No spoilers. Just wondering why I’ve become so attached to fictional characters?!?!? No words, only ❤️.
And by sauce, I mean Coke. And by Coke, I mean Coca Cola. And by Coca Cola, I mean any garden variety soda water. Because in Texas if someone asks you “Would you like a Coke?” you reply “Sure, what kind do you have?” to which you are told “Dr. Pepper, Big Red, Sprite, Coke…” you get the drift.
Growing up, Coke was a luxury. I mean we ALWAYS had sweet tea by the gallon in the “ice box” and milk plus some kind of juice. Water was available from the tap or a garden hose in a pinch. But Coke, especially the good stuff (by good stuff I mean, name brand and not Shasta) that was special. And here is another classic example of when I grow up and have a family, I’m gonna …
And I did! I bought name brand Coca Cola products (only on sale or with coupons of course) and drank cases of Dr. Pepper. Like a camel, I drank little to no water. And like Sheldon Cooper’s mother, one might say I had a slight Dr. Pepper addiction. I ruined my kids, though Pony now abstains from the dreaded poison – and will drink water at meals … for the cost factor not health … though I’ll take what I can get. Lulu … well … with Lulu I’ll never know. She tries to spare me but I have my suspicions.
Anyway, somewhere along the way, I read one too many articles about “pop” as the Midwesterners call it and I quit. Cold turkey! You see it’s the little things … quit taking Zoloft! park far away and walk to the door, take the stairs, quit skipping breakfast, make better meal choices, and quit drinking Cokes. I felt immensely better and I also shed 40 plus pounds. A weight loss that I have maintained since 2006 (plus or minus 5 pounds).
Then this past Saturday, blah! I was feeling sorry for myself. Poor little Jill. Boo Hoo. I went to Sonic Happy Hour and instead of my usual 1/2 price unsweet tea, I thought why not get a Coke with lime? So I did … but just a small … and immediately I felt nauseous. Now one might argue the nausea was from my worry over Lulu (who by the way is okie dokie again). Though I really think the drink was what made me feel ill.
Then today, I went to the service for my mom’s best friend. I have a wide range of emotions, stories that are not mine to tell and wanting ever so badly to spew/hurl/expunge the demons. I can’t so pen to paper tonight but in the moment, mini panic attack, I skip the gravesite and I am back at Sonic Happy Hour. Then I hear “May I have a LARGE vanilla Dr. Pepper?” What the what?!??! Someone else must have been speaking because that sure as HELL was not me! Oh but it WAS me!
Now I’m nauseous again. So I poured most of the captivating elixir down the drain. And I’m officially OFF the sauce again. Hmmm! I sure could go for a Whataburger right about now. Thanks to Shop Girl Anonymous. French fries and fancy ketchup. That for sure would make any queasiness go away.
As always, more to come.
Tranquility shall be mine. Namaste 🙏
As always more to come
1 : a natural or inherent aptitude, impulse, or capacity <had an instinct for the right word> 2a : a largely inheritable and unalterable tendency of an organism to make a complex and specific response to environmental stimuli without involving reason b : behavior that is mediated by reactions below the conscious level.
One of my first college classes was Psychology 101. I needed the course as a core requirement. In hindsight, I probably should have continued on and maybe … just maybe I wouldn’t be the basket case that I am today. Pftt! Bull sH!t. I’d still be a hot mess. Notice I said “hot” maybe that is part of my grandiose disorder whereby I think I’m all that and a bag of chips. But the lady doth protest too much, me thinks. I think the opposite … I believe I am a lost cause and I FEAR I have passed that trait along. Funny side bar rabbit hole … in Shakespeare’s time, protest meant to make a solemn affirmation (not denial). Here the use is the modern classic denial. Hello, I am J-dub and I have oh so many problems.
Back to instinct, in particular that of the motherly persuasion … my professor in PSYCH 101, the affable AD Mackensie, put forth the notion that motherly instinct does NOT exist! What the what ?!?!? That is blasphemy! The class believed motherly instinct was the CORE of civilization. Our classroom debate became animated! As students tossed out examples, to each one he countered. No he shut us down!
His point was simple. If motherly instinct was in fact true, there’d be no child abuse. All mothers would be instinctively perfect. “You see” he told the class “the conscious level and more complex thinking actually makes what we call motherly instincts are really learned behaviors. Running from a predator is an instinct. Raising a child has too many conscious actions to be called instinctive.”
Hmmmm??? Pause for effect …
To me, forever obsessively thinking, I could see his point and I was momentarily silenced. His power position over me, had de nada to do with my quick acceptance of his suggestion though this change of all that I held true would become a theme with me and the various professors that I liked. Easily persuaded much? Why yes, yes J-Dub was easily persuaded. Mind you, I had not yet become a mother which allowed me to be open to the idea. I thought “could it be?” To me, no motherly instinct seemed quite logical.
Which brings me to today. My motherly instinct is kicking into overdrive. I am physically sick with worry. I dreamt about Lulu last night after a day back and forth with fraught texts messages. One quick phone call but mainly, “I’d rather not talk but can you stay with me by text”. This even as she was in the company of other people. At least I do not think she was alone. Always hard to tell. Last night I even texted her the Beach Boys Kokomo and Bing Crosby’s Swinging on a Star by which I used to sing her to sleep.
I woke up with Cyndi Lauper’s time after time playing on a loop in my brain. I realize the song is about lovers but could the song also be about relationships in general? This part in particular:
If you’re lost you can look and you will find me
Time after time
If you fall I will catch you, I will be waiting
Time after time
Sadly, I can’t catch her EVERY time. “I fall behind. The second-hand unwinds.” I can’t control circumstances. My choices are only my own. She has her OWN choices to make while I helplessly watch. I am prepared for the worst! Hoping beyond hope that the worst never comes to fruition. And then, in a flash of brilliance (there goes my self-diagnosed grandiose disorder again!) I have come to the formidable conclusion that there is no worst case scenario. There is but scenario. And thankfully we have the POWER to choose how we deal.
If you have read this far, I’d love to hear your thoughts on the topic. Feedback is the gift I most crave. I miss the spirited dialog of being a student. For all those teachers out there, know you are worth more than gold. A precious, precious commodity with the privilege to mold and shape those of us willing to learn. And for that I give my most sincere thanks!!!!
As always, more to come.
Like a conductor, Billy Bob is counting out his spaces where he’ll plant our crops. He’d hate to know I took this video much less shared it with the blogosphere. Oh well, best to ask forgiveness.
Ricky Nelson – Garden Party 1985
There’s a metaphor in here somewhere my lovelies ❤. Happy Saturday!
As always, more to come.
Check this out. She’s wise beyond her years! So full of love for this girl.
You wake up every morning to fight the same demons that left you so tired the night before & that, my love, is bravery.
All too often do I hear others say things like, “same sh*t different day”, “Back to the grindstone..” & the like, but it really doesn’t have to be.
I see your eyes so worn & weary & tired. You wake up each day thinking how can I possibly go through this again. This all too familiar weight I carry never letting up. Honest, you don’t always have to feel this way. Believe it or not, my dear friend. You’re allowed to take breaks or step away for a bit to gather your thoughts & strategies.
At times your demons may seem like mountains. How strange it is to see another’s demons & think to ourselves how small they seem. What if for a moment, what if…
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