The country isn't as peaceful as you think

So apparently there is an air born disease effecting the wildlife in the area and my friend Chris told me to expect a horde of zombies to follow, so I should be prepared. Don't worry guys, my dad's display case of guns reassures my safety enough. It's like Left 4 Dead without med kits laying about. (Med kits are the only exception. We are a heavy medicated, well prepared family with war vets, computer techs, bikers and college drop outs. And yes, you may very well find a stash of pills in random places.) I am mostly concerned with my cat Emmy, who was booted outside for the presents she leaves around the house and in strangers' shoes. I thought it was funny. Dad, not so much.

It all started today, while I was in class when Mom saw a raccoon walking down the driveway.

In the middle of the afternoon.

They are nocturnal.

You catching on?

This raccoon was swaying back and forth as it progressed down the hill from the main road with only brief moments of normalcy. One second it seemed perfectly fine, the next it was spazzing out, all twitchy and shit. That is a no go. Obviously something was seriously wrong with it. Her first thought was rabies. Anyone who knows anything about anything would have thought of rabies. You have to know this shit when you move out into the country, especially when you have children.

Well, a phone call to the police and to animal control later, it was beneath the deck in our backyard. With my cat.

A little bit of me died inside when I typed that.

Ahem.

An officer and someone from animal control came out to the property, took one look, and said that they couldn't do anything about it. If they shot at it, there was a chance that the bullet would hit the brick of the side of the house, and that was a no go. They didn't even stick around or try to persuade it out into the open. They just left my mom there with a house full of children and a delirious animal under the deck. Yeah, way to do your friggin jobs guys.

When Dad got home, and this is why I feel very much protected during a potential zombie apocalypse, he went into his room, opened the window, took aim, and fired. (Of course we kept the kids upstairs and distracted them in hopes they wouldn't hear the gun shot.) God. That creature didn't stand a chance. My dad is a badass.

Now we are watching my cat for signs of this disease, a disease that is not rabies. My other animals aren't allowed near her. It's heartbreaking, and there is nothing I can do. I have to walk away when she stares in through the window and meows. It's like I'm sacrificing her for the good of the group or something. To top it all off, I now know that law enforcement and animal control can't do shit out here, and that really sucks. God forbid there is a break in or a hostage situation here.

"Well... the door is locked. We can't get inside. Let's go home boys."

"But sir..."

"There's nothing we can do."

Zombie animals, dead beat people who can't do their jobs...

I can't wait to move to Galveston.

College and the changes that ensue

I was feeling nostalgic and decided to dig through some of my old high school photos. I don't know what I was looking for specifically, whether it was for a hearty laugh or to see how much I've changed since grade school. (I've really matured over the last three years. University does that to you. It's like brain voodoo. Or all of that time efficiency and living on your own crap. That can do it.) So after hours upon hours of looking through photos (couldn't delete them from my laptop... just couldn't), I discovered something.

I haven't fucking changed at all. I'm still immature, lazy, make weird facial expressions in pictures, pretend to stick my finger up people's noses, photo bomb like a mofo, and have terrible balance while doing said things. 

I just drink a lot more.

The one thing I can't afford to be delusional about

It is not abnormal for a college-student-run blog to start suffering when studying becomes a constant around exam time. It is also to be expected to have less time to post when health becomes an issue. Right now, both pose as issues that have been keeping me from keeping DtD up to date, so I figure I should offer a little insight as to why my schedule no longer has post subjects written in for every other day, except for today of course, which has in all caps:

"POST ON BLOG ABOUT WHY YOU SUCK AT POSTING THIS MONTH."

See, I was diagnosed with iron deficiency anemia when I was in high school. It all started with my Algebra II class junior year. My grades were beginning to suffer because it became a chore to concentrate. I got enough sleep, I wasn't necessarily bored in class, I simply could not focus. So, like most kids in high school who can't concentrate, I was diagnosed with ADD. The medication seemed to help keep me focused for longer stretches of time, but then I began to feel weak, lethargic, and incredibly shaky. Something wasn't right. That was when I went to the doctor and had my blood drawn for testing. (Worst clinic visit ever. They poked me ten times before they were able to find a good vein. Last resort was through the top of my hand, and it hurt like a motherfucker.) A week later I got the results and I was told that my iron levels were dangerously low. I was anemic.

This anemia has been a reoccurring issue since then. I take supplements until my levels test out as normal, then I take a break (you can actually overdose on iron if you are not careful), and the anemia comes right back into my life like a weight pressing down on me, keeping me from fully enjoying life the way that I want to. When a friend asks if I want to go running, I have to pass for fear of fainting. When my dizzy spells begin to dictate what I can and can't do, I feel incredibly limited and weak.

It has been exactly a year since I started taking the concentrated iron, and I feel worse than ever. I fainted at work in front of my customers, and let me tell you, it was not something I could laugh off. I was mortified. I even had a spell in my room while sitting at my window. I was not being physical what-so-ever. Everyone and their mom agreed that another visit to the doc was necessary.

On Tuesday I traveled to San Antonio and fasted for a blood test. When I sat down with the family doctor and explained what was going on, she looked incredibly concerned and asked that I lay down for the entirety of the visit. They took an EKG (if you have never had an EKG, they make you strip and hook you up to a machine that monitors your heart, it's not something you want to get used to) and blood samples, nothing that I have never experienced before. Then she sat down with me and gave me two referrals: a cardiologist, and a neurologist. Immediately, I was terrified.

Y'see, I am not a big fan of doctors, stemming from an experience of mine last year. My Dad lost his business due to a shitty economy, so we no longer could afford health insurance. So instead, I went to a doctor on campus, someone affordable who could still help me.

"How can I help you?" he asked.

"Hi. A few years ago I was diagnosed with a severe iron deficiency and since I haven't been feeling myself lately, I just wanted to check my iron levels to see if I have improved any since then."

The man was hesitant, but performed the blood tests. When he called my cell phone and asked me to return to the clinic, I of course was concerned. "I don't think you are anemic. I think you have thalassemia."

"What the heck is that?"

"Well, your blood cells are abnormally shaped. It's like sickle cell, only this is a Mediterranean disease."

"My Mom has some Spanish in her..."

"That might be it. We need to test to make sure."

For one entire month, I was asked to return to the clinic weekly for blood tests, X-Rays, physical exams. You name it, I did it. By the end of the month, the doctor concluded that I was anemic. What. The. Fuck.

I was drained, literally.

He did, however, refer me to a cardiologist for more extensive exams, but I was broke, so that was not an option. Plus, I was way too pissed off at this doctor to continue treatments, so I abandoned the clinic altogether and just stuck to the concentrated iron. But when I went to Alaska, and was so weak, Michael was tempted to bring me to the emergency room, but me, not wanting to make a fuss, refused. However, after I fainted at work, enough was enough. So here I am: confused, weak, angry, wanting answers, and generally exhausted.

I haven't made the appointments just yet because I have not received the results for my blood test from a few days ago, and the wait is killing me.

Yes, for once, I have an excuse. On top of all of this, I have exams to study for. I will keep you updated when I can, and even entertained with some potential guest posts. If you are interested in helping me out, please email me at JessRolin@gmail.com. I appreciate all of you and your never ending support. I don't care what other bloggers claim. I have the best group of followers, period. Let's just hope that this is temporary.

Love you all,

J-Roll

A 360 turned 180

I swear to God someone must have mass produced voodoo dolls of me, pins included.

Today I woke up with higher spirits than last night as consequence to putting my situation online. I guess in a way, the post was a good method for me to expel the pent up frustration so that I could move on. This revelation isn't new for me, so I am not sure why I haven't clued into doing it more often. Anyway, so I got out of bed with a voice of inner encouragement playing in repetitions in my head. "Today is going to be great. You are going to avoid doodling on your notes in class. You are going to smile until your face is numb. You are going to make the most of the next 24 hours." Of course, who listens to advice when it is your own? Obviously I do not exhibit self motivation in my actions.

My light spirit was maintained by the strangest American Literature lecture I have had in a while later that afternoon. Let's just say my professor ended the hour and a half of discussion about Emerson with, "Any last thoughts on Walt Disney's opium addiction, S&M, ejaculation, or baseball?"

Yeah. I was throughly delighted for the rest of the day.

When I got home, I didn't do half of the things I had planned on doing because I got too caught up searching for cool stuff on Etsy to buy for the apartment. Oh. Did I forget to mention that Michael and I decided on a new, kick ass pad on the beach to occupy this coming May? I would do the usual squeal of joy then leap from my seat, but I am in too much pain to execute such a reaction, hence my starting the post in the manner that I did.

I was on cloud nine with the thought of moving in with Michael, so when I got up to go to the restroom, I began to hum blissfully and spun in what I expected to be a successful circle. I only made it halfway before I collided with the metal shoe rack at my feet.

Let's just say that only one of us made it out semi-alive.

Computers hate me, and so does Chilis.

Just when I thought shit cloud was here to stay, a stroke of luck came upon me and now I am back to a lesser state of paranoia. You see, my laptop was not charging because the thing is bipolar and only decides to work when I really don't need it all that much. All of my school notes are on it and midterms are next week. But that realization came to me after the first: my musical is on there. Yeah. Fuck you school. Fuck you notes. I just want my musical. But today the charger decided to give me a break and lit up. I hope it works tomorrow in class. If not, how the heck am I supposed to spam Twitter and read online comics? (Oh, hi Mom.) I mean, how am I supposed to take detailed notes on the great American writers Emerson and Poe if I don't have the means to charge my laptop? There's always paper, but that is so 90's and my wrist still hurts when I move it too much. Yeah, I broke it last year in a Chili's parking lot. But that is a story for another time. I wonder if my professor would object to me bringing my desktop...

(It's that time of the month again, and I don't mean aunt flow. I mean the blogger spotlight has been updated. Congrats to Mindful Mustache and to Tickets for Two! And if you are bored, check out my new "Things I Like" section and click a number. Chances are you could find something super awesome. I can't promise that there isn't porn. You'll just have to find out on your own.)

Legally Motivated!

When all else fails, and no friends have a pill or two to spare that will keep my head focused on the books or on my workout, anything really, I pop in Legally Blonde. Because there is just something about a girl that no one takes seriously who kicks their asses in a court room that really motivates me to read Edgar Allen Poe. So I watched the movie, got hyped to do my homework, then read about murdering cats, an old man with a funky eye, and a wife. Then there was the repetitive theme of shoving their body parts into weird places throughout the house. I hugged Stella for a long time after I read it. A long time. I will never hang you from a tree my dearest feline. Please don't haunt me.

Speaking of animals, my new weenie got his ass handed to him by Dex, my parent's cat that they rescued from a fate of living off of wild mice and other things that carry diseases. At first he cried out and I thought nothing of it because he's a pansy, but then I picked him up and suddenly realized that maybe it was more serious than I thought because my white shirt was no longer white. It was dyed the color of, well, blood.

I could never be a doctor or anything dealing with bodily fluids on a daily basis. (But J-Roll! How on earth do you expect to be a momma bird in the future if you can't deal with stuff like that?) I'LL TELL YOU READER WHO ASKS OBVIOUS QUESTIONS!

When it comes to someone I care about, I go maternal ape shit. My niece spewed vomit all over the place and I was on it like no one's business. When Charlie was covered in metallic smelling substances, I took care of it! I can't claim that I didn't gag like, a million times AFTER everything was taken care of, but still. I won't be a parental unit who refuses to change a diaper or mop up puke or put pressure on a gaping wound.

...

Excuse me a moment.

...

Onto less grotesque news that makes me want to wear my toilet as a hat, I am almost finished with the first act of my musical! Say HUZZAH! and comment if you are just as excited as I am! Thank you Legally Blonde for motivating me to get my degree and for keeping me focused on important things like keeping my new dog alive, motherhood, and musicals.

No way to title this but "eeeeeeeee!"

The other day I found myself in quite the predicament. There I was, listening to my aunt's sad voice on the phone explaining how she can no longer keep a dog that has been in the family since I was in high school, and all I could think about was how I had mentioned surprising Michael with a dog to his family, which did not turn out too well for me. When I aroused from these thoughts, the tone in my aunt's voice had changed. Then we both hung up, and I suddenly came to the realization that I had said yes.

Thank you motor functions. You really know how to stick it to my vampires.

Today started earlier than usual. I had a child leap on me at 6:50 am, two hours after the last time I had glanced at the clock and six hours before I had to be in San Antonio to pick up the doggie. You see, when you are watching a child that is not your own overnight in a house that does not belong to you, you tend to be jumpy, uptight, and anal about every sound that could signal a disturbance in the force. I woke up to the cat wheezing, thinking that the kiddo was crying. I woke up every hour, on the hour in the same fashion-- me rolling from the couch onto the floor in a frenzy of pure panic. When I finally managed to get a nap in, my phone buzzed, revealing a text message from Michael.

[4:48 am]
"Wow dream. I love you so much.
Please stop killing all the pandas in
my subconscious in that bunny suit!"

...

...

I...

...

...

What the fuck?

So yeah. Eventful night and morning. When the afternoon came, I found myself in a predicament of a more heinous nature. Charlie the weenie dog gets car sick, a detail I had forgotten until I was reminded ten minutes before my journey back to Canyon Lake. An hour drive. An hour. HOUR. Luckily he kept all of the fluids to himself and the car ride was a vomit free one. That didn't make it any less stressful though. With every yawn and every pant, I expected to be showered in liquidated biscuits.

Mom told me that shit cloud would take a break in 2011 to rest up for 2012. She was right. This year has been a great one so far. I have a dog, a cat, and a boyfriend in the military who just received news of his next station.

Drum-roll please!

Scroll down for effect.


































GALVESTON!

Could life give me anything more? Could I ever be more satisfied? Keep raining the goodness on me baby! Michael and I have been celebrating the news with frequent Skype chats, which is so nice after weeks of barely speaking when he was in EMT school. The conversation that took place today went a little something like this.

Me: Guess what I'm eating.

Mike: Cookies!

Me: With a fork Mike?

Mike: ...Why are you eating cookies with a fork?

I was eating S.O.S, FYI. The internet connection was not working in our favor today, but I managed to get this in:

Charlie, welcome to the family. And Michael, welcome to Texas! I can't wait for the two of you to meet.

I swear someone slipped something into my cereal this morning.

My mind and memory are running a mile a minute because I feel like I haven't spoken to you guys about what's been going on in my life and that is what a blog is about so technically I'm not fulfilling my duty as a blogger and I should be ashamed that I haven't talked about half of the things that have occurred since last weekend other than getting a computer virus which has totally been taken care of and what on Earth is up with me not talking about the fabulous party I was able to attend because my boss took my shift I need oxygen oh my God.

Yeah, I'm in one of those moods today.

So I am going to cover the minor details first, then we can move onto bigger and better things-- like penis cupcakes, T&A cookies that went horribly yet not so horribly wrong, and a few awards that have been bestowed upon me by a few friends in the blogging community. Firstly, the good news. I have made some real progress on the dialog in my musical and am searching for volunteers to run lines with me soon so I can hear the words out loud and tweak them into perfection. So there is that, and that makes me happy. I hope to be finished by the end of May. When I'm feeling optimistic, I aim for the day I go to see Mike's graduation in California, which is toward the middle of May. A week is a big difference. You can get a lot done in a week. (Or you can PLAN to get a lot done then slack off like I do.)

More good news! I aced my first American Literature Exam and my boyfriend overnighted two dozen tulips to me for Valentine's Day, which I'll get into on a whole separate post. It totally deserves a post of its own.

Now for the shit news. I just found out that I can't cram the rest of my mandatory classes into the remaining semesters before graduation next Spring, so it looks like I'll have to wait an extra semester or two before Michael and I can live together. I'm sure that will make his family very happy. So I suppose in a way it's a good thing. It's like I'm suffering, but sucking up at the same time. I'm losing and they are gaining, so technically I'm gaining...

Always a brighter side to being hated! (Insert dramatic sobbing sounds here)

Now for more mediocre news. I have 49674 writing projects that I'm working on. It is so difficult having so many writing projects that I can't really talk about other than brief updates like "worked on the book today" and "too lazy to finish the short story last night." I wish I could discuss the content of these projects, but a wise friend with expertise in situations of a similar nature advised against it. So, with all of my willpower, I am going to listen, because if I ever hope to be a good writer, I've got to earn to take advice from professionals. Oh come on, it's harder than you think. I'm a stubborn little shit and I get excited about what I write, so I like to share. My blog is a perfect example of this. But even if artistic thievery weren't an issue, I feel like if I gave too much away on here, I'd be jinxing myself in the long run. No one wants that, especially me.

Well okay. I could think of a few people who'd enjoy seeing me fail. Let's just leave that list alone.

Let's get happy again. I have a new link up top, a tab I never imagined getting so soon in the game. "Awards." It's plural guys. That means that there is more than one. That means that more than one person thinks that I'm super. I sch'wear to God I didn't award them to myself. I'm just sch'o popular.

Thanks to TOAR at Thoughts of a Randomista, Andres Rio from Good Music, Bad Math and Christine from The New Adventures of Christine for the collection of awards! This is belated, but no less full of gratitude and a plethora of love.

So apparently, to receive these awards, you must abide by some rules (that I am currently hunting down so bear with me). Christine says that I must tell five things about myself and mix in a few lies. That sounds easy enough. I HEREBY ACCEPT THESE AWARDS BY LYING TO MY READERS. Best condition ever.

1. I met my boyfriend online about five years ago. We've been dating for about nine months now.

2. I collect lawn gnomes.

3. I fractured my elbow and wrist dancing in a Chili's parking lot.

4. My co-worker bumped me into the display case at work and bruised my vaginal bone.

5. I took a bubble bath in a hot tub with my boss and co-workers.

One fact is indeed not a fact. It is a deceiver. Don't believe what it tells you.

Onto choosing three people to pass this lovely .gif onto!

1. @Thundercat: Hands down the easiest pick. I don't need to explain how full of awesome this chick is.

2. @Freeflying: From the start she supported me and stuck with me as I developed as a blogger. Since then, every time I fly to see Mike, I wonder if I'll run into her. One of my favorite bloggers by far.

3. @JRuud: My first friend on 20sb. This girl lights up my life with her attitude. I see rainbows and sunshine after I read her cheery posts.

Dun dun DUN!

...God, I must have way too much sugar in my system. I'll post pictures from the party when I'm less of a spaz and more of a regular functioning human being. Of course it would also make sense to have the camera/memory card on me. Which I don't. I am so unprepared and too hyper to care. I totally just rhymed.

Thursdays

I'm sitting by the window one of my favorite places in San Marcos because Thursdays offer me enough free time to explore the hot spots here. It's so peaceful watching people meander by, subjects of the beautiful sunlight that's finally showed its face after a week of being stifled by the weather. I find myself the most inspired here in this haven of berets, mocha lattes, local art and vegan appetites. Here, by this window, time slows and I'm able to revel in it.

I thought when I was creating my schedule for the semester that if I set up my classes ten minutes apart the day would go by faster. Now, though I got what I wished for, I want to slow down. I want to be able to have the time to wander around campus between classes, give my rear end muscles a break, breathe in the fresh air and explore downtown-- maybe even fit in time for a cup of coffee. I am a woman of many paces, but I am starting to discover that maybe I should stop rushing through life and just sit back for the ride. Or maybe I'm just never satisfied.

That doesn't always have to be a bad thing though.

The moment my life turns in one direction, I want to have the option to stray, even if I choose not to do so. There's a sense of being limitless that way. But when I have to adapt to a strict schedule with no room for moments like these, where I can just stop for a second and marvel at life, I feel suffocated.

That is why I am so grateful for Thursdays. One class in the morning, work at night. The whole town is my playground and I have hours to use up just sitting around, soaking it all in. Inspiration travels with me this way.

Time to work on the musical.

To write, I must party.

I planned a party of sorts this weekend that I may not even be able to attend because I can't get my shift covered on Saturday. I'd list off every profanity in the book right now if that could communicate to you how I'm feeling right now, but my patience is withering away every moment I am not in the clear to go to this damn party.

So while my blood begins to cool from the simmer it was experiencing previously, I have decided to focus on one of my many writing projects. It is a musical of epic proportions. Before you scoff and remind me of how competitive and unrealistic the world of the arts can be, I am completely aware. You don't have to remind me. But this is not just something I am doing half-assed. I am practically putting my soul into this. Broadway, I AM COMING FOR YOU.

Let's just focus on the boogers kids.

My reward for classes being cancelled today is being surrounded by children who constantly feel the need to nark on each other and go poop with the door wide open. One of the kids asked "Are boogers always green?" from across the room and it completely caught me off guard because I am still fending off the mentality that I had adopted last night when I posted. My Mom seemed caught off guard too, which surprised me more than the question itself because she must hear questions like this everyday. She has been trained in the art of answering strange questions that manifest in the minds and escape through the mouths of three-year-olds. You have to maintain a good sense of humor when you are around kids all of the time.

Bliss before the storm

I often think back on the moment I decided that I would transfer schools to be closer to Michael. That whole week, there had been this proposal for me to move to Alaska weighing down on my shoulders and I had spent the entirety of that week identifying the pros and cons of said proposal. I had told Michael that I couldn't do it and I named off every excuse in the book with ease. But then I would return to the subject the very next day because it had never truly been put to rest in my mind. The idea persistently poked and prodded at me, even when I thought that I had finally made up my mind. The reason that it bothered me so much to say no was because it was actually possible for me to go.

It just not practical, realistic or a smart choice to make.

We'll be back after these messages.

Since I turned in the poems that were due today, I don't have much going on other than my snooping through all of my old videos in tribute to the video that I made yesterday (other than the fact that I said "y'know" about 3497 times. That should not be celebrated). And I have discovered that there is some hilarious shit in my videos folder that I sadly may not be able to display on the internet due to some friends who do not find the embarrassing shit that was documented to be very flattering. So I have been digging for a while to find something that I can possibly show you in an attempt to invite you into my life a little bit more than my writing has provided. Surprisingly, just because I write, that does not make me any less than a visual person. So I figure I'll touch base with both.

What day is it again?

I have been putting off this post all day. At first I was excited. I logged on as soon as the shouts of children outside of my door and the crash of plastic toys colliding became too much for my REM cycle and it decided that enough was enough. I was still a little out of it and I vaguely even remember logging on. That's how pumped I was to post today. My subconscious acted for me.

Then I saw the topic that I was supposed to write on and I chose to study instead.

Now that I am finished studying and have already put off writing with another DVD of That 70's Show, I am faced with a dilemma presented on the computer screen I so frequently visit. Either I write the truth for fear that my friends and family will be exposed to something I've managed to keep somewhat under wraps, or let loose a secret that defines a period of my life that I am not very proud of.

So here's the topic: A time I thought about ending my own life. 

Here we go.

Freshmen year of high school was a disaster. The school year started off with a phone call from a friend telling me that my ex-boyfriend from two years previous had died in a car accident. I took his death very hard. What made it worse was that specific friend reminding me that before his passing, he had planned to ask her out. I was bitter toward her for a while after that. His interest in her was all she seemed to recollect about his life, and she flaunted it. But every night that led up to his funeral, I was wounded by the regret of not trying harder to make it work between us. Maybe then I would be happy like I was when I was with him. Maybe then he wouldn't have sneaked out for a late night drive.

I decided not to attend his funeral for one reason: the last time I saw him, he was smiling and laughing and was asking me to write something in his yearbook. I don't remember what I wrote, but I hope it reminded him of what a wonderful person I thought he was. I knew that if I went to his funeral, that would have been the last picture of him ingrained in my memory, and I didn't want that for either of us. He deserved to be remembered in the way that I remember him now.

As time heals most, it healed me, but only after a series of events occurred that warped my views on life, friendship, and love. My attitude had darkened and remained so for an extended period of time. My friends had little patience for it and cut contact with me. I was encouraged to end my own life by someone whose heart I had apparently broken. My friends practically dared me to do it, but did not fail to mention that they would not be attending my funeral if I had done so. I guess they had a different philosophy on funerals than I had. My parents' relationship was facing a rough patch that was not easily overcome. All of this hit me like a train, and I deteriorated beneath it.

Mom mentioned therapy. My therapy was my writing. Staring off into space helped too sometimes.

The idea of ending my own life occurred frequently during that time. With my friends gone, I had no one to talk to about what I was going through. They had all blocked my number and ducked away from me in the halls at school. The only person who had stuck around to pick up the pieces was an ocean away and was the boyfriend of one of the girls who stopped talking to me. He tried his best to keep his interactions with me under wraps for fear of more unwarranted conflict, but eventually I didn't hear from him either. I fantasized about dying, and out of spite did I envision all of these people attending my funeral, feeling sorry for every time they had ever hurt me or left me alone to deal with myself. I wanted to die to pass my suffering onto them. I wanted them to feel the way that they had made me feel, but worse. I felt so much and so little at the same time. It is an emotion as twisted and as undefinable as love. You simply have to experience it to know what it is.

That was when I cut myself. At school, I saw lines embedded in teen wrists all of the time and I scoffed, believing that the cuts were a cry for attention, that they were pathetic.

And they are cries for attention. But when I cut myself, I wasn't doing it in hopes of bleeding out, and I wasn't doing it so that people at school or at home would see them. I did not wear the cuts like trophies as some people do.

I hid them.

I was ashamed of them.

I hated them.

I hated myself for making them.

I was just so desperate for some other form of pain to distract me from what I was feeling. It worked too. For a moment I wasn't so focused on losing a friend, being lonely, being ignored, or possibly living in a divided house. I was focused on the shame of making myself bleed for the sake of having a temporary release from everything. The worst is that the scars are still there, always reminding me of what I went though and what I was willing to do to myself to escape from it.

Recently I had a friend who mentioned wanting to chug bleach. I was on that situation like nobody's business. My own experiences led me in that direction. I had to be the friend that I didn't have so many years ago. But when I called my other friends to ask if they had heard anything from this friend, I received a series of aggravating responses.

"Oh, she'll be fine. She does this a lot."


"It doesn't mean anything. She won't do it."


"Well do you want me to go over there? ...I'm kind of busy."

I was disgusted. I was angry. I was terrified. And it reminded me of when I was crying out for help and no one showed up to do so because they didn't take me seriously enough to be concerned for me.

My advice here is directed to those who have a friend who is in the rut and obviously needs help. Do not ignore them, because their cries for you could be communicated in different ways. Maybe they get mad at you more often. They might even yell at you. They might even ask you to leave them alone. But do not let them get to the point of wanting to die. They may fight you the entire time, and they could hate you after all is said and done, but as a friend you did your job. You kept them alive. You don't get a trophy for doing so, but helping a friend overcome a trial like that should be good enough.

Ways of contacting me are littered all over this damn site. If you are or feel alone and are facing something that seems impossible to overcome, please, email me. Talk to me. If the people around you fail to be a friend, I will gladly step in and substitute for them. Remember, help comes in many forms. I may not be able to offer physical consolation, but as a writer, I will gladly offer to you my words.

So now you know.

(Okay, I know. I fail at following directions. That is why I drove boss man back at work insane during my first month at the lounge. But I am sorry kids. I put too much effort into this, so the rules of the challenge are just going to have to be broken. Plus, I read the challenge while half asleep. You can't blame me. But don't worry, I will cover religion tomorrow. Maybe. I would rather talk about THIS than religion right now. Stupid funeral protesters can kiss my gay friendly and soldier supporting ass.)

"Epic fail"

The other night, because I am a super awesome girlfriend, I made cookies and peppermint bark for Michael to add to the package of Christmas presents I planned to send to him in Petaluma. I sneaked a bite of each to make sure they were boyfriend quality... and also because I have a problem not consuming baked goods when they are placed in front of me. That's one reason why I consider the holidays the scariest and most regretful time of each and every year.

I went to the post office to send the package Mike's way and discovered that it would be cheaper to divide my rather large box into two smaller boxes. (That makes little sense to me, but hey person behind the counter, you're the boss!) So because I am frugal, I took the box to the side of the counter and began distributing Christmas presents, cookies, peppermint bark, and pieces of the disassembled steamer that I got him and folded the boxes up.

"Tada!" I said victoriously.

"Oh, you're not supposed to fold them on the bottom like that."

I looked at the boxes in shame, the glory of my speedy transferal ruined. I think I even pouted.

"Look, it's okay! I'll just..."

The man opened up the bottom of the box cautiously, taped it up, and began typing something on the computer. The other box was in my line of sight and a line was beginning to develop behind me. So I, trying to be time efficient, decided that I should work on fixing the other box while the man did his thing. Only when I opened the bottom of the box, parts of the steamer and cookies flew out onto the counter. Yeah. There were so many mental groans occurring behind me they were almost audible. I stared at the box in the same manner of defeat as before. When the man turned around he actually face palmed, and I followed suit. I reached forward to fix the mess that I had caused, but I was stopped when spotting the man's hand in the air. "No, no please. Let me."

"Thank you," I squeaked. I left with my head ducked down in embarrassment, though I usually laugh when I'm nervous. But I could have sworn, though it may have been my subconscious, someone whispered "epic fail" just before I left the post office.

Yeah. I got in my car real fast.

Inspiration intercepted by God punching me in the stomach

I woke up yesterday with a fire in my fingers. I got out of bed with this craving to write and write until my hands were semi-disfigured. You never want to go all the way when it comes to disfigurement. That's serious shit.

It was a lot of writing that I was willing to do right then, which is surprisingly helpful considering that I've been working on a novel for the last six months and have had little inspiration. I think that I could have finished the entire book yesterday if my stomach wasn't attacked by what felt like millions of flesh eating parasites. It was painful and even though it lasted for only a few hours, I was out of commission all day in the creativity department. Thus, no blog post was written and no progress was done on the book. I did discover, however, something worth while about my relationship with my parents.

"Need a bucket?" Mom called from the stairs.

"No. Not yet," I groaned.

"Not yet?! Girl, you'd better make it to the bathroom. You're not five anymore. Get it on the carpet, I kick your ass."

"Kick her ass? You'd be too busy gagging. I would be the one kicking her ass," Dad interjected upon hearing what Mom said.

I guess I'm too old for PARENTAL LOVE AND NURTURING!

I found lemons, but the juice got in my eye

Well, I did what I said that I was going to do. I made myself vulnerable to the world by venturing out of my hiding place that was my parents' house. And even though it ended in disaster, everything leading up to it proved to be a much needed dose of freedom from the invisible chains that bound me to my room. The chains that bind me to my phone are still intact though. I'm working on severing those, but I feel like life's only given me a worn nail file for that job. So it might take a while.

I began yesterday morning getting ready to head into San Marcos to deal with some apartment issues, then planned on a necessary evening with my best friend Kat who would be treating me to dinner and a movie that evening. So of course, I sped through the chit chat about the apartment and decided to meet up with a friend and catch up until Kat came into town. We smoked hookah, watched a movie, and talked about why I was home earlier than expected. When Kat picked me up we went out for sea food on her, got some coffee, walked downtown and saw the lights, then saw a late night showing of Tron 3D. I want a motorcycle now, but seeing as my bad luck was reinforced last night, I probably should snuff out that dream and never seek to revive it again.

I said my goodbyes and got into my jeep. First thing I did was sit back and think about how nice it was to see my friends, and that maybe things would start to look up. That's when the supernatural decided that it was high time to mess with me.

On the back country road that leads to my folks' house, there was a dense fog. Now, I've driven through fog before, but in the Texas hill country, you have to watch out for stupid deer with bad timing. I was so, unbelievably paranoid. The first deer that ran out in front of me was smart enough NOT to stop in the middle of the road and stare at me. So that was nice. The next few appearances made my heart work so hard that I felt like it was going to give out and fall out of my ass.

In case you were wondering, I ended up surviving the fog, obviously, because I am here to tell you the story. When I drove into the driveway I felt lucky, like I had avoided something that was supposed to ruin my night. Little did I realize that the fog was just a warm up. I stepped out of the jeep, only to close the door and set off the alarm, because apparently car alarms are supposed to be triggered AFTER THE CAR IS STOLEN. I spent a good ten minutes trying to shut the damn thing off.

I discovered then that every sound is amplified in the middle of nowhere for that exact reason. Nothing is there! So I am nervously glancing at my parents' window, cursing at the Jeep, pressing button after button on the key chain. Eventually it died down, but I had realized a little too late that my shit was still in the passenger's side inside of the Jeep that hated me. So my paranoia took over. I knew that the alarm wouldn't be set off if I had opened the door, but I was positive that something was out to get me that night, so conclusively I wasn't so sure. I stared at my purse and my leftovers with a longing so profound, it could have been Shakespearean. 

I grew some balls and opened the car to get my stuff, then headed to the front door where the dog was stationed, ready to bark at me until I was able to find my keys, which I did find, only after his barking woke my parents up. Apparently the car alarm didn't. Stupid dog.

I managed the get the door open, only to find that the alarm was set. It was a catastrophe. I didn't press the buttons hard enough, so the alarm got louder and Mom had to rush out to help me. 

Then I almost dropped the left overs. 

I fell up the stairs too.

Then I tried to call Mike but he was asleep already.

Fuck.

When life gives you lemons, don't sit on your ass and stare at them

Why is it that awesome ideas for blog posts and creative ways to start them off flash in my head before I fall asleep? Because due to their unfortunate timing, and since I am never motivated to write anything down, what happens when I wake up? POOF! Gone. All of them, all of the fantastic things that I wanted to say disappear because I have the memory of a pot head. I'm just upset that I could have written something super awesome on here and now I can't even remember what I wanted to say.

So here I sit, scrambling to find something to talk about when all I've done today is paint my nails, watch movies, and sit around on my ass eating. I am living a dull and uninteresting life here because I've been hiding from reality since I've returned from New York. I have got to get out of this house and do something with myself, because if I don't, I will never have any decent posts to share with the lot of you. Ever. And that would be sad.

BUT YOU ALL ARE SO HARD TO PLEASE!

So it's new goal time. By the end of the day, I will have something to talk about-- something other than me complaining that I have nothing to talk about. I mean, if your life isn't full of great material, what kind of life are you living anyway, right?

When the phrase "It gets better" extends its hand to me

I woke up today feeling like I was mauled by a dog. Then hit by a train. Then lit on fire, extinguished, then lit of fire again. I felt like death. Even after a long shower, some grooming and some breakfast, I could not shake the shitty feeling. So, of course, I went into the office to blog about it. Because everything feels better when you rant to strangers.

So I took a seat and begin to write when suddenly there was a knock at the front door. My Mom runs a daycare out of the house, so I assumed that it was another kid being dropped off. Instead it was a lone parent, one of the older kids' Moms. I ducked down in my chair for fear that my Mom would make me get up and introduce myself, because I didn't recognize the voice and my Mother never thinks about whether or not I feel descent enough to be shown off.  But it didn't matter how low in my chair I was, both women came dancing in, only one had a purpose, and it wasn't my Mother.

"So this is the one dating the Coastie?" she said.

"Sure is," my Mom said beaming.

"Honey," the lady said. "I am married to one o' them. So is my sister. Those boys are wild at first, which is entertaining and all, but that doesn't last forever. They are the sweetest breed of man."

I suddenly thought of my Dad, who was also in the Coastguard and bragged that he and the other sailors were rude, crude and socially unacceptable. But I understood her message when thinking of Mike and my Father, I just didn't know why she was reassuring me.

"So how was Alaska?"

Mom told everyone, didn't she? "It was fun. Beautiful. I loved it."

"Where will he be stationed next?"

"He's going to school in Cali."

"Petaluma?"

"Petaluma."

"OH FUN! Oh honey. I have a story for you. When me and my husband were getting married, I didn't see him the day before the wedding. The next day there was this strange burn around his neck. Come to find that all the men on the boat though it'd be funny to attach a rope to the back of the boat and have my fiance ski behind it. Only the rope wrapped around his neck. Man was lucky to be alive. Stupid, stupid, stupid. But that goes away."

Thank God Mike would never do that.

Ahem.

She talked on and on about her husband, some high on the chain of command sailors she had met, and a few other things that I can't recall, because I was too involved in the surprise of unexpected comfort from an unexpected source. That's when I realized how much I had been yearning for support after the incident in New York. I had been searching for it since I got home, but instead, it found me in the form of a funny story and reassurance from a stranger.

When the walls come down, what is left?

Sometimes I feel terrible about the bullshit I put Mike through with my insecurities. I mean, it's nearly impossible to not let your fears reflect in the way you go about handling things. Even if you have a strong will, I'd imagine because you are a homo sapien that you'd slip up once in a while, even if all of your defenses are intact. The more I try to be less vulnerable, the more I make myself vulnerable. God, who am I kidding? I am always vulnerable. My walls were destroyed ages ago and I've never been motivated to rebuild them. And even if said metaphorical walls were in existence, they wouldn't be very stable.

My problem is that I don't want to pretend that something doesn't bother me, because then I feel like I'm lying. Even if that philosophy withstands for a few minutes and I say that I'm alright when I'm not, I always end up slipping because Mike has evolved to the point of seeing right through me. My transparency bothers me. Don't most women want their significant other to be able to pinpoint when something is wrong?

I'm not sure how I feel about it. I'm torn between wanting to be heard and wanting my emotions to remain behind lock and key for fear of a reaction- mostly mine. For years I was stuck in a situation where my partner didn't care or respond to the way I felt about things that he would do or say. The moment I'd open my mouth, the TV's volume would instead boom over my voice. I then grew accustomed to dealing with my own shit. Alone. And I feel like all of those things began to eat away at me inside and I am just now beginning to recover from all of the damage that was inflicted over the course of two years. It's not fair to Mike that he has to deal with my shit while I recoup, because it reflects frequently in our relationship.

From my 2 cents

If Mike walks ahead of me on the sidewalk, I remember how the other man never wanted to walk beside me, never wanted to hold my hand. Then I feel hollow, like for a split second history is about to repeat itself, and I mentally plead for Mike not to ask me what is wrong because I just know that no matter the issue, if it involves the other man, it will hurt him. He will get frustrated, but I won't be able to see that because he is not so transparent. He's a sturdy brick wall, and I crumble like aged chalk that turns to dust with contact.

I strive to move beyond this so I can fully enjoy what Michael and I share, because if I don't, something is going to deteriorate. Something I don't want to.