i {heart} my voice box

Sometimes I wonder what else could go wrong, but then I quickly stop myself because stuff does keep on going wrong.

I have had issues with my voice for at least a few months now. When I speak my voice sounds hoarse and there have been a few occasions when my throat gets so tight I cannot sing. I'm not a rock star or anything but I like singing. Plus, I have been struggling with how scratchy it sounds when I talk. I finally decided it was bothersome enough to see the doctor. I need my voice if I will be able to teach or sing or even do my oldest hobby to date-- talk too much.

So when I met with my ENT specialist, he ended up needing to stick a scope thing up through my nose to see down into my throat. (Not pretty, trust me.) He told me I have something something reflux which is also known as Voice Box Reflux. And of all the things to have, this is a rare thing. It's as if I need to be uber special in my health problems too. Anaphylaxis, something something reflux, and allergies to beat the band. All making me feel utterly special in messed up ways, I must add.

I am really thankful that I had the thought to get checked and that it's nothing like cancer or something even more special than that. Now I will focus on taking care of my lovely voice box.

Shirt Check

I do this crazy thing sometimes when I exercise.

I like to wear a shirt that is one size too small as a motivator. I know it's a bit strange, but for some reason it helps me. So anyways, I squeeze into it and then take a good hard look in the mirror so I can really see all the imperfections (uh, fat) which provides a mental and physical baseline. Then, I go workout. Typically, it's a really fabulous plan because I workout at home. I design my workout routines and then put them into action with my weights and other fun gadgety workout gear stuff in order to get the job done. And no one except my workout groupies ever sees me wearing clothes that are so entirely indecent for public viewing.

The shirt strategy happens about once a month since our bodies take about four weeks to cycle through an exercise routine and actually want to listen to all the hard work. But I also do it on the first day after falling off the exercise wagon. And since I have been busy with guests and visiting over the past few weeks, I needed to do a shirt check this morning.

My workout partner and I decided to do a walk/jog thing instead of hitting the weights today since it was so beautiful outside. So, I get my shirt on (and the rest of my clothes) and head outside. It was super nice to be out in the fresh air at dawn walking and talking with my friend. But then-- I notice other people across the way from my cul de sac where we were. I recognize them as some friends who live up the hill from us and they were out exercising, too. All of a sudden I feel like a freak because I remember about the shirt thing. I should NEVER have worn it out in public! The only thing I could do was keep going, but I can't even explain how grotesque I felt for those few minutes.

Moral of the story: Do not wear shirts in public that are too small--no matter the reason. There never will be one good enough to subject yourself to that sort of humiliation.

And no, I will not be providing a photograph for today's blog...

Cupcakes and Clarity

I was sitting here feeling quite (even more than quite) loserly and then I heard my doorbell ring. I literally thought to myself Who the hell could be ringing my doorbell? I'm not expecting anyone. I look like garbage. I feel like garbage. Should I just not answer it? But then I decided to stop being stupid and just went downstairs (after peeking into a mirror and deciding it was at their own risk that they rang that bell) and opened the door.

On my doorstep, I found an angel. One of my sweet, sweet neighbors was standing there with a smile on her face holding {chocolate} cupcakes and a card and a printout of an encouraging church article underneath it. I don't recall what she said to me exactly but I blurted out my response that I had just been acknowledging my loserliness and what a blessing she was to me for coming to my house that very moment. We hugged, then I actually said the word hell in front of her (I recounted my aforementioned thought process) which made me feel like a freak loser again but she just smiled and said something else amazingly kind and loving and we hugged again.  She left and I decided I needed to do something to recognize the regenerating gift of lovingkindness I keep getting bestowed upon me near daily. Therefore, I am writing about it.

What I'm thinking is this: I must be pretty special if God will keep on sending people to help buoy me up during this time of seemingly everlasting sinking.

Let's recount the past few weeks for clarity on this theory.

My best friend spent an entire week with me watching movies, eating junk food, and cussing and discussing emails/texts/man theory even though she has troubles of her own (and doesn't cuss). It's quite the liberating experience to be able to yell about stuff to someone and have them laugh at you in your face because you're being so ridiculously serious.
Then, I had an absolute windfall of reconnection with friends in a four-day period which produced enough joy to keep me high for a solid week despite my dramalicious garbage. It feels fantastic to know your friendship has been cherished by others.
Then, I had two sisters in law (yes, in laws) come spend time with me by choice. Can I tell you how amazingly loved that made me feel? Dude, in laws actually choosing to hang with an only girl of the family sister in law. That's rock star material, right?
Then, I got to spend an evening mending bridges with a cousin I haven't talked to in years, all the while watching fireworks for about 4 hours straight. Yes, be still my pyro heart.
Then, I got to spend a couple of days watching one of my brothers actually engage with my children and help encourage them to do good things. It is a beautiful thing to see a brother transform into an uncle, a real deal uncle who invests some time to the title.
Then, I was having a bad day and a dear friend called me out of the blue and he didn't even laugh at me too hard when I went on a crying jag and wasn't making much sense at all. 
Then, I had a BAD night and somehow a neighbor had saved a few fireworks and was lighting them off with her family in front of our houses. Yes, be still my pyro heart once again. (plus we girl talked it up for a bit which always helps a bad day go better.)
Then, I spent the rest of my evening laying on a blanket on a hill at the park near my house reveling in the loveliness of the constellations and texting with a friend.
Then, I awoke to a good day because I spent time with friends talking about stuff and about potential business opportunities, and I filled my spiritual bucket by heading to temple for the afternoon.
Then, another friend called me in the evening to go out to get frozen yogurt and we ended up talking for about two hours. Really, we settled all the affairs of the universe but ya know-- all in a day's work.
Then, I must mention all the encouragement I receive on a daily basis from my social media community. I am always astonished by how openly kind everyone is to me. For example, on my BAD night a rugby guy who lives in Australia sent me a beautiful purplicious poetic quote of hope and encouragement. Can we all say random? awesome? wow?
And, on top of all of these things, I have an old friend who has actively stepped into my life and become such a support, truly invaluable actually. Almost every day has had his positivity peppered throughout making this maddening period of hurt and healing near savory. My BAD night would have remained so if he had not coaxed me out of my cave. The interesting part about it is that he was away on business--out of town and busy enjoying himself on a Friday night--but he took time to text me and was even persistent when I had not responded well. Who does that?

I do not quite know what to do with all the positivity except to recognize it and be thankful. I really ought to figure out how I am so way not a loser, but those hard days haven't quite gone to the wayside just yet. I owe so much of my sane existence to the confidence and love of others given to me with pure, unfeigned generosity of heart. I feel loved by God because of all you give to me. Thank you to each and every one of you. You know who you are.

warm and melted just like my heart

questioning madness

You floated back into my life--for what?
So I could show you what strife looks like?
So I could cry and complain and make a display
of what is entirely wrong with the woman race?
So I could see how wholly wonderful you are,
how put together and decidedly amazing you are?
Just so I could recognize how utterly ridiculous I can be?
Just so I could feel—even more so than before—lonely?
So I could get so close to love that is not reality
that I torture myself quite fitfully?
Why would you be my friend?
Why now? Why ever?

Why?

I remember...

I remember family reunions at Pismo Beach

     with salt water colder than ice

     and sand--oh that sand--

     so warm being buried was a delight.

I remember being happy not so long ago, 

      but it feels like a distant memory

      and I struggle to imagine

      happiness as part of my story. 

I remember my mother how she left

      so abruptly

      how I got to say goodbye and my glad tears 

      falling softly.

I remember every time I am with a friend

      sharing memories and laughing

      inside jokes, mishaps, and road trips

      even daily life happenings. 

I remember my children, more precious than gold,

      treasures on the worst of days

      giving me love that never gets old.

Memories warm and long ago,

making me cry and laugh,

beyond the price of gold.