Situation Or Depression? There’s A Difference

2015-11-122015-11-12 Miss Poison Battles, Depression, Honesty, Life, Mental Health, Musings, November, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Stress, Things That Enrage Me, Unnecessary Drama, Writing Depression, Heart Surgery, Honesty, Life, Mental Health, Musings, My Brother, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Stress, Writing

I had a major meltdown Monday. I can’t recall the last time I felt that alone, that isolated from my friends & family, or that upset. I’m certain it’s happened before, but Monday was simply too much, too soon, and way too intensely upsetting. I vividly remember scrolling through my contacts list at one point, and realizing that I could not call a single soul in it. I reasoned that I didn’t want to bother anyone at work. It was quite sobering.

When a strong woman says “I’m tired of being strong.”, it’s honest. When a strong woman says “I feel broken.”, that too is honest. But when a strong woman seeks help so that she does not harm herself, knowing the potential is there, and gets told “There’s a nine month waiting list to be seen.” or “We’re booked solid until January, so you should go to your nearest emergency room.”, it is astounding.

When you go to the emergency room with a mental health crisis of any kind, it is my experience that you will not be taken seriously unless you’re bleeding or have overdosed and were brought in on a stretcher. Does it really have to come down to that? I think it is a horrible approach and I wonder how many other people have experienced this.

If a mother can go to a police station, fire house, rescue squad, or hospital, and legally surrender an infant (Known as the Safe Haven Law) without fear of being deemed a criminal for child abandonment, then I should be able to go into any medical establishment and say “I am worried for myself, I need help.” without fear of judgment or criticism, or being mistreated. Instead, I spent several days talking to my insurance company, who are utterly useless, trying to find a way to get immediate care. But no such place exists without an extensive waiting list. They just keep telling me to go to the emergency room. I didn’t break my leg, this is not an emergency room situation unless I have hurt myself or someone else. G-d forbid!

I don’t need to be hospitalized. I know that, and so do the few people who support me, but do I need additional support and someone to talk to? Yes. I reached out to my psychiatrist for a prescription, asking whether or not I should go back on medicine I already have or medicine I used to take, the latter of which would require him to call a prescription into the pharmacy for me. Unfortunately, medication is always very tricky, and side effects are generally the reason I stop taking them. That, or the fact that they don’t make me feel better. I can’t function when I’m deathly ill from side effects or I can’t physically get out of bed from the drowsiness certain medications provide at even a low dose. I have yet to meet one that truly works without making things worse.

It’s almost 2016, and there are still so many people ashamed to talk about their use of antidepressants or anti-anxiety medication during difficult times in their life, or daily to manage very real issues that aren’t their fault to begin with. I would be far more embarrassed pretending I was okay when I am not. Suffering in silence makes the suffering one hundred times worse than it is if you simply reach out to someone and ask for help. But here I am, and there’s no one willing to help. It’s like being outside in -50 degree temperatures and having someone throw ice water at you. It is also incredibly hurtful and insulting.

The past few years have taken an immense toll on me, I’d never deny that, but the last two and a half weeks have been like bleeding to death slowly. And yet, as I sit here with a cold that came out of nowhere, I find myself unable to handle answering the phone or responding to a text message (I wish I could say they were simple, but they’re not. I currently have the Do Not Disturb feature on because listening to my phone vibrate all day is getting to me.). I’ve reached a point where too many people want immensely large pieces of me, but none of them are willing to grant me so much as an inch of kindness, compassion, or understanding. I take a few days to take care of myself and get told I’m horribly selfish, which is the exact opposite of who I am. I’m considering the asinine source before buying into such nonsense. Sometimes employing a “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that” filter is a good idea.

I am the first person to say that it’s important to advocate for your own mental health, and your overall health in general. It’s important to question everything, especially when you aren’t receiving legitimate answers. I also feel it is important to take ownership of your own crap. That being said, I feel like this particular situation is what’s affecting me and making me physically ill. It’s not depression in a traditional way, it is the situation causing how I feel, but it is still difficult and I’d prefer to be prepared for anything more that comes at me, as opposed to pretending nothing affects me. I’m human, and it’s not a crime.

agoodmood — I might not have been in a good mood to begin with, but come on, this has merit.

I got home late from the hospital Monday night. They keep the rooms outrageously hot in that particular part of the hospital. I kept putting eye drops in to counteract the heat drying my eyes out, and I kept disinfecting things because every other person was coughing or sneezing. I already knew I had something in my system, but now it’s affecting my head and chest. For a period of time yesterday, my voice was but a whisper. All I was capable of doing was sitting and today hasn’t been much better, except that I have my voice back and have been able to do a few things in and out of the house. My head feels like there are multiple hot pokers stuck in different directions, my sinuses are killing me, and my eyes and throat hurt like hell. The weather, all dark and grey, complete with rain, is only adding to the pressure in my skull. I find it insulting to get sick when I am already dealing with enough insanity.

My brother is still in the hospital. They wanted to discharge him on Monday, but his blood oxygen levels weren’t good and they were talking about doing another procedure before discharging him. By Tuesday, his levels were almost 100% improved, the second procedure was determined to be okay a month post-op, but not now. There was also a major snafu when one of his surgeons discovered a potential infection on an x-ray. He wasn’t sure what it was, but wanted to run some tests to figure it out. They have since discovered that he indeed has infection, but they aren’t 100% sure where or what it is. He’s been saying he “feels hot” since last week. They kept telling him his vitals were good and it was merely a side effect of the anesthesia and medication. Last night, the nurses argued once they discovered he had a high fever, because apparently the two nurses prior to the shift change failed to report that he had one at all. His primary surgeon was called at home around midnight and was, quite obviously, very concerned. He ordered a laundry list of tests, some of which were performed immediately after the phone call, and others were done earlier on, with a few more ordered for later today. My brother, in perfectly dramatic fashion, blamed me for this. It is, naturally, all my fault. How could it not be?! Lord knows I walk around with a veritable petri dish just waiting to unleash it on my own flesh & blood. <rolls eyes>

I’d like to blame that psychotic comment on his medication, but I have no idea where he gets the idea that I’m some kind of monster trying to keep him in the hospital (If I was, he’d be chained to a bed in a mental hospital.). Because I’m honest? Because I’m direct? Because I don’t coddle him? No matter what I say or do, I am wrong. It’s like being married, except this isn’t Arkansas (That was a snarky comment, not a statement of fact, lest someone become offended and lack the ability to decipher my sense of humor.).

Quite frankly, I’d like him to recover in someone else’s home, tormenting them. If I hear about his dietary restrictions one more time, he’ll be lucky to get a loaf of bread and a gallon of water each week upon being released into my “care”. I offered to bring him something when I go back to the hospital and was told I “can’t be obvious about it” because I brought him a request Monday and apparently someone asked how he got it or something along those lines. I didn’t know I was committing some evil act by trying to do something nice. He’s a grown man, what am I supposed to do, bring him a teddy bear?! His vocal cords are healing (If you watch Chicago P.D., I can tell you that, at the moment, he sounds a lot like Jason Beghe.) at a slow rate, so I’ve made an effort, but all he does is piss me off with the unappreciativeness. I don’t have a lot of patience to begin with, so insulting me is not the way to get what you want or need.

People don’t rely on me for compassion, they rely on me to get the difficult shit done. I realize he feels he deserves some kind of “compassion pass” at the moment, but I don’t have it in me to change the core of who I am. I handle and face situations, but I’m not going to be someone I’m not, regardless of what a situation may be. In life, there’s no room for sugar-coating, and I certainly don’t expect people to do it for me either. Deliver the facts, I will deliver solutions, but don’t play games with me. It can seem cold and dispassionate to people, but I am actually quite passionate. If I wasn’t passionate, I wouldn’t do a damn thing for anyone. I would absolutely be selfish and self-centered, but I’m not. Sometimes when people are going through something difficult, they imprint their issues onto you, because their coping mechanisms aren’t strong enough to hold them together emotionally.

Ultimately, medication or not, I know who I am. This week has been a bad situation and it upset me to an ugly point, but my survival and success rate are 100%. I’m not going anywhere.

Silence, Leaf Blowers, & Sunday Dinner

2015-11-082015-11-09 Miss Poison Migraines, Musings, Noise, November, Petty Garbage, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Things That Enrage Me, Thoughts, Toxic People, Writing Cooking, Migraines, Musings, November, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Psychotic Behavior, Silence, Sundays, Vile Neighbors, Who Does That?!, Writing

Waking up this morning, I had a plan. Thus far, that plan is at a standstill as I am still dealing with yesterday’s migraine. In turn, all I wanted was silence, in all its perfect glory. This, of course, is where the leaf blowers come in, and threaten to make me sicker.

After doing some mundane things earlier on in the day, the sound of three (I wish I were joking) leaf blowers on my property became unbearable. I was in the kitchen at the time doing some early prep for Sunday dinner, otherwise I might not have heard them in the back of the house, which is where I do most of my work.

I glanced out a window after a while because the noise was getting louder and closer, and there were no less than six people on my front lawn, three of whom had leaf blowers. I cannot tell you how annoyed I was, but I decided to let it go. If you can’t shoot people for being idiots, you might as well let them look like the idiots they truly are as they mind someone else’s business on a suburban street for all to see.

Yesterday my vile next door neighbor took it upon herself, as she does every Fall, to break out the leaf blower and blow every leaf off of her property onto mine. She blew them halfway to the middle of the front lawn, as if they magically got there on their own. Who does that, you ask? Someone not entirely sane.

She pretended she didn’t see me go to the mailbox before she started this nonsense, that I hadn’t answered a question when her husband stopped me to ask about my brother’s surgery, as he visited him in the hospital last week, and that she had not seen me Friday night when I came home from running errands. She was too busy gossiping, but believe me when I say her eyes are always on me and my business. As my brother would say “Don’t watch me, watch TV.”

Today, she did the same thing with the leaves, except this time she, her husband, and several other members of her family bagged the leaves up, because apparently they have nothing better to do on a Sunday morning. There are eighteen bags of leaves sitting at the end of my driveway, as if she did a good, neighborly thing out of some semblance of goodness that I can attest, does not exist. She put three bags in front of her driveway and the rest in front of mine, as if I am blind. She wants it to be obvious that she did it, but I’m smart enough to know her motives.

Don’t get me wrong, if this was a genuine move, I would be quite appreciative. I cannot afford to be an ungrateful bitch, and I’m not. However, she knew I was home. There were two cars in the driveway before she started and after she finished. There are several other houses on this street that could have used her brand of “assistance”. The neighbor next door lost her husband in April and is having a difficult time. I would think it would make a hell of a lot more sense to help her as she’s visibly struggling with such a severe loss, so believe me when I say this was far from genuine. If I were going to help someone, I would be doing the yard work for the other neighbor whose husband used to do to it for her and their family. That, at least, makes sense.

Here’s the issue, apart from my desperately needing quiet; This isn’t her house. If the leaves from my trees bother her, tough shit. They aren’t hurting anything or anyone, and there is no mandate in this township that says when or if you must bag up leaves or not. It is November, and it’s early November at that. The leaves can be bagged up for pick-up, if one chooses, well into mid-December. Generally the majority of mine get removed in early Spring because I’m not so OCD that it needs to be perfect. In fact, I’d prefer the chipmunks have leaves lying around in case they need them. Moreover, I have more important things to think about at the moment, and raking leaves is extremely low on the totem pole of thought. But hey, if she wants to waste over two hours, have at it. It will get colder, the wind will continue to blow, because hurricane season is not yet finished, and she’ll be back at it in a week or two weeks from now because both trees out front are FULL of leaves. They’re going to keep falling. It makes no sense to bag leaves up more than once, if one is going to do it at all.

Instead of treating me like a human-being that exists, she does this because the leaves bother her (God forbid a leaf get on her new car! The woman, I kid you not, threw a party to show her new car off to anyone and everyone, as if she hadn’t been driving a relatively new car before this. Did you just shake your head at the craziness of such a stunt? It’s very similar to driving around with the sale’s sticker on your car for months.), and what’s more, it bothers her that I do not say a word to her, not in English any way. I lack the ability to be polite to people once I’ve seen their true colors. I’m contemplating slipping a note under her husband’s windshield wiper when I go out tomorrow morning to thank him for bagging up the leaves, despite the fact that I know he wouldn’t do all that work on his own since he’s due for knee replacement surgery any day now. She thinks she’s being cute, but she has no idea who she’s screwing with. I should have taken video or photos, because if you’d seen the behavior as she barked orders at her minions, I mean family, you’d understand my reaction. I strongly suggest she see a doctor and get her medication adjusted.

Now that it is quieter, I am still hearing leaf blowers (and lawn mowers) throughout the neighborhood. It’s kind of like dogs that all bark in sync the second the mailman is on the street. If I knew where my ear plugs were, I might be able to quell some of the nausea the noise is inducing.

On the flip side, I LOVE preparing Sunday dinner, but since it’s just me (my brother won’t be eating solid food for quite some time and Case Study #2 is on his way to the airport.), I broke it up into three meals to prolong the culinary delights. I still have mushrooms to saute, some additional veggies to chop, and the centerpiece of it all to throw together. If I can get my stomach to settle down, dinner will be awesome and continue to be awesome for a few nights. 🙂

I have so many friends who don’t understand my love for cooking (My cousin once asked me how to make corn on the cob. I tried hard not to laugh as I explained the simplicity of it.), or who don’t cook at all, which is why I’m the one that feeds them when they visit, or when I visit them. Cooking is merely another art form I enjoy, it’s a skill set that not all people have. That doesn’t mean I don’t scoff when a friend of over 20 years happens to let me know that she’s learning how to cook for her husband. I had to explain that when cooking, you need to cleanse the palate in order to be able to taste what it is you are making and gauge the seasoning accordingly. When I received a giggly, moronic response, I rolled my eyes and have tried my level best to keep my mouth shut since. If you’re public with your stupidity, or you advertise it via social media, don’t expect me to pretend I didn’t just hear what you said. Don’t hand-feed the writer material!

And on that note my loves, I am off to the kitchen once more to put all of the finishing touches on one of my favorite meals. Buon appetito! 🙂

Morphine Mania

2015-11-072015-11-07 Miss Poison Life, Musings, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Writing Exhaustion, Fibromyalgia, Heart Surgery, Life, Musings, My Brother, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Recovery, Self-Care, Stress, Weekends, Writing

It’s no secret; I’ve had a rough two weeks dealing with a serious family emergency. If you’ve ever had to force a man (or any loved one) to go the hospital knowing that something was clearly NOT “okay”, perhaps you can relate.

My brother came out of surgery Thursday afternoon, a good three hours earlier than I anticipated based on the scheduling of the surgery itself. The look on my face when I saw the hospital’s phone number on my cell phone screen so early was scary; I wondered if I was about to be forced to make a medical decision on his behalf, but it was all good news. Surgeons in certain fields are a little too cocky for my taste. The better the school they go to, the cockier they seem to be. 😦 His surgeon told me how great he did (I wasn’t sure if he meant himself or my brother, the man was way too excited.) and that because he is young and healthy, he should be good to go after he heals. I’ve inherited a patient for the next 3-4 months once he’s discharged from the hospital. You can probably feel my enthusiasm from wherever you are reading this. People in Siberia can feel the warmth of that enthusiasm. I’m contemplating becoming an alcoholic in advance of his arrival.

My brother, when sick, is the world’s biggest pain in the ass. If he has an ear infection, I have to hear about it non-stop and deal with his whining. I could have headphones on and still hear him bitching from ten miles away. Post-surgery brother, which is an absolute first, is going to drive me to new levels of insanity. Feel free to send plenty of bottles of wine and hard liquor my way. My “water bottle” might very well have vodka in it later today.

He called me yesterday morning after they removed the tube they left in overnight because they were afraid he’d rip it out, and not only did he sound insane, but he openly admitted he couldn’t feel anything because they have him on a high dose of morphine. He told a nurse “Sure, take blood. I can’t feel my arms.” NICE. There’s nothing I enjoy more than hearing someone repeat themselves ten times in less than thirty minutes. Even better, he said he wasn’t repeating himself as he disclosed details of his surgery that I simply did NOT need to hear about. I don’t know him that well, he doesn’t need to share every single thing with me. 😛

In my brother’s infinite wisdom, he gave me a list of errands to run for him. However, he left out crucial information, like where he keeps certain things and how I can access them. Welcome to the land of the paranoid boy. “Do this…”, but apparently I don’t need to know HOW, I just need to “get it done”. I am shaking my head at the stupidity of it all, and the fact that I went to four different places to handle this crap. I can’t decide if I’m stupid or insane. By the time I got home last night, I had dinner and went to bed, and this morning there is not a single part of my body that doesn’t hurt like hell.

I did everything earlier than I anticipated so that Monday, once all the tubes come out, I can go to the hospital for a while, and perhaps then, I will be let it on the secret as to where all the other documents are so that I can copy, print, scan, and fax/ e-mail them to the necessary parties. I’ve seen a LOT in my life medically, but there are some things my brain does not need branded in it for life. I’m banned from his room until the tubes come out, as he’s afraid I will pass out and/or throw up on someone. I have NO idea why he thinks I’m some sheltered little creature. Far from it. However, he said he’d prefer that I not see him as he is now, but that I can come once he looks like a “normal human-being again”, whatever that looks like.

Things are all pointing in good directions for him health-wise at the moment, but I can tell that recovery will be slow. It makes me sick that he’s coughing and is in so much pain from every movement. I understand pain far more than he will ever realize, but I have been lucky to avoid surgery, despite one major hospital stay.

He can’t do anything for 12 weeks upon being discharged from the hospital, but he said he’d give the paperwork to me so I can A) Read everything and B) Learn about his new diet. Subtlety at its finest. 😦 I offered to make him homemade chicken soup this weekend and bring him some on Monday, but he refused, saying it was “too much work”. It’s roughly a few hours of letting the flavors simmer before I pull the chicken out, but if he’s going to be on an all liquid diet for a week or two, nothing is better than homemade soup. It soothes the soul and heals the body, or at least mine does. Then he told me it likely has too much salt in it, which was downright insulting (No one has EVER accused me of that!), so I will bring him something else once he decides what he wants. His vocal cords are going to take some time to heal, so for now, he’s asking for some pretty weird things, but I am happy to bring them if they will make him feel better. If I can keep his mouth full, it might even keep him quiet. 😉

I am glad to have this weekend to rest my body. Even after a night’s worth of sleep, I’d gladly go back to bed and snuggle with Cat, who returned to her spot in bed as soon as she finished her breakfast. She looks so warm and cuddly in her twisted upside down position while she purrs. There is something about watching Cat and Kitten in their restful states that often makes me sleepy, perhaps it’s how calm and relaxed they are in the safety of their home. Of course, Kitten just got smacked for jumping up on the bed and checking on her. As she has grown in size, Cat has become less amused by her antics. There is a definite balance between play and slumber. If she feels Kitten is getting out of hand or acting out of turn, she will smack her gently, to let her know she’s not in the mood. Kitten is still a baby in so many ways, so she will either smack her back and force her to engage in play, or walk away sad, which is precisely when she looks at me as if to say “Mommy, she’s being mean to me.” She defers to her ‘older sister’, but she won’t take crap from her either. They have watched over me these past two weeks while I’ve been in various stages of upset, and cared for me when I’ve felt sick myself. This is a great benefit of raising little creatures that unconditionally love you. People, I find, are too fickle to truly offer that level of love.

Since my original plans for this weekend are no longer valid, anyone who sees SPECTRE needs to let me know how they enjoyed it. Feel free to send me spoilers as well, since I have to pre-order it on Blu-Ray which won’t happen ’til next year. I absolutely HATE missing another Bond movie opening weekend. 😦 If you know me well, you know why.

And so, I am off to begin “the weekend” in some fashion. I’ve been up for hours, but haven’t made any definitive decisions as to what I will do. For now, I think Self-Care needs to be a priority.

Wishing you all an enjoyable, happy, & safe weekend. Do something fun! 🙂

Fog

2015-11-052015-11-05 Miss Poison Honesty, Life, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Writing Compassion, Heart Surgery, Honesty, Life, My Brother, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Poor Communication Skills, Stress, Writing

When I went to bed this morning, the fog was pretty dense behind my house. It rolled in out of nowhere. I think it’s a metaphor for what I am going through at the moment. “It happened out of nowhere.” Yeah, that sounds about right.

I feel nothing. I’m an ocean-cleansed shell. For almost two weeks now, I’ve continued to say “I’m fine.” I’ve probably been saying that for longer than I realize. “I’m okay” or “I’m fine” are often the truth, but sometimes it’s me dismissing myself when I shouldn’t. I didn’t have to pay someone to tell me that in therapy either, I am working it out on my own.

Today is “Surgical Thursday”, and I feel NOTHING. When someone takes their anger, frustration, and fear out on you systematically over the course of several days, weeks, months, years, etc., you slowly lose the ability to give a shit. You might very well care, but today, I’m choosing not to invest emotion into what is happening.

My dear Uncle used to say “It is what it is.” I’d like to interpret that as “Let it go.” It’s much like Glinda, the Good Witch of the North saying “You have no power here. Be gone, before someone drops a house on you!”

Today, I am going to do my level best to focus on things I neglected yesterday. I am tired of being on the phone for hours, of texting until my fingers ache, and of updating people when it’s not my responsibility to do so.

I politely asked my brother to have the surgeon call me after the procedure is over (he is the last surgery of the day, so I wasn’t asking for a miracle. It is commonplace for a surgeon to call the family if they cannot be present or speak to the family if they’re in the surgical waiting room.), so I’d know how it went. He dismissed me and said he’d call me himself. I think he’s over-reaching his expectations on that level. The kid thinks I’m going to be his caretaker/caregiver for many months of recovery. He’s wrong. Disrespect me once; shame on you. Disrespect me twice and you can go fuck yourself. When I hang up on a person twice in one day, it’s not because they’ve been polite and kind, it’s likely because they’ve been an asshole.

When I spoke to Case Study #2 last night, I vocalized this and he said “Then you don’t have to. You’re not obligated to take care of anyone who cannot see all the good that you do. You don’t need to be abused for caring and showing compassion. If someone cannot clearly see you, then they do not deserve you.” You might very well know all of that inside your soul, but having that reaffirmed by someone, at times, is quite gratifying. Everyone else has told me “You’re exhausted, you need to eat and take care of you.”, but no one was willing to address the fact that I don’t deserve hostility. I only have so much compassion before I shut down and say “Enough.”

Concern and compassion don’t come from selfish, self-serving places. They come from a place of genuineness. If someone repeatedly shows you that they do not respect that, or you, it’s perfectly fine to say “Fuck off!” (Or whatever you, personally, prefer to say.)

And so my day begins… There is writing to be done and creativity to unleash. Here’s hoping it is a productive day for one and all. If you are participating in NaNoWriMo, I wish you oodles of good luck. 🙂

Personally, I’m certain that over a hundred thousand quality words come out of my mouth on a daily basis, but that doesn’t mean they’re there for free. 😉

Sleep Deprived

2015-11-03 Miss Poison Honesty, Life, Musings, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Writing Health, Heart Surgery, Honesty, Life, Musings, My Brother, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Sleep Deprivation, Writing

I spent Sunday running on less than three hours of sleep. As you can imagine, it was an incredibly long day. I pushed myself to go to the hospital. I was surprised I wasn’t in and out in twenty minutes, as hospitals are more than a little traumatic for me. I managed to stay for quite a while. It was, quite possibly, a first. It might have been because the CICU rooms are private (another first), it might have been because it’s practically empty in there (It might very well have been the quietest hospital I’ve ever been to.), or it might have simply been a week’s worth of stress and concern relieved, to some extent, when I saw that there weren’t fifteen different contraptions hooked up to one person. Normally when I see that, I never see the person alive again. In fact, my brother has already informed all of the surgeons, doctors, and nurses NOT to allow me in if he’s hooked up to a multitude of devices. He’s afraid I’ll lose it.

As of yesterday, my brother is stable, but they’re trying to adjust his medication because he is losing electrolytes at a rapid pace, which is based solely on the medication he is receiving. Tests are being run in earnest so that they can move forward with surgery. Initially it was scheduled for this morning, but late yesterday afternoon a doctor came in and told him it was canceled so they can monitor him for several more days and adjust his medication before moving forward. That information was jarring. First he told me “Surgery is at 7:00 tomorrow morning.” and a few hours later he tells me it’s been canceled and explains why. I went through a myriad of emotions that were quite exhausting. Now obviously, this isn’t about me, but I am still greatly affected. His mood is better, and he was really happy to see me. He said it gave him strength to face what is coming.

Now that I know the direction they’re taking, I realize how sleep deprived I am from last week, and in general. I grocery shopped Sunday afternoon like a staggering zombie. I wasn’t entirely sure what I was buying, either. I saw a list in front of me and I got most of what was on the list (I still have to go back in a few days and get everything I couldn’t handle in the moment.), which I realized yesterday morning, but I was truly not functioning on all cylinders. I’m so stressed that I require reminders to eat, or I’ll simply feed Cat and Kitten and ignore my own body’s needs.

Cats aren’t on Daylight Saving Time, which is an adjustment for us humans. They’re waking me incredibly early (two hours or so earlier than normal.) to be fed, they’re asking for “dinner” at 3:00 in the afternoon, and Cat likes to screw with me by walking away from her food at least once a day. She patiently waits for me to “serve” them and then runs and hides as I try to scoop her up and put her in front of her plate. I can only catch her if she wants to be caught. She’ll wait a few hours and then roll a ball into my room while I work or drop a toy at the door. She’ll stare at me with her big, gold eyes and implore me to understand that I need to stay with her while she eats, that she requires protection from “the little one”. I picked Kitten up the other day to let her know her behavior was unacceptable and inform her that she’d already eaten and needs to leave her sister alone so that she can eat her own food in peace. She’s not “little” any more. The kitten behavior remains in her energy, curiosity, affection, and sweetness, but she felt like a small sack of potatoes. She could easily pass for a small turkey if she sits the right way and yet I will probably learn in a few months when she gets her shots that she’s about ten pounds. That’s the normal weight and size she should be for now. Her energy and weight will adjust and she’ll either remain the same weight or lose a pound or two. Torties are like thoroughbred horses (some, not all). Their running, jumping, troublesome, adventurous natures do not stop as they get older. Their personalities are more human, but they seem to take the whole “nine lives” thing seriously and do their level best to test them out. You either have a stroke watching this behavior or you get used to it. I try not to react too much since she is my second Tortie. Surprisingly, they are quite similar in many ways.

This week, despite only being Tuesday, feels like a cosmic joke. I write, I take care of normal things, but I’m not truly present in any way. There are always e-mails, phone calls, and texts at the moment. There are friends and family overseas that are deeply concerned and feeling guilty that they’re not present. I did not tell a lot of family members because it was against my brother’s express wishes and quite frankly, they don’t need to know. If people don’t care about you year-round, then they should not be allowed to lap up your pain and misery simply because it makes them feel superior in some way. I don’t understand people like that. I don’t find anyone’s pain amusing. I still have compassion. And sadly, if any of these people needed me, I’m not 100% sure I’d make myself available any more. The people who are always there for me know my heart and they know I’d take a bullet for them, but anyone that cannot stand by me in good and bad times, whether we are blood-related or not, needs to fuck off.

I’m not very receptive to excuses. In life and death matters, people should be present. My Aunt told me her children (my first cousins, all of whom should know better, but apparently my brother & I are the only ones that inherited brains.) didn’t attend my parent’s funerals because their children were sick. We’re not talking about infants, so my thought process was “Then ask a neighbor, a friend, or a fucking babysitter to watch them for two hours. You do NOT pretend like your Uncle and Aunt didn’t pass away, and by all that is holy, do NOT show up a year later and pretend like I am going to accept your presence as acceptable behavior.” If I don’t go to a funeral, it is probably because I wasn’t given enough notice, not because I am being disrespectful. You don’t ask a third-party to e-mail me about a funeral. That’s not how you do things like that. And if you do, screw you, I won’t be there.

My brother isn’t as fierce as I am. If a person doesn’t call or visit him in the hospital, he doesn’t take it personally. He told me last night that only a handful of people matter, and that I’m the one who matters the most, no one else. Even still, it makes me angry that the people who should be supporting him are not. You definitely see people’s true colors during hard times, but the truth is much more easily faked during good times. I don’t respond well to that. I know when people aren’t being genuine. There’s a huge difference between being nosy and legitimately caring about another person’s well-being.

And so, I have reached a “point of no return”. I’d rather cut the herd now, as opposed to continue dealing with fake crap. There are a few people who are about to be torn new assholes, and quite frankly, it doesn’t bother me in the least. No one deserves to deal with people who spew crap out of two different ends. No one.

I know many of you can relate to the family and friend dynamics I am talking about. It’s disgusting, but I think overall, we are all better off cutting people out that are cancers in our lives.

Hanging By A Very Fine Thread

2015-10-312015-10-31 Miss Poison Life, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Writing Halloween, Heart Health, Life, My Brother, October, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Samhain, Saturdays, Stress, Surgery, Writing

I think what little is left of my sanity snapped Thursday afternoon when I received word that my brother will likely need open heart surgery, providing he is a viable candidate. If that is not an option, he will require a heart transplant. These are the kinds of words that make you want to sink into the earth.

During his last physical his doctor said his heart was healthy and strong, she was very pleased with the results from all of his tests, so I’m asking myself how things got so bad, so quickly. In turn, it’s making me wonder if my heart is a ticking time bomb, despite being told that I “have the heart of an 18 year old”. What does that even mean to doctors?! How can you trust them? Much like lawyers, I’m starting to suspect they’re all in it for the money, minus the few good doctors I do know who are caring, kind, and give 110% to their patients. Why help people when you can simply get paid?! Thank GOD I did not become a doctor or a lawyer. I would not be able to look at myself in the mirror in either profession. 😦

I have been advised to begin genetic testing to find out “what’s in my future” due to this occurrence. I’m much more inclined to look into a crystal ball.. The fact of the matter is, we all inherit good and bad genes. All of us, no one is genetically perfect. I do not want to play G-d with myself. I can understand if I showed signs of something questionable, but I don’t, so the subject matter makes me incredibly uncomfortable. I have already had to tell a family member, more than once, to back off with the know-it-all crap. All I want and need at the moment is emotional support.

My move is temporarily postponed until I know what is happening and exactly how things will proceed. I can’t, in good faith, leave my brother behind in a hospital bed and say “See ya!” That’s not who I am. I know some people would do precisely that, and I am sure someone, somewhere will think that I am a moron for staying behind to take care of him, but I’m not heartless. Surgery will require approximately six months of healing time post-op, and he will need someone to be here for him, even though I won’t be able to do every single thing he might need. If immediate surgery is not the option he & his doctors choose, if things turn to a different type of surgery, like a transplant, I honestly don’t know what I will do.

I can’t spend even 30 minutes inside a hospital. They make me sick and drive me insane. I spent years taking care of my parents when they were ill, and I would not have been able to move or do any of the things I wanted to do at the time knowing that they were sick and needed me. I would have been too far away in an emergency, so this poses a problem for me now as well. I feel bad that I am not with him 24/7. Unfortunately, it did start a fight as to whether or not I “care”. 😦 He does not seem to realize or understand my true value in his life. I have done everything I can to support him through this and be a good sister. I’ve never not been a good sister, I’m not about to start now, but I’m not going to take crap from someone simply because they’re lonely, grouchy, and going through nicotine withdrawal.

When he was in recovery Thursday afternoon at a new hospital he was transferred to, a nurse came to tell him that I had called and was “very worried about him” and that he needed to call me back “right away”. When he asked me about that later on I said “I did not say that.” I hadn’t. I simply tried tracking him down and it took forever once we got disconnected since cell reception in that portion of the hospital is damn near nonexistent. He looked at her when she said it and immediately thought “That doesn’t sound like MY sister. She wouldn’t say that.” I might not verbalize the worry, but obviously I’m not okay about this situation. It’s upsetting and disturbing on more levels than I care to discuss. Who the hell would be okay with it?!

In situations like this, technology is a wonderful thing, though I don’t think I need all the hospital selfies, but I promise to put them in a photo album to show all his future girlfriends. 😉 No, he doesn’t read this.

I realized Friday morning, when he threw me out of bed after less than two hours of sleep because he was finally awake, bored, lonely, and obscenely chatty, that I can’t sit for three plus hours on the phone every single night because he’s awake, though I am glad he is finally resting. Every time my phone buzzes, I jump like I’ve been bitten by a snake. I have the ringer off on the landline because every sound it makes is horrible to my ears. Precisely who makes ringtones for landlines? I want to know. My cell phone isn’t much better. It’s not my personal ringtone choices that bother me, it’s the noise itself. Unless I’m out in public, my phone is always on vibrate. Last night I decided to turn on the “Do Not Disturb” feature on my phone and allow myself to sleep, even if it wasn’t a full night. I knew I needed the silence as I try handling a migraine that has lasted for over two days and the stress of this past week. Up until the last second, he was still arguing with me via text. I cannot deal with that level of crazy. I have my limits.

And yet, it is eerily quiet when my brother is not around talking to Cat and Kitten, slamming my doors, inspecting my refrigerator and cabinets for goodies, blasting baseball or football, asking ridiculous questions, etc. He is the person people see nine times out of ten because I am often in too much pain to do anything outside beyond walking to and from the car.

I am almost certain I scared the crap out of a neighbor when I went outside to bring my garbage can and recycling bin in so that neither of them would go rolling down the street due to the wind. I saw him and his dog coming toward me, he did not see me walking down the driveway, and by the time he looked up, I thought he was going to have a heart attack. As per usual, 99% of the neighbors do not speak to me, and he was no different. They live in the house that drove me nuts for months with the incredibly noisy add-on. On the plus side, the dog didn’t jump on me or bark, always a sign of good training. I honestly didn’t know anyone on the street close enough to me had a dog any more, that’s how quiet this one is. Or perhaps he was simply happy to be out on a walk. I later learned from my brother that he sees this guy walking the dog “at all hours”. He then proceeded to tell me that I’d know who he was if I was not a hermit. LOL. Sue me for minding my own fucking business!

This weekend I am going to attempt to tackle a few things. One, get my brother’s car from the first hospital’s parking lot. Two, try to get over to the hospital with some clean clothes so he will stop bitching (Don’t ask me when I became a maid, because I can assure you that the “pay” on this “job” sucks dishwater.). Three, get groceries. It took me about an hour to realize that the “Shop From Home” app is a piece of shit. I suppose it works fine if you buy the same things every single time you shop, but if you can’t offer me fresh vegetables & fruit with accuracy unless they’re on sale in your current ad, that doesn’t work for me. There is a long list of things you can’t purchase unless it’s in the ad or listed on the site, and it could take longer to compose a list for delivery than it would to simply go and shop myself. An on-line list should not take two hours. Call me crazy, but it should be easier to navigate. I certainly don’t need to pay anyone $20, before a tip, to put an order together and deliver it to me from five minutes up the road. That’s wasteful beyond words.

Everything I need to do should be simple enough, but it isn’t. I am enlisting one of his friends for some help because I’m not superwoman at the moment. If someone can pitch in and throw me a bone to make things easier, that will make a huge difference in my eyes. I hate asking for help, but my brother has driven me insane this week and I’m on my last nerve. I can’t deal with any more of his crankiness. All I can do is my best, if he doesn’t like it, tough titty said the kitty.

I’ve been so stressed and distracted that I damn near forgot it was Halloween. Enjoy trick-or-treating with your kiddos or simply enjoy the holiday aspect for yourself. I know plenty of people who love giving out sweets to everyone that comes knocking tonight. I spare myself the aggravation (I used to really be into it, and perhaps that will happen next year when I am feeling more in the spirit of things.), and I truly have more important things to focus on tonight, but I still hope it is happy and safe for everyone partaking.

If you need me, I’ll be running around like a chicken without its head, but I swear, it’s not a blood ritual of any kind. It’s mere insanity.

iendalot — I don’t bother filtering. I use the word “asshole”.

Family First

2015-10-282015-10-28 Miss Poison Anger, Family, Health, Heart, Honesty, Life, October, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Stress, Writing Anger, Family, Friends, Health, Heart Failure, Honesty, Love, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Siblings, Writing

Yesterday morning my brother was admitted into the hospital with what is, as of now, a form of heart failure. The doctors are baffled; stating that they don’t know how this happened because he is far too young. Unfortunately, he is far from being out of the woods. He is scheduled for a serious procedure today, and I am sadly all too familiar with it.

My original post probably won’t go up today because I’m sitting here speechless, sick to my stomach. I have words, there are things I want to say, but I feel the need to keep it inside for now.

I don’t talk about my personal life an awful lot, and there’s a reason for that. Most of you that know me off of this page are my friends in everyday life. You have the ability to call me, e-mail me, text, or visit, etc. But for those that do not personally know me, my heart, or the deeper aspects of my life, I tend to keep those things to myself. There’s plenty of people telling their life stories on blogs, but this is not a blog for me; it is my platform as a writer. I am a writer, I have been for 28 years. I’m not a blogger, at least not here, but perhaps that is just semantics for some people. I, however, stand by those words.

This week, I worry (It’s a Jewish woman thing.). I will try to push past the pit of hell inside my stomach. I pray for healing, for modern medicine to do what it’s supposed to do. I pray that some dietary changes reverse this, as a doctor told him it could/would, with some serious effort on his part, but only if it’s a specific type of heart failure.

The words “Life Vest” were used. That kind of technology did not exist when a doctor wanted to crack open my mother’s chest ten years ago and attach a defibrillator to her heart. Her doctor was over 80 (I wanted to punch this man at least three times, but it would have been disrespectful. I told her if he’d been 60, I’d have knocked his teeth out.), did not care to explain the procedure in a gentle manner, and was so rude that he only managed to turn the issue into a “Hell no!”, as opposed to “Can we discuss this?” Everything is being thoroughly explained to my brother, and for that I am grateful. He’s also smart enough to ask questions that other people might not think of and then discuss his options with me, that way there’s a proactive person involved in his recovery.

I know that many of you will understand if I am silent for a while; that family comes first. Today, and maybe most days, I am my Grandmother’s granddaughter. I do put my family first, but I am not afraid to handle the tough stuff. That’s why during the worst times in my life, I handle what needs to be handled, even if I’m not happy about doing it. Even if it breaks me.

Lack of a family unit has really bothered me these last few years. As I sat here yesterday making calls, I realized that about a dozen people did not need to be called, because they don’t give a fuck on a good day, and I will not give them the satisfaction of lapping up misery. I appreciate the people who offered up prayers, but I very nearly told someone off who made an off-hand comment without knowing precisely what is wrong. I had to take a huge step back, realizing that I’m emotional and snapping when you’re upset is not conducive to quality communication with others.

It would be hard not to be upset, angry (because I have tried for YEARS to take every bad thing out of his hands when I knew it was being over-done.), frustrated, and scared. I wouldn’t be human if I felt nothing. But I do feel, and I pray that this procedure holds answers as to the how and why. I pray to all that is holy that this is merely a bump in the long road of life. I pray that my brother sees the error of his ways, realizes he is being given a second chance, and takes that opportunity instead of squandering his brilliant mind.

I thank the doctors and nurses caring for him and the four different people who stopped him from an attempt to sneak into the parking lot for a cigarette! I’m embarrassed he’d stoop so low. They all yelled at him (His words were “They bitched me out!” I said nothing, because I feel he deserved it.), and he was later given a patch, so I am praying this is the end to me saying “You need to quit smoking before it kills you.” My brother may not be receptive to my direct honesty, but he’s taking it from doctors and nurses and I think that in and of itself is a positive thing.

I hope I’ll be able to say something more definitive in the next few days. In the meantime, I’m packing and trying to do all that I can for my brother. Because no matter how big a pain in the ass he is, and my GOD, I swear I inherited a big baby, he’s still MY brother. No one else alive can say that, and I told him the same thing. “No one else alive can say that I am their sister, so stop acting like no one cares about you.” I yell because I care, so when I stop yelling, he’d better start worrying.

As of now, I do not know with any certainty whether his medical expenses will be completely covered. If they aren’t, I will be posting a link at a later date to a fundraiser where even the smallest donation will help, but I will only do so if there’s a huge issue.

Thank you for listening to my insanity this morning. Have a good Wednesday, everyone. 🙂

Prayers & Tears

2015-10-262015-10-26 Miss Poison Feelings, Life, Mondays, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Sadness, Tears, Writing Health, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Prayer, Sadness, Siblings, Tears, Writing

I contemplated being silent today because I’m not in a good mood, but I’m also too upset to pretend.

I’ve had less than five hours of sleep. I tried going back to bed an hour ago, but I am unable to focus on genuine rest. That usually means doing what I always do when there are thoughts running through my head; write.

My brother is sick. By “sick”, I do not mean he has a cold or the flu, I mean that he is going into the hospital tonight. Why wait? Because he “doesn’t want to ruin my day”. It’s not meant to make me feel guilty, he’s just utilizing God given guilt.

When I tried encouraging him to “just go” (He totally inherited the stubbornness from my Mom.), he refused, saying he could go tonight “after I celebrate”. I even offered to go with him, which he doesn’t want, not unless major surgery is being performed. He’s not trying to be dramatic, he just is. 😦 He’s also conscious of the fact that nearly every birthday I have sucks in some way, and that he’s usually the cause if I, myself, am not stuck in bed sick as a dog (in the traditional way).

Last night, he informed me of all his final plans. Plans I am meant to carry out, some of which include organ donation. I’ve had to hear people’s “final wishes” more times than I care to count, so last night was too much. My eyes are swollen from crying and my stomach hurts wondering if this is it, if some horrible health issue is going to rob me of the only remaining sibling I have left. Very real possibilities. When he got a clean bill of health three years ago, I was surprised, and relieved, but a lot has changed since then and I am sick with worry.

You know that one stubborn family member who would rather risk his/her own hearing than go to the emergency room for a horrible ear infection?! That’s my brother. Not once, not twice, but three times. The first time he did it, he did lose significant hearing in his left ear because he waited an extra day before going to the ER. The last ear infection was so bad that he now accuses me of raising my voice when I speak at a normal tone. I can whisper, he’ll say I yelled.

Today is not about me. Today is about praying for my brother and what he is going through. It is me praying that he did not have a heart attack and isn’t in congestive heart failure, and that nothing more is going on, though I suspect there is based on what he is saying hurts. Both of my Grandfathers died from heart attacks, but one died at 40, leaving behind a wife, a fifteen year old, and a five year old. My brother started taking aspirin several years ago to “prevent” that from happening to him, but he made no other changes that could have been beneficial. That’s why I’m scared for him, and that’s why I’m sick to death over this.

I will half-heartedly do some important things that need to be done this morning into the early afternoon hours, but after that, I am forcing his ass to the hospital, even if I have to drag him there by his balls. He usually hallucinates when they medicate him, so that would mean being told rather loudly that I am “trying to pull out his IV” or “embarrassing him” when all I’m doing is sitting quietly, or pacing the hall outside a room. I will spend the evening waiting to hear what his prognosis is.

No matter what you believe in, I ask that you say a little prayer today. No one deserves to lose a loved one and no one as young as my brother deserves to go through this.

Morning “Rituals” & Fibromyalgia

2015-10-242015-10-24 Miss Poison Fibromyalgia, Pain, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Writing Fibromyalgia Pain, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Sleep Deprived, Writing

I’m sure most people have their morning “rituals”. For most people, it means waking up in search of coffee or tea. It involves the most basic of things until we know with certainty where we’re going (Work, school, the grocery store, etc.). I had a solid idea of how today would go, but instead of being asleep for a few additional hours, I am sitting here, nursing a vanilla yogurt, listening to The Script. (I do listen to them a lot, but it’s also the song that just came on.)

I HURT. I don’t know if I’m capable of lifting my arms over my head today. 😦 I’m weighing my options. Do I spend the weekend packing, doing laundry, and catching up on my DVR queue, thus leaving all my other plans aside for Monday (which means going to bed early tomorrow and getting my ass out the door at 10:00 a.m.), or do I suck it up?

When excruciating pain makes your decisions for you, it SUCKS. You simply do not know until the last-minute if you’ll make it out of the house. I really want to see a movie next weekend, but I am almost certain I won’t get to see it until Christmas Day, weather permitting. It’s the fourth time I would be missing opening weekend for this particular film, and it pisses me off. DVD’s are awesome for a movie lover such as myself, but watching something you really want to see in the movie theater is a nice 2-3 hour escape. You also save money in the long haul if the movie sucks and you choose not to purchase it on DVD or Blu-Ray. If I wake up feeling like crap on Christmas Day, there’s no way in hell I’m dragging ass to see it. Therein lies a multitude of problems because every single day of my life is like that. Full of pain, slow, sluggish, no one in their right mind would sign up for this.

If you woke up this morning and nothing hurt, be grateful. I’ve had migraines so bad that my hair hurt, and it’s only grown about an inch since I cut it over the summer. I might not have noticed if I hadn’t seen the drastic tonal difference between the blue-black color I’ve had these past few months and my roots during my Fall Color Change. It was almost the equivalent of a not-so-natural-blonde with black or brown roots, though not nearly as severe. I don’t know if I like the new color, but if I don’t, I can change it in 30 days. There are cancer patients shaving their heads, so I should be grateful to have what I do.

If you wake up and not a single joint or muscle protests, you are blessed. My body is often in a perpetual state of “Go back to bed, dumbass!” I’ve had naps more restful than most nights where I slept for 6-10 hours. I track my sleep to better help my new neurologist, so I see the dips in my sleep as a failure on my part. I tell myself I stayed up too late or that I got distracted by something/someone, etc.

When a woman says she’s “getting ready for bed”, you might see her three hours later. That is 100% me most of the time. I go through every room making sure things were done, garbage thrown away, everything in its place, etc. Last night it was a last-minute trip to the laundry room to make sure I’d put my towels in the dryer. I hadn’t, but I only remembered when I was in the bathroom washing my face. I paused mid-wash and thought “Did you ever go back into the laundry room?” This resulted in me drying my face, quickly moisturizing, and going downstairs to see that not only was the washer still full of my clean stuff, but I’d also left clean clothes in the dryer. Clearly I got distracted when I was packing clothes and books. 😦 It’s times like these when I feel like a moron.

Sleep came easy once I got out of my head, but I woke up way too early this morning because my thermostat (I don’t know where you live, but it’s fucking cold here.) decided to play games with me not once, but twice. Before going to bed, I set it on 66, knowing it would be in the 40’s overnight. Sometime around 4:00 or so, I woke up to see what the hell was going on. “Why the hell is it so hot in here??” I yelled. (Yes, I talk to myself a lot. I get the best answers.) It was hot because my thermostat reset itself to 70 degrees. I can’t breathe when it’s that hot inside and doesn’t need to be. Unless it’s in the red, my heat does not go over 68 degrees. It’s a rule. I can put on an oversized sweatshirt or hoodie, but I don’t need to be wasteful. On a semi-regular basis, my thermostat screws with me. I woke up one summer morning unable to move. I’d set the thermostat for 64 degrees, which is typically my summer temperature these days, but when I woke up it was mysteriously 52 degrees. I’d love to jokingly say “It’s ghosts!”, but there’s no spiritual presence in this house, or I’d feel it.

So here I sit, in pain, unhappy, grouchy, and probably not in the right frame of mind to deal with people in public.

Monday is another day.

Empty

2015-10-24 Miss Poison Emotions, Feelings, Honesty, Life, Musings, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Writing Cat and Kitten, Feelings, Life, Musings, Negativity, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Thinking Positive, Writing

I might be writing this from the afterlife. Why would I say that? Because the truly gruesome bruises are gone, there’s not a scratch in sight, and I feel…nothing. Perhaps empty would be the correct word. That can’t possibly be normal. Though my warm shower definitely reminded me that my left knee is far from okay. I will try to get it checked out this coming week.

I am packing my clothes, or at least, I’m trying to. I had no clue I had so many items. I tend to cycle through a lot of the same things over and over, as many of us do, but now that it’s getting colder and I am moving to a colder climate, there’s just cause to make sure my sweatshirts, sweaters, and warmer items are readily available.

I packed several boxes of books. I still have to finish getting all of them into boxes, so this weekend and Monday I will be on a box hunt to see if any stores have boxes from deliveries that they’d normally be recycling. It kills two birds with one stone and since the entire area doesn’t recycle until next week, they will surely have some larger boxes that will help make my life a little easier. With lighter items, the bigger the box, the quicker things get packed. There will definitely reach a point where I just start throwing things into boxes. Hey, it’s what a lot of “professional movers” do. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. I keep labeling things STORAGE or HOUSE. I’ve lost the ability to read my handwriting and codes about what is in each box. If I had more time, I’d feel like less of a moron. 😦 I should have cataloged everything with a notebook.

Monday is my birthday. If my best friend hadn’t mentioned it to me the other day, I would gladly have pretended it wasn’t happening. However, I promised her I wouldn’t do that. I will spend a few hours on Monday doing some small “me things”, but afterwards it’s back to work. I shouldn’t be wasting time I don’t have. I can always “celebrate” after the move, in a city where, right now, I know exactly four people. YAY! 😦 I’ll become a proud member of the “Can you open a bottle of wine?” club. #NockingPoint #UnfilteredBlonde

I truly wish more hands were on deck than just mine. Packing up a large house on your own is incredibly difficult. My cousin gave me a very lame excuse as to why he couldn’t help, and has suspiciously been avoiding me ever since. Case Study #1 has to work, which is a legitimate reason seeing as how he’ll be in another country. That’s not his fault, but I’m happy to mention it whenever he says he’s sorry he can’t be of “more help”. Seriously dude?! Case Study #2 is being an immense pain in my ass. By the time I arrive at my destination and clear the truck out, I might be insane and/or murderous. Expect to see bizarre Tweets “from the road” and/or photos posted from odd stops along the way.

I feel bad for Cat and Kitten. They’re going to be forced into their carriers for roughly 4-6 hours and believe me, the chorus of crying will begin the second they realize the house is empty and all their safe things are “gone”. I will pack them up with a blanket each, so they have something soft to sleep on and pray that they both fall asleep at some point. I know where the first stop is and I will make sure they’re okay before the longer shifts of not-stopping occur, but ultimately, I look forward to seeing how they adapt to their new home. I suspect it will be harder on me than it will be for them. As long as they have me, their toys, food, and things that still smell “like home”, they’ll be okay. Cats may hate change, but they do adapt well when you raise them properly. I am many things, and one of those is an excellent Cat Mother. It might be roughly for 7-10 days, but I know they’ll be fine.

Me? I’ll be emotional. I never dreamt of leaving my home, the home I chose for the long-haul, but sometimes shit happens, life changes, and you have to make decisions to better yourself, your health, career, and happiness. I would prefer to be as positive about it as humanly possible, as opposed to holding on to negative energy or emotions that do not enrich my life in a prosperous way. The only way to reach an emotional state of inner peace is to be a positive person. I’m not perfect with this, no one is that zen, but I’m trying.

I hope you all have a wonderful, fun-filled, happy weekend. If you start sneezing for no reason at all, I’m probably talking about you (Just Kidding). LOL.