Seven Years Gone

Today marks seven years since the Sandy Hook Elementary School shooting.  Every time there is a mass shooting in the US, regardless of whether it happens on school grounds or not, we say “never again”, and yet, here we are, no closer to gun reform than we were after Sandy Hook.  Or Virginia Tech. Or Columbine.  Or any of these.  As a nation, we have the most permissive gun laws in the entire world, and we are given lesson after lesson about how that doesn’t work, and yet we never learn. It breaks my heart, and more significantly than that, it destroys lives.

Before you get up on your soapbox and remind me of the existence of the 2nd Amendment to the US Constitution, please know that I am well-versed in the text:

A well-regulated militia, being necessary to the security of a Free State, the right of the people to keep and bear arms, shall not be infringed.  (Emphasis added.)

The US Supreme Court has decided that those first words of the Amendment mean nothing;  that our founding fathers wasted ink and parchment in writing those words, and only the words “the right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed” matter.  I disagree, but on a legal basis that doesn’t matter much, as I don’t sit on the Supreme Court.  I recognize the real threat of tyranny and oppressive government and I do not deny that there is a need for a militia. What I reject is the notion that every Tom, Dick, and Harry needs ready access to firearms.  Do you hunt? Okay. Apply for a permit.  Do you shoot (at targets) for sport? Okay. Apply for a permit.  Those who say that they need a gun for personal protection? Yeah, I call nonsense. If you’re safe and responsible with a firearm, and it’s locked away and not loaded, then it’s not at the ready should someone break into your home.  Of course, if you’re not responsible with it, and it’s loaded and at arm’s length in the middle of the night, you run much, much deadlier risks than an encounter with someone who ultimately just wants to steal your television.

Is the loss of your stuff worth all that? Stuff can be replaced. People can not.

I don’t have simple solutions to the problem, but I believe with all my heart it’s well beyond time for a change.

16 Reasons Being With A British Guy Is Awesome!

Being in a Long Distance Relationship is hard.  It’s not for the faint of heart, to put it mildly.  But, in an effort to focus on all the good things, and because I love making lists, I’ve put together a few reasons why I think it’s awesome to be an American girl in love with a British guy!

  1. The accent(s).  Although many Americans seem to disregard that there is no one type of British accent, there are very few British accents that fail to make everything sound amazing
  2. The slang.  The British have epic slang – even their insults are often more fun-sounding than American ones!  And, although “twat” is an insult in both British and American English, the British pronunciation is betterThe sheer number of swear-words will also never fail to astound.
  3. When you’re feeling blue and he supplies you with comfort foods, they are better comfort foods! Jammie Dodgers? Not commonly found in the States.  Jelly Babies? No such luck!
  4. Without even thinking about it, he will do old-fashioned, chivalrous things, like walking on the side closest to the road, or giving you his coat when you’re cold.
  5. He will dress better than his American counterparts, even when he’s dressing casually.
  6. He’s far more likely to be able to cook well than his American counterparts, too.
  7. Even if he’s well and truly pissed off at you, his response will be polite and measured.
  8. He will be a master of sarcasm, which adds an extra special sexiness to the aforementioned accent.
  9. He will teach you that the most simple expressions of love and affection are equally endearing and at least as meaningful as the grand, showy displays.
  10. Regardless of whether he’s even vaguely related to any royalty, friends and family will act as if you’ve brought home a literal prince.
  11. British humor is the best humor.
  12. He is cool in a crisis and incredibly unlikely to overreact.
  13. I mentioned the sarcasm, but also, oh my word, the sass!
  14. He’ll call the very best of his friends (I mean, mates) cunts.  It’s done with all the love in the world, regardless of what it may seem like to American ears.
  15. You know how you think they’re the ones with the cute accent and ways of pronouncing words? They will think that about you.
  16. When he sets out to impress you, he doesn’t big himself up in the way American guys do.  He won’t talk about his fancy car or his important job, or the size of his … wallet.  He’ll set out to make you smile, to make you laugh, and to make you feel good about yourself.

Editor’s Note: The author means no disrespect and has no intention of stereotyping all British men.  It’s all in good fun, and very tongue-in-cheek.

Not Dead. But Nearly.

On October 29 I was admitted to hospital, directly to Intensive Care, do not pass Go, do not collect $200.  I remained there until November 5. Don’t mess around with “minor” infections if you are in any way immunodeficient.  Sepsis is no joke.

I’d had a post I was writing prior to the hospital stay – something verbose and apologetic about inadvertently causing a customer at work offense – which has now been chucked in the trash.  Inasmuch as I feel terrible that I accidentally offended someone, it isn’t worth obsessing about it. I know I never intended to do it, but I can’t control how someone else’s reactions or responses.  Those things are outside my sphere of influence. I apologized and that’s the best and most that I can do.  Life is too short.

I’m trying to focus on positive things since I’ve been home.  I firmly believe that mental health is a key piece of your overall health, and if I spend too much time stressed out, it will only make it that much more difficult for my body to heal.

Even from 4000 miles away, I could feel Alex‘s care and concern. I know I scared the living hell out of him, and for this I really feel sorry, but he was as supportive as he could be, and as present as is possible when all you can do is text and voice. (Mind you, I was passed out or really out of it from pain medication more often than not).

I was treated by amazing doctors and nurses during my hospital stay. Coincidentally, a friend also found themselves in the hospital during the same time frame for emergency surgery, and she did not have anywhere near the experience that I did.  Her nurses were far from kind; she spent nearly a week in hospital and had to ask repeatedly for basic things like a shower or bath or some way to clean herself (which she didn’t even get until the day she was discharged). “Caregivers” made her feel that she was “being a big baby” about her pain levels while she was there with a 7″ incision in her belly. (How is this care)?  Despite feeling annoyed at times for being awoken for bandage changes or blood draws or having my vitals taken, I know that I was properly and kindly cared for, and feel very fortunate.

And, I’m still here. I almost wasn’t.

Homesick

More than anything else in the world, I want to go home.

Home is 4000 miles away, walking distance from the beautiful beach in the image above.  Home is at the intersection where every significant  road through a tiny seaside town meets.  Home is where Alex is.  And I am so anxious, so very very anxious, to get home again.

I love my family; sometimes I think I love them far more than they deserve (and yes, I know that sounds mean).  But, I love them even when it feels like they don’t love me back, even when it feels like I do more than my fair share of the work, and see very little of the rewards of my work for myself.  My blood is here, but I didn’t choose them, and sometimes I think if I’d had a choice to begin with, I might not have selected these particular individuals.  Some days are good, some days are bad…  but the good days are easier to count.  I’m the only party in my household of 3 that has a job (or at least, a regular job), and yet there are some days I go hungry where others do not.

But at home, giving also leads to receiving, and things are a “team effort”, and the whole team reaps the rewards of those efforts.  Home is where someone watches out for me, when I am ill; it is where there is someone to comfort me when I feel broken. Home is where no one ever allows me to go hungry.  Home is where Alex is, where the family I chose for myself is.  And it’s where I want to be so badly all the time, that whenever it crosses my mind, I feel as if someone just punched me in the stomach.  It crosses my mind all the time.

I try, and I assure you it’s a significant effort, not to whine about these things all the time.  And I am not looking for sympathy, nor do I mean to make my family seem like villainous bastards.  In my heart, though, I know that I am not loved here, in the same way I am loved in a tiny little town in Cornwall.  I’m not loved here in the same way I am loved at home.  And I so very much miss my home.

And I miss this face, this one over here to the left <–.  I miss this face that never scowls when I come through the door, or complains at me that I do not do enough.  I miss this face that lights up when I enter a room, this face that covers mine in kisses just to make me smile and laugh.  I miss the arms that hold me through each night, and wrap themselves around me whenever I feel blue. 

I miss this beautiful soul so much more than I have the words to properly express.  This relationship has been one of the most challenging endeavors I have ever pursued.  Not because he is difficult to love; if anything, loving him is the easiest thing that I have ever done.  Effortless.  But it’s the hardest thing in the world to spend so much time so far apart.  The thing is, though, that the difficulty of the distance is nothing compared to the idea of spending my life without this one particular person. 

Someday, I’ll be exactly where Alex is, wherever he is, and then I will be home.

You’re Doing It Wrong

So, I’ve had this blog for a while, but haven’t been actively blogging in some time… I took it down for quite a while, altogether, because I felt like I didn’t have enough time for anything that was just for fun, let alone to sit and shout my thoughts out at the internet.  

You know what they say about all work, and no play, right? It makes Shannon a dull girl, and it leaves Shannon a bit too stressed out.  So here I am, again, shouting my thoughts out at the internet, nearly 100% of whom isn’t listening.  But that’s okay!  Not to be rude, but I’m not doing this for them.  Or you. This one thing, at the very least, is strictly selfish.

I have to have an outlet, both for my thoughts and for creativity.  And that’s what this is.  Don’t worry, the Internet has already shouted at me that I’m doing it wrong.  I’m never going to be a “successful blogger”.  Fact of the matter is, I’m not worried about that.  I have a fantastic job, which I love, so I’m not looking to make money, or replace that job. I already get to go to work in my pyjamas.  Besides the fact I already love my job, there are a few other factors. At the time of writing, I’m not a mommy, so I can’t do the mommy blog thing.  I’m also not fashionable;  I’m strictly a jeans & t-shirt kind of girl, worn with my favorite pink Converse, that in my estimation, absolutely do go with literally everything.  I don’t wear make-up, so it’s a big fat no on the matter of fashion or beauty, too.

You know what I am a bit of an expert about? Long distance relationships.  You can expect to see a lot about that here.  But, in the spirit of “doing it all wrong”,  know that that’s not what this blog is “about”.  Really.