Have You Tried The Bread?

I made some cinnamon streusel bread today, needing a little pick-me-up after the last few days of feeling like trash, between being sick and being in a depression.

I actually got a couple of household chores done today, as well, surprisingly, which means my energy is starting to come back, so this is a good thing.

I’ve kind of bottomed out now, though, which is not a shock. I know I need more rest to get well, I just hate this worn-out feeling. I really do.

Anyway, tonight, as I was getting ready to put the loaf of bread in a big ziploc… I suddenly heard in my head –

“Have you tried the bread? It’s good bread…”

In a voice I haven’t heard in years.

Ahhh, the voice of Ren. That infamous Asthma-hound chihuahua.

But, it was his voice as interpreted by one of my beloved Chosen Family. A “little brother” from my past, who loved Ren and Stimpy as much as I did.

And a pang went through my heart.

Because I don’t get to hear his voice anymore. He died a few years ago, taken by an inoperable cancerous brain tumor. He was smart, funny, fiercely protective of those he loved, and he was my friend, Shane.

And I fucking miss him.

And yes, Shane, I tried the bread.

It is good bread, dammit.

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No Breath, but Speak.

I’ve been sick for days, now, and finally, after going to the convenience-care clinic yesterday, I was diagnosed with a bad dose of both bronchitis and sinus infection. So bad, in fact, the doc wouldn’t let me leave her office without making me have a nebulizer treatment, & giving me a scrip for both an antibiotic and prednisone (a steroid, to keep the bronchitis from becoming pneumonia).

I’ve taken steroids before, and…we don’t get along really well, so we’ll see how this goes. I might end up looking like a blowfish.

Anyway, I have no – and I mean – ZERO – physical strength right now. It’s a bit better than yesterday, shit…going to see the doc, then getting prescriptions? Man…I was wiped, and slept most of the rest of the day. I woke up long enough to eat something, so I could take the drugs I needed to, and called it a day.

It doesn’t help that my depression has been riding me hard for the last week or 2. I hide it, for the most part, because people just don’t want to deal with it, or me when they see it, but it’s always there, and I have to live with it. It doesn’t just wander off after a joke or 2. It’s not that easy.

I alternate today between the fires of hell and Antarctic winter. Take a deep breath, and I’m wracked with deep, hacking coughs, I remind myself of my Grandma…it’s a little frightening, and sad. I’m becoming her. She was plagued by chronic bronchitis. I don’t want to remember all the crap she had to go through. Just – not today. I’m tired, and not dealing well.

So, the only thing I have energy for, is pretty much this. I can type a little, or read for a while, until my body’s battery runs out, & I need a nap again.

I know, bitching doesn’t make it better.

But it makes me feel better to get it off my chest.

And if you don’t want to read it, don’t. *shrug*

Well, the battery has about bottomed out, & it’s time for more drugs again.

*sigh* maybe I just need to move somewhere where the air doesn’t hurt my face… Then bronchitis & pneumonia wouldn’t be such an issue.

Sometimes Weekend Insomnia isn’t my fault

I have insomnia a lot, mostly in the fact that – yeah I have trouble falling asleep, so I’m up late, but I also wake up 2, 3, or sometimes 4 times a night.

Not for long, just long enough to roll over, look at my clock, realize it’s hours before I should be getting up, & go back to sleep – but still, it breaks up my nights enough so that I normally only get around 4 or 5 hours of sleep a night on the regular.

And, weekends are usually worse.

Because I’m busy, and have shit to do.

Things I want to get done.

Things I want to enjoy.

Things I can’t seem to get accomplished during the week, like laundry (my dryer takes foreeeeever), and housecleaning, & grocery shopping & things like that.

Weekends mean all-nighters, a lot.

With a crash nap the next day, sometimes.

Yeah…*sigh* I know. Not healthy.

But, whatever.

I live alone. Who’s here to care?

Anyway, this weekend, it wasn’t really my fault that I ended up staying up late, and extended it out into an all-niter.

It started with OnlySon.

He changed his “visiting day” to Saturdays, so that we can actually see and interact with each other, talk a little, maybe, before he goes back to his dad’s. It was great, we went grocery shopping, which we both hate, so we riff off each other, & make fun of everything the whole time. When we came back, we talked gaming for a while, which we both enjoy, & made chocolate-covered potato chips together. (I’m using them for gift-giving this year, & he’s not much of a sweets eater, so it was just the making, not the snacking)

We had hours actually together, which we don’t really get, and it was – – great. It was just, really, super nice to have my son back for a while.

Not long after he left, I got a phone call from YoungerDaughter, she was on her way home from a friend’s house after some holiday activities, & wanted me to be her late-night phone buddy while she drove a very lonely, long stretch of road.

So we talked for a couple of hours as she drove home, from the town where she was, to the city she lives in a couple hours away.

By this time, it was already after midnight, and I’d hit my second wind and was good to go for a few more rounds.

And…Just as she was pulling into her driveway…my Beloved Nephew calls & my call waiting beeps!

No rest for the wicked, right?

I’m absolutely NOT going to turn down a phone call from Beloved Nephew, and the daughter is now safely home, so I hang up with her & call him back.

….

By the time I get off the phone with Beloved Nephew, it’s about 3:30 am.

Why the hell would I sleep now? Sun’s going to be up in a couple hours, & I was in the middle of a pretty good book on my Kindle.

ANYWHO… I started receiving texts from my highschool best friend about 9:30, so she & I chatted through text for a bit. She loves over-tired, insomniac me, says I’m hilarious.

Then, yes, I crash-napped for a bit.

Fell asleep around 11:30, woke up around 3:30, & here I am.

Oh, I’ll sleep tonight, even with the nap, never fear. It’ll be the same, broken, woken sleep…

But, sometimes?

Honestly, the insomnia really isn’t my fault.

But I love them.

And I wouldn’t change a damned thing.

Call me anytime, fam. You know I’m here.

Time Travel happens when you’re not looking, so wear sensible shoes

I lost my damned wifi password today.

And, of course, I never bothered to write it down for myself, because it was stored in my phone, so why bother, it was right there.

I wrote it down once for OnlySon, but, like all good tragedies, his room was struck by a cyclone before I could get to the Post-it note, and he’s not here to find the grumble-fucking thing for me.

ANY WHO…..

During my rip-tear-toss of a search around the house, I decided to try my rusty, trusty… (Drumroll please ****)

ADDRESS BOOK!!

YES, this is a thousand years old, the binding is cracked & in desperate need of some form of bonding agent, but!

It’s also a vehicle of time travel.

Honestly, I think I picked this book up at Ben Franklin in the little town I used to hang out in, my senior year of high school… It. Is. That. Old.

My Mom always told me to write addresses into these books in pencil. (wicked, morbid woman).

Because you know what pencil means…right??

TEMPORARY.

It makes my heart hurt & my brain ache, just thinking about all the names my mom would’ve had me erase from this book if I’d kept following her stricture.

But…I’m an ink-pen kinda girl.

Yeah, some of the names in my address book are written in pencil, but I’ve still never erased One.Damn.Name.

Not. One.

Ohhhh, I’ve scribbled out a few, hooo boy, yah I have.

But erased?

Nope.

My Grandma’s name, last home address and phone number are still written in this book, and she’s been gone a couple of years now.

My friend, Shane, he’s still in the book…and he passed away quite a few years ago from a cancerous brain tumor.

A great aunt & uncle, both passed, many years ago… Still in the book.

Friends I haven’t talked to in years, but if I saw them on the street tomorrow, I’d hug the crap out of them?

Still in the book.

Multiple addresses for my male sibling… Some crossed off, some not, none current. All still there.

People’s names, addresses, and/or phone numbers that I haven’t thought about or used in years, they’re probably no good anymore…

But when I look at their name in that old handwriting, I’m suddenly transported back to whatever time of my life that was, & remember that person.

And…in the back of the book…carefully scribbled

Anniversaries

Birthdays

Important numbers belonging to people I cannot forget – my children, my parents.

For a book small enough to easily fit in the back pocket of my jeans…

There’s a whole lot of living time crammed into those pages.

Step lively, step lightly, but step forward.

…….

…………

No, I never found the damned wifi password. I’ll call the cable co. tomorrow. Dammit.

Hindsight is 20/20 – squinting – pt. 3

~Don’t seek healing at the feet of those who broke you.

I can’t remember who wrote this, but it really resonated with me this week.

I even wrote it on my desk calendar, so I could look at it every day, and remind myself of those words, practice the mantra, so to speak.

I need to stop kneeling at the feet of those who have hurt me in the past, seeking resolution, consolation, closure, or healing.

I do it way too often.

You see, I used to be the one doing the breaking, so when I crashed at the end, and had to change the way I did things, I really did change.

Except, sometimes, I go too far the other direction.

I’ve had many people tell me I’m too nice, too forgiving.

But – I’m getting ahead of my own story, here.

I’m not going to lie to you and tell you that the summer of 1990 was just a slow roll towards suicide on my part.

It wasn’t.

I had a blast getting into as much trouble as humanly possible, in the short amount of time I had, and in the limited ways I could. (as in, no drugs, no extreme sports – cause HELLO, I SUCK AT SPORTS)

But – it WAS a spiral headed south, and straight into a wall. Somewhere in the back of my primitive id brain I knew this. I wasn’t stupid. I couldn’t see a future for myself, and I was, oddly… wanting to tromp down harder on the gas pedal, for some reason. Get there faster, & you waste less gas?

Well, my parents weren’t having it.

They clamped down on me, & told me to either “find a job, or you’re headed for the military”.

Yep. No shit.

So – I hit the papers, and found want ads – for nannies. People in other states wanted nannies from North Dakota to fly to their homes to take care of their kids, because they thought ND kids made better nannies, for some reasons. And I – wanted the fuck out. Out of North Dakota. Out of my current life, out from under my parents’ rules, you know… Typical young self-destructive type behavior.

Fast forward a few phone calls, and I’d found a family in New Jersey, who had 2 kids, both adopted, and they wanted me right away.

Off I went.

Everyone has baggage.

But Delta had no idea I had TWO carry-ons with me instead of just the one they saw.

You see, I’d been a horrible girlfriend to the boyfriend I fell for…

And I’d run around and used sex to feel good about myself.

I’d thought I was just malnourished, from not eating well, smoking & drinking a lot over the summer, subsisting on sunflower seeds & beef jerky most of the time.

I didn’t realize I had a growing reason for missing my period.

Until the morning I puked for no reason.

Well, there was a reason, I just didn’t want to know it, or admit it, really.

Shit.

*sigh*

On my day off, I ran an errand to the drug store & bought myself a stick test to pee on.

Damn thing practically turned blue in my hand before I got it open.

Hell.

So, on my next day off… I went down to the local women’s free clinic & got tested there. Positive again.

And a courtesy “talk” with a counselor, who gently went through all my options with me, asking me delicately if I was… Possibly…maybe…could I be…considering…abor.. ??

“NO.” I was most emphatic, and a huge, truck-load sized weight seemed to lift from the counselor’s shoulders.

“Oh, thank goodness!”, she was so relieved, I thought she was going to hug me, which would have been awkward, and extremely uncomfortable for us both, I think.

Then, she wanted to discuss adoption, & I shut her down on that, too.

Nope.

I thanked her politely, and told her that, in no uncertain terms, I was going home, I was going to have my baby, and I was going to raise it myself.

This was mine, and no one was taking it from me.

It was time to fucking grow up.

My baby needed me. And needed me to be an ADULT. I was going to be a mommy, and I’d be damned if anyone was taking that from me.

Now, I needed to figure out how to do that.

I wasn’t even old enough to drink legally, yet.

But I was damned well going to figure this out.

For once, it wasn’t about what I needed.

It was about what someone else needed from me. Someone who didn’t have anyone else, and needed me first, most, and who I could love without reservations or limits or embarrassment. I could give this baby everything I was, and it wouldn’t betray me, because I would be its mommy.

This baby was going to love me, because I was going to love him or her so hard, there’d be no reason not to.

Hindsight is 20/20 – sorta (pt.2)

That summer…

1990…

Such a blur of color and sound, sun & cigarettes, booze & boys & parties & beaches & laughter & tears and just –

Fucking hell – wild abandon.

I quit college a year and a half after starting. As I said in my last post… I shouldn’t have been there in the first place. I wasn’t in the right mindset for college. Didn’t really know what I wanted out of life, not for real, and had no real passion for it. And without that, you honestly shouldn’t be there. It’s a money and time-suck if you don’t give 100% of everything you have to it.

And I didn’t have 100% of anything to give.

I was really only functioning on about 78%, myself, at any given moment… not that I was aware of that fact.

(I’ve changed that percentage number twice, lowered it, actually, because I realized just how little I was emotionally coherently functioning that summer)

After they brought me home from my college town, they tried to put me in therapy. It was a miserable failure.

I don’t know if it was because of the therapist they chose, or what they told him, but it was a train-wreck.

I walked in to that first visit, thinking I would maybe give it a chance, that maybe, finally, someone would hear me.

And the first words out if his mouth were…

“So your parents tell me you think you were molested,”

As if I were making it up, lying, or delusional.

Fucking train-wreck on fire, I was all done after that. I wasn’t going to tell him SHIT. He could fuck ALL THE WAY OFF.

And that was the end of therapy.

[and you have NO idea how difficult this post has been to write. All you see are the results. This shit – days – it’s taken days – and that’s not me. I’m “off the cuff girl”]

(Yanks self back on track)

I won’t lie. That summer? Best fucking fun of my life.

I have a million snapshot memories of that summer, lodged in my head. Smoky bonfires, sparkling lakes & rivers, scorching heat while laying on a rocky beach, smoking & stubbing out cigarettes in the sand, waiting for a tan…and the end of a hangover.

Snapshots of laughter, of rides in cars, cruising up & down main at speeds so slow, you could walk faster than the car was moving; memories of loud music, long hair & short skirts, dancing under gushing rain gutters on main street, not caring if makeup smeared & we had to drive home damp, later.

Snapshots of going to sleep after the sun came up, and getting ready for the day, only a handful of hours later.

Dancing wherever and whenever we damned well felt like it, because we just didn’t fucking care.

Snapshots of late-night conversations, of kissing in the dark, of a boyfriend… One I fell for so quickly… He was funny and smart. Sweet, and sexy & kind; older than me & treated me well. You can’t just do that to someone looking for self-destruction. I wanted to curl up next to him and not move again, because it was safe being fun and happy with him. I scared myself so badly… I ran, and ran, and ran.

I was an awful girlfriend. I know that now. I hid from him, wouldn’t answer the phone, asked my parents to lie when he called, refused to talk to him. In my head… I made excuses for myself.

It all kind of culminated one rainy day, when he stopped my friend & I, tried to get me to talk to him, and I ran off again, down the street, into the rain, as fast as I could. I was such a coward.

He didn’t follow, didn’t chase, so I vindicated myself once again, inside my head. I wasn’t enough for anyone, wasn’t worth it.

So… Fuck it.

I ramped up the wild side.

Threw all caution and common sense to the wind, and went completely berserk.

I slept around, drank…oh gods, probably my body-weight at the time, in booze. Mostly beer, because that’s what was cheap. But, whatever was available? I drank it.

I thought about trying drugs.

I did.

I had them – SO easily available. The town I hung out in was HUGE in drugs, and I knew most of the druggies. They might not have been my besties, but, they knew my name, & that I wouldn’t rat them out. We knew some of the same people, hung at the same parties, small town, you know the drill.

But – I didn’t.

I honestly, truly, never did try drugs. Not even so much as a hit of weed, or even so much as one pill of anything.

I saw – wow – I saw shit involving drugs I can honestly say I never expected. Shit I won’t elaborate here, because it’s past, it won’t do anyone any good, so why do anyone harm?

But I never touched them myself.

I thought about it. I was tempted.

And if it hadn’t been for my best friend, at that point? I’d have done them. I would’ve. I’d have caved.

Why?

Because I saw NO FUTURE.

All I saw for myself at that point was a black wall, and I was speeding towards it.

I was driving the car inside my head, and I kept mashing the pedal to the floor. I wanted it over.

I just – wanted all of everything – over.