Tis the Season...

I know last time I promised a pretty peek into what happens when you stop taking the "take every 4 to 6 hours as needed" drug, but...it's Christmas. Almost. And my body and nervous system have basically recovered and moved on to new exciting things.  Like my left ovary. I would love to be able to say that after two ultra sounds and a doctors visit we know what the problem is, but of course that isn't the case. It never is.  I remember years ago an RN friend of mine saying..."People think medicine is a Science...it really isn't. It's more like an Art."  She was right. It's an Art and often times a Guessing Game. So rather than knowing what's wrong exactly, we don't. We know what it might be, but don't know what it is. But whatever it is, it's on my left ovary. Basically my three options included...the "let's wait and see if it grows"...the "open me up and try to remove it"...or the "go through the belly button and removed the whole ovary."  Because there is no real way to rule out the C word and I don't plan on using that part of my body again, I chose option 3. So that is what I'll be getting for my 40th birthday. Fabulous. It better include percocet.

I do feel somewhat proactive.  I mean, why wait and see?  Maybe if I were 20 and wanted a boatload of kids, but at this age the wait and see method takes on a whole new meaning. Time is precious and in thinking about the "what ifs" over the past week, I realized I don't really want to waste much time waiting for anything. I want to enjoy as much as I can, and if I don't enjoy it...I don't want to do it.  It's pretty simple.  I'm not sure how easy it will be for me to stick to that, given my personality and make up...BUT...I do know that the world won't end if I start taking time to enjoy my life.

But despite all that and some family drama that kind of crept up on me...I am managing to enjoy the season. My wallet isn't enjoying it, of course, but my wallet is a huge scrooge most of the time anyway.

My son is waiting with great anticipation for Santa to bring him everything on his list, which he will of course. He always does, because Santa is friggen awesome!  This might be the last year of believing. I hope not. Life is never as sweet as when you are a child who can believe in the unbelievable. I want him to hold onto that. I want to hold onto that in him. So I will.

Merry Christmas to the rest of you out in Bloggerville! 



Hope, who will continue to take it as comes, and fa la la la ...la la la la.

One day in the life of...

Once again I've been MIA from the world of "blog about it because you're really the only one who gives a shit".  I'm sure there's a reason I haven't been around. I've probably been busy or something.  Honestly I've sat here for a half hour trying to compose my thoughts in a way... so that what I write... won't sound crazy. I haven't gotten very far with that. Then somewhere between thinking, nervous twitching, and sipping on a mid-day white russian my eyes stopped on the title of my blog. Crazy. It's right there in the title. So who gives a shit. (I believe we've already established that. Me.) 

Another problem I have with this entry is how to write what's on my mind, without really writing what's on my mind. You know what I mean?  No. You probably don't. Sometimes I want to write what I'm really thinking and really feeling, right now...at this very moment. But doing that would most likely leave a mark. A scar. A bruise. It would most likely cause more damage than healing and I'm here for healing, I think. Not damage.

I'm damaged. There is no doubt. I've damaged myself. I've been damaged by others. Mostly I'm glued and taped and forced back together, but each new scrape always opens an old wound. That's how damaged I am. So much so that it pisses me off.  Expecting anyone to understand this is pointless. Expecting someone to understand that when they hurt you they set off a chain reaction of all the other times they hurt you and all the other times others hurt you...is pointless. People don't understand this. Unless of course, they too, are damaged.

I don't know how to fix anything. I never have. Once it's been broken, it's always broken, isn't it?  I've been trying mostly to just fix me. Okay, not really "fix" me. I've been trying to do what I can so I don't fall off the edge. I'm right there. I can feel it. And when some outside force, or something someone else does affects me, I teeter. I get dizzy and lose my balance and then even think about jumping,  but remember my son, and know that I can't.

Right now I would give anything to just erase the shit in my brain and start over. It's not doing me any good. I can guarantee you that much. But I can't. My 9th grade science teacher told me so. She also told me I wouldn't want to forget. Fuck her.

I'm rambling, I know. It's the crazy. Maybe I just have too much on my mind. In my mind. Maybe I expect more of people than they are able to give. Maybe I wasn't cut out for this. Any of this. Relationships. Motherhood. Life. Giving a shit. Maybe I wasn't. Judge me if you want. I'm just being honest. Brutal, maybe, but still honest. Some people are cut out for it. They relish is doing and giving to others. They participate. They volunteer. They go, go, go. They wash their husbands/boyfriends underwear while turning a blind eye to the fact that he's fucking or desperately wants to be fucking someone else.  Then they talk about how blessed they are. Some people are really just "cut out for it". 

I think I lost my train of thought. Too much on my mind, like I said. Along with some Anger. Can you sense the Anger?  I think I'm going to learn how to shoot a gun. Not to kill people of course, because that would be really crazy. And I'm only crazy enough to say shit no one wants to hear. I want to shoot a gun because so far nothing else has really worked, so why the fuck not? 

I should probably stop rambling, but honestly I'm a shitload less anxious now. I really am. So, I guess it doesn't even matter what I wrote or how crazy it sounds to anyone else because...I feel better. And that is what this fucking blog it about. Tune in next time for "Anxiety: what it really fucking feels like...and the symptoms of Lorazapam withdrawals."

Hope, who feels a little like the female Holden Caulfield...and regrets never being able to have lunch with J.D. Salinger."

The calm after the storm?

This is what I'm hoping for. We were hit with a freak October Storm that pretty much put the whole area out of commission for about 5 days. For me personally, it basically cancelled out most of the work I had put in for the past two weeks to come up with the money I need to file my bankruptcy case.  The lesson here?  I don't know. Hard work doesn't always pay off...because Mother Nature is a bitch?  There's nothing I can do but start again. That unfortunately doesn't do anything to lessen the stress. And my stress level at this point is...unmanageable. I need to get this taken care of. I can't go 30 minutes throughout my day without the phone ringing. A constant reminder. But when you only have about 200 dollars a month to spare providing nothing else comes up...it take a really fucking long time to come up with 2000 dollars. Unless of course you work day and night. And if you work day and night, nothing else will ever get done.

 My hair is falling out again. I'm finding it everywhere. It's all over the floor. It's in my car. It's on the outside of my car. It's even in the fridge. I've had three periods in six weeks. If that's what they are. My hormones are out of control.  My doctor has me on medicine that only makes me feel worse. It's obvious I need to reduce the stress. But all of this shit that is happening to me physically because of the stress...well...it's also adding to the stress. I'm like a fucking hampster on the wheel. I keep running and running and I'm not getting anywhere.

So...here I sit. Three vodka drinks down and one to be made soon. It's the only thing that helps. And right now I need help. Tomorrow I can start again. Maybe the bleeding will stop. Maybe my hands won't be full of hair when I take a shower.  Maybe tomorrow I won't feel like smashing my head into a brick wall.

This is what I'm hoping for.

Hope, who is now on her way to make that fourth drink.

The blog I was going to write.

I was going to blog today.  I had something to say, or at least, I thought I did. But now I don't think so. You ever get to the point where you've done all you could and you just can't do anymore? I'm there. Everything comes full circle whether you want it to or not. Everything that starts eventually stops. What goes up must come down. And so on. Fuck it. I'm tired. Fuck the dishes and the laundry and the dolls and eBay and the Lawyer and my body and my mind and all the other shit I'm supposed to care about.

I'm going to do what I want. I want to talk to somebody. I want to talk to somebody who looks me in the eyes and hears what I have to say. I want a massage. I want to take a break and eat lunch. I want to laugh. I want to have fun. I want to feel like it matters.

Hope, who is taking a much deserved break from giving a shit.

Snapshot...

So yesterday I'm at the store checking out... I won't say which one... only that it rhymes with Shwalmart. 

I swipe my card. Beep!  Error. Cancel.

I swipe my card again. Beep! Error. Shit. Cancel.

Cashier: " Oh...dats ok. Machine mess up. I swipe card."

I hand her my card.

Cashier: " Oh. Ok. Dis a Credit?"

Me: "No. It's a Debit."

Cashier: "Credit?"

Me: "No. It's a Debit."

Cashier: (looks at card) "Dis card?  Dis card is a Credit."

Me. "No. It's a Debit. You can run it as a Debit."

Cashier: "Oh. A debit? Oh...I..."

Me: "YES. It's a debit!"

Cashier: "Oh. Ok. I dunno...I run as debit...but..."

SWIPE! Beep!  Enter Pin.

Thank you for shopping.

Hope, who probably should have gone to Target.

Ch...Ch...Ch...Ch...Changes.

Bowie didn't know what he was waiting for. Me neither. Change is a funny thing. All at once it can be both good and bad. It can positive and negative. It can cause pain and happiness. At times we struggle with it, fight against it even, and at times we crave it. In my own life it often seems that the things I want to change never do, and things I wish would stay the same, always change. That's the way it seems. But the truth is...everything changes. Even if we don't notice.

I'm going to switch it up a little today and take some sound and solid advice from the Serenity Prayer. I'm going to accept the things I cannot change and somehow work up the courage to change the things I can. And that wisdom thing...well...hopefully I have enough. I have only one goal in mind in doing this. I want to feel better.

And I will.

On a lighter note...My son woke me up at 2:30 am last night claiming he was hearing voices and could he just stay up and play the Wii?  Ummm...no. And...what kind of voices?  Apparently he asked a woman if he could have some bandages and she said... "Sure, take some."  Huh. I'm okay with that. She sounds nice...now back to bed.

Hope, who has turned and faced the strain.

Dear Insomnia...

Welcome back. It's been a while since I've spent so many quiet hours in the darkness listening to everyone else sleep. I'm sure you're back for a reason and I'm sure I know what it is.

So, here I am. I'm up. I've made the coffee and given up the tossing and turning. You win. Now what?  Now I write?  I suddenly feel like I've been hurled back in time...10, 15, 20 years. And here I am, again. Doing what I do, in order to keep myself from going mad. This seems to be the only reason I write anything at all. Ever. When things are going smooth or I am at peace I don't write anything. I don't even have the urge most times. Lucky (or unlucky) for me I have four blogs and several boxes filled with old journals to prove that I haven't been at peace very often.  That would have to be the way of it, wouldn't it?  I guess it's no accident that some of the best writers were either menatally ill or alcoholics.

Anyway. I don't expect to write anything good tonight/this morning...whatever the hell it is. I'm just, like I said, trying to keep from going mad. Have you ever stumbled across something by accident. Something you probably weren't supposed to see? Well for me, that hardly ever happens. Mostly because I don't stumble. I look. I look, and I look and in the end I usually find. But this time I wasn't looking, and it kind of threw me for the proverbial loop. So to speak. And then some. And so on. Blah, blah, blah.

And here I am. Left alone, in the dark, with my own thoughts. Racing thoughts, mind you, which are probably the fastest racing thoughts on the track. And as if the speed alone weren't enough, they also twist and turn around corners and ride up and down hills. It's like a god damn amusement park in my head. And yet, it is far from amusing.

So, yeah. Here I am. What I would love. Just absolutely love...would be sleep, of course...but after that...I would love to wake up different. To wake up as someone who just doesn't care enough to let things bother her. Someone who is at peace and let's all the shit just roll off her shoulders. (as opposed to having it take up residence there.)  I want to feel calm, secure, safe. I don't want to always have to have my guard up. To constantly be waiting for other shoe to drop. I don't. I really, fucking don't. But that won't happen today. Not just because I'm not going to sleep but because I think when it happens I will hear a snap. And I haven't heard it yet.

See? This is the kind of shit I write after no sleep. My arm is twitching from typing at a weird angle and my shoulders have tensed up again. Worrying about things I don't neccessarily need to worry about  is automatic for me. "It's in her nature", they said when I was a child. Maybe so. Not believing people when they say I should, or I can, is also a knee jerk reaction. But let's face it...when everyone who's ever said they would never leave has...what do we really have to base our trust on. I know, somewhere deep down in the rational side of my brain, that this is very juvenile and retarded way to think, and react, and feel. I KNOW that. And yet, like I said, it's pretty fucking automatic. 

Okay. So, let's see. It's almost time for more coffee, I guess. I could probably put the news on and get lost, momentarily, in the disasters of the world. Or I could watch a show on the DVR about some made up disaster. Either sounds more welcoming that sitting here in the one of my own making. So, I guess I'll do that. Until next time...

Hope, who doesn't know exactly how much time she has left, but does know she doesn't want to waste another minute of it feeling like this.

Who I am.

I know who I am. And it's not always pretty. In fact, it rarely is. I'm not supposed to say that though. I'm not supposed be so damn negatitive. Fuck you. I'm being a realist.

I don't "go through" things with other people. I've heard it said, although I'm still not sure what it means...that so and so "went through" something together. It brought them closer. They bonded. It made them stronger. Blah, blah, blah. I don't do that. I go through everything alone. I'm sure that is mostly my own fault, but in any case that's the way it is.

I know who I am. I'm almost forty and in the worst financial shape of my entire life. I'm scrambling to try save up the money to file bankruptcy before the credit card companies start suing me. It's not working out too well because at the same time I'm trying to live. Trying to enjoy a few moments here and there in what is normally an uncertain and stressful existance. I'm also trying to do things like buy my son eye glasses, and legos, and gold fish for his lunch box. It's a slow process and just when I think I'm doing well...I'm not. I go through this alone.

I know who I am. I'm an almost forty, single mother of a great son who can't hide the fact that he'd rather be with his Daddy. And why not?  His Daddy works when it's time for work. When Jack isn't there. His Mommy has to work all the damn time. It doesn't take a genius to figure out he'd rather be with the parent that will focus all his attention on him. The guilt is sometimes all consuming and while I know that when he is older he will only remember and cherish the times I played with him, and not the time I worked to buy him food or clothes...I still have no choice but to work and buy him food and clothes. I go through this alone.

I know who I am. I'm an anxiety ridden, almost forty year old who has absolutely no handle on the situation. No one in my life has ever understood this in a way that was helpful. People tell me to relax. Like that was an actual option. Like I'm given a choice between the two and I choose anxiety and panic attacks instead of a calm cool existance. Fuck them. The ignorance makes me angry. I'm trying to do what I can to make this better but it only seems to be getting worse. Taking medicine only reminds me that I'm failing. When the medicine doesn't work it only reminds me that I'm still sinking. I go through this alone.

I know who I am. I'm an almost forty year old woman with absolutely no coping skills when it comes to relationships. They wreck me. Some worse than others. I have trust issues. If you lie to me, I then have trust and anger and fear issues. Having something is harder for me than having nothing. When you have nothing you have nothing to lose. Nothing to fear. I have comminication issues, where in, I say too much. Always. I say more than anyone ever wants to hear. In return I get silence. Which in turn scares me. Because there is often more meaning in silence than in any amount of words that could be spoken. I don't know how to deal with the things that scare me. I go through this alone.

I know who I am. I'm an almost forty year old, decendant of a long line of self destructive alcoholics. I walk that line every day.  I use it as a place to hide. I use it as an excuse to run away. I use it to stop my hands from shaking and to forget about the bills I owe and to cope with all that I can't cope with. I know where that road leads. I see my mother when I look in the mirror.  I go through this alone.

I know who I am. I'm an almost forty year old woman who's hormones have apparently all boarded the crazy train, and who, according to her doctor, is most likely perimenopausal.  I was also told today to stop smoking before I "hurry up and die of cancer"...and that I'll be getting a mammogram in January, along with another biopsy. 

And I go through this alone.
And that, in a nutshell, is who I am. There's more sometimes, but right now, that is all that I am.

Hope, who was quite obviously not able to stand it.

What happens.

A friend said something to me today that I ended up spending more time thinking about than I had intended to, which is rarely a good thing. She said. " I wonder if we can just be happy with what we DO have instead of focusing on what we don't have?"

Can we?  I mean, it makes sense and it's what all those happy, uplifting, nothing can ever get me down, people always say to do. It's part of the Law of the Universe, and The Secret. I think a version of it is probably even written in the Bible. Somewhere. But is it really possible?

What if that one thing that is missing is what ends up defining you. And you don't want it to. What if it's starting to change you. Starting to turn you into someone that you don't even like. At what point do you have the right to decide that it's simply not good enough for you?  That was a stupid question. Of course, you have that right at any point, but at what point should you decide?  I'm guessing probably at the "breaking point."

For me, that point, is hard to distinguish. I go and go and go, even when I say I can't anymore. I deal or pretend to deal. I work and I drink and I do what I can not to focus on what eats away at me.  I reach a "point" and I then blow. Once the explosion has subsided I then...go and go and go...and so on. The breaking point for me might not even exist, if in reality I've already been broken. And if that's the case it would explain so much.

Perhaps when Ennis Del Mar said... "If you can't fix it Jack, you gotta stand it...", Jack shouldn't have stood it. Maybe things would have turned out differently. But, then again, who knows.

I do believe I have now answered my friend's question, though. The answer is No. No, we can not.

"Sometimes I feel like I'm not... solid. I'm hollow. There's nothing behind my eyes. I'm a negative of a person. It's as if I never - -I never thought anything. I never wrote anything. I never felt anything. "  -Sylvia Plath


Hope, who is feeling a tad Plathy and broken today, but knows tomorrow she will most likely be able to stand it.

The Information Age...

We're here. We have landed. Smack dab in the middle of a Brave New World. Anything we want to know we can find out in an instant, with the click of a mouse, the type of a button, or the tap of a screen. We are flooded with facts, details, photos, and videos. Not only can we find out anything we want to know, but anything we want to get is only a few clicks away as well. New living room furniture, that antique out of print book, prescription medication, and hot young asian chicks. Doesn't matter what it is. We want it? We've got it. It's absolutely fabulous in an "Idiocracy" sort of way. Has it made us lazy, selfish, less patient, and more reckless?  Sure it has. No doubt about it. But...it's the Information Age and there's no turning back now.

So... information is one thing. We could debate the benefits and downfalls until we're blue in the face and really it won't matter. There are benefits and downfalls to everything. But communication is another thing. We have also entered into the age of Instant Commincation. We have facebook, were we can keep all of our friends (and the other people we don't really know) up to date on our every action, meal and shit of the day. We have instant messaging were we can chat live with those we know and those we don't. We have Ipods, and Ipads, and laptops, oh my. We have smart phones and text messaging for instant communication and information on those rare occasions when we are away from our Ipods, and Ipads, and laptops. We've got it all, baby. We really do. And while we know what the informaton age has done for us, both positively and negatively...what has the commincation age done?  Has it improved our communication?  Has it increased our communication?  Sure, we can do things instantly now. Instanty. In. An. Instant. But we don't, do we?  Remember the old days...way back before all of this fabulous technology?  We had basically three ways of communicating. Letter writing, telephone (yeah....that's what we used to call it.) and face to face. Back then if you asked someone a question when you were standing directly in front them they couldn't take hours, days, even weeks to answer your question. That would have been...umm...what's the word I'm looking for?  Ah...yes. That would have been rude. But, now...with all of our means of communicating, we are almost refusing to comminicate. We're lazy. We think...I can respond anytime and then we don't. Or we're selfish and noncommittal...we think...I'm not going to respond until I find out if there's something better to do. I'd like to say I still know a handful of people that will make plans and stick to them. I can't though. I know exactly two. Having the ability to do everything instantly has turned us into proscrastinators. We can put if off. Why? Because we can do it instantly... whenever we get off our lazy asses and decide to do it.

Communicating. We are overloaded with ways to do it and we will continue to do it less and less.  As a society it almost seems like we've become that child who gets everything, all the time, whenever they want. We've become spoiled and we appreciate nothing. I hate to think our relationship with other human beings has taken a back seat to our relationship with technology. I hate to think it. But I do. How often have you been out in a public place, sitting at a table with several people and everyone is on their phone. No one talks. No one makes eye contact. I've been on the recieving end of this and I'm also guilty of it. Why not?  I'm part of this New and Exciting age too. Without internet access I can actually start to feel myself dying. Seriously. I can.

So what's the solution?  There is no solution. The world changes and people change with it. Some changes are inevitable, but some remain individual. We can choose how we handle ourselves in regards to other people. I know everything is too damn easy now and as a rule we humans tend to get bored when things are too easy...but really...if we all make an effort (a really small, microscopic effort) maybe, just maybe we can try not to be such technological douchebags.

OCM...who leaves you with this quote as we move forward into our  Brave New World..."And there was a time in this country, a long time ago, when reading wasn't just for fags and neither was writing. People wrote books and movies, movies that had stories so you cared whose ass it was and why it was farting, and I believe that time can come again!"  Joe Bowers, Idiocracy

Chapter two...

And here we go again. The dreaded first post. I'm not sure what it is about the blank white page that I always find so intimidating. It honestly doesn't take too much effort to start filling it up, even without really saying much of anything. Kind of like what I'm doing now. See?  Already I've eliminated several lines of the scary white and filled it with... whatever color and font I chose. I forget what it is now.

So basically this blog is a continuation, of sorts, of my old blog One Crazy Mutha.  That blog started in 2005 and ended rather abruptly in 2007 when my husband (second) decided he didn't want to be married anymore. I'm not sure why I abandoned it. I just did. I've attempted to start over a few times since, but somehow none of the pieces would fit. I've missed blogging. I've missed writing. I've missed having a place to dump all my shit. The pretty shit and the not so pretty shit. I miss the freedom of saying what I want, when I want, in any way that I want. I hate feeling censored, which almost always tends to happen when people  start to pay attention to what you say. So...this is a read at your own risk type of thing.  My priority is to try to get back to where I was four years ago, when I would dump my truth onto these pages in truck loads and not give a second thought as to who was doing the reading or the judging. 

A lot has changed for me during my blogging haitus. I've gotten divorced, moved back to my home town, got a job, quit a job, had hundreds of anxiety attacks, fell in love, got my heart broken, fell back in love, and lost my mind. I've made mistakes. Some by accident. Some on purpose. I've managed to keep my son alive and relatively happy and heathy to the ripe old age of seven. I have a new found love of spicy food and flavored beers. My hair has fallen out, my muscles have entered a state of "forever tense", and I've struggled financially. I'm in the process of filing bankrupty...and by "in the process" I mean I still have to call a lawyer and make an appointment. I'm trying to do whatever I can with my doll business to keep it afloat because, for me, getting a "real" job is a slow death. Just thinking about it right now made it a little hard to breath. I'm currently living with the love of my life as we're both busy making mistakes and adjustments and loving each other. It's been fun and passionate, and sometimes messy and painful.

And...this is the road I'm on.  Where it will lead to doesn't matter nearly as much as the ride to get there. So that's pretty much what I hope this blog becomes. Excerpts and snapshots of a journey to God knows where. Chapter two...

OCM, who feels the weight being lifted.