Summer Love

     Listening to Justin Timberlake's song about that elusive, sexy sounding, different kind of romance.

      Summer love never was much for me.   I never had a hot, steamy romance that was just over school or college break.  I never even had a fling as an adult that classified as summer love.

     This summer is going to be filled with strong emotions.  Some of them might be love.  Some of them might be anger, disappointment,  hurt, desperation ... you get the point.  I'm at a crossroads in my life.  Big decisions have to be made. 

     I am, in fact, angry a lot of the time.  My edge hasn't been lost.  I've just been hiding the anger as best I can.  I've never had to fake sweetness before, but it's happening a lot now.  I don't want to do irreparable damage to my relationships with those I love or my job.

     As angry as I am and as much as I love the Honey Badger,  I will not condone violence.   Maybe plucking the occasional eyebrow, but that is IT.
I will NOT meet you at the dumpster at 0330 with an empty yard size garbage bag and you bring a life-like photo... 

     Whoa...I got really sidetracked.  I need to settle down.  Back to JT...

Stormy weather...why didn't Al Roker mention this???

There's a neurological term called storming.  I'm not a doctor.  I used to play one on tv opposite Dr. Drake Ramoray (just kidding).  I'm not a nurse.  Anyway, I know it has to do with your heart rate rising like crazy and sweating a lot and I'm sure many other things.  I probably should have called my neuro ICU nurse friend for a hot second before I started writing....I digress.

About a year after Olivia died, I was diagnosed with PTSD .  Most people think of it associated with military people/veterans or survivors of natural disasters.  I was told I had survived kind of the same things watching Olivia's massive seizures for so many years, coding, resuscitation, resuscitating her myself once and then her dying in my arms.  I had vivid, horrid nightmares, which turned out to be flashbacks.  I rarely slept.  I developed a heightened startle reflex.  I cried all the time.  Sad didn't even begin to describe it.

It was very much like storm in my brain when I tried to visualize it.  Picture the streaky lighting flashing across the sky, bolt after bolt.  Clouds of varying shades of pale to silver to gray to charcoal and they are monstrous.  Some of them may seem to be reaching down for the ground around you.  The wind is blowing as if you're Dorothy and your house is about to be transported to Oz...this is how it felt and feels in my brain sometimes.

It has been like that many times the past few weeks.  I was not expecting it.  It has taken me by surprise kind of like the honey badger snatches a cobra.   I wonder if it is the fact that I experienced happiness this past year and my guard was let down?

Regardless of the reasons, it happened.  I've been a woman on the edge for weeks.  Add in the God awful steroids coursing through my system courtesy of my damn asthma and I'm sure there are some who'd call me a raging bitch.

I was able to get Olivia's birthday flowers placed.  That took away some of the anxiety.  I swear, one of the afternoons or sleepless nights, I'm going to tell her story.  I just have to be able to keep steady fingers to type.  

Ratel is back

There comes a point when anger overrides hurt.  My heart has hurt all week.  I am a softie.  I let my feelings get hurt very easily.  I have expectations that people will treat me the way they want to be treated.  No, I do not do that all day, every day, but it is something I inherently believe.  There are those near and dear to me who have heard the concept and that is all.  I am sick to death of excuses.  I want to vomit every time mouths open because I know it is a load of shit about to be dumped.  I excused myself from a situation yesterday that may temporarily cause some inconvenience for these folks.  I'd much rather that happen than my baggage cause them emotional damage next week.  My Olivia emotional baggage can fill the car of an Amtrak train.  And hell yes I'm dealing with it today even though it's not her actual birthday or anniversary day!  What an idiotic thing to say! (different situation yesterday)

Sometimes, I feel like I am either completely losing my ability to communicate with people or some people simply cannot fathom how horrendous and difficult even the smallest task can be right now and over the next few days.  **NEWS FLASH**  I am struggling to get out of bed, shower and make it to work.  If it weren't for The Bloggess and Jon Stewart  (mocking all political news-especially Mitt Romney's idiotic blunders) to entertain me, I'm not sure I would make it through the next 7 days.

                 My spines are up.  I am Ratel.  I don't care.  I don't give a shit.  I am a badass. 

Supremely Unchaste Badass

I'm intrigued endlessly by the Badass of the Week, written by Ben Thompson.  The BoW for the week of my birthday was a wickedly awesome woman!  Now, I have no desire to bang a nun, but otherwise, she could so be my next heroine.  Neither have I killed people, at least outside of my head, but I am of French descent.   Surely we could be of some similar lineage???
I need to be a badass.  I possess badassness.  It's hiding right now.  Therefore, I'm re-watching Randall narrate about the Honey Badger.  I can quote about the Honey Badger.  I will not munch on rats or cobras, but I have enough inner angst and bitchiness to chase one of those bad boys down.
The problem comes when my crazy hormones kick in along with my walks down memory lane.  I start crying like a high school girl when her crush cancels the day before prom.  I am looking for someone to be available at the drop of a hat during those moments.   I need support and comfort.  I need someone to hold me, maybe stroke my hair, or maybe only listen to my emotional soliloquy.  I need a badass of my own right now.