I’ve decided I’m insane, not a lot insane (from my point of view) but a little insane.  After a few weeks of letting garbage build up in my room…next to my bed…I finally decided I’d had enough of that particular malfunction, and I cleaned up my personal area.  (Oh, crap!  I just spotted two more Vienna sausage cans.  Grr!)  I picked up the cans- sausage, spaghetti rings and meatballs, soda, the candy wrappers, the water bottles, the prescription bags/empty bottles and the NetFlix envelope tear offs.  I put a fresh liner in my waste basket, and I placed it next to my bed where it had been buried under the aforementioned detritus.  I even sorted everything by recycle category.  (The previously overlooked aluminum sausage cans are now in the recycle bin.)  Who knows?  Maybe tomorrow I’ll attack my hair.  Currently I’m looking somewhat like Hagrid only shorter, no mustache or beard, and of course, I’m female.  A 6’6″ male acquaintance of mine would simply refer to me as “…the Hobbit from Hel.”  I adore him, so he can call me that if he wants to.  I have every intention of velcroing myself to him at some point in the future, so it’ll all even out in the end.  (Failing Velcro, I’ll use duct tape.  Between the two of us, that’s a lot of hair in jeopardy.)

     Another part of my insanity is knowing I’m fighting a losing battle, and yet I continue to fight it.  This is in regards to my animals.  My thought was to raise some food to help out with the added food bills when I moved in.  Silly me.  Although my father boasted to a magazine about the wild pig I’d coaxed into staying with us, he never wanted me to be living here, much less any animals associated with me.  It’s been over two years, and the goat pen isn’t finished.  I would attempt to do it myself.  However, I’m physically much weaker than I used to be, and my father uses all the medications I’m taking as his reason for refusing me access to his power tools.  There’s a distinct possibility he’s correct in his   assumptions of disaster with that activity.  On the other hand, unlike him, I don’t have a history of almost removing body parts while performing simple tasks not requiring power tools.  Anyway, it’s just getting to be too expensive to feed them on my income, and the sweet little pig has grown into a headstrong hog who has developed some aggressive behaviors when she doesn’t get her way.  After being bitten by her a few times and knocked on my butt in mud this morning, I’m seriously considering changing her name back to ‘Bacon’.  I’m not going to even go into the rest of the issues regarding the goats or turkeys.  But still, every morning I get up and go care for them as they need to be.  But still, I hold onto the hope that things will somehow work out.  But still, I keep working hard to try to make everything work out.  Crazy, huh?  

     My doctors have begun second guessing one another and playing ping pong with my speaking to this doctor or that doctor for them about something or other.  Heh!  I distinctly recall signing a bunch of paperwork all over the county, so I would’t be having to do this very thing.  I really want them to talk to each other, and leave me out of their professional disagreements!  For instance, the shrink I’ve been seeing for years, who barely gives me 15 minutes every three months, is satisfied that my moods have stabilized.  Never mind that the bar is somewhere near my mid-shins.  My neurologist is not happy about that, so he’s given me a mood elevator.  Well, what’a you know?  It works!  I’d rather not be artificially cheerful, but I don’t plan to stop taking this medication anytime soon.  Let’s face it, with all the bad news floating about the airwaves and internet these days, pretty much all of us have really good reasons to be depressed without adding being seriously bipolar, too!

     I just took time out to put the critters to bed, and the hog, Daisy, struck again.  First, I found the  crap I bagged up earlier spread all over the side yard, and she argued with me for possession of the bag.  Then, when I tried to get her to leave the goat pen where she was bound and determined to get every single kernel of corn the squirrels dropped, she spun around, butted the inside of my knee and bit me.  She’s lucky my flashlight isn’t a Maglight, as I clearly rang her bell for her!  She then proceeded to make me feel guilty by acting all “little piggie” and lying down at my feet.  She really enjoyed the oatmeal cookies which she ate like such a well behaved girl.  I am such a sucker. *sigh*  

     Lately, I’ve been putting a lot of thought into my “friendships”, my Facebook friendships included.  I think it best if I do some cleaning there.  I’ve realized I don’t really talk to anyone on Facebook anymore.  It’s become all postings of pics and quips.  The one liner philosophies of too many are clouding the path I have set for myself.  A person with whom I used to speak has become uncomfortable periods of pulling words from the other as though I’m pulling teeth.  Why?  I don’t know.  Should I drop that person from my Friend list?  Most likely, yes.  Will I?  It’s kind of hard to drop someone who has a partner on my list.  These people are not my enemies, but I no longer see where continued acquaintanceship will further my knowledge of my path.  I wish I could say that these two are the only ones.  In truth, I have felt a wall rising around me making it more difficult to connect in any way deeper than the surface.  

     Maybe I’ve become so jaded I figure folks on Facebook aren’t real.  Maybe I’m finally learning how to insulate myself from disappointment.