Opinions wanted

Please read the scenario first.

Ken: Do you want to go to this concert next month? It's a $5 cover charge. Heath's favorite band is playing.

Heath, Kirsten, Jim, Cain, Donald: Yeah,  sure.

~3 days before the concert~

Ken: I don't think I can afford to go.

Group nods.

The group then goes to the concert without Ken. Heath wins a shirt and CD from the band. Jim posts about the win,  along with a group pic of them at the show. Outside,  after the concert,  Ken shows up,  screaming.

Ken: WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME THERE WAS A CONCERT? I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU GUYS ARE SO RUDE!!! I'D HAVE GONE IF I KNEW YOU WERE GOING. I'M SO DONE WITH YOU JERKS.

Jim: Sorry. Thought you said you couldn't afford to go.

Ken: That is no excuse. You and Heath should have called,  texted,  emailed,  tweeted, and Facebook posted to me so I'd know about the concert. Obviously Heath doesn't want me as a friend anymore. I'm not good enough. Cain or Donald can be his friend now. I'm so done. You are horrible people.

Heath: But you said you couldn't afford to go.

Ken: I said I didn't THINK I'd be able to afford it. Then I sold some stuff on eBay and made an extra few bucks.

Jim: But you didn't tell any of us that.

Ken: THAT ISN'T THE POINT!  YOU SHOULD HAVE MADE SURE I KNEW ABOUT THE CONCERT AND TOLD ME YOU GUYS WERE GOING!  Jim, you should have sent up a bat signal at the very least,  since you don't have my number.  I can't believe I have to explain that. My feelings are so hurt. Especially by Heath. We're supposed to be best friends. How could you treat me this way?

Jim: Wait,  wait,  wait... We were supposed to check in to see if you were still broke and rub it in your face that the rest of us were going? It's Heath's favorite band,  not yours. We figured if you couldn't afford it,  that was the end of the conversation.

Ken: I texted Heath 3 days before the concert. He never got back to me as to if he was going. He didn't reply that day at all. That's why I wasn't going to spend the money to go. The money I didn't have. But then stuff sold on ebay. But Heath should have texted back.

Donald: Heath and Kirsten were at her Aunt's funeral that day. You know that. They didn't have their phones on.

Ken: That has nothing to do with anything! 

Heath: I saw your message about being broke. That's why I didn't reply to the text the next 2 days. I figured it meant you had changed your mind about going. Last time I asked if you were going to something you couldn't afford, you unfriended me and we didn't speak for a year. I didn't know what to text because I worried anything I said would cause you to leave again. With the funeral and all,  I couldn't take losing you too.

Ken: I should have been communicated with!  You all left me out on purpose. You're horrible people. And Heath doesn't even own a poster of that band! If Kirsten really loves him,  she'd have bought him a poster. No poster,  no relationship!

Jim: Yeahhhh... That's not how it works.

Kirsten breaks down in tears,  sobbing that she's a horrible girlfriend who bought flowers for her dead aunt and paid rent instead of buying an autographed poster for Heath. No one can console her,  no matter how hard they try.

Ken then calls Heath's brother Ben. Ben agrees that Kirsten should have bought a poster. Paying for Heath's college tuition,  their apartment,  and staying in a committed relationship for ten years is NOTHING without a band poster on the wall. And no,  buying the imported CD with limited edition cover art and two previously unreleased songs DOES NOT COUNT. Savages.

Donald flips out on Ken for attacking Kirsten, who is his sister. Cain and Kirsten have to hold Donald back, because he's ready to give Ken the end-all be-all of a beat down. Death threats are shouted. Strangers slink away.

Hours later,  Jim is still trying to figure things out. Heath has apologized to Ken because Ben threatened to disown Heath if Heath didn't make it right with Ken. But Heath is now hurt because of Ken. And Kirsten has sunk into a deep depression. Ben says that no one else saw Ken's side of the story.

--------

Okay, so how did the group wrong Ken?
How can Ken's side be better explained so the group can understand and not make the same mistake?

Opinions needed!

14 years of #fail

Blame, compliain, ungrateful

I'm having a difficult time deciding how I feel about this meme, as it applies to a large chunk of my life.

Let me try something:

1. It is MY fault that I went to work. Having a job is just ASKING for exposure to a chemical that was handled improperly and not reported. I should have ____ instead of working. (No idea what goes on the blank.)

2. Yay! I sure do enjoy being unable to do my job anymore. It's super awesome to never be medically released,  but also not be able to collect disability because the doctors (darn, about to blame...)
Because I don't have a medical degree to prove what's wrong. And rah, rah, sis boom bah, I had the pleasure of giving all my money to pay for extra pain and suffering which,  fortunately,  never undid the damage from those chemicals. Hippy hippy hooray, I went bankrupt! And a big three cheers for every time I can't go somewhere because the heat means serious trauma or certain death.

3. I'm grateful they brought me back from the end of living. I'm super happy to know that I'm probably not going to grow old. And, whew, dodged a real bullet finding out that my broken body probably wouldn't survive carrying a child,  so that dream is dead.

I tried. It sounds sarcastic.
The truth is,  I'm angry. I can't accept this thing I can't change. I've been failing at life since July 5, 2002 - nearly 14 years - because I keep wishing for my body back. Wanting to be able to walk up the steps. Needing to be able to get from the car to the store. Hating every family gathering that I can't attend because I can't breathe. Or going and sitting inside alone (or with John) while everyone else is outside. And pretending that doesn't hurt. Watching everyone have fun through a window.  Like I'm a ghost.

Like I'm a ghost already.

I hate this meme. I hate not being able to do simple things. I hate that I'm alone 39 hours a week because it's safest this way. I hate not working. I hate not having coworkers,  not having a boss,  not having a purpose. I hate not getting a paycheck. I hate getting stuck in traffic in the summer and,  even though my car is new,  I can't get it to drop the temperature 40° F, and then feel like I might pass out. I'm terrified of how that would turn out. And moments like that actually ARE my fault,  because I know better than to take those risks. But it's hard to be alive and not live.
(*Live sounds like liver, not hive.)

It's also hard to carry around an extra 140 pounds.  The cost of taking steroids and being told to stay as still as possible as often as possible. Really? That's horrible advice! Yet more than one doctor suggested that or something similar. "It hurts because you aren't supposed to do that. You've got limitations. Be patient and kind with your body." THIS DOES NOT FEEL KIND.

I can scream-type all day,  it won't change a thing.

The meme is probably right. Look at my life. Fail isn't exactly inaccurate.

But damn, that's a harsh thing to point out. Could the writer swap lungs with me for a few years? I'm curious if I could go back to being a success once I'm not tied down with this. And,  OBVIOUSLY,  a little thing like constant pain and not breathing isn't going to hold him/her back. Come on,  it's just a little lung transplant...

The Funny Thing About Memory

I can't recall much of what happened that day two months ago. I have some of it on video,  which I watched. I can remember the video,  but in the same way that I remember a television show that I watched. It isn't the same as remembering it first hand.

For example,  I remember my third grade English teacher, Mrs. Diable. I remember her tight, brown, beehive hairdo. It was a good eight inches high. I remember her beady brown eyes,  and the way they sometimes looked like they were flaring red, and how that scared most of us. She was a conservative dresser at least a decade out of fashion. Nearly always in a long, straight skirt - not tight enough to be flattering,  but not loose enough to twirl when she spun around,  either. Her tops were always long sleeve with high collars.  Very high.  She wore those huge poofy scarf bows like a bow tie. It looked terrible because the bows were frequently larger than her whole head,  minus the hairdo, of course.

She was one of the few teachers who openly disliked me. It was because of the lesson on writing our address. I knew where I lived. I wrote my street down as Park. Her paper,  for whatever reason,  said I lived on Pike. I explained politely that Pike was the next street over. She went completely ballistic, hooting and hollering as if I just murdered cats and babies right in front of her. She demanded that I apologize and write my correct street name.

I couldn't do it.

I'm not sure I can fully explain the war inside me at that moment. I was to apologize for being correct and then knowingly write down information that was false, and pretend not to know better. I couldn't do it. I couldn't even fathom how to do it. I stared at the pencil. I couldn't play dumb. I'd never been asked to be wrong before.

Though it did no good,  I asked her what Jennifer wrote on her paper. Through gritted teeth, Mrs. Diable asked why it mattered. I said that Jennifer lived two houses down from me. We were on the same street. I asked if Jennifer lived on Pike. I might have asked too loud.

Jennifer looked up. "Our address is Park. P-A-R-K." Jennifer sounded annoyed. Not with the teacher,  but with me. I was supposed to be the smart one. How did I suddenly not know my own address?

Mrs. Diable showed me her sheet. There was my name,  along with the wrong address.  There was Jennifer's listing,  with the correct one. And Joey, my neighbor on the other side,  with the correct one. I pointed this out. I asked how Mrs. Diable thought it was possible that I lived between these two people,  but had a different street name. She said it didn't matter. What the sheet said is what was right. I clearly didn't know my own address.

I was sent to sit with the teacher's aide. I was to write this Pike address 50 times. The teacher's aide begged me not to,  but I wrote it as Park.

My grandmother always picked me up from school. She was one of the helpers that made sure children had coats on properly and such. My grandmother was told to fetch me directly from Mrs. Diable's room. The teacher needed to speak with her about my behavior.

That had never happened before.

My grandmother came in.  Mrs. Diable said that I didn't know my address,  and that I refused to learn it. Confused,  my grandmother looked to me.

"You've known your address for two years."

I shrugged. "You taught me that I live on Park, the same as Joey and Jennifer."

"You do." My grandmother looked at Mrs. Diable and the teacher's aide. "What's the problem."

"Your granddaughter lives on Pike. The paper says so!"

"Do I need to drive you to her house or call AAA for a map? She lives on Park. The paper is wrong. Pike is the next street over."

Mrs. Diable called the principal. Records were checked at the school office. I lived on Park. Mrs. Diable apologized to my grandmother.

"See? I told you I live on Park."

My teacher told me not to get smart.

I wondered why a teacher would want me to be anything but smart. Wasn't that the point of school? We disliked each other from that day on.

This I can remember clear as a bell. But that day two months ago? Fuzzy at best.

Right Left Brain

My Results: 【Left brain (50%) : Right brain (50%)】(Left right balanced) http://www.arealme.com/left-right-brain/en/5049909
Interesting! I spilt dead even.

The #sharethelove blog hop

http://theherdpresents.blogspot.com/2016/02/share-the-love-giveaway-hop.html

1. Nicki Ivey - This wonderful writer is a woman I'm proud to have as a friend. She's considerate, helpful, smart, beautiful, an introvert that pushes herself to be a leader, a caring mother and wife, an excellent shoulder to lean on, and is someone who I believe will change the world for the better.
2. Brenda Drake - Another writer who I've recently gotten to know. She writes, she blogs, she runs really fun contests, and she's changed the writing community for the better. This is someone who deserves to be recognised, which is why she's on my list today.
3. J Lenni Dorner - A writer of speculative fiction and a reference guide, J always has something interesting going on. (Yes, we're related in-law.) J has given me a lot of support over the last few years. I'm returning some of that today.
4. Andrew Herd - The most unreplicatable writing voice I've ever encountered. To read his writing is to be transported to a strange and wonderful place, generally in the science fiction realm.
5. Erin Hartshorn - My purple haired awesome writer friend. She writes, she edits, she's a stellar mom, and she has a great laugh. 

Here's the giveaway:

Entry-Form

$10 US giftcard from Amazon via email.

Liberal Arts versus other

The function of the liberal arts is to teach a student to think. There aren't pre-made jobs as readily available because they are too be thought up.

Other academic pursuit is to sustain the world and the student.

Liberal Arts Masters must change the world.

On Regret

I do not understand regret.

Oh sure,  I've read the definition. I can comprehend and use it correctly.

But I do understand it,  specifically the function of it.

First off, the past can't be changed. Yes,  there's a time travel argument,  but some would bring up alternative time lines and... I'm sticking with the statement: The past cannot be changed.

A lesson can be learned from a mistake. A future mistake could be avoided because of that. But these are not the function of regret.

Regretting one choice over another- The other path is different,  not better.
It seems better because you are failing the test of THIS path you are on. Stop failing and THIS will become that better path.

If the other path seems easier,  it wouldn't have been. Easy is a disguise, a lie we tell ourselves to lessen the pain of personal failure. The other path would have had different tests. Make your path the easy one. Learn how. Figure it out.

Grief and regret are evil bedfellows. "If only I had ___, then ___ might have (lived,  died better,  died later)." Well,  that didn't happen. Maybe in a multiverse. But it isn't what happened here. Grief is natural and part of a process. Regret is not part of a process. Regret is cancer for the soul.

"What about Batman?"
Someone always brings that up. Bruce Wayne regretted not saving his parents. So he became Batman. But saving his parents wasn't supposed to be his job. And the regret isn't what ultimately dives him. Regret offers no power. When he overcomes regret,  that's when he improves.  Go examine it again.

That's my two cents for today.

And yes,  I have plenty to regret. I have a grief so powerful that there isn't even a word (orphan,  widow/er, ... but then the one without a word). But no,  I allow no regrets in my mind. They fix nothing.

My Political Views

Isidewith.com

I was asked why I planned to vote for a Democrat. The issues being discussed weren't ones I had a strong opinion about,  and I wasn't sure how any of the current candidates of my party felt about it either. I know how they feel about issues I DO care about,  but not issues I'm not following.

So I went to the "I side with" site again today. It's not run by any candidate or party. And I got the same results that I had a few months ago.

Yeah,  I'm voting for someone who shares my point of view. That's generally how it works.

Next to nothing

Today I accomplished next to nothing. I had no ambition,  drive, passion,  desire,  or ability to be motivated. (Ability? Absorptionability? Not sure.) It was all ding-dong, no one home.

I tried to write. It was a short story based on a dream (that was possibly inspired by watching the movie Sisters). Tina and Amy check into a five star hotel. The staff keeps stealing hotel stuff from their room because they figure celebrities will pay without checking the bill. Tina calls for towels,  the bell hop steals the pillowcase. She calls about that,  two employees steal the nightstand. It was hilarious in the dream. It was dull as a story.

I did two loads of dishes. (One normal dirty dishes,  the other washing stuff like the metal stove bowls and the microwave plate. Odds and ends.) I questioned how there were dishes to do when we were barely home all weekend,  and mostly ate out. But whatever.

I read one more chapter in my book. Charged my phone. Walked away from it while it charged,  ended up missing a call from my best friend. Sigh. :/

It's going to be a long week.

How about you? Ever have an empty blah kind of day?