Toleration

Unfortunately is has been a serious amount of time since our last little update.  Well, that's because there is nothing to update....


But what I can say is that it has come to my realization that in these past few months my strange, outlandish, impulsive, intense and sometimes ridiculous behavior are, to be put simply, being tolerated.


I, by no means want any pity or cast doubt that those around me don't love, support and completely adore me but as of recent, my habits and impulses have been quite erratic. 
Let me explain....


I can no longer use "drugs" (previous posts) as an excuse for my behavior.  My personal soap boxes and the occasional (ok, not so occasional) use of vulgar language ideas sound completely sane in my head then when I say it out loud I realize "that thought was much better in my head".  I have been finding many uses for spray paint. (and when I say many, I mean literally anything without a heartbeat) Did you know that you can spray paint those plastic boxes used for storing food? Yup, I spray painted that sucker, added glitter and WHAM! We have a new "cheer box" for scouts! 


Gunnar, being the creature that he is, just admires all I paint, plaster, sanding, more painting and seems amazingly supportive of my recent endeavors to start 10 house decor projects and not quite get them finished. He turns a quiet cheek when I have worn the same stretchy pants for 5 days and haven't washed my hair in a week and Britta and I are 'fighting' like we are two sisters who have been living in tiny cabin for the past month. The sad part about all this is that Gunnar isn't the only one who is tolerating the new Shay. No, no many others have shared in this new universe. 


Bethany (I hope she wont hate me for the shout-out) quietly listens when I am yelling and the stupid mini van who cut me off AGAIN, and even agrees with me on the fact the mini-vans should not be street legal in the US. I mean really? You choose a mini van?? She even LIKES my new pink in my hair that was originally just a short term choice turned into long term personal identity trait. 


I think my epiphany came when I explained to Gunnar one night that I don't think tattoos are THAT bad.  I mean, at least they are not CHANGING a persons features the way that those creepy plastic surgeons claim.  He listened, pondered and simply said "no, Shay, you cannot get a tattoo." No freak outs, no words of dissent just simple toleration. 


So when will this end? Maybe never.  I just count my lucky stars that I have enough people that love me enough to tolerate my idiosyncrasies.  Because without them.. who knows, I could have joined the circus as the tattoo lady and renamed myself Wanda. The world is my oyster and I intend to seize it! 




(PS I am sorry for any of those reading who have a mini van. When I say sorry I don't mean I feel sorry, I just feel sorry that you OWN a mini van :)