The little things that count...

Every year, we reach the end of the year and comment about what a bad year it was, and that the next year will be better. We repeat the sentiment. "What a bad year. Next year will be better." I can honestly say that this year has been one of the worst I've ever experienced. And I've experienced a lot of pain and really bad times in my life. Those bad times are usually just life happening. Divorce, financial strain, emotional break-downs. You always manage to pick yourself up and move on.

This month has been a bit of a hectic financial month. It started with a vet visit for my Bionic dog, Bella. I nicknamed her Bionic Bella, not because she has any robotic parts, but she's looks like she's been through 5 different wars. She's always been the dog to come out second best in a fight, but she's also made it through some situations other dogs would not have. Bella and Koda (my 3 year old pup who is about 5 times her size) had a fight one night. She had a few scratches but nothing serious. The way she is, she carried on like nothing was wrong (I once came home to find half her cheek hanging off - her and her brother Odie had been in a fight). She developed an abscess and I had to take her to the vet to get her on a course of antibiotics.

I was speaking to friend this weekend. I call most people I speak to, even if occasionally, a friend. I was saying that from next year I need to make more effort to get out and be social. The conversation actually came from people asking where I find the time to make all the beaded products I make (and of course hula hoops), be a single mom (which includes no domestic help at home), and work a full day job. My answer at first was : "I sit at night and make things while watching TV". Then came the next part "And I have no social life, so my weekends are spent keeping myself busy making stuff".

For years I've made really awful decisions regarding men and relationships. It's not a secret. I'm known for making these bad decisions. I think I'm starting to understand why I just kept getting worse with each "man" I dated.

  I remember reading a facebook post a few months back where this facebook friend was ranting about somebody who "clearly does not suffer from depression, yet always insists she does". I remember thinking "how can she see inside somebody else's mind and know how they're feeling? How can she dismiss something she claims to suffer from?" and "just because the person is maintaining or addressing their illness and (I guess obviously) succeeding in finding a balance doesn't mean she's also fighting her demons daily".

Half the point of this blog was to put down in words what I'm thinking. I don't do it as much as I should. Mostly my excuse is I'm busy with other things. I haven't felt such betrayal in a while. And the weird thing is I'm not sure why I'm feeling betrayal. Nobody actually betrayed me. I also feel fury, rage. I guess it's because I'm finally doing something I really want to do. And today it was taken away from me. Not for good, but just this week.

I was going to name this post "bigger, bigger, more, more" but realized it may be read for the wrong reasons. Everyone always wants more. Or bigger. People can't be happy with the choices they're given.