Lately, I feel like I could start every post with that title. Hell, every conversation even.

But today included a serious WTF moment.

It’s not often you can pinpoint the exact moment when the shit hits the fan… but for me today, it was 1:58 pm.

I was on hwy 77 South, just starting to cross the bridge and it came out of nowhere. “IT’S THURSDAY! IT’S BEEN 6 WEEKS SINCE NATALIE DIED!

I felt ill. How could I forget? I mean, the past five weeks, I’ve dreaded each Thursday. I usually started on Sunday night or Monday morning and it would grow with each passing hour. By Wednesday, I was trying to hide out in my bed for as long as possible. And for what? To avoid thinking about THAT DAY? That doesn’t work so well. I spend almost as much time/energy/effort on trying to avoid thinking about Thursdays  as I do on actual grieving!

Last night, watching the home videos, I don’t know. I don’t know if that was such a good idea. It was almost like watching the impossible. The past came back to life. Grandma and Grandpa Scott at Christmas… hearing their voices, hearing grandma say my name again, such a double edged sword.

This time period was way before Justin was born and I don’t think I ever realized how much we depended on each other for … everything. Sharing, loving, trading, goofing off, teamwork… And I realized I never thanked her. I mean, we told each other we loved each other but we veterans (of sorts) who served together in life’s unavoidable war. I don’t think she knew how much our shared experience and the individual ways we dealt with it meant to me. I don’t think I knew how much it meant to me.

I pulled over to wipe my eyes and clear my head. I took a deep breath and saw her at two years old. Four years old. Pre-teen, with braces and a mouth guard. Those ridiculously high teased bangs and premature makeup. I saw her grow and mature. Get swept up in friends. In boys. In drugs.

My heart started to race. “I have to call her. I need to talk to her right now!”

I pulled up the keypad on my phone and realized she wouldn’t answer.

Where was her phone, anyway? Still at the police station? In a baggy, locked in an evidence box? Did the phone company take it back?

“Fuck! I have to see her, where is she?”

The Rolodex of memories flip to our first house. The second house on Hidden Oaks Drive. The last house. Her apartment. The skyline. How long was I staring at those buildings six weeks ago? Oh Jesus. She’s gone. I see the casket. The flames. Ashes. The urn…

Oh my God, she’s gone.

In my mind, I run to her empty apartment. I break down the door. I search frantically for her, but of course, she’s not there.

Just some clothes and makeup. More shoes than any human could possibly wear in a lifetime.

I resume my freak out in the car. Crying and screaming. Damn, I was so hoping to be done with the screaming….




Christmas In Hell

Today was the end of another chapter. We finished cleaning out the townhouse we’d spent the past five years in. Checked the mailbox one last time. Turned in the keys and left the garage door opener behind.

It wasn’t too emotional but it wasn’t completely emotionless, either.

I think I wrote not too long ago about how moving from Burnsville would be difficult because it was the last home we had or will have that Natalie visited. That we will have memories of. That she will have, in jest, said “What happened? Did ya fire the maid?”

I was lucky enough to have people help me and that Don did the majority of the work in the townhouse. It was just too painful for me to be there.

I did go today though. This morning to help get the last load of stuff out and the wind chime caught my eye. It was hung in an odd spot. Somewhere between the living room and the staircase, in other words, nowhere near wind. I’d never really paid much attention to it before. I asked Don to grab it and what I’d always assumed was a generic garden scene painted on the base of the chime, was anything but. The tag hung low and I grabbed it as it swung toward me. This piece of art was called “Noah’s Ark”. It had a circle of pairs of animals, walking together toward the biblical boat and there was a quote that said “God keeps his promises”.

I didn’t know what to make of it. I felt sad and angry but also, as taken care of. Special because I am getting signs almost everyday that my sister and my son are with God, they are taken care of and so am I.

Tonight, while putting things away, organizing and getting settled, I’d asked Don to look at the TV/VHS player to see if he could figure out how to get sound. He jiggled a few wires and like magic, the past came to life on the big screen.

A video from when I was about five and Natalie was three, animated. We’d gotten a playhouse from Santa. I watched us, reliving that Christmas and felt overcome with feelings of love and loss. The video play for about a half an hour and if I’m remembering right, dad was trying out his video camera and checking out all the special effects. The result was, at times, Natalie would walk through the living room and be transparent. It was a little eerie but I couldn’t get enough. My heart broke again when, near the end of the tape, you can hear dad’s voice “Say goodbye Natalie, wave bye-bye. See you next Christmas” and those tiny fingers closing and opening in a fist with her grin that was all teeth faded to black.



Sometimes, when you have a deadline, anything goes. This is one of those times. I don’t usually plan what I will blog about, like Ernest Hemingway once said “There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.” It usually just comes.

Not tonight. Tonight I am overwhelmed. Over tired. Over stimulated by noise and under resourced.

This post will basically be an update. Housekeeping, in a way. And, I’m not sorry. 😛

Nothing new on Natalie. It still hurts to breathe. I still wonder, when I speak about her in the past tense, why don’t people look at me like I’m crazy? Why do they look like they know what I’m talking about? I guess a better question is why do I keep expecting someone to be surprised and tell me I’m wrong? It’s all been a very long, very real (but not) nightmare? Because there is still a part of me that is wishing for this not to be true…

I was at Bath & Body Works yesterday and while checking out, the sales girl looked at my Visa card (which is customized and has a picture of Natalie on it, you know, with the rainbow-colored wig? Her eyes are looking away and she’s got a half smirk, half kissy face?) and she said “Is that you? No, who is that?”

“That’s my sister” I replied.

“What a great picture! She looks like she likes to have fun!”

I smiled briefly and said “she did.”

I found myself feeling my way around this unfamiliar boundary. Did she notice the past tense?  Do I tell her the rest of the story? Do I tell her that she’s gone? That part of me went with her?

I grabbed my bag and wished her a good rest of her day.

It felt good, not explaining. I wondered why I had been doing so before.

Because she was so important to me. She still is, just in a different way.

I wanted people to know that yes, she did like to have fun. She liked to work. She loved her family and her friends and her poor damn near blind doggy. That she was incredibly, immeasurably talented and that the world is now deprived of that. That her heart and soul, expressed through her voice and music would now only echo as a recording. But thank God, for those recordings…

Dammit. Someone tell Hemingway he forgot crying, in addition to the bleeding. The “ugly cry” we’re so afraid to show people (I am, anyway). You know the cry, right? The shiny, red, puffy eyes. Mascara, not that I’ve worn any since the end of May, running and leaving black streaks down your face. Snot bubbling and running. Face frozen in what could be considered a smile, if not for the tears. That silent, deafening, grief. You can’t get enough air in or out. Your head starts to throb in time with your blood pressure… Fuckin’ A, Natalie. WTF?

I wasn’t going to write about her. I didn’t know what I was going to write, but it wasn’t going to be about her…

So. What else? We are STILL moving. Kinda. We have one more car load of stuff and the townhouse will be done. Cleaning is pretty much done. We do still have the garage though. We’re trying to decide if we should find out who wants any of this stuff (Salvation Army, Disabled Vets, GoodWill etc.) and saying fuck it, it’s the rental place’s problem now. They can charge us and we’ll give them $10 a month…

My Acme date. To do stand up or not to do stand up? I had entered into Acme’s Funniest Person in the Twin Cities competition sometime in April. I was given the date of July 5th to perform. I was starting to panic. Should I push myself? Give myself time, it’ll be around again next year? Less than two weeks away, I was feeling the pressure. Finally, I decided to email the person in charge. I briefly explained what I was dealing with and wondered if it was at all possible to get a later date. I didn’t expect her to change anyones schedule and if she couldn’t do it, no problem- I just wanted to check out all my options. Maybe I’d be ready, maybe not. She emailed back a few hours later with her condolences and gave me Aug. 23rd as my new performance day! OMG, the relief! I’m so grateful. It’s good to explore your options.

As for moving in, we’ve got some serious wall space we need to cover. Not everything has found its place yet and we’re thinning out a ton of our belongings just because it’s too much. I don’t want to feel weighed down by anything, anymore than I do.

I guess that’s it for now.

See ya Wednesday, where if I were to plan on what I was going to blog about, it would be a response write to another blogger’s piece on the past!

Sassy Nat
The picture on my Visa debit card, only it’s cropped much tighter! Basically her face, telling me “I’m not judging you for spending money but do you REALLY NEED that?”


Ironic, Isn’t It?

In the end, I didn’t spend a lot of time with Natalie because I was afraid I’d end up going down the rabbit hole, too. How is it that now that she’s gone, I’m ready to jump in with both feet?

“How often are you feeling this way?” Jill asked.

I blew out the air of the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding and rolled my eyes.

“I don’t know. It changes. Like on a second by second basis.”

There are lots of windows in Jill’s office. Unfortunately, the view is mostly of the parking lot.

“How are you? Taking your meds? Are you getting in all your doses? Do you have all your medication? Nothing is in transition or lost in the move?”

I assured my favorite med provider that they were a priority and they’d been tracked and accounted for within the first couple of days.

She took my blood pressure and my weight.

“Your weight is trending down. Is it something your working on?” She asked.

I shook my head. “Not really. I mean, I guess I have been needing to remind myself to eat… Thanks Nat.”

We talked about sleep, when it’s happening, (which isn’t nearly often enough) if I’m using my CPap machine, (I have to find & unpack it first).

“What medications are you taking for pain?” She asked.

The question caught me off guard. I couldn’t remember right away.

“Um, Cymbalta. Sometimes Robaxin, but not often- I don’t like it. Um, there’s one-”

“So you’re not taking any opiates?”


I was surprised. Offended? No, I don’t really know for sure what that feeling was… like I’d been caught doing something wrong. Guilt.

Why did I feel guilty? I wasn’t taking any opiates. I was honest with her. Maybe I felt bad for wanting pain meds. Not even pain meds but to be pain free. I take a variety of medications for various ailments and conditions and have somewhat acclimated to “my level” of pain. This emotional pain though… this fresh, deep, all consuming grief though… I can’t deal with. I don’t want to face it or feel it or tolerate it.

“Have you heard of Naltrexone?”

I shook my head.

“It’s mainly used for opiate addicts who are thought to relapse (I can’t imagine any heroin addict not prone to relapse) but over the years has proven to be effective with alcohol abuse, gambling and even nail biting. I would only use it for a short time. A few weeks or so. I think it might help with getting over this immediate time frame.”

Jill went on to explain that people are especially vulnerable in the first 6-8 weeks of grieving.  That’s when it’s most intense.

Now, nearly 12 hours later, I’m not even sure what it’s supposed to do. It didn’t even occur to me to ask.

I take 17 (now 18) medications. When I filed for disability in 2014, I was on 11. THAT was too many. I’m not sure how 6 more snuck in without me noticing.

I’m not even sure what I’m talking about anymore.

Natalie is here but she’s not here. I’m here but I don’t feel here.

I don’t want to scare anyone. I’m not going anywhere or do anything drastic. Please don’t worry.

I’m over tired and thinking about my appointment today, I thought it was kind of funny. In a sad sort of way. How I was afraid of my life going to hell in a handbasket if I’d spent a ton of time with my sister and now… I feel like I’m in hell, without my handbasket – or my sister.

My Heroin(e)

Happy Mother Fucker’s Day


What an emotional, cataclysmic, clusterfuck today was.

It started when I woke up and went downhill from there. I hadn’t gotten Don a father’s day card and the only place open at 4:30 am was Walmart. My grudge against them isn’t nearly as strong as it used to be, it’s just that every employee there, you can tell- doesn’t want to be there. No one EVER asks me if I need help. On the rare occasions I DO need help (the kind they can provide) I have to hire a Sherpa to guide me through every fucking isle until we find a blue vest brave enough to stop, listen and point me in the direction of pencil boxes! I digress… for now.

So I’m at Walmart, in the card isle. I see all these colors and exclamation points, Number 1 Dad cards… and my heart falls into my shoes. I swallowed hard and reminded myself I was in public (like THAT ever stopped me from doing anything) and I took a couple of deep breaths.

Then I saw THE ONE. It was of (presumably a girl) in a white dress. She was on her tummy with her knees bent and feet crossed at the ankles. The photo was of this kid was from just below the shoulders down, you couldn’t even see her head. I imagined it was stuck in a book somewhere or perhaps a color by number page… What stopped me, what paused me, the thing that made me deaf, dumb and mute were the little red cowgirl boots.

Natalie’s red boots. The ones she wore to every contest and every talent show in her very first days of singing. She LOVED those boots. They were so her. Her own personal style of ruby red slippers. They brought her “home” to the stage, to the spotlight, where she was born to be.

I felt the tears, warm from my eyes, make their way down my cheeks. My jaw started to tremble as I thought of my father who is experiencing his first Father’s Day after losing a child. I thought of my husband, who should be celebrating twice as much today, for the son he never got to meet… interesting side note, if you ever feel crowded in a Walmart isle? Start crying and watch people slowly back away…

I got the other things I needed and then stood on the front step for almost five minutes, wondering why the hell the escalator wasn’t moving…

I listened to some songs that Natalie had recorded, that I hadn’t heard before. Her voice sounded… stronger, clearer and I involuntarily started to shake my head in disbelief. “How can she be gone? LISTEN to this! All this talent, all this potential… I KNOW her. THIS is her life. She wouldn’t risk it all… for a fleeting high.”

But that’s the thing. I don’t think she saw it as taking a risk. She was cocky, (she’d be the first to tell you) she *knew her limits. But her limits reset after treatment. She even wrote a paper on relapse prevention! Tailored to her! Was she so arrogant that she wasn’t even listening to herself? I don’t know. I’ll never know.

EVERY fiber, molecule, atom, etc. KNOWS this was an accident.

Sometimes that’s a blessing, sometimes it’s torture.

It could have been worse. A lot worse. She didn’t want to leave. She wasn’t ready. I read and heard some of her journal entries… She was happy. Enjoying the “little” things in life that we come to find are the big things. I know at lease one of her former selves would’ve laughed their ass off at Natalie coming to appreciate something as simple as being able to bring a drink into the group room. Getting to wear her own clothes. A passage in a book. I was so excited for her. It renewed my own excitement of sobriety. I am happy it wasn’t an intentional thing, an accident.

Another part of me wants to shake her and scream “ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?” An accident? There’s no such thing! It was careless. Reckless. How could you RISK not only your life but of those around you? What a fucking waste…

I feel myself getting caught up in the emotion again…

After I got home, I did some stuff around the house. Hanging curtains, pictures, finding spaces for all the various pots and pans… Then it was time to sort the laundry. I sat on the floor, surrounded by clothes and something caught my eye. It was one of her shirts. Her smile, her smell, her voice, her warmth all came flooding back. Before I knew what hit me, I was curled up in a ball. I rocked. And cried. And sobbed. And swore. I told whoever would listen, so Don and Tayla, that everyone was lying to me. She’s NOT gone. She CAN’T be gone! What am I supposed to do without her? With this giant, gaping hole that only she could fill?

“It’s not fair!” I cried. “She gets to be up there with my baby and grandma and I want her baaaaaack!”

Tayla had come in and sat down next to me on the floor. She had one hand on my back and in her most reassuring voice said “it’s ok mom. You’ll get to see them so… You’ll get to see them some day.”

I caught that. She almost said soon. She almost gave me permission.

I asked her for some Kleenex and calmed down. She got up to leave but I grabbed her hand. “Hey. Just because I’m sad and I miss them, that doesn’t mean… I mean, I want to be here with you and dad. I love you both so much.”

I have to wonder at times how much psychological damage I’m doing to that girl… I’m sure I’ll find out one of these Mother’s Days…



“Sign, sign, everywhere a sign
Blockin’ out the scenery, breakin’ my mind
Do this, don’t do that, can’t you read the sign?”

Ok, now that I’ve gotten THAT outta my system (thank you Google and the Five Man Electrical Band), I can get on with this post!

Like I have a point today. Run, run, run and hit the red light. Hurry up to get nowhere fast. Get on with this post, even though I have no idea what to talk about…

Today was another shitty day. Glazed over eyes and blank stares punctuated by outbursts of anger and torrential downpours of tears. I don’t know how long its been, four days maybe? That I’m starting to absorb the full effect of her absence. Of the consequences I’m suffering because of her actions. Of the sense of my invisible sister.

Moving more stuff and cleaning out the townhouse was another loss, not for the place itself but because it was the last place we lived that Natalie came to visit us. I don’t want to let that go. But I have to.

Someone asked me if I’d considered the possibility that someone may have murdered her. Came over, hung out, gave her that last fatal dose and slipped out the door as she slipped out of our lives.

Initially, my heart started to race. Yes! That had to be it… She didn’t do this to herself, she didn’t do this to us. It was someone else and they need to be found and prosecuted. They need to know the horrible side effects her death has caused… but after a few minutes, my heart sank. I knew it’d be a wild goose chase. I know it. I feel it in my body and my being… The invincible, the immortal Natalie was in fact human. Not super human. She made a mistake, misjudged her tolerance and is gone. To believe anything else would be a certain suicide. I would cease to live my own life while I hunted down monsters that didn’t exist. At least not in this case.

As horrible as I feel, as much as I miss her and love her and am angry about what has happened…I need to feel this. I need to move through the pain. I know it will never go away completely and I don’t want it to. But for my own sanity, I have to grieve the loss of my sister because when it comes down to it, it doesn’t matter why she’s dead- she just is and nothing can change that.

On the other end of that, I know she’s near, also. Like I mentioned earlier, these last few days have been excruciating. Physically painful to be awake and alive without her… but life goes on and I have to go with it. We were at Big Lots and I saw a nail polish bottle, it was a light purple color and the the bottle said Kylie. At first I thought it say Kyle, like I named my car, so I grabbed it. I played a game I’ve played a thousand times over since May 19th. I hold something and ask Natalie to show me she’s around. “God I miss you Nat… PLEASE, let me know you’re here?” I turned the nail polish bottle to read the color: Miss Chief. I burst into tears right there. Aside from being a renowned trouble maker, one of Natalie’s music groups she played with was called Mischief.

Our next stop was a thrift store where I came across a Magic 8 ball. I couldn’t resist. “Natalie, are you still here?” I whispered to the plastic ball. I shook it and waited for the bubbles to dissipate. When it was clear, the message read “the 411 is yes”.

My inner child started to tantrum. But wwwhhheeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrreeee? I want to SEE you! I want to hug you and kiss you and smack you!

Sigh. I know. And I’m grateful for the signs she does send me. Maybe if it’s not to much to ask, I can see her in my dreams? I exhausted and going to bed and crossing my fingers!


That dirty little “F” word. I hate it. I hate feeling right now… and not feeling later. How is it possible to be SO FULL of empty? I don’t understand. Maybe I’m not supposed to.

A lot of my rage has died down with the results of the toxicology report. I don’t know WHY it matters so much whether or not the heroin had fentanyl in it or not, just that hearing  there was no indication of it… Took some of the energy away. The outcome would’ve been the same either way but I wanted so badly to blame someone else. She was a smart girl. So smart. She couldn’t have misjudged how much heroin was “safe”, she knew her tolerance. Right? GOD, somebody PLEASE tell me this wasn’t just the result of a careless mistake! A bad gamble, a lapse in rational thinking… but that’s exactly what it was.

The news about Christina Grimmie (season six contestant, she finished in 3rd place on The Voice) was upsetting. Initially just because it was so tragic and senseless. Then later, I felt a little jaded. No matter what happens from here on out, Christina will be perfect. So much talent, beautiful, gone too soon- taken, too soon. No one will ever know if she would’ve been a big success. She’ll never have poor choices scrutinized or get caught in controversy.

She had a lot in common with Natalie. I felt slighted, even by the news. Natalie made a bad choice and paid for it with her life. I’m so afraid that’s all people will remember about her… Again, this is something that *shouldn’t matter. The people who knew her and loved her are the ones who matter and everyone else … fuck ’em.

Today and yesterday were extra hard. I’m not sure why. I guess a lot of the immediate things have been taken care of, Tayla is done with school, we’re mostly moved into our new place and it’s so quiet. Empty. Lonely. And I start thinking.

About how she’s dead. She’s gone. She’s not coming back. About how now the only time I’ll see her is on the face of a photograph. An untouchable memory. A dream too good to be true.

I think about how I can still hear her but there will never be anything original again. Her laughter, the way she sometimes snorted when she was really belly laughing…the way her face sometimes froze because she was laughing so hard, no noise was coming out at all.

I can feel her, kinda. I have a stuffed dog that wears headphones. The headphones are actually stereo speakers and there’s a pocket where I can plug in my phone and zip it up safe. I can listen to her sing me to sleep while cuddling something.

It feels like I got the news yesterday and like an eternity has gone by already.


It’s close enough to Wednesday that I can try to pass this off as Wednesday’s post… just in case we’re not moved and have the computer set up by the end of the day tomorrow.

I received an instant message on Facebook from someone who was close to Natalie at one point, years ago. She sent me a beautiful, heartfelt message and also had some questions.

She said she didn’t expect me to answer them because she and Natalie hadn’t been close in awhile. Life can really get in the way of relationships. I’ve got a girlfriend that I go months and months (years, maybe!) without connecting with but when you’re really friends with someone, I don’t think it matters how much time has gone by. The love and care for that person doesn’t diminish… not for me anyway.

I also think mystery surrounding a death is about the worst thing there is. It helps with closure to have answers. So, with that in mind, I’m going to answer the questions she asked. If anyone has questions, about Natalie or what happened, I’m open to talking about it or answering what I can or looking for the answers that I don’t have.

Here’s what I do know about what happened on May 19th.

Natalie had been alone. If I’m remembering correctly, someone stopped by (most likely a drug dealer) and she waited for him to leave. At around midnight, the was someone trying to buzz in. She never answered.

At around 11:30 that Thursday morning, Jess stopped by with coffee. They had such a close relationship, they even called each other “husband” and “wife”. Jess and Natalie saw each other every day.

The light and the fan in the bathroom were still on, like she was coming right back… She saw Natalie on the bed, Niles (her little miniature dachshund) laying on top of her or next to her, kissing her and trying to keep her warm. Jess called to her and there was no response. As she got closer, she saw that Nat was purple. I think she tried to wake her anyway but Natalie was cold and hard to the touch. I hope I’m ok saying this, I think it’d be ok to say that Jess got onto the bed with her and held her and cried with her. The image is heartbreaking and I’m so grateful to her for doing what I wish I could’ve done.

Eight days after she passed, we saw a medium. I don’t know how many, if any of you believe in that stuff but I do. I was glad we went and felt some relief… Right off the bat, this woman says “I’m getting this was a very recent passing…” We nodded and she said “it was from drugs”. She went on to explain that she had my grandma with her, and my uncle because Natalie didn’t know yet, quite how to move her energy and communicate. She did say, many times how sorry she was. It was an accident. She was confused and wasn’t really sure what had happened.

I’d imagined she took the heroin and laid back and  went to sleep but from the way her body was positioned, her feet were still on the ground. She’d been sitting on the edge of the bed and fell backward. Didn’t curl up with the covers or anything. Like the drug was so powerful, as soon as it hit her bloodstream, she was out.

My mom and dad got to go up and see her before they took her away and they agreed she looked peaceful, kinda like she was sleeping.

What drove me nuts for the longest time was wondering what she was wearing. I’m not exactly sure why. I was afraid she was nude. Afraid she had bruising. Afraid of seeing track marks. Jess told me she was wearing sweats, a t-shirt, socks and a headband. For some reason that was almost worse. More innocent, I guess. Overall though, I was relieved.

We don’t know who sold her the heroin. The police say they’re looking into it but I don’t know if that’s just lip service… They haven’t returned phone calls and I don’t know if they have any leads. I’m guessing if they did, they’d call us back… I’m frustrated with that aspect of it.

At first they were treating it as a homicide. There have been a number of deaths due to an overdose of heroin that’s been laced with fentanyl. Something like nine or 11? The toxicology reports came back today and showed her system was negative for the fentanyl. I was shocked. And scared. Does that mean they’re not going to prosecute whoever did sell her the drugs? I’m scared that they won’t. They said they will but I’m not impressed with their track record thus far, so who knows? Why isn’t this in the newspaper?

I guess I still have a ton of questions myself.

Jess and I were talking the other day and she said she keeps thinking about the movie “Titanic”, where Rose is telling Jack she’ll never let go. I thought it was kinda cool that I also thought about that movie a lot in relation to Natalie but the part I keep replaying is when Jack finds out Rose didn’t get on the lifeboat: “Why did you do that? You’re so stupid, Rose. Rose, you’re so stupid” then he kisses her and holds her tight. I know Natalie was a very bright girl. She just made a stupid decision. A mistake… I don’t want to focus solely on that, but I do need to feel it for a little bit longer…

I hope this has been helpful. I may have repeated some info, but I don’t remember what I have said and what I haven’t so again, I offer to take any questions as I believe knowledge and having answers is imperative to healing.

Take good care of yourselves.

Sunday Update

Hello all-

I don’t have much to say tonight, nothing really thought out or prepared but I guess I usually don’t. I think it feels different because there’s sort of a lack of focus. There’s a lot going on, what with spending hours deliberating on whether or not to take a shower (not today) and getting ready for the move on Wednesday (which consists of me mentally packing).

Daily and Weekly posts are happening, for now. The word of the day prompt is me writing raw. I don’t put too much thought into it ahead of time, it’s mainly my initial reaction to whatever the word has to be. As time goes on, I’m sure there will be pieces that I can develop into longer, better pieces but for now, I just want to get into the habit of writing everyday. And twice on Sunday. And Wednesday. 🙂

I’m working on another endeavor though too. It will be a thorough look into addiction and the desperate places people have fallen into, consigned there, mostly by the doctors who were supposed to help them. I’m going to write about the heroin epidemic in general and get personal. I want to find out how and why this is happening, in addition to figuring out what I can do to help. This is a big undertaking as the use is so very widespread.

Saturday we signed our new lease. We’re moving the big stuff on Wednesday, yay! Back into an apartment. Leaving the townhouse life, which at first I was bummed about. I’m 38 years old. I think it’s time I had a house. Then again, I don’t like to be all that responsible. I guess I mean, I have enough responsibility right now to last me a long time and apartment living does have it’s benefits. I’m hoping sleeping will be one of them!

School is out on Thursday! Oh shit… well, there is a lot of stuff to do around the new place…

Work is going well. I still like my job. Working three days a week, it’s good for me.

My health is… ok. Had my blood sugars under control for a little while, then pregnancy and loss fucked them up. Got back into a good “normal” range and then Natalie passed. I’ve been afraid to check them because stress affects them so greatly. I am taking my insulin and other meds though. The psoriatic arthritis is acting up, again because of the stress but I’m managing.

People keep asking how I’m sleeping. If I’m sleeping. How can I sleep? Honestly? I was medicating for the first week to week and a half. I had to. I take prescription Xanax at bedtime but I try often not to… just because it’s one more pill and who knows how many more chemicals? I had exactly a week of dreamless sleep. On the eighth night, I had a dream, I know I blogged about it. Since then it’s been like I’m just trying to dial in the right bedtime. The later I stay up, the fewer times I wake up during the night. It looked like 1:30am was a good time. I’d sleep all the way through until 7:00. Last night sucked. I woke up at 2:30 am and haven’t slept since. It’ll be an early one tonight.

I don’t want to bore you with anymore mundane details of my life… what’s going on in yours? Anything exciting? Want to share? Let me know in the comments below!


The word of the day is smooth.

Smooth sailing.

Smooth as silk.

The opposite of rough but often times they are an integral part of each other. River rocks become smooth only after enduring the harsh elements and repeated beatings from the waves of choppy waters.

Most things have an opposite.

Light and Dark.

Good and Evil.

Love and Hate.

Is the opposite of love really hate or is it instead, love or no love?

With hate, at least there is a passion behind it.

There is a an effect taking place.

Something is causing someone to feel.

Whatever that feeling is.

I think I’d rather be hated than to feel nothing at all, like I hadn’t made the slightest difference.