My Tongue Hurts

You know, because I bite it a lot.

I’m a very opinionated person.  This is not a shocking secret by any means.  In fact, many people who know me have made the comment that I just say whatever pops into my mind.

Not true.

If I said everything that popped into my mind, I’d be a lonely gal.  No friends, ostracized family–you get the picture.

When I was younger, I had the narcissistic notion that everyone needed to hear my opinion.  I don’t know what it is–is it arrogance?  I don’t consider myself an arrogant person, but for some reason, it seems to fit.  No matter what subject came up, I had to express my opinion.  Politics, religion, local issues, family problems, you name it.

Times have changed, and so have I.

Now, let’s not get carried away.  I am still a very opinionated person.  Like I’ve said before, I have strong opinions about almost everything.  Some things I will still climb up on my soapbox for–education, for example.  I use this blog to vent a lot of my opinions, so they don’t back up on me and cause some sort of emotion explosion.

But here’s the thing–even though I am entitled to my opinions, just like you are, that doesn’t give me license to dump them on any one, any time.  I’m not a profound person.  The most profound thought I’m likely to come up with will probably have something to do with laundry.  But my son and I were having a conversation the other day, and out of the blue I made the following statement: “People are more concerned about being right than doing right.” My son said, “Wow, deep thought, Mom.”

And it was. It is.

We love to share our opinion.  Our whole society is based on the freedom of speech, and I love freedom of speech.  But that doesn’t give us the right to trample others.  Sometimes, you sit there, and someone is talking about something, and all you can think is, “What an idiot!” Why can’t it stop there?  Fine, you don’t agree with them, and you might even think they are totally ignorant for thinking the way they do, but is it worth it to argue with them?  What are you going to gain?  What is it worth to you just to express your opinion? If you are in front of Congress, fine, but is arguing with your mom or dad or your friends really going to make a difference?

It’s easy to get on a soap box.  Trust me, I know.  It’s easy to tell people your opinion.  It’s not so easy to shut up and put up.  If I think education needs reformed, then instead of putting it on this blog, or posting passive/aggressive Facebook rants, I should do something about it.  Go to board meetings, write letters, whatever.  That’s just one example.  I don’t know what it is that is important to you, but why not become an activist instead of a publicist? Try living your opinions–that’s the best to show people what they are. And when you are faced with the idiot that tries to get you to argue?

Gargling with salt water will help that sore tongue.



The (not so) Remorseful Buyer

I’ll bet you thought I might do a political post.

Guess again.

Don’t get me wrong.  I have strong opinions about very important issues, but I’m not blogging about them.  I’m tired of the bullshit drama and sniping back and forth about stuff that none of us can change.  Furthermore, I don’t trust any politician, and I’m sure their primary goal is to get votes.  I don’t think the answer lies within the government, but within us.  I vote my conscience, and my faith, and that’s that.  I like to make people think, but mostly I like to make people laugh, and the state of our nation is no laughing matter. That is all.

Anyway, my life has taken a drastic turn lately, as many of you already know, since we have purchased a home and moved (mostly), and I’ve had many occasions to think about buyers remorse.  I am a great believer in buyers remorse.  Hell, I own a boat, for crying out loud, and nothing triggers buyers remorse like a boat.

For those of you who maybe haven’t experienced the agony of buyer’s remorse, allow me to explain.  Buyer’s remorse is that feeling you get when you realize that you have recently spent a LOT of money on something that maybe (probably) you didn’t need.  The buying buzz wears off, and reality kicks in.  A lot of people get this from home buying, and I was afraid I might.

You see, reality has certainly set in.  Lots of the “charming” things (and trust me, those are great, BIG sarcastic air quotes) that we liked when we bought the house have lost their charm.  Those original windows that seemed so cool are huge energy suckers.  The kitchen is pretty much blah, there is a shocking lack of closets, some of the floors are slanted, and my daughter’s room is approximately the size of a large shoe box.  The ceiling leaked a little when we had all the snow last week. My washing machine tears my clothes, so I have to wash them in mesh bags, and I still don’t have a functioning shower for Mindy.  The yard is an overgrown nightmare–I’m pretty sure there are lions and baboons living out there.  One part of it is a rock bar, the other is swampy and soft.  The driveway needs lots of work, as does the sidewalk.

But I love it.

You have no idea the joy I have when I wake up in the morning and know that I am home–really, truly, home.  My home.  If I want to hop out of bed and parade to the bathroom in my skivvies, I can.  (I don’t, incidentally, and I apologize for the image.) I can turn up the television too loud or listen to obnoxious music.  I can make a huge mess in the kitchen and then not clean it up for a couple of hours.  I can decorate my own house with my own things, hang my own pictures and paint the walls any color I want.  If I want to go squat in the yard and…….okay, okay, sorry.  I was getting a little carried away there.

Now, before someone says, “Wow, The Grandparents must be really awful!” let me assure you, I could have done all of those things at their house, too.  But you have to understand–I never would have, because it wasn’t my house. Nobody ever made me feel that way but me.  If The Grandparents were to move to Florida tomorrow and give me that house, I still could not just walk in there and take it over.  It isn’t my house. 

Can you understand?

So anyway, the stress of home ownership is certainly, well, stressful (sorry, I couldn’t come up with a better adjective) but it can never detract from my happiness.  That leaky ceiling is my leaky ceiling.  Those lions and baboons are my lions and baboons.

Now if you’ll excuse me, my coffee is kicking in.  I need to visit the yard.


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