I refuse to be angry.

Don’t get me wrong, I am no Ned Flanders.

Homer-Listening-to-Flanders

But I still want to reserve myself the right to refuse to be too angry from now on. And I don’t mean hating the door nob when I bang my elbow against it.  I mean feeling what I felt a couple weeks ago – Read here.

Going to bed and waking up STILL angry was such a terrible experience! I could feel it changing my body. It made my stomach hurt, my mind was blurred and everything was bitter. I didn’t eat at all and my girl’s tummies were *funny* (if you know what I mean). They were nervous too. They felt it.

I hated it.

It got me wondering HOW CAN SOME PEOPLE LIVE LIKE THIS CONSTANTLY? How can someone just handle so much hate? Doesn’t your body react to that? I mean, don’t you eventually DIE from anger?

Actually, yes, you do. Just like the Monks don’t get cancer or Alzheimer’s or heart attacks – read here – , angry people make themselves sick. (Well, not that ANGER is the cause of these nasty things 100% of the time, duh. But there IS a real percentage of cases attributed to it.)

I am not surprised at all. It was a terrible, terrible feeling… no wonder your body gets exhausted trying to keep it going. I only felt it for a day and I was crawling.

So, there you have it. All you fucking assholes can just go on being assholes and I’ll try my best to replying with a “well… fuck it.”.

You won’t stop annoying me… but letting you go feels so much better than being angry at you that I’ll go with that.

Let’s all enjoy the last weekend of Summer instead.

my girls

That time I realized I was not the problem.

I think every religion has something beautiful to offer and I love learning about them. I was raised Catholic yet, I feel like Spiritism has always given me great an answer to every single complicated religious question I’ve ever asked. Still, as I grew up and learned about myself, I realized I was happiest when mediating and learning about Buddhism.

When you meditate it looks like you are doing nothing… but you are doing everything.

There’s a chance I am actually fascinated by the idea of being high all the time. You know, watching the flowers grow or “the puddles gather rain”, but I wanna believe it’s actually about finding answers.

I wish I could do that. Learn more about myself, this life and our spirits. But, how could I? Really, I am just a slave.

No matter how blue the sky is in the morning and how much I wanna absorb that moment, I’ll just run out of the house, put some make up on the car and sit at the office for 8 hours.

I don’t wanna sit at the office. I wanna breathe. Deeply. I wanna feel the wind and maybe even feel the Earth spin.

I’ll design boats instead.

It’s not my choice.

The fact that I don’t get to chose makes me nervous, keeps me up at night. It’s hard to wake up, so I won’t pack my lunch ’cause I’m late. I’ll just eat something terrible, pricey and grease at work.

I don’t wanna eat that. It’s gonna make me sick. I wanna eat something that doesn’t hurt my stomach. But I was too exhausted to make it and now I am too hungry to not eat.

I go home and I am thinking I really, really wanna go for a walk. Ride my bike. Roller skate. But my legs are bruised and swollen from sitting down all day and eating crap. It hurts to stand up.

I make the girls some dinner instead. They don’t like it. I make something else. They just want tuna. I don’t wanna give them tuna again ’cause they had it yesterday. Fuck it, have some tuna but you are NOT having tuna tomorrow.

I give them a bath, get on the tub with them hoping my legs will hurt a little less. They still hurt.

So, that makes me sad. Shaky. My heart in racing and  can’t put my finger on what’s wrong ’cause you see… there’s really nothing wrong other than the way this society forces me to function. I realize that I am lucky and I realize that we are fine. But I wanted more. I wanna be able to enjoy life and not just work-sleep-repeat.

I think society is making everyone sick and I don’t wanna be another number in those stats.

And that’s what got me thinking about religion. I figured, if society really did make us sick then the Monks, who are not a slave of this system just basically wouldn’t get sick. Right?

Yes, right. Absolutely right, actually. I googled it. They don’t get sick. We do.

Finding that out was pretty amazing for me, the paranoid hypochondriac. It gave me some peace of mind… like… there’s a small chance we are actually in control. There’s a chance the answers to everything that is making us sick in this world are already out there and it is possible to live a more fulfilling life just by slowing down.

Unfortunately, we’ll always need money. Therefore we’ll always succumb to the system.

But slowing down is a start.

Let’s start from there, then.

Camera drama

Remember Pink Floyd’s lyrics “Threatened by shadows at night, and exposed in the light.”?

Well, I am sure they’ve secretly written that for me.

I am afraid of the dark (duh, Ghosts!) and I don’t do well with lights.

I wish the twilight would last longer. So, the other day I photographed it just to be able to look at those colors whenever I felt like it.

 

I wish I could live in twilight.

Also, as I took those pictures I wished I had an actual camera to register that moment that was oh-so-calming and made me feel like I could actually take a deep breath after I had been so stressed out for such a long time and I was so happy the cel phone camera was actually able to capture those beautiful colors.

Sometimes, I am all about the smallest things. Sometimes I go a little overboard with that too…

See, I don’t have a camera.  And judging by my bank account balance I’d guess I am nowhere near getting one. We need to buy important stuff like… ya know… food. So I try not to think about that and I’m happy with my cel phone pics.

Still, my husband’s dad came to visit us this week and unlike me, he has one.

That was it.

Suddenly, it was 1888 all over again. As he showed me his fancy new camera, I felt EXACTLY the same way I did when I was 6 and my next-door neighbor got the toy I wanted for Christmas! I. Wanted. To. Cry.  Yes, I am a grown woman, I realize that! (Thank you) Therefore this time, not only I, again, couldn’t ask my MOMMY or my DADDY for the toy because they couldn’t afford it (just like they couldn’t in 1888 and I never mentioned it to them that I wanted my friend’s toy and not the scary bear I had gotten because I knew that was all they could give me) I also was not allowed to do that anymore even if they happened to be able to afford it because, well, I am the mommy now!

I do remember the feeling though, ’cause I have it on my throat right now. And I realize  how much that moment (and several similar moments I had throughout my childhood) had influenced me ’cause whenever my kids want something, I think that if I tell them they can’t have it, they’ll feel like this AND IT SUCKS.

It’s quite hard being a 6 year-old in a grown-up’s body.

But then I got to play with it a little bit and my husband, who is basically uncle scrooge’s cheap cousin, felt my pain so bad I thought he was gonna run out of the house and get me an effing camera.

Here’s the result:

 

 

It’s a canon powershot G1X , in case you’re lucky enough to be shopping for cameras, pal. It wouldn’t be my camera of choice (I’d go for a Sony a5100 right now ’cause you have the option to accessorize it) but hey… who am I, really, to talk about cameras?

Yes, I still wanna cry a little bit.

That was basically my Thursday and I’ll admit, it’s SUCH a small thing. But see, other people’s world sometimes don’t make sense to us. That’s just the way it is.

Sorry, people. Remember, you are talking to someone who apparently talks like she believes in smurfs… so, don’t expect too much “normal” to come out of my mouth. One day I’ll be afraid of terrorists or killer virus. The next, I’ll be a 6 year old brat.

Have yourself a merry little long-weekend.

Papa Smurf knows how much we all deserve one!

Done panicking and wishing

When I started this blog I called it “I am not always panicking“. Because I really wasn’t. I enjoyed those 5 minutes between one panic attack and the next.

Later, I learned how to control them.

We moved to Canada and, all our wishes were about to come true. The snow would fall outside as the Christmas lights would reflect on our window.

The snow I had wished for for so long was now a part of my life. A very permanent part, may I add.

But at one point, the wishing was over too.

When this summer came I realized how the rain made me feel. I am not sure it was the colors, the smell or the memories it brought back. It was just a feeling.

One of the wettest summer in the history of Ottawa made me realize something inside me was changing. Drop after drop, my heart became full. I was experiencing this weird new feeling, … this… happiness.

I was done panicking, done wishing. I was about to find my place in this country. I was heading home.

To me, home is a place where you can settle. A place so warm and comfortable you feel relaxed enough to “watch the puddles gather rain“. When you get there, you don’t look forward for the future and you don’t worry… you just enjoy every moment.

So, here’s where I find myself right now. I am happier when it rains. And here’s where you’ll find me for now.

I will dare to use the word “happy” on my blog’s title. I’ll be terrified of jinxing life, but I need to allow myself to knowledge that I am, in fact, happy.  And hopefully, in a while, I will be adding the word “home” to it.

Sorry about the mess,

Shell

cloud

Organizing and the playroom

I am not as perceptive as I’d like to be. For instance, sometimes I know I shouldn’t be doing what I do – work-wise – but I still can’t put my finger on what it is that I SHOULD, in fact, be doing.

That’s why I was so surprised this morning when my boss assigned me something different to do. I’ll basically be organizing a bit more and drawing a bit less.

He said he noticed how much I enjoyed organizing things and, since I was pretty much the only one with excel abilities in the drawing office, I was the person for the job.

He noticed how everyone else’s desk is a mess and everything on mine was perpendicular, separated by color and alphabetized. 

The coolest part is, when he actually said I’d be doing that, I was excited! I hadn’t been excited about work in a while. I mean, I don’t mind it at all, it can be interesting (kinda)… but I do get bored quite easily. Bored, sleepy and hungry actually.

So, yeah, it took a total stranger to suggest something completely obvious.

I am an organizer.

I should know this, since last Monday was a holiday and I deliberately chose to separate my kids’s toys in categories and line them up – which lasted for about a second ’cause… well, they are kids.

Now, people, is THIS a job?

Probably not, but it’s definitely a clue.

Did I create the best, most organized playroom ever? Of course not. But I absolutely liked the way it felt… even though I never finished it! =)

I still have a long way to go and I don’t have the money to do anything fancy , but the girls enjoyed it so much! And OMG so did I!

These little things make me so happy… they make me feel at home! I feel really blessed right now and actually happy. Let’s all hope my stupid grandmother’s spirit doesn’t curse me with bad news just ’cause I actually said the H word…

Let’s review my check list for 2017:

  • everyone is healthy – good.
  • the house is good.
  • work is good.
  • the city NEEDS ADJUSTMENTS! But I’ll get there!

We need to allow ourselves to be happy.

No pressure, I’m learning it myself.

heart

Hide

A couple years ago, I had to delete my facebook account because of a threat. It wasn’t a direct threat, but it still freaked me out.

This woman, I had never seen before in my life, commented that she had seen my girls with their grandparents at the mall.

“They go there a lot, don’t they? Almost every day. Around 6pm”.

We were from a small town, you see, we were pretty easy to spot.

I tried not to be rude with her but also not extend the conversation. She seemed too interested. She knew we were moving to Canada, she knew who we were.

At that point I thought “shit… the only reason she knows all this is basically because I told her” Well, not “her” per say, but I must have mentioned it in some social media and she was able to track it.

You see, being from a poor country, when people assume you have money (which I actually really don’t) it can be dangerous.

We were about to move to Canada, yes, but my parents were still going to be there. She knew where they lived. They could be kidnapped! And that’s not paranoia talking, that’s just Brazil. Promise.

So, I deleted that facebook account, created another one and – unfortunately – since I am such a big fan of photography, (no, I don’t even own a camera, but that’s a whole other story) I ended up sharing the girl’s photos from instagram MAYBE way too much.

At this point some random person, again, from Brazil, contacted me.

She asked for clothes for her kids. I was more than happy to help. But then she started texting A LOT and sending me tons of pictures of her kids “look at their faces, they are my life, I really need you to help me”.

Dude, I am all for helping. But this was getting weird.

At one point, she told me that one of her kids had cancer – out of the blue – and that she needed money for exams.

I cried.

I mean, I believed her and that’s just something really, really terrible.

But don’t go crying yourself just yet. The kid is fine. It wasn’t exactly true.

So, again, I thought “SHIT!”

I seriously need not to talk to people. I can barely handle my own crazy, I definitely can’t deal with someone else’s.

I do not have the maturity to be on facebook. Seriously. But we left everyone behind – and I do mean everyone – I’m kinda stuck to it.

So, I created a new one.

Let’s all cross our fingers and hope this time I use it wisely.

Sharing is good, but hiding is also important.

Do you believe in Smurfs?

I think of myself as sane. For real. No matter how much the psychiatrist is convinced there’s a schizophrenic elf messing up with the circuits of my brain, I find myself to be pretty reasonable.

Yes, sometimes I react strongly to life-threatening situations, whether the situation is a benign mole that could -in about 20 years- turn evil on me or the tiny black lines I found on my children’s poop, (that actually turned out to be banana fibers, in case you mothers are wondering)… but the only reason I do that, is because I wanna make SURE I know what’s going on and fix it. Quickly.

I mean, that’s reasonable, correct?

Fine, there WAS that day when I checked my temperature 40 times, including in the middle of the night and first thing in the morning…

I guess reassuring myself that my body temperature was normal just made me feel less nervous about the disease I never had.

Ok, fine, that’s one point to schizophrenia.

But I’ve got some good, reasonable, sane moments.

Like, the other day, when the psychiatrist asked me if I believed in the devil.

Well, like any sane person, I do not. Not 100%, anyway. But the idea is pretty scary, right? I mean… it’s the freaking devil. So, there is, I guess that 1% chance that the devil could be real and for that reason I try NOT to read much about it or join any satanic cults ’cause I figured that if there’s something there… I wouldn’t really wanna get involved.

Isn’t that what a sane person would answer? I think I was being very, very plausible.

Fine. At one point I also told her I believed in ghosts.

Well, not ghosts per-say, like… Do I believe people have a soul? Yes! That’s still allowed, right? And I also told her I believed that eventually these souls could try to communicate with us, specially the people who were close to us when they were alive, ’cause Stella (our nanny) had talked to me during a dream once. I also told her that I did not feel prepared to interact with those souls and that, again, I was not 100% sure it was real, because that kind or certainty could only come from a real contact.

I swear to God I thought I was being sane, but apparently I very much wasn’t, because based on those answers she popped up the following question:

What else do you believe in? Do you believe in Smurfs?

Yes, you read it correctly! Smurfs! Smurfs:

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At that point, I absolutely thought about answering YES ’cause my sarcastic vein was pulsing SO HARD I had a hard time controlling my mouth.

But instead, I just said: “No, I am not quite at the level yet, but check back in a few months.”

You would think that the person prescribing medication for your brain would know by now, based on your previous answers, that there it’s a long, long road between believing in souls and believing in smurfs.

I guess not.

I wish I believed in smurfs rather than obsessed about rare diseases, though. It sounds like a hell whole lot more fun!

Plus, they are super cute.