Friday Feelings

2015-10-092015-10-09 Miss Poison Life, Musings, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Writing Emotions, Family, Musings, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Siblings, Tears, Writing

What profound, intelligent things can I say today? I won’t give myself that much credit as my thoughts are scattered at the moment, but hey, it has been known to happen. 😉

On occasion, I wish people wouldn’t give me such rich material and expect me not to write about it (That’s okay, the status quo is in tact.). Generally, those who do such things have no idea it’s being written about because they take no real interest in me as a person, but at this point, you’re opening yourself up to be cannon fodder. I make a point of protecting the guilty by never naming names. 😛

Most writers will write and speak from personal experience, even in works of fiction, because daily life is ridiculous and downright comedic at times. I often look around for hidden cameras to make sure I’m not part of some bizarre reality show. Half the time I feel the need to double-check to make sure Ashton Kutcher isn’t going to pop out from behind something to tell me I’ve just been Punk’d. They really need to bring that show back…

I got a surprise phone call yesterday afternoon from the store where I purchased my mattress, the one that somehow managed to have a spring crack and pop through the pillow-top, thus causing a hole that hadn’t been there two weeks prior when I first discovered it. This has been going on since August. When the “mattress inspector” came out early Tuesday morning, and by early, I mean he was here at 8:45 and after a few photos and my signature, wished me good luck with my move, I figured that even with visible proof, I’d be forced to replace it sometime next year. I cannot begin to explain how painful it is, but the inspector was nice. He said they’d take care of me “Even if you are a Yankees fan.” LOL. During the inspection he pointed out that the entire area where the spring popped is caving in slightly. That explains why I have often felt like the mattress was uneven (Total blonde moment. I can say for a fact that I was blonde when I started thinking there was something wrong with this thing.).

The lady from their service department sounded really nice when I answered the phone, but I thought she was lulling me into a false sense of security. When she informed me that the inspector’s report was that the mattress is damaged (“He said your mattress is stain-free and in perfect condition despite the damage, which is clearly not your fault.”), I was thrilled. I paid very little for a higher-end mattress because I purchased it during a big President’s Day sale along with most of my other bedroom furniture. She said I could come into the store anytime as there is now a massive credit on my account, all I have to do is pick out something new and by the way, they’re having a 50% off sale for Columbus Day. My jaw dropped. I cannot begin to express how grateful I am. So, later today (tomorrow if I still feel like crap) I am taking Case Study #2 with me so that I can get a second opinion on mattress comfort. I openly admit I only sat on this one before I chose it, and because my Fibromyalgia has progressively worsened since then, I felt it was important to do some research on the best mattresses for chronic pain sufferers.

I’ve always wanted to upgrade to a Sleep Number bed, but I’ve read mixed reviews from pain sufferers. Memory foam has always felt painful to me, but there is now a new type of memory foam with some kind of gel in the core, so I went on their web-site and found three or four different mattresses to test. No matter how I cut it, I’m still making out like a bandit because they issued me the full price despite the fact that I bought this one on sale. I’m going to look at this as a gift and a blessing because being in pain while I sleep is agonizing. Whoever is looking out for me from up Above, THANK YOU. This means replacing my pillows after the move because I always have a difficult time finding good ones that remain good. Maybe this time I won’t need so many and can downgrade to six.

However, in my joy, I found out there are also plenty of painful, unshed tears inside me. I don’t want to move and leave what little I have built here behind. I’ve enjoyed living here, for the most part. I’ve enjoyed the area and all that has become familiar to me, but in order for progress to occur, I have to improve upon instead of remaining stagnant. I have to focus on my health and make some big changes before I can consider anything else.

What pains me most about this is that I am leaving behind my closest family member, which is making me worry beyond words. I have looked out for him since before he was born. I take the responsibility of being a sister very seriously. We spend an extraordinary amount of time together for siblings (He gets mistaken for my father or boyfriend constantly because apart from a few features, we don’t look alike.), and I know I will be sick with worry every single day that I will get a phone call with news that I will feel responsible for.

I have taken care of my brother since the day he came home from the hospital. I took care of him even more after we lost our parents. Leaving him behind now makes me feel like the worst person on the planet. No matter how many times he & I have discussed other options, we were railroaded, so now I’m left with no other option. I will be 2-5 hours away in an emergency, depending on my method of transportation, and I am worried because he’s never truly been on his own before. He has always had me to rely on to bail him out of trouble and to look out for him. I always say “Call or text me so I know you got there safely.” and “Call me when you get back, so I know you’re safe.” He constantly makes me worry. We can go for days without speaking and our relationship is not perfect, but he is still my brother and I’d hate myself if anything ever happened and I wasn’t there for him.

Does he feel the same? I honestly don’t know what he feels. He isn’t the most communicative human-being when it pertains to emotions. I’ve only seen him cry three times in the last decade, and that number might be too high if I think about it.

Since informing him of my decision, he has been angry and volatile. He has accused me of abandoning him and said we won’t have a relationship at all once I move, that he’ll be “cutting me off” emotionally. I’ve repeatedly said “We can talk every day, we can text, we can e-mail like we always do, and we can Skype. I’ll be back in a flash if you truly need me and you can always come and visit.” He’s said he won’t visit, which might just be how he feels now, but I truly don’t know. I do, however, feel that he has some major growing up to do and since I was recently accused of “holding him back” simply because I provided unsolicited advice, I feel like it’s time to let him learn the way he’s always chosen to learn; the hard way. It makes me sick to my stomach, I’m terrified over what he might get himself into, but I also know in my heart that I have done everything I possibly can for him and he’s chosen not to change or grow. You can no longer help someone who doesn’t give a shit about the things in life that are truly important.

Cat will miss him terribly. She worships the ground he walks on. Since the first night I brought her home, she has adored him. He was the first person to hold her, the first person she purred for, the first person she chirped at, and the first person she ever gave kisses to. If I thought he could truly care for her the way I do, I’d let them be together, but I know he can barely take care of himself and that the responsibility of a cat is not in his wheelhouse at the moment. I know she will search for him and miss him, but I also know she will never forget him. And I do hope he’ll change his mind and visit a few times a year, because it’s not a huge trip to make when you only have a bag of clothes and your laptop with you. I am hoping that time will show him that I’m not abandoning him, that I’m giving him room to spread his wings. No matter where either of us are, we will always remain siblings. That’s an unbreakable bond, though I realize for many, that the bond does break.

The day he was born my exact words were “I didn’t ask for a little brother. Can we send him back? I specifically said I wanted a baby sister.” I was lovingly informed that I don’t get to choose that sort of thing. God has given me sisters in the form of my closest friends, and for that I am truly grateful, but when it comes to my brother I suspect I’ll always have mixed emotions. Even when we’ve gone years without seeing each other, we have still spoken regularly and communicated better than when we’ve lived in the same home or city/town. Perhaps this is precisely how he learns to be a better brother.

He has, often quite begrudgingly, been there for me these past few years as my Fibromyalgia has worsened and my migraines became more difficult to manage. He has taken out my trash and recycling, picked up medication, brought me emergency supplies when I’ve been sick or in too much pain to get out of bed, done library and post office runs, and been my partner-in-crime nine times out of ten. He has helped me when I’ve needed help, cared for my familiar when I’d go on vacation, dropped me off at the airport and picked me up, even when the timing inconvenienced him, and fixed things for me when I wasn’t 100% certain how to do it myself. No matter how many times I say thank you or do something to show my appreciation for these things, he tells me he has “outlived his usefulness”. Unfortunately through all that help, he has also been highly disrespectful, overly demanding, and extremely abusive. He always expects to be forgiven simply because he is my brother, but it is not always possible to forgive unforgivable things. I realize that is a lesson he needs to learn for himself.

So as I proceed, I am certain my eyes will be swollen shut at some point from all the crying, but hopefully he will flourish without my presence. I will never stop being his sister or his friend, but I’ve done all I can to “keep the family together”, my Grandmother’s dying plea to me. Maybe it was an unfair request, but I think I’ve held up the three promises I made to her before she passed away, to the best of my ability, as this was long before my Fibromyalgia diagnosis when I only had two things plaguing my life.

I don’t know how to turn off the maternal gene, it’s ingrained in who I am. It’s possible I have always been overprotective. Here’s hoping that one day my brother can look back on all of that and know in his heart that I’m not abandoning him, I am simply making important changes with a hole in my heart. I cannot allow guilt to make my decisions for me. I cannot allow tears to hold me back, because no matter what, my life and happiness are equally important.

I pray I am making the right decision for all involved. I also pray that he will soon realize that I’m not choosing someone else over him, but that I am choosing me for the first time in my life.

“Am I Mean?”

2015-10-08 Miss Poison Honesty, Musings, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Writing Honesty, Marriage, Men, Musings, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Things That Nauseate Me, Women, Writing

This was the question I posed to one of my best friends the other morning when a friend said something stupid and I responded. If you make something public, don’t expect intelligent people not to make a statement. It’s common sense.

There’s a lot you can say to and in front of me. I will say ANYTHING to make my friends laugh or think and I’ll say things to be goofy, but there’s a time and a place for certain subject matter, and there are also boundaries I don’t cross. I say plenty of inappropriate shit in my daily life, but the difference is; I don’t say it publicly or in mixed company. I would NEVER intentionally say something that could be taken the wrong way and/or hurt someone. Moreover, on social media, it’s crucial not to do it.

I don’t give a fuck where you’re from, the use of the word “fag” is utterly inappropriate. Call it a fucking cigarette, but the second you say the word “fag”, you’re going to piss me off. You cannot tell me you’re trying to “adopt the language of your new country” because that’s a horrible excuse and you’re living somewhere on a visa, not as a citizen. If the Queen of England used that word in public, it would be just as offensive and wrong, and since your manners and breeding aren’t exactly up there, I suggest you stop trying to be something you’re not. My exact words were “You are not British, Scottish, or Irish and I strongly suggest not using that word in mixed company, as it is inappropriate.” In essence, don’t try to be something or someone you’re not.

“They don’t understand my English here, so I have to use their slang.” I communicate with Brits, Scots, and Irish people on a highly regular basis. Not once have they ever had a problem with my use of the English language. Perhaps my command is better. I don’t pretend to be something or someone I’m not. I certainly have my Britishisms. I always have, but in my day-to-day life you will hear me speak North American English (lest I offend someone), British English, Russian, Swedish, Yiddish, Spanish, Ladino, Italian, and French. On any given day, there are aspects of every language that are part of my daily vernacular. That’s who I am. It’s a sign of how I was raised and my education, not of trying to be anything other than myself. I do NOT blend in and I do not adhere to other people’s ideas of how I should be.

So, I consulted someone who knows me well to inquire if I was actually being mean, rude, or overly judgmental. Her response was: “No, you’re just really honest. If she can’t grasp the point, that’s on her, not you.” She found the entire ordeal as ridiculous as I did, but reacted the same way to the use of the word “fag” because it IS inappropriate.

The word was not used with malicious intent, however, in mixed company, I think one should put a lid on it.

My mind was completely blown when a 40 plus year old woman used the word “wee” to refer to her husband getting up to use the bathroom. “I’m in pain, but I’ll wait for hubby to wake up to take a pain pill because I’m scared to go downstairs by myself.” Are you fucking kidding me?! Are there rabid animals in your home, or is there a pillaging Viking in your midst? That is one of the most infantile, ludicrous statements I’ve ever heard.

Perhaps it’s the fact that I’m a 21st century, modern woman, but any time a woman tells me “I was strong and independent for seven years…until I met my husband.”, that makes me want to hurl. I have a four year old Goddaughter who isn’t afraid of the dark, of going downstairs in the middle of the night for a drink on her own, etc. And yet, a grown woman is afraid to get out of bed until her husband wakes up, as if being married means you are somehow protected and shielded from all the horrors of the world?! I am pretty sure I popped a blood vessel in my left eye reading that nonsense!

Being married should make you a better person, because that’s what your partner should want for you. Anyone who wants you completely reliant on them for every single thing is NOT a true partner. Being told you’re “allowed to visit hubby’s work on his lunch break” is controlling. That is not being a strong woman; that is being weak, childish, and ridiculous.

I have an incredibly low tolerance for shit like this. I will never be the little woman at home ironing for a man who is fully capable of ironing his own damn crap. This is not 1930. My maternal Grandmother may have been a homemaker, but that was an entirely different era and she & I certainly butted heads over the generational differences. My paternal Grandmother lost her husband to a heart attack when he was 40. She had a five year old and a fifteen year old to care for, so she worked two jobs and supported her children, making certain they never went without. She was sick and she worked her ass off every single day until she reached retirement age. In my eyes, that is strength.

I am sure many of you have nicknames for your spouses/partners, but “wifey” and “hubby” nauseate the crap out of me. The most anyone gets out of me is “Babe” or “Hon”, and even then, he’s pushing it. I do give people nicknames and I do tend to shorten names, but I’m not sickening to overhear. I don’t have to use baby talk to show my affection for someone. I don’t have to lose self-respect, dignity, and brain cells to prove that I love someone.

Case Study #1 gets called by his name, period. Many of my friends have nicknames, even if their names aren’t long. It’s a sign of affection if I’ve taken the time to give you a nickname, but referring to anyone in such an asinine manner is beyond me. Even Cat and Kitten have nicknames, and frankly, they have beautiful names, but sometimes I don’t see who is running in front of me or who is trying to trip me while I work, so I’ll say “Okay my little loves, knock it off. I know you’re here. Mommy loves you.” All they want is comfort and assurance, whereas an adult doesn’t need to be referred to like they’re a newborn. In fact, I’d NEVER do that to a newborn. No one spoke baby talk to me, and I turned out fairly well based on my family life. I was raised to be a strong woman, and that doesn’t stop no matter who is in my life.

Since this person is so incredibly fearful, I am going to be recommending that she seek therapy for her co-dependency and trauma issues. No, I am not joking. I’m a good friend and in order to continue being a good friend, sometimes you have to let a person know that they’re not healthy and that a different route needs to be taken.

Of course, I am sure she’ll have an excuse for not being able to do that, despite the fact that I have to hear about every doctor’s appointment she’s had since arriving, every meal she has cooked (I cook nearly every single day, give or take, and I truly don’t feel the need to report it to anyone, unless it was for a special occasion. Also, I don’t discuss it on Facebook.), complete with photos, and mentions every other fart she or her “hubby” have felt the need to report.

I may be tough, but I’m also fair. If you don’t want me to interject with a comment, don’t say stupid shit.

Do You Remember?

2015-10-07 Miss Poison Editing, Editors, Honesty, Human, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Work, Writers, Writing Clients, Dirty Manuscripts, Editing, Honesty, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Work

Earlier this year, I accepted a new client who had never been edited before. From the start, there were problems. She couldn’t follow the payment plan, which was bi-weekly. I gave her multiple opportunities to “get it right” before she did, but I didn’t start working until she paid in full. Call me crazy, but I wasn’t about to lose money over a person who wasn’t serious and who thought everything was funny. “Oops, I’ll have to pay you in two weeks. I put the money on the wrong prepaid card. Sorry.” I’d get these messages for weeks before I said “You have to pay by this date or I’m not taking the job.”

Her “manuscript”, and I use the term so loosely, rope should be involved, was a fucking MESS. I don’t exaggerate about the written word, ever. Mess, disaster, and “manuscript from hell” are words I’d use, and did, to describe the torment of having to work for this demanding, rude, insensitive, know-it-all who’d never been edited and is going to tell me, after 20 years of experience, how long a “dirty manuscript” on a first edit should take. I know people who have taken five years to write a book they were proud of. When it was edited a year after completion, so as to be thorough, at least they knew it wasn’t crap.

I’ve given her weekly updates, sometimes bi-weekly. I’ve done everything to be highly communicative, receiving responses like “Okie”, because apparently that’s how she spells “Okay”. Did you just empathize with me? Communicating with this person was like talking to a crash test dummy.

When I contacted her this morning to let her know that I’m moving and would complete her manuscript once I was settled in to my new place of residence, she claimed she’d given me two different deadlines that never existed. I know they didn’t exist because I never committed to a deadline, and she never specified one in the contract, or in conversation. It was 100% never discussed. I have a very sharp memory and yes, she bitched once, but I flat-out explained how much work was involved in her manuscript, and how time-consuming it was as it is not my full-time job.

Today she decided she’d prefer to part ways and “go a different road”. I returned the “dirty manuscript” with all of my notes and for the first time in 20 years, allowed myself to say “Good riddance.” I was the epitome of polite and respectful, but her demands during one of the worst years of my life and her deciding to “part ways” is a blessing. If I told you how much I got paid for this edit, you’d cry. Never again will I allow myself to be demeaned or disrespected by someone who thinks they’re the next Stephen King.

I had a moment where I felt like a failure. I have NEVER, not once, returned incomplete work to someone, but when a person is completely unwilling to work with you, to read their work before submitting it, etc., then I don’t feel it’s my responsibility, once they get vile, to do more than say “Here you go. Good luck.” Clearly she has NO idea how the industry works, what is and is not marketable, and that without a team behind me, yes, editing takes time. She said she wrote this manuscript in a few months and that “everyone who read it loved it”. It was barely a first draft, leave alone a fourth re-write. I can tell when someone is half-assing something. Even if they’re a New York Times Bestselling Author, I can tell when something isn’t properly thought out before submission.

So from here on in, I am only accepting proofreading, beta reads, and critiques. My writing focus now returns to my novels, which are quality. My creative focus will move to my career change because while I will always be a writer, I need more to keep me going. I need something daily that makes me feel like I have purpose.

A word of advice: Editors aren’t your punching bag and they don’t deserve to be shit on. If your editor is having a bad year, it’s okay to suggest moving on so that they can focus on their own life during a crisis, but it’s not okay to be a bitch to them. Treat people the way you’d want to be treated if the roles were reversed. Be respectful. Even more, if you’re barely paying them, you have no right to bitch about time unless you split everything up into chapters and allow them to work and submit chapters back to you as they complete them, because that’s when things can work in a much smoother fashion.

I highly recommend splitting your files up into chunks, perhaps a few chapters at a time, that way you’re communicating properly with the person who will be tending to your “baby”. Also, ask them to do a read-through before they edit, that way they can give you a fair price and an estimated time of delivery. Don’t freak out if the book that took you years to write takes nine months, or longer, to edit. I do a proofread, edit, fact-check, and then I double-check the work, so yes, it’s time-consuming.

The person you’re hiring is a flake only if you never see any results and never hear from them again, but a person who communicates with you regularly is being honest.

If my editor was having a bad year, I would never show them such disrespect. Shit happens, and it’s not the other person’s fault. If you want to hire a trained monkey who will kiss your ass, perhaps you should check out your local zoo.

I’ve never been so happy to delete someone’s work in my entire life. That probably sounds horrible, but at the end of the day, I shouldn’t want to remove my head off my shoulders because I was doing my job. No one should feel that way.

When someone tells me their story is SO good that it will be picked up traditionally and I’m editing it shaking my head “No, not in this lifetime.”, that means it will be 99 cents on Amazon Kindle. Granted, I’ve read some fantastic stuff for $5 or less on Kindle, but I’ve also been mortified by a lot of it.

Anyone who reads this sees my work regularly. They know I don’t eat bullshit politely with a knife and fork, and when you see my writing style, you can see that I edit it thoroughly. I’m human. I have the occasional typo, I’m quick-witted, educated, and willing to admit my faults.

Today, I say “C’est la vie.” Write what you want to write, but disrespecting an experienced, talented editor is unacceptable to me. One migraine less to think about. I’m moving on.

What I’ve Learned From Life…

Image 2015-10-072015-10-06 Miss Poison Honesty, Images/Photos/Quotes, Inspiration, Pieces Of Me Inspiration

I Refuse To Change

2015-10-062015-10-06 Miss Poison Honesty, Life, Musings, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Writing Asking For Help, Exhaustion, Family, Friends, Friendship, Honesty, Writing

After taking a couple of days to rest from overdoing it, I am back on my grind today. While going through a box that I never unpacked from my original move (because nothing inside it was overly important), I found a ton of missing CD’s. I reorganized that box for its intended purpose, took the CD’s out, and I’m boxing up music. I added some songs to my media library since I will be putting the majority of my music into storage initially. You know how there’s always that one song you miss? I was happy to find a few. But I’m also debating tossing things I don’t want to move with, heavy things that seem kind of pointless, but then I have a moment where I think “Shouldn’t you at least have the opportunity to go through all of this stuff before deciding to toss it or not? Okay, so it’s a few extra boxes and it will take hours to go through every single item and make a decision, but if you’re throwing away solid memories, maybe it should wait. If you’re questioning it, then now is not the time to toss it.”

How is it that “stuff” emotionally neuters us at times? In life, we build memories and sometimes, memories captured are difficult to part with. The more I pause, the more I feel like nothing is getting done and I’m working on a very tight deadline.

To add insult to injury, I have absolutely no clue how this move is going to take place. I’ve had two “helpers” back out in the last few days. No explanations, just flat-out back out or say one thing, and then say they couldn’t or wouldn’t help. I need someone to drive a 26 foot truck, so I asked the one person in my life who is a professional driver. It’s not like he has someplace to be the following day. I’d never ask someone to take off from work to help me move, but naturally, there are going to be kinks along the way. I was then left with the second task: I need to transport Cat and Kitten and all the delicate items in a separate vehicle. I legitimately need help. I can’t take them and leave them in a situation they’re not familiar with and them come back and do everything else before I have to be out, so I am frustrated and more than a little pissed off. Ultimately, I have no choice but to keep packing, but not knowing with solid certainty where I’m going due to these issues is upsetting me greatly. And yes, I have thought of so many options and no one is willing to say “I can help you out that weekend, it’s not a problem.” Mind you, they’d all come to me in a heartbeat for the smallest thing, but my asking for help is somehow wrong. Note to self: Trade family members into slavery. Buy Porsche Cayenne with the money you make from the trade. (I’m only partially kidding.)

The larger insult that I was slammed with the other day was basically being told that I don’t have enough friends. It was an incredibly rich statement based on who it came from, but it pissed me off nonetheless because it was thoughtless, insensitive, and rude. How many “friends” does one need? Do I need a fucking sorority house to satisfy someone else’s idea of how I should be, or am I good with just a few close friends?

I do not grant friendship easily. My friendship is a genuine, loyal, breathing organism. It is fully committed and quite frankly, most women don’t know how to be friends like that. I don’t need falseness in my life and I don’t need to be a joiner to be a good person and be content. Anyone who thinks I need to change the core of who I am needs to realize that Fibromyalgia is with me 24/7. Eventually, people stop asking you to do things when you can barely get out of bed and do the most basic things for yourself, so why would I want to put myself in the situation of opening up to absolute strangers who haven’t earned their place in my life? I’m a grown woman, and the last thing I need in this world is to be told how to be or that there’s something about me that needs to change because it’s imperfect. I have two words as an answer: FUCK THAT.

I am who I am. I am ENOUGH. Anyone who disagrees needs to mind their own business, keep their opinions to themselves, or get the hell out of my way.

I only apologize if I’ve truly done something wrong. Being myself is NOT wrong.

So, to the person that feels I need to be “changed”, I strongly suggest you take a good look in the mirror and change some of your own behavioral patterns. I don’t change friends daily the way you change socks, and that is a quality to be admired, not disrespected as you did. The fact that you look down upon it is quite sickening.

The cherry on top: I’ve had a migraine since yesterday afternoon. I was legitimately in bed before 4:00 PM. At some point, my body will inform me that it needs more rest and I am going to do my best to give it what it needs. Unfortunately, moving and self-care don’t exactly mesh well. 😦 I’d love to just lie in bed and read a book today or tomorrow. I am going to try to squeeze in chapters of Trigger Mortis here and there before I leave. Worst case scenario: I’m unable to finish it.

On the plus side, I am truly grateful for the people who have stepped up and assisted in both large and small ways, regardless of the miles between us. That means so much to me, to have that level of support. Sadly, I wish it was a team of ten people at the moment helping me with all this crap instead of a handful making me feel like crap.

Life, my friends, is not for the faint of heart. Treat people the way you want to be treated.

It’s Normal And It’s Okay

2015-10-04 Miss Poison Life, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Writing Emotional Pain, Emotions, Exhaustion, Life, Musings, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Strength, Stress, Work, Writing

Another night of barely present sleep has me sitting here stressed. I should be boxing things up in my bathroom or going through my closet, but it’s cold, even with the heat on, the wind is insane, and I think I have to give myself a break today. From the neck down, everything hurts. If I don’t rest through this flare, nothing will get done as I lose a week to bed-rest, so I need to give myself a day here and there and cut myself some slack. Rome was not built in a day. I cannot pack up my entire life in a few days either.

I’ve been contemplating breakfast for several hours. Is it weird that I want mashed potatoes? LOL. Hot, comforting, and fast because they’re already in the fridge and all I have to do is heat them up. Alas, I came upstairs to write instead.

I will organize laundry next, as the store I bought my mattress from is finally sending someone out to inspect it on Tuesday, “sometime between 4 and 7”, and while I always change the linens on Sunday, this time I want to make sure that everything is good to go for that. Hell, I might even make my bed. It would be the first time in a few years. Don’t judge me, no one cares what it looks like so long as it’s clean.

The person who was originally working with me in regard to this issue is “no longer with the company”, so I am afraid that this hole in my mattress will be blown off, as opposed to the person being able to feel the spring popping up and authorizing a replacement. I am going to ask him outright if this thing is a lemon (which I suspected less than a year after sleeping on it. It shouldn’t have gone from the best thing EVER to “I want to replace this.”) or simply defective. I informed the store that I was moving and because it’s a regional store, as opposed to nationwide, if they do replace it, they’ll have to get it to me before the end of the month. At the very least, if they deliver it the day I leave, it’ll be wrapped and good to go into storage for a while. My bed is huge when you factor in the entire piece of furniture, so I will have to get them to send me instructions on how to take it apart since it took two men to get it in here and put it together. It was expensive or I wouldn’t be so concerned about taking it apart and storing it. It’s special to me and while it’s no longer pristine as it was when I first bought it, I’d like to be able to keep it for the foreseeable future. If not, a trip to IKEA is in my future. It’s been so long since I’ve been to IKEA that I look forward to going, which should be sad, but I think it’s a good idea. If nothing else, I might find some great ideas moving forward.

Tomorrow I notify my final editing client of the year that I will be taking the next two months to move. Technically I don’t need all of November blocked out (I will buckle down and finish her manuscript once I’m settled), but I won’t have Internet access immediately because the company that runs everything where I will be moving knows nothing about customer service. I’ve spoken to them twice and I can assure you that they’re drunk on their own Kool-Aid. The fact that I said I didn’t want a two-year agreement nearly sent two agents into a tizzy. “You will be so satisfied with our service, we are certain you will want to keep it for years to come.” Yeah, whatever. When Verizon moves in, and inevitably, the demand will secure their position, I am GONE. I will do whatever I have to in order to leave you and return to the company that has been amazing to me from day one. If I didn’t need the Internet, I’d let it fly, but I can’t work without it. If I’m going to be without it for more than a week on my laptop and tablet, it means I’m on the vacation of the century. Verizon is more along the lines of “We can be there tomorrow; would you prefer a morning, afternoon, or evening appointment?”, but these assholes told me installation would be 5-10 days from the time I place the order, but that I can choose the date to coincide with my arrival. How kind of you, since you’ll be sucking money out of me every month like leeches. The whole thing annoys me, but ultimately, having Internet access is important. It’s how I get shit done.

Ultimately, I am trying to make peace with my decision. The more negativity I deal with here, the more I want to be gone. I want to get back to being the woman I used to be. I deserve to be able to be myself without having to mask 99% of what I think or feel, or be told that it’s wrong. Overall, the things I will miss about being here aren’t as large as missing chunks of myself. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt or that I’m not upset about it. I am. However, there comes a time when you have to stop sacrificing pieces of your soul

When my mother had her accident, she worried that she was holding me back because I stayed put to take care of her. I would not change that decision for anything in the world, even though I was completely burned out in the end. I would not have been able to look at myself in the mirror if I didn’t know exactly what was going on with her. I would not have been able to enjoy anything in my life knowing that I wasn’t a good daughter, the kind she deserved, the person she raised me to be. I may not have been able to keep her alive in the end, but I remember a time when my Mom wasn’t strong enough to leave a bad situation and I was her strength. Now, I have to be my own.

We Betray Our True Selves…

Image 2015-10-04 Miss Poison Images/Photos/Quotes, Inspiration, Pieces Of Me Betray, Destiny, Follow, Heart's Desire, Images/Photos/Quotes, Inspiration, Leon Brown

All I Want Is A Nap…For Now

2015-10-03 Miss Poison Emotional Pain, Pieces Of Me, Writing Emotional Pain, October, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Writing

I packed for nearly eleven hours today. That’s a record for me with Fibromyalgia, because the last time I had to make a big move, I flat-out shut down emotionally (and physically) and hired a moving company. This time, I am doing every damn thing by myself. You know where you stand with your friends and family when everyone scatters the second they hear the word “move”. This is precisely how people get cut from my “When I win the lottery” list.

However, packing drills home the fact that this is a really big house and while half of the house is already packed, I’m more concerned with the day-to-day stuff and the things that make me emotional. Family photos, art, DVD’s, the books in my living room that are organized in alphabetical order (They don’t call it OCD for nothing!), everything in my kitchen that I’m attached to, hell, even my nail polish collection makes me weepy.

I’m tired. This is my body’s way of saying I need a break, some food, and maybe more than the three plus hours of sleep I got last night. Despite going to bed early, I woke up at 1:00 a.m. and I’ve been on a roll ever since. The plus to all this: I tossed a TON of crap without glancing twice at it. Do I need the bridal magazine from 2009? NO. Can I donate these books to the library? YES. Do these craft items need a better home? YUP!

I packed one of my suitcases and ended up cleaning out four of the drawers in my armoire (They were FULL, this was no easy feat.). I had no idea I had so many things, but my closet is next and I suspect that will be 20 boxes of “How long have I owned this?” I’ve already donated a ton of clothing to different charities between last year and this year, but I found a local place that will buy new and gently used clothes from me, including shoes and boots that have never been worn that I was unable to sell on eBay, so I might as well make a few dollars while I have the chance and see if I can turn that into a new work outfit or something I need to get me through Winter. If I can move with significantly less crap, that’s one less stress in my head. Hell, I threw makeup out, you know I mean business!

Unfortunately, I’ve overdone it. I can barely keep my eyes open and I can’t have another conversation about whether or not to keep something, sell it, donate it, or throw it away. I’d sell a bodily organ if someone would pack everything for me, transport it to my destination, and do all of the unpacking, thus allowing me to sit in a corner and watch a spot of paint on the wall.

Happiness has an expensive emotional price tag. Putting myself first for the first time in my life means I am walking away from my life and starting over. To one person involved in my decision, it means “abandonment”, but that isn’t the real truth, it’s their perception of the situation. It’s their intent to make me feel guilty, thus lulling me into changing my mind, which in my eyes, means dealing with a form of tyranny for God only knows how long. I feel torn between demons, and I’m not 100% sure of that analogy, I just know that I want and need PEACE.

I need quiet when I am sick, as opposed to someone barging in and waking me when I’ve only been asleep for an hour. I need privacy. I need to be able to say “I’m going to bed.”, and have someone respect that, even if that means they don’t see me for two days. When I am dealing with migraines and Fibro flares, I don’t need to be told that I’m “using it at a crutch” or “You’re just being lazy because you don’t want to do something.” (I once had someone vacuum while I was on vacation in the middle of a migraine. It was 7:00 a.m. and I contemplated murdering them, but ultimately hoped they’d finish quickly, before I went into the living room and threw up on the rug.) And when I’m in a dark place, I don’t ever want to hear “Just kill yourself already, I’m tired of hearing about it.” That is NOT what you say to someone who considers suicide regularly, or even just once a week. And NO, I feel no shame in being honest about that. I’d be more ashamed if I pretended my life was perfect and that I had no emotions, or pretended to be strong every single day of my life when the fact of the matter is, no one is strong 100% of the time. We all have moments of doubt. It’s called “being human”.

Insensitivity and hatred directed at you when you need to focus on your health and rebuilding portions of your life is unhealthy. I want better, I deserve better, and I cannot allow myself to be guilted into the stupidity of others. (FYI: I am not discussing a romantic relationship. I would NEVER allow abuse in a situation like that. Perhaps some day I will discuss what I’ve been through, I started writing about it months ago, but today is not that day.)

So, on this rainy, windy Saturday evening, I hope that everyone has had a happy, productive day. I overdid it and I’m already feeling the aches and pain, my back is sore and I HURT, but I have to keep believing that it will all get done. Ultimately, me being okay in the end is probably more important than anything else.

Beginnings, Endings, and New Beginnings

2015-10-02 Miss Poison Loss, Love, Motherless Daughters, Pieces Of Me, Tears, Writing Change, Emotional Pain, Endings, Family, Life, Loss, Love, My Mother, New Beginnings, October, Pieces Of Me, Writing

It’s utterly surreal how much my life has changed in the last eight years. I set out on a specific course, reached a major fork in the road, chose a direction, a dream, and now I am starting over with a dream I’ve somehow managed to keep hidden in the back of my mind, all the while making movements towards it. “Everything happens for a reason…” Sometimes that sounds like horse-shit and other times, it’s the absolute truth.

In the last eight years I have lost, loved, lost, and continued to love. Every single time I think I am shut off and that my capacity for love is gone, I am proven wrong. On this day last year, I brought an angel home. Today that angel is officially a year old and while there are a great many types of love, this one is pure and special. I feel blessed and honored to be in the presence of this love. This is the kind of love that keeps you alive and gives you purpose. It reminds you to keep fighting and keep living, even when you truly don’t want to. Even when you say “No more!”, that love is present and let’s you know that it’s okay to feel the way you do, and that you’re completely accepted.

Once or twice a year, I do a Celtic Cross Tarot Card reading for myself. I don’t do readings for anyone else because it makes me uncomfortable, but my own readings are so accurate that they bring me to tears. My most recent reading was dead-on accurate and I remember being slightly in denial at the time, but now I realize it was a message, and it was telling me exactly what I’ve been telling myself for the last few years. I liken it to a loved one treating you badly in public and a stranger stopping you to tell you that you deserve better. You KNOW you deserve better in your heart of hearts, but sometimes hearing it from someone else’s mouth is the push you need. Many of my readings are like that. In fact, all of them are. I’m really quite disturbing with the metaphysical.

Today would normally be a celebration of something else, but this year I celebrate love and new beginnings. That is the right direction, that is the answer, and I needn’t attempt to dissuade myself when I know the answers.

My mother wrote a letter to me before I was born. I found it after she died. It said “Sometimes you have put yourself first, but it doesn’t mean you’re being selfish.” She was a supremely unselfish woman and she raised me to be pretty unselfish as well. Of all the people I have lost, it’s my Mom’s voice that I can’t always remember, until I read something she wrote or a memory comes flooding back and I hear her say my name the way only three people in my life ever did. Looking at photos this morning, I realized just how much I miss my family and how I’ve never given myself time to grieve.

Thankfully, I know that there are all a part of who I am and that they’re not truly gone. Bits and pieces of each of them live on inside of me, and so, with every ending comes a new beginning.

This phoenix is ready to spread her wings and fly. She’s already been through the fire.

Another Sleepless Night

2015-10-012015-10-01 Miss Poison Musings, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Writing Cat and Kitten, Insomnia, Musings, October, Stormy Weather, Strength, Survival, Writing

No, I haven’t been to bed yet. Yes, I’m aware it’s nearly 8:00 a.m. EDT. No, I don’t normally sleep during the day, but the Full Moon leading into the time change screws with me badly. On the plus side, I was pretty productive overnight and this needs to continue until next month. I can sleep for the rest of the year if I just get through this month.

If I can survive this month without having a stroke, heart attack, or complete nervous breakdown, I will truly be able to say I can get through anything. Though honestly, one can say this after they’ve buried both of their parents while both parents were still young, a multitude of friends, other family members, and deeply loved pets. Pencil me in for sleep and ignoring the world come mid-November. I’ll keep in touch though, and I’m sure I’ll be my usual poisonous self. 😉 None of you would respect me if I became disgustingly chipper and pretended the world was made of cherries & chocolate.

After two and a half days dealing with the migraine spawned straight out of hell, I was finally able to declare that the “migraine has ended” via the app I’ve been using since last month. For those that asked, it’s called Migraine Buddy and is available for Android and iPhone. I tried a few others that I immediately deleted after a few hours, this one is the best out there. After you’ve had a certain number of headaches, you’re able to pinpoint your triggers and you are also able to have the app forward an e-mail to you each month to bring to your doctor. That’s valuable. The fact that it tracks your sleep is also pretty cool, though I openly admit it creeped me out the first time it did it. I hadn’t adjusted the setting or touched my phone, but when you wake up and grab your phone, it will ask you to verify the time you went to bed and woke up, so it’s good to glance at the clock before getting into bed, or if your memory is foggy, jot it down on a post-it note so you won’t forget.

Since I don’t watch the news, Case Study #2 felt the need to report the weather to me, as if I don’t have a weather app on my phone to tell me ahead of time when and if the sky might fall. <rolls eyes> I was informed that I needed to “prepare for the weekend” last night, even though it was a Wednesday! I have no appetite whatsoever (I ate two cookies this morning so I wouldn’t faint. The cookies were Case Study’s idea, not mine.), Cat and Kitten have food, and there’s toilet paper and iced tea. I’m good. Case Study does not understand this because he’s a guy and in his male brain, I need to be reminded to eat. Perhaps he thinks I will wither away. If I do, I’d like to donate my ass to a country in need. It is predominantly kosher (I just laughed out loud, I’m not sure how anyone else took that, but I’m generally not here for comedic purposes).

And so my captive audience, I leave you in peace. Cat and Kitten were up watching me all night because apparently Mommy needs to be watched when she does weird things that are out of character, so we’re all extremely punchy. I think sleep on a stormy day is the perfect excuse to get what my body and mind need in between the chaos.

To everyone dealing with this storm, be safe. It’s cold, windy, and I’ve officially turned my heat on. Yes, it is officially October!

Wishing you all a wonderful, safe Thursday wherever you are in this great big world of ours.