspectives, the reasons I think the way I do and the reasons others think the way do. Sometimes it's not easy, but I think it's always important.

For a long time, when we discussed various issues, I heard my voice coming back at me. I think that's normal. When kids are forming opinions, they very often mirror their parents' views at first.

But recently, my voice has been absent. In its place I've heard another voice.

Hers.

And it's clear. It's articulate. It's coming from a smart, witty, wise person - from a woman, not a child, and most certainly not from an entitled, apathetic teenager - the teenagers other people talk so much about... the teenagers I don't know.

Last night, at dinner, we had a conversation about the upcoming election, as we have been wont to do for the past several months. She has been incredibly interested in this campaign, following the candidates, watching the debates, reading, asking questions...

I find this really cool, especially given the fact that she can't even vote yet.

She talked about what impresses her, worries her, angers her, perplexes her. She said she had taken a long online test, designed to determine which candidate she thinks most like. Some of the results surprised her a bit at first. She admitted that there were some questions she couldn't answer intelligently, because she didn't know enough about a few of the issues.

"I have to learn more," she said.

I have to learn more.

That statement made this mama so proud.

She said she doesn't understand how people can say they're not interested in politics, because politics aren't just about who wants to get elected to what office... they're about life and how ours will be impacted by the governments we allow.

As I say, the words coming from her mouth lately have not been mine. I know this because they are words I haven't even thought of. They come forth unrehearsed and off the cuff. They show critical thinking and a person with an open, curious, thirsty mind, unwilling to simply accept the status quo.

Two years ago, a student teacher wrote Ryan a letter; in it, she said that Ryan has a special something - a spark -  and when they encounter it, teachers count themselves lucky.

I've always seen that spark.

And now I'm hearing it.

I look forward to the flame...

It's Gonna Be a Good Spring

After meeting with the Regional Director the local chapter of Special Olympics this afternoon, I'm feeling really excited about the next few months!

On February 29th, after several years without an area swim program, we plan to have a bunch of Special Olympics athletes in the pool! I'll be coaching, along with my co-worker, Paula (a lifeguard instructor and long-time swim teacher). It was slow-going to get all the information and support we needed, but it's really happening now.

We've had some good response and I actually know several of the people who have signed up thus far. One of the "kids" used to come into the video store I worked in when I was in college. He has Down Syndrome as was the happiest little boy I'd ever met. I'm looking forward to seeing if he's still a little - well, now a big - ray of sunshine.

There's already a big regional meet scheduled for the end of April, we'll likely do a smaller invitational meet at our pool in May, and there's the BIG statewide event in Richmond in June. I'm already excited at the prospect of being a part of it all!

Over the years, I've volunteered for many different organizations and causes. Every single one of those experiences was positive and left a lasting impression. But this one? Well, I have to admit that I'm looking forward to this one more than any other. My current job has given me a new appreciation for just how special certain people can be... and for just how lucky I am to be able to experience their special-ness firsthand.

And now I get to combine some pretty special people with WATER!

And we all know how I feel about water.

Yup.

It's gonna be a good spring.

No.

I just read that today is World Cancer Day.

Pffftttt.

Cancer doesn't deserve a special day. You know why? Because cancer is a sonofabitch. 

And because it gets every single stinkin' day of the year, that's why.

Whether you're living with it or dying with it, it's there... it's right there...

It's needles and scans and just one more vial of blood. 

It's scars on the surface. 

It's a port just under the surface.

It's fatigue and nausea and side effects. 

It's goddamned poison in your veins. 

It's fear and anger and desperation.

It's small victories, if you're lucky, and tremendous losses, even when you're lucky.

It's remissions and relapses and it's spreading fast.

It's a taker of security and peace and time and dreams.

It's a giver of confusion and hurt and what the fuck did I ever do to deserve this?

It's holding your breath.

It's pain.

It's grief.
It's deep and profound and unrelenting grief.

And it's every single stinkin' day.

So, no. Just... no.

Cancer doesn't deserve its own day. Cancer deserves a kick in the teeth.

Feeling Better Yet?

A couple of years ago, I realized that social media (Facebook, specifically) was highlighting the fact that I can be a real dick.

That's not a pleasant realization to come to.

Now, to that point, I'd never thought of myself as a dick. In fact, I'd always thought I was a pretty nice person. And for the most part, I think I was. I think I am.

But back then, even though I used Facebook primarily to connect with people I love, it could really bring out the worst in me. Weird, huh? The issue? I had a difficult time passing up an argument, especially if it was about politics. This particular little piece of my personality is one I come by honestly. My immediate family is comprised of arguers. We're gotta-have-the-last-worders. And we don't censor ourselves or work very hard to be respectful. We don't engage to understand or open our minds. We engage to prove our point(s). And we get angry.

And that's exactly what I did on Facebook.

And I could be a real dick about it.

Of course, the people I engaged with weren't being nice either. Disrespect, name-calling, insults - they were rampant in all those threads. And the last word was gold, man. You had to have the last word to win.

But the "victories" (subjective at best) were hollow.

See, I didn't like how I felt after these Facebook debates, no matter how they turned out. I wound up feeling a bit sick to my stomach, angry with myself, and low. Very low. I was stooping to a level far below where I wanted to be.... far below the place I saw myself (wanted to see myself).

So I made a conscious choice to change. I stopped engaging almost entirely. When I did, I tried very hard to be respectful. I tried never to insult. I tried to hear the other person. If I couldn't, or if they weren't hearing me, I disengaged.

Mostly.

Sometimes, I allowed myself to get sucked in. Snark is in my blood, after all.

I still allow it happen sometimes.

And I still feel bad. Actually, I probably feel worse now than I used to.

Every. Single. Time.

I'm a work in progress.

But I'm on a real quest to be a better person. I'm on a quest to be the Diane who lives in my head - Better Diane. I ask myself, often these days, what would Better Diane do? 

WWBDD?

Better Diane is nicer than I am. She's smarter. She's kind and generous and grateful and good.

(But she's not boring. Honest.)

And she most certainly doesn't argue or get snarky on Facebook with any of the many, many, many people who haven't been paying attention to their Better Selves.

I want to be just like her when I grow up.

Buddhaberry Pop-Tarts

I'm thinking about eating a blueberry Pop-Tart...

I feel like eating a blueberry Pop-Tart... 

I'm imagining eating a blueberry Pop-Tart... 

...

I'm gonna look like Buddha before this winter is over.