…and then, he was gone. – Pt.1


Seventeen days ago, today, my husband of thirty years, Bennie, died during an emergency surgery that the doctors knew would kill him. I suppose it was the oath they took that compelled them to attempt to save this dying man, in spite of all odds. I’ll never know. But, I do know that what resulted from their attempt to save him was the most ghoulish, twisted, sickening mockery of life that I have ever witnessed.

Three years ago, Bennie went to the ER in extreme pain from what he thought was a kidney stone. It was then that the doctors found a serious dissection in his downward aorta. By the time it was discovered, his chances of surviving the corrective surgery hovered at the 20% mark. He told them to fuck off. That was in October of 2013. They assured him that he would not see the new year.

Bennie made it far beyond the new year before having further problems. Then, one day at work, he literally fell over from pain. He was rushed to the hospital, where he spent a month in CICU. The dissection was too large for a stint, just as it was the first time they saw it, and, again, all they could do would be to replace the artery. Again, Bennie refused. He was put on medication that the doctors felt would, at least, contain the damage.

Throughout, life was pretty good, in spite of the legal difficulties we were going through. Bennie saw the birth of his grandson and they became great friends. His career settled into a good place, and he made peace with the thing that he knew would kill him one day. Around this time, his addiction grew and his health began to fail one tiny bit at a time. During the last six months, he started losing weight, finally dropping 28lbs. He looked gaunt and unhealthy. Obama’s EPA had begun to seriously effect the oil industry in a way that had a direct effect on his job as a turnaround planner. Competition was fierce and he was not up to playing the game.

In the middle of last year, Bennie went on a job up in Montana, I believe. He had a great time and saved plenty to be able to take off all of deer season. We’d moved up here in April, so we were settled in and he enjoyed being off in the place he loved most. I noticed that he spent a lot of time sleeping. That was due, in part, to his constant pill popping. But, it did seem that there was more to it, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

When it was time to get back to work, work was scarce in a way it hadn’t been before. Ever. Money problems ensued and stress came on top of stress. It was awful. Finally, he found a turnaround back in the Galveston area that started April 7th. He packed up and went to stay at Mom’s house while he worked. He had been complaining of a pain in his side for months. It came and went, sometimes a dull pain, sometimes a sharp. We both knew what it was, but constantly danced around the truth. We decided it was a pulled muscle…a lie that we could both live with. On April 14th, he woke up to go to work at 3am. When he stood up, the pain brought him to his knees. He got dressed for work, but decided to go to the hospital, instead. He called me at six o’clock that morning complaining about the idiot doctor and that they were going to have to do another imaging to make sure that they were seeing what they thought they were seeing. I knew then that he was a dead man. I think he did, too. As soon as we hung up, I called Jay, our youngest son, and told him what was going on. He got to the hospital in a half hour.

After his arrival at the hospital, and a lot of hemhawing around, Jay was finally allowed to go back to see his dad. He had just gotten to his father’s bedside when the doctor came in. In blunt language, he told Ben he was going to die that day if he did not have the surgery. The aneurysm in his stomach had doubled in size and his entire aorta was involved, from above his heart all the way to his groin. He told him that, with the surgery, were it successful, he would more than likely be a paraplegic. The doctor told him that it would be a good idea to say goodbye to his loved ones, just in case. He couldn’t get reception on his phone, so he texted our oldest son, then, me. He instructed Jay to take care of me and the girls, (his dogs, Pepper and Jezebel). Minutes later, he was taken to surgery and I was in my truck driving as fast as I could to get there.


Bennie never woke up after surgery. He died one year, to the day, after we moved here. There is a lot more that I have to say about what went on in that room post op, but I just can’t face it right now. It was, without question, the most horrific thing I have ever witnessed. I cannot stop seeing it. It’s as though the sight has taken up physical residence in my eyes and, at times, I just want to pluck them out and stomp on them so I never have to see it again. Nobody should be put through that Frankenstein bullshit. Nobody. He died and I feel scarred for life. I don’t know how else to say it. People assure me that I’ll get over it, but I don’t think I will. It’s like when I was little and this old lady hit a Bandido on his motorcycle. As we passed, I saw blood and his intestines on the pavement where he lay. I remember every detail. And I’m sure I will remember this.

I’m going to finish up and have a drink. Whatever transpired between Bennie and I, I never wished that on him. I think people deserve to die with dignity, not as a science experiment. I am angry. I am disgusted. I am lost. I want to know more about what happened to Bennie, but I’m afraid of the answers. According to the death certificate, he died of natural causes resulting in brain death during surgery. Yet they brought him out, after closing him up eight hours into a twelve hour procedure, hooked him up to a ventilator and a heart pump and told us he was alive. My God…Oh, my God…Why would they do that to someone?



It’s A Beautiful Day


It’s cold this morning. Very pretty outside, from what I can see. When my meds kick in I might go out and gather some pine cones and such to take to Mom’s. When I visit next time I’m going to do a couple of holiday garlands for her. I miss her so much, even though we see each other every few weeks. She is so much more than a mother to me. She’s my mentor and best friend…a sister. I can’t wait until she is ready to move up here.

My body is trying to have a pain day. Fuck that. I have things I want to do and that’s what’s going to happen. See, this is where I’m fortunate…I can decide to just power through it if I have to. Most times, at least. Lots of people can’t. Perspective. It really helps to maintain perspective. I think the weather is pushing my pain level up to a solid 8. But I can still move around, and I have all day to do/finish the stuff I want to do, so it’s all good.

I accidentally drank a pint of tequila yesterday. It was delicious! It warmed my body and eased my mind. I love that feeling. But…back home, in Realityville, no matter how good it feels, can’t do it daily. I’m probably a huge disappointment to a great many of my ancestors, most of whom were highly functioning alcoholics. I’m a highly partying alcoholic. Lol! Whatev…yesterday was nice.

Happy Thursday, y’all!

She WAS A Sex Machine…


Maybe I’m not ready for love. That sounds silly and immature, but I think it may be true. I’m clingy and obsessive and jealous and moody. Let’s face it, these are not traits anyone finds attractive, particularly when considering a long term pairing.

Lately, I’ve had to come to terms with a few things concerning my health. Since meeting Paul, actually. It’s just that I don’t think I can have the sex life I once had. It’s something I haven’t had to think about in the five years Exish and I have been separated, as those years have been spent in a state of near total celibacy. Since Paul, sex has come to the forefront and, frankly, it scares me. There are some days when my body will barely move enough to walk without my pain level shooting through the roof. Joints that won’t bend…muscles that spasm and ache until I cry. How is this body going to respond to the spontaneous demands of a lover? Not to mention the frustration of not being able to have the kind of sex that I, personally, enjoy.

I always try to maintain perspective when thinking about my own experience with fibromyalgia. I’m grateful that it’s such a slight thing in comparison to that of so many others. Most of the time I’m very dismissive about it. I think that I’m lazy and whiny and grouchy…that those are my real problems. Probably because those are things I have control over. But I’ve lost a total of fifteen pounds, have been working on mood and general productivity. As I sit here this morning, I can feel every bone in my fucking body aching long after my pain meds have kicked in. My hands are shaking terribly. In fact, I’m posting from my phone because I can control my thumb enough to easily use this keyboard, but cannot control the way my fingers behave on a full size PC keyboard. My left jaw will not pop back into place and it’s causing a bitch of a headache, not to mention that I can’t eat any real food until I force it back in place. Fun! This last bout of sleep issues, particularly the sleep walking, has my left knee jacked up after I fell the other night. Left wrist and hand feel like they might be seriously sprained or fractured and pain shoots up my arm whenever I move my hand. That is the result of a near fall in my sleep last week. So, yeah, when I really think about things, I can see how the fibromyalgia may affect my sex machine status.

I don’t know why I have such an issue with accepting the fact that I have a chronic illness. While I clearly see what it’s done to my life, I’m still more comfortable blaming myself or denying that it’s even a real illness. ‘ It’s just some catch all thing doctors use…’. Well, even if it is a catch all, I have it. It’s a real thing that is really fucking with my life during a time when I need to be able to work and put in the kind of effort it takes to start a new life for oneself. I’d like to make the transition with a man that I love, but who would really want a woman who doesn’t….bend….well?

I guess time will tell.

Yeah…Maybe Not.

I’m really fucking shit up lately. I’m really fucked up lately. Pain days are back in force and it’s like the pain is flexing on me. Showing me who’s boss. Great! I so love that! Because I go for ages without realizing that lil nugget of truth. NOT. Like most total assholes, I pass the pain along to the people I care about most. One, in particular.

I just got back from Mom’s. Three day trip to Hell. So much bullshit going on with my brother and my sons…never one minute to just think or have any peace. I slept on the couch because it hurt too much to walk upstairs to the ‘princess room’ that Mom made for me. She always gets upset, but she didn’t say anything about it this time. She knows what’s up and has finally started to leave me be about things. And somebody needed to be downstairs and awake, anyway, since my brother, the schizo, was on the warpath. That’s one scary motherfucker. I don’t care if he’s ill, he needs to fucking go. He’s a threat to my mother, and he threatened me this trip. I told him what was going to happen the next time he threatened me. The threats stopped. He’s crazy, not stupid. Listening to him yell at Jesus to clean his toilet all day, every day, was quite entertaining in a Shining sort of way. And then there’s my grandfather/Dad. He’s slipping away. Healthy…but very little left of him these days. He’s so old and it’s difficult to look at him and put him in the same box of memories that his former self is in. You know? I guess I just thought Dad would hang in till the end. He had done so well until recently. Now, he’s so senile he doesn’t remember family members. I’m afraid he won’t remember me soon. I love him so much…but he’s not going to be around much longer. I just don’t see how he can be.

I was ready to leave last night after I took my oldest son to Houston to return his rental car. I couldn’t because I was afraid to, after having a lost time situation on the last trip I made at night. I took the last major turn for home, then I faded out and ended up in Louisiana by the time I came to myself. It happens fairly regularly, but normally episodes aren’t that long. It’s like just going into an actual fog. Fun! My memory is shot. Doc says it’s Fibro Fog. Basically, chronic pain fucks your head up. No shit…

So…I got home today and chilled out for a bit. Exish made a good dinner. Afterwards, I dozed off on the couch. My purse was on the floor nearby. Something woke me up and I see Exish looking through my purse for my pain meds. Awkward. I keep them in a small locked thingy that I can carry in my purse. So, he was shit outta luck, anyway. I confronted him after I watched him for a little minute. He actually denied that I saw what I just fucking saw. Seriously. What the fuck? I told him to just be honest and admit what he was doing and why, but he continued to deny it. Like I’m a fucking lunatic and can’t be trusted to know what the Hell I see. I swear…it’s too much. My nerves are so fucking shot and I’m so fucking tired that I cannot deal with one more thing. I have to get to work and get out of here. It’s like living in a psych ward.

I don’t think Paul and I are going to work out, even though I think I love him more than anything in the world. I just keep flipping shit on him over the most bullshit things. I don’t know why. And I just can’t seem to pull myself out of it. Maybe it’s the pain…lack of sleep…I don’t know. But I feel so fucking pissed all the time. And it might cost me something very dear. And that’s my own fucking fault. He’s such an awesome guy. I’ve never met anyone like him. But even people like him can only take so much. I told him that we need to take a break till Sunday. If I was him, I’d keep on with that break. I’m not really any good for relationship material. I’m a fucking train wreck. I can’t even stand my own self. How can anyone else? Fuck.

I feel like my life is falling apart because of this fibro bullshit. I need a job, but I can’t work like this. My hands and arms feel like they are burning…like actually on fire. It takes forever to type, so I usually do everything on my phone these days with my thumb. When I get finished here, my hands will be shaking. The pain that’s shooting up my arms from the fucked up nerves in them is making my muscles twitch right now. It’s weird to watch. My whole body fucking hurts. I mean…it fucking hurts. I think I’d have to cut my fucking head off to get any real relief from this never ending bullshit. Honestly, I can’t see living with it much longer. I know so many people have it worse. God bless them and their strength and determination. I don’t think I have that kind of strength. Don’t even want to try and conjure it up. So…there’s that.

Anyway…I better go. My fingers are in non-compliant mode and this has taken forever to type. Back to the phone!



i feel so fucking lonely today

wishing i hadn’t run across that song

wishing i could stay on my diet

wishing i hadn’t had that whiskey with breakfast

chips and meds do count as breakfast, right?

i’m in a ‘fuck this shit’ mood

on a ‘need to get shit done’ day

i’m exhausted

but i know i spent the night in bed

though i don’t recall sleeping much

since childhood, i’ve often lingered throughout the nights

in that place between sleep and wakefullness

neither here, nor there

aware of everything going on around me

with one toe in dream filled waters

it’s how you learn to sleep

as a child living in abject chaos

when you never know when shit’s gonna jump off

it’s how you protect yourself

it’s how you know when that ol Boogey Man

is making his way to your bedroom door

sleep would devour


i managed to escape you last night

my brain, on fire with ideas

swimming in the electric glow of its own freedom

though you tried

you did not pull me into your dark little cage

to poke and prod me

with insidious dreams

of caustic hope

burning me with thoughts of better times, long past

and vain imaginations of those yet to come

it is my habit to succumb to the tease

until morning’s light reveals her bitter truth

but not last night…

not last night

Some Days Suck

This is, by far, the worst pain day I’ve had in over a month. I’ve been in full-body pain at a 7, (on a 10 scale), all day. Hands and arms are shaking, which is strange and new. It has been only my hands until today. You know that saying, ‘lightning in a bottle’? That’s what my body is today. I feel like some sort of pain conduit, as if it HAS to run through me to get to where it’s going, like a light plug or something.

I finally slept for a few hours this morning. It was the first sleep I’ve had since I woke up on Monday morning. Pain is only part of that issue. Mostly, I think it’s just nervousness. Exish made it to Wyoming safe and sound, so that’s a relief. I was worried because he insisted on taking his old work truck, instead of taking mine. You know…since he was going to WORK. (Goddamn it, Elle, will you shut the fuck up about it?) This thing is gawd awful. It’s a 1997 Ford F150 Lariat. It was a sweet ride back in the day…when dinosaurs walked the earth. After 18 Texas summers, the dash is so brittle t hat it literally crumbles if you touch it. The leather seats are split and the foam is coming out. The overhead liner is coming loose and flaps in the wind. The windows have to be down because there is no AC. To top it off, the entire interior smells of crude oil. I actually don’t mind the smell. It smells like hard working men and that’s very…yummy. In any case, the only reason I didn’t throw myself under the front wheels to keep him from leaving in it is because Mr. Mel, our mechanic who I lovelovelove, just tuned it up about six months ago, if that. When Mr. Mell says it’s fixed, it’s fixed. Even when it has over 200,000 miles on it.

Mr. Mel…I’m glad I thought of him just now. I always smile when he crosses my mind. He’s one of the few people that I genuinely like in this world. Mr. Mel in his 80’s, but still has to work. His wife had cancer and it wiped out his retirement. But what really kicked it was, while his wife was still having chemo, his daughter found out that she had Stage 4 breast cancer and that it was so advanced that there was nothing that could be done to save her. She passed very quickly after diagnosis. Mr. Mel and his wife took in her elementary school aged children to raise, and it takes everything they have, on every level, to manage with the little ones. But you don’t hear Mr. Mel complaining. The only reason I know all that is because I got to his shop early one morning to drop off my truck and his computer was messed up and neither of us could fix it. While we were waiting on the computer guy, (aka The Transmission Guy), I asked him how things were going in his life and he just started talking and talking until he got it all said. He was tearing up and you could see the weight of the world on his shoulders. I was glad to be there for him that morning. I hate it when people are sad and are all alone in it. He’s the one his whole family looks to for strength and he was running low on it just then. Bless his heart. I just adore Mr. Mel.

I had to go to town this morning and pick up a few things at the Dollar General. It was weird. I took a whole klonopin before I left to calm me down. When I got there, I was fine. I pushed the cart around and lingered a little bit…no panic. But then, my body starts to have the symptoms of a panic attack when my mind was calm. First came the sweating. I mean…like I was standing in the shower. OMG! Heart starts racing…dizzy…the whole thing. EXCEPT the mental part. I don’t know what to think of it, but I’m chalking it up to progress. Besides, I hardly stood out in that crowd this morning. I swear it was tweaker day at that store. Holy shit!

Well, I’m going to go make dinner for me and the cats, then to bed. I hope. I’ll probably sleep in the chair tonight. When I hurt like this, laying down just hurts more. Anyway…that’s that.


This is what I refer to as a ‘pain day’. Every inch of my body aches. I woke up exhausted and that hasn’t changed. I get tired of living with chronic pain, just as anyone else who lives with it does. No matter what you do, it’s always there. No amount of pills or exercises or hot showers will change it.

Today, arms and hands are on fire. The rest of my body, head to toe, is a dull ache, punctuated by the surprising sharp pain here and there. I’m sleepy to the point of being a zombie. I don’t take naps, though. I keep thinking that, if I just don’t take naps…don’t give in, it’s all going to go away one day. (I swear, I keep Vivarin in business). Sometimes, I allow myself to consider the truth…that this is permanent. . Hands shake, fingers won’t go where they’re told. It takes forever to type anything these days. I’m definitely ‘back’ button addicted. The headaches, memory issues and general feeling of being a fucking doorstop are making me crazy.

I got a lot done, so far, today. For me. I’m decorating my bedroom. What I used to do in a few hours now takes a few days. And that’s if I stay on top of it. I feel embarrassed by it. Because I am nothing like I used to be. It’s frustrating to try and reconnect with that person. She has long since abandoned the situation…and me. Still, I close my eyes and try to picture places I’ve lived in the past. Especially my old house. I try to recreate the look and feel of the place. It’s not the same, though. It just isn’t. But, all in all, it’s a reasonable facsimile, I suppose.

I think that’s all I want…to have my life back. I think that’s what all this slave crap is about and all the other bullshit I’ve been thinking and doing lately. But I’ll never be the same. I can’t fix this. I can’t do the things I used to do and that’s just how it is. Fibromyalgia? Right. I don’t even believe it’s real, but I have it. Denial much? Yes, please. Now what?

I don’t write about this much. I’ve pretty much abandoned my pain blog. Because I don’t want a ‘pain’ blog. It does help to talk about it, though. Still…I don’t even want to THINK about it. Even my mother recognizes things now that upset her. Mostly, my memory issues. And she saw how much my hands shake a couple of visits ago. It freaked her out. Shit…it freaks me out. But it’s just nerves playing their silly games in my body. Shooting here…there…doing what they want to. Doc says they’re dead. I don’t understand that. If they’re dead, how can I move my hands and arms? What’s with the nerve pain? The doc who did my hand surgery said they’ll either die, completely, or regrow. So…how the fuck do you know if they’re growing? And…how do you know if they’re dead? Shit.

There’s a lot of information on the net about Fibromyalgia. Now and then, I spend a few hours trying to find that magic thing that someone came up with that makes it better. So far, no luck. But…I don’t have cancer or emphysema or anything as horrible as all of that. My bloodwork is perfect, heart’s right on the money…good to go. So, I do realize that there’s much to be grateful for. And, I am. More than I can say. But I’m still frustrated with all of this. Who wouldn’t be?

This sounds like a pity party, but it’s not. It’s a rant. Like I said, I’m thankful for the good things, healthwise. I always remember that when I feel like this. It doesn’t help, but we all have things to be thankful for and we should all practice gratitude. So…there’s that. And, I’m grateful that Exish and I are still friends. He takes good care of me, for the most part. I’d be living with my mother right now if he didn’t. I have been trying to figure out a net based job that I can do from home. There has to be a way to make money without using my hands in any strong-arm fashion. I would open a little grooming shop, but I don’t think I can do even a few a day anymore. When I was laid off, I was about to have to quit, anyway. The pain was too much.

Though I hated being a pet groomer, (don’t judge me, it’s a fucking difficult endeavor), I did love working with ‘bad’ dogs. They interest me a lot. Bad dogs tend to have a sense of self worth that other dogs don’t have. I never used muzzles, although they don’t hurt anything. I just loved to study the little fuckers and figure them out. Touch therapy worked best for me. Once they grew accustom to my touch, they would move on to another phase of their disposition, and we’d go from there. I groomed dogs whose owners couldn’t pick up. I think they got it that I was the same kind of pissed off as they were, or something. Who knows? In almost 20 years, I only had two serious bites. Both from little dogs. This German Shepard went for me one time, but I got away. lol! Still…I continued to work with both of those dogs. One was like my baby by the time it was over with. The other…I told his mom to find a new groomer. He was naturally aggressive, and you cannot train that out of an animal. But, all in all, I miss my bad babies. A couple of them have died since I was layed off. It breaks my heart.

The main thing with dogs that bite is whether or not they are effective biters. Most dogs give you a couple of test bites, or they’re serious, but don’t realize their own power or how to negotiate an effective bite. Others, however, take a ‘one strike, you’re out’ policy when it comes to biting. It absolutely fascinates me. I don’t know why. If there was a college course about dog bites, I’d take it. Honestly. I think that the way dogs bite reflects how many humans live their lives. You have the tasters…the teasers…then, you have the land sharks. You just never know what you’re dealing with until you get close enough.

Good grief, what a random ramble. I think I’m done now. I need to put a few more things away and such, then I’ll be finished with Phase 1 of my glorious bedroom redux. I can’t wait until it’s done. It’s going to be gorgeous. Hmmm…Maybe I’ll start taking naps, after all…

Don’t Call It A Comeback


It’s been a lil minute since I posted anything, really. A few weeks, I think. A lot of…life, I guess…has gone on . Good things and bad things. Although, at this point in my life, it is increasingly difficult to distinguish between the two, since so many lessons are learned from those bad things. Lessons that I deeply value. There is also an ever-growing understanding inside of me that my very worst day would be considered a lovely day by someone else in this world. In light of that, what do I really have to complain about?

One bad thing that I have yet to manage to learn from is living with constant, sever, pain. Honestly, I’ve had about all I can take of it. I hate the pain, I hate the meds, I hate the whole thing. A few weeks ago, I ran out of my primary pain medication. I actually looked at it as a good thing, initially. I took the situation as an opportunity to try to another approach to dealing with pain since I hate taking that medication. It dulls me…changes me in ways that have a negative impact on my life. So, I thought I’d try something new and different. Think outside the box and what have you. I thought that I might actually be able to meditate the pain away. That did not work at all, so I moved on to wishing it away. Still, no luck. After that, I simply pretended that  it wasn’t  there every second of the day. Mind over matter. THAT DID NOT WORK. For once, I have encountered something that I cannot simply power through, no matter how badly I’d like to.

Went to visit Mom and my grandfather. While I was there, I visited the doc as a walk-in that Monday. I couldn’t wait for my appointment to get some relief. My doc wasn’t in, so I saw another one. Dr. L. First off, I had to take a drug test for the first time. People who take scheduled meds are now required to take drug tests. If you don’t have the prescribed drug in your system, what are you doing with it? It’s a legit question, considering that my forty dollar bottle of meds has a twelve hundred dollar street value. Even so, it feels demeaning and invasive. It feels like judgement, which it’s not. After that, it was a bit of a wait while they processed my test. The nurse came back to inform me that I had passed. What? Okay…I think.

The nurse explained the importance of drug testing, in the context of all the new DEA regulations. Were the DEA to review my file and see that I had not been drug tested, the clinic could be sanctioned in some way, and my doctor could be severely disciplined. Seriously. The DEA? Those silly bastards can’t keep crack out of our elementary schools, but they’re going to spend their time harassing legit doctors and the patients who need them? While I’m aware of the huge problem with these meds being sold on the street, I still find the situation laughable. I went out of my way to find a doc that was not in any way associated with pill distribution. My doc has no ‘rep’. She’s a good doctor who believes that pain drugs were made for a reason and that there is no shame in prescribing them , nor is there any shame in taking them. (We had that conversation one day after I explained how embarrassed I feel when I get meds filled sometimes). In any case, I was happy to be on the verge of getting a much needed break from this pain.

I went to Galveston to get my prescriptions filled. I drove down the seawall for a Sonic coke while I waited. Tourists crowded the island. I had all but forgotten how crowded that place could get on a holiday weekend. The water was choppy and mud brown, and the wind was blowing like crazy. But it was nice to see all those shiny happy people. I really miss that place, since moving up here to tree country.

The morning flew by and, before I knew it, it was noon and I was almost back to Mom’s house. She had a really nice lunch laid out…fried chicken and a garden salad. She always makes things special when I’m visiting. While I was doing the doc/med thing, she was getting mink eye lashes put on. I noticed how amazing they looked as we talked over our lunch. Grandad just sort of sat there, not really in the room at all. He’s gotten so old. At ninety, he’s earned the right to ignore our girl talk and just enjoy his meal. But, I do worry about him. In the last year, the signs of age have really begun to set in in terms of his mental state. In his mind, he’s still a Marine and can handle anything. In reality, he has a heater by his chair because 73 degrees is too cold for him in the house.

After lunch, still not having time to shower, I piled on some makeup and tried to do my hair. It was so hot in that house. Even Mom was complaining about it, but she and I both agreed that Dad’s comfort came first. So…sweating it was! lol!

I got my trip back home underway, making a stop to meet a friend. I was embarrassed by my appearance. I’m already a large woman, but I normally look well groomed. Not so much that day! Dear GAWD! It was just the most uncomfortable feeling I can think of. I was in the clothes that I’d slept in the night before, since Mom spilled her Monster drink all over my clean clothes. It had taken so long at the doctor that I didn’t have time to stop and get my nails done, so I recycled the ones from last time. I’m telling you…the whole thing was just…OMG! Plus, there is a weird smell in my truck. Exish and I have been trying to find its source for weeks now. I have no idea what is. I’m actually afraid to find out. Yep…it’s THAT bad. When it was all said and done, I was never so happy to get back on the road home…here…the boonies.

And that, dear people, is that.

Yeah. Hmmm…


I’m numb. I feel as though all I’ve known of this day is what I’ve seen from the window. And that’s my own fault. I wish I knew why it’s so hard for me to go outside, even here. I feel restricted and empty. So alone. Literally and in other ways, as well.

I was thinking to myself earlier about how funny it would be were I to die today. Nobody but the people who read this stupid blog would have a clue as to how I feel right now…have been feeling. Everyone who’s texted or called me today has received pleasant responses and encouragements and what have you. Smiley faces all ’round! Not one would ever know that, if I die today, it would be such a relief that I cannot explain it in any words that I know. They’d never have any realization that, before and after we talked, I was so numb inside that I couldn’t relate to anything alive…to being alive. That is not to say that I’m suicidal. That, I’m not. But I am dead in many ways, already.

A strange thing, that…How it can take decades for the flesh to pass, long after the spirit is crushed and gone. And nobody ever notices, as long as you keep on smiling. That’s all you gotta do…put a fuckin smile on your face. Holy shit! LOL! Wow! That just blows my mind.

I think I notice when others are hurting…when their smile is just a bullshit facade. I take the time to notice. Because that’s what you have to do…take a minute…look them in the eye when they aren’t looking at you. And I’m not afraid to ask somebody what the Hell is wrong. I think that most people just don’t want to know. It’s not that they don’t care, but they already have full plates. No room at the inn, so to speak. But what if you saying something changed one thing for that person? Just one. A tiny thing that could bloom into a bigger thing. Or maybe it would mean nothing at all. But do you really feel good about sleeping on it? That’s all I’m saying.

My case is, of course, different. I’m out here in the country, alone. I don’t know anyone. I’ve just recently been working on the panic I have when going into a store and such. I make myself go into the local Dollar General for longer and longer periods of time. Yesterday, when I went to town to buy cigs, I pulled up at a store and just couldn’t get out. So many of those shirtless country boys, drunk in their muddy trucks…getting gas and what not. Lots of excitement around there. I couldn’t handle it, although shirtless country boys are quite appealing 🙂 Anyway, I went on down the street. I guess that must be the ‘black’ part of town. I found a gas station with some black guys getting gas, music thumping away…and old black man…I was the only white person there. But it felt really familiar, so I got out and grabbed some smokes…had a nice conversation with the very shy girl at the register. It was good. But I’m still disappointed in myself for having to actually shop for a place to shop. It’s such a waste of time. Ah, well…I’ll do better tomorrow. The point is that there is nobody here to know whether I’m one way or another. They just have to take my word for it. And, when it comes to how I’m feeling, I’m not the most honest injun in the room.