tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52075354218775395942024-03-06T02:46:49.132-06:00Terri Rainer Published AuthorI believe you should live each day as if it is your last, which is why I don't have any clean laundry, because, come on, who wants to wash clothes on the last day of their life?TerriRainerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16301763290901887933noreply@blogger.comBlogger124125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5207535421877539594.post-74243791103762070602019-05-23T04:41:00.000-05:002019-05-23T04:41:27.449-05:00Tessa's Graduation<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKNyWUnYGFTnm0WngQbdfpMj3eqNGlC_t-WAxth2yKMqJJoMsy6UJa6Bu88jyZrSGO6Cq_rJITvULJoGTDxKgbetlyimUhSkfQXBfN_bpAD0F0OOU5LTakwmssyfckSnItRy8CgcgiSmtA/s1600/Tessa+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="493" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKNyWUnYGFTnm0WngQbdfpMj3eqNGlC_t-WAxth2yKMqJJoMsy6UJa6Bu88jyZrSGO6Cq_rJITvULJoGTDxKgbetlyimUhSkfQXBfN_bpAD0F0OOU5LTakwmssyfckSnItRy8CgcgiSmtA/s320/Tessa+5.jpg" width="217" /></a><br />
Over eighteen years ago, I gave birth to the most beautiful
baby girl. She was perfect. I should have known that I was in for one heck of a
ride parenting her. We’ve had our ups and downs and she’s had her own personal
struggles. Through it all, her light has never wavered and has always shone
brightly.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrwlo1vPojkxMNNhdGHDuxp_21gyJfT76GRNEGAL6w5wmizXGzsCn_xPHTnq67KfDBivoOPDoTM2_vQjPAGRtQFpYSFCq0MKTRjNU4KKOSoenpBl6csC1LoWyvGUeI0tb3Dz8ik_paHwr5/s1600/Tessa+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrwlo1vPojkxMNNhdGHDuxp_21gyJfT76GRNEGAL6w5wmizXGzsCn_xPHTnq67KfDBivoOPDoTM2_vQjPAGRtQFpYSFCq0MKTRjNU4KKOSoenpBl6csC1LoWyvGUeI0tb3Dz8ik_paHwr5/s320/Tessa+1.jpg" width="212" /></a><br />
She is my own version of Scarlett O’Hara (I so should have
named her Scarlett…it would have been fitting). She’s always been extremely
head-strong. She always has to learn things HER way, even when you try and
protect her. I’m sure I didn’t show her enough of the love and affection she
required, but I’ve always tried to do my best.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS6yvCaii81WvxTosUFo3L-k_0g0n4DlJjlAcIZbJza8hZRBWEeEsVJLevumcZfqUqPtGyYAzVDOPGvmmLSIp6I3-Y5SNCblONplAKmKYHWan6klioLhyphenhyphenzoyvLz-WNjzsB2h1CkJ5uDbs7/s1600/Tessa+8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS6yvCaii81WvxTosUFo3L-k_0g0n4DlJjlAcIZbJza8hZRBWEeEsVJLevumcZfqUqPtGyYAzVDOPGvmmLSIp6I3-Y5SNCblONplAKmKYHWan6klioLhyphenhyphenzoyvLz-WNjzsB2h1CkJ5uDbs7/s320/Tessa+8.jpg" width="256" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
From an early age, I’ve watched her grow into one of the
smartest kids I’ve seen. She’s “people smart”. She has charisma and charm. I’ve
always told her that she could use “her powers” for good or evil. She just has
that “it” factor people talk about. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMpLVtk9diBncdS-IE2jMPjGVxox_bsrzjIIiEgWX1ElknpLmZf44snCUq46fgDkov-1jA2qRFPZBwwOb7H9Z1dvD-D6g8-kW8A2UdWoR6VgjRYOrTEagmBFde0066zuXhhh2w2Q6eLoBW/s1600/Tessa+9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="645" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMpLVtk9diBncdS-IE2jMPjGVxox_bsrzjIIiEgWX1ElknpLmZf44snCUq46fgDkov-1jA2qRFPZBwwOb7H9Z1dvD-D6g8-kW8A2UdWoR6VgjRYOrTEagmBFde0066zuXhhh2w2Q6eLoBW/s200/Tessa+9.jpg" width="134" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiItgBshxolUNaRsPfl0hCqeF57k0_QstiYioT0MbIVhKhY0Y5IFJ5tph_m-HIYXWLv4az1MvuOex0fYmvxUChEFo__dVSWi5GmRfl25laokJngxScpqIMaNSjmyX2aIC13cOKkaRLZfhui/s1600/Tessa+7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="811" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiItgBshxolUNaRsPfl0hCqeF57k0_QstiYioT0MbIVhKhY0Y5IFJ5tph_m-HIYXWLv4az1MvuOex0fYmvxUChEFo__dVSWi5GmRfl25laokJngxScpqIMaNSjmyX2aIC13cOKkaRLZfhui/s200/Tessa+7.jpg" width="168" /></a><br />
Never one to like school, not sure if it was the atmosphere,
the regimental structure or the actual work she had no real interest in, but she’s
always thrived in the arts. Whether she’s drawing, painting, acting or singing,
that’s when she shines her brightest.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3ZqQO8_XOVbLxvySQInrGDqEEzXoU3j5rHf1J0waCYS7d_p4VjQOc_PfINSbOtmVWntSfZw828_Y05x-89J_r_HNBjFfrxcyOL7BiPB7GRFl8bshOrwhWN8WQzEPNRYTfjzjGiZV9xRSr/s1600/Tessa+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="540" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3ZqQO8_XOVbLxvySQInrGDqEEzXoU3j5rHf1J0waCYS7d_p4VjQOc_PfINSbOtmVWntSfZw828_Y05x-89J_r_HNBjFfrxcyOL7BiPB7GRFl8bshOrwhWN8WQzEPNRYTfjzjGiZV9xRSr/s320/Tessa+4.jpg" width="180" /></a><br />
As a mother, I worry that I still haven’t prepared her for
adulthood. There are still so many things she doesn’t know or understand. I
think most parents have those fears. I also fear I have stifled her creativity.
I want her to reach for the stars. To do what she loves. To say the hell with
what other people may think. I want her star to shine as brightly as I know it
can. I want her to inspire others. I want her to be a good and decent human
being. But most of all I want her to be happy.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWIwjwfrzHN4YOlTyss8ZmYBZXcF_i6wAlPsrDOJ_mCpxunYys1EDu6nlUxQXNvDbEoApnWJJbQLsTP6GhaLX2v_ll1HzVwZtlWOf8SHtSiqmVIJfk51bAPP8UCvfVyzdEvDBSdGsPFLK0/s1600/Tessa+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWIwjwfrzHN4YOlTyss8ZmYBZXcF_i6wAlPsrDOJ_mCpxunYys1EDu6nlUxQXNvDbEoApnWJJbQLsTP6GhaLX2v_ll1HzVwZtlWOf8SHtSiqmVIJfk51bAPP8UCvfVyzdEvDBSdGsPFLK0/s320/Tessa+3.jpg" width="213" /></a><br />
I could list the hardships she’s overcome and the life lessons learned about the ugly side of human nature,
but I think the most important thing is that no matter what life has thrown at
her, she has kept going. She will be walking across the stage tomorrow night to
receive her high school diploma. Her friends and family will be there cheering
her on. I will be there bawling like a baby, but so very proud of her
accomplishments. This is the end of one journey, and the beginning of her next
journey.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5BxGU3BImQWf033bfBiM-DXLYnrmCLr1lA_MftmH0BaQss2E7Zr4sqPpuNO3sOhG1lw91rNZNsgxBWlIfTa29ePk8lF3ct1fEI1EN777ONLOsketlp5MQulFZ2AhYpA1ZDAOm23iKho7A/s1600/Tessa+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="671" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5BxGU3BImQWf033bfBiM-DXLYnrmCLr1lA_MftmH0BaQss2E7Zr4sqPpuNO3sOhG1lw91rNZNsgxBWlIfTa29ePk8lF3ct1fEI1EN777ONLOsketlp5MQulFZ2AhYpA1ZDAOm23iKho7A/s320/Tessa+2.jpg" width="223" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<br />
<br />
I can’t wait to see
her take on the world.</div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
We love you ALWAYS!<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbJ_CMT3Yz0U_EcxAc5z4iipwqbi56kxtaB5fJIWSqOUcDJGYkSUSzGHs4Pk9DhAnNiiIWqQKlopt6WNSUkEb6LRLO_8hbX31yWumfatxLpRJGMrhrElCFRPbSM_fzli025tVaBl7RpJTH/s1600/Tessa+11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbJ_CMT3Yz0U_EcxAc5z4iipwqbi56kxtaB5fJIWSqOUcDJGYkSUSzGHs4Pk9DhAnNiiIWqQKlopt6WNSUkEb6LRLO_8hbX31yWumfatxLpRJGMrhrElCFRPbSM_fzli025tVaBl7RpJTH/s320/Tessa+11.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />TerriRainerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16301763290901887933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5207535421877539594.post-34229614830948955602019-05-10T01:51:00.000-05:002019-05-10T01:51:56.131-05:00Be Forewarned...I'm Whiney!<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have been sitting with this laptop open for what feels
like hours. I started writing, got a page in and stopped. I opened up my
writing file and looked at so many ideas, either waiting for a beginning, or
started and abandoned. The only thing I seem to be able to focus on right now
is the pain and lack of any energy. Also how much I love steroids, knowing I
can’t take any. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Steroids (Prednisone) seem to be my new best friend. With
them, I can almost pretend to be normal. I’m still limited on my energy stores
(think of it like a video game, when that energy runs out, you are done). I can
at least walk from one room to the next without feeling like I may pass out
from the exertion. I’m on day two of what I refer to as “a bad day”.
Everything hurts, I have zero energy and I just want to cry (I usually don’t, I
was raised not to throw pity parties for myself). </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I would like to think that me writing about the only thing
that seems to be on my mind is at least knocking some of the cobwebs off of the
creative process. I want to write, but I’d prefer to be writing fiction. Doesn’t
seem like that’s happening though, so I’ll take what I can get. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m saving up my steroid usage for the next few weeks. Tessa
(my third child) will be graduating high school, so we have all of the
graduation festivities that I’ll need to find the energy for. I miss the days
of caffeinated drinks being all I needed for an extra boost of energy. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My two
youngest are all that live at home now. I know they say they understand when I
have my bad days, but I’m not really sure they do.I really don’t think anyone who hasn’t experienced this type
of debilitating chronic illness really understands. I know I didn’t. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I get lots
of advice though. Eat this, don’t eat that, take this vitamin or that
supplement. Exercise more, stand on your head, spin around whistling Dixie. I
know everyone always means well, but I really just want somebody to come clean
my house and leave me alone.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Okay, I think I’ve done quite enough whining, and to be
honest, just sitting here typing has worn me out (stupid, I know). I guess it’s
back to mind numbingly boring TV. I need a better hobby. Too bad it’s about the
only thing I can do, besides sleep, on bad days.</div>
<br />TerriRainerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16301763290901887933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5207535421877539594.post-17611582190419009482019-04-17T02:40:00.000-05:002019-04-17T02:40:29.591-05:00I'm Baaaack....Kinda.Let me preface this post with a "bear with me". I'm rusty to say the least. I find it hard to believe I haven't posted a single blog post in going on four years. I'm pretty sure I'm going to have to relearn blogging settings, typing and just articulating what I'd like to say in an understandable format.<br />
<br />
It's been four years since my last post. My world has changed so much. Some things remain the same. I still have the best husband in the world who I adore and love more than I ever thought possible. Especially now.<br />
<br />
My body has decided it doesn't like me very much. I guess I can start with my "known diagnosis", and backtrack to the beginning of this medical insanity, September of 2016.<br />
<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li><b>Rheumatoid Arthritis (RA)</b>. <i>RA is an autoimmune disorder, which means your body attacks itself. If you have RA, your body interprets the soft lining around your joints as a threat, similar to a virus or bacteria, and attacks it. RA is a systemic disease, which means it can affect your entire body — lungs, heart, eyes — and not just your joints.</i></li>
<li><b>Fibromyalgia. </b><i>A condition that causes pain all over the body (also referred to as widespread pain), sleep problems, fatigue, and often emotional and mental distress. People with fibromyalgia may be more sensitive to pain than people without fibromyalgia.</i></li>
<li><b>Peripheral Neuropathy</b>. <i>A result of damage to your peripheral nerves, often causes weakness, numbness and pain, usually in your hands and feet. It can also affect other areas of your body.</i></li>
<li><b>Sjogren's Syndrome.</b> <i>An autoimmune disease, your immune system attacks parts of your own body by mistake. In Sjogren's syndrome, it attacks the glands that make tears and saliva. This causes a dry mouth and dry eyes. ... It is sometimes linked to other diseases such as rheumatoid arthritis and lupus.</i></li>
</ul>
<i><br /></i><br />
After two and a half years of more tests than I'd like to count (or remember), two regular doctors, a rheumatologist, hematologist, neurologist and orthopedic surgeon (to treat injuries from a catastrophic fall down the stairs), I'm better in some aspects than when I originally had the rapid onset of symptoms, but far worse to the point of often not being able to simply walk from one room to the next without being able to breathe and having zero energy to walk the short distance back to my recliner or bed.<br />
<br />
Looking back, I was struggling for a few years before the rapid onset of the extreme pain that facilitated the start of the testing and specialists. My feet would hurt after short periods of walking or standing. I had a bit less energy than I once had. I blamed most of it on old age. It wasn't debilitating enough to cause anything other than annoyance. I have moved way past annoyance. Even now, I struggle to sit in the computer chair and type. I do have a laptop, which I guess I should learn to use, but I just prefer the PC. That being said, I do believe I'll rap up this post and try and revisit in the next few days with more of my whining. I'm actually hoping this process will be, at the very least, therapeutic, and will motivate me to start writing again (God knows I have the time).TerriRainerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16301763290901887933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5207535421877539594.post-17601358782714663032015-01-26T13:35:00.000-06:002015-01-26T13:47:18.764-06:00Using My Powers for Good....<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 22.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Does anybody
out there understand how hard it is to start writing again after taking a
break? I sure do. I don’t even have an excuse. After separating with a company
I ADORED working for in August, I decided to go back to writing full time.
After five months, my house is clean, carpets shampooed, closets cleaned out
and this is the FIRST time I have sat down to do any serious writing…and it’s
not even very serious, just me rambling on in my blog (mostly because I am bored
out of my mind!).<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgokhMzkG9zdg7iiaq_459ohC5uXmewXpibHUh8yf4DpYfNrw7zOVIHTQvAyAbGft2VXC85HYDs1LSpB64aylWG3eb0MJjjQaG52akeybfnbse9pSWW7bcNFaWgmERWg_uhxD1WYFqPWBKj/s1600/Scot+couple.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgokhMzkG9zdg7iiaq_459ohC5uXmewXpibHUh8yf4DpYfNrw7zOVIHTQvAyAbGft2VXC85HYDs1LSpB64aylWG3eb0MJjjQaG52akeybfnbse9pSWW7bcNFaWgmERWg_uhxD1WYFqPWBKj/s1600/Scot+couple.jpg" height="640" width="328" /></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 22pt; line-height: 115%;">Don’t get me
wrong, I have loved spending time with my family and I can never get enough
time with my husband (because he is the most awesome man on the planet). I just
don’t feel productive. I miss immersing myself in a job I love. Maybe this </span><span style="font-size: 29.3333339691162px; line-height: 33.7333335876465px;">isn't</span><span style="font-size: 22pt; line-height: 115%;"> the time to start on the fifth revision of my completed manuscript. Maybe I </span><span style="font-size: 29.3333339691162px; line-height: 33.7333335876465px;">shouldn't</span><span style="font-size: 22pt; line-height: 115%;"> start on my exciting memoirs just yet.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtzdBstpT9xxDQqYjXJ8FzCEPwhhD1LhQdfx5AqiEXNp-hF0Cc00-rNNp2zjfuKhYYrt7et5s2UZApgSDSxjd9CBxJudisnH8urR8cFSjE86yzffEv0z1l4KtTszUqhVqIIHbLHWC9s-gg/s1600/Gabaldon+anniversary.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtzdBstpT9xxDQqYjXJ8FzCEPwhhD1LhQdfx5AqiEXNp-hF0Cc00-rNNp2zjfuKhYYrt7et5s2UZApgSDSxjd9CBxJudisnH8urR8cFSjE86yzffEv0z1l4KtTszUqhVqIIHbLHWC9s-gg/s1600/Gabaldon+anniversary.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 29.3333339691162px; line-height: 33.7333335876465px;"></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 29.3333339691162px; line-height: 33.7333335876465px;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I've<span style="font-size: 22pt; line-height: 115%;"> certainly had time to do a lot of reading, probably a few dozen. Mostly books I </span><span style="font-size: 29.3333339691162px; line-height: 33.7333335876465px;">wouldn't</span><span style="font-size: 22pt; line-height: 115%;"> recommend, although I did get the latest Diana Gabaldon book in her
Outlander series, Written in My Own Hearts Blood, for my anniversary (from the fore-mentioned awesome husband) which I devoured, because she
is a brilliant writer.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 22pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 22pt; line-height: 115%;">I guess I
need to get back out there and find another job I can enjoy and feel like I’m
contributing my talents (because let’s face it, I have lots of talents…most of them
can even be used for good instead of evil). Perhaps I’ll keep blogging, just so
my writing ability </span><span style="font-size: 29.3333339691162px; line-height: 33.7333335876465px;">doesn't</span></span><span style="font-size: 22pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> get all rusty and stagnant. Maybe I’ll even find a job that can use my many talents (hopefully not my talent for cleaning,
shampooing carpets or organizing closets).</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
TerriRainerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16301763290901887933noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5207535421877539594.post-7289963961899113722013-08-24T00:44:00.001-05:002013-08-24T00:44:39.606-05:00Update on Living OFF the Internet <div class="MsoNormal">
I’m a “word girl”, but there just don’t seem to be the right
words to express my feelings. I've been
sitting here staring at a blank page trying to figure out just how to convey
all of my feelings. The words don’t want to come. Maybe it’s his absence? I
miss his solid presence. Knowing he’ll
always be there when I get home from work, or at the very least, shortly after.
Knowing that each and every night, I will lie down in the same bed with him,
and snuggle close and also knowing that I will wake to his kiss as he leaves
for work. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR1OfUVQ0hzkEUErSJWuHSnRI70HFRL9nMxA8zOKu8d0UJ2fOhYX6o08hPglTfX9hzretcppHqbVBwtMDRzmKorhpnM1Bc82JtMTAeCq3Xehm1WfqSz3-NUE8xzzZBfhSWr2DbY2xg76DG/s1600/5-26-13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR1OfUVQ0hzkEUErSJWuHSnRI70HFRL9nMxA8zOKu8d0UJ2fOhYX6o08hPglTfX9hzretcppHqbVBwtMDRzmKorhpnM1Bc82JtMTAeCq3Xehm1WfqSz3-NUE8xzzZBfhSWr2DbY2xg76DG/s640/5-26-13.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<i><b>(Yeah, he's gonna kill me when he sees I used this picture!)</b></i><br />
<i><b><br /></b></i>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Our time is spent laughing and talking, often over cooking
dinner, doing laundry or even the dishes. We talk about our day, about work,
about our kids, his and mine, and about our future. We talk at work at least a
dozen times a day. Maybe it’s still new? Maybe that’s part of it, but he
understands me. I am who I am and he doesn't mind. He’s unapologetic for who he
is. Neither of us is perfect, but the only thing I would change about him is
his current absence. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0qNEQxoKFm9OAv4pMv6IBlDZV4PJuoDsVpG5PcG5HCquoG1c9KOUHBJDqa_LqtfWnD4hN-Vcezdgk8H8E9TdRYYYFTFMfbv0MOaSTX0xX4tqcew87MBvL7NaXdbiMThrDzgjTZ-MSU4SR/s1600/4-28-12+q.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0qNEQxoKFm9OAv4pMv6IBlDZV4PJuoDsVpG5PcG5HCquoG1c9KOUHBJDqa_LqtfWnD4hN-Vcezdgk8H8E9TdRYYYFTFMfbv0MOaSTX0xX4tqcew87MBvL7NaXdbiMThrDzgjTZ-MSU4SR/s640/4-28-12+q.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The funny thing is, I sit here and read what I've written
and think, “This is just silly. Why should I feel the need to type this?” Well,
it’s what I do. I write. I've done it for ages now, and I’m a tad aggravated that
it’s this hard for me to do right now. Sure, I’m typing, but I’m just not
saying what I’d like to.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmPCFk1oznR5ULQ4XAhLf5NnbSwF2WmsYKgKIo7yNEMhlKNGNukOsr1IWls0CLLvEtbJEYCLNTmn1l-qwDcJL9ltApv1BQ1zq9eto7FoWH83DrIAaHWJOjrY7XFMVGFYFn_kuJmEWKjnFz/s1600/4-21-13+h.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmPCFk1oznR5ULQ4XAhLf5NnbSwF2WmsYKgKIo7yNEMhlKNGNukOsr1IWls0CLLvEtbJEYCLNTmn1l-qwDcJL9ltApv1BQ1zq9eto7FoWH83DrIAaHWJOjrY7XFMVGFYFn_kuJmEWKjnFz/s640/4-21-13+h.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have to stop myself from using a million different cliches.
But if I close my eyes, I can see him. His clear blue eyes. His full lips,
always ready with a smile. I can see his huge broad shoulders, and be thankful
that I haven’t actually had to lean on them often (but I’m glad they’re there
all the same). He’s such a big man, so strong, but amazingly gentle and not too
tough to shed a tear with me over a tragedy like the tornado that destroyed so
many of my childhood memories in May.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There is no easy way to explain my feelings. He’s home. He’s
my equal, my partner and sometimes my strength, but mostly, he makes me a
better person. Not so much in the less snarky department, more in the “I feel
like a grown-up and I’m okay with that” department. Sometimes it’s hard for me
not to worry about the future; that things will change. I know they will, but I
have to have faith that when they do, it will only be better. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBDH33gK-3vwWbcpvST2auveC8Op8adXQJigTig9nlkMmkgK4DBOTJPlQCEvjbHNH3MPjhUFQJmUDdxFsq8VEKnrZa0svA6nKYlmgzLeFIM7V2qIpEbAIv1nf23xnd7XhR6IJczs2572kL/s1600/7-4-13+a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBDH33gK-3vwWbcpvST2auveC8Op8adXQJigTig9nlkMmkgK4DBOTJPlQCEvjbHNH3MPjhUFQJmUDdxFsq8VEKnrZa0svA6nKYlmgzLeFIM7V2qIpEbAIv1nf23xnd7XhR6IJczs2572kL/s640/7-4-13+a.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I guess what they say is true. I was finally in a really
good place. I was happy with who I was and where I was in my life. And there he
was. He wasn't a knight in shining armor, there to rescue me, nor was he in
need of rescuing himself. We were both
pretty comfortable in our own skin and it just so happens, that we kinda liked
the skin the other wore. </div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGcp1B2k0fkv-PeTk_6uWPAYf_YLQO-ETOtfecUgCqCLQULGSY05BvWG-1KtVLzV4qGvBkfF279ajCa36wwJXdxMIjF4tcNqkD2yyQXB9fF499YWvbjvksLiqsKbKjxdzXGqOq7F5znFVS/s1600/Ring.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGcp1B2k0fkv-PeTk_6uWPAYf_YLQO-ETOtfecUgCqCLQULGSY05BvWG-1KtVLzV4qGvBkfF279ajCa36wwJXdxMIjF4tcNqkD2yyQXB9fF499YWvbjvksLiqsKbKjxdzXGqOq7F5znFVS/s640/Ring.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now here we are, our first time apart in almost 6 months. I
have a beautiful ring on my finger, symbolizing the promise of a future with an honest,
hard-working, sensitive, caring and extremely hot man (yeah, I went there, he’s
handsome in a not-douchey-way). </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG-Lz7_hyp5n3CKgrnpuIgaWnqDrfaRGYkdMkUHtv0Wy95WRvcSQj_WxcfQHLVxZzhjpZbu9RfkIHlOkNNS9E5whoHE6ov90l6MAONr8z2WVPKFE_oxh2acX4DkakX7rKz2VbWf7PjQ_xF/s1600/7-11-13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG-Lz7_hyp5n3CKgrnpuIgaWnqDrfaRGYkdMkUHtv0Wy95WRvcSQj_WxcfQHLVxZzhjpZbu9RfkIHlOkNNS9E5whoHE6ov90l6MAONr8z2WVPKFE_oxh2acX4DkakX7rKz2VbWf7PjQ_xF/s640/7-11-13.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We scrapped our plans for a big wedding when it
spun out of control (my fault), and plan on having a very small quiet ceremony
the end of the month. Then I get to apply for my first Passport, so I can be
ready for our cruise to South America and the Caribbean in April (I am so gonna
refrain from watching Titanic for a while). I think our next trip out of the
states will definitely be to Scotland after that. Life is good. No life is
amazing…but it would sure be a whole lot better if he wasn't on a ship somewhere
out in the Pacific Ocean right now. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7efPdhDbIoDNkFRVA8QVoQ_HuMhydK8qwQyt4Y6_yO2v1Negs9_9O754VefBd17YqtWlcbZr-qOLnyhrUZGaRJGBuatqg_FPyI7RLa18IOC779gpvSrS5ZGBGyWyVTg9wk08L90_vEs9g/s1600/4-27-13+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7efPdhDbIoDNkFRVA8QVoQ_HuMhydK8qwQyt4Y6_yO2v1Negs9_9O754VefBd17YqtWlcbZr-qOLnyhrUZGaRJGBuatqg_FPyI7RLa18IOC779gpvSrS5ZGBGyWyVTg9wk08L90_vEs9g/s640/4-27-13+2.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
TerriRainerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16301763290901887933noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5207535421877539594.post-21111943383731799322013-03-03T22:50:00.000-06:002013-03-03T22:50:24.426-06:00Pride, Insecurity and Trust <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
You would think that pride & insecurity wouldn't be a
trait shared by one person. Alas, it often is.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Insecurity can poison almost any relationship. Everyone is
insecure, but sometimes you have to learn to trust someone in order to conquer
that insecurity. That’s where pride rears its ugly head and can completely
obliterate that fragile trust, giving even more power to our insecurities.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Speaking on a personal level, I have serious trust issues.
It seems anytime I put my trust in someone, they betray that trust. It makes me
insecure in my own ability to judge a person. It also hurts. My pride kicks in
every so often and I get all filled with bravado and push away the people I
love the most.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I previously mentioned The Brain, The Heart & The
Libido <a href="http://terrirainer.blogspot.com/2013/02/ever-have-one-of-those-conversations.html">here</a>. I’m sure anyone can tell you The Libido cares not about pride,
insecurity or trust. That would definitely be left for The Heart
& The Brain to fight it out. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So here’s an example of <i>that</i> conversation:</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXezZ4C-cJIvb1Kafa91t5OF2DFGuYTgAmeKESeenDreor38723_M_N3lpm0zCDbvJ6puq0vaADuSZhYvx4-UAaC_AU80P66omLuLXJVsVkYkf6V_D44YwrBxZ290UWcnUv8shp7nce2F8/s1600/Heart+Brain.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXezZ4C-cJIvb1Kafa91t5OF2DFGuYTgAmeKESeenDreor38723_M_N3lpm0zCDbvJ6puq0vaADuSZhYvx4-UAaC_AU80P66omLuLXJVsVkYkf6V_D44YwrBxZ290UWcnUv8shp7nce2F8/s1600/Heart+Brain.JPG" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u>The Brain:</u></b> “I was lied to. Over and over. I trusted this
person. I was wrong. Why did I trust them? I shall never forgive them for doing
this to me. My pride will not allow it. How can I be so stupid? What makes
people think I will just keep forgiving each and every time?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u>The Heart:</u></b> “It’s because of love.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u>The Brain:</u></b> “Love is a poor excuse for being treated like a
welcome mat. Stop butting in and trying to control things Heart, you only cause
problems. Look at the past 5 years. You've wreaked havoc on our life with all
your silly feelings.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u>The Heart:</u></b> “It doesn't matter what you think. It only
matters what you feel. In the end, you are fighting a losing battle, because we
both know I am stronger than you are. It’s been your over-thinking everything
that has caused the problems.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And the fight continues…there is no right or wrong. In the
end, it really isn't The Brain or The Heart that has any control…it’s the
person who the fight is over. Unfortunately, they have the power to end this
battle. One way or another. It’s too bad their own internal battle with pride,
insecurities & trust make this a battle that can’t be won by anyone, unless
they learn to conquer their own pride & insecurities and take that leap and learn to trust.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
TerriRainerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16301763290901887933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5207535421877539594.post-27179296074725287262013-02-10T23:26:00.001-06:002013-02-10T23:28:52.574-06:00Brilliant Book Covers Lead to Odd Musings...<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ever have one of those conversations that you later look
back on and can’t decide if it was either brilliant on both sides, or just plain
weird? A while back, I had numerous talks with someone and it was exactly like
that. I saw the picture of a book cover that reminded me of it today. It’s just
brilliant, in my humble opinion. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“So, you've read 50 Shades of Grey, now its time to inject a
bit of colour and have the time of your life.... read the tongue in cheek
adventures of the hapless libido.”</i> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu3xRxqmtegqZCgI-P_TxBE8Tlsj1KG_s69ZIjqCpCOFbr_UYEI194qQYurMlWwzd2Q0Hw6b-SDVd3q6lmFGXeRBGb78TPSMA2QhsEUw6oCyfiMz53LYARj3GW6K0VbjJ7hKy7iyM7YiWD/s1600/Hapless+Lidido.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu3xRxqmtegqZCgI-P_TxBE8Tlsj1KG_s69ZIjqCpCOFbr_UYEI194qQYurMlWwzd2Q0Hw6b-SDVd3q6lmFGXeRBGb78TPSMA2QhsEUw6oCyfiMz53LYARj3GW6K0VbjJ7hKy7iyM7YiWD/s640/Hapless+Lidido.jpg" width="451" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.mdmcintyre.co.uk/">Check out the BRILLIANT Mark McIntyre</a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
and pick up a copy of his new book </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://positivelyhealthierlifestylecoaching.co.uk/html/bookstore_for_positivity_and_c.html">A Positively Healthier Lifestyle </a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You may wonder what kind of bizarre discussion I could have
been having after seeing that! Well, the truth is, it was a very odd third
person conversation. I referred to three separate entities as though they were
actual people. There was The Brain, The Heart and of course, The Libido. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now, as you can imagine, The Brain was the only reasonable opinion
in these conversations and was constantly at odds with <b>ANYTHING</b> The Heart had
to add. The Libido was pretty much willing to side with either of them, as long
as she thought it would somehow benefit her.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the end, The Brain won any and all discussions. The
Libido pouted but was more than willing to patiently await her next bath or
shower (don’t ask). The Heart, well, that poor girl; what can I say? If you’re
very quiet late at night, you can hear the slap and scrape of more bricks being
added to her already impenetrable wall. She got all worked up over nothing. The
really sad part is she almost won all those arguments with The Brain. I suppose
it’s a good thing she didn't A girl can only take so many beatings before she’s
not only broken, but ceases to exist. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So as long as there’s a tidy little wall to protect her,
there’s still hope that one day, Prince Charming will scale the walls and
rescue her from her solitary existence. Corny, huh?</div>
TerriRainerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16301763290901887933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5207535421877539594.post-70950213758169895412013-02-09T12:51:00.002-06:002013-02-09T12:51:43.428-06:00Warning: Wallowing to Follow...<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">Sometimes the weight of the
world seems to be pressing a bit too hard on my shoulders. When that happens, I
withdraw into myself. I become anti-social (far more so than normal) and I
retreat from everyone, often using music to wallow in sadness. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;">I admit to being co-</span><span style="font-size: 21px;">dependent</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> at times. It’s not a trait I like, but I’ll own it. When this melancholy mood
hits, I actually miss having someone to be co-</span><span style="font-size: 21px;">dependent</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> with (not enough to
actually do anything about being alone, just enough to darken my mood a tad bit
more).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 21px;">I've</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> been in one of those
moods lately. They are unhealthy and often self-destructive. I push away people
I </span><span style="font-size: 21px;">shouldn't</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> and long for unhealthy relationships </span><span style="font-size: 21px;">I've</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> ended. I watch stupid
sub-titled movies, don’t eat and can’t sleep.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16pt;">It seems I’m a tad </span><span style="font-size: 21px;">whiny</span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> as
well (sorry for stating the obvious). I think this particular lapse is caused
by multiple things. The first was my birthday. How I hate them. Next we have
the terrifying life change I’m currently in the middle of implementing. Quitting a
full-time job to go back to school is scary on so many levels. Then we have
Valentine’s Day….society’s way of celebrating couples (I am currently not one
half of a couple equation) and a commercialized holiday I usually dread (second
only to my birthday). Which brings me to the loss of my dearest friend; I can’t
seem to come to grips with that. Factor in my kids seem to be growing up and
needing me less and less and I realize I’m lonely. And sad.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt;">Oh yeah, I’m a big fat whiner
all right. I really don’t like myself when I get this way. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
TerriRainerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16301763290901887933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5207535421877539594.post-36611878680478984812013-02-02T18:49:00.001-06:002013-02-02T18:49:22.587-06:00Dead though you may be, forgotten NEVER...<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Over the years, friends come and go. You have those who you
can go ages without talking to, and a phone call wipes away the months or even
years, almost instantly. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There are people that come into our lives that we find an
immediate connection with. Sometimes those friendships “stick”, often, they don’t.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
On the rare occasion, we find a friend who we open ourselves
up to. It’s never an immediate thing. Often over years, but at some point, we
realize they are the only person in our life we can tell everything to. All of
our deep dark secrets; they won’t judge, because they've done the same. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Something happened today and I realized I had no one I was
willing to tell. It saddened me. I've always thought of myself as an open book.
I hide very little. I was very wrong about that. I have the outer me, that <i>is</i>
most definitely an open book, then I have the inner me. The one I've really
only ever showed one person. Now that person is forever gone. So I find
the inner me angry and mourning that loss, once again.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So what do I do? I write. Do I write about what I am still
unwilling to share with anyone? Of course not. I write to help me understand
and to grieve the loss of an irreplaceable person and friend. Dead though you
may be, forgotten NEVER...</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<center>
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="480" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/IWTypH5FbwY?rel=0" width="640"></iframe><center>
</center>
</center>
</div>
TerriRainerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16301763290901887933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5207535421877539594.post-41024635467934998892013-01-19T22:21:00.000-06:002013-01-19T22:21:13.873-06:00Ginger Work of Fiction...Optional Hot Guy Included<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Being a ginger and suffering the inane “Gingers have no
souls” jokes was only slightly annoying growing up. Now, it seemed the universe
had a warped sense of humor, or at the very least was sympathetic to our
plight. During the Time of Darkness, it was discovered only humans with red
hair pigments were inedible. Go figure? I never seemed to have that problem
with any of my old boyfriends, may they rest in peace (or pieces, depending).</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I had been “elected” from my district to attend the Summoning
Conference, but in reality, it was more like drawing the short straw. I guess
my lack of filter had ruffled a few more feathers than I realized. Sitting in
the back of the limo, my companions seemed a bit more nervous than I was. The
silence was thick with tension. The man to my right kept humming, a grating
tuneless sound that made me want to backhand him. The woman to my left kept
fidgeting with the bag in her lap. I sighed, closed my eyes and leaned my head
back, trying to breathe deep and relax. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The council would be awaiting our arrival. Many days of preparation
had been spent, not just feeding me information the district elders thought I
may need, but on my appearance. My long unruly hair was tightly bound and secured,
covered by a small hat with a netted veil. It irritatingly tickled the bridge
of my nose and I had to fight the constant urge not to scratch at it. I loved
the black pheasant shirt that rested just off my shoulders with the long
flowing skirt, though. The emerald steel-boned corset that I was forced to wear
over it, however, I was not a fan of. And the make-up; good lord, I doubt I’d
ever worn quite so much. I felt like a Thanksgiving turkey ready for the table,
which, under the circumstances, wasn't exactly the best analogy.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The car came to a sudden halt, and I lifted my head trying
to see out the blackened windows. The fidgeter next to me let out a small squeal
when the door was opened abruptly. She was frozen in place and no one else
seemed willing to say anything or move. I sighed and grabbed my own bag off the
floor, wasting no time climbing unceremoniously over her to exit the interior, meeting the dark night outside. I took a deep breath and
looked around. We were parked in front of an impressive Gothic structure
and I smirked. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Something amusing?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi50bXEb9WuG73etnHSgJjwP54m5paHmznIjM5ODgiR8Srec0k5IPkwD1MnPhtpUEodHOb08G8vlOCd2Ec2vTs51UqTfrbo71_UOrC90pElbWeR6azvRTETVrFHfxjCN6oyiwjKkqDf_HK7/s1600/blog+Joe-Manganiello.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi50bXEb9WuG73etnHSgJjwP54m5paHmznIjM5ODgiR8Srec0k5IPkwD1MnPhtpUEodHOb08G8vlOCd2Ec2vTs51UqTfrbo71_UOrC90pElbWeR6azvRTETVrFHfxjCN6oyiwjKkqDf_HK7/s640/blog+Joe-Manganiello.jpg" width="484" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I slowly turned my head at the sound of the baritone voice.
Aside from the fact that he was clearly dead, he was breathtakingly beautiful,
spoke with a lovely English accent and was big. Very big. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I cocked an eyebrow, which only made the veil shift and
tickle my nose again. I stuck out my lower lip, blowing at the offending shear material;
it fluttered slightly, before settling back in place, which made me even more
annoyed. Me and annoyed don’t usually end well.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA5AzuY-AfaCUGZ0bs6aRl_xsvo_biCjTeVM8olA9qmEpmgblzifXvTePIa-hWIlBu5GG4az3_Eu8PaXnT8QzEjAZZ04xKhdWCGnohwu6RGkVJ7Vsc5j7J6u3BWfs7bP9KcEEt4gJDIRzX/s1600/blog+black+hat.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA5AzuY-AfaCUGZ0bs6aRl_xsvo_biCjTeVM8olA9qmEpmgblzifXvTePIa-hWIlBu5GG4az3_Eu8PaXnT8QzEjAZZ04xKhdWCGnohwu6RGkVJ7Vsc5j7J6u3BWfs7bP9KcEEt4gJDIRzX/s640/blog+black+hat.JPG" width="492" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“A counsel of the undead, holding their Summoning Conference
in a Gothic cathedral? What could be more amusing?” I stated, tilting my head
and staring up at the man, my voice dripping with sarcasm. Which, in hindsight,
pretty much violated rule #1 the elders had given me, “Never look the undead in
the eye, and always, always answer their questions respectfully and demurely”.
Yeah, apparently that wasn't gonna happen. I was so screwed. </div>
TerriRainerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16301763290901887933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5207535421877539594.post-88440645493523606552013-01-13T17:51:00.001-06:002013-01-13T17:55:17.784-06:00Perception vs. Reality <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: large;">How we perceive other’s around us is often by their actions
(or in-actions). Some people have the ability to understand that everyone’s
perception is going to be different. Others are very short-sighted and if they
perceive something one way, there is very little, if any, deviation from that
original perception once made.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: large;">A good example is a friend of mine I grew up with. People
who didn't know her well, always perceived her as uppity, a tad on the stuck-up
side. In reality, she was very self-conscious and painfully shy. People
perceived her shyness as her being self-absorbed and/or conceited. They couldn't have been further from actual reality.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: large;">Our perception of ourselves is often far different than
those around us. I decided to test the concept of perception vs. reality (mine)
on my Facebook. So I asked this question:</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>“Okay, quick question and completely honest answer (SERIOUSLY...no
sugar coating). I'm writing a blog on perception vs. reality. I want to use the
answers to show how close or far from my own perception they are. How do you
perceive me?”</i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: magenta;">Here are the answers, followed by a response from me:</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“very honest and straight forward”</span> <i>(True)<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“A girl that speaks her mind and doesn't care about what
others think...u r a great person to people that matter a shit to ya...but to
those that don't they can kiss ur ass!!”</span> <i>(LOL,
true)<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“I think you're beautiful, sweet and very loving.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Very honest and one who says what you feel.”</span> <i>(I don’t take compliments well, I like them,
just never been very good at receiving them gracefully, but very true on the
second sentence!)<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“I perceive you as a easy going, quick thinker and as a long
time friend, an honest person with a fun sense of humor. Someone that takes
life's punches and tries to stay upbeat.”</span> <i>(First
sentence, absolutely, second sentence…I put on a pretty good show, but often
feel the exact opposite inside)<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Ok you're a bitch”</span> <i>(I
love this one, and true, I can be)<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“I would say you wear your heart on your sleeve but have a
tongue like a dagger...”</span> <i>(I don’t wear my
heart on my sleeve, I think I just did with him, I forgot to lock it away
momentarily…but then, he also saw that fabulous defensive mechanism I have a
habit of using to keep people away from said sleeve)<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“<span style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">A single mom
that likes men that have accents, and men that don't appreciate how beautiful
you are. You are more open with your sexual side then some are comfortable
with. I wish I was as bold and fearless of people's opinions of me, as I
believe you are.</span>”</span> <i>(I DO like my
accents! And in the past, I have always chosen to give undeserving men my
attention. But I am very open about sex and all that goes with it)<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">“Funny, not
afraid to speak wats on </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">ur</span></st1:place></st1:city></span><span style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> mind, seem to enjoy the shock factor like throwing stuff out
just to see wat kinda reaction you'll get.”</span> <i>(Ah,
finally one I can disagree with! I actually rarely think about the shock factor
when I say/do things as much as I think about what I find funny…but I have been
accused of this trait for ages, so I’m not surprised by it in the least)</i></span><i><o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“I would have to say that you seem to be a person who is
honest with their feelings. You are not easily offended. And...you like hot
guys with kilts on. Although I think you would do quite well just to have
someone who would accept you for who you are” </span><i>(LOL, yes, hot guys in kilts, no secret there! I do tend to be overly
honest with my feelings, which often makes people uncomfortable & I am
RARELY offended, if ever) <o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“<span style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">Flirtatious
& fun.</span>”</span> <i>(This usually isn't bad…)</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Funny and
uninhibited”</span> <i>(I like that someone thinks
I’m funny, because I always think I’m funny! And, yeah, my lack of filter seems
to be a running theme)</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“You’re a very
hyper fun loving woman that takes life as it comes.”</span> <i>(I was hyper as a kid…I think I used up all that excess energy back
then! But I do try and take each day as it comes…good or bad)<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“the perception
is if i am going by facebook alone since i haven't hung out with u in forever
is u would be a sex obsessed maniac....but of course reality im sure is much
different because besides your obsession with men with foreign accents and
kilts u r my same old long time friend, although kooky, has a wicked sense of
humor that i am sure not everyone can appreciate!!!!!”</span> <i>(“sex obsessed maniac” Well, that’s mostly because I haven’t had a “real”
boyfriend in almost 2 ½ years! I've been taking a bit of “me” time and trying
to figure who I am and what direction I want to take my life…kilts &
accents. Yep, it’s a weakness)<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“As strong
stubborn opinionated outspoken fiercely loyal until crossed then all bets are
off ~ a good parent who is proud of how far she has gotten alone, but secretly
despite the front lies insecurity & self doubt that is hidden by sarcasm
which is extremely advanced thanks to over-intelligence. It is sometimes hard
to tell if you genuinely like someone or are just interested in their story...”</span>
<i>(Ohhhhh, this particular person is very
pretty and a tad flighty, so I often make the mistake of forgetting just HOW
intelligent she really is (I've been making that mistake for 30+ years), as for
genuinely liking someone, if I dislike someone, they are usually quite aware of
it!)<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Confidence in
yourself, smart, honest with others. great friend, hard worker and very funny</span><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">!!”</span> (Hmmm, I am confident about most things,
but I do have my own share of insecurities that I suppose I try and hide with
humor…mostly self-depreciating) <o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“You like to
come across as a straight bitch so you don't have to let anyone close enough to
hurt you .”</span> <i>(Ouch. Doesn't the truth
often sting?)</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">“when we first
met i thought you were a jumped up loud mouth american who was full of self
importance (kinda like most americans really), in reality i find you to be a
warm caring person who always puts others first but dont take any shit (except
from me cos i know i can get away with it) and pretty intelligent too (unlike
most other americans)…</span> <span style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">may i just
add as a foot note<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">*always seems
to pick the puny guys so she can break them and then act like some kind of
she-ra or wonder woman”</span> <i>(But I AM She-Ra!
Okay, it’s only the Englishmen who seem to be fragile! I do perceive myself as
a tad loud and boisterous at times, and often regret it later. And yes, I do
tend to have certain people that can get away with more than I would ever
tolerate from others. They know who they are.)</i> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p></span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“I find you
smart and interesting and eloquent, someone who thinks about stuff and can talk
at length about a great many subjects. I love your sense of humour and
occasional lack of filter. Sometimes you can come across as lacking a little
empathy and a better talker than a listener. You did say no sugar coating
right? But overall I find you fascinating to talk to and someone I'm attracted
to even before I involve the lovely pics and the exotic accent. I suspect I may
be one of your more biased responders as I'd love to get you into bed one day
lol”</span> </span></span><i><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: large;">(Yeah, I just filled out my
paperwork for my passport. Pretty sure that speaks volumes about THIS
particular comment…Charming, honest, he wears a kilt and has a lovely Scottish
accent. I’m a goner here.)</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
TerriRainerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16301763290901887933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5207535421877539594.post-63803931250226035222013-01-11T00:03:00.000-06:002013-01-11T00:11:23.337-06:00Emotional Sadism & Emotional Masochism…of the Vanilla Variety<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Boy I put my foot in it this time! I mentioned my next topic
at the end of <a href="http://terrirainer.blogspot.com/2013/01/serendipity-vs-zemblanity.html">Serendipity vs Zemblanity</a>, not giving it much thought. So here I am, late at night
researching <b><i>emotional sadism</i></b> and *cough* *sputter* *cough* goodness
gracious! I've read some interesting things, most of what I read wasn't exactly
what I had in mind, but no matter, we shall tread forward and just step a tad
more carefully in the future when picking the next subject.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG4ffQfntCCFWsqRAsIMjTp8_dvsre71f_I1yc5NGzSvoGJwlqUS0fVXmA1BGW8T3Rz6uTZkP5EbmpfH_nGIf8EMaKSn75CJ2iWiSD79OwVZ6o2nPGBN055cyM5-Dp0kN-IAsbDKcbk7Qr/s1600/blog+sm+dominatrix.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG4ffQfntCCFWsqRAsIMjTp8_dvsre71f_I1yc5NGzSvoGJwlqUS0fVXmA1BGW8T3Rz6uTZkP5EbmpfH_nGIf8EMaKSn75CJ2iWiSD79OwVZ6o2nPGBN055cyM5-Dp0kN-IAsbDKcbk7Qr/s640/blog+sm+dominatrix.jpg" width="412" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Let’s start with <b><i>emotional sadism</i></b>, and for arguments sake,
let’s just keep this fairly “vanilla”, as in *a tad boring and little, if any,
sexual references (so sue me if I used suggestive pictures…I can, so I did). So
an <b>emotional sadist</b> takes great pleasure, or at least it makes them feel better
about themselves, to inflict emotional pain on others. I was actually surprised
that psychopath/sociopath websites were where I found <b><i>emotional sadism</i></b>
mentioned the most. Guess I never thought about it, but it does make sense.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNvGT-Rkct6UOD02w48Ggth4VXK3MG8ERv7FVhXEs6xwExeZ0zRw2fYmvxGhggKcj4R5C-HVkSdqsMZu69ebhyphenhyphenhb9G5O7cZN0_Cvy43GmOfz4EC8CX9Gz_RcdLw8Uqo24XsIJm8TZuObSg/s1600/Blog+sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNvGT-Rkct6UOD02w48Ggth4VXK3MG8ERv7FVhXEs6xwExeZ0zRw2fYmvxGhggKcj4R5C-HVkSdqsMZu69ebhyphenhyphenhb9G5O7cZN0_Cvy43GmOfz4EC8CX9Gz_RcdLw8Uqo24XsIJm8TZuObSg/s400/Blog+sm.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Now, <b><i>emotional masochism</i></b> is a tad less
scary, but no less dysfunctional. Okay, maybe a tad less. How many people do
you know who are just gloom and doom types? Seems they’re not happy unless they
are somehow martyring themselves. Their world is always angsty. I think a few
times I've been an <b>emotional masochist </b>by circumstance, but more times by
choice. I continued down paths that I knew the only outcome would be
emotional turmoil and pain. And I skipped happily down that road singing lots
of angsty songs to make it hurt even more. I’m good like that.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj1RNrZNDKqNAKqSemNRIW8qzMrTtk4HQaP9HIZZWEjWjDsfKCjRyX5TsubPy_PNCtI6Njuo32exvtmKSisizKKGPVlF4h5iK-c-9A31S0VRZ6NrB-fGf7TAKcG3uoUUC_bdkEgmMitLGW/s1600/blog+sm+hex.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj1RNrZNDKqNAKqSemNRIW8qzMrTtk4HQaP9HIZZWEjWjDsfKCjRyX5TsubPy_PNCtI6Njuo32exvtmKSisizKKGPVlF4h5iK-c-9A31S0VRZ6NrB-fGf7TAKcG3uoUUC_bdkEgmMitLGW/s400/blog+sm+hex.gif" width="400" /></span></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">So, can we choose to stop these behaviors? I think **<b><i>emotional
sadism</i></b> is one of those fairly nasty ones that require professional help
if you want to kick the habit. **<b><i>Emotional masochism</i></b>, on the other
hand, can go either way. I think in some instances, serious counseling may
help, in others, just recognizing the behavior is sometimes enough to curb or
even stop it. My Mom has a saying, “You have 5 minutes for your pity party and
then you need to move on”. Yeah, I've heard it more times than I can count…so I
am fully aware of my tendency toward <b><i>emotional masochism</i></b>, I also
recognize what (and who) causes it. These days, I prefer to avoid, rather than
indulge (<a href="http://terrirainer.blogspot.com/2013/01/categorizing-relationships.html">Categorizing Relationships</a>).</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">So where do you fall? <b>Emotional
Sadist</b> or <b>Emotional Masochist</b>?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">*It should be noted your vanilla is anything BUT boring, Mr.
S.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">**Not a licensed psychologist, that’s just my own personal opinion.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
TerriRainerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16301763290901887933noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5207535421877539594.post-63162947315617262962013-01-09T19:45:00.002-06:002013-01-09T19:45:48.750-06:00Serendipity vs. Zemblanity<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white;">In <a href="http://terrirainer.blogspot.com/2013/01/baby-steps-via-blogging.html">Baby Steps Via Blogging</a> I mentioned my next blog post might be about serendipity. I
thought it would be a relatively simple subject. It’s reminded me of a lesson I’d
forgotten about writing…when you think a subject will be cut and dried, it’s
most often no where near, especially when any form of research may be involved.
Let’s start with a brief definition of two words. They will be the Yin and Yang
of my post.</span> </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixg78njshPyl6tkuuutKzAROPBqbBOyznqzcDFsxcM4Wim_kciISLD0gNsBsxCIbgQaJLdpObelb2e3lojovW3MjSJjAbamYFIiErq00UmXSPvNJh6SgHOmze6U7g3a6kX6ipEZoJh5BKC/s1600/Blog+yin+yang.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixg78njshPyl6tkuuutKzAROPBqbBOyznqzcDFsxcM4Wim_kciISLD0gNsBsxCIbgQaJLdpObelb2e3lojovW3MjSJjAbamYFIiErq00UmXSPvNJh6SgHOmze6U7g3a6kX6ipEZoJh5BKC/s400/Blog+yin+yang.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Serendipity</i></b><span style="background-color: white;"> means a
"happy accident" or "pleasant surprise"; specifically, the
accident of finding something good or useful while not specifically searching
for it.</span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Z<span style="background-color: white;">emblanity</span></i></b><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;"> means making unhappy, unlucky and expected
discoveries occurring by design.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Wow. I was planning a very light-hearted post about
serendipity, and now all of a sudden, I have memories flooding back of a far
more zamblanitous nature. Let’s see where this takes us, shall we?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Serendipity is great. It’s like the universe bestows a small
gift, or series of gifts on you. Maybe you can think of it as your guardian angel,
spirit guide, little voice in your head, whatever, gives you a few nudges in
the right direction. For example, I hadn’t spoken to someone in well over a
year. I honestly hadn’t given it any thought either. One day, towards the end
of December, I was driving home and he popped into my head. I remember thinking
at the time how odd it was. Later that night, I was looking through my inbox on
Facebook at my archived mail. I was searching for a specific inbox and there he
was again (I wasn’t looking for his). I opened it up, and the last message I
had received from him was exactly one year ago to the day, whishing me a Happy
Hogmanay. I decided I would wish him a Happy Hogmanay and we’ve been talking again
ever since. I guess you could say we “rediscovered” each other; all through a
series of serendipitous events. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0fK8Mlri54W7Myet58oQJA9nZZw0Dw5awTevCztaNSTxS97f4Pk5N-iUjbykCG8HmQAbu1yW3VDCTaAi4tWBAtJ4T3Nt5kqd8qnrKvmjbOeCXPEkwpkUstDUgR0Lqv3UkcP1hisorzMsW/s1600/blog+kilt.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0fK8Mlri54W7Myet58oQJA9nZZw0Dw5awTevCztaNSTxS97f4Pk5N-iUjbykCG8HmQAbu1yW3VDCTaAi4tWBAtJ4T3Nt5kqd8qnrKvmjbOeCXPEkwpkUstDUgR0Lqv3UkcP1hisorzMsW/s640/blog+kilt.JPG" width="475" /></span></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">That brings us to zemblanity. The way I see it, if you’re
actually <i><b>looking</b></i> for something bad,
you’re very likely to find it. It’s much like praying to the Gods of Negativity
and boy do <b><i>they</i></b> like to answer
prayers! I could add several examples of this, but I won’t…mostly because the
examples are rather painful. Zemblanity is often unpleasant, for any parties
involved. It’s an ugly word that I’d rather not encounter often, but it is fun
to say, much like I think “Batista” is fun to say (yeah, I’m a weird word girl,
what can I say?).</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi6GXgeY6wJ7nTkFWsm_ipu37h3jVBrnllh3usGrlZCj7anBgAnKW5WdVA4Jt5I0sxLP1aCZqDaUCH2XIicRFRlP8eMxYTKbxO69Dbr0T6u2sS5n1-61AGBjBlsekbAPCeZw8-Z9T9u1HA/s1600/blog+fun+words.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="322" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi6GXgeY6wJ7nTkFWsm_ipu37h3jVBrnllh3usGrlZCj7anBgAnKW5WdVA4Jt5I0sxLP1aCZqDaUCH2XIicRFRlP8eMxYTKbxO69Dbr0T6u2sS5n1-61AGBjBlsekbAPCeZw8-Z9T9u1HA/s400/blog+fun+words.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><o:p> </o:p>So there you have it, Serendipity vs. Zemblanity. I would
ask which you would prefer, but I think that would be a rather obvious answer,
unless you’re just a complete emotional sadist…OHHHHHH, that sounds like a good
topic, doesn't it? Emotional sadism. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Until next time then…</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
TerriRainerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16301763290901887933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5207535421877539594.post-26961566338459601302013-01-08T23:18:00.001-06:002013-01-08T23:18:22.671-06:00Baby Steps via Blogging<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I almost didn't write tonight. It’s about <st1:time hour="23" minute="0">11:00 pm</st1:time> and I’m beat. I got off work, came
home and spent just under two hours on the phone (I may talk more about this in
a bit, I may not) and then I took my girls out to buy clothes. Those two need
to STOP growing. We stopped for dinner, came home and I watched a DVR’d show
while I ate and here it is, this late already. Where does the time go?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">As part of my goal to write seriously this year, I’m taking
baby steps, which means I’m working on my creative voice by blogging. I’m
pretty sure it’s not so much my creative voice that’s getting the work-out as
much as my actual voice, since what I've been writing is hardly fiction. But
like I said, baby steps.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">So, back to this phone call; how nice is it to be able to
talk to someone who you actually relate to on quite a few levels? To find out you've both read the same book series (and it wasn't what I’d call one of my “easy
read fluff “ series either, but George R.R. Martin) and be able to talk about
the characters and whether we thought the author could be having trouble with the
direction his characters should be going next...priceless. Can’t wait to see what other
random things we may have in common. I think I should do much more listening
than talking in the future though. I’m certain I can learn a lot. I will RARELY,
if ever, say that about someone. That’s a good thing. No, that’s a GREAT thing!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">That brings me to serendipity. Actually, I should say
serendipity was brought to me. I think that shall be my post tomorrow; all
about serendipity.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">*Sorry I have no pictures tonight...just too tired to be bothered.</span></div>
TerriRainerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16301763290901887933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5207535421877539594.post-7464774951741203102013-01-07T19:06:00.001-06:002013-01-07T19:09:18.908-06:00Natural Selection via Inbox<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
In an attempt to get back into the habit of writing, I have
a feeling some of my blog posts shall be a tad on the, well, useless side. I’m
certainly not going to try and change anyone’s life, if I can make you chuckle
or even think of something aside from the mundane worries of life, my job here
is done for the day. I’ll leave the life improvement and highly intellectual
posts to my friend <a href="http://www.mdmcintyre.co.uk/">Mark McIntyre</a>. Feel free to check out his blog here <a href="http://todayin2013.blogspot.com/">Today in 2013</a>. (That's him below...he likes cake)</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYQaYbA19Bk_tIqNOMmCgIxzhqiCMay1DPLISmcCwMTeDJRGENKzEPS6WMuKIMa2i3-mneuxhH1v9cOmmq6BOrAc7ZjV4Y3BFYfb4nEIgeDVTk87jddOMsxToUQAugW21dsNIc9H23_ZDS/s1600/Mark+arms.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYQaYbA19Bk_tIqNOMmCgIxzhqiCMay1DPLISmcCwMTeDJRGENKzEPS6WMuKIMa2i3-mneuxhH1v9cOmmq6BOrAc7ZjV4Y3BFYfb4nEIgeDVTk87jddOMsxToUQAugW21dsNIc9H23_ZDS/s400/Mark+arms.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Okay, if you’re still here reading useless fluff (and not busy perving Mark), today’s
topic is similar (in a way) to my post yesterday about categorizing people
(<a href="http://terrirainer.blogspot.com/2013/01/categorizing-relationships.html">Categorizing Relationships</a>). While cleaning out my inbox (does
anyone even communicate through emails anymore?), I realized that I archive all
of the messages but a few. It made me wonder about that. So here’s what I
realized.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i><b><span style="font-size: large;"> #1 If you haven’t talked to me in a day or two, </span></b></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i><b><span style="font-size: large;"> you get
archived.</span></b></i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkwLXOb70lYeOrVZuKvEJZ6GfYMmx8l_EUIhDh2Ym-gZjPTMEvjlCKd7_i_OONtm0AFlhX6vz5lfCPe592kBtWU21LSSzXs9q02y4Jt21l0q5mhqB_7XOQMlmm4s2GCu3VIloVu5gPv42Y/s1600/blog+a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkwLXOb70lYeOrVZuKvEJZ6GfYMmx8l_EUIhDh2Ym-gZjPTMEvjlCKd7_i_OONtm0AFlhX6vz5lfCPe592kBtWU21LSSzXs9q02y4Jt21l0q5mhqB_7XOQMlmm4s2GCu3VIloVu5gPv42Y/s400/blog+a.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i><b><span style="font-size: large;">#2 If I don’t really care one way or another about </span></b></i><i><b><span style="font-size: large;">talking to you, </span></b></i><i><b><span style="font-size: large;">you get archived</span></b></i><i><b><span style="font-size: large;"> . </span></b></i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFrOdlxO3IJ5PcNp1n4QRiCbGwrJNQDd9YNg3fPbsgXEpiMptfe9O0tcFgQncN91NRUtX2t24j0s_ov7cYbLb2_ovfqnXr_7ubxrpFCOjtUU7UoEjuKestRTKLsv_TKD3mOQAVWOM8dF90/s1600/blog+b.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFrOdlxO3IJ5PcNp1n4QRiCbGwrJNQDd9YNg3fPbsgXEpiMptfe9O0tcFgQncN91NRUtX2t24j0s_ov7cYbLb2_ovfqnXr_7ubxrpFCOjtUU7UoEjuKestRTKLsv_TKD3mOQAVWOM8dF90/s400/blog+b.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I was done, I only had two left in my inbox. I
was a tad surprised by who they were. But it did make me smile. Was it any
surprise it was a couple of wee Scotsman?</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9pO7VQgOUrjwzKmVZESpLj91JbFKjJyWse21FADG4Axg8whrcGvLgowQ0HYlV1hDaOrzT2lDFAFCoYRbXUf0L0gbh4Es659QnpRw0ax8uErsrwJYB14J8Djj-UM5NW-6QBGYNytXv5xY5/s1600/537816_438418182891444_1419823538_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="333" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9pO7VQgOUrjwzKmVZESpLj91JbFKjJyWse21FADG4Axg8whrcGvLgowQ0HYlV1hDaOrzT2lDFAFCoYRbXUf0L0gbh4Es659QnpRw0ax8uErsrwJYB14J8Djj-UM5NW-6QBGYNytXv5xY5/s400/537816_438418182891444_1419823538_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So how about you? Do you archive messages, delete them, or
just let them sit where they are?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
TerriRainerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16301763290901887933noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5207535421877539594.post-44892090079455925162013-01-06T15:43:00.000-06:002013-01-06T22:00:55.012-06:00Categorizing Relationships<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">After having an in-depth conversation with a friend today, I
thought our discussion would make an interesting blog post (well, interesting
to me, anyway). I admitted to categorizing my relationships with men. Here’s
the break down in my world:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="font-size: x-large;">Has potential</span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="font-size: x-large;">Friendzoned</span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="font-size: x-large;">Tolerated But Not Exiled (yet)</span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="font-size: x-large;">Exiled </span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><u><span style="font-size: x-large;">Has Potential:</span></u></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">This category is usually reserved for men whom I just met,
although most men I meet go straight to the <i>“Tolerated But Not Exiled (yet)”</i> category.
Starting out in this category is rather simple. Remaining in it is not.
Intelligence is a BIG factor. Carrying on a conversation (two-sided) seems to
be rare these days. I’ll admit to becoming bored far too easily. Keep me
involved in a conversation using wit and humor is a sure way to remain in this category
longer than most. If the only thing you can seem to discuss is sex, you won’t
last (ask my last serious boyfriend about THIS one…yes, I mean you Andrew).</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCJ6Vd-ejwwCga40jrkt5MoJpGEgtNju4OIZZ0QNqGJB7vGopBo9kr0fw7Av1VICkzyjhWYG8kPQZh7GFWniRS9Fb68H4HbaAxgJAIDBuJfelBLDwvlfypvq0_z8dY1w3zdYbheJaxn4i2/s1600/fz.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCJ6Vd-ejwwCga40jrkt5MoJpGEgtNju4OIZZ0QNqGJB7vGopBo9kr0fw7Av1VICkzyjhWYG8kPQZh7GFWniRS9Fb68H4HbaAxgJAIDBuJfelBLDwvlfypvq0_z8dY1w3zdYbheJaxn4i2/s400/fz.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><u><span style="font-size: x-large;">Friendzoned:</span></u></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Usually the only exit you can take from this is down. Either
<i>“Tolerated But Not Exiled (yet)”</i> or straight to <i>“Exiled “ </i>depending on what you
do to remove yourself from the <i>"Friendzone".</i> I love my guy friends. I get along
better with men than women most of the time. Now, I will admit to a few rare
gray areas in this category. The men in those gray areas are more than aware
they are exceptions. If a man in the <i>“Friendzone”</i> wonders if he falls into the
gray area, probably NOT. I can only think of about three men total that fall into
this area. Maybe four. Maybe.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGlsLmnvvCy3wSev8ueNSQEjqYtQdJiglqyWlnCJVT5FtEkZrHfKNJ_OkX9CfNW1cKBoE-y9agPRsGXvt9l30XMPDYFylUEvG7RGtzkNvBa5rXoZVAwzrizAqxVQX0S4vTiPv7FqdVv1vu/s1600/fzb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGlsLmnvvCy3wSev8ueNSQEjqYtQdJiglqyWlnCJVT5FtEkZrHfKNJ_OkX9CfNW1cKBoE-y9agPRsGXvt9l30XMPDYFylUEvG7RGtzkNvBa5rXoZVAwzrizAqxVQX0S4vTiPv7FqdVv1vu/s400/fzb.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><u><span style="font-size: x-large;">Tolerated But Not Exiled (yet):</span></u></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Some men are a tad thick in the skull. When I’m actually
super bitchy to you on a regular basis, odds are, I don’t really like you. I’m
not playing some flirtatious game. If I like you, you’ll know it. I’m rather
straight forward and honest. Don’t like games. Hate them in fact. Once in this category,
it’s usually only a matter of time before you end up <i>“Exiled”</i>. This works on
Facebook, but it’s a tad harder in real life (like when it comes to a job
setting), but trust me, it can be done.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDS4sF7U4CMcr-Pbeog64LK_P5dPBhBjqEMm_s4HMVAEW7rKR6nqdi5MXw2utfjXriVKMDfeabxMNAy97caPUZIre4-KGmcK2PRcS4vb2_ph_LsPTgqjtUaAYXbWi85fqY0svezsyvohve/s1600/fz4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDS4sF7U4CMcr-Pbeog64LK_P5dPBhBjqEMm_s4HMVAEW7rKR6nqdi5MXw2utfjXriVKMDfeabxMNAy97caPUZIre4-KGmcK2PRcS4vb2_ph_LsPTgqjtUaAYXbWi85fqY0svezsyvohve/s640/fz4.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p><b><i><u><span style="font-size: x-large;">Exiled:</span></u></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">At this point, you have no use to me. I could care less one
way or another. If we do speak, it’s very formal and rare (think ex-husbands).
Much like being <i>“Friendzoned”</i>, it’s rare to leave this category, although I do
have a few who have, but they fall into the gray area of <i>“Friendzoned”</i>, so not
good examples.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">So there you have it. I wonder how my categories would differ
from a man’s? If anyone cares to compare, be sure you comment or message me. If
you blog about it, let me know and I’ll link it here. I love seeing the way
other people think!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
TerriRainerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16301763290901887933noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5207535421877539594.post-1763101168421050692013-01-05T21:30:00.000-06:002013-01-05T21:45:55.428-06:00Don't Ask If You Don't Want To Know!<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Truth…some say it can set you free. But does it really? I’m
an overly honest person, it’s not that I don’t ever screw up, I do, I just tend
to own my screw ups. I also give my opinions freely, which some people don’t
always appreciate. Go figure.</span> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo8aqKJMWU3HXb9X6VW8SNMSMCWthILRUKdgtfhIQbZiJNLq9VGA3T_pcx-M8uHnDcdcpzrYO2rBXDcnOi9jfcUsfg3tQvwCNNXaA_KesZY7a_9ENI4r7IUK8fc0aCfyveo4eXQebq3Vfl/s1600/blogd.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo8aqKJMWU3HXb9X6VW8SNMSMCWthILRUKdgtfhIQbZiJNLq9VGA3T_pcx-M8uHnDcdcpzrYO2rBXDcnOi9jfcUsfg3tQvwCNNXaA_KesZY7a_9ENI4r7IUK8fc0aCfyveo4eXQebq3Vfl/s400/blogd.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">So, when asked a question, I will always give you an honest
answer. I figure if you can’t handle the truth, you </span><span style="font-size: large;">wouldn't</span><span style="font-size: large;"> ask. So why is it
that we ask certain questions that may have answers we don’t necessarily want
to hear? Curiosity? Insecurity? Stupidity?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Whatever the reason, if you ask it, suck it up and don’t
blame the person who answered the question honestly. Not their fault you’re an
idiot.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiULLzvYemYOvJM4S9d09FhWh0TwRc-mrxvbhgJzD1p30mocWA_ZbsCd00Eq3J5DJ76jFh5w7brjF6N8U4JDPUj-qkPst-dt2jnh-NUhvMsE2RtAzNWvj15Xs7rxlMbtW4jetDwaxIU4m4K/s1600/bloga.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiULLzvYemYOvJM4S9d09FhWh0TwRc-mrxvbhgJzD1p30mocWA_ZbsCd00Eq3J5DJ76jFh5w7brjF6N8U4JDPUj-qkPst-dt2jnh-NUhvMsE2RtAzNWvj15Xs7rxlMbtW4jetDwaxIU4m4K/s400/bloga.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-size: large;">Case in point, I asked someone a question, not really
expecting the answer I got. Twice. Both times it felt as though I had been
kicked in the chest by a Clydesdale. Both times I got answers I not only </span><span style="font-size: large;">didn't</span><span style="font-size: large;"> expect, I really regretted hearing.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I think in the past, I would have pouted and been all
butt-hurt. Now, I realize the fault was mine and mine alone. Honesty should
never be punished. I respect that fact. It doesn't change the pain that honesty
caused.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I think I've grown substantially (obviously I still have a
lot to learn) in the last few years. I can look back and clearly see why I've done things the way I did. I don’t have any regrets. Not a one. Everything
happened the way it was supposed to. Living life can often be a messy business.
But at least I’m living, not just existing any more. I spent too much of my
adult life doing just that.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiETi0J2KEyJwX6oQV5G8wnkQqY-NPh8K0oxSMmnRAPuOgcQRjaSIehg3RUALrzenkAxdau7ldiJBdNCc905LuAA1_i0anQXhOloErZajSw3ZhXthVWCKdevCpZynqdtYbZLVdJl56MVTdC/s1600/blogb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiETi0J2KEyJwX6oQV5G8wnkQqY-NPh8K0oxSMmnRAPuOgcQRjaSIehg3RUALrzenkAxdau7ldiJBdNCc905LuAA1_i0anQXhOloErZajSw3ZhXthVWCKdevCpZynqdtYbZLVdJl56MVTdC/s400/blogb.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">So you take the good with the bad. Feelings make you know
you’re alive; whether it’s love, hate, anger, hurt or forgiveness. I can also
say without any reservation, one person’s honesty has no bearing on how I may
or may not feel. I feel because I do…not because I’m influenced by anyone or
anything. Some days I wish it wasn't that way, but I've learned to accept and
even embrace the fact that I'm a very emotion-based creature. And I’m okay
with that. It’s better than being emotionally dead inside. That’s no way to
live.</span></div>
TerriRainerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16301763290901887933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5207535421877539594.post-86218276498490436182013-01-01T15:36:00.000-06:002013-01-01T15:36:17.468-06:002013 Goals<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>I know the start of the New Year
is the time to make all those resolutions that most people never keep. I don’t
think I've ever actually made any, mostly because I’m of the aforementioned
opinion…they’re made and not kept. This year, however, I’m going to do it, but
I shall, instead, refer to this as my list of “2013 Goals”. So here goes…</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><u>2013 Goals</u></b></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><u><br /></u></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-align: justify; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><i><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings; mso-fareast-font-family: Wingdings;">o<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->Finally get my passport. Mostly because I’m not
getting any younger and I really do want to travel to the <st1:country-region>UK</st1:country-region>
(<st1:country-region>Scotland</st1:country-region>, of
course)</i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeNdlHOEkMnpsW-8gRw5vyY-Bh69gvddOPZQz3S6C0l69k9zTFyxrK1jcsUMX7cp33zpH_SnpN_LspgmZoElLigCsmMGE8EzbtBfxj5yG7vlgDd5i7HT04xCZ7vP4XWomk2JcPe1e4-Z32/s1600/Culloden2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeNdlHOEkMnpsW-8gRw5vyY-Bh69gvddOPZQz3S6C0l69k9zTFyxrK1jcsUMX7cp33zpH_SnpN_LspgmZoElLigCsmMGE8EzbtBfxj5yG7vlgDd5i7HT04xCZ7vP4XWomk2JcPe1e4-Z32/s400/Culloden2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-align: justify; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><i><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings; mso-fareast-font-family: Wingdings;">o<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->Spend far less time on the computer and more
time on myself (I’m hinting at exercise…)</i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiha41AlxBH5uY8R9OqGc1GSauLCQaAiJrS7XHDDJF1ttaiRTQPBbRRZJ16SX8u6D_Acq62SP7QbAptdLWwA-jPV03APzbtx2cNWNln3KcXjrocju0sx_dmrzpqJqx_1Vfn9YV-dNMa4946/s1600/FB+blog.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiha41AlxBH5uY8R9OqGc1GSauLCQaAiJrS7XHDDJF1ttaiRTQPBbRRZJ16SX8u6D_Acq62SP7QbAptdLWwA-jPV03APzbtx2cNWNln3KcXjrocju0sx_dmrzpqJqx_1Vfn9YV-dNMa4946/s400/FB+blog.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-align: justify; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><i><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings; mso-fareast-font-family: Wingdings;">o<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Keep my house clean (if you know me, you know
how much I HATE housework, and, although it’s clean now, it wouldn't take much
to get lazy and it be a mess again)</i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbCK4BUJlEL1LuDpquRiSycQKyn-jjkovqUfyNo6rXlw_L_QxKk5UR7rjuBLi2HE8O4BiEF-Zd7OOp5qWS4phEoH-mqRvDNhh98nnzRVO5Tz9tPe_CuaurKz3dZzwpCaE8C_lSEUm8N8EO/s1600/FB+blog+housework.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbCK4BUJlEL1LuDpquRiSycQKyn-jjkovqUfyNo6rXlw_L_QxKk5UR7rjuBLi2HE8O4BiEF-Zd7OOp5qWS4phEoH-mqRvDNhh98nnzRVO5Tz9tPe_CuaurKz3dZzwpCaE8C_lSEUm8N8EO/s400/FB+blog+housework.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-align: justify; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><i><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings; mso-fareast-font-family: Wingdings;">o<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->Get accepted into a Respiratory Therapy program
(I've put off going back to school too long)</i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyINppTImX6yKdwghDY-F6KvDe9DqndLqKqNpHB7uqrbSaEMTknN2cZryGkhd01T_uQJoN1zSz34HrxGM8KiQodedi1ER9iDQqUD4H0soWqqZOzonTWySzLIuRsyRNuCy5nMI76xgPtmPM/s1600/FB+blog+giveup.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyINppTImX6yKdwghDY-F6KvDe9DqndLqKqNpHB7uqrbSaEMTknN2cZryGkhd01T_uQJoN1zSz34HrxGM8KiQodedi1ER9iDQqUD4H0soWqqZOzonTWySzLIuRsyRNuCy5nMI76xgPtmPM/s400/FB+blog+giveup.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-align: justify; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><i><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings; mso-fareast-font-family: Wingdings;">o<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Stop smoking in 2013 (I’m so not putting a date
on this…but I know I should, and I’m going to this year)</i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbGxHaDK1CxvVUZC3J1XHxZMN7WyRIoxQFL0LdCDMZ_j6tfZuY2HzkMVphiew9zdWvcx6FFbtsknYbHnWq6_kWzLjGVFDopSMGEm9lBf4dOLVx2BC77yaUn8zDkibZRs7C1uDz-JIV98WG/s1600/FB+how-to-stop-smoking.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="336" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbGxHaDK1CxvVUZC3J1XHxZMN7WyRIoxQFL0LdCDMZ_j6tfZuY2HzkMVphiew9zdWvcx6FFbtsknYbHnWq6_kWzLjGVFDopSMGEm9lBf4dOLVx2BC77yaUn8zDkibZRs7C1uDz-JIV98WG/s400/FB+how-to-stop-smoking.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-align: justify; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><i><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings; mso-fareast-font-family: Wingdings;">o<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>I must learn to live without certain people,
mostly because I have to understand that I can’t put so much importance on
certain relationships when the other person is incapable of doing the same. I’m
far better than that and it’s time I started acting like it (This one is gonna hurt)</i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBPV44WZOj81C7MMGAvSbhdgF-c71nzjwdujwJdKeAldro59XZ2tbAB5WAsZvtUUoN9HtvRVOVu2o910QC_ErCXqMXhpEa79uSHM41r4zsxrKUba03EGXNKQPGPd-fme0s4pK11IS450l4/s1600/FB+blog+falls.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="247" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBPV44WZOj81C7MMGAvSbhdgF-c71nzjwdujwJdKeAldro59XZ2tbAB5WAsZvtUUoN9HtvRVOVu2o910QC_ErCXqMXhpEa79uSHM41r4zsxrKUba03EGXNKQPGPd-fme0s4pK11IS450l4/s400/FB+blog+falls.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-align: justify; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><i><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings; mso-fareast-font-family: Wingdings;">o<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span>Start writing again…not just on my blog, but
seriously. I’d like to have a completed MS by the end of 2013, ready to submit
to agents (This is the scariest goal for me, not even sure why?)</i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1cqoe9pLteNYcvajUjkPCtsrzrLE7HnZOl-Bubid318Ws0IlaX4y-4aZS8hSy22JzvpsC0bu9X_0rTmIaZeuydfGlkJTOLZTSn1G2m83zqzUfVtABgMfzdHz2zMalwjfxRn1_ixSWf_R2/s1600/FB+blog+writing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1cqoe9pLteNYcvajUjkPCtsrzrLE7HnZOl-Bubid318Ws0IlaX4y-4aZS8hSy22JzvpsC0bu9X_0rTmIaZeuydfGlkJTOLZTSn1G2m83zqzUfVtABgMfzdHz2zMalwjfxRn1_ixSWf_R2/s400/FB+blog+writing.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>So there are my
goals. None seem too far out of reach, and hopefully actually writing them out
and putting them in my blog, I can make myself a tad bit more accountable! Let’s
see just how great 2013 turns out to be!!!</i></span></div>
TerriRainerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16301763290901887933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5207535421877539594.post-56263826459552859182012-12-20T22:20:00.001-06:002012-12-20T22:23:30.160-06:00Lack of Patience is Sometimes a Virtue<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>I sit at my keyboard smiling. I’m smiling for the silliest
reason. I’ve learned that I am a seriously emotion-based writer. When I’m sad,
I write, when I’m in love, I write, when I feel lonely, I write…you get the
picture. I’m smiling because I’m at a loss as to what to write. I’m not in
love, I’m not sad, I’m not angsty, I’m not pining for a man I can’t have, I’m
just, well, here. I find that amusing; a slight relief actually.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>I keep trying to date; I’m not very good at it. Something
about my lack of patience seems to keep my tolerance levels at an all-time low.
And I’m actually fine with that. It means I haven’t rushed into anything stupid
(can’t say that’s always been the case, I have a tendency to jump right in head
first). My head is clear, my heart is far from closed off, but I’m just kind of
existing in my own world without feeling the need to include a man in it right
now. </i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjbM2gy5197tCgOmEXVyexKlkDiX4bDBCueaEfscWwQQIQZ3wAqmtQOq-nFZkIsyflTZxGdSqXpVjtNs_E2n79okiGEXbIFZPjAvqlGVqTdJA8B6A_FyW3fknuVeky8zTA4yyNyAWo4K9m/s1600/Gerard+in+towel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjbM2gy5197tCgOmEXVyexKlkDiX4bDBCueaEfscWwQQIQZ3wAqmtQOq-nFZkIsyflTZxGdSqXpVjtNs_E2n79okiGEXbIFZPjAvqlGVqTdJA8B6A_FyW3fknuVeky8zTA4yyNyAWo4K9m/s400/Gerard+in+towel.jpg" width="400" /></a><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Oh, don’t get me wrong, I have a short list of men I’m
interested in. One is showing some serious potential…nothing like a man having
the face of an angelic little boy, but lots of tattoos and a self-professed
bad-boy…oh yeah, and the fact that he sounds <st1:stockticker>JUST</st1:stockticker>
like Gerard Butler hasn’t been lost on me. Yes, that means he’s Scottish
(insert growl here). There was a very pretty Englishman, who even wore a kilt,
but I got a tad tired of the blowing hot and cold, so he’s dropped further down
the list. And of course we have a few of the “normal” ones who make me laugh.
By “normal”, I mean they live near me. Good for a night out. Dinner and drinks
aren’t all bad. Then there’s the 32 year old body-builder who claims to “like
older women”…he’s good for the ego, but I’m afraid I don’t make a very
convincing Cougar, so he’s not really a viable option. Yeah, I like my life
right now (insert cheesy grin).</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>So, if the world ends tomorrow (not that I expect it to, I
have to work…sure sign that’s exactly what I’ll be doing), I can honestly say
that I have no regrets; I’ve lived my life and made my own choices. Some choices
weren’t always well thought out, but that’s just me and I wouldn’t change a
single thing. I have some of the best friends a girl could have, I love my
family and I’m open to whatever life has in store for me. I’m actually looking
forward to it. I feel some new experiences and adventure are in my future and I
can’t wait! I may even have to start making my own “vlog”, like Tessa has…because
lord knows I have no shame (see one of her videos below for an example of THAT).
Maybe I’ll even start writing seriously again. You never know…</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/-D610M4VAzA?rel=0" width="560"></iframe></i></span></div>
TerriRainerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16301763290901887933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5207535421877539594.post-59811116541691870922012-11-10T13:35:00.000-06:002012-11-10T18:47:23.098-06:00Mid-Life Crisis & Tattoo Therapy<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: red; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Well, since it appears that my mid-life crisis is still in
full swing (for quite a few years now), what better way to commemorate it than
with my first tattoo? That’s right. I got a tattoo at 42 years old. I only told
a few people I was getting one, and they all assumed it would have a Scottish
theme, perhaps something Celtic? Alas, no.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: red; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>I think many people have had a preconceived notion about me.
Just because I didn't have any tattoos never meant I disliked them. I just
never had a good enough reason to get one myself. I always said if I had a
reason, I’d get one.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: red; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>I've had a lot of time to think and reflect lately. In doing
so, I realized that I have spent the last five years trying to discover who I
was as a person, not a label (i.e. Mom, wife, girlfriend, etc). I've made some
serious judgment errors during this journey. It’s been an emotional roller
coaster for me, lots of “wrong turns”. </i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: red; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>The one constant for me was my best friend, my rock. He
helped me in more ways than I think he’ll ever be able to understand. Without
trying, he taught me so many things about myself. He taught me to be myself, to
love openly and honestly, he taught me many lessons in trust and even more
important, lessons in forgiveness. </i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd5NhQWOd5Ha0NCtqFvD2z8wD51NEV0tIhWeGMdw_RVaqbyOjMMv_d4dAUT-4yTAXHILDwCUV8DmEMo4iUkPVB1QjhoDH0KtgcCb7DW2dJYcjtm2F0hJHies4G0zfBfBG28PM8lDicvql3/s1600/friend.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="568" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd5NhQWOd5Ha0NCtqFvD2z8wD51NEV0tIhWeGMdw_RVaqbyOjMMv_d4dAUT-4yTAXHILDwCUV8DmEMo4iUkPVB1QjhoDH0KtgcCb7DW2dJYcjtm2F0hJHies4G0zfBfBG28PM8lDicvql3/s640/friend.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: red; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>I think he is the only man I've ever loved unconditionally. We’re
all human and have our share of baggage and faults, he is no different there.
The difference has always been his inability to hide what was in his soul, who
he was deep inside, from me. That gift, that insight into another person, has
helped me look at myself in a whole new light.</i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: red; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/nBk0LBIMZVg?rel=0" width="420"></iframe></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: red; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>My journey is not complete; no one’s journey is until the
day they take their last breath. But I know that without him being a big part
of my life these last five years, I wouldn't be the person I am becoming, and I
kinda like me right now. I’m stronger, more independent and have realized that
my happiness is only dependent on ME. No one else.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: red; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>I still have a lot to learn about myself, and tons of things
to work on, I’m so far from perfect it’s not even funny, but I know I’m on the
right track and I know I wouldn't be where I am without my Aussie Rock and the
many lessons I've learned from him. </i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: red; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: red;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>That being said, I decided to immortalize the last five years of my journey & the lessons I've learned with my first tattoo. </i></span><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">No matter where my journey leads me next, this will be a constant reminder of how much I've learned, grown and changed in this time of my life.</span></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqMSMmcewP-wWNRBOyJ8xkAEzVnh3BYzuPRZUY3wFPw2NDjMpWXE2lYVCm_M19Piz39rLirHj7Ng-59cyPKIrZBf1jhEb96yFyHA1gl2dD6mD4UOlbwqSDuJVy3o7ioa3sbna4toIgWfjT/s1600/TAT.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqMSMmcewP-wWNRBOyJ8xkAEzVnh3BYzuPRZUY3wFPw2NDjMpWXE2lYVCm_M19Piz39rLirHj7Ng-59cyPKIrZBf1jhEb96yFyHA1gl2dD6mD4UOlbwqSDuJVy3o7ioa3sbna4toIgWfjT/s640/TAT.jpg" width="640" /></a><o:p><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>*I should also add I decided to cover up a large part of a birthmark on my upper arm, so the red you see outside the tattoo is actually the birthmark, not a result of the tattoo. There's also a small heart at the bottom right. This was the day I got the tattoo, so it will get clearer over the next week I'm told (or I'll go back and have it done bigger & darker if it doesn't).</i></span></o:p></div>
<br />TerriRainerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16301763290901887933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5207535421877539594.post-63727311709233576862012-10-24T00:02:00.000-05:002012-10-24T00:02:22.924-05:00Lady Sinclair Fictional Scene WIP<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large;">Her body broken by the rocks below and swallowed by the
angry sea had a certain appeal. Her spirit was already broken, why not her
body, her soul? She could not count how often those thoughts had come to her; a
certain way to end her pain. And yet she embraced that pain, much like she was
the thick wool covering her shoulders that did nothing to warm her.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large;">She knew he was never coming. She felt it deep in her soul; the
ache that never quite went away. She stood on the hill overlooking the sea. The
waves were rough and white capped, roaring in, and crashing against the rocks
below. The wind whipped her loose hair around her head like an unruly coil of
snakes. She tightened the plaid around her shoulders, even while knowing nothing
could keep the cold outside from seeping through to her skin and meeting with
the cold that she felt in her core.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: large;">There were no tears left. She had shed them all. It made her
feel emptier knowing that. She held out hope for weeks that he would return to
her. The sympathetic stares of those in the household only gave her the
strength to never give up on Patrick. He had promised. He would keep his word. Those
weeks had turned into months. The months had now turned into a full year. She
wasn’t sure when it had happened, but a day came when she just knew. She felt
the sharp pain of that loss. It was as though she had been run through with an
unused and dull knife, tearing and rending her flesh. The pain made her nauseated.
She had been sick for days, confining herself to her room.</span></div>
TerriRainerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16301763290901887933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5207535421877539594.post-15404594067879482422012-10-14T23:11:00.003-05:002012-10-14T23:11:21.976-05:00Tragic Fictional Characters...Why Do They Never Learn?<span style="font-size: large;">The online gaming community is much like writing fiction, but in a group setting. You name your character in your fictional world, you develop that character, build a whole fictional world around it. All the while, other players are doing the same thing. You role play that character to help your progression in the game, much like a writer does in their own head. The major difference is the other players, who have developed their characters and those characters bleed over into your own fictional gamer world.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Anyone who has played online games with any deal of tenacity will understand what I'm saying. Those who haven't will just have to trust that I know of what I speak. Been there, done that and own several t-shirts. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Now the major problem with this scenario is where do your fictional characters end and the real you begin? You'll obviously have traits that you choose your character to possess, whether they are traits you wish you had, traits that are a small part of you, or just simply suppressed emotions or feelings you feel more comfortable giving to a character in a fictional and safe setting.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Every protagonist in anything I've written is a part of me, whether small or large, always a part. My first MS was no different. Maggie Sinclair was me. Well, me in eighteenth century Scotland. It was an easy choice when coming up with a gamer name to choose Lady Sinclair. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Lady Sinclair started out a very tragic figure. I had plotted out her story and it did not have a happy ending. In fact, her life was wrought with tragedy and lost love. Unfortunately, that wasn't so much commercially viable in the fabulous world of literary publishing, so I replotted, revised and found a way to give her a happy ending. But she was always destined to be tragic. She was one character that had a mind of her own and really never liked me trying to change her story.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">In my original MS, Maggie had the love of two men, and yet lost them both. She loved them in two very different ways, but she did love them both. She spent the latter half of her life waiting on the return of her soul mate, her true love. He never came. The man she had been destined to fall in love with, the one who could never be replaced by another, just never came back to her. She never knew what had happened to him. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">So that brings me back to how closely any fictional character follows your real life. Here is where you have control over your own story. Choosing to step away from the ever dramatic and oh so tragic Lady Sinclair is a no brainer.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Life is full of lessons, the really important ones are always the most painful. Life has no guarantees. If you wait on them, your life will simply pass you by. Live every day to the fullest. Love with an open and trusting heart. Cry when that trust is violated, but never, never let it effect your ability to love fully and honestly. Even a broken heart can heal with time. Lady Sinclair didn't understand that, but I do. </span>TerriRainerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16301763290901887933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5207535421877539594.post-2050587743122836172012-06-16T17:07:00.000-05:002012-06-16T17:07:31.822-05:00Everybody Lies?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNIh9cut7nPaljSpU1WtISB3SvA3fkUdcGj0zOfPjpmMW68rOPHvRM1S9cp5z7z1zQvTseQqFQpEUGC5eD8UmsTEgZsfrJkAVy491t2WbWKisXNPmpLM1CFHUGuiUkVIhAMv7w9q3l76sM/s1600/everybody-lies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNIh9cut7nPaljSpU1WtISB3SvA3fkUdcGj0zOfPjpmMW68rOPHvRM1S9cp5z7z1zQvTseQqFQpEUGC5eD8UmsTEgZsfrJkAVy491t2WbWKisXNPmpLM1CFHUGuiUkVIhAMv7w9q3l76sM/s400/everybody-lies.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">I'm not a minority when talking about being lied to. We've all been lied to, and we’ve all lied to someone at some point. Here is the definition of a </span><i><b><u><span style="font-size: x-large;">LIE</span></u></b><span style="font-size: large;">:</span></i></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><i><br />
</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>1.) false statement made with deliberate intent to deceive; an intentional untruth; a false hood.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>2.) something intended or serving to convey a false impression; imposture<o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>3.) an inaccurate or false statement.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>4.) the charge or accusation of lying<o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>5.) to speak falsely or utter untruth knowingly, as with intent to deceive.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>6.) to express what is false; convey a false impression.</i><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH7yfoQDEEGNKdeIaAUxC7nDZaTDXyJb0Ndg_R5nf3Ighva0QQ5O30n3zQYqlPtYWxHT5091X1MOePg4d68U4YMmP1jjcc8J49kK99IocBbnAikGzNNmmUrCmlovkmYPIE06C0zyKUghec/s1600/lies.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="323" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH7yfoQDEEGNKdeIaAUxC7nDZaTDXyJb0Ndg_R5nf3Ighva0QQ5O30n3zQYqlPtYWxHT5091X1MOePg4d68U4YMmP1jjcc8J49kK99IocBbnAikGzNNmmUrCmlovkmYPIE06C0zyKUghec/s400/lies.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><span style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">As I've gotten older (I won’t say wiser here, just older), I've tried very hard to always be honest, even when I've screwed up and/or done something awful. I’m old enough to own whatever mistakes I've made, and God knows, I've made my fair share and then some. This philosophy, however, doesn't seem to be shared by others. In case you’re not clear on the definition of truth (which some people apparently aren't), here’s the definition of </span><span style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><b><i><u>TRUTH</u></i></b></span><span style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>1.) the true or actual state of a matter<o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>2.) conformity with fact or reality<o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>3.) a verified or indisputable fact, proposition, principle, or the like<o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>4.) the state or character of being true.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>5.) actuality or actual existence.</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjigtvTbBn8g3sviD9Y7BKUqAVg4Ys3INfERzyeJZQL2gBjTWiPAUrw7puxiHgWm0Ybijh1U8NzmI75KsaV7KokIBSw3dPa3CQlQAS9Ujo9uRA6FO204vZuuq2can5BbjP3_31k5Y7bQrN6/s1600/Truth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjigtvTbBn8g3sviD9Y7BKUqAVg4Ys3INfERzyeJZQL2gBjTWiPAUrw7puxiHgWm0Ybijh1U8NzmI75KsaV7KokIBSw3dPa3CQlQAS9Ujo9uRA6FO204vZuuq2can5BbjP3_31k5Y7bQrN6/s400/Truth.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">How many times have you taken for granted the fact that someone you cared for would never lie to you? Yeah, we’ve all done it. But to be fair, no one should fault themselves for trusting another person. It’s in our nature, and it’s one of the truly good things about a person; their ability to trust. I would like to believe there is good in everyone, and I try really hard to see it (don’t laugh here, I mean it. I don’t always do the best job, but I do <st1:stockticker>TRY</st1:stockticker> at least). Having faith in someone is gifting them with your trust, and trust is most definitely a gift. The definition of </span><span style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><b><i><u>TRUST</u></i></b></span><span style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">:<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>1.)reliance on the integrity, strength, ability,surety, etc., of a person or thing;confidence.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>2.) confident expectation of something; hope.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>3.) a person on whom or thing on which one relies<o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>4.) the condition of one to whom something has been entrusted.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoJsawdi12FoO7nFihnlpMXsHX24khMKizAYSMJVlgP2SCj63bifOFTi2EC4Qw5sFXHCcWeWVMIdJ8zflRZyuou8dj4jempPJLW1-UBc225gyoqn56W5cSKM6P7fibpJarempQ3AM5NYV0/s1600/trust.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoJsawdi12FoO7nFihnlpMXsHX24khMKizAYSMJVlgP2SCj63bifOFTi2EC4Qw5sFXHCcWeWVMIdJ8zflRZyuou8dj4jempPJLW1-UBc225gyoqn56W5cSKM6P7fibpJarempQ3AM5NYV0/s400/trust.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">Understanding why you have been lied to or deceived is part of the healing process, a way for us to forgive, so that hurt doesn’t fester within us and grow as ugly as the lies that planted the suspicion, anger, distrust and hurt in the first place.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0g_ShKfscQcs81Rr0TpJLSvFYeXEqa-fnWiStkfcyPB-Uz42fyg7geLsUUEAe07pyhI6bNZAHKdjhlZ6SKm3hH7UzmIjTb-X65xseHH1X-c4NDrbN3-XJz44BZsK09MShLUykMP-JlMYo/s1600/Why+people+lie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0g_ShKfscQcs81Rr0TpJLSvFYeXEqa-fnWiStkfcyPB-Uz42fyg7geLsUUEAe07pyhI6bNZAHKdjhlZ6SKm3hH7UzmIjTb-X65xseHH1X-c4NDrbN3-XJz44BZsK09MShLUykMP-JlMYo/s400/Why+people+lie.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">Most people lie for a reason. They lie to protect themselves, to protect someone they care about, out of insecurities about themselves, out of fear of rejection by others. They lie to gain something. There are so many reasons why people lie, but how do you get over someone you trust lying to you when you have no idea what that reason is, because the lies are so varied, abundant and most of them seem to have no rhyme or reason for ever being told in the first place?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<center><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/w7PLkSj8dVw?rel=0" width="480"></iframe><center><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">You have to realize that person truly has a problem. Here something I found that explains a </span><b style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><i><u>COMPULSIVE LIAR</u></i></b><span style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">:</span></center></center></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>Usually thought to develop in early childhood, due to being placed in an environment where lying was necessary. For the most part, compulsive liars are not overly manipulative and cunning (unlike sociopaths), rather they simply lie out of habit - an automatic response which is hard to break and one that takes its toll on a relationship.</i><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQFx_Nn5VCznXe60hkE5ZXSrblB6jw6-NB4fgH-a2noZi9oxVl2kSURvo-VaKvUOXCRwlvVmiC7jFoGDlq8mWoa-2mWJVAcBrn7ottcB8gOLqAchNkddTyu_Pm1cX2ofk4V2fgT6B7DgBz/s1600/liar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQFx_Nn5VCznXe60hkE5ZXSrblB6jw6-NB4fgH-a2noZi9oxVl2kSURvo-VaKvUOXCRwlvVmiC7jFoGDlq8mWoa-2mWJVAcBrn7ottcB8gOLqAchNkddTyu_Pm1cX2ofk4V2fgT6B7DgBz/s400/liar.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i><br />
</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;">What a sad life a compulsive liar must lead. So sad, in fact, that all I can do at this point is feel sorry, not only for them, but for the people who remain in their life, both family and friends. Once people know someone is a liar, they never look at them the same. How awful to live your life wondering each time someone looks at you, if they doubt everything you say. I couldn’t imagine how painful and lonely the life of a compulsive liar must be. How could anyone hold a grudge against such a person? I know I can’t. All I can feel is compassion, sympathy and the hope that some day they get the psychiatric help they need to be able to lead a healthy, normal and productive life.</span> </div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXB4ATrs7H7a3om9f3b76FSB6RifEMAqHM0bbzDx_8jafFOKSnnldx8izZolKX7Is4EJq4dFQ7T-yP07ADloGxEG1Js5DQdxafVvIHDGHjAEP_c1QZMB-BxpGTVJ3Kj4GgVEW9LgWdwy51/s1600/It+goes+on.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXB4ATrs7H7a3om9f3b76FSB6RifEMAqHM0bbzDx_8jafFOKSnnldx8izZolKX7Is4EJq4dFQ7T-yP07ADloGxEG1Js5DQdxafVvIHDGHjAEP_c1QZMB-BxpGTVJ3Kj4GgVEW9LgWdwy51/s400/It+goes+on.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>TerriRainerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16301763290901887933noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5207535421877539594.post-58592350491285248512012-06-06T18:43:00.000-05:002012-06-06T18:43:17.913-05:00Leaving the Darkness Behind...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLSh9TOQSgHn1JCSW8lVGqWc1CrHncf_LXNO7j8CS6RPsMt9K_Do-BcaqP6mYcUg-rsG2ICxhTxgFC9cBHGupn2al80Y-GJts2cQ7CXFn-5hRuM0fVsr6ILX0V0TrFF0E7DaQUqRZFyw6f/s1600/6-20-11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLSh9TOQSgHn1JCSW8lVGqWc1CrHncf_LXNO7j8CS6RPsMt9K_Do-BcaqP6mYcUg-rsG2ICxhTxgFC9cBHGupn2al80Y-GJts2cQ7CXFn-5hRuM0fVsr6ILX0V0TrFF0E7DaQUqRZFyw6f/s320/6-20-11.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: large;">Seeing the light at the end of the tunnel doesn't mean you no longer have feelings for someone. It means your feelings have changed and you can live with that, your happiness is no longer tied in any way, shape or form to that person and it means letting go doesn’t hurt anymore.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLbq_58H66pNP-Ljfx0xEIQSn_HvmK443x3dYhmnka4wAMDzWhedAx2zkXWR2qD0vhcAm25XeqawV9FfgE8gThSkWvAq1mC7wg9iA6aT0QYOBB9qIC2eW2rR-XPj01XJHi1Pb7l3DX0z6v/s1600/8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="color: #cc0000;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLbq_58H66pNP-Ljfx0xEIQSn_HvmK443x3dYhmnka4wAMDzWhedAx2zkXWR2qD0vhcAm25XeqawV9FfgE8gThSkWvAq1mC7wg9iA6aT0QYOBB9qIC2eW2rR-XPj01XJHi1Pb7l3DX0z6v/s320/8.jpg" width="280" /></span></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: large;">Funny thing about that light…when you’re happy, you’re really happy. It’s an honest feeling. It’s not a fleeting moment. It’s <st1:stockticker>REAL</st1:stockticker>. I can’t remember the last time I was happy with me. Just me. I finally am. I feel good about who I am, who I have become. It’s no longer dependant on anyone else, or their opinion of me. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: large;">It doesn’t mean I don’t still love. I do. Openly and honestly. I always have, I would guess I always will. The big difference is I don’t NEED to be loved back to be happy. I don’t require sacrifice from anyone, nor am I willing to sacrifice myself in the ways I have in the past. I feel good about this. Really good.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: large;">I love my life just the way it is. I answer to no one (well, unless I’m at work, then my two bosses can tell me what to do…they DO sign my check after all). But in my personal life, I have finally realized something. I always talk about the best time in my life being when I was 21-23 years old.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh-xCH5Vvo3reHOw1gqkAXMqOb13qSD7HvnSpJf6IZGoHV0vhyVlenChNJvQZg5Rir8i5k27DEj6ccHRNLj_yV_nLzCTH5lDUt6L-psUCtZmvDYaFVoXQUHTvGEcp75q5wICkehyDG_oyT/s1600/20.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #cc0000;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh-xCH5Vvo3reHOw1gqkAXMqOb13qSD7HvnSpJf6IZGoHV0vhyVlenChNJvQZg5Rir8i5k27DEj6ccHRNLj_yV_nLzCTH5lDUt6L-psUCtZmvDYaFVoXQUHTvGEcp75q5wICkehyDG_oyT/s320/20.JPG" width="202" /></span></a><span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: large;">Thinking about it now, it was the only time in my adult life that I wasn’t with a man (okay, so I was with a few men, but let’s not go there). What I mean is I was my own person. I was not in a committed relationship. No one told me what I could or couldn’t do. I was married at 23 years old, and have spent the last 19 years trying to make men happy. I thought my happiness depended on that. Not so much.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYV1m8u0o1L15YxmSwGSF39bi6D_oz02It8kqcQVBNDsMLdLa-e0tv0ybNvt5kvLNpb75c6ue8nXRg_2iNo06faKsR3NZjaFGOT8sqaNEN3ItfG7R5evMiNlhopTjrqs_p1qj_UJ1lhoZW/s1600/GerardButler48.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="color: #cc0000;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYV1m8u0o1L15YxmSwGSF39bi6D_oz02It8kqcQVBNDsMLdLa-e0tv0ybNvt5kvLNpb75c6ue8nXRg_2iNo06faKsR3NZjaFGOT8sqaNEN3ItfG7R5evMiNlhopTjrqs_p1qj_UJ1lhoZW/s1600/GerardButler48.jpg" /></span></a><span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: large;">So for the record, I have no plans to change my personal life any time soon. Would I like to have a man in my life? If his name is Gerard Butler…you betcha (okay, maybe if he’s not, but just Scottish)! I no longer need to have a man “love” me for me to feel validated or happy. In fact, it’s pretty much had the opposite effect for years now. Now I live for me. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: large;">Walking in the light is a beautiful thing!</span><span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: large;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh-xCH5Vvo3reHOw1gqkAXMqOb13qSD7HvnSpJf6IZGoHV0vhyVlenChNJvQZg5Rir8i5k27DEj6ccHRNLj_yV_nLzCTH5lDUt6L-psUCtZmvDYaFVoXQUHTvGEcp75q5wICkehyDG_oyT/s1600/20.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: large;"></span></a></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: large;">Now I’m going to finish cleaning my room…because I WANT to, not because I have a man telling me too. </span></div>TerriRainerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16301763290901887933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5207535421877539594.post-25461924374565871562012-05-19T23:27:00.000-05:002012-05-19T23:27:39.634-05:00WIP Death Scene...Nothing Like Fictional Therapy!<div class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_G2QYgivOcWUA0bmpZLR_zNUDWjTzvPEfY26o6d8XDBRdp9C4qVZcow4ZOeDjw8UvOKlEvs7lHFEDkm_EHdpUmLFRvN6D6sSHNhV34h2bino60NahTE7eWfBLf8PnwDCegI32-Qf97DDn/s1600/DamonDead.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: blue;"><b><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_G2QYgivOcWUA0bmpZLR_zNUDWjTzvPEfY26o6d8XDBRdp9C4qVZcow4ZOeDjw8UvOKlEvs7lHFEDkm_EHdpUmLFRvN6D6sSHNhV34h2bino60NahTE7eWfBLf8PnwDCegI32-Qf97DDn/s320/DamonDead.png" width="320" /></b></span></a><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><i><b>The blood had all but drained from his weak body. She knew he was dying, truly dying. She cradled his head on her lap, brushing dark hair away from his face; he was even beautiful in death. Her heart was broken; shattered into a million pieces. He had saved her life, but the cost had been great. His eyes fluttered open.</b></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmNyYHPhclQcnQ4KqaSaHgmXCMbzTUe43oVZYm9SX2ON-wBlPjKhqkAjcQ68j3SL978gH2QqlzKqCbhHKVvStZJAwo2YCzP9_429ogYyI0wYwRB6wgcDUg92k1cNNqg002Ec-xNAm0j8_l/s1600/sl3cd3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmNyYHPhclQcnQ4KqaSaHgmXCMbzTUe43oVZYm9SX2ON-wBlPjKhqkAjcQ68j3SL978gH2QqlzKqCbhHKVvStZJAwo2YCzP9_429ogYyI0wYwRB6wgcDUg92k1cNNqg002Ec-xNAm0j8_l/s320/sl3cd3.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><i><b>“Forgive me” he whispered. She could not. She would not lie to him as he had to her. </b></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><i><b>“You know I’ll love you for a thousand years.” She whispered back, and kissed his forehead. </b></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><i><b>It was true. She would never stop loving him, long after he was but a memory; he would still be in her heart, all those broken shards that ripped at her insides, making it hard for her to breathe. But she would never forgive him. She never could. </b></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglX5vZiFzDHwa9S-z4YQG2XJ6IO3cqBn5K-lMDcJ7XzDF328oj5GlNHKGQOkcC18RMcD4dqkecjlPiTAtuNRgovUlbQRGpvyzcNSXy_G4fsI71un_5BzWWP9AP7BELVcUhzeEMMqenH2jr/s1600/tch+13.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglX5vZiFzDHwa9S-z4YQG2XJ6IO3cqBn5K-lMDcJ7XzDF328oj5GlNHKGQOkcC18RMcD4dqkecjlPiTAtuNRgovUlbQRGpvyzcNSXy_G4fsI71un_5BzWWP9AP7BELVcUhzeEMMqenH2jr/s320/tch+13.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><i><b>Finding it too hard to say more, she remembered a time when he had been her salvation; a time when he had been her knight in shining armor. Not the tarnished shell of a man he had become, but the one who had held her heart, her happiness, in the palm of his hand. She had trusted him with everything. In the end, it was her life he had saved, not her heart.</b></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><i><b>He reached up with the last bit of strength left in his body and gently stroked her cheek before his hand dropped back to his side as she watched helpless, the rest of the blood draining from the grievous wounds. Sobs wracked her body. A sudden panic overcame her. How could she live without him? </b></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggIYLJ1WSJpVfewWUnUSFsh4gXqkGdgS7-pTJAia8wvnZWaBkGp8x7zMSXwrcdgutQnxF-n7RQpN2frxR5hO7y3UxcMMwHZYupOZAZCVg4P0WFP4ZOekfmKtmBxVW-FWQQERMTQEeB2t4a/s1600/crying.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggIYLJ1WSJpVfewWUnUSFsh4gXqkGdgS7-pTJAia8wvnZWaBkGp8x7zMSXwrcdgutQnxF-n7RQpN2frxR5hO7y3UxcMMwHZYupOZAZCVg4P0WFP4ZOekfmKtmBxVW-FWQQERMTQEeB2t4a/s320/crying.JPG" width="261" /></a><o:p><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><i><b> </b></i></span></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><i><b>“Please…don’t…leave…me…” She cried.</b></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><i><b>“No no no no no no…”</b></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><i><b>Clutching his head to her breast and rocking back and forth, she raised her face to the stars. Tears ran in rivers down her cheeks. She let out a wail that was torn from her soul.</b></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><i><b>She was unsure how much time had gone by before any coherent thought returned, breaking through the fog of her loss, but when it did, she knew it was not over. She would now have to hunt down and kill the other half of her heart. She had no choice. In the end, she would forgive neither man, but would love them both, even in death.</b></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggIYLJ1WSJpVfewWUnUSFsh4gXqkGdgS7-pTJAia8wvnZWaBkGp8x7zMSXwrcdgutQnxF-n7RQpN2frxR5hO7y3UxcMMwHZYupOZAZCVg4P0WFP4ZOekfmKtmBxVW-FWQQERMTQEeB2t4a/s1600/crying.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><i><b></b></i></span></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmNyYHPhclQcnQ4KqaSaHgmXCMbzTUe43oVZYm9SX2ON-wBlPjKhqkAjcQ68j3SL978gH2QqlzKqCbhHKVvStZJAwo2YCzP9_429ogYyI0wYwRB6wgcDUg92k1cNNqg002Ec-xNAm0j8_l/s1600/sl3cd3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: blue;"><b></b></span></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglX5vZiFzDHwa9S-z4YQG2XJ6IO3cqBn5K-lMDcJ7XzDF328oj5GlNHKGQOkcC18RMcD4dqkecjlPiTAtuNRgovUlbQRGpvyzcNSXy_G4fsI71un_5BzWWP9AP7BELVcUhzeEMMqenH2jr/s1600/tch+13.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: blue;"><b></b></span></a></div><span style="color: blue;"><b><br />
</b></span><br />
<div><span style="color: blue;"><b><br />
</b></span></div><div><br />
</div>TerriRainerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16301763290901887933noreply@blogger.com0