I'd skip it, depressed ravings

It's not about my birthday. 

As I see it, I'm doing pretty damned well for a crazy, brain-damaged women turning 40. 

I own my own home. 

Ron and I own our own business, which is doing well in spite of the economy. 

I have a rewarding evangelistic career. 

I have a strong faith life. 

I am healthy (save the odd cyst); I have the use of all limbs and senses. 

I have a husband who is working on appreciating the things I do for him.  He has gotten a lot better at that, lately. 

I don't mind the caregiving stuff, not that I really think I have that much anyway.  But it is nice to hear thank you and "You do a lot for me" now and then. 

That said, I'm pretty depressed. 

I was listening to http://youtu.be/sI6sITMJtC4 - Signed up to Die, by This'l. 

I had the thought I often have, it's a lot harder to live for Jesus, than it is to die for Him.  A decision at gunpoint, a bullet, it's over. 

Living for Jesus - battling all my inner demons, Bad Thoughts, etc... especially when the kids next door are kicking the soccer ball - yup, gang, it's that time of year again - into the side of my house yet again, at 9 AM on a Sunday morning. 

I hope they believe Ron and I get up early, that we'd gone to church.  I hate to think they just did it without thinking about us at all.  They have 3 fences and about 10 feet of the wall of my house, bordering their backyard.  It is a source of constant amazement they constantly gravitate toward my little patch. 

Half an hour minimum, loud thumps against the wall of my house (and my old siding), screaming....

I'm not a parent.  I believe I would make a very bad parent, which is one reason I married a sterile man (he had an operation in the 80's).  I am certain I don't understand a lot about children, including their incredible and insatiable need to kick a soccer ball into the side of my house during mild weather.  The older kids are at least 12-10 years old.  Why can't they go to the park?  I was going to the mall for hours, myself, at that age. 

Nope.  Gotta be my house. [sigh] 

One of them has a birthday this week.  Several years ago, Ron and I saw them setting up a bouncy thing one year when we left on my birthday, to take a couple days in Galveston. 

They are pretty good about birthday parties, especially since I revoked yard access a few years (huge packs of wild children running wild and screaming in my yard unattended, during a party back in 2011 - also an unsupervised 2 year old running wild by himself).    They keep it quiet and finish up pretty quickly.  Apparently, if it isn't a first or 15th, they just have a meal and presents. 

After Mom has the next one (#6, if I had to guess about 6 months along - apparently they don't believe in birth control), I'm sure we'll find a big first-year-birthday party (huge in Mexican culture) at the end of next year, but the regular parties have been pretty reasonable. 


The last thing I'm doing on my day off is writing a long blog about the neighbors.  They like the cats (the mother at least - the father has never said anything either way).  They are generally quiet, save the soccer ball thing, birthday parties, and their insane all-night Christmas eve parties.  Last year some kid was yelling "Ho ho ho" at 2 am and kicking the soccer ball into my bedroom wall.  I wasn't super happy about that. 

Ron and I have never had a loud party.  Ever.  

Anyway, they could be a lot worse.  No barking dog.  OK with the cats.  They DO stay out of my yard unlike some of the renters in #2.  The current renters would never enter my yard.  Those kids thought my house and yard were community property - I found one of them, past the locked gate, in my backyard, looking in a window.  When he realized I'd "caught" him he just looked at me casually and said "You have a lot of books".   I told him to get out and don't come back. 

How was that his business looking in my house?  When the house got robbed in 2012, I immediately thought of those kids, who'd be old enough to rob the house.  I'll never know for certain until God tells me, though.  So, I don't have that.  

Boy, whoever robbed me was in for a big disappointment.  All they got was an elderly Macbook with some power supply issues - it wouldn't always boot when I turned it on.  On the computer, they found a 50 page typed out testimony and a bunch of gospel rap.  I changed all my passwords so they couldn't access anything online, and I never keep financial or personal data on a computer. 

So, they kicked in my door, ransacked the house, found "nothing".  The neighbor came home and they fled like cornered rats.  An interesting way to evangelize. 

Here's another thing - since I'm on a depressive rant anyway.  Babies. 

I don't want a baby.  

One, I need a quiet life.  I don't need all the crying and the diapers and the constant spending on items for a child that may grow up to be a complete monster.

I have heard horrific (to me), "funny" stories of babies pulling off their diapers and playing with their own waste.  I can only imagine what that does to the water bill. 

Everyone's like "Oh, of course you want a baby" with the same vacant expression.  NO I DON'T. 

I have a "baby", he is 59 years old.  He is in a wheelchair.  He will most likely continue to deteriorate as he gets older.  I don't need anyone else dependent on me.  Most people, when alerted to this, "excuse" me. 

I don't need your permission to remain child-free.  It's not my duty to breed.  In fact, with my genetics I think breeding was the worst thing my family has done.  We have "crazy" - people who are basically so mentally ill, they can't even work or provide for themselves, (my genetic family) we have that spread over at least 20 people to 4 generations.  UGH. 

Yes, there are a few exceptions, but they are just that - exceptions.  The "average" family member is severely bipolar, type one, with ongoing and unsolved addiction issues.  They don't take their meds as directed, they have all the dramas, and I just have to think "Thanks, Mom, for having 3 kids with mental illness, who've morphed into this huge clan of mentally ill addicted just like you.  That was a good call." 

In her defense, she got pregnant at age 12 and had my brother and sister very close together.  I was born in her 30's, the "baby".  

Ironically, one family member (a niece) won't hear a word against my mother because my mother actually happened to be in a good place mentally when my niece suffered a tragedy.  My mother was able to offer this girl some support when she needed it.   She's sanctified and haloized my mother into a saintly, blameless figure - kind of like the virgin mary.  I mentioned how I had been maimed by prenatal drinking and this girl just went off on me saying "Sure she made mistakes but don't tell everyone!!" 

I have to "tell everyone" in order for them to understand prenatal drinking is BAD.  Of course, saints are all dead, because live people, as we know, make mistakes.