Saturday, August 25, 2012

These are my nieces

My brother's daughter, Madison, age 2

My sister's daughter, Jacqueline, 5 months

These 2 little ones have my full attention! I think of it as my biological clock ticking. I swear I'll show anyone who's interested pictures. Is this normal for an aunt?? It's not that I now want a baby, it's more like I wish I was there to spend time with them. 

I met Maddie when I was in California last year for my cousin's wedding. She's cute, inquisitive, and her own little person. When my brother's wife was pregnant I said, "Just watch! You're going to have a little girl and she's going to be just like me!" My brother and I don't see I to eye and, well, it seems that I've cursed him. According to my mom, Maddie is reminiscent of me at her age. She's quite emotional, she likes to sing and picks up on things you wouldn't think she could. My brother apparently LOVES her. Well, unlike me, she is his daughter and my mom says she's got daddy wrapped around her finger.

Jacqueline I've only seen a TON of pictures of. I hope to meet her soon... ish. She has my father's blue eyes and I see my sister there when she smiles. I'm sure she might have some of her father's features, but all I see are the eyebrows... maybe the lips. She makes the best expressions in her pictures and she uses those eyebrows with her big anime eyes a lot. I'm in love with this kid. She has to wear a little helmet currently because she has a bad flat spot, but she's going to the doctor soon to see if she has to continue. When I heard that she had to wear it and that she has to do exercises every day, it tugged at my heart! Poor kid. Still, she looks cute in her helmet, in my opinion.

Ok ok... I'll bug you with 2 more pictures and then I'll leave you alone.

Seriously, the expressions on their faces are awesome! I've got it bad, I'm telling you.

Saturday, July 21, 2012

Have you ever heard of those women that get PMS so bad, that they have a note from their doctor that basically states that they are not responsible for their words or actions? Or maybe even a note that allows them to stay home around that time? I had a friend tell me something like this once. Not that she had it, but that she knew a girl with this problem. I found it hard to believe but then again, I've always been told that the body, a woman's body especially, can do some really weird shit.

Up until about 2 years ago, I was on birth control pills. I had taken them for 15 years or so. I rarely got a period, had it last about 2 days if I did get one, didn't have any cramps and got only a little emotional before it came on.

Well, I can tell you that things SURE have changed since then. Aside from the obvious (lasts longer and OUCH the cramps!), my PMS symptoms have, as of late, made me wonder if I need a doctor's note. I even have a really good example right here on my blog!

Everyone turn to the post The Nightmare Book, dated June 27th in your hymnal.

Anyway, that post was on a Mean Reds day when the best thing to do with me is take me to a bar and drag me home when I'm nice and drunk. Like... d-RUNK! On days like that, I can't see my way out of anything. I've fallen into a deep pit and it's very dark and very deep. I was up 'til 2am on June 27th 'cause 1994 had called and brought Tori Amos CDs with it. Yeah, that bad.

The next day, my period hit and I thought, "OH! Well that explains it all!"

I talked to my psychiatrist because she wants me to keep her informed on my moods The usual litany of questions have to be answered - have you been depressed? How depressed? How long does it last? Have you been sleeping? What's enough? Do you want to sleep? So last time I went, I told her about the Mean Reds that I finally figured out was my version of PMS. She gave me a prescription for my old anti-depressant, celexa.

Yes ladies and gents, I now actually believe that that girl that I'd heard stories about, the one that turns into Mr. Hyde right before her period, really can and does exist. Also, she might be me.

I know it's not exactly 28 days later... huh... wait... Do you think that that's why they titled the movie that? I mean, blood, everyone's scared, monsters... Seems like this idea might not be too far fetched.


I'm trying to be more observant of the days and of any tells that I may have and I'm pretty sure... despite that it's 4 or so days short of 28... I'm pretty sure I'm right about there. Existential crisis? Check! Can't find anything to do with my life? Check! Working on my writing proving useless? Check! Missing my friends and thinking they're better off without me and better than me? Check!

However, now that I'm armed with a little more info and I know the tells (see post, June 27th), I think I'm ready to take it head on.

I have wine, dark chocolate m & m's, Belgian chocolate pudding and lots of yummy snacks. I also have House, a few books if none of them are doing it for me/ making matters worse and a bath.

I'll let you know how it goes.

Tuesday, July 17, 2012


I used to write really long posts, especially when I was stuck at my parents' due to The Fiasco.

I remember reading somewhere that people can't/don't really pay much attention to a post/article that's too long if it's on the internet.

With that being said I give you this post:

Today I noticed that on the dean's calendar, she had marked a spot to play polo after work on Friday (she uses her Outlook calendar for personal stuff too 'cause it syncs with her iPhone and iPad). She marked it simply as POLO.
It took everything in me not to "schedule" a spot simply titled "MARCO" for the hour before it.

Now, here are a couple of pictures to also hold your interest and help this post.

 This one's a quote to make you think and/or inspire

This is the funny/quirky one to make you giggle

~brought to you by the anti-boredom committee... and the letters X and Zed~

Sunday, July 8, 2012


Hi kids. 

Today I'm thinking about all the things that one should do and all the things one seemingly has to do. 

I have obligation problems. I feel that there are things in life that I should be doing like... working, chores, calling my mother, etc. These are not exactly what I should be doing, if you ask me. 

Sure, these are things that I am sorter supposed to do, but they're not the things I should be doing.

... and by should, I mean doing the things that you should do for yourself. You know, things that make you happy, things that you dream about, things that... oh, I don't know... will lead you to achieve, in some small sense, that which you want to accomplish. 

I don't know where I'm going with this except to try to reiterate that which I keep trying to tell myself, and that is that there are things I should be doing.

Thursday, July 5, 2012

When I lived with my friends in the days before anyone got married or moved away (or both), we had an Alfred Hitchcock standee that was just a silhouette, much like the one at the beginning of every Alfred Hitchcock Presents. It was about about... 5'2" tall, give or take a few inches and it looked quite life-like.

Whenever my best friend or I got home and opened the door, it invariably scared the shit out of us before we turned on the light. It looked just like there was a man standing in our kitchen what with the faint light coming from the hallway through the door at one of the apartments we'd had. Some of the spots we'd place him in other apartments or houses didn't always get this reaction. However, no matter when or where, there was always some point that good old Alfred would end up giving one of us a scare.

At one place, our landlord/upstairs neighbor's wife, Charmagne, told us a story upon meeting Alfred, our standee.

"He was a horrible man with a sick sense of humor," Charmagne said as soon as she saw him.

"Did you know him?"

"I was on the lot and he drove toward us in his car. He stopped, looked at me and then sped up heading right for me! I ran and yelled and he just slowed down and continued on his way past me, laughing!"

I don't know if he ever had really known or met Charmagne, or if he had only seen her and decided how he felt. Maybe it was just a test of his. Dunno. Personally, I thought it was funny and that Alfred Hitchcock must have been quite a man to know. Knowing Charmagne in the limited way that I did, I think his actions may have been called for, even if just for a good chuckle. He sounded like a great guy, in my opinion.

Wednesday, June 27, 2012

The Nightmare Book is a journal I have where I write  down the negative thoughts in my head. I try not to spew them out into the ether, but today, I'm going to use this to put up the emotions I feel some times... the ones who are special guests at the Pity Party.

Wednesday, May 2, 2012


I've taken a step back to look at things. Sometimes, they say, we need to do that... sometimes I feel more productive that way. I'm focusing on things that help me more, like the food that my body really craves, or more amount of movement. The last 3 nights I've either attempted to write or have written in some way shape or form. Maybe it's not very much, but it's something - it's a beginning.

I'm learning to like the quiet, the voice in it that speaks to me. Actually, I do like the quiet; that's really weird for me.

It's spring and something's changing... or everything's changing. 

I'm not quite sure yet. 

I'm trying new things and trying good things. I hope it pans out.

Also, art!

I'm finding inspiration through art. Mostly that which people just like me make and some from the things I've talked to Tracy about.  Of course, there is also inspiration from professional pieces - photos, paintings, drawings, writing. I could get lost in it, save for the fact that it makes me lose focus and spins me out of me, making what I want to do seem elusive and otherworldly. Get me? The more I look at professional art, things by people who make money doing just that, the more it seems like it's something they do, something that I can't because, well... it's not part of my world. The thing I have to remember is that, well, it is part of my world! I can put it there.

I like art. It makes life beautiful and more fulfilling, I think. I need more of it in my world. So I figured, hell! I'll just make it 'cause... I can.

Friday, April 27, 2012

Now this, ladies and gentleman, is how an obituary should read and a funeral should go... well, the remembrance service part, anyway. There is one thing I'd change. As Tracy, Stephen and I have discussed, it's ridiculous to waste money on caskets and plots! Donate me to science... or maybe sell my body to science! I mean... who cares what happens to this shell anyway??? It's only going to decompose and it's not me!

Sunday, April 8, 2012

Routine check in

I have a routine.

It starts with waking up.

Some days I never want to and I feel like I can sleep for ages, but I know I have to. I sit there for a few minutes savoring the comfort of my bed, the feel of Stephen beside me and negotiating with myself for just a few more minutes in bed. Finally I get out of bed; I know I just have to do it.

After comes the morning routine of getting dressed, washing my face, brushing my teeth and getting my lunch for the day.

This part is easier.

Once at work I grab my coffee and settle in. It's comfortable there, sitting with my coffee, reading my emails while idly chit chatting with the 2 gals that work in my office. Next I make a list to have a visual of what needs to get done that day, taking note of those with high priority.

I like lists.

At some point during the day I lose focus, which can be bad. All of a sudden I need a break, some sort of diversion or inspiration, something that will help me get on with the day. This can go one of 2 ways. The first is just that I get a little distracted for a moment and it slows my productivity down. If I'm lucky, this is the way it goes. The second is the toughest one to handle. I don't want to be there, don't want to worry about the things I need to and that that is somehow supposed to take priority in my life. Basically it all becomes sorter meaningless.

Work ends, no matter what, and I go to the gym. I go because I have to, because it helps combat the icks. It's VERY difficult to do when I have the feeling that it's all meaningless, but I somehow still can convince myself that, especially then, it's important.

Gym is done and I go home and shower. Once I'm done, Stephen is usually on his way or already home.


Hang out a little with Stephen, which can be fine or can go wrong... it just depends on both of our head spaces.

Then I start all over again.

I learned how to go through my routine when I was first diagnosed. I learned that sometimes it's just as hard as putting one foot in front of the other and hoping that it'll get simpler from there on.

It's how I survive in life when things are tough. Looking at it now, written here, I can see where improvements can be made, where things I do might be making it worse, where I could replace certain bits with something more creative.

If ever this schedule is thrown off on one of my off days, though, I get especially moody. I really hate that. If I can see that I'm doing that, I try to breathe and tell myself that it's ok that things aren't going the way I had them laid out. It's like Rainman... and Judge Wapner. Serious freak out, yo.

It's not always like this. Sometimes I have great days where everything is spontaneous. However, inevitably, there are times when I'm a little weaker.

So I stick to the routine... and that gets me by.

Tuesday, April 3, 2012

Fairy Tales

I'm currently in a Fairy Tale sorter mood.

Well, at least in my writing and influences...

Tuesday, January 3, 2012

Glass #7 - Untitled

Let’s say that you love someone so much that you don’t even want to think about not having them in your life. There comes a day when you’re both arguing a lot, but you still cannot think of life without him. You think to yourself, “If I were a friend of mine and I asked me for advice, I would say it’s time to leave.” Yet, you can’t bear the thought because the thought alone breaks your heart and makes you almost cry. You wish instead that maybe you’d just die. Mainly, though, really, you wish that it would all go back to how it was, that this bad period would end. 
One day, however, with your heart breaking, you decide that you have to step out there and either lose him (which is killing you even thinking that) or that he’ll wake up and see that there is a problem and since he also cannot even fathom life without you, he’ll help you work through this.
You know that this could break you but you’re heart’s already breaking so, really, what more can you do to your already breaking heart? It’s bruised and battered as it is, you’re merely trying a radical surgical procedure.
You start off a conversation one night, putting how you feel out there for him to see. This is my blood; drink this in memory of me. Then you tell him that you might have to move out on your own in order stop feeling 5,000 miles away when he’s sitting next to you on the couch.
He, of course (it’s only human), get’s pissed off and tells you your being dramatic, not realizing that the wine he’s drinking really is the life’s blood that pumps your heart.
It’s breaking.
So, with that conversation done and another day of your heart cracking, you decided to go and hunt out apartments for you. All the while you’re feeling ill when you think of what furniture is yours and what you might have to buy for your new apartment because the way it’s looking, he very well might call your bluff.
After a few days of this, you’ve actually staunched the bleeding of the broken heart and kept the crack from getting any bigger and, most importantly, stopped it from splitting your heart in two. Also, you’ve found an apartment that you can afford that will accept your flawed credit history.
So on your way home, with the application in hand, you think of how you’re going to broach the subject and most importantly, when. This allows your heart to crack infinitesimally more. You think you might throw up.
That evening, when he gets home from work, you show him the papers and you say, “I found an apartment. Now, either I’m going to move or, if you want to take a look at the place and you prefer it to this one, you can move there.”
He looks at you like you’ve grown a second head.
You blink, take in a breath and say, “I told you that I would not be just an object in your life. If we’re going to live like we’re just friends, albeit not one of my best friends ‘cause living with them was actually fun, then I want my own place. I can’t take this anymore.”
For once (ha!) he looks at you like you’re not only serious, but like that's a gun in your hand and you’re actually mugging him. Even better, he knows that you are mugging him, except it’s yourself that you’re stealing away from him and he just can’t believe it.
This is really happening, you say.
Something about that look he gives you gives you a little strength. Something stops the bleeding crack in your heart. You swallow and with a little less shake in your voice, and what feels like a little more saliva in your mouth, you tell him, “I said, you can stay here or you can take a look at this apartment (you shake the papers in your hand…brazen!) and if you like it, you can move there.”
“You’re serious,” he says finally finding his voice.
“I told you. You didn’t listen.”
You start speaking in shorter sentences, becoming less expository because, well, you rather like the feeling of this.
There is only a little part of you now, that’s whispering out of the crack that’s now permanently cemented in your heart, “I didn’t want to do this; I had to.”
Then, just like that, your world is different and you learn that that love is gone and you can live without him, or will one day if you have to.