Today was Fat Tuesday. In other words, the pinnacle of Mardi Gras. And I would have MUCH rather been there than putting on an election here. I honestly got a call from a woman who was mad she couldn’t vote online.

Because nothing could go wrong there 🙄

People vote BLIND. People came in, voted for one person, then asked what they were voting on. They asked what we did. A few asked these questions simultaneously while I was still answering the first question they had asked.

I maaaaaaay have gotten a little short with one of Sevier County’s self-labeled “elite”. A smartass is a smartass, I don’t care what you own or what you’re worth. Most of them I’d like to buy for what they’re actually worth and sell for what they think they’re worth.

38 people is a lot for one day in my little office. Jake Right Now kept saying, “I can’t believe we’ve had this many people.” 🤣 He was amazed. But then, it doesn’t take much. I shouldn’t knock him, he helped me with Annual Report folding and stamping the last two days.

In other good news, they caught the cop killer. I’m quite disappointed they took him in alive. So now we’ll be financing all his healthcare, food, and weight training for the next forty years. Unless they cook him. I’d pay to see that. I’m not very nice today, am I? But I don’t see a place in society for straight up cold-blooded killers, ESPECIALLY cop killers, and MOST ESPECIALLY REPEAT OFFENDERS. He was a straight thug, and that’s all he’s destined to ever be.

So. Mardi Gras. Since I couldn’t go to New Orleans on a whim 🥺🥺🥺🥺 I met Angela for supper. She’d been craving Cracker Barrel’s pancakes and enticed me by way of their biscuit beignets. And oh my Gawd, were they heavenly.

But before we get to that, lemme tell you what I done.

So I’m going into Cracker Barrel. Double door system. An older couple is exiting through the first set coming out of their gift shop. I’m outside, fixing to go through my set. And I see that it’s Hugh and Helen Manis! I get so, so excited. Last time I saw David, their son, he gave me the impression they weren’t able to get out. And here they were! Walking unassisted out of Cracker Barrel!

I gave a few little hops in my heels, mouth stretched into a big smile and sort of awestruck expression and all but screamed, “I AM SO GLAD TO SEE Y’ALL!!! YOU LOOK GREAT!!!”

And they’re looking at me, all smiles, and I’m just bombarded with memories of these two, waiting on them at Co-op, getting their cattle vaccines and dewormers together, sitting with them at First Baptist Seymour, talking to him on the phone at my current job. I was moved to give him a big squeeze.

As I moved in, and was maybe 6” away from him, I realize it’s not Hugh and Helen. His face was too small, and where were his glasses? Her hair was too big and this wasn’t them at all….oh dear Lord. But it was too late. I was done leaned all the way in. So I followed through with the hug.

Let the record state, the poor dear man did not hug me back. He probably thought I was crazy, even though I was dressed nice and had made a concerted effort with my hair today. Oh well. Best roll on. I gave not-Helen my most dazzling smile, bid them a good evening, and with my face blazing, went off in search of Angela and biscuit beignets.

When I regaled her the story, I had went ahead and called another close friend to get the telling out twice with one stone. I get to the end, head in my hands, and wailing, “I can’t believe I done that!!” And both of them at the same time were like, “why not? I’m not surprised at all. You do this kind of thing all the time!”

They’re right. I do. I hope David or Helen reads this and gets a big kick out of it. ‘Cause it sure was funny.

Of course that’s not all that happened, but I’m quitting here because it’s almost tomorrow. I should never say, “Ehh, today is over for the most part. I’m just going to Cracker Barrel, what could possibly go wrong??”

Plenty. Plenty can go wrong 🤪🙄

Love from Addled Amy in Appalachia

Procrastination is the name of the game over here. Things I am actively not doing:

• Washing my face
• Washing dishes
• Sleeping
• Thinking about a serious plot for my blog
• Otherwise preparing for bed or my day tomorrow

Things I am doing:

• Watching dog reels on Instagram and sending them to friends
• Drinking chocolate milk
• Rubbing Chester’s ears while watching dog reels and drinking chocolate milk
• Procrastinating on this evening’s blog
• Wondering what’s wrong with me
• Trying to find a date for Valentines that’s not a real date. I just wanna go eat trout and crème brûlée and drink gin at Blackhorse

So more on that last part. Here’s the menu. Can you blame me?! I’ll brave the lovestruck crowds for crème brûlée! And yes, I am aware I could go by myself. And normally it wouldn’t even be a blip on my radar. But it’s VALENTINES. That would make me look pathetic. Even if anybody who bothered to meet me would quickly ascertain I am anything but. I’m just a single girl with an appetite.

And now I’m out of things to talk about again. I refuse to talk about the rain. I’m sick of the rain.

I refuse to talk politics… yet.

I refuse to talk about the Super Bowl or Taylor Swift, because I didn’t watch it because I didn’t care.

I met the new Agriculture Agent for our county today. I asked him if he was like John Dutton. He doesn’t watch Yellowstone, so he doesn’t realize what a compliment I gave him. He just shrugged and said that’s what everybody says. And here I thought I was original. What a disappointment. Nice guy, though.

I dunno. I don’t wanna talk about nothin’, I wanna go to bed.

I think I will. This is all you get. Yesterday’s was lengthy, they can’t all be Pulitzer material 😁

Once upon a time
I was a young girl
I would dance and I would twirl

But now my hair is gray
And wrinkles grace my face
Firmly rooted in the rat race

I sit with my dog
My candle and book
Reading and writing till I must cook

The rain has come and gone
The conversation has dwindled
Come to find out the money was swindled

I must rest my eyes
The hour is late
And I still don’t have a Valentines date! 

I think I just lost my last two readers. And I don’t blame you. Maybe tomorrow will be better. Maybe not. I never promised you a dang thang! I’m merely honoring a promise to myself. Three hundred and twenty-some-odd days to go!

Love and perseverance from Appalachia,

~Amy

I have a friend who recently set sail on her first cruise. She was so excited, as I was for her. I was talking to another mutual friend and he was issuing all sorts of concerns and disbelief that she was going while news circulated of the murders and various crimes that were happening in the vicinity. “Wait, where is it, exactly, that she’s going?” I asked him, thinking I had missed something. After all, I don’t watch the news, but I do tend to get wind of major events one way or another. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Well, where were all these killings you’re talking about?” “I dunno, my wife was just telling me, she saw it on the news last night.”

I rolled my eyes and tried not to blow air too obnoxiously through my nose. “When you go to these islands, they tell you it’s not safe to leave the resort. I don’t know how cruises work, but surely if there’s a bunch of calamity, the don’t de-board. Or they take you elsewhere. They don’t want you killed, it’s bad for business. Word gets out.”

For the record, my friend had an absolutely FABULOUS time and wants to go back. There was no scalping, stabbing, or purse snatching, to the best of my knowledge.

Almost all my life, every time I’ve went on vacation alone, I had a naysayer in my life, telling me to hold off, there’s a hurricane coming. Or maybe take someone with me, there’s a killer on the loose. I don’t mean to be ugly, but I feel like I’m better off by myself most of the time. Not everybody is as vigilant as me, and careful about not sharing certain details to strangers at the bar, like how long I’m in town and what my plans are, and where I’m from, and where I’m staying and who I’m with (Lisa. I’m talking about Lisa. She tells everything she knows to everybody we meet and I pinch her under the bar and she says “ow!”). I think most people would slow me down in the event of an emergency because I’d have to save their ass, too. Because nobody wants to carry a gun; it’s too much trouble. Nobody wants to stay sober enough, it’s not much fun. It’s a whole lot less fun being dead, I can promise you that.

People will tell you that you shouldn’t go wherever for one reason or another. They will try to stand in your way with what seems to be reasonable explanations. But love and adventure cannot be stopped. It can be thwarted but you must overcome any fears and most cautionary tales from people who rarely leave the safety of their hometown. It’s worth it every time, at least in my experience. It’s hard to grow in knowledge if you live the same life every day. And even when I’ve done things that when I look back I realize weren’t the smartest, I still don’t have regrets. Maybe I’m a narcissist, but I know that I gained something from every choice, wrong or right. And for the most part, I’ve had a really good time with very few regrets. I’ve seen some awesome country and had some breathtaking moments that I would have definitely missed out on if I had listened to some people.

I’ve had a few conversations this week with various people where we’ve talked about perspective. Nearly twenty years ago, Lisa had a job as the Activities Coordinator at a local nursing home. The job is self explanatory, and largely thankless. During this time, she had to have surgery on her feet and was in a wheelchair for a month. She said that certainly gave her some insight into why certain activities weren’t feasible to the participants and she knocked these exercises off the rotation. You would think in order to be on the list of things to do they had already been vetted. Clearly that is not the case. Because nobody cared enough to put their self in that position.

I can complain about traffic here and you’ll think I’m exaggerating until you drive in it. The sitting is the easy part. I’m talking about the multitudes of idiots manning their machine, oblivious to others and the rules of the road. That’s what’s scary. All I’m saying is it’s easy to make assumptions and think that people exaggerate until you live it. I’ll use Lisa as an example again, because she doesn’t mind, and we have lots of life experiences together. Back when I worked at Co-op and the fencing company, I spent the vast majority of my day on the phone. Lots of you witnessed it. Lots of you contributed to it 😁😉❤️ and that’s fine, that’s what paid my bills. But it’s harrowing, and it drains the brain. The last thing I wanted to do when I got home was talk on the phone some more. No matter if it was to my bestie, and not someone needing a delivery or advice. I was just mentally fried and wanted to be left in peace. Lisa didn’t—and still doesn’t— understand. She only knows that she was cooped up at home with three kids, two dogs, and a parakeet and wanted to tell me how she succeeded in keeping the house from going up in an inferno yet again. I hadn’t lived her life (and didn’t want to), and she hadn’t lived mine. So we were often at an impasse. But if she had spent a week or two in my Justins, or if I spent the day in her Old Navy flip flops, maybe we’d get it.

I was watching the Golden Girls today and was struck by something so simplistic, so normal, so commonplace. Dorothy made a date with a guy she was smitten with in high school. Who did she rush to tell? She whizzed past Rose and blew past Blanche to get to her mother. Not everyone has that. Not everyone has a mother who is their best friend, with gentle advice and non-judgmental observations. (That doesn’t describe Sophia, either, but she did call Dorothy “pussycat”, so I guess that’s something). Or the daddy who always has time for their child, whether it be fixing a bicycle chain or listening to complaints about how “Mom just doesn’t understand”. Not everybody has boundless, uncomplicated, unconditional love from traditional sources. Not everyone’s sister is their best friend, and not everyone’s brother stuck up for them. And the people who are fortunate enough to have it rarely understand it in those who don’t. They say things like, “Call them, they’re the only one you’ve got.” Well, sure. But why would you want to? You don’t miss what you never had.

It’s all of us, all the time. Am I constantly thankful I can walk around, unaided, on my own two God-given legs? No. Am I appreciative of my eyeglasses, my lightweight corrective lenses so that I can see to read and write and admire sunrises and sunsets and how precious my dog looks when he’s sleeping? (See below) No, I am a total snob and self-centered when it comes to so much. Clothes to wash? A chore. A porch to sweep? A burden. A car to take for an oil change? Ugh, why did I remind myself? Even getting up to go to work is sometimes a dreaded activity. But what if I had to walk to a grueling job I hated? What if I didn’t have anything good to eat in my refrigerator, or no means of cooking it? What if I was supposed to be on a special diet and couldn’t even enjoy food? I ain’t thankful for hardly nothin’, until it tears up. Then I’m just aggravated.

It’s all in our perspective.

So as we start a new week, I hope that for everything we dread, we can name at least five things we’re looking forward to. So it may set in to raining again, but we know that we need the groundwater reserves. We know we need moisture in the atmosphere. We know it won’t rain forever. Rain makes corn…and corn makes whiskey…you know the rest.

Love and trying to remember grace in Appalachia,

~Amy

What a cozy little day I’ve had. The rain didn’t arrive till the afternoon, and I had my house presentably clean by then so I was able to stay curled up and enjoy it from the warmth of my couch. It’s so nice to be snug at home, free of responsibilities and places to be. I mean, apart from still needing an oil change. Who in their right mind wants to drive to West Knoxville in the rain on a Saturday? For that matter, who wants to drive there on a sunny Wednesday? Not this girl. If you do, see me for keys. Maggie’s fun to drive; I’m just lazy.

Lonesome Dove and Nilla wafers are much more my speed for dreary February Saturdays. I also had meatballs marinating in the crockpot and I threw together my famous oatmeal casserole that I haven’t made in over five years. It smelled so delectable baking. Cinnamon must be one of the most comforting scents known to man.

You ever know somebody really well in a specific capacity, and then you see them somewhere out of the normal and it’s like seeing a whole new person? For instance, one of your closest coworkers and then you unexpectedly run into them at Dollywood in shorts and sandals and wiping their child’s face free of ice cream and it’s this whole other persona you weren’t even aware existed? Like, you didn’t even know they owned shorts? Or you and your friend have always gone to restaurants together and had a big time, but then you invite them over for supper in your home and the whole atmosphere is different? Isn’t that the kookiest thing? I have people in my life I would definitely call on if the chips were down but that have never visited my home, and I have never been in theirs. Can you truly know someone without seeing where and how they live? I think so, if they’re open about their life, but I also believe you get a much clearer idea after seeing them in their natural habitat. It’s hard to hide the kind of person you are in your own home. Especially if you’re caught unawares. You catch me with dirty dishes in the sink, you’ve embarrassed me the equivalent of catching an old farmer without his pocketknife. (For those of you not in the know, old farmers will carry their pocketknives into the funeral home. So if you catch one without it, they’re basically nekkid.) I think it’s good to be surprised by people you love. I wouldn’t want an acquaintance dropping in on me and catching me looking less than my best, but close friends are always welcome. Especially in times of crisis. It’s so heartwarming to be in the presence of a well loved and cared-for home when you feel like your world has shattered. And your friend putters around, baking cupcakes and making you coffee or tea and occasionally giving you a reassuring hug. You don’t get the same sense of well-being in a magazine showplace home with purposely purchased knickknacks from the Hobby Lobby. Give me junk collected from vacation travels and antique stores any time. Give me stained recipes hanging from tattered cookbooks and magazines piled way out of a basket intended for blankets. Give me dustbunnies behind the refrigerator and a wilted plant in the windowsill over aesthetically pleasing white shiplap walls and plastic succulents. Give me a plain ol’ vanilla stubby candle and not a pristine “pressed linen” Pottery Barn creation in a stained glass jar, a replica of the windows at the Vatican. Give me ratty sweatpants and hair in a knot over Gucci accessories and contoured makeup.

How did I get here? Anyway. I’m looking forward to another day like today tomorrow, and I hope you all have a wonderful one, as well. Give yourself some time to relax, and not rush to the next thing, and carve some time out just for YOU. Turn off your phone if you have to. Go hug a tree. Sit in the floor. Work a puzzle. Cook something. Bring it to me. Everybody’s happy! But seriously. You only get one life. You only get one Sunday, February 11th, 2024. Spend it wisely. Make sure those you love know it, beyond a shadow of a doubt. Use the good lotion and eat all the butter. You’re not promised Monday.

Feeling nostalgic in rainy Appalachia,

~Amy

4:25. That’s what time I woke up. I know, because I rolled over and looked at the clock. According to the much-dimmed white numbers, I was up at 4:25. No reason, I just take spells of not being able to rest. And of course, I was pretty wound up from all the aggravation from the previous day. So when you wake up at 4:25, and you see what time it is, and your brain starts processing how long till your alarm goes off, and if you have to teetee, and what that dream was about, and what caused you to dream such craziness…and then real life comes raging at you and that’s when there’s no turning back. And you’re on a loop of trying to fall asleep and worrying about whatever. It’s a vicious cycle that gets you nothing besides bone tired at 7 of the evening when you’re standing at the stove trying not to burn salmon patties.

I’ve noticed on social media, when people have nothing else to say, they’ll post about whatever everybody else is posting about, be it news, sports, celebrities, or politics. Celebrity deaths are especially popular topics. I think the last time I said anything about a celebrity dying was when Michael Jackson left us. Y’all know I’m a big fan of the sitcom Friends but I didn’t know Matthew Perry personally. I didn’t have much to contribute. Would I miss him? Well, no, not really. I’m not a TV watcher, and I wouldn’t say I’m a big movie goer, apart from the summer of 2022 when I watched Top Gun eleventy million times. So I just don’t feel the need to remark on every celebrity passing. We all know they’re gone. I like country music just fine, but what good does it do me to tell y’all one of the more popular musicians is gone? You’ll see it for yourself elsewhere.

What I’m getting at is more people seem more distraught about Toby Keith passing away from a long illness with cancer than they are with an officer being killed in the line of duty in a neighboring county last night. Seven point four miles from me, to be exact. I’m not distraught, I’m livid. This thug should have been locked up eons ago. But there’s no room, the officials will say. You know what? The problem would work itself out if you would quit dosing the addicts with Narcan every time you turn around. What does that stuff cost, by the way? More importantly, who’s paying for it?!?

Good thing this is an election year. We all talk about cleaning house. I think it’s time to. See where people stand. You’ll have to do some digging, but it’s best to make an educated decision. And then you can back it up with reason. I talked with a lady today who’s been heavily involved with local politics for decades. She asked me if I had committed to a candidate for school board yet. I told her no, not exactly, but I knew who I wanted to vote for unless convinced otherwise. I gave her my reasoning. I was glad to have reasons, and a fairly strong conviction about it. I was doubly glad to hear she was working on behalf of my choice, too.

More on that next week, after early voting kicks off.

It’s absolutely terrible about Officer McCowan and his partner. The double felon shooter POS thug trash is still at large. I’m hoping that the last judges who turned him loose are feeling the weight of their decision on their shoulders. This is a man who should still be in jail. Who should have no rights. A repeat offender has no place in society.

If a criminal has no problem taking out two officers and fleeing the scene, they’ll have no problem not letting you stand in the way of what they want. Desperation is an ugly beast. Y’all be aware. And get your guns out. I’m glad I have Chester. I’m thankful for my firearms and my ability to use them with accuracy. And I’m always appreciative of the knowledge I was taught in how to defend and protect, not cower and plead.

Lock up tight, y’all. Due to the cost of brass and powder, warning shots will not be fired.

It was a dark and stormy night….and I had been up since 4:25.

Love from Appalachia armed and potentially dangerous,

~Amy

You may think you never get calls anymore; that everyone knows to text. I’m one of those people who only answer for like, five people. And if pressed about letting them ring off, I would be like, “nah, it’s spam, it’s a creditor hunting the man I’ve been divorced from for five years, it’s somebody wanting something. I ain’t answerin’.”

Well, the exception(s) to my I-Only-Answer-Five-People rule was exercised tonight. First, I got two calls back to back from a number not stored in my phone. I just KNEW somebody was dead. “Mrs. Johnson?” Came the pert American voice when I answered on second round. Me: “This is Amy, yes.” “Your table is ready.” Me: “Pardon?” Because it was kinda loud. Pert girl: “We’ve got your table ready. At Blackhorse?” Me: “Oh, I’m so sorry! We’re at the bar!” I tell her, leaning around to peer at the hostess stand. I totally forgot to update them when I basically stalked a couple as they left the bar, like a hyena after whatever prey it is hyenas prefer. Oops. Yeah, they’d texted, too. I never give their hostesses much credit, but obviously they’ve got it more together than me.

The second time, it was the mother of my oldest childhood friend. I talk to her maybe once a year. This definitely warranted answering. And of course I couldn’t hear her, either, so I stepped outside. “Where are you?” She asked after we’d exchanged niceties. “Blackhorse in Maryville,” I answer. “Is that a bar?” Me, instantly stammering, “well, it’s a restaurant…it has a bar…yes, I’m at the bar,” I admit. You can’t lie to your childhood friend’s mother. She’ll see straight through you. Best just to own up. Here I am, 44 years old, and blushing with the truth.

Anyway. I was out with my good friend Kay, and we determined we hadn’t seen each other before Christmas. It’s been a whirlwind, between the snow event and Christmas parties and visitors and she’s been traveling for work. In fact, she’s been so busy, that when it came time to pay, it was discovered that her debit card expired last month. And when our very polite bartender pointed this out, and she whipped out another one, it was revealed that it, too, expired last month as well. At this point, she’s slightly flustered. I’m assuring the waitstaff she’s good for it, and ready to take care of it myself if she can’t come up with a currency. The guys next to us knew her from the Arab barn where she had a horse in training recently and they tell the bartender, “Hey, if she can’t pay, I happen to know she’s got a real nice horse,” which causes Kay to squawk, and I’m about to fall off my stool laughing. “Three drinks and a flatbread and we’re selling Miss Red Dress at the bar!” I hooted. Good times. Then she nearly worries herself to death wondering where the correspondence from the bank could be. Well, turns out she hasn’t opened her mail since early December, so chances are it’s with all that. “I hate it when that happens,” Kay laments. “They need to warn me!” I just shake my head and laugh. Kay is a flake. Period. End of story. And I love her dearly. I told her just tonight I’d rather go out with her than anybody. Sorry, Lisa! It’s true, though. She goes, “well, I’ve always got a story!” That’s a fact. Tonight I got to hear about her adventure at the Philadelphia airport rental car garage. I won’t get into it, but never underestimate the power of southern manners and the ability to laugh at yourself.

The question was raised yesterday about your favorite person. Is your favorite person the person you’re closest to? The person who knows the most about you? My answer was you’re obviously going to care very much about whoever you’re closest to, but no, they don’t have to be your favorite. And your favorite can have certain degrees, too. Like, favorite person to go dinner with/ favorite person to work with/ favorite person to sit in the shade with and talk to, etc. Your favorite may be your mentor, or someone you look up to, or someone who is forever coming to your rescue. I don’t know. My favorite used to be my Uncle Dale. I valued his advice. He was pretty much the smartest person I knew…if you didn’t believe that, just ask him. He was fun, and we could talk about pretty much whatever and he didn’t usually make me feel stupid. You know, after I got grown. He engaged in storytelling and loved to pass on any tidbits of wisdom, solicited or not. More often than not, unsolicited. My favorite now tells me stories, too, from many years ago to just this morning. I think I’m partial to storytellers. I like people who make me feel safe and protected, no matter what. My favorites always make me laugh. My favorites are not stupid, nor are they boastful. My favorites love dogs. Who’s your favorite? How come?

I’m glad I’ve got good friends and we know how to have a good time. I’m thankful to have fun, safe places to go with good food. I’m glad to have a good dog and a good job. It’s a good life. Lord, don’t let me screw it up.

Love from Appalachia,

~Amy

I have spent part of my day deleting photos in my phone. I’ve definitely been freewheeling when it comes to pictures. With at least 15%, I’ve thought to myself, “Self? Why did you think this was important? So important to take a picture of it, to begin with, and then store it for ten years?” My cloud started in 2014. I suppose the ones prior to then are gone forever. I’m not very sad about it. Cellphone picture quality was definitely lacking back in those days. Plus, it was occasionally difficult coming across a few of those captured memories. I don’t need to go back further.

And what if we had to take these pictures to be developed? What a waste. I had screenshots of paid bills, houses on Instagram, recipes. Lord, at the recipes. And books! I didn’t delete those, I need to check them on my Goodreads account and make sure I’ve got them marked as ‘to-read’. Not that I’ll have time, of course. I’ll die before I get the ones read I’ve already got.

But my google storage is full. And don’t get to talking crazy, saying I could delete the videos of my dog. I need those. So I’m gonna have to keep whittling after this. I bought one of those external storage devices a couple of years ago, but it doesn’t pull everything for some reason. And I might need to access the pictures on my phone, not my laptop. So it’s a process. A very slow, time consuming process. Like everything else.

In other words, I have wasted this whole entire day.

And to salvage it now, by imparting some lovely words, torn from my very gut, is not going to happen. All I can do is think about the things I have to get done this week. Ugh. Whyyyyy did I put off my oil change? Time to start thinking about taxes. Of course I’ll probably wait on those till the rush dies down. Why am I such a procrastinator? I have got to get by the grocery store. I have both boards this week. Double ugh. Not that they’re awful, it’s just something else. When I could be reading my book. Outside. Because it’s supposed to be gorgeous all week.

I was thinking about the grocery store today. They’ve got us ringing up and bagging our own groceries. I guess this is how the pumping your own gas started. But the difference is, they don’t offer a discount for ringing up yourself. And it makes me positively rabid. Especially when I have $200 worth and no registers are open. I mean, registers with cashiers. I have a friend who has started ringing up produce for the cheapest one available. She calls it her employee discount. I don’t think my conscience would let me, but honestly, I get it. Of course, that’s just more shrinkage and costing us all. Maybe I’m just mad I didn’t think of it myself.

A poem now.

One day
She won’t answer 
One day
She won’t care
One day 
The ears will be deaf
And you’ll be alone
With your thoughts
And complaints
And a whole list of things to share
How long will it take you to realize
She’s not at your beck and call
That time is more valuable than money
And you think there’s plenty to spare
Just because you don’t ask
What’s happening 
And it isn’t volunteered
Squeezed in between your news
Doesn’t mean nothing is
And sometimes she wants more effort 
Than just an open ended question
And those are few and far between anyway
After all
You were hurt
Not to know
Before everybody else
But there’s rarely time
When you’re rushing about
With your own life
Prioritize 
What you think is steadfast
Because nothing is
No matter what

He looks for himself there
And he shouldn’t find it
Because he calls
He texts
He visits
He asks
He apologizes
It is not about him
It is not a lesson for him
Rest easy
And grin
You’re here instead

We all want attention, and we want it worst from the people we love best. Attention from strangers means very little. Just like dogs. They want attention from their masters, everybody else is just frills. Any companion desires attention. Are you giving the people you love in your life enough? If you asked them, would they agree? What is your love language? Does it come naturally to you or do you have to work at it? Do you have a different way of showing your love to your family than you do your best friend? Do you show your spouse in various ways but your mother only one? I’m genuinely curious. My bestie’s one and only is gifts, no matter who. Mine is quality time, because I treasure it so. You can see where this is a problem between Lisa and I. I am also an Acts Of Service person, probably because this is also a gift of time. I don’t want touched except from people I’m dating 🤣 so that’s a safe one. If you’re showing me through quality time and acts of service, I don’t necessarily need the words of affirmation. I mean yes, it’s nice, I want to hear you love me, but I’d rather you show me than tell me.

So let’s see, I’ve solved some world problems tonight, looks like. The nonexistent cloud that is supposedly full, the downfall of service in grocery stores, and how to show me love. Ah well. It’s almost Generated Love Day so maybe it’ll help you there. I loathe and detest Valentines Day. Fat Tuesday is the day before, so that’ll be something to look forward to on the meantime.

Love from Appalachia (hey, this can be counted as quality time AND words of affirmation!),

~Amy