tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-987049796144967029.post8250065575679799228..comments2024-01-26T04:33:21.900-05:00Comments on Erobintica: Unintended Consequences - Thinking - Part 1Erobinticahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03367086200542648795noreply@blogger.comBlogger7125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-987049796144967029.post-79792030643807151942009-04-15T18:56:00.000-04:002009-04-15T18:56:00.000-04:00Me too ;) Ya'll have been a bad influence ;)
~Je...Me too ;) Ya'll have been a bad influence ;)<br /><br />~JenAisling Weaverhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08100277238543519620noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-987049796144967029.post-24507460998681329252009-04-15T16:40:00.000-04:002009-04-15T16:40:00.000-04:00Thanks Jen,
So glad you did that first post. ;-)Thanks Jen,<br /><br />So glad you did that first post. ;-)Erobinticahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/03367086200542648795noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-987049796144967029.post-64729267136348841462009-04-15T09:16:00.000-04:002009-04-15T09:16:00.000-04:00Robin, I just want to send you a long distance hug...Robin, I just want to send you a long distance hug.<br /><br />And let you know you got me thinking too. And I can see how Donna's essay would do so. <br /><br />I made a resolution at New Year's to be "truer" to my self. I never realized that doing so would lead me where it has.<br /><br />I've "lurked" through my whole life. But my since my first post to the Beginner's Ball things have snowballed, and suddenly if I think it, I say it(or write it). My husband's still not certain what to make of that.<br /><br />Thank you for sharing your thinking, no matter how deep. <br /><br />~JenAisling Weaverhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08100277238543519620noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-987049796144967029.post-47560527921246840062009-04-14T13:36:00.000-04:002009-04-14T13:36:00.000-04:00Donna - because--ack, I'd look dumb or people woul...Donna - <I>because--ack, I'd look dumb or people wouldn't like me or something.</I>Yup. It's so hobbling at the time and then when I look back I go wtf did I do that for? Oh well, live and learn.<br /><br />Oh, I sent my husband a link to the essay and he read it. This is what he had to say: <I>Very good essay but sad and all too typical of big corporate morality.</I>Again, thanks for sharing that with us.Erobinticahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/03367086200542648795noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-987049796144967029.post-67737989246866096312009-04-14T11:10:00.000-04:002009-04-14T11:10:00.000-04:00Robin, thank you for this post. I understand thos...Robin, thank you for this post. I understand those feelings so well myself. I've spent most of my life not speaking up because--ack, I'd look dumb or people wouldn't like me or something. Maybe it's estrogen or something, but as a middle-aged lady, I'm finally stepping beyond that. My mother's death and the trial "helped," although I'd wish a gentler path to others.<br /><br />I'm so glad you chose to try diet and exercise. My mother was a very small person and when she was on medication (which she didn't really need anyway), a half or quarter dose was really enough. But the doctors never even took that into consideration. They don't seem equipped to see patients as individuals. And taking control of your body is the most important way to "speak out."<br /><br />Thank you, cerulean, for taking the time to read a not-especially-fun essay. My hope is always to connect with others in my writing, but I realize each reader brings something personal to it. Writing was my therapy in a way, but it was also a huge challenge and may have kept the wounds fresher. Still, I'm glad I did it. And awareness of the preciousness of time is a gift.Donnahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13615190390845433428noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-987049796144967029.post-78783419425477760922009-04-14T10:38:00.000-04:002009-04-14T10:38:00.000-04:00Hi cerulean, gee, I better quit it with the downer...Hi cerulean, gee, I better quit it with the downer blog posts, huh? ;-) <br /><br />Actually, I think it <I>is</I> that breathing at my back that is helping me get past my fear and do things. Like this blog, or my writing, or any of the things I find myself doing when even just a few short years ago I was <I>afraid</I> to do. And I'm glad of it. <br /><br />Thank <I>you.</I>Erobinticahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/03367086200542648795noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-987049796144967029.post-43459896168370419822009-04-14T07:03:00.000-04:002009-04-14T07:03:00.000-04:00Robin,
I know you and I are about the same age, a...Robin,<br /><br />I know you and I are about the same age, and I wonder how to handle the fear, too. Not the fear of speaking up--God knows I do that very well, thank you very much--but that roller-coaster feeling in the pit of my stomach that spreads tentacles of adrenaline throughout my body when I realize that I'm on the downside of this ride. It's almost over. I'm going to die some day.<br /><br />The rush motivates me to move. I run ahead of the thought, get away from it, accomplish one more thing on my list of life's desires. But lately, I hear its breathing, heavy and cold, getting closer, especially when I attended the recent funerals of favorite aunts and uncles, and the friend who found life on this side of the grass too much to bear. I looked around the room and thought, "Who's next?" The next thought, "It could be me..."<br /><br />So, Robin, you're not the only one who thinks about loss. Deeply. Honestly. Fearfully.<br /><br />I read Donna's story. It was incredibly moving and I'm sure that writing about the senseless loss of her mom helped her move a step closer to healing. I admire her courage and tenacity to see the trial through to the end.<br /><br />I have to run now. I've stayed longer than I should. There are goosebumps on my arms from the chill.<br /><br />Thank you for being my friend.<br /><br />ceruleanAnonymousnoreply@blogger.com