Embrace The Suck

Before I got a computer of my own, before I had an email address, and before I even knew what a blog was, I was a little put off by a technology that in essence did away with snail mail. In fact, although it seems a little foolish now, I formed a club (basically of one) I named Down With E-Mail and voted myself president. I hated the thought that computer generated mail would take the place of tear-open-the-envelope-and-see-the-handwriting-of-an-old-friend correspondence. I felt like a Pony Express girl in an Internet world. You see, I love letters. Although I'm not always the best at writing them, like my dog who waits for the mailman to drop letters through the slot in the door, I always feel a little tease of excitement at the thought of being a recipient at mail time. I like fine stationery, vellum envelopes, multi-colored pens, pretty cards, funny cards, foot cards, cards with my name on them or just plain blank cards. But what I really go for are the stamps. I'm not into ...

While I don't often admit it, I am just a tad bid obsessive compulsive. I do things like count stairs when going up AND when coming down, as if the number might have changed. And I worry too much. If I don't have something to worry about, well then, I worry about that. I am a moderate to over-the-top hyperchondriac. Show me a molehill and I'll see Mt. Everest; give me a hangnail and I'll practice writing with my opposite hand just in case I should need an operation; give me a little tiny cyst in my breast and, well, you can imagine where I'm going with that. Obviously the technicians who did my recent mamogram and ultrasound have had patients like me before. They were all business, showing no emotion, and making no eye contact. Of course, eye contact with "Brigitta" would have been impossible anyway as she was so short, her eyes only came up to my belly button. It was a little disconcerting to think that a woman who could barely reach my boobs was going to...

A few years ago, I was a nanny; which is really just a fancy way of saying I was a babysitter. Nanny's have a bit more responisibility than a babysitter, but the task at hand is all about watching out for, protecting and loving a child who is not your own because its parents can not be there at the time. After raising my own children, I took a child-free sabattical.That's not exactly the truth because I was kind-of, sort of, taking care of my own inner child who was wanting, and needing, some serious attention. Like a newborn baby with constant needs or an adolescent who is testing life's every limit, my little girl made it clear that she wanted some of my time. But eventually we got things straightened out between us; at least we got to a place where we were working in tandem, not fighting each other, so I could go on to other things. This is when I came home to take care of my mother and as a side job, took on the care and responsibility of a baby. Both were jobs I kind o...