100% Sore

2015-10-202015-10-20 Miss Poison Musings, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Writing Baseball, Donate, Fibromyalgia, Football, Hockey, Migraines, Musings, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Purge, Recycle, Reduce, Writing

Hello everyone! I hope you’ve all had a marvelous few days. Me? Not so much. I’m doing my best, but I’m covered in bruises and there are many more that have yet to surface. I can feel them. Not fun. 😦

While trying to pack and get my shit together (Waste Management must hate me when they pick up the trash. I am breaking records with how much I am getting rid of. I have a twisted sense of humor, so this brings me great pleasure for some reason.), I badly injured my left knee. It’s swollen and difficult to walk, so I’m hobbling. There’s not much I can do about it until after the move. My right hip and lower back have also taken the time to act up and scream at me in daily agony. To add insult to injury, it was 28 degrees the other night. Every part of my body is in full-blown Fibro flare. Getting out of bed this morning was four hours of me saying “No.” to Cat and Kitten. Insomnia has taken over, so I’m not sleep-sleeping, which is making me unpleasant and grouchy.

I’ve virtually had no time to work as I sort through things and box up bits and pieces of my life. Thankfully, most of what I have is not moving with me, which leaves room in the truck for boxes, but I’ve decided that I want my life to be as minimalist as possible. I don’t want the next generation to be going through my stuff in 40-50 years saying “Wow, Mom had a lot of crap.” I am trying to reduce, purge, recycle, and donate. In fact, I am going through my things now, trying to put another box together for donation. As soon as I know how many there will be, I can schedule a pick-up. I’d like to aim for eight. So far, I’ve got three.

I did make a lot of progress throwing things out today, which makes me happy. I am certain that aside from photos and things that were handmade, I do not need to keep anything from before I was born. Sorry Mom, Dad, Grandma, Grandpa, and all the Greats, but one person does not need roughly eight different sets of dishes, a multitude of wine glasses, and things she will absolutely never use. I don’t plan on having a dinner party any time soon for eighty people, but I’m almost certain I’ve got roughly eighty wine glasses that have never been used. I need to nip this in the bud NOW. On top of not being my taste, it’s too much and I’m worried about things of this nature breaking during the move. No matter how well packed things are, there’s always something that happens and I have to take that into consideration.

I am still adjusting to the new mattress. I’ve had maybe two good nights of sleep on it, if that. The replacement box spring was supposed to come out last week, but at the last-minute the store called (three times, no one can say they’re not trying to be helpful.) and said they only had one in the warehouse and had tried removing a stain from it. I called and said they could keep the stained one since that was only going to be temporary and to simply let me know when the new one was ready for delivery. I followed up this afternoon and the new one that I’d been told was “on order” has since been discontinued, so they’re now sweeping the store for a similar item to deliver to me. I don’t know if it will make an immense difference or not, but I credit them for doing their best to help. I was told by other customers how awful their customer service is, but I’ll be able to write a review stating otherwise. They even found instructions for me to take my bedroom furniture apart. The dresser has a mirror that screws into the back and the bed is four different pieces, but they got me a PDF file so that it can be detached and put back together as safely as possible. That’s major effort considering they no longer sell this furniture and I do love it or I wouldn’t have bought it. It’s no longer pristine from the store, it no longer has the “just delivered” newness to it, but it’s all mine and that’s what matters to me. Everything I am getting rid or and/or leaving behind can be replaced at an IKEA or a slightly more upscale store and quite frankly, IKEA has some really nice stuff. Again, this falls in line with my minimalist approach. My poor books are going into storage, but eventually they will be in a new place on new book shelves and I look forward to that. Books, DVD’s, music, and art are timeless items that I simply cannot live without for any real length of time.

My migraines have remained the same, they exist and they’re not going away anytime soon. 😦 The sudden shift in temperature hasn’t helped much and today is probably the warmest it will be for a while. Unlike most people, I don’t mind the change of seasons, but I DO mind it shifting so quickly from warm to “Holy crap!” My poor body doesn’t know what to do with that, so my pain levels go from manageable to sky-high. In times like these, all I can do is focus on what needs to be done and rest when I need to. No matter what I am putting my body through, I still need to rest and slow down. The last few nights that has meant watching baseball, and last night I sat through one of the worst football games I’ve been tortured with in a long time. If a team has no intention of showing up <cough, GIANTS> they should forfeit before embarrassing themselves. I’m happy for the Blue Jays though, and I promise I will try not to refer to them as the Maple Leafs any more. Or perhaps I’ll try not to do that next year. LOL. I clearly have hockey on the brain. It happens.

For those of you that submitted questions for the AMA, it will begin after my move, so I welcome people to continue to submit their questions.

I’ll be back soon. Have a wonderful evening everyone! 🙂

Time Is A Fickle Thing

2015-10-11 Miss Poison Life, Musings, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Writing Israel, Life, Musings, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Writing

This weekend has blown by. I’ve done so much in the last few days that I am struggling to move. The only thing that doesn’t hurt is my hair. 😦

My new mattress was delivered earlier in the evening. The irony that I’ll only get to sleep on it for the next three weeks is not lost on me. The sale was amazing, so I was able to get some other much-needed items that I wouldn’t normally spend money on, but I had a huge store credit to use up even after the mattress was factored in. The fact that they wouldn’t fork over the cash is the only reason I allowed myself that bit of “retail therapy”.

Naturally, delivery couldn’t just be an easy thing. As soon as the delivery guys lifted the mattress up, they discovered that the broken spring wasn’t just on the top side of the mattress where I discovered it and where the inspector had found and photographed it. It had cracked and busted through the other side of the mattress as well, putting a huge hole in the box spring, a hole that exceeds the one I saw on the surface of the mattress. I had to call the store and leave a message to let them know that one side of the box spring will need to be replaced, since it’s a split box spring to suit the size of my bed’s frame. I was mortified seeing that hole, because I regularly check these things and I never even thought to take a look at it when I discovered the hole in the mattress. You live, you learn. Thankfully, this new mattress is spring-free. I suspect I might actually sleep well tonight.

I tried doing some lighter stuff today to help my lower back heal a little before I tackle the heavier things, but I ended up boxing up some stuff for donation (clothes, stuffed animals that my Mom had collected that I am okay parting with, etc.), sorting through some of my books, and putting things aside for the library, my nail salon, and tossing an immense amount of items. I also did laundry that way I will get to my new place with clean clothes for late Fall/early Winter, I just have to fold it all and pack it up. I’ve damn near met the ten bag limit for tomorrow’s garbage pick-up, which makes me smile. You truly have no idea how much you own until you have to move. If it were up to me, I’d leave 75% of this stuff behind, but since I inherited the “stuff”, I feel responsible for it. The next time I have to move, it will be the most minimalist move I can manage. I am determined to make that happen. I would prefer to leave my life and have memories as opposed to “stuff”. Music, books, art, photos, and jewelry are the only exceptions to the minimalist concept. Let’s not discuss my collection of bridal magazines that are in perfect shape that I will be putting out for recycling later in the week. I think there are three full boxes chock full of them, along with a smattering of other magazines that I definitely do not need to keep. It’s probably 100 pounds of printed paper. Note to self: You’re not allowed to subscribe to anything ever again, not even a free subscription. It’s not necessary. Read it and toss it like a normal person!

I wish I’d had more downtime to read and catch up on my DVR queue, but it just wasn’t possible. While waiting for the delivery men I watched (which means I fast-forwarded through all the commercials) The Originals (One of the BEST episodes ever. Kudos to Joseph Morgan & Daniel Gillies.), Bones, The Player (If you haven’t seen this show, I highly recommend it. Philip Winchester is AMAZING.), and after dinner I watched the finale of Strike Back, which is the ONLY series finale of any show that actually made me smile. Normally I am left with a “Who the fuck wrote this crap?” moment, but this one was outstanding. I love that show and will miss it terribly. Nothing else like it on TV.

I’ve got a ton of things to do this week. I have writing assignments to either complete or get started on, but I’m proud of the quality of the work I’ve already put in and I’m proud of the topics for the pieces I haven’t begun working on yet. All in all, the writing aspect of my life is doing what it’s supposed to do. When you don’t force it, or yourself, your work is ten times better than if you sit and stare at the screen in an attempt to “be a writer”. And yes, that’s a subject that will be covered in the coming weeks.

And so my lovelies, that was my weekend in a nutshell. I spared you the gory details out of the kindness of my heart. 😛

If you’re not watching football or baseball at the moment, I hope you’re getting ready for the week ahead and resting well. I am about to shut everything down for the night and get into bed. Really, just sitting here is so comfortable that my repeatedly broken tailbone doesn’t hurt at all. That’s unheard of since I normally can’t sit on any surface for very long without a small amount of pain in that part of my body, so I hope this is a sign of good things to come.

I’ll be back with more interesting things soon. Until next time, remember that while 40 may be the new 20, kindness is also the new black. 😉

Also, I am sending out prayers to my best friend in Israel who e-mailed me earlier today to let me know about the bombing near her home. There is absolutely NO reason why she should have to feel like a prisoner in the country she was born & raised in. Something has GOT to be done to keep the citizens of Israel safe from terror. Hell hath no fury if someone harms one of my best friends. I pray things settle down soon.

Laila Tov,

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.

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.

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.

October, You Glorious Friend

2015-10-01 Miss Poison Baseball, Hockey, Life, October, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, The Future, Writing Change, Fall, Life, My Health, October, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, The Future, Writing

f6891c082a92c034d2d8924f17562465 — These are important things to keep in mind as well.

It’s not a secret: Fall is my favorite time of year, and October and November are two of my favorite months. October is a birth-pride kind of thing. I don’t care if it’s sunny year-round in California, because to me, that’s hell. Peace is watching the leaves change color. It’s not having one or two “crisp” days and then returning to more sunshine and 70+ degree temperatures. To me, that’s inhuman. I’d die a slow, painful death. Plus, my SPF use would skyrocket just to go to the mailbox. 😉

I am an Atlantic Ocean loving East Coast girl. I could die over the Atlantic and be perfectly okay with it. I’m a Water Sign and there’s something very calm about it to me. Bodies of water make me happy. In a world where not much does, that’s truly saying something.

October is many things for me: Baseball, hockey, autumn leaves, the smell of fresh apples, baked goods galore (I walked into a store last week to pick something up and the overwhelming scent of apples, pumpkin, cinnamon, and nutmeg slapped me in the face when the doors opened. I wanted to take a shower in the sugary scent.), the weather is intoxicating, Halloween/Samhain, and the icing on the proverbial cupcake is always my birthday.

But this year, my birthday means saying goodbye to a specific chapter of my life and all that I held dear about it and saying hello to a new beginning. Much like a Brazilian wax, it’s going to hurt, but the pain is temporary because less than a week later, my life will begin again someplace new, minus the itchy regrowth.

New adventures, new people, new surroundings that are familiar in some respects, but most importantly, I will finally get the opportunity to focus on my health, on my career change, and on achieving things I never thought of doing. It’s important not to stop dreaming, even if you fully believe you’re content with your life. Somewhere along the way, I lost sight of that and I think this is an important reminder to “Dream big, for the dream precedes the goal.” You never know what’s possible unless you try.

I greet October with mixed emotions this year. I know it will take many months for me to be okay with my decision, but that ultimately, I am allowing myself to be guided. I’ve repeatedly asked to be guided in the right direction, and perhaps this is simply the right direction at this particular point in my life.

We might joke about winning the lottery being the key to happiness, but ultimately I think many of us want the same things: Good health, happiness, security, and loved ones by our side. Material things don’t matter if you’re all alone and it means even less if you’re sick and can’t help yourself.

I pray that wherever this road takes me, it leads me to the things I most desire in life. Only God truly knows what those things are.

There’s A Difference

2015-09-27 Miss Poison Advice, Being Real, Honesty, Musings, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, Social Media, Words, Writing Advice, Communication Skills, Criticism, Honesty, Musings, Pieces Of Me, Poison In Lethal Doses, There's A Difference, Writing

Of late, I’ve noticed people feel incredibly safe behind their computer-based bubbles, but I often wonder how real people are being. Sometimes, stories don’t add up (You can’t bullshit me, I have common sense.), and other times, it takes about two seconds for someone to get offended by the simplest thing. What is that you may ask? Honesty.

Here are the facts: Not everyone is the world’s greatest writer, try though they might. Not everyone is talented, funny, or smart. However, there is seemingly a niche for everyone. To each their own. Everyone is entitled to be themselves, but please, be authentic.

When I say something, it’s not for shits and giggles, unless I’ve managed to make you laugh (I don’t go out of my way to be funny, but I know when I’m being a goofball. In print, not everyone’s sense of humor translates because you can’t hear the tone they’re saying something in). I come from a place of genuineness, and I think that resonates in my work and my words.

I’m not here as a “blogger”. I am here as an experienced writer and editor who, as of next year, will no longer be editing other people’s work. I am moving on to another creative endeavor, something I should have done ten years ago. I will continue to write, as I have an unfinished series of novels to complete for publishing, but I am tired of the bullshit, the drama, and the never-ending attempt to outdo one another, because no one wants to see you do better than them, no matter what they might say. Instead of people being happy for one another, people will go behind a person’s back and tear them apart, as if we’re all trapped in high school. That is not, and has never been, acceptable to me.

One aspect of my brusque honesty is that people often mistake it for me being “mean” or “having a bad day”. For starters, I tend to reserve meanness for people who deserve it and two, I keep my bad days/moods to myself because that’s rude in my eyes, so understand that if I say something, it is meant to be helpful, not cruel. Why would I take my valuable time to comment and be mean to someone I don’t know personally? That makes no sense. While I realize there are people who would jump on that and do precisely that to as many people as possible, because starting fights with strangers is what keeps their days and nights “interesting”, I have absolutely no need to be less than who I am. If you lack the communication skills to deal with my honesty, I have to wonder how you will handle the inevitable criticism you are bound to receive on your work up the road.

Every writer has been criticized. I am not immune to that, but I have risen above it. I have been told a handful of insulting things over the course of 28 years as a writer, but you know what resonated most with me? All the genuine, positive feedback from absolute strangers who had no vested interest whatsoever in my success. If a person said “Take that out.” or “That’s not funny.” or “What did you mean by that?”, then I answered them. A huge part of writing is being able to properly communicate with your readers. Anyone who knows me knows I don’t just flip people the bird and tell them to have a nice day. If you ask me a question, I will give you an answer. You may or may not like it, but at least it will be genuine. Also, if I have something personal to say to you, I will say it directly to you, I will not embarrass you on a public platform (if you’re the shy type), nor will I be mean for the sake of being mean. That’s not how I roll.

I am not everyone’s cup of tea, nor is everyone my cup of tea. We don’t have to be. I’d rather have mutual respect as opposed to catty bitchiness behind my back, but the fact of the matter is, I cannot control other people’s reactions or behavior. I, however, can control mine.

If you have something to say to me, by all means, say it to me. There’s no need to be fake about it or passive-aggressive (two things I loathe with every breath I take). Try being real.

There is real criticism in this world. It is vindictive, hateful, and mean-spirited; it is meant to dissuade you from your goal(s). And then there is constructive criticism that is meant to help you and make you better. If you don’t know the difference between the two, precisely who is responsible for that? You are. One should roll off of you, you should know in your heart who you are. The other is to be positively absorbed in order to help you grow. If you decide to turn that into something more than what it is, so be it, but it just goes to show the intelligent speaker that you’re immature and not prepared for what’s to come.

And this is one of the reasons I do not want to edit for fledglings any more. If you cannot handle my honesty, which is meant to help and guide, then what the hell do you think you’re going to do when bad reviews pop up on every book web-site from here to eternity? Amazon, Goodreads, and a plethora of other sites will not delete bad reviews. As a reader, I’ve seen a million of them and many times, they have saved me money. Other times, there was one bad review, but 500 reviews explaining why you should read/buy the book in question. Bad reviews are going to happen, but they will not make or break you. Just like constructive criticism will not break you, but it WILL make you better. Take that to mean whatever you like. I speak from experience.