45 Life Lessons (Not Mine)

I don't usually forward stuff like this - I get tons of them every week, and most of them drive me crazy with their pseudoprofundities, but I actually did like this one. I highlighted the bits I liked the best.
Written by a 90 year old:

This is something we should all read at least once a week!
Make sure you read to the end!

Written by Regina Brett, 90 years old, of the Plain Dealer, Cleveland, Ohio .

"To celebrate growing older, I once wrote the 45 lessons life taught me. It is the most requested column I've ever written.

My odometer rolled over to 90 in August, so here is the column once more:

1. Life isn't fair, but it's still good.

2. When in doubt, just take the next small step.

3. Life is too short to waste time hating anyone.

4. Your job won't take care of you when you are sick. Your friends and parents will. Stay in touch.

5. Pay off your credit cards every month.

6. You don't have to win every argument. Agree to disagree.

7. Cry with someone. It's more healing than crying alone.

8. It's OK to get angry with God. He can take it.

9. Save for retirement starting with your first paycheck.

10. When it comes to chocolate, resistance is futile.

11. Make peace with your past so it won't screw up the present.

12. It's OK to let your children see you cry.

13. Don't compare your life to others. You have no idea what their journey is all about.

14. If a relationship has to be a secret, you shouldn't be in it.

15. Everything can change in the blink of an eye. But don't worry; God never blinks.

16. Take a deep breath. It calms the mind.

17. Get rid of anything that isn't useful, beautiful or joyful.

18. Whatever doesn't kill you really does make you stronger.

19. It's never too late to have a happy childhood. But the second one is up to you and no one else.

20. When it comes to going after what you love in life, don't take no for an answer.
21. Burn the candles, use the nice sheets, wear the fancy lingerie. Don't save it for a special occasion. Today is special.

22. Over prepare, then go with the flow.

23. Be eccentric now. Don't wait for old age to wear purple.
24. The most important sex organ is the brain.

25. No one is in charge of your happiness but you.

26. Frame every so-called disaster with these words 'In five years, will this matter?'

27. Always choose life.

28. Forgive everyone everything.

29. What other people think of you is none of your business.

30. Time heals almost everything. Give time time.

31. However good or bad a situation is, it will change.

32. Don't take yourself so seriously. No one else does.

33. Believe in miracles.

34. God loves you because of who God is, not because of anything you did or didn't do.

35. Don't audit life. Show up and make the most of it now.

36. Growing old beats the alternative -- dying young.

37. Your children get only one childhood.

38. All that truly matters in the end is that you loved.

39. Get outside every day. Miracles are waiting everywhere.

40. If we all threw our problems in a pile and saw everyone else's, we'd grab ours back.

41. Envy is a waste of time. You already have all you need.

42. The best is yet to come...

43. No matter how you feel, get up, dress up and show up.

44. Yield.

45. Life isn't tied with a bow, but it's still a gift."

Exhaustion - And Not The Nice Sweaty Sexually Sated Kind

WTF, A.F.F. keeps screwing with my blog settings. One day I'm watching a blog, then it's deleted, then I'm watching again. A little while ago, my whole watch list was deleted. Luckily I could recreate most of it from the pimping post I made last week, although not the blogs I've added since. Anyone else experiencing this glitch?

I called the uni today, and classes start the week of the 12th. The woman I spoke to said there are still places on my course, so get my form in before Thursday. I've filled it in and will mail it tomorrow.

See, I can be pro-active. Sometimes.

I still haven't organised my underwear cabinet, though. Or, god forbid, cleaned out my closet. It makes me exhausted just thinking about it.

To be honest, I don't even really have the energy to blog. I've been doing this thing on facebook, called a 30-Day Meme, where you have a different question to write a post on every day for a month. I'm mainly doing it because my friend asked me to, and I've managed for four days, but tomorrow's post (today's, really, or at least when I wake up it will be) is about my definition of love. I reeeeally don't like that topic, and don't know how well I can write on it. What the hell do I know about love?

I'm not sure why I couldn't sleep tonight, because I came upstairs all mellow and sleepy, thinking I'd put my head on my pillow and not know anything until aches and pains woke me in the morning. But no, I've been awake the whole time, and now it's nearly six and I'm just starting to get sleepy - at the same time as I start to get a stomachache. I don't know if it's a hungry stomachache or an over-full stomachache. Hard to know, with me.

I think that once I get my room cleaned and tidied, and get the college stuff sorted out, I may have to just rest and hide away from the world for a couple weeks, try and get some of my energy back. I need to stop worrying about all the things that I haven't done - nobody is going to die if I don't get my bedroom painted, or the shelves fixed, or the closet cleaned out. Nobody is dying, and the rest is just details. I worry about Mom, though, and I feel guilty. She's sicker than I am, in more pain than I am, and she still manages to do what needs to be done. I don't know why I can't seem to get it together. I'm used to pain, I'm used to tiredness, and I usually manage to get my ass in gear when it's needed, so what the hell is different now?

Maybe I need vitamins. I'll try and remember to buy some of those tomorrow. And ACTUALLY TAKE THEM.

Anyway, I suppose it's time for the next load of meds, and then I need to think about sleeping. I'm sorry all these posts have been depressing lately, it's just this terrible fatigue, it's really getting to me and I can't seem to find anything interesting to write about. I'm really enjoying reading new blogs, though, so that's an upside.

What I Ate Today

Meme Day 4 (October 4th) - What I Ate Today




(This note was edited several times as one thing or another kept interfering with my plans, LOL.)



Breakfast:


4 Jacobs cream crackers
1 banana
1 glass Welch's white grape & peach juice



Lunch:


1 Mediterranean Tomato Slim-A-Soup
1 Amore strawberry yoghurt


Dinner:


2 pieces Birds Eye Crispy Chicken (I've been ordered to protein-load)
1 bowl rice
3 pieces garlic bread
(Should have been veggies in here, but they went off!)



Plus water all day.



Now, aren't you glad you just wasted 90 seconds of your life reading this note?


Day 01 - Introduce yourself
Day 02 – Your first love
Day 03 – Your parents
Day 04 – What you ate today
Day 05 – Your definition of love
Day 06 – Your day
Day 07 – Your best friend
Day 08 – A moment
Day 09 – Your beliefs
Day 10 – What you wore today
Day 11 – Your siblings
Day 12 – What’s in your bag
Day 13 – This week
Day 14 – What you wore today
Day 15 – Your dreams
Day 16 – Your first kiss
Day 17 – Your favorite memory
Day 18 – Your favorite birthday
Day 19 – Something you regret
Day 20 – This month
Day 21 – Another moment

As Dark And Twisty As I Get - So Not Much

Sati-Marie, providing smart ass-comments since 11.05 this morning.

For some reason I've been in a strange mood today. It could be due to the fact that I'm not getting any, but I don't think it's just that. I don't know what it is, but I've been full of flippancy and smart-assery all day. In fact, at times I've even been a little bit mean, although not to people who can't take it. (Luckily I talked to my friend Ricky earlier, and he's happiest when I'm a bit of a bitch. I love having him around, at least online, because he's one of the few friends that I don't have to be nice around - he's happy to take my shit as well as dish out plenty of his own.)

It could be the weather change, or being tired and sore and cranky, or missing Oli. Or it could be the fact that I've grudgingly gone on a diet. I've put on a lot of weight in the last eighteen months, since my dad had his stroke, but mostly it's gone on slowly so I haven't noticed it so much. But in the last couple of months it's gone onto my stomach and boobs, and a little onto my back, and now none of my bras fit properly without leaving a roll of flab hanging over the side and back. I've always had a fat ass and thighs, so I'm used to that, but when it goes on my stomach and back it really pisses me off, and I know that I seriously need to lose it asap.

I'm not refusing to eat or anything, I'm just not eating anything junky, and that makes me crabby. But I'm thinking nice thoughts - cocktail dresses and designer jeans and little sweaters that show off my midriff - and every time I have a yearning for potato chips or chocolate I think of clothes, and The SBD's perfect body, and if one of those thoughts doesn't work the other does.

I am going to have to go to the doctor soon, because I'm pretty sure that part of the belly gain is due to ovarian cysts. Or at least last time I got a huge hard stomach, the way I have now, that's what caused it. Also last time I found I needed to pee all the time, and now that's happening again, and has been for six months or so.

Of course, I keep putting it off, as I put off many things to do with my health these days. If it's not making me really sick and it doesn't hurt, I tend to ignore it until it does. I know this probably isn't the healthiest way to deal with things, but hell, if I went to the doctor every time something goes wrong with my body, I might as well pitch a campbed in his office. At least once a week something happens with my health that would cause any normal, healthy person to make a trip to the doctor. And most of the time those things go away. Like, ten days ago my foot started hurting, a lot, and I thought that I had an infection, except that there was nothing to see. It just felt infected, deep inside. (I had a pain like this once, when I lived in Spain, but there wasn't much to see then either, just a slight colour change that could have been nothing, and it wasn't until the doctor cut into my foot that a whole load of crap came out. One of the most disgusting - and fascinating, to my scientist's brain - things that I ever saw.) But I didn't go to the doc, because I had nothing to show for it, and suddenly yesterday it cleared up and now - touch wood - it's just fine. And a lot of my health problems go that way.

So yeah, it's probably a mixture of the sore foot (and lack of sleep over the last ten days that's stemmed from it) and the sore teeth and the sore skin and the sore muscles, and the extra weight, and the dieting, and the weather, and everything else that has me acting like a snarky valley-girl. I'm probably making myself sound worse than I actually am - I know most of my male friends, and even my mother, are quite enjoying my sarcastic, overly cynical commentaries on people and life and television ads. But I don't much like myself when I'm this way - despite my chronic cynicism, I'm usually quite gentle and kind - and I certainly don't feel like myself. B, one of my oldest friends, says that when we were in high school I was always extremely sarcastic, and that anytime I said anything you'd have to double-check that I was being genuine...but having been blessed ( LOL ) with amnesia, I don't really remember all that much about my high school days, and what I do remember is viewed through rose-tinted glasses. I have a certain fondness for the memories that I have of those times, but I can't really relate to the person I was then.

I don't know, perhaps I just need sleep. It sounds ridiculous to say that, because I've been doing very little else lately, and still haven't found the energy to tidy my room or do my paperwork or...well, anything really. I emptied out my underwear cabinet about two weeks ago, and the lingerie has just been sitting in a huge (and gradually increasing) pile on my blanket chest. And there are books everywhere, and general junk, and DUST. I haven't cleaned in weeks. And I know I have to, I know that once the room is clean and tidy I'll be less tired and feel better emotionally...but I can't seem to find the energy to clean, or even to put the undies away.

*sigh*

In a way, I feel like I've been robbed of Autumn. I know that's a totally ridiculous feeling, as 1) we're only at the beginning of October, and 2) nobody's stolen anything from me, I'm the one who's been too lazy to get off my ass and do what needs to be done. But I just feel so shitty, and have since three weeks before Christmas last year - although it's slowly been getting worse - and I've sort of lost my ability to get happy. I don't think I'm depressed, I'm just kind of apathetic. Normally at this time of year - and for the last month and a half - I'd be full of plans and excitement, running around making chutney and gathering blackberries and taking long walks in the country every day, buying lovely clothes and excitedly poring over college prospectuses to decide what to study this year, putting together dozens of outfits from my wardrobe to find which top looks exactly right with which bottom, and which shoes or boots and handbag I should wear with them, and whether I need a scarf and hat and coat. This year I've had none of that, aside from buying a couple of items of clothing. I haven't even enrolled for uni, and I don't know if it's too late. I have to call tomorrow, although I've been saying that for the last month.

I don't know, part of me feels like I don't want to go back to uni, but that's a totally illogical feeling - I love the language, I love my teacher, I love my fellow students, I love the campus and the feeling of belonging. I love everything about my classes except for the long bus ride home at 10 at night. So why have I put off enrolling? Last year I was enrolled at the beginning of August. Surely if I really wanted to be there I'd have done the same this year? It's just this awful tiredness, it creeps over me and breeds this apathy that permeates every inch of my life. I don't want to go to class. I don't want to date. I don't want to go visit my father. I don't want to go to the gym. I don't want to see friends. I certainly don't want to clean the house - and neither does Mom, so there's huge layers of dust covering everything - or do my paperwork. All I seem to want to do is eat and sleep and read and fuck, but since Oli's gone there's nobody who interests me both mentally and physically, and food takes so much energy to prepare and unless it's high-sugar high-fat junk, I end up feeling bloated and sluggish. And I can't seem to concentrate on reading, and sleep gives me very little relief from the tiredness. I wake up and I feel worse than if I hadn't slept.

Fibromyalgia / ME / Chronic Fatigue is an extremely cruel disease, and I hope none of you ever get it.

Ehh, my intention here was to write a short post, and instead I've gone on and whinged for ages. Oh well, it's probably done me good, although I can't say the same for my dear readers. I hate whining, even here, and I always worry that people who are new to the blog will catch me on a whingy day and decide that I'm not worth reading. So here's hoping that any newbies don't judge me solely by this post - most days I feel a lot better, and write accordingly. (Although admittedly I've had a rough summer this year.)

Well, it's coming up 3.30 am, so I think I'll go grab some yoghurt - it's not chocolate, but it's pretty good - and a new syrupy-sweet Rebecca Winters book. If that doesn't cheer me up, nothing will.

Meet The Parents

Meme Day 3 (October 3rd) - My Parents


My parents never married, at least not each other, although my mother was married and separated before she met my father, and my father has married, divorced and remarried since.


My mother. Carol Louise Onan Frost, born Sandra Marie Elizabeth Henriksen, and one reason I refuse to be called Sandra. My mother is one of the strangest people I know. She's a mix of extremely laid-back (sort of an ex-hippy) and extremely overprotective. She took a unique approach to child-raising - in her defense, it was probably the only thing she could do with a kid like me - and as a result I knew more about the world at an early age than a lot of my friends do even now. My mom was big on learning, both academics and esoterica. At two she read me Poe (and gave me a giant teddy named Edgar Allan Polar Bear); at three she taught me to speak Spanish; at four I learned the names of all the constellations; at five she taught me how to do logic puzzles; at six I learned how to cast the runes and scry into a crystal ball.


She moved me all around the place, not just from home to home (some of them with boyfriends) but from country to country, which is something that I have never quite forgiven her for; while I recognize that it was a good experience, at the age of 26 I still do not quite know where home is.


I moved out of her (rented) house in Spain when I was seventeen, and came back to England to live with my father and brother and start college. The year that I was away from her I worried about her constantly, and the summer that I was eighteen I moved back into her English house and have not moved out since. I love my mother more than anything, but familiarity is breeding resentment, and at least once a week I tell myself that I need to move out. However, I think the worry would still be there - more so than before, even, since she is a lot sicker than she was - so I stay. And I bitch. And whinge. But I still stay.


My father. Philip Collins, not to be confused with the singer (although it does help him get restaurant reservations). My father is one of the most conservative people I know. Before he had his stroke, I could count on one hand the amount of times I've heard him curse, or even get angry. When I was a kid I wanted them to get married (partly because I was sick of being poor, partly because I was sick of being the only kid at school whose parents never married) but as an adult I'm more inclined to look at the pair of them and think, What were you THINKING, having a child together? Where my mother is a creature ruled by her emotions, my father is cool and logical and practical and more brain than feelings. Oh, I don't doubt that he has feelings, but most people - with the exception of my stepmother - rarely get to see them.


I am enough like my mother that my father and I don't always see eye-to-eye, and enough like my father that I drive my mother crazy. The two personality types clash in me, like positively and negatively-charged particles, and I often feel a little schizophrenic.


I get along well with my father as long as I don't show too much weakness around him. He finds my illness hard to cope with, although it's possible that he can understand it better now that he has a life-altering medical condition of his own. Nonetheless, I confine my visits to my father to the days when my health is good and everything in my life is going well. By contrast, my mother gets me at my worst. :P


I do love my father, and I know that it pains him that we have so few interests in common, so I go out of my way to be interested in the things that he likes. He is greatly interested in art, history, literature and all things to do with Spain. He enjoys tennis and opera. Aside from (very) selective literature and Spain, I don't care one whit about any of those things. But I do care about my father, and like spending time with him. So we go to art galleries, and browse old bookstores, and talk about Voltaire and Cervantes. I've learned quite a lot about those things over the years. I even listen to opera with him sometimes, although I tend to draw the line at tennis unless Nadal's playing.


I've been using the present tense here, and I really shouldn't have. My father had a stroke eighteen months ago and hasn't been the same since. He never will be. That knowledge is there, deep inside me, the awareness that I will never walk through a gallery with him or hear him talk about the difference between abstract and post-modern art, or hear him call me darling, but I haven't yet begun to process it, and most days I shove that loss away and don't think about it. I have to, if I'm to function.


Both my parents are wonderfully good people - they have faults, but they're kind and loyal, and I hope that one day I can be that good.



Day 01 - Introduce yourself
Day 02 – Your first love
Day 03 – Your parents
Day 04 – What you ate today
Day 05 – Your definition of love
Day 06 – Your day
Day 07 – Your best friend
Day 08 – A moment
Day 09 – Your beliefs
Day 10 – What you wore today
Day 11 – Your siblings
Day 12 – What’s in your bag
Day 13 – This week
Day 14 – What you wore today
Day 15 – Your dreams
Day 16 – Your first kiss
Day 17 – Your favorite memory
Day 18 – Your favorite birthday
Day 19 – Something you regret
Day 20 – This month
Day 21 – Another moment
Day 22 – Something that upsets you
Day 23 – Something that makes you feel better
Day 24 – Something that makes you cry
Day 25 – A first
Day 26 – Your fears
Day 27 – Your favorite place
Day 28 – Something that you miss
Day 29 – Your aspirations
Day 30 – One last moment

First Love

Meme Day 2 (October 2nd) - First Love


The first time I thought myself in love, I was thirteen and he was seventeen. His name was Julian Hayes (anglicised from Hausach), middle name Heimdall. He found the middle name hilarious, because Heimdall was one of the Nordic gods of sunlight and goodness - his name literally means "he who casts bright rays" - and Julian was one of the darkest, most intense people I ever knew. He always said he should have been named Loki, and I was inclined to agree with him.


Ju was a beautiful boy, intelligent and passionate, who happened to be emotionally damaged. He never was shown love from his parents, and when I loved him with everything my young, naive, thirteen-year-old heart could give, he couldn't cope with it and eventually self- destructed, after trying his best to take me with him.


Julian died eleven years ago, and I still have days when I miss him so much it hurts. Mostly, though, I think of him fondly.


The first boy I loved in anything even approaching a healthy way was a good friend of mine named Michael Zammit. I was fifteen. Nothing ever came of this, because he lives in Australia and I live in England. We were close friends, though, and he was the first person I ever fantasised about spending my life with. I always think of Michael as my first real crush - while there had been ones before him, he was the first one to occupy my thoughts night and day. Michael's still a good friend, although we don't talk as much as we used to. Last time we talked, I told him he was my Jacob (as in Twilight / New Moon) - it's an unforgivable cliche, but no less true for being so. He brought the sunlight to my life at a time when I had very little of it, and he taught me how to see it for myself, and for that I will always remember him.


The first time I fell truly in love was my fifth day of Sixth Form college in London. I was seventeen. It was the first day I talked to a guy who would later become my closest friend, and I'm afraid I fell in love and never quite fell out. Believe me, I've tried. Over the years I've become an expert at shoving this love down deep inside myself, where it can't escape, but this is the best I can do - after nine years I love him still, despite everything I've tried to get rid of it, and on my most pessimistic days I think that I'll still love him if I live another ninety.


I probably haven't given as much detail as I should have here. Oh well, most of you know the stories anyway. *shrugs*




Day 01 - Introduce yourself
Day 02 – Your first love
Day 03 – Your parents
Day 04 – What you ate today
Day 05 – Your definition of love
Day 06 – Your day
Day 07 – Your best friend
Day 08 – A moment
Day 09 – Your beliefs
Day 10 – What you wore today
Day 11 – Your siblings
Day 12 – What’s in your bag
Day 13 – This week
Day 14 – What you wore today
Day 15 – Your dreams
Day 16 – Your first kiss
Day 17 – Your favorite memory
Day 18 – Your favorite birthday
Day 19 – Something you regret
Day 20 – This month
Day 21 – Another moment
Day 22 – Something that upsets you
Day 23 – Something that makes you feel better
Day 24 – Something that makes you cry
Day 25 – A first
Day 26 – Your fears
Day 27 – Your favorite place
Day 28 – Something that you miss
Day 29 – Your aspirations
Day 30 – One last moment

Introduction to Sati

This is my 30-Day Meme. I'll try really hard to remember to post every day.

[I didn't get past day 4. I got stuck on my definition of love.]

Meme Day 1 (October 1st) - Introduce Yourself


Hi. I'm Sati and this is the introduction to my 30-Day Meme. I'm doing this because Ambie told me to, and I love Ambie.


I suppose the basics are 26 / F / UK. U?


I didn't really need to add the "U?", and I rarely speak txtspk, but sometimes I still write that the way I did when I was 14 and first using chatrooms, because it looks like I'm saying, "I'm 26, so f*** you," and that makes me giggle. I'm not sure why, probably because I feel like saying this sometimes. I have to defend my age a lot - half the time people think I'm under 16, and ask me for ID when I'm buying lottery tickets, and the other half they think I'm a 35-year-old soccer mom.

The name I go by is Sati Marie Frost, or sometimes Sati-Marie Frost. My birth certificate reads Sandra Marie Collins Frost, but nobody's ever called me Sandra apart from new teachers on their first day, or my parents when I'm in trouble. It's a conditioned reaction now; every time I hear someone say Sandra I cringe and immediately feel guilty, even when I haven't done anything wrong.


People have always called me Sati or Sandy. I don't mind Sandy, but every time I introduce myself as that, people sing songs from Grease to me, and they always think it's the first time someone's made that joke, so I have to pretend I find it funny. I'm happy to be sung to, but I wish guys would use a little bit of imagination when they do it. Singing Grease songs is not cool. Singing "Born to Run" and putting in "Sandy" instead of "Wendy"...now THAT would be cool.

I don't use the Collins, because double-barrelled surnames are a pain on forms, and if I use it as a middle name people always go, "But Colin's a boy's name!"

I'm adding an Elizabeth to my name, because every woman in my maternal grandmother's line has had Elizabeth as a middle name except me.


I am extremely verbose. In case you don't know what that means, Merriam-Webster online defines it as "given to wordiness". Meaning, I take a lot of words to say things. I could easily make this introduction pages and pages long, but I'll leave that for my next post. And yes, I noticed that I used this introduction to tell you unimportant things about my name instead of important things about my character. Sometimes I'm like that - I kind of sidle up to an issue instead of approaching it head-on. Not often, but now and then.


For more information, feel free to check out my "about me" on my Facebook profile - Sati-Marie Frost - Sandy.


You know, instead of just reading mine you could make your own, ja?




Here's how it supposed to go:


Day 01 - Introduce yourself
Day 02 – Your first love
Day 03 – Your parents
Day 04 – What you ate today
Day 05 – Your definition of love
Day 06 – Your day
Day 07 – Your best friend
Day 08 – A moment
Day 09 – Your beliefs
Day 10 – What you wore today
Day 11 – Your siblings
Day 12 – What’s in your bag
Day 13 – This week
Day 14 – What you wore today
Day 15 – Your dreams
Day 16 – Your first kiss
Day 17 – Your favorite memory
Day 18 – Your favorite birthday
Day 19 – Something you regret
Day 20 – This month
Day 21 – Another moment
Day 22 – Something that upsets you
Day 23 – Something that makes you feel better
Day 24 – Something that makes you cry
Day 25 – A first
Day 26 – Your fears
Day 27 – Your favorite place
Day 28 – Something that you miss
Day 29 – Your aspirations
Day 30 – One last moment