Let's cut to the chase.
It started out good. My little nephew was born this morning in perfect shape.
I did a GREAT interview for a magazine article this morning (shout-out to Mitch & Diana, two very cool people) and even got to take advantage of some Starbucks caffeine. Yay!
Next thing I know, I find out an in-law is sick in the hospital. I call my husband. He tells me to pick him up from work early, so I do. We inhale lunch and hop in our car to go up to the hospital (about 30 miles away in another county). We get within about 3 minutes of the hospital... when the brakes stop working, the steering goes out and the engine light (and every other light ever created for a dashboard) comes on. By pure divine intervention, we break down directly in front of a gas station.
From there, with my cell phone dead and being far from home, a very nice gas station clerk lets us use her own cell phone to reach my in-law's girlfriend, who comes and picks us up. We eat our Subway subs as the tow truck hauls the car away.
We never made it to the hospital, but that's OK. In-law was discharged. Not doing well, but discharged.
Husband found a way to work tomorrow so that's good. I guess we'll have to rent a car. What can I say? I love nothing more than having to spend money I don't have. And I'm sure my nephew is just precious... but I wouldn't know... because I can't get to THAT hospital to see HIM.
There you have it. And it's still only Monday. And the REAL drama hasn't even hit yet. Maybe it's taking an Easter break, but I doubt it.
Tomorrow... I sleep in!
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Monday, March 29, 2010
Sunday, March 28, 2010
One of Them Days
Sheryl Crow, I stinkin' love you, woman. Sometimes you just say it in a way I never could. Tomorrow is Monday. My new nephew arrives... but I know there's a lot of other BS that's gonna arrive, too. Quote of the week and my mantra for the night: "So be it."
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Friday, March 19, 2010
New Life, New Office
Now that I've decided to make a go of freelancing full-time, I decided to turn my second bedroom into my home office. I just had to share some of the pics with everybody!
This hangs above my shelf. It's the first magazine ad I ever saw for my book.
One of my crazy ex-neighbors gave me this shelf, so I guess he was good for something. I painted the picture on the left. The guitar gives the illusion that I still play.
My desk - cluttered by colorful.
An essential item of any office - Play Doh. (Thanks, Dave!)
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I made this crooked cross from Sculpey.
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I painted this votive.
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love my Veggie Tales!
I also painted this votive.
One of my original watercolor paintings.
The Amy Grant Wall. I always said when I got my own office, I'd put these back up, and I meant it. Some people have sports memorabilia, some like the Beatles... for me, it's Amy.
Amy signed this poster for me in November 1996. I was 17 years old and I was in Nashville looking at colleges. I got to spend a Saturday afternoon with her at her farm. It reads, "Julie, hope you enjoyed your trip to Nashville. God bless you, (heart) Amy Grant" Pin It
This hangs above my shelf. It's the first magazine ad I ever saw for my book.
One of my crazy ex-neighbors gave me this shelf, so I guess he was good for something. I painted the picture on the left. The guitar gives the illusion that I still play.
My desk - cluttered by colorful.
An essential item of any office - Play Doh. (Thanks, Dave!)
border="0">I made this crooked cross from Sculpey.
border="0">I painted this votive.
border="0">love my Veggie Tales!
I also painted this votive.
One of my original watercolor paintings.
The Amy Grant Wall. I always said when I got my own office, I'd put these back up, and I meant it. Some people have sports memorabilia, some like the Beatles... for me, it's Amy.
Amy signed this poster for me in November 1996. I was 17 years old and I was in Nashville looking at colleges. I got to spend a Saturday afternoon with her at her farm. It reads, "Julie, hope you enjoyed your trip to Nashville. God bless you, (heart) Amy Grant" Pin It
Friday, March 12, 2010
Suicide and Addiction
This winter seemed to be a particularly harsh one for a lot of people. February and early March (knock on wood) saw the suicides of three celebrities: first it was fashion designer Alexander McQueen, followed by "Growing Pains" star Andrew Koenig (RIP, "Boner"), followed by Marie Osmond's son, Michael Blosil/Bryan (if one could call him a "celebrity).
Was there something in the water? I don't mean to make a joke of suicide, but I have to ask because I just came out of a very deep depression, as did several of my friends. I know seasonal affective disorder is a very real thing, but I swear the government secretly implanted crazy electrodes in our brains to make us miserable this year or something.
In all seriousness, it was beyond hard. The thing about having depression is (especially when people are committing suicide left and right) is that you always feel the need to hide it. At least I do. There are a few people I am very honest with, but for the most part I don't let on as to how bad it really is. You just don't want to worry everyone. As a teenager, I attempted suicide (didn't get very far, fortunately) so I don't want everyone automatically assuming I'm sitting on the other end of the phone line with a gun to my head.
You hear people say a lot of different things when someone commits suicide. For as much sympathy as you hear, you also hear a lot of anger. For every "that poor man" you hear "that was so selfish." And I guess if you're not suicidal, it does look terribly selfish. You're gone and everyone else is left to suffer. You will be mourned. Questions will be asked. That's the reality. But to someone suffering from severe clinical depression, the picture doesn't look like that at all. To someone with severe depression, all is lost, nothing matters, and the world is better off without them. Severe depression, in a sense, sometimes removes a person's ability to see beyond their own pain to how the rest of the world will react. You see that person as loved and valued; however, they see themselves as colossal failures who ca do nothing right and don't deserve anything good in their lives.
I don't know the story behind Alexander McQueen's suicide, but from everything I have read, Andrew Koenig and Michael Blosil felt exactly that - worthless, hopeless, miserable. If you don't think you have a friend in the world, then in your mind there isn't anyone to leave behind in despair.
Then there's Corey Haim. When I was growing up, Corey Haim was a teen heartthrob. I was never particularly "into" him but I certainly knew who he was. He died this past week at the age of 38 - the same age as my husband. Too young. He battled drug addiction and had a number of health problems that I'm sure the drug use exacerbated. He reportedly died from heart congestion. Though the toxicology results won't be known for several weeks, however, from all accounts he was addicted to prescription drugs... Vicodin, Valium, Soma, maybe others. A few months ago, troubled actress Brittany Murphy died from pneumonia and drug intoxication. She filled a prescription for Vicodin 11 days before her death on Dec. 20, 2009 and it is believed she took 109 of the pills in those 11 days.
These are the stories that break my heart. A teenage relative my husband and I are very close to recently got out of drug rehab. She told me she tried everything but heroine, but her drugs of choice were prescriptions. Maybe celebrities can get oodles of pills from crazy, money-hungry doctors in Hollywood, but Joe Simpletons like my relative buy them on the street from other kids - God only knows where they get them. They think that because a doctor prescribes it, it must be "safe." My relative has told me stories about being "careful" not to overdue the Xanax. But nobody knows what their body's breaking point is.
I'm convinced I'm not a drug addict today because my parents made it very clear that if I did illegal drugs, I was dead meat. I would have to find other living arrangements. I was terrified of my mother - in this case, it did me some good. But even I, as a teenager, tried this and that. Ritalin was the biggie when I was in high school; I gave that a shot. We used to chug Nyquil. We sucked on the whipped cream hose at Friendly's for a high. One time, in college, when I was particularly naive and in the worst depression of my life, I unknowingly huffed CD cleaner.
We tried it for a quick high, a little fun. Isn't that why most kids light up a joint or smoke a bowl? But my relative got so hooked on alcohol and prescription drugs that she couldn't even wake up for school until she was higher than a kite and she took the stuff all day long to keep going.
These kids think it makes them hardcore. They think it makes them cool.
Meanwhile, the rest of us sit back and see sad, broken little children who can't handle reality. Oh, and you can be a broken little child at any age.
My husband and I watch "Celebrity Rehab With Dr. Drew" pretty faithfully. OK, I'll admit it - at first we started watching it because we were amused at the idea of washed-up, B-rated celebs trying to get off crack. But with every episode, we got more and more sucked in, and for legit reasons. I started to identify with some of the patients and my husband saw his brother (a recovering drug addict) in a lot of them. We started to cheer them on. It made us realize that underneath it all, people are just people. It really doesn't matter how much money you have, how many albums you've put out, or how many movies you've made. We're just people with our own history of pain and every one of us faces a decision - "Am I going to deal with this or not?" Are we going to to face reality like the intelligent, grown-ups capable of healing that God made us, or are we going to hide like the sad little broken children, pushing away reality with a needle to the arm, a puff of smoke through a bong, or a line of powder snorted up our noses?
Since my relative has been out of rehab, I've heard a lot about "higher powers." In 12-step recovery, anything can be your higher power - God, Jesus, a toilet seat, your recovery book, your roommate, your cat... you get the idea. You pick something and say "this is stronger than I am" and then you rely on it to keep you from getting hooked back on whatever you were hooked on in the first place.
From where I sit, I look at all the broken little children - and I was one, but I never got sucked into drugs - and I want to hold them all and give them the love they missed out on and tell them... the only reliable higher power is Jesus Christ. Period. You want to kill yourself? You were bought with a price by the blood of Jesus. Your life is no longer your own. Go ahead - jump off that bridge. Your body will be in a thousand tiny bits, but what about your soul? You think you're damaged goods and the best you can do is drugs? You are created in God's image. He made you beautiful. HE CAN HEAL YOU. Not some book, not a statue of Buddha, not your Golden Retriever. Jesus can heal you. If you let Him.
It's a choice. You chose drugs. Will you choose the Savior of the world?
My favorite band is Casting Crowns and they say it better than I ever could:
"I'll take a shack on a rock over a castle in the sand."
Sad, broken little children like me... make your choice. And if you screw up, make it again.
But never, ever give up. Pin It
Was there something in the water? I don't mean to make a joke of suicide, but I have to ask because I just came out of a very deep depression, as did several of my friends. I know seasonal affective disorder is a very real thing, but I swear the government secretly implanted crazy electrodes in our brains to make us miserable this year or something.
In all seriousness, it was beyond hard. The thing about having depression is (especially when people are committing suicide left and right) is that you always feel the need to hide it. At least I do. There are a few people I am very honest with, but for the most part I don't let on as to how bad it really is. You just don't want to worry everyone. As a teenager, I attempted suicide (didn't get very far, fortunately) so I don't want everyone automatically assuming I'm sitting on the other end of the phone line with a gun to my head.
You hear people say a lot of different things when someone commits suicide. For as much sympathy as you hear, you also hear a lot of anger. For every "that poor man" you hear "that was so selfish." And I guess if you're not suicidal, it does look terribly selfish. You're gone and everyone else is left to suffer. You will be mourned. Questions will be asked. That's the reality. But to someone suffering from severe clinical depression, the picture doesn't look like that at all. To someone with severe depression, all is lost, nothing matters, and the world is better off without them. Severe depression, in a sense, sometimes removes a person's ability to see beyond their own pain to how the rest of the world will react. You see that person as loved and valued; however, they see themselves as colossal failures who ca do nothing right and don't deserve anything good in their lives.
I don't know the story behind Alexander McQueen's suicide, but from everything I have read, Andrew Koenig and Michael Blosil felt exactly that - worthless, hopeless, miserable. If you don't think you have a friend in the world, then in your mind there isn't anyone to leave behind in despair.
Then there's Corey Haim. When I was growing up, Corey Haim was a teen heartthrob. I was never particularly "into" him but I certainly knew who he was. He died this past week at the age of 38 - the same age as my husband. Too young. He battled drug addiction and had a number of health problems that I'm sure the drug use exacerbated. He reportedly died from heart congestion. Though the toxicology results won't be known for several weeks, however, from all accounts he was addicted to prescription drugs... Vicodin, Valium, Soma, maybe others. A few months ago, troubled actress Brittany Murphy died from pneumonia and drug intoxication. She filled a prescription for Vicodin 11 days before her death on Dec. 20, 2009 and it is believed she took 109 of the pills in those 11 days.
These are the stories that break my heart. A teenage relative my husband and I are very close to recently got out of drug rehab. She told me she tried everything but heroine, but her drugs of choice were prescriptions. Maybe celebrities can get oodles of pills from crazy, money-hungry doctors in Hollywood, but Joe Simpletons like my relative buy them on the street from other kids - God only knows where they get them. They think that because a doctor prescribes it, it must be "safe." My relative has told me stories about being "careful" not to overdue the Xanax. But nobody knows what their body's breaking point is.
I'm convinced I'm not a drug addict today because my parents made it very clear that if I did illegal drugs, I was dead meat. I would have to find other living arrangements. I was terrified of my mother - in this case, it did me some good. But even I, as a teenager, tried this and that. Ritalin was the biggie when I was in high school; I gave that a shot. We used to chug Nyquil. We sucked on the whipped cream hose at Friendly's for a high. One time, in college, when I was particularly naive and in the worst depression of my life, I unknowingly huffed CD cleaner.
We tried it for a quick high, a little fun. Isn't that why most kids light up a joint or smoke a bowl? But my relative got so hooked on alcohol and prescription drugs that she couldn't even wake up for school until she was higher than a kite and she took the stuff all day long to keep going.
These kids think it makes them hardcore. They think it makes them cool.
Meanwhile, the rest of us sit back and see sad, broken little children who can't handle reality. Oh, and you can be a broken little child at any age.
My husband and I watch "Celebrity Rehab With Dr. Drew" pretty faithfully. OK, I'll admit it - at first we started watching it because we were amused at the idea of washed-up, B-rated celebs trying to get off crack. But with every episode, we got more and more sucked in, and for legit reasons. I started to identify with some of the patients and my husband saw his brother (a recovering drug addict) in a lot of them. We started to cheer them on. It made us realize that underneath it all, people are just people. It really doesn't matter how much money you have, how many albums you've put out, or how many movies you've made. We're just people with our own history of pain and every one of us faces a decision - "Am I going to deal with this or not?" Are we going to to face reality like the intelligent, grown-ups capable of healing that God made us, or are we going to hide like the sad little broken children, pushing away reality with a needle to the arm, a puff of smoke through a bong, or a line of powder snorted up our noses?
Since my relative has been out of rehab, I've heard a lot about "higher powers." In 12-step recovery, anything can be your higher power - God, Jesus, a toilet seat, your recovery book, your roommate, your cat... you get the idea. You pick something and say "this is stronger than I am" and then you rely on it to keep you from getting hooked back on whatever you were hooked on in the first place.
From where I sit, I look at all the broken little children - and I was one, but I never got sucked into drugs - and I want to hold them all and give them the love they missed out on and tell them... the only reliable higher power is Jesus Christ. Period. You want to kill yourself? You were bought with a price by the blood of Jesus. Your life is no longer your own. Go ahead - jump off that bridge. Your body will be in a thousand tiny bits, but what about your soul? You think you're damaged goods and the best you can do is drugs? You are created in God's image. He made you beautiful. HE CAN HEAL YOU. Not some book, not a statue of Buddha, not your Golden Retriever. Jesus can heal you. If you let Him.
It's a choice. You chose drugs. Will you choose the Savior of the world?
My favorite band is Casting Crowns and they say it better than I ever could:
"I'll take a shack on a rock over a castle in the sand."
Sad, broken little children like me... make your choice. And if you screw up, make it again.
But never, ever give up. Pin It
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
"You Put Too Much Out There"
I was talking to my mother last night - she calls every other day to inform me I don't call her often enough - and somehow the topic of social networking came up. My mother doesn't get social networking. She doesn't even get email. I love her dearly, but... one of my brothers got her a cell phone for Christmas a few years ago and she never even made a call from it because the numbers were too small and she didn't know which button to press to put the call through.
Despite not understanding it, she told me that Facebook is "stupid." Now, I was proud of her in a way because she got the name right. Usually she calls it "Facespace" or "Myface" or "Spacebook." That's beside the point. Anyway, I don't know how or why it came up, but she said, "You know, your brother (we'll call him "Joe") says you put way too much out there on your Facebook."
Oh, mother, I thought. You've obviously never read my blog!
Not to mention...Brother Joe puts far worse things on HIS Facebook that would really cheese my mother off if she knew. AGAIN, that's beside the point.
But what is being referred to here is not photos or Youtube videos or anything like that. The problem here is... I put too much EMOTION out there. That's the conniption. We're not what you would call a syrupy-sweet family. We love each other, we tell each other all the time, but we're not particularly sentimental. Trauma and regrets and anything unpleasant are best kept nicely under the rug. That, and my brothers are - SHOCK - men. Men don't do the emotional thing very well.
Maybe I say too much, maybe I don't. What I do know is that being open and "putting a lot out there" is what made me a popular blogger back in the day, and it's what landed me a book deal. It's what allows me to relate to other people's hurts and minister to them.
I yam what I yam and I put it out there and if somebody doesn't like it, they don't have to read it. I yam what I yam. I actually practice a good bit of restraint in my blogging, but when it comes to what makes me, me... I don't hold back.
Everyone OK with that? Anyone got a problem with that? Anyone want to call my mom and tell her what I just said?
ThanksIdidn'tthinkso. Pin It
Despite not understanding it, she told me that Facebook is "stupid." Now, I was proud of her in a way because she got the name right. Usually she calls it "Facespace" or "Myface" or "Spacebook." That's beside the point. Anyway, I don't know how or why it came up, but she said, "You know, your brother (we'll call him "Joe") says you put way too much out there on your Facebook."
Oh, mother, I thought. You've obviously never read my blog!
Not to mention...Brother Joe puts far worse things on HIS Facebook that would really cheese my mother off if she knew. AGAIN, that's beside the point.
But what is being referred to here is not photos or Youtube videos or anything like that. The problem here is... I put too much EMOTION out there. That's the conniption. We're not what you would call a syrupy-sweet family. We love each other, we tell each other all the time, but we're not particularly sentimental. Trauma and regrets and anything unpleasant are best kept nicely under the rug. That, and my brothers are - SHOCK - men. Men don't do the emotional thing very well.
Maybe I say too much, maybe I don't. What I do know is that being open and "putting a lot out there" is what made me a popular blogger back in the day, and it's what landed me a book deal. It's what allows me to relate to other people's hurts and minister to them.
I yam what I yam and I put it out there and if somebody doesn't like it, they don't have to read it. I yam what I yam. I actually practice a good bit of restraint in my blogging, but when it comes to what makes me, me... I don't hold back.
Everyone OK with that? Anyone got a problem with that? Anyone want to call my mom and tell her what I just said?
ThanksIdidn'tthinkso. Pin It
Friday, February 5, 2010
Sleep Is For People Too Wimpy To Drink Coffee By The Pot
Sleep hates me. What is UP? I think my hormones must be ganging up on me or something. Some women cramp up and crave chocolate once a month, I just turn into a drooling zombie. No biggie. Just make sure you lock your doors at night.
Kind of a crazy week/month or so for me. I feel like I'm going through some growing pains. Heh - or maybe I need a med change, who knows. I'm reevaluating. Looking around, taking it all in. Reconsidering. Kicking myself. A whole bunch of stuff. Learning how little I really knew about things I thought I knew pretty well. Finding that part of me doubts that God's Truth is powerful enough to swallow up some incredible darkness I find myself and other people that I love in... and knowing it's stupid to doubt because - HELLO - He created the universe.
You know what has hit me in the face OVER AND OVER AND OVER since right before Christmas? I. DO. NOT. HAVE. ANSWERS. TO. EVERYTHING. I'm seeing marriages fall apart and it doesn't seem like conventional wisdom or any of the stuff I put in my book even remotely applies. I'm watching my niece trying to get her life together but she's out in the wild and the wolves are circling and I don't know how to tell her about God without creeping her out and making her run away from Him entirely. Some people I care about... have turned out to be different people than I thought.
I wandered into a brand new Christian bookstore this evening, just for the heck of it. No money to spend, really, just wanted to look around. I love Christian bookstores - I could spend all day in one. It's comforting somehow. It's peaceful.
Tonight it gave me a feeling I had lost touch with lately... like a little bandaid on a big old, question mark-shaped tear on my heart. Pin It
Kind of a crazy week/month or so for me. I feel like I'm going through some growing pains. Heh - or maybe I need a med change, who knows. I'm reevaluating. Looking around, taking it all in. Reconsidering. Kicking myself. A whole bunch of stuff. Learning how little I really knew about things I thought I knew pretty well. Finding that part of me doubts that God's Truth is powerful enough to swallow up some incredible darkness I find myself and other people that I love in... and knowing it's stupid to doubt because - HELLO - He created the universe.
You know what has hit me in the face OVER AND OVER AND OVER since right before Christmas? I. DO. NOT. HAVE. ANSWERS. TO. EVERYTHING. I'm seeing marriages fall apart and it doesn't seem like conventional wisdom or any of the stuff I put in my book even remotely applies. I'm watching my niece trying to get her life together but she's out in the wild and the wolves are circling and I don't know how to tell her about God without creeping her out and making her run away from Him entirely. Some people I care about... have turned out to be different people than I thought.
I wandered into a brand new Christian bookstore this evening, just for the heck of it. No money to spend, really, just wanted to look around. I love Christian bookstores - I could spend all day in one. It's comforting somehow. It's peaceful.
Tonight it gave me a feeling I had lost touch with lately... like a little bandaid on a big old, question mark-shaped tear on my heart. Pin It
Thursday, February 4, 2010
I'm Alive
Sorry I haven't blogged in a while. It goes in spurts with me.
Life is busy. I'm up late, unable to sleep, stomach a mess, head pounding. Lots on my mind.
I started a new job yesterday, waiting tables. It's very daunting to me. I'm an outgoing people person who is scared to death of pouring coffee on somebody's head or dumping chicken pot pie on somebody's lap. Talk more? Talk less? Which will get me the better tip?
Been playing lots of Guitar/Band Hero & writing songs again. The lyrics come easy but the music... not so much. Oh well.
More when I'm not feeling like roadkill. Pin It
Life is busy. I'm up late, unable to sleep, stomach a mess, head pounding. Lots on my mind.
I started a new job yesterday, waiting tables. It's very daunting to me. I'm an outgoing people person who is scared to death of pouring coffee on somebody's head or dumping chicken pot pie on somebody's lap. Talk more? Talk less? Which will get me the better tip?
Been playing lots of Guitar/Band Hero & writing songs again. The lyrics come easy but the music... not so much. Oh well.
More when I'm not feeling like roadkill. Pin It
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