Today was bust as far as getting anything done around the house. And, it’s late enough in the day that anything we need to do is just going to have to wait until tomorrow morning.
On a positive note, it rained last night so mowing the lawn yesterday gives me genius-like decision-making qualities, something I rarely have. Diane will agree.
About the Title … I’ve mentioned this before, but need to do it again so I can refresh my memory, about how my early blogs were deemed to veer toward “wife bashing” because of the way I shared information about my life. I pleaded my case, explaining that what I said was far, far, away from wife bashing, and much closer to self criticism because of my need for supervision on most of the things I attempt to accomplish during my daily routine. OK, I don’t have a routine. I’m so spontaneous that some days I’m sure I’m just going to ignite and flitter away on a breeze. Normally I call my actions ‘reactive’ because that’s what I do. Nothing is planned. I just kind of richochet through my days changing directions as obstacles get in my way. Many times (most times) this requires guidance, redirecting me toward the initial goal. Sadly, by the time guidance is provided, that goal is long forgotten. Hence the need for supervision. Well, it’s not really supervision … it’s more like just having someone around to call for help should I need it and can’t do it myself. Lydia’s babysat me in the past, so age isn’t a factor. Anyone who can dial can do the job.
Now, is that wife bashing? I think not. It’s an admission on my part of faults I perceive in how my mind and body operates. Sometimes they aren’t in sync and ‘things’ just happen. I’ve been fortunate over the years and have never broken a bone, like Jack has. Or cut the tips of my fingers off with my riding lawn mower, like Jim has … we still point this one out as a major, major programming issue when we all gather. No, I just cut, scrape, bend, jam, bang, and bruise various parts of my body during the course of pretty much any task I attempt. Diane could tell folks that she got me at the ‘Ding and Dent’ sale at K-Mart and not be far off. Perhaps she’s already done that – I don’t know, nor would I presume to assume she has. But, if I were her, I’d do that.
That last bit makes me wonder if what I’ve said about Diane in the past is ‘transference’ behavior on my part. If so, all my past sins of this nature are simply the result of a mild form of mental illness for which I should bear no responsibility. Or, maybe it’s not so mild. Maybe it’s really, really invasive, wiggling it’s way deep into my brain, making my ears ring, my eyes scum over, and my nose drip. I limp, too, among other things. Perhaps all of these symptoms are related to this new illness I’ve diagnosed.
It needs a name. While I’m thinking about that, I’ll share my medical term for why people get constipated – their craparatus is broken, or jammed. Obvious, huh? So, what’s the right name for Jerrie’s Mental Illness? Hmmmm. I’ll have to think longer on this one, but the longer I ponder, the less inclined I am to submit to the dreadful reality that I’m mentally ill. What a quandry. I guess that means if I just quit pondering it, I’m cured, and will have to be responsible for all of my actions. That’s the adult way to go, I suppose, but lots less fun.
Time to stop. Jeff just alerted us that all the girls are awake, so we’re off to see what Jerrie Anne Diane looks like in this, the beginning of her 2nd year of existance. No doubt she’s just a little bit cuter, as she is each day. Just like her older sisters who, if they would just hold still for a second, I would photograph and show you. But, they won’t.