Loving The Change....

As someone who suffers from an extreme anxiety disorder, I do not like change. It makes me uncomfortable and it can even trigger panic attacks. I am just not really good with change. It can be scary. And I loathe being scared.

I am a country girl. A country girl from the south. As such I spent almost my whole life barefoot. So much so that there is a pronounced gap between my big toe from my other toes. Think flip flop feet. I can wear a flip flop and not have the toe hold irritate my skin. They are the perfect feet for summer and I love flip flops. It's as close to barefoot as you can get without actually ya know, touching the ground with your heels. So I have always, always detested socks. They make my feet feel like they are suffocating. I hate the constraints that socks put on my skin. I hate the way they rub and bunch under the toes. Now that I live in the north, I put off wearing them for as long as possible. Like to the point of almost getting frost bite. It has to be extremely cold for me to put on a pair and I still make it a point to complain about it the whole time. I just hate them that much. I don't even own a pair of socks because of this. I just snag a pair of my husbands. I mean, why buy something I am never going to purposely wear?

And here is where the change part comes in. I was at the store the other day buying tennis shoes, or as youngins refer to them...gym shoes. I equally dislike tennis shoes for the same reasons I detest socks. They make my feet feel strangled, they are sweaty, and I think they look like brightly colored clown shoes or maybe even oddly shaped boats. I just don't want to wear them. But where I live it snows a great deal and you can't go around barefoot in the snow. Not if you are insistent on keeping your toes.

I found a pair of shoes that were less bulky and brightly colored and with that I needed an actual pair of socks. I mean, I don't want my feet to smell. Ew. So I was dreading the task. I wanted to just throw a good ol' fit like a four year old. Complete with fake tears, pouty lips, throwing myself on the floor and banging my fists on the ground. I was not happy. But then out of the corner of my eye I saw these brightly colored mustache socks. They had different types of mustaches printed on them. A big furry one on the green socks. A pencil thin french mustache on the pink ones. A handle bar mustache on the purple ones. A Tom Selleck mustache circa 1985 on the blue socks. Each pair had these funny and kooky mustaches on them and I was intrigued. Yes, I am just that nerdy. I love mustache memorabilia. I have no idea why, except it amuses me greatly.

So I decided if I was going to be forced to wear such ungodly contraptions as socks, I would get ones that at least made me happy to look at them. I got home and and slipped the first pair on. The yellow pair with the medium sized mustache and I giggled. I giggled every time I looked at my feet. And as it turned out these socks weren't like other socks that had burned me before with blisters and uncomfortable bulges. These socks felt almost like silk. Or maybe fuzz. Anyway, they felt like wonderful foot gloves and I was a changed woman. I now love wearing my socks, but only those kind of socks. I am so convinced of the quality of these socks that I am going to get more of them. They have many different socks that have even more mustaches on them and I am kinda excited. Little ol' me excited about socks? Who would have thought?

So, through trial and error I realized something. First of all mustaches make everything better. Seriously. Think about it. And secondly, change isn't always a bad thing. Sure, it can be scary. Sure, the unknown can be daunting and a tad unnerving. Yes, it is just easier to keep doing what you have always done but you miss out on new experiences that you may have never known you were missing out on. It may be uncomfortable at first but you can learn to love it. It took me thirty four years to adore socks and now that I have found the right brand, I have no issue wearing socks all of the time. My oldest even stole the blue Tom Selleck ones from me....I now have to find a better place to hide my socks. Lol. Thief!

It is strange something like socks can change your whole perspective on life, but ya know I take inspiration from anywhere I can get it. I believe that change is hard for me but if I find a way to make it less scary or even fun, I may be able to do things I once thought impossible. And of course while I do, I will be rocking these super funky mustache socks. Because I am cool like that.

I mustache you a question? Are you going to try something new? Maybe you should. Ya never know, you just might like it....
Neurotic Nelly

My Stained Life

Wash, Rinse, Dry, Repeat.

Life is like a load of our favorite laundry. We spend an enormous amount of time washing it. We sort it by colors and fabric type. We sort it by underwear and socks, towels and sheets, jeans and shirts. Some of it has to be hand washed and fluff dried. Most of it we throw in the machine without a second thought and are surprised when we come out with pink socks. Then it's off to the dryer. Too hot and the sweaters will shrink. Too cool and it will covered in mildew and be damp.  Then it is folding time and putting it in the proper places. We spend our time trying to wash away the dirt and stains. Some of us wash and clean. Some of us would rather air out their dirty laundry to others. Some of us are color coordinated and some of us are color blind. In which case pink socks are not a big deal.
As my husband will tell you, I hate doing laundry. I feel like I am being sent down to the cave like basement to be punished by toiling away all of my time to wash, rinse, dry, and repeat.

Laundry is necessary. We all have to do it or we would look dirty and smell badly. Not really what most people strive to achieve. If life is like laundry then mentally ill people are forever in the laundry room. We deem ourselves dirty and stained. We are constantly trying to wash it away. We just want to be cleansed. We scrub the stains till our hands crack and bleed. They never come out despite the hours of elbow grease and specail soaps we apply. We just can't get the desired effect. It is time consuming and upsetting to work and work and never achieve what we are certain one more good scrub could eradicate.  I have decided that too much of my time is wasted by trying to scrub and wash away my mental illness. It is what it is. I want to jump in the mud puddles and play in the dirt. I don't really care if my clothes get dirty. I don't care if I have to wear the dreaded pink sock. I don't care if you see my stains. Getting dirty is a life well lived. It means you didn't stand on the side lines watching everyone else play jacks and marbles. It means you made mud pies and built sand castles. It means you allowed yourself to have fun. To live life. I am not saying I never need to do laundry again, but I'll wash it when my clothes are caked in the glorious aftermaths of  having a really fun and hard working day. I will wash them when I am good and ready. I will not bother to try to erase the stains I have been given. They are part of me and make me who I am. They are a timeline of how hard I participated in my own life, and proof that I was active. It is my story written by one stain at a time. The grass stains are from me crawling until I could stand. The mud stains are from me falling and getting back up. The  blood stains are from the scrapes I got when I forgot to be careful and had to learn my lesson the hard way. The food stains are from good meals shared with family and friends. The paint stains are from reinventing and rebuilding my life, which is always under construction. I will wear this garment until it is  worn and thread bare. I will dot it until it is marbled with the stains of my well lived life.I will stretch it out until it becomes ill fitting and uneven. And then and only then will I wash, rinse, dry, and repeat.
                         Neurotic Nelly