Sick of it. Literally.

Felt it start yesterday afternoon. The scratchy throat. The cough that hurt. This morning I awoke with full blown laryngitis, an annual side-effect of my summer allergies. I’m sucking lozenges, gargling with salt water, drinking juice, and taking it easy.

Suck-ola. Found myself getting angry at my doctor without ever actually visiting: I’m well aware that if I made the foray over to her office and actually wrangled an appointment within the next 48 hours, I’d be told to suck lozenges, gargle with salt water, drink juice, and take it easy. The only reason to go is to have medical proof that yes, once again I am ill. Seems I must justify myself to the medical community before anyone takes me seriously. As usual, I’m physically drained with this, and don’t want to do much more than vegetate in front of the tv. So, as usual, I’ll do that first line of defense on my own and see if it clears itself up.

Script: 4000 words and climbing. I’ve barely begun act 1 scene 3, and have a lot of territory to cover in the next 2000 words. But I’m allowing my characters a bit of verbosity. Easier to cut than to stretch a story. I like my soviet agent. A lot. She’s menacing without being outright threatening. My characters are fleshing out and surprising me. One is funnier than I expected. Another more vulnerable than I thought. And it’s not just the women; the men are more than I expected, too. These disparate roles are ready made for personal conflict.

To round off my life, my brother is on a kick of disregarding me and my personal space. Dirty dishes left piled in the sink. Washed dishes left in the rack, never put away. Miscellaneous shit, like an extra water bottle I’d emptied and put aside for personal use. Oh, was that yours? I didn’t know. Well, did you put it there? No? Then what makes you think it was left there for you? Did you imagine Santa Claus came in overnight and left you a present? Hanging his rain-soaked clothes directly over my face towel, thereby soaking said face towel with underwear and sock drippings. Get the picture? Feels like I don’t exist, my work doesn’t matter, and half the time I’m just in his way.

…Was gonna write ‘I’m sick of it’ and then I realized I really AM sick of it. Literally. Funny how that happens so often in my life.

Well, let’s make this a short illness. Pick up the box of tissues, the lozenges, the water, my pills, and head off for a nap.

Maybe tomorrow will be better.




I am no Wilbur Force. I do not seek out purposefully painful dental work. I am, in fact, on the terrified side regarding dentists and dental work: too much pain too many times to feel too comfortable in that chair.

So when I say I had the best ever dental experience this morning, I want to be fully understood. No genie could have magicked up a dental hygienist more compassionate, more careful than the one I met today. In 40 minutes of deep cleaning, I experienced only one flash of discomfort, and it was over almost before I could register it.

Another pleasant surprise: I was greeted back to my Friday lesson with an enthusiasm that really touched me. So many smiles, so many happy faces, wanting to talk to me, to say hello. Understanding and compassion when it came to my hearing problem, as well.

I feel so full up of compassion I don’t quite know what to do.

Makes me feel bad about going off on the world, and thinking every single person on the planet is a fuck-wit.

Here’s the weekend again, two days without much to fill them. I’ve got the normal stuff; cleaning, writing, fresh air and walking. But I’m wishing I had another meeting, something else to get me out of the house and into a group of people.

Damn! Did I just say I want to be social?

That’s what I get after so long in the house, waiting to feel better. Any little thing, any show of friendliness or just human decency sets me a-spin. When your only input is the news or television, you begin to forget that there are just people out there, too. Normal people, living normal lives. They’re not out to take everyone, to use and abuse; just to live. Part of that is smiling, nodding, saying hello and thank you – and when you don’t get that for an extended period, it’s amazing what it does.

It’s like daffodils blooming in my chest – a bright burst of sunshine, rainbows, and lollipops right where I needed it.

Update: Wishing the ringing in my left and right ears was at least in harmony. Unfortunately, it’s slightly dissonant. The more my the sound in my left ear diminishes, the more I hear the right. If I ever get my full hearing back, I’ll create something based on how I hear right now (I promise, promise, promise – now please make it stop). Dizziness is the same. Wore my orthopedics outside yesterday, gave them the best chance possible to NOT hurt my feet. That was a failure. Gotta make an appointment to go in and have them adjusted again. Checking FB every day for a new post from the theatre group regarding auditions. Wondering how long “soon” is. Wrote a letter to my bro’s friend, R, who might be able to arrange a room for me to use to workshop my script. Pitched an English-speaking theatre workshop to him. Decided I’d step slowly with all that; my bro’s brought up a performance poetry class, and R himself has discussed me teaching English as a language – all of which interests me. I just don’t want to stretch myself too thin, particularly with my health issues.

For right now, though, I am happy and satisfied. My soul ate a big meal of human compassion and kindliness this morning, and I hadn’t quite realized how hungry I’d been.


My compliments to the chef.

The waiting game


Relief. That was my reaction this morning as I turned on the tv to see the Dutch election results. The people of this country didn’t let me down; they turned out in droves and made sure Wilders learned he’s not the big dog in the yard. Not everyone on this planet is insane.

Been out in the world. Walking in the sunshine. Going to class. Trying to reach the world again. Since my hearing went wonky, I’ve felt there’s a wall between me and everything else. It’s hard to hear, I don’t taste much, and I can’t smell much. Case in point: I made my morning oatmeal as usual and didn’t notice the milk had gone sour until I tasted something “a little off” in the first bite. But I’m trying.

The gym is still a far off dream for me: turning my head, or worse still, tilting it, results in so much dizziness I don’t feel safe on any of the gym equipment. Hell! Walking straight is tough. And I should know; I’ve more than noticed how much I stagger down paths, never keeping a straight line. I have to pay attention, purposefully put my feet down straight, purposefully keep correcting my path to a somewhat straight line – and it’s hard.

Have cause to say yippee today – yippee! Received the bill from the dentist and it’s less costly than I feared. Tomorrow I’m back there, seeing the hygienist. Ugh. Not looking forward to it, but telling myself by noon it’ll be all over.

Language class today was difficult. I’m rusty speaking Dutch, and my teacher has the habit of holding her hand near her mouth and half-covering it as she speaks, which makes it tougher to understand her. But I got through it. Really want to find a book in the language I enjoy reading. While I’ve been tackling Bridget Jones, it’s not easy, and it’s not written in full, proper sentences. I’ve got a recommendation written down, and hope to get out this weekend to buy a copy. Goddess! Let it be something that captures my interest and gets me to read more. Slogging through a book in Dutch is so damned annoying! I don’t want to read silly stories about giants or a family of squirrels. But adult subjects often come with adult language and grammar, which are still beyond me. So I slog through adult stories I want to read, and lose interest in the giant and squirrel family stories I can read.

Meh. I want to do so much more. Physically, with the language…and all of it is out of reach right now. I believe I’m receiving a lesson in patience.

I’ve never been good at the waiting game.


On and on it goes


Elections today. Naturally, my residency status is still in flux, so on the day of the most important election I could vote in I find myself without the necessary paperwork to go to the polls. And just as naturally, my political minded uncle had to post something on my FB account regarding the election even tho I told him I don’t want to discuss politics with him or anyone else in the family.

Riots over the weekend. I was shocked, and upset. Shocked over the response – water cannon to disperse crowds is one thing, sicking dogs on protesters and allowing the dogs to chew and bite the protesters into submission is another. I’m upset to see and hear these residents claim they’re not Dutch, they’re Turkish, and Turkey comes first. Then what are you doing here? Why are you living here? Why are you taking Dutch money, Dutch support, Dutch health care and education? Go to Turkey. I didn’t feel American, and I hate the political system over there so I left. And it’s a hell of a lot easier to get to Turkey from the Netherlands than it is to get to the Netherlands from the US. Go!

Three weeks on, and the theatre group finally stirred to post a two sentence statement on their FB page. “A few more things to work out. Auditions coming soon.” DAMN! That must have taken it out of them, hey? At this point I could actually care less about auditions and the group; I’m fairly certain I don’t like them. Too closed, too full of themselves, too judgmental. I’m only there to hook up with people who are actually open, fun, and willing to see everyone participate. Bringing a notebook and pen next time, and getting as many people’s contact info as I can.

They might not be able to pull anything together for weeks on end, but I can make things happen much faster than that.

My hearing remains largely the same. The left side has quieted enough to hear the ring on the right side.

Went to the pool yesterday for a swim. Now that’s a step in the right direction. Managed to get a decent work-out in, even tho the pool was filled with people who weren’t drowning. Want to head to the gym today for an hour. Just so sick of sitting around waiting to feel better.

Trying to struggle back with the language, too. Listening twice as closely as before, working to catch all the sounds that are still a bit difficult for me to hear. I feel a complete failure with Dutch. Seems I take a step forward and then two steps back. Can you ever make any headway in that manner? My one-on-one lesson tomorrow gives me cause for concern. Will I be able to make out what she says in that big, open room with all those other people talking at the same time?

On and on it goes.


The Bad, The Ugly, and The Good


Been working on my script, doing spring cleaning, even managed to get out for a walk during the spring-iest spring day we’ve had so far.

Also feeling fat, worthless, and that nothing I do matters anyway.

The Bad: The ringing in my left ear is down a bit, at least to the point that now I’m sure I’ve got ringing in my right ear as well. I can hear things – it’s a lot like listening to a crappy little AM radio, tho: tinny, high end, and ugly, ugly sound. Tried my iPod the other day and it sounded so shitty I just put the iPod away on a shelf for now.

I miss bass. Thumping, deep, soul shaking bass. Of all sound frequencies, the deep rumble of a good bass is what gets me going. It moves me, it vibrates me, it makes me feel better. The high end doesn’t have the same effect. Music is pleasant, but only pleasant in the manner that sun on your back on a spring day is pleasant; a bit is okay, but you can live without it and too much isn’t nice at all.

The dizziness is ongoing. Just when I think maybe it’s better, I bend over or twist my torso and everything goes wonky. I experience a moment when I feel I’m falling, even if I’m not. Over and over again: put my head on the pillow and I fall 12 feet, turn around too fast and I fall 5 feet. Almost think like I should go bungie jump just to remind myself what falling really feels like.

The Ugly: My brother’s autistic quirks have all focused on one thing: his music theory writing. He’s been doing it a long time, and is finally working on pulling together all his tidbits into a book. A book I hear about 24/7 – me, the writer. I hear about how my brother thinks it will sell. I hear about maybe some publishing house picking it up. I hear about how difficult it is to sit in front of a computer and churn out the writing itself. How the layout is tough. How he needs me to proofread. All in all, the topic of my brother’s book is THE topic in the household, and sets everything – me, my health, my own writing – a distant concern.

He’s so caught up in his book that he didn’t even ask me how my appointment with the doctor went the other day.

Sometimes he won’t even let me complete a thought about my work. He cuts me off mid-sentence to tell me something else about his graphics or his writing or his layout frustrations.

It’s not helping.

I’m headed out back into life this week, come hell or high water. Fuck the dizziness; I’m going to the gym and if I fall and die on one of those machines I only hope the gym pays out for my fucking funeral. I’m going back to class, too, and screw the deafness. I’ll ask ‘what’ a thousand times over rather than sit here one more fucking day, alone with my thoughts.

I’ve had enough.

My mind is made up regarding the theatre group as well. IF I hear from them again (no guarantee in my mind), I’ll go to their meetings, I’ll participate in their silly warm-up exercises, I’ll audition for a role. I’m also going to pull together my own group to help me with my script ideas and just have fun. The theatre group’s loose scheduling isn’t good enough for me. We don’t meet often enough, don’t get to participate in actual acting opportunities enough, don’t move fast enough. I don’t plan on actually starting a theatre group. But people interested in acting, who want to have a bit more social interaction and group fun, coming together every week to act something out or read something aloud or improv a scene – yes, that I want to create.

That, I need.

The Good: I’m pleased with the work I’ve accomplished. The spring cleaning was needed, and you’re never really aware how much cleanliness affects you until you get things polished up. It’s subtle, I’ll give you that. The gleam and shine on everything, just out of the corner of your eye – it cheers me. The script is turning into something more than interesting. I’m pleased with how often I find the female references a bit grating; that’s the point in switching them. Listen up, boys. This is the type of thing we hear all time. Decided I’ll take it to the next level and remove every gender reference. I want to find out how it reads completely sterile. But I’ll work on a duplicate file, and save this version. Not sure which version will end up being ‘the one’.





There are plenty of times I accept the old adage it’ll get a lot worse before it gets better. The disarray that a large scale cleaning project brings, the slogging work of trying to lose those last five pounds – been there, done that. But I did not expect to experience the workings of that old adage with my head.

The last 24 hours I’ve experienced some of the worst sinus headaches of my life. Pain around my eyes, pulsing at my temples, radiating down my neck and into my shoulders. Stuffiness on a scale I only get during the worst of sinus infections. Coughing, drainage – you name it, I got it. And the dizziness is worse.

Give me a weak laugh because this is me getting well.

My bro expects me to get out of the house today and meet him downtown for a Turkish pizza. I don’t want to disappoint him; he’s been talking about Turkish pizza since our favorite place went down for renovations (it’s open again, so now there’s urgency in his talk). But if I get socked with more of what I had last night, I hesitate to go out. My goal this morning is to ride out the day between codeine pain killers and smoke, doing my best to ease my own discomfort without sending me to sleep. We’ll see how well I do.

Back to script writing. My idea to gender bend the last script set me on fire. As I went thru my writing, modifying the he’s to she’s and him’s to her’s, I began to get a real sense of what I was creating. A lot of what I had in the original script stands, but some I have to write from scratch. This piece is not fantasy; it is not set in a reality where men can get pregnant (which is a problem because pregnancy jokes were a big part of the original). Not doing that. But the rest is getting flipped, even down to substituting ‘goddess’ for ‘god’ every single time, and ‘gals’ for ‘guys’. The point of doing this is to emphasize how our every day language, particularly the way it’s used in the US, is male orientated – and I’m doing that by flipping the references. I figure if anyone gets annoyed by hearing ‘goddessdamn it’ rather than ‘goddamn it’, I’m hitting my mark. But throughout my notes, particularly to the actors, I need to make it clear that this needs to be played absolutely 100% straight. The men, tho shown as caretakers and generally submissive to the females, can NOT be effeminate. The women, tho shown as blunt and abrasive, can NOT be masculine. These people simple are what they are. The behavior they express seems outrageous now: where once I had the father harping on about checking the oil in your car, now the mother is doing it – and it shows how strange that behavior is. The crassness of what was a brother and now is a sister seems doubly crass. The worry and control exhibited by what once was the mother and now is the father almost feels over the top.

And how strange to have my characters keep saying ‘daughter’. Hearing parents refer to their male children as ‘son’ is fairly common, but hearing them refer to their female children as ‘daughter’ is weird.

The cultural references I sprinkled throughout the script are tough to switch up, too. Not many female counterparts to reference, and most are not as well known.

Most of all, this work is an eye opener to me regarding how rigidly my own mind is set in male dominated roles and labels.

Other notes on the script: I’m tossing any reference to dates. This piece shouldn’t be shackled by any particular decade in human history. Actor direction has to include a bit on make-up. I want the actors to use make-up but only to the extent a male would: a bit of foundation, some powder, maybe a hint of blush under the lights, but that’s it. Only one character should wear any other make-up, and that’s a male – but only to the extent of some eyeliner and maybe a bit more blusher. These are people and just people; the paint shouldn’t reflect any particular sub-set of people.

I’ve even thought about the idea of doing as sexless as possible. Removing all references to ‘wife’ or ‘husband’, ‘he’ or ‘she’. I might still write a version like that.

…Whatever ick I feel over this illness is offset by my re-ignited enthusiasm for the script. And for that, I’m thankful.


Everything a-kilter


Four weeks. It’s a departure from the two week recurring theme in my life, tho I could go on about four weeks simply being a double whammy of my two week running gag. That’s how long I’m supposed to use this new nasal spray and put up with poor hearing: four weeks. To give my doc her props, she did tell me I should notice an improvement every week and if I don’t I need to see her again. Though I wonder if I can properly judge this problem objectively; what’s an improvement? More whistling that obscures people’s speech? It is sound coming in, which is a step up from the dead nothingness I began with. The tubes in my ears are almost completely closed off; the doc said she could see the openings and they were very, very small.

Still can’t tell if I have ringing in my right ear because the left is too loud.

The weather has turned from petulant spring to an overflow of early summer joy. Where once rain dappled every nook and corner, sunlight is drenching the ground, teasing the early flowers up from the earth. Buds swell and burst on the trees in one afternoon.

It makes me want to go, go, go, but I still have to be careful with this dizziness.

More than that, this continued ill health makes me feel like everything’s on hold. Exercise, outdoor activity, language lessons, writing – I even feel I can blame the slow progress (or non progress, since there’s still no e-mail) of the theatre group on my ill health, tho I know that’s silly.


Put on my pair of fat jeans today. Simultaneously glad they looked so good on me and upset I’ve put enough weight back on that they’re not hanging off me. I just can’t win with my weight issues.

Had an exciting thought regarding the script I finished. Part of me feels the story already addresses sexual identity because I chose to make the character most like me a male and not a female, but that’s one of my hidden things that only those closest to me understands. The play doesn’t scream sexual identity. But it could. The characters were built around my own family, who tend to play out stereotypical sexual behavior. But what if I blurred the line? What if the ‘male’ characters were played by women, and the ‘female’ characters played by men? What if the names of all the characters were non-sexual: Francis, Chris, Alex, Charlie, Bobby, Sean? What then?

Then I tip the world on its head. Seems appropriate. The world’s a bit off balance for me right now; let my work reflect that.

Everything a-kilter.


Salty, like me


Salt. It’s not a nice smell. That’s not something we think about often; our language talks about ‘the salty sea air’ in novels like it’s wonderful. It isn’t. The sea stinks of fish and rotting seaweed. But it isn’t ’til you wake up in the middle of the night and smell the salt on you from dried sweat that you begin to know exactly how putrid salt actually smells. Then your nose wrinkles, and you don’t think about the sweat or the nightmares that might have caused it, you think salt. That’s all you smell. And it’s awful.

I suppose I should try to get used to it. This nightmare. I don’t even want to delve into what my brain might have cooked up for me in dreams; my waking reality is too far over the edge the way it is.

Anger woke me today. Same old, same old. I really got a problem with my family. Ain’t that loverly? To be so screwed up on the Alpha that your Omega passes by while you try to figure out what went wrong back at Alpha. Saddest thing is, they don’t care. I predict that if I dropped over dead right now, the only tear shed in the family would be by my older brother who’d be doing it because he felt sorry for himself for not getting to see me one last time. They wouldn’t care if it had been hard on me, they wouldn’t care how much it hurt. Only how their own little castles in the air get affected – now that would trip their triggers. I should borrow a hundred bucks from one of them and never pay it back just to make sure they have some reason to bring me up when I kick it.

Not that any of them would lend me a hundred bucks.

And I’m angry that yet another week has ticked by with nothing from the fucking director with the theater group. It’s not fucking Anna Karenina; it’ll only take a goddamn hour to read – two, if you’re not that great at English. If you didn’t want to read it in the first place, say fucking so! Say “Sorry, I don’t really have time” or “Gee, I’m not really the person you should hand this off to, sorry”. I’ll get it. I’ll move on. But to say you will, to string me along for MONTHS now and give me nothing but a carrot on a stick, pisses me off.

Shallow goddamn vipers.

As for my work, the changes have been made. Typos corrected. A line pulled here, a line inserted there. It’s as comprehensive, smooth, and fluid as I can get it without outside help. Today marks the beginning of The Great Send-Out. I’ve just enough anger to get over my anxiety about sending the script out. Oh, and Goddess, please! Let just one theater group say they’ll do it. They can be from bum-fuck nowhere, just let me hear back from them before the local theater group meets, so when the director stumbles around and gives me yet another excuse I can oh so cooly say, “It’s okay; I’ve got a group producing it right now” and just saunter away. That’s all I ask: the opportunity to for ONCE in my life give a little of that bullshit back that I get heaped on my head day in and day out!

I thank my love of cartoons for getting me through the days lately. Every time I feel lonely and alone, I imagine cartoon tumbleweeds rolling thru the room. It makes me smile, even thru the loneliness. As usual with people who feel lonely, I’m having a difficult time reaching out (terrible circle, that). The few email conversations I do have are short, and stunted. What I’d give for a long, drawn out message from someone I know right now! But everyone’s on Twit-o-sphere, everyone uses emojis, and no one seems to say anything about what’s really going on with them – or if they do share, it’s all bad, all negative. I’m so negative these days it’s hard when I hear my friends sound down. What can I say to them? I see the world as pretty shitty these days, too. I have no magic wand, no silver bullet, no cure-all.

Life sucks, and I didn’t ask for it.

That makes me angrier than anything. That I’m just here, without my consent or approval. That I’m forced to live inside this body – this fucking diseased body that wasn’t right from the get go. That I’m sentenced to go through this life.

This hell.

Didn’t go to the gym yesterday, and my attitude shows it. I’ll go today, despite it being Saturday. Try to burn hard enough that my brain releases endorphins and tricks me into believing things aren’t quite so bad, at least for a little while.

I feel old, and cynical.

Nothing to do but wait and see what happens. Yesterday a fellow student came to class with the flu. She had to sit next to me, had to push her used tissues to my side of the table, had to cough in my direction, lick her fingers and touch the papers she passed to me – in short, she seemed to do everything she could to ensure I fell ill again. I’ve had a bleeding headache since about 3 yesterday. Last night my throat felt raw. …Maybe I’m ready to be ill again. It’s a ready made reason to hide, and I do so feel like hiding lately. Just go away; you’re all assholes and fuckers, anyway. I’ll come back out when I rebuild my shell.

Which brings me back to salt because it seems like that’s the shell I’m building up. A salty, crusty outer layer. How fitting. My new work is coarse, and graphic. The things I’ve imagined writing about…the things my mind keeps turning back to, time and again…these are not script ideas for the local group. They’re not script ideas for family groups or church groups or school groups.

They’re salty, like me.




Houston, we have color. After a week of being whiter than a white sheet, I finally look a bit more normal. Laryngitis, followed up by the mother of all head colds. Gods! I hate being sick.

It hasn’t escaped my notice that my voice – a power center for me – went down first. I also noticed the prolonged head cold, which long ago I was told indicated uncertainty. Metaphysically, this illness fits. Birthday, bullshit from my brother, worry over, well, everything. Hate when that happens. It’s like an additional ‘I told you so’ from the Universe.

Been skipping everything. Staying under a blanket with tissues near-by, drinking juice, and eating everything, including a huge pot of soup my brother made for me. I feel fat and lazy and now that I’m on the mend I’m antsy as all shit. That does not mean I’m headed to my language lesson today. Nope. Yesterday was the first time I saw my face in the mirror and didn’t think I looked like a ghost. I need at least 48 hours post color before I’ll head out again. Otherwise, I’ll just get sicker.

Thank you, methotrexate. I hate those little yellow pills.

Been working on convincing myself that I’ve done all I need to do in regards to my eldest brother. Telling myself that I did send out that nasty letter and let loose with everything I ever wanted to tell him. I didn’t, of course. But I figure since he never really listened to me anyway that just posting the letter had the same effect as actually sending it to him. It’s hard to let go of. I want to beat him into a pulp until he just lays there and can’t say anything, can’t put up a protest, and then hit him with all that shit. Just shut up and take it. Listen for once. Hear me.

That’s a lost cause.

My bro, T, has been playing our ancient Mac with the original SIMS game on it. I’ve been reminded that if you make a neighborhood full of nasty people, they’re perfectly happy. Nasty people like nasty people in that program. But put one nice person into a nasty neighborhood and they’re miserable. I recognize myself in that programming. My misery with my natural family. They were shits. Sorry, dad. I don’t think you were a shit. You were just ineffective at standing up for yourself. So my models were my shitty mother, a dad who I loved very much but who caved at everything, an older brother who loved me like Nietzsche, and an older sister who made it her life’s mission to be a bitch to everyone. T and I are only 8 months apart, and I’ve never really seen him as older than me. We’re more like twins. And like twins, it always felt like him and I against the rest of the family. I’ve even experimented with the old SIMS game myself. Added in my ‘family’ to see how the program ran. My SIM looked as miserable as I felt growing up. So did T. We both run much better away from the rest of the family. You can run us as individuals, and we do pretty well. But put us in a house together and we become the dynamic duo.

It’s all in the programming. Btw, I’ve found my SIM lives perfectly happily if you leave her alone with a cat. Her only problem is making friends (gee, I got close with my SIM, didn’t I?).

Maybe I’ll put the theatre group into a neighborhood. Do my best to assess what I’ve seen of their personalities and see what happens.

*sigh* Yeah, I’m still thinking about that. Still thinking about my script (which I haven’t heard anything on), my interactions with them, etc. etc. Analyzing every little detail. Hoping I didn’t fuck up too much.

I need to get out of my head.

Not so easy to do when you’re keeping your body in down mode.

Somehow between my birthday and this cold, November ended (gee, imagine that). It’s full throttle Xmas from now on. I miss my fantasy of Christmas. I can never say it actually was as I remember it. But I believed. I believed in the holiday and the season. That it was time to put away old hurts, heal, reconnect with loved ones – even tho I never had a good example of any of that. I am old, and jaded now. I don’t believe. I acknowledge I still want to believe, but I don’t. Not really. Not with the family I’ve got. But I’m stuck somewhere between not believing and wanting to believe. I keep trying every once in a while because I can’t let go of wanting to believe. It’s real hard for me to say I’d be better off with zero contact from my family. Feels like a failure – probably because that’s the word I’d hear from them on the matter. You’re giving up again. You always run away. You’re such a baby we can’t even talk about this, huh? They make me the unreasonable one. They shame me. They throw guilt. They take the power position, and wield it unyieldingly. Gods, that is so ingrained in me! To let them do it all, and take the blame. Even tho I know that’s not healthy, I still do it. Knee-jerk reaction.

So I get to spend a lifetime talking to myself, telling myself I’m okay to feel the way I do, giving myself permission to walk away, and building up my confidence after every cheap shot they take.

If I could go back to the first time I decided to buckle under this pressure, I’d change it. Take it all back. Never let them start in the first place. Save myself a lifetime of conditioning. I know it began out of a want to save them pain. Don’t know what ‘pain’ I was saving them from, but that’s come up over and over for me – sacrifice to save someone else pain.

I’m done being hurt.


Down for the count


Time for a little healing, indeed! I’m falling ill. Nagging, tickling cough started sometime yesterday and has just progressed. My throat is raw and scratchy, and I’m trying to not cough because when I do all I get is one big convulsion of my throat that hurts like a mofo. I’m determined to sit in my chair, drink juice, and watch tv all day. Rest.

Once again, my attempts at quitting smoking are given a boost: get me ill and smoking goes down to nothing, or next to nothing. Mmmm. Maybe I should pay attention to this!

My attempts to help myself through a little piano playing yesterday didn’t go so well. I laid my hands on the keyboard and found…

And once you’ve found that, it’s hard to let go of it. So I amused myself for 10 minutes by playing it out by ear. Got much further than I thought I ever could. Who knows? Maybe I’ll do a techno version someday.

Surrendered to dirt yesterday. I not only cleaned up around the house, I cleaned the dust-sucker (in Dutch, a vacuum or hoover is literally translated as dust-sucker. So much more appropriate). You’re gonna get dirty when you clean your cleaning tools. But I emptied everything out, wiped out all the grit and grime, and rinsed the filters. Good to go for awhile again.

Why the fuck am I writing about the goddamn dust sucker?

Fuck if I know.

Okay, I surrender. I’m a pussy when I get ill. My head goes all fuzzy and I just don’t make any sense. I slept eight hours, been up for two, and feel like I’m ready for breakfast and a nap. So I’ll go make my oatmeal, read a few more posts (keep falling behind on reading everyone’s words!), and then it’s chair time with my eyes closed.

I’m down for the count.