Dealing With Depression

September 2009 to March 2010-18

The heaviness is daunting; your body weighs more than it should, even if you’re the size of a twig. The effort to accomplish anything in your day is like wading through chest deep water to get it done. You pretend to be fine but your emotions range from sad to numb. Hope is far from your heart, you think it is a magical feeling at the end of someone else’s rainbow. You wonder why you can’t rise up out of this dark funk. There must be something seriously wrong with you. Some fatal flaw, and if anyone sees it— they will walk away, and you will be even more alone than you already feel.

I’ve been there, on the edge of actually living, in the deep depths of personal anguish. It’s not something easily shared. It can be hidden from everyone who loves you. It’s both frightening and amazing that even as you toy with the idea of ending it all— no one knows.

Addiction and mental illness runs strongly through my bloodlines on both sides. So I am a well-bred pony for running the distance with alcoholism, depression, and bi-polar. I experienced depression on and off in my life. Thankfully I am well now and throughout my years of struggle with this very private affliction I discovered essential practices that hastened my healing dramatically.

Step one is to seek professional help. If you are reluctant to do so because you fear the stigma or other reasons, then try the steps I have listed below, they can be effective for mild depression. However, if you commit to the following steps and they do not help please, please, seek professional guidance.

Step two is by far the most important self-help step; this is like making sure you put on a seatbelt before you go on a roller coaster ride. Practice appreciation; find the time to feel reverence for life each and everyday. I understand the walls you have built up inside yourself might not allow the feeling of appreciation to get through at first, so practice on small things. Maybe a dazzling butterfly that landed in your garden? Or the sunlight shining down through the grey clouds? Maybe observe the perfection of the tiny fingernails on a baby’s hand? Or become mesmerized by the soft curved eyelashes on a sleeping toddlers face? The point here, is to try and find love and appreciation for something that opens your heart. If you begin to feel the positive flow of love and appreciation extend it to yourself. Then expand it to include other people, moments, and things. It can be a two-minute practice a few times a day. Or a longer practice once a day. The trick is to get your mind moving out of the negative thought patterns that inundate you when you are depressed. I came across a video on you tube quite a few years ago and if you are having troubles opening your heart to appreciation it may bring aid. You might need a Kleenex box beside you when you watch it, A good day with Brother David Steindl-Rast. (click on A good day and Shazam you’re at the video)

Step three is to withdraw from the news, and any sort of TV shows encouraging judgement of others. When we are depressed all we hear is our own negative judgement on ourselves and on our lives. Hearing judgement of others and seeing it on TV just reinforces our dark side if you will.

Step four is to engage in some type of exercise. Again, I realize this isn’t an easy task because the last thing you feel like doing when you are walking through water chest deep everyday is to exercise. Trust me and do it anyway, maybe go swimming; you’re in the water anyway. It will help. I promise. You don’t need to spend hours at the gym. Start slowly— ten minutes a day, five minutes? Whatever? Just do something and then increase the time you do it every few days.

Step five is to buy a herbal cleanse, of course check with your health care provider to ensure it is compatible with anything else you might be taking. They might pooh pooh the whole idea but poop, pooping can be very good for you. Think about it this way, our intestines are like long lines of curved pipes, over our life they accumulate sludge and chemicals from the food we eat. Just like the pipes in the house, depending on what you put in them, the sludge will build up to the point of affecting the septic system. It’s the same with your body. A cleanse will loosen up the sludge and clear it out. The chemicals in the sludge could be contributing to the way you feel. I have one word of caution for you if you begin a cleanse— toilet. Stay close to a toilet during the first few days.

Step six is to watch your diet. I know– now you’re thinking this blog sucks, not only does she want me to exercise, quit watching TV and destroy my bathroom with a ridiculous amounts of pooping, now she wants me to diet! What a bitch! Yes, I can accept that. I actually want you to call me every rotten stinking name you have stored away in your hostile little heart. Get it all out. You can even call me the C word, and I hate that word more than Donald Trump himself. I just want you to feel better. I want you to find that spark inside your heart and tend to it until you have a roaring blaze of life inside you. So back to diet, it’s pretty basic, eat vegetables, fruit, protein, whole grains, healthy oils and fats like avocado oil, olive oil, grape seed oil and butter, limit your sugars, use NON-GMO when possible, and go ahead and cheat occasionally. However, when you cheat be prepared for the addictive nature of sugar, once you have the chocolate bar your going to want more, same with salty snacks. Being forewarned is forearmed against food craving attacks.

Step seven is to limit your contact with people who push you into the spiralling dark hole of hopelessness. If you are in a close relationship with them they will notice your absence. That means you might have to take a couple puffs of a big gagger and give it to them straight. If you can do it without the puffs, all the better, but it doesn’t mean you get to be nasty and accusatory. Just be firm, this is your life. Tell them like it is, you are working on getting well and you need some distance. Anyone who truly cares for you will support your decision.

Step eight is to keep a journal and write whatever you want in it, and then burn the pages when you are done. It is an emotionally purifying exercise where you can vent and then release the emotions by turning them to ash.

Step nine is to meditate, or practice Reiki, or Qui Gong, these practices allow for a positive frame of mind. They all aid in letting go of damaging beliefs. Research each and see which one appeals to you. I practice Reiki myself because I can easily access love and acceptance for myself within the practice. Meditation and Qui Gong are excellent as well, and there are many free practices to be found on YouTube.

Step ten is to unplug from technology period. No social media, no checking status or messages. Who’s more important to your survival? Other people or you? Go for a walk without your phone, listen to music, have an epsom salt bath, whatever, just please, find out how good it feels to unplug. It’ll be difficult at first but I know you can do this. People had no technology for hundreds of years and they were much happier for it. An hour a day away from electronics will not kill you. That’s my mama talking.

So go ahead and kick depressions butt, it doesn’t have to rule your world. You can change your outcome. You can find joy again. The only thing you have control of in this entire world is you. So get hopeful, and practice the steps which make you strong. You’ve got this lovely person.

It’s Free! Or Is It ?

 

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Underwater can be a magical place.

Building a bucket list is a rip snorting way to remind you to step out of your comfort zone. It tears your focus away from what is and leads you into the possibilities of what could be. It can bring an energizing reflection of where you’d like your life to go. Creating my own bucket list proved an elusive creature on my radar. However, my hubby, Rick nailed one down a while back and he had scuba diving listed as one of his targets. So while it wasn’t a prominent idea in my thoughts, the idea of pretending to be a fish and swimming along the bottom of the Caribbean waters did hold some appeal for me.

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Pictures from snorkelling in the Riviera Maya, my camera is only good for shallow water. These are two different types of grunt fish.

Sometimes opportunities pop up that can’t be ignored, an occasion such as this happened to crop up on a weeklong holiday in the Dominican. There we were skipping along, well maybe not skipping because Rick tends to look quite silly when he skips along. We were strolling along the tiled pool area and noticed a sign for a free introductory scuba diving lesson. The key word here is Free. It’s like a magnet for my Scottish blood, Aye Laddie, I’m cheaper than a two bit taco on Tuesday. It was like a sign from God, maybe not God, but I think his name was Jesus. Anyway we trotted down to the scuba shack, well, maybe we didn’t trot because Rick looks silly doing that too, we ambled down to the beach area to sign up for our FREE lesson. At this point I’m still feeling excited about our underwater adventure. I still think I can be as graceful as a fish gliding about the coral. I was about to realize I was a fish afraid of drowning.

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An absolutely stunning parrotfish.

Upon our arrival at the scuba shack the sales pitch began, and before we knew it we had committed to a four-day Open Water scuba diving Padi course. This was far from Free. Our actions automatically kicked my Scottish blood into internalized dialogue, “What are you doing you couple of bawheeds, now you’ve gotten yourself into a scunner, and for quite a pretty penny ya pair of numpties.”

“Hush up you cheap bastard. It’s a bargain for a notch in the bucket list belt.”  I defend replying to my Scottish side.

Check! There goes one item off of Rick’s list. After all, life is full of opportunities and shouldn’t we jump in with both feet and give it a go whenever possible? Side note- If you’re jumping in with your scuba gear on make sure to hold your mask and regulator on your face.

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A bluehead wrasse, simply gorgeous.

It shouldn’t have been such a trial for me, I do love the ocean and I enjoy snorkelling. But it was a trial. The first thing I learned during our pool dive is that I was freaking terrified. I had no faintheartedness about seeing sharks, stingrays, or puffer fish, or any of the other amazing underwater creatures that could potentially kill. I was terrified of not being able to breathe when I wanted to breathe. The cause of my excessive trepidation originated from my childhood, where all good fears tend to spring forth. As a childhood survivor of chronic bronchitis and pillow smothering, I was quite concerned about not being able to get my air. I love to inhale and exhale at will. I enjoy breathing through my nose. I am not a mouth breather and I do consider that a good thing. On the other hand it is a necessity to scuba dive.

Rick breezed through the scuba course like he was a fish disguised as a human. As for me, it proved trying at the best of times and on my final dive before certification I had a meltdown. Throughout the course I had continually shoved my fears into a little corner of my mind. It had been no easy task to keep myself in the Zen state of mind while diving in the deep blue yonder where oxygen does not exist as air. And although I admit to enjoying the magnificent undersea, there was never a second when I didn’t feel like the petrified prude of the diving world. I was forever counting down the seconds left to surface and having the freedom to pull the regulator from my mouth and breathe like a human.

On our last dive the instructor and ourselves followed the tag line downwards towards the ocean floor. Rick quickly equalized and arrived at the bottom. He took a knee in the sand observing his dawdling wife and impatient instructor through the crystalline water.

I recall following the dive line downwards and suddenly noticing the water pressure on my body feeling uncomfortably constrictive. I pause on the rope. My breath becomes shallow and rapid. I know I need to slow down my breathing, but I can’t seem to relax. My Zen space is gone and I am tossed into my fears. I stare at my instructor with wide eyes and give him the signal I’m going to the surface.

He snatches my arm and glares at me, giving me the slow down motion with his hand.

I shake my head in a negative way. His grip on my arm increases as does my feeling of being trapped. Panic sets in and masses of bubbles are released from my increasingly rapid breath. I break free of his grasp and head up to the open air. No worries about equalizing, I wasn’t far down.

As I pop to the surface I keep my mask and regulator on trying to find the calm I had achieved on previous dives.

The instructor arrives at the top and gives me his death glare. It was the one I had gotten used to seeing because he wasn’t the most patient instructor in the world.

He gave me the thumbs down motion indicating I should follow him back towards the bottom.

I shake my head vigorously making the hand tilting motion to indicate something is wrong. My heart is still squeezing out terrified beats and they reverberate inside my chest. I inhale with focused breath wrestling with my alarm.

My instructor tugs on my jacket style BCD (buoyancy control device) insistently trying to bring me down beneath the surface of the water.

Panic absconds with my thoughts; they are a troop of monkeys leaping through the trees running wild with fear. I can’t do this. I hate the water pressure squeezing my body— I hate the thin dry air through my regulator— I hate breathing through my mouth. I’m a nose breather goddammit! I feel like I’m suffocating. I could die.

I smack his grappling hand off of my BCD jacket. I bob with the waves. I stare at him through my mask with immense eyes meeting his daunting gaze. I pull the regulator from my mouth, “No. I’m not going down. I can’t do this. I can’t breathe.” I gasp. I know it seems ridiculous to him. I’d already done three dives, four including the pool training. I was almost done my certification. He could see I was going to quit on him. He saw a skinnier wallet. All I saw was a potential watery grave, and yes I’m being dramatic, but fear tends to exacerbate emotions.

He pulls his regulator out and said, “But it’s so beautiful down there, you have to see it.” He grabs my arm again.

I growl, “Let go of me. Stop frickin grabbing me. Just give me one second, and I’ll try again. But don’t grab me again.”

He raises both hands to surrender.

It takes a couple minutes but I manage to recollect myself. We drop down to join Rick on the dive. It is a paradise below indeed.

We both got our certification, (mine questionably) and Rick checked an item off his bucket list. We’ve done more diving since, and I really have come to relax into it and enjoy it. But there are moments, times when it’s been too long since my last dive and my anxiety displays it’s dreadful grip. It’s one of those life choices where you just have to calm down and kick fear in the face.

I think it’s my turn to check something off my bucket list. What are you terrified of doing dear husband?

Swing Through

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Our Gramps made us a tire swing in the heart space between several old trees. The ancient poplars towered over us with white trunks and wrinkled limbs. They were a steadfast audience observing of our joy,  and the leaves applauded our play. These deeply rooted towers of living wood shadowed our eyes from the larger world. They enabled swings of limited height keeping us humble in our own right.

The trees, the swing, and our time within them brought us into the realms of peaceful delight. We held no worries other than the roughness of the rope causing calluses on our fingers and palms, and the odd bruises on our limbs at the occasional tumble to the ground.

It was years ago, and the memory still brings a smile to my lips. I fully appreciate those days with the trees, the swing, and the younger me. In those days of long ago we naturally stayed present in the moment, time had no meaning as we swiftly swung downwards feeling the wind lift the hair from the nape of our necks. We didn’t care what happened around us, our hands were fists around the rope when we hit the top of our swing, and we reveled in the blissful hang time right before we flew back down with our stomach in our throats. Those were the best of times, the times we lived in the moment.

As kids we could never swing the entire day, but those times of swinging stayed with us forever. If you’re older now and feeling overwhelmed, remember the simplicity of the swing, remember the freedom you felt. If you happen to be near a window or outside, look up at the sky, instead of your phone. Take a moment, a second, a minute and appreciate who you are, appreciate where you are. Simply rejoice in the lightness of being.

Ten Odd Christmas Gift Ideas

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Alert, alert, the Christmas shopping season is upon us. Prepare to be bombarded by heaps and heaps of stuff you really don’t need. I have to wonder— Am I the only one who is tired of all the plastic mass produced crap decorated with shiny sprinkles and glossy coating? I truly believe dear consumers we are being manipulated into spending too much kaching kaching at Christmas.

This year our family decided to scale down our consumerism and some of the gifts we purchase will be experiences rather than presents. I couldn’t help but notice they sell survival adventures on-line for a hefty fee— I live by a forest, all I need is a blindfold and a gifted participant. Or maybe I could present a fitness enthusiast with an axe throwing/wood splitting experience? I’ll supply the axe and wood— First aid is extra.

I wanted any gifts I purchased to be exceptional. Therefore I logged into my computer and began wading through an overwhelming number of websites. After too much time I can no longer reclaim to my life, I discovered human beings are strange, and it’s no wonder aliens have kept their distance. Allow me to share with you a few unusual items which I found on the web sites Weird sh*t and Oddity Mall.

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This item could be used as an appetite suppressant because I almost lost my lunch.

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This gift actually has possibilities— I call it the wife appeaser.

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Hilarious, yet so wrong in so many ways. Mind you, Einstein did encourage using your imagination.

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A great stocking stuffer for that special guy in your life. He can put one in his glove box in case he has one of those emergencies no one likes to talk about.

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I don’t know if this works but my intuitions says no, so I would definitely turn my nose up at this gadget.

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Here is an inventive apparatus for the cat lover in your family. Or it could be an extra stocking surprise for the special fetish practicing person in your life.

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I admit this gift is original, but it caused me to wonder? Does it come with a purse size flea spray?

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At first I thought, what a great idea! But then I though this may be a little too supportive of Hemmingway’s write drunk philosophy.

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Most pointless gift ever— Unless it’s for a chicken of course.

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Best gift ever! But I’m too cheap to buy it. I’ll probably rip the drain out of the shower and build my own.

On that note I wish you all a minimalist shopping adventure this year.

Combustible Life

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The descent through the tunnel had been gradual, but long and winding. During the whole trek the only thing Skye could smell resembled fresh cat pee and mouse turds. It seemed strange, because where there are cats, mice shouldn’t exist. The odour wasn’t the worst of the pathway into the earth though; the worst of it was traipsing through the spider webs. The feeling of taunt sticky threads collapsing against her face, the invisible lines sticking to her eyelashes, and being pulled into her nostrils by her terrified breaths. And although she wanted to do nothing more than to turn and escape, the idea of wealth drew her downward deeper into the darkness.

She pressed forward pushing past her dread, past the knowledge that webs are careful traps set out by hairy eight-legged creatures wanting to suck their prey dry. She wiggled her shoulders and shifted the weight of her backpack as though that simple move would lighten her load if she had to turn and run. God save me from giant spiders she thought as she surged forward through the passageway. The further she went, the more coated she became with webs, both old and dusty, and new and sticky. An involuntary shudder passed through her body as she envisioned a giant arachnid studying her with its multiple eyes. She knows she would make a juicy feast. She lets out a nervous giggle; her sisters always said she had an active imagination. She hugged herself tightly warding off any trepidation. She could always return to the surface.

As she set one foot in front of the other with fear in her bones she heard her fathers words as though he had said them aloud. God hates a coward Skye. It was a phrase he uttered often, as though if he had said it enough to her it would make it so. The memory of his hard tone sends her forward at a quickened pace, and then she sees it. It is a beckoning light further up the tunnel. She slowed her pace. She feels the clingy grip of panic increasing the beating of her heart.

She continued on like a moth to the light. She entered a large cavernous space. A blazing fire burns with a vengeance at the center of the cave. She glanced around with searching eyes. She is alone. So why does she feel like crowds are pressing in on her? The dancing flames breed massive shadows on the walls.  A chill crawls up her spine. Maybe she should leave?

Skye, Skye, say good-bye, run away and cry. The nasty rhyme the oh so beautiful kids used to sing to her on the playground played in her head, a bad memory coming to light. She wished she had a delete button, not only for the words, but also for the wicked kids themselves. She took a deep breath and gathered her courage.

Skye approached the fire feeling the heat on her face. She studied the ever-changing crimson licks of light. Her eyes widen as she realized there is no fuel for the fire. No visible fuel for the fire. There is no one present to feed the flames. She could see no footprints in the dust, yet the blaze flickers with nourished strength scarcely contained within a thick ring of stones. Maybe, it is fed by a vein of natural gas?

She gave the cave one more sweeping glance and then set her backpack down. She sank beside it settling into a cross-legged position. Her dry mouth begged for water. She snatched a bottle of water from her pack and quickly drained it. The plastic crinkles loudly, a foreign sound in the archaic cave. She shoved the empty back into her pack, she wouldn’t be the first to litter a pristine place. It is only one bottle of the many she carried. A person can live for days without food, many less without water.

She wiped her mouth on the sleeve of her fleece-lined coat. The residue of the moisture darkened the periwinkle color to sky blue. She slowly unzipped the side compartment on the bag. She pulled out a small tube and reached inside with her fingertips retrieving a leathery looking roll. It is thicker than the thickest paper of modern times and smells like rotting hide. She opened the small roll with reverence. The proof she is a thief. But it’s not all she is; the life of one person has too many dimensions to name just one. She is not simply ugly; she is damaged, yet beautiful too. If people could only see past the thickened skin marring the one side of her face and look into her eyes the color of sparkling amethyst, and notice the healthy glow in her auburn hair they might find the glimpses of beauty. It is no matter, not many will miss the lowly assistant to the librarian, and it will be a long while before anyone will notice she had taken the scroll, if they even notice it at all. The librarian in charge is a hoarder, reluctant to share. She is a contradiction to the very purpose of a library. The scroll had been donated, mixed in with boxes of leather bound books and ancient maps concealed in tubes. Skye had been designated to catalogue the contents of the donation. The fact is the scroll simply wouldn’t be missed at all.

As Skye studied the scraggly drawing she could clearly see the fire had not been noted on the map. The only marking  on the wrinkly old guide was a definite X written in crimson ink inside the cave. If it even was ink? Skye’s eyes searched the cavern, so where is the booty? Everyone knows an X on a map means a treasure.

She studies the walls of the cave. They are smooth, blackened, and reflective like onyx. This space contained nothing but the flames. Her gaze lands on the entrance to the tunnel. It blended so easily with the walls and she almost could have missed its presence in the shadowy firelight. Maybe she is missing more?

She squeezed the flashlight in her hand. She feels the cool weight of the cylindrical metal. She flicked the switch on, and the bright beam diminished the fires glow. She shone it back on the mouth of the tunnel. She could go back? She could go topside to the light of day. Return to the other civilians like her bumbling through their existence. Does she want to return to that? To that dull routine, uninspired and pointless, to see the mirror reflect the flatness in her eyes, to know her spark of life has been smothered by lack of inspiration? The map is a cosmic gift.

Skye leaned in closer to the firelight. What is this mystery? Why did the map not mention this? She watches the orange and red flames prancing in colourful twists. It revealed nothing. She rose to her feet, her muscles are tight with unease, they are bound securely to her bones ready to flee if need be.

An unexplainable wind sweeps into the fire, and the flames grow taller lengthening upwards towards the ceiling of the cave. She retreats to the wall feeling her elbows tighten into her sides. She wished to be invisible to whatever this thing may be. The fire expanded cutting the cave in half. It effectively blocked her way out. And still it grows.

Her face is scorched; the sweat oozed from her pores, only to evaporate on her skin. Skye pointed her flashlight to the backside of the cave. She spied a silver toned lever gleaming at the topside of the back wall.

The fire intensified further. The rocks began to glow like coals. Her skin turned scarlet. The map smoldered in her fingers.

The cave is a crematorium; the fire has left only one option.

Propelled by mounting discomfort Skye raced to the lever. The map blazed into flame between her fingertips and she dropped it with a gasp. The handle juts out a foot from the wall. It is shining and bright, almost glowing with light. In that split second she noted the etchings along its length, swirling and symmetrical, Celtic in nature. She leaped as the fire licked her back. Skye smelled the stink of her seared ponytail. She latched onto the metal lever. The rigidness of the bar collapsed into the shape of an arm.

A hand grasped her elbow.

A female voice sounded in her head, “Hold on tight this will be nasty.”

Skye feels herself being dragged through a whirling space. Her muscles scream as she is stretched beyond anything she has known. She lost all awareness of her limbs, causing her to question the very existence of them. Nausea grabbed hold of Skye’s center causing clenching cramps in her guts. At least her belly button is present. Her mom always said Skye had the loveliest belly-button of all her kids. The edges of darkness moved in on her like the blinds on a window sliding down against the light. The last thing she felt is the wretched pain in her abdomen, and the cold steel grasp on her arm.

Mind Your Own Bees Wax

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Well, let me just say, “I take offense to your offense, and I am super offended because you think I offended you. When really it’s you that offends me because you’ve taken offence to some perceived insult.”

The definition of perceived is to interpret something or someone in a certain way.

If everyone would just mind their own bee’s wax we’d have plenty of bees, and wax, and the world would continue to spin in the appropriate way.

I think we should operate on every single person and take out their offense button, and while we’re at it we should take out the perceived button so they can simply see the facts instead of interpreting people and things a certain way. It’ll make Deputy Dog’s job easier, “Just the fact Ma’am, I only need to know the facts.

I despise feeling offended. I want to be all peace, and love, and Zen. I want to sit in my mellow space with my diffuser spewing out the scent of lemongrass and bergamot. I’d like to keep my, everything will work out fine attitude. It seems I can’t.

I have unwittingly joined the ranks of other Canadians becoming a wee bit hypersensitive these days. Not only have I felt offended, now I’ve become on edge about opening my mouth, I might say the wrong thing. I might behave… God forbid, politically incorrect. Knowing this, I’ve come to believe that sometimes people lie about what they actually believe in order to prevent offending anyone else. This is a tragedy. Pressuring people to think a certain way promotes a bunch of phonies running around not truly supporting anything.

I would rather meet an honest person who displays their true colors with disagreement, than meet the one who is pretending to follow todays latest politically correct agenda. Lets be honest, you can only have an engaging and enlightening discussion with someone if they are offering you an accurate view they have of the world. Arguing different viewpoints doesn’t necessarily mean anybody’s wrong or right. It generally means the truth lies somewhere in the middle. A difference of opinion does not mean one person is bad and the other is good. The gray areas in life are far more profuse than black and white. I’ve taken to adding more gray clothing to my wardrobe in support of that very point.

Truth be known, it’s the politics in the country that really jabs the button on my feeling offended. Every time I look at the news headlines it jolts my Feeling Offended button just like a pre-schooler hitting the crosswalk button a hundred times.

I’ve come to the conclusion I should start wearing a paper bag on my head.

If you saw me, you might ask, “Why are you wearing a paper bag on your head?”

I might shrug brushing the bottom of the bag with my shoulders and answer, “It’s because I’ve taken offense to my own offense. I am so tired of being offended. It’s utterly exhausting.”

“I still don’t understand?” you would ask, “Why would you wear a paper bag on your head just because you’re offended?”

“It’s a corrective action, it stops me from looking around for more things to be offended about.” I said. “It forces me to mind my own bee’s wax.”

You might make a face, “But then you’ll miss all the other wonderful things going on in the world.”

I’d shake my head and the bag might shift slightly, “Not really, I miss them anyways by always searching for things to be offended about. This way, if I mind my own bees wax for a while, I’ll have enough wax to do my own Bikini line.”

Golly Gee Wilikers, Is That You Superman?

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I love fun. I adore Halloween. I’m a teeny bit disappointed my Hubby and I didn’t dress up and attend the local Halloween bash this year. However, Rick’s been working long days, his sixty-hour week drags him down, so he was too taxed to Tango, literally. He’s been wondering if all his hard work is worth it, when half his wages go to paying taxes.

I know, here I go again. I keep telling myself I’m done, I will not write about Justin Trudeau anymore. I will not destroy my peaceful existence with another rant. But… Did you see the latest? And this comment is not because I am a stick in the Halloween goo, because I love it when people wear costumes at work on the spooktacular day.  However, when I saw Trudeau dressed up as Clark Kent, A.K.A Superman, I couldn’t help but do a tremendous eye-roll. I’m talking freaky pupils gone eye-roll, I actually lost vision in both eyes for a few seconds, and I admit to being grateful for it, because then I didn’t have to see Justin’s self-satisfied smirk any longer.

So now our egomaniacal Prime Minister thinks he’s slugging it out in the trenches and defeating evil at every turn like Superman. The audacity of him, you know, he could have reached for the joke. He could have disarmed his critics and haters with something fun. He could have dressed up like a beaver, or a polar bear, or a pair of socks? But no, he chose Superman. Once again he demonstrates his ego on a large scale. He see’s himself as the most powerful being on planet Earth. He chooses a Superhero created by Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster, high school students living in Cleveland Ohio. Why didn’t he choose a Canadian Superhero like Wolverine, created in Cold Lake, Alberta, or Captain Canuck, created by Richard Comely, out of Winnipeg, Manitoba. Or is that all too domestic, and too Canadian for our worldly Prime Minister?

I am not a fan of a counterfeit smile.

I am a fan of an honest demeanour. I believe in humanitarian efforts, I believe in legalizing marijuana, and yes I would even champion a carbon tax if all that money were going directly towards supporting clean energy options. I believe Quebec, and any other province which dumps sewage into our waterways should be held accountable.  I believe Canada should manufacture more products at home. I believe we should be actively recruiting and developing inventive minds. I believe in creating positive trading relations with countries who have the same fundamental beliefs as our own country, freedom of expression, freedom to protest, freedom of religion unless it causes harm to others, (no devil worship please, sacrifices are generally not voluntary ) freedom of sexual orientation, and strong child protection laws.

What I am not a fan of however, is a hypocrite. On that note, I do not agree with all of Trudeau’s renovations, expensive holidays, and costly meals when he is away from the country, which seems to be a great deal of the time. I do not agree with the whopping deficit his government is incurring for the Canadian people. I especially do not agree with Trudeau’s deal with China. If the Trudeau government is so concerned about the welfare and rights of people, why is he striking trade agreements with countries like China? Do you want to  support an authoritarian regime by doing business with them? Have a look at these articles. This is Trudeau’s choice of trade partner—  the Amnesty report on China for 2016/2017China’s deadly secret, and last, but not least Trudeau urges Canadian companies to do business with China.

This is why I’m not sailing along on the Trudeaumania love boat. Justin can’t possibly represent Superman, because Superman would never deal with a country which denies their people creative freedoms, and silences outspoken human rights activists through harassment, imprisonment, and torture.

Looking forward to next Halloween. God? Is that you?