It Sure Is A Day

Can I crawl under the blankets, now?

Today is one of those days where nothing goes right, and everything goes wrong. There’s no middle ground. It’s an extreme. Here I am, on my lunch break at work, and I’m back to contemplating quitting. 

I keep doing this. Something goes wrong, my brain freaks out, and I wind up screwing myself over. Someone says something rude, and my brain goes into overdrive with “Everything sucks”, instead of “Look at all this amazing stuff, compared to the one bad thing”.

This feeling has cost me no less than ten jobs in as many years. Thanks to all the ridicule and useless criticism I got growing up, I don’t take even constructive criticism well. At all. Suddenly, it’s all, “I’m horrible. I do nothing right. Nobody likes me”. 

This is my reality.

I like this job, I really do, but I can’t get my conscious mind to speak to my subconscious mind. Rational thought has no power against irrationality with me. The worst part is not knowing how to fix this. 

I read too much into the negative, blocking out the overwhelming positives.

Awesome...

For Now

This isn’t goodbye, it’s “see you later”.

In my post “Tot Ziens”, I told you about the absolutely incredible man I was blessed enough to call my uncle. The world lost a great light on October 22, 2020. Today, we came together to share memories, stories, and the cheesiest jokes he’d ever used (which, let’s face it, most of them were).

My amazing uncle was finally laid to rest. He battled cancer, Parkinson’s, even COVID. Now, he’s free.

Being who I am, I have to take pictures, even at funerals. Here are some of my favorites...

Disgusting

Gross. Just... ew.

So, the reigning narcissist has a tendency to exercise, then sit and eat something, in the dining room, which then stinks up the whole room. In turn, it stinks up the house. Anyway, it gets angry when told of the smell, and even angrier when told to shower. Then come the rants about how I won’t eat in there when it stinks.

Friends, readers, sane people, lend me your opinions! Would you like to eat in a room that reeks of body odor? Imagine this: Take your lunch into the football team’s locker room, right after practice. Can you do it, or would the smell affect the flavor of your food? Fun fact: Smells are a BIG factor in enjoying food. It smells good, it tastes good. It smells bad, it tastes bad.

My life, ladies and gents... It gets upset because I react to a problem that it created. It is the victim, and I just have a problem. That is a narcissist.

Short post. Fin.

Tot Ziens

Perfect in ev-er-y way.

My uncle— the funniest, kindest person you’ll ever meet— was sent home, this morning.

I don’t have a ton of memories with him, since he lived a couple states away, but I have three very vivid memories. When I was in my early teens, he and my aunt were at our house, along with another uncle and aunt, and a couple cousins. My aunt Cathy played the accordion, while Uncle Dick sang. He always got demands for one particular song, that is so perfectly him. It says, “Oh, Lord, it’s hard to be humble, when you’re perfect in ev-er-y way”. I don’t remember the whole thing, but I remember his goofy look, dance, and the pure joy of everyone around.

Then there was the time, after my aunt passed, when Uncle Dick came over, and brought us all some legit Mardi Gras beads. I still have them. I have a picture of him from that day, with his usual goofy pose. I love that picture.

Then there was another aunt’s birthday party. So many members of our family gathered together for that one, and of course, there were cheers for the ever humble Uncle Dick. 

My mom and I were able to go down to visit him last year. We were told, then, that he had about two weeks left. Yeah... that was eleven months ago. This man was the most stubborn person ever to grace this planet. He started with nothing, and built himself, and his family, an amazing life. 

He was in his teens when the family came to America, leaving his home, his friends, and his life an ocean away. He married young, and never gave up. He learned English to a point where he had exactly zero accent. He learned a trade, and became a master. He travelled the country. There’s not a whole lot he couldn’t do.

Uncle Dick, you have been a spot brighter than the sun. Thank you for the memories, and the stories (especially when your as broke). You affected more people than you realize, and you are, and will always be, so dearly missed.

Until we meet again...

One Of Those Days

Sit. Open book. Read for three hours. Sleep.

Today was a trial. I got a great job as an in-store shopper at Sprouts, which I started two weeks ago. To be perfectly honest, I love it! I work with some absolutely awesome people, I’m almost always kept busy doing something or another, and I finally feel like I fit in somewhere. No, I’m not vegan, vegetarian, or organic, but neither are most of my coworkers. Everyone gets along, as far as I can tell. It’s nice.

Anyhow, remember that disorder I have? Tardive  Dyskinesia. It mostly affects my left foot (because, why not?), but also affects my left hand and my jaw. It’s been mostly ok for a while, but it acts up every now and then. Today was that day.

When it’s acting up, my foot turns itself inward, forcing other muscles to work harder. This, as you can imagine, results in searing pain, and, subsequently, my left leg being twice the size of my right (looks awesome...). I have no control over it, and if I try to force my foot forward, I literally trip over my own feet. 

Since my job is split between standing, walking, and almost running, you can imagine the effect it has on my foot on days like today. The pain was unbearable, causing me to be less chipper than I have been while working. Unfortunately, a few of my lovely coworkers picked up on my mood. I felt like I was bringing everyone down, so I hid in the corner, as often as I could.

I’ve been home for near two hours, now. I’ve been sitting almost the whole two hours. My foot is still twitching. I swear, my foot acts up more than my mood does, lately. I’ve been properly medicated for almost two years now, making my life a gazillion times better! But that stupid foot... 

Anyhow, I’m off tomorrow, giving my foot time to think about what it has done. A nice time-out should do it some good.

Pressure Building

And now, we sit back, and enjoy the show.

My mom is a very patient person. To a point, anyhow. I remember just one time where she blew a gasket. The other child and I were fighting, as usual, so mom pulls into a parking lot, gets out, slams the door, and took a breather. That’s the only time I really remember her reaching her limit. Now, that limit is slowly creeping up, again, and I’ll only say this: Vesuvius will be down to second place after mom blows.

As I’ve mentioned many times, her husband is both a narcissist and a hoarder. The basement is a nightmare that stinks beyond words, but that’s just half of it. 

Here’s a list of what’s upstairs:

The Living Room:

- Eight seriously heavy boxes of flooring he swore he’d use to redo the kitchen about fifteen years ago.

- A Lay-Z-Boy recliner (circa 1984, but still looks good) that he broke on May 6, 2020, and hasn’t fixed.

- Six (yes, six) bath-size towels he has stuffed between the couch and the piano.

- A statue of The Last Supper, with a decapitated apostle, that has been sitting there for eleven months.

The Dining Room:

- No less than six bottles of various outdoor poisons that have been used maybe four times this year.

- Another box of the flooring that he swore to use in the kitchen.

- Various actual garbage items he’s shoved between the shredder and the wall next to it.

- Other cans of who-knows-what in front of the shredder.

- A massive piece of cardboard from the box of our 65-inch TV.

- Garden clippers.

- Wood water-sealant, along with the brushes and rollers used (those smell real good...).

- A camp stool.

On The Table:

- Dead batteries of varying sizes.

- A pack of toothpicks, “just in case”.

- A napkin so dirty that a toddler wouldn’t even touch it.

- A can of mandarin oranges (just... why?).

On Top Of The Fridge (yes, really):

- A plate.

- A bowl.

- Two spoons.

- Two forks.

- A straw.

- A knife.

- Empty containers (fruit, soda bottles, etc.).

- Three cups.

- A food storage container.

- Two soda cozy things.

Back to my point...

Every time mom or I leave something on the counter, it gets a “What do you want done with this?” Or a “Can we find a box to put these things in?” Or my personal favorite, “We need to keep this space clear.”

He had some stuff in the kitchen drawers that didn’t belong there, and hadn’t been used in ten years, or more. I took it out about a month ago, and he just noticed tonight. Mom gave him the bag of all the crap that I’d taken out, and told him that, no, he can’t put it back in the drawer. His response was to find room in the pantry. Here’s the kicker... He wanted mom to move her cookbooks because they’re “in the way”. 

Moral of the story: A narcissist never does anything wrong. They can do whatever they damn well please, and you have to compromise what you need or want to accommodate their demands. He sees nothing wrong with leaving his crap around, but mom and I have to chuck stuff we want, simply because he needs more space for actual garbage.

I’m going to love the day mom finally blows up at him. It should have come decades ago, but at least it’s coming to a boiling point, now. I just hope I have time to make popcorn, first.

Hear Ye

Good things happen!

I suddenly lost my hearing in June. Today, that changed.

As I was driving, this morning, my ear popped. Painfully. And gross stuff I won’t tell you...

So, freaked, I went to the urgent care. Doctor said, yes, my ear burst, but the hole isn’t big enough to worry about. Best part: When the pain and ringing went down, I actually heard things! 

I heard my music (and am now aware why people looked annoyed), I heard my phone, I even heard my car! I may have cried a little. It was seriously emotionally overwhelming. Still not ever it.

Anyhow... Today is gonna be a great day!

Butt Out

Buh-bye!

So, there’s a woman who likes to put her opinions into everything. I mean, she’s a nice lady, but she has exactly zero right to butt in where she does.

I got a new car last month, right? When she found out, her response was a snooty “I thought she just got a new car”. Yeah... not your business. Are you paying for it? No. So, butt out.

Then there’s the...

Ok, backstory, first:

As some may remember, I recently lost most of my hearing in my right ear. There’s now a 95% loss in the right, and a 60% loss in the left. I was finally able to get in to see the specialist, who wanted to do an evaluation for a cochlear implant. I thought it over, did some research, and decided that it wasn’t a path I wanted to take. Not right now, anyway.

Back to the woman...

She just about blew a fuse when she found out I didn’t want one. “Well, it’s worked so well for my (whatever relation she was)!” Ok... great for her. She was born deaf, and hasn’t heard any other way. To someone who spent thirty-three years as a hearing person, I’ve read that it sounds like a talking doll whose batteries are dying. No. Not happening. Butt out.

You can have your opinions. You can voice your opinions. You can’t, however, judge someone so harshly for not agreeing with your opinions (good tip for this election year, too).

I love my new car, and I’m 110% happy with my choice to not get the CI. These things affect nobody but me, so, no... you have no right to get upset, judgy, or tell me I’m wrong because I don’t agree with you. 

Autumn

Can’t you just smell it?

October is both my favorite, and not. On the one hand, I lost a friend at the end of October, all the way back in 1997. On the other hand, I love the leaves, the weather cooling down, the smell in the air, and the beautiful way the world changes. 

Yesterday, I took a trip around the cemetery. I didn’t stop at Bryan’s grave, but I caught some pictures of decorated graves. 

Enjoy!

Seester Dearest

Come again?

I was informed, today, that my “sister” is now trying to convince my mom that our relationship problems are, in fact, my fault! Allow me to rebut...

I am by no means a perfect person. I admit that I am a difficult person to get along with. Close quarters make that difficulty an almost impossibility. I’ve flown off any handle there may have been, for stupid stuff; or worse, no apparent reason, at all! Having been entirely unmedicated for twenty-six years, then not properly medicated for nearly thirty-two years, has made it difficult for people to stick with me. However, it’s not impossible (e.g. Kierstin— 26 years, Berkeley— 21 years, and Anna— 18 years). 

All I got was, “She says she’d like to hang out with you, but you always... I can’t remember”. So true, it’s that memorable! 

So, what do I always do? Half the time, I don’t even know what I do! My life has been one giant inconsistency. There’s not a whole lot that I always do. Do I always sleep? No. Do I always get angry when you say that? No. Am I always going to agree with you, and be exactly who you want me to be? To quote “She’s All That”(1999)... That’s a hell no. 

But seester, dearest, here’s what you have always done...

1- Put me down for not being 100% like you. Most notably for liking the music that I do.

2- Roll your eyes when I talk about mental illness. Fun fact: It’s not something I can “learn to get over”, like you like to tell me. Just like your pain can’t.

3- So, this one isn't an always thing, but I remember four times (yes, four), when you flat-out told me that I’m not as classy as you are. Why? Because I have the audacity to wear jeans! Oh! The humanity!

4- Last on this list, but definitely not last in reality: You’ll decide to be a friend for anywhere from an hour to a month, then just drop me like a Large Hadron Collider (it’s a thing, look it up).

You, dear seester, are consistent, predictable, and intolerable. I may have Bipolar Disorder, but the way you go back-and-forth is as steady as a pendulum.

Ask yourself these questions:

-Has she ever told me that who I am isn’t good enough?

-Has she mocked me for something I like (even when Backstreet was life)?

-Which one of us blocked the other out when we were kids?

-Have I ever told her she’s good enough, without emphasizing the word “enough”?

-When was the last time I actually listened to what she had to say, instead of running my mouth like the speedometer on a Lamborghini?

Answer Sheet: (Read in first person, for ya.)

No, but I did that to her, like, a lot. 

No, but I’d pick at everything I could.

Me. Unless I was bored. 

No, but I did that to her. Still do.

Never. Didn’t even know she had a blog.

So, go ahead, make up these stories that make you the victim. If they make you feel like a good person, go for it, because I simply don’t care. You can lie like a public defender, but the one person you’ll never convince is the person you have put through hell for over thirty years.

We can still make holidays pleasant, but we will never be friends, let alone sisters.