Quiet madness

That title doesn't really cover it, though. I'm trying to capture what happens most nights for me, sometime around 3 or 4:30am. That's the time I usually jerk awake. The house is still, my husband is breathing slowly and evenly next to me—and like an unwitting inverse correlation to his calm, I can barely catch my breath. I wake from bad dreams at times, but most often I simply open my eyes, feeling immediately anxious, worried about everything under the sun.

Why do I worry? It's pointless. It's unbiblical. It's a sign of weak or absent faith. I know all these things, consider them truths, yet there I lie, silently freaking out. Ebola will continue to spread thanks to unpreparedness in the United States, my family will be struck, some of us will die too soon... ISIS, having penetrated our borders, will begin systematically killing and capturing Americans in random places and the culture of sheep will permit it out of fear of offending someone... Our government will become even more corrupt and the society will crumble into martial law when bankruptcy must be faced and handouts are ended... And those are just the outside-of-our-home concerns. That's not even touching on the hours of darkness spent agonizing over illnesses and injuries, poor decisions and resulting chaos, and general mayhem and angst in the lives of people we care about. Not to mention the fear about my husband's job disappearing, the position replaced by a smaller team or simply deleted because the work has become obsolete, and then I will find that too many years out of the professional realm have rendered me stupid and archaic and worthy of only menial positions... (Thankfully, my dreams about my son disappearing seem to be diminishing.)

I'm driven by logic and reality. I know better, now, than to fill my mind with creepy books and movies about killers, and monsters, and sick-minded individuals—when I used to do that, I had awful thought and visions about those stories. Since I've sworn off that sort of thing for the most part, though, now my fears are always real. I can't easily discount them, especially not after midnight when there is no distraction from my own busy, disturbed brain. I pray, try to focus on other things, try to go back to sleep, and many nights it's all in vain.

I wish I could find solace and escape more easily. At least I think I do. Maybe I choose to be this way. Do we all choose to be the way we are? Happy? Somber? Thoughtful? Selfish? I do believe that sometimes we can influence our focus, but can I ever become a woman who wakes in the night and feels only peace? I want to be that woman. God wants me to be that woman. Becoming that woman is so much more challenging.

That's why I haven't written much lately. My skittering thoughts are still ponderous, albeit fast-moving. I don't know how that's even possible, but it is. And the older I get, the less important it feels to share them. To say anything, really, seems more and more futile.

Sorry for the downward spiral; it's fall, leaves are spinning down on my head, a harsh winter awaits, and I'm just being real. To quote a good friend, "it's part of my charm," you know. Carry on.

Inquiring minds want to know

(Notice I spelled inquiring with an "i" because I do not in any way want to be associated with the National Enquirer, the classless rag that first made such a statement. Frankly, I'm not even sure that it merits the italics used to indicate a publication...)

I have an inquiring mind, and I want to know. I want to know because I need to know. How bad is it going to get in America? In the world? Situations are unraveling faster than the newspeople can address them. You'll notice the local news-givers have simply refused to acknowledge any serious news outside of an invisible 60-mile radius surrounding our city. Another local fire? Robbery? Shooting? Demonstration? Quick, find a barely literate, clueless person to interview!

Anyway. Obviously, no one's getting the truth from the liberal, purchased national media folks, either. What I do manage to learn, (mostly via web sites which merely visiting could earn me the label of militant troublemaker,) is all bad. Economy and employment=bad. America produces very little and is controlled by thugs. Food? Bad; it's controlled by giant conglomerates like Monsanto who force chemicals, additives, and dependency on its unsuspecting consumers. Housing: bad for most, unless you had the sense to purchase a tiny, cheap home in a decent market for a fair price, and you've somehow managed to stay employed for the past 3 or 4 years. The youth? They're the victims of all this degradation and sadly, a lot of them don't even realize how unbalanced (not to mention immoral and sleazy) our world has become. Hope and change? Fading fast. Leadership and government? They're in midair now, having already driven off the cliff. (Did I mention you were in the cart they dragged behind them?)

So, what's a poor, flustered, concerned suburbanite to do in the face of all this madness?

Go off grid. Actually, go off off-grid. Just being a survivalist and removing yourself from the so-called "grid" that our culture has slowly plugged into the back of your head, Matrix-style, is no longer sufficient. Now, apparently, you must branch off from the off-grid lifestyle.

Or so I'm guessing, based on the talk about a book that becomes available in force via book bomb tomorrow, March 4. The author is a full-fledged, real-life off-gridder, and I for one am quite interested in any insights he has to offer. The intelligent, informed people over at the Granny Miller blog had some good things to say about it, and they've piqued my curiosity. I might have to bite the wallet and order one.

I love being near the city for many reasons. If someday Todd and I decide to remove ourselves from its midst, I will miss the culture, and the availability of odd and wholesome foods, and the diversity, and the dazzling array of amazing manmade creations, and the opportunities and events and seemingly limitless re-sale options. But at the same time, I can clearly see the rapid deterioration of our easy, effortless lifestyle, of the freedoms that we take for granted daily. I can see that the entire country, and most of the modern world, is teetering on the brink of some really difficult times that will make the depression look mild. It's not going to take a super-human shove to push us over the edge. Unpayable debt, overloaded systems, a majority of citizens that rely on government assistance in some form, unhealthy agricultural monopolies, pollution and corruption and—well, you see my point.

Not to mention the cost of gasoline. The refusal of our figureheads to drill at home, thus our reliance on knuckleheads. The absolute breakdown of everything when there's a disaster, natural or otherwise. Can you even imagine this country if we all lose power for any length of time? Or if some evil person gets into some major water supplies and fouls them up? Can you envision what will happen if some major roadways are disrupted for any reason and become impassable for a length of time? What if (gasp) the dollar is replaced as global currency?

I try not to picture these things, but I still do. I can't help myself. I am grounded firmly in reality. I don't like confrontation either, but I prefer it to walking away while peering with trepidation over my shoulder.

I have to think it's better to address these looming possibilities, and what I can do if they come to fruition. I wouldn't be nearly as concerned if I weren't so bloody dependent on all these faulty, flawed systems. That's why I keep eying this whole off-the-grid idea with such focus and fervor. I like the idea of being a self-sufficient unit. I enjoy the pleasures of our culture, the entertainment factors, the modern conveniences, the exotic choices in every realm. But I could live without most of it pretty easily. Could I live without all of it? What would it take? Where would it need to happen? How much money, knowledge, and preparation would it require? How much work would it be?

I know it's a lot to think about. But I do believe it merits a ponder, or two or five. Because truly, the good thing about being such a darned pessimist is that after thinking of all the bad things that could happen, the pessimist is empowered to then move forward into the preparation and planning stages.

I hope you'll check out Granny's site, or the book's website (the link is there).

Meantime, anybody want to sell me some remote land and livestock cheap?

P.S. Sorry if you find more typos than usual here; I'm hurrying, because I want to get this live so my two readers can check out the book by tomorrow...

A-traveling we will go

Very soon, in fact. Going coastal (as opposed to postal). I don't travel quite as easily as I used to. Suddenly, the outing seems more complicated because there is so much more to consider. You know, like those thoughts that float to the forefront of your mind at 3am, the thoughts that are sort of ludicrous in the light of day but not so simply dismissed when you're the only person awake and it's pitch dark... Thoughts like this:

• what if we wreck on the way and the only survivor is my child?
• what if it rains the whole time and we just blew hundreds of dollars for nada?
• what if the dolphin-watching cruise we're taking happens to sink?
• what if I don't use enough sunscreen and my kid gets scorched?
• what if there's an early hurricane?
• what if we get to the inn and they have no record of us even though I confirmed with them today? and we can't find another vacancy?
• what if one of us gets food poisoning?
• what if there's a terrorist attack while we're there?
• what if the attack happens there?
• what if the whole healthcare system collapses thanks to those jackaninnies in DC and I get seriously ill and can't find treatment?
• what if neither my husband nor I ever find viable employment again?

Okay, okay, those last few thoughts have nothing to do with travel. I need to stay focused. ; ) And I must remember to trust, to actually start practicing all those doctrines I so glibly shared with other people during their hard times. We're okay. We have enough for today. We have enough that we didn't cancel this little upcoming getaway. We believe that we're not in control and the One who is in control has never let us down yet. He's allowed bad things to happen sometimes—but He's been there through it and brought us out on the other side. The record is pretty promising. I must hold tight to that, especially at 3 am.

Wonder if faithful, fearless thinking will be any easier in a strange bed, in a strange town, at 3am?

I'm excited to go, truly I am. We all could use the distraction for certain—as evidenced here. I'll let you know whether any of my fears are realized...assuming that I'm able, of course.

Feelin' freaky

I recall when I was a kid that certain things really sent me off the deep end if I thought about them for too long. First, it was human beings themselves. I remember when we first began learning about internal body parts, probably in grade school and on into middle school, and I started to really grasp that we living creatures were miracles—that a heart was inside each of us, beating of its own power, and that we were literally pulsing with life, with blood, with functioning and even regenerating parts… and all this happened constantly without batteries, without our being charged in an outlet each evening. We were just alive, and someday we wouldn’t be. Period. It really freaked me out.

In fourth grade, I think, we learned about the solar system, studied all the planets, memorized their names and order with some funny sentence about my mom serving pizza (a mnemonics gimmick—it worked at the time I learned it, but the order of the planets is never straight in my head these days, so at some point in the past 30 years the trick failed me). But what really stayed with me was the absolutely ludicrous notion that the universe it infinite. What is infinite? What IS that? How can it be? Someone, a former teacher or a cheesy sci-fi author or such, planted an idea in my head that there was a final boundary to the universe…and it was a giant wall plastered with advertisements. That was ridiculous, but presented quite a memorable image—one that has stuck with me in spite of its silliness. Still, I couldn’t linger on that subject for long. Even now, the idea of infinity is unnerving to me.

Planets were fascinating, but even more so was our very own little orb. How could we be rotating all the time? And revolving at the same time? And yeah, there’s gravity, I know, but how can it be just the right amount that we don’t float away, yet don’t collapse upon ourselves either? The distance from the sun, too—that’s enough to send me out of my head. How can it be exactly right for providing warmth? For maintaining our weather patterns? It’s just the perfect distance to cause photosynthesis, thus sustaining us through food sources. It’s the reason Earth has life on it—and I know that’s no accident. But even embracing the idea of a genius Creator doesn’t lessen the jumpy sensations in the pit of my stomach when I dwell on that subject.

Nowadays, I’m becoming rather nervous about the state of our planet and its possibly changing atmosphere, what with the horror stories about rising temperatures, melting icecaps, polar bears drowning because they’re not able to swim far enough to find icy ground anymore. (Scoff if you want, but first sit down and watch An Inconvenient Truth. Whether or not you like Al Gore, he sets forth some very convincing and convicting information.) I’m also feeling pretty uncertain about the economy, and our dependence on foreign oil, and the fact that our whole culture is based on buying crap and driving places. If the oil stops, we’re screwed. I can’t even think about it or I’ll spend our entire savings on canned goods, weaponry, and a huge generator that’s powered by an exercise bike. But I can’t talk about that anymore—you know why!

And I’ve come full circle on the freaky topics, because now I’m freaked out by my own body—again. I was too consumed and distracted when I was pregnant to realize the insanity of growing a life inside me, but in the aftermath, I’ve been left with a little parting gift from the kid: a heart murmur. It’s in there, all the time, but I’m really only aware of it in quiet moments, especially right before I fall asleep. (Now, there’s a soothing, soporific thought: your heart is out of whack. Sweet dreams!) It’s something called a prolapsed mitral valve, I think. The doc explained it as a door (translation—heart valve) that’s actually a little bit too small for the door frame, so that each time it swings shut, it tries to swing all the way through. Pretty comforting, eh? I realize it’s small potatoes compared to the weird bodily things going on in lots of other folks out there, and I’m not complaining. It’s minor. It’s not a big deal. It’s very common, especially in women. It doesn’t require treatment, at least not at this stage. And yet… I feel it in there sometimes, I feel the missed beat, the pause while the valve is trying to swing back instead of sticking in the frame like it wants to. I feel it malfunctioning, even for a second.

A n d i t f r e a k s m e o u t.