My grandma lived until she was 102. She died yesterday, December 1st

My siblings are suffering in silence. I respect that, truly I do. I hope they respect that I'm not.

I have never suffered in silence.

In fact, I suffered so loudly that I was sent to my room frequently because of it.

Don't hate the squeaky wheel. It's not just a show or an exaggeration; we really do hurt that much and we really do require that much grease. I've been told how annoying this is. Requests to stop or ease up on the sensitivity was/is met with confusion.

Try asking yellow to kindly stop being that colour.

My brain is screwy with it's analogies and metaphors today, my committed reader.

I just wanted to say that maybe if I hadn't been sent to my room when I cried, that my emotions wouldn't be so confusing.

All they needed to do was acknowledge my sadness.

It shouldn't have mattered if it was spilled milk or if my cat just died. As a child, I was (and still am) entitled to my feelings. To a child....to me (to all children) that sadness was necessary to feel, it was necessary to express. It needed to identified at the very least.

And now I'm 36 and still bitter. Well, not right this minute. Right this minute I'm sad.

Ya know, like I mentioned in my Facebook status, I'm soft and squishy. I'm fluffy and colourful. Think pink hearts, rainbows, and Hello Kitty. Picture daisies and hot pink hair ribbons. That's me.

Now, I've met some hard people in my life. Some people that weren't penetrable. And ya know what my soft squishy personality does to those hard asses? It softens them just enough that they feel good. Next thing you know, little heart bubbles are creeping into their soul and making them smile. They really can't help it, ya know.

I have either that affect on the hard asses, or one of annoyance. I'm hurt by those but I'm sensitive, so that's ok.

Welp, guess I'll sort out more feelings later. Thanks for humouring me.

♥

So many unfinished and unpublished posts

Apparently this is just an online journal. So, if that's the case then assume this as my last will an testament.

I'm tired.

People I love are dying and I find myself jealous.

I keep smiling and then crying. Then smiling then crying. I hate it. The smiling isn't worth it. The crying is much more overbearing. It makes me lose hope.

I want to hug my grandma one last time and I can't because she's physically in another country. I was her Sugar Babe, that's what she called me. I used to walk to her house when I was 3 and request "num nums" which meant graham crackers. I don't remember that, but I remember her telling me many times with such a smile on her face. She loved her little Sugar Babe and I knew it.

Growing up Becky was easy when you're talking general, taking into account 3rd world countries....I felt alone in a house where 7 people lived.

Then a few times a year I'd see Grandma. When I was around, it was more of course. Mom always made sure I knew how much Grandma liked me. It wasn't until my dad disgustedly admitted that I was Grandma's favorite that I knew to what extent. Grandma is mom's mom. She didn't like my dad too much and for no real reason, other than he was a man. (At least that's what he said. I, however, know it's more complicated than that). Anyway, Grandma made me feel special in a big family where I was just another "Miller kid".

My Uncle Tom (Dad's big brother) made me feel special a few times. I've modestly tried reaching out to him but to no avail. I wish he still liked me....

Sorry, this is going nowhere.

I just want to hug my grandma. Right now. Really badly.

Where was I going with this?

It was a dark and stormy night.....

And somehow, the night was as silent as a grave. Each muted flash of lightening only made the quiet more audacious. Rain patted the ground with a steady soft white noise. Wind moved mundanely through the leaves. It was eerily calm.

The sudden crack of thunder made a rip through the black night and shattered the silence with it's crackling echoes.

hehe

How's that? I write ok. Apparently when you're a kid, you have an attitude that prevents you from learning. Or at least I did. Well, that and I'm way too impressionable. Especially teenage Becky.

I wanna do a post or something on "life hacks". Ugh. I dislike those words greatly, but since it's widely used....what if I put my own spin on it....how 'bout "life shortcuts"...uhm...."brain helpers"....ok ok, how 'bout, "Things that make simple tasks simpler"?

For instance, I've recently discovered another use for diaper wipes (even if you don't have a kid, buy em, trust me). Since diaper wipes are extremely gentle for little sensitive baby skin, it stands to reason that they'd be gentle on eyes. During my annual ladies camping, I discovered you can wipe off old eye makeup smudges with a fragrance free Huggies wipe. I've been using them in most of my morning makeup rituals ever since. So...how 'bout them diaper wipes? Eh? ....eh?

Well, I had a whole Imgur post planned and everything. I've come to terms with never making front page. It'd be neat. Kinda celebrity status for a day. I think I might be too sensitive for the obvious criticism I'd receive. Bah, anyway, I had a "Things that make simple tasks simpler" list idea but maybe my time is better spent elsewhere.

....no one reads these posts anyway. They're not interesting. I've not much to offer except my own meaningless life lessons.

Wow, gee, that took a turn, didn't it?

Maybe this can act as my writing portfolio. Maybe I could put a post on imgur about my pointless site and get some sympathy followers. Sigh. Why am I so pitiful?

Ok, I'm ending this before Eeyore comes back.

Rawr! Damn these immature feelings! I'm better than this!

Why do certain people or certain situations spark very specific emotions?

For instance: jealousy.

I've battled with jealousy growing up because I had a big sister who was doted on constantly by our mother. She was encouraged throughout her life to be ambitious, to study hard and take pride in your life, your things, and your appearance. My mom complimented her on her talent and beauty regularly. My big sister reveled in gymnastics til she was 13 and moved on to cheerleading. With her honor roll grades, and her 21 year old boyfriend, she was the epitome of perfect.

If she were to read all that, she'd say, "Becky, you stole my clothes and ruined them! All. The. Time. You wormed your way into my slumber parties and annoyed us all! You cried about everything to get your way!"

I suppose you have to have both sides to be objective. That's me. Being objective.

*sly grin*

I stole her clothes for 1 simple reason: hers were better.

My parents put a lock on her door and gave her the only key. I still found a way.

My mom got me some cute my little pony hand me down undies from her friend's daughter. (that's gotta work, right?) I still (of fucking course) stole her clothes.

My sister went away to college. Anything she left behind, purpose or not, was mine. From 1995 til I moved out of the house, her things became mine.

Unfortunately, so did her responsibilities.

{I'll skip the tangent I was about to go on}

Back to jealousy: it was easy to be a little girl and jealous of your older sister who was better in every way. Can anyone from my family blame me?

I was frequently told to shut up by my sister and older brothers when I cried. I was told, "If you're gonna do that [crying], go up to your room and do it there" by my dad. Mom claims we had nothing in common, that's why she didn't do as many things with me, she says I gave up. I think it's because my mom and I had too much in common, so it was harder for us to get along and our patience decreased with time.

I had imaginary friends and students (yeah, i played pretend teacher) that would listen when I needed it. I whispered to them frequently because I felt hated for having strong emotions that resulted in tears.

And here was my big sister. Strong as a rock. She held her head up everywhere and if she ever felt vulnerable, you couldn't tell.

Seriously, can you really blame me for jealous feelings?

I dislike feelings of jealousy because they remind me of when I was 10.

This morning, I felt jealous. I found out that someone I'm trying to befriend has been "sleeping with the enemy" so to speak. Not literally, of course, and not an enemy. It's difficult to explain whilst keeping privacy so I'll just say the feelings were unwarranted, and yet, I felt them anyway.

Then the feelings of resentment came and I quickly found myself wishing something bad would happen. The consciousness of those feelings made me angry. I don't want to have qualities like that. I don't want to be one of those immature people who slash their ex's tires or prank call their enemies.

What do I do, then?

What do I do in this situation with .....*sigh* privacy

Why am I disliked for my sensitivity?

I already answered that one: it's cause the squeaky wheel gets the grease.

I want help. I want advice. I want my parents.

Unfortunately, my parents only respond to what they want to respond to and one of them doesn't keep secrets well. My dad is a wordsmith. Yeah, that's a new word for me, but it makes sense. You need to watch what words you use around and to him because he hears every word. Since my feelings are strong and I frequently stick my foot in my mouth, I get caught in Dad's headlights a lot. He usually repeats whatever I said in passing, in his incredulous voice. He then adds his disapproving eyebrow wrinkle and slight head shake for extra emphasis on your failures. He also speaks and writes a thousand times better than me.

Dad's not the one I can confide in. I'm all grown up and any feelings of immaturity are met with immediate disappointment. In fact, my entire life, with the exception of my husband and kids, feel like a disappointment to him. He would shake his head and wrinkle his brow if he read this, too.

Mom tells everything to my sister. I already feel like a failure in my sister's eyes. And anyone else to whom she speaks.

This post is becoming more and more like a journal entry. Ah well. You came and read this far, right?

Jealousy and resentment. How does one deal? Comment. Message. Ponder. Tweet. Whatevs.

lufbecky

Gets darker with sadness

When I was in high school, my art teacher, Mrs. Higgins, pulled me aside one afternoon. She asked me if I was ok. At which point, I burst into tears. I'm not even sure what was going on in my life at that time, I just know I was a depressed and angry teenager. After confiding in her and she telling me the normal "we were all there once" speech, I had know, how did she know anything was wrong?

Art was my favorite subject, obviously, and it made me so grateful and relaxed when I walked into that blissful art room. The moldy smell of clay soaked rags, old brushes, the bite of newly opened paints that, for just a split second, made you feel life a fresh start was about to begin. All of it! The lameness of the construction paper to the stink of slip pot: I loved it all! The art room was where I smiled.

I get goosbumps just thinking about it. Smiling there for a moment writing, but it's fading....

Therein lies my point:

Mrs. Higgins noticed something was wrong because my painting suddenly got darker.

Right now, as I battle with strong depressive feelings, I wonder if my writing shows it getting darker.

Boy, do I miss that art room and I've give anything to be sitting back in that stupid stinky little disarray of creativity.

It made me satisfied. Not exactly happy, per se, but satisfied.

Where did that feeling go? Despite my mother in law's tremendous drive for cleanliness satisfaction, I get nothing. Nothing at all. That's why it's so hard to understand my point of view. I'm nothing like that. There's no satisfaction in cleaning. It's just going to end up messy again.

Sigh.

I feel like I'm speaking like Eeyore.....

Alright. Well. I guess I'll go then...

Ramblings of a logically creative intellect

Kids are in school and I have some time which should rightfully be spent cleaning (since I lapsed on the floors this weekend) but alas, my spirit is explosive with colors (yes, today, it's colors)! It's good I have a little baby cause no one understands glitter quite like a kid. Glitter is never bad. Even 5 years later when you still occasionally find it on your eyelid, it's never bad, just means you need to get out your crafts 

wink emoticon

On that note, I must revel in my awesome for a min: I cleaned and organized 3 of my 5 boxes of fabric! This, my lovely friends, is amazeballs. It's truly a huge leap in becky-kind. My mom is the Queen of Organization so I have the skill, just need to tap into it more often. AND I fully expect to finish the other 2 boxes before the weekend.

Pretty sure I wanted to mention something but this is way better. Ramblings of a logically creative intellect, heehee.

Hey, I read somewhere recently that a Nigerian student studying in Japan solved a 30 year math equation in his first semester.

"Stubborness is just being loyal to your convictions"

                                                  -Becky Lynn Greene

That's mine. My quote. You like? I'd like to add that I'm very loyal.

And lastly, this is a picture of me and my little brother when we were little. Mom sewed a lot of our clothes....

The hills have eyes....and so do the sidewalks, the houses, the floors, the cars, hell even the people have 'em!

I used someone else's meme so apologies for the beginner look, mine would be a step below this anyway.

The theme for today is eyes.

A wise man once told me that "no one cares". People live and die on this crazy earth all the time. It's tragic sometimes, and other times, it's mercy. The point is, everyone has their own life to live and generally speaking they don't really care about yours.

Well, this is not exactly true. Not only do people care, but they watch and study, even if they don't care. Some people like soap operas. That's nice and all but when the soaps start to bore them, they move on to their friends and family. Maybe pick up a little dirt on someone here, spread a little dirt on someone there. Then stir the pot a bit, and add some more people. Next thing you know, you have a great big 'ole stewing pot full of everyone else's bullshit. As long as you're the one doing the stirring, it's totally fine. Soon as someone else decides to add a bit of their own dirt and take over the stirring, shit hits the fan. Thing is, the shit has been hitting the fan every since that first person slung it!

Sometimes I feel like Mike is my only ally. What's safe to confide in people? So many things have come back to bite me in the ass. When I'm sad, when I'm feeling weak and need help, who do I call that won't throw it in my face later on down the line?

There's eyes and ears everywhere and yet I've never felt so alone.