On my favorites list since it was released, The Governess by Metric has a video that brings a lot of interesting visuals.
The beautiful desolation and desert backdrop is particularly timely.
The lyrics at the beginning of the song remind me of a scene from my favorite play, Cyrano de Bergerac, when he concocts an absurd tale to cover his true intentions of distraction and delay. If you haven’t read it, you should. All you need to know about love and honor and romance are right there.
Move update: we have picked our home and are waiting out the home mortgage process. If all goes well, we’ll get to move in on our youngest son’s birthday. CAN YOU IMAGINE?!?! #BlissingOut
Lyrics by http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/metric/thegoverness.html
The Governess by Metric
Who did you say you were?
I didn’t catch your name
Falling down to earth
Down from a higher plane
Oh, it’s been decades
Say, what did you see?
Oh, I’ve been so lonely
Won’t you keep me company?
Do you remember me?
We met out on the farm
By the fire, you spoke to me
And held me in your arms
The songs you played for me
I long to understand
All along the watchtower
And castles made of sand
When there was a wilderness, we wandered wild and free
Guilt, she is the governess that guides me back to grief
What if we were dumb enough to spend eternity
Gathering the garbage washed up on the beach?
Do you remember me?
We spoke by telephone
The bad connection had a meaning of its own.
Of all the good and all the stupid shit I’ve done
The worst was all for me
Not hurting anyone
When there was a wilderness, I wandered wild and free
Guilt, she is the governess that guides me back to grief
Wish that I was old enough to end the century
Gather all the garbage washed up on the beach
I almost texted PG with good news on Thursday night, swept up in excitement at choosing our next family home.
Then I realized he’d never read it. No matter how many distractions there are, it still hurts so much and just doesn’t seem real that he’s gone.
I would need PG’s gift of words to express how deeply Chooch and I miss him, especially as we start this new adventure of a life in New Mexico. In our favorites, we strategized about where to put our gaming lair and felt a stab knowing he’d never join us in it. At least, not in this dimension.
P.G. Holyfield wrote it and he was my friend.
Give it as a gift to someone that enjoys a good fantasy mystery. I can still picture the river of magic he describes.
Or donate a copy to your local library.
Or treat yourself and enjoy his rich world just for yourself.
Chooch’s shuffle-fu today has been fierce. We’re working on stuff and planning on stuff and waiting on stuff, and this song came on and stopped me cold.
It’s not my favorite era of David Bowie’s, and I didn’t even know I knew all of the lyrics until I found myself shout-singing along. And crying.
Somehow I thought he’d always be there to shake things up and break himself (and those of us along for the ride) out of whatever category people have relegated him (us) to, every decade or so.
I have not opened his final album yet. Too soon. I am still only encountering “Bowie in the wild,” via library shuffle or radio or movies. (Dear Gods I never realized how many movies used his music.)
For many reasons, it hit me really hard –I’m still in denial that our Ziggy Stardust is gone; personal stuff and goings on; and, did I mention I’m in denial that he’s gone?
I know when to go out
And when to stay in
Get things done [spoken]
I catch a paper boy
But things don’t really change
I’m standing in the wind
But I never wave bye-bye
But I try
I try
There’s no sign of life
It’s just the power to charm
I’m lying in the rain
But I never wave bye-bye
But I try
I try
Never gonna fall for
Modern Love
Walks beside me
Modern Love
Walks on by
Modern Love
Gets me to the Church on Time
Church on Time
Terrifies me
Church on Time
Makes me party
Church on Time
Puts my trust in God and Man
God and Man
No confessions
God and Man
No religion
God and Man
Don’t believe
in Modern Love
Cradle to grave, every day of my life I’m a pacifist. But today I’m a Puscifist, thanks to Chooch sharing a new fave song.
I keep things on the bright side and assume the best of people I meet, regardless of their reputation. It often results in great times and greater friendships. But I’m also often mistaking people wanting something from me as being the beginning, or continuation, of a true friendship. I won’t let clown shoes change my attitude, zero bad apples will change my hope in humanity.
But today, I less than three Puscifer soooo hard for again making sense of my confusion (and hurt and misrepresentations of me and others, resulting in feelings of shame and guilt) and giving it a voice.
I have such a hard time giving up on people, no matter how shitty they treat me or lie or use passive aggression like a weapon, knowing that it cuts me deeper than most because of my neurological challenges.
Once in my heart, always in my heart, sadly.
But I’m working on it since it’s plain stupid and is keeping me depleted and unable to explore beneficial possibilities.
At the very least, I’m “untethering” from the ones that are detrimental to my health/stress.
So, things to remember with me…
…just because the lies or harsh words aren’t knives or bullets, they still cut deeply and/or can bleed for a long time;
…just because you didn’t say it to my face, it doesn’t mean I don’t know;
…just because I’ve kept your secrets so far, know that your treatment of me and mine can change that;
…just because I’ve taken the high road, it doesn’t mean that I’ve forgotten how different our morals are;
…just because I stood by you in dark times, it doesn’t mean I will tolerate childish punishments for being a reminder of those same times;
…just because I’m above smacking your face, don’t mistake me for being weak.
I had a really long rant about stuff I didn’t get to do or can’t do. Actually just a list of stuff I can’t do, along with bitching and complaints only slightly above a child’s tantrum. I deleted it because while it’s true but really about something else. This time I caught it the night before, first time ever.
It’s pre-Mother’s Day letdown and I’m missing my Mom. She remains unmatched as the greatest teacher, cheerleader, disciplinarian, role model, muse, bar-setter, inspiration, square-in-the-ass kicker, then-unknown-filter, unabashed critic and unrelenting fan that I ever had or will have, because it was only possible from her, because she was uniquely MY Mom. It’s strange, but she must be different, I think, from my brother’s Mom or my Sister’s Mom, even. Different ages and experience levels (since we weren’t born triplets as triplets, but rather, over 12 years span) mean we had different versions of her growing as we did.
What I do know from my experience is that there’s no “*ding* You’re A Parent Now,” stage. You constantly learn and evolve, and I’m so very grateful for the version of her that I had, although I miss one or two aspects my siblings had. But that’s how things go, and I really wouldn’t change a moment with her. (Or against her, we had some doozy fights, dontchaknow!)
But lately, it’s getting harder and harder when I see her in the mirror and hear her voice come out of my mouth. I literally startle, sometimes, although I’ve heard that I look like her my entire life and should be used to it. I look like her, but I can’t do things like I used to, or like she used to, so it’s like a bait and switch. I keep having to lower expectations on myself, which then makes me see disappointment, which makes me feel like shit. It’s a fun cycle, all just because I looked in the mirror and remember her and all she did.
It makes me reflect on relationships and their resulting status. Am I too much of a reminder of her to some? I mean, I am for myself, so why not? And is that a larger version of what’s happened in other unrelated, now-dead relationships? Do I remind them of someone or some thing that has changed? I’m finding that standing by people during their darkest times means you sometimes get associated and cast out with it. I’m praying I haven’t done that to anyone that sincerely wanted to continue a genuine relationship, in a way that takes me as I am today, not how I was 30 or 20 or 10 or 5 years ago. Or how they expect me to be.
And in spite of our best efforts, we still live too far from hubby’s Mom to be able to dump my excess love on her like a confetti and glitter glue eruption. And now our daughter-in-law lives 2,000 miles away, so same thing there.
So I fill the time with making plans and planting fun things on the path ahead to make the now seem less dark with that fun that shimmering, just ahead. And then I find myself overwhelmed again with details and a sense of failure, even if it was a success.So for those that have a muse, be kind to her. It sucks when your brain is always working and putting out ideas for other people to use and claim, the only downside being we have no real sense of accomplishment. If the two things seem unrelated, please attribute it to the influence of my Mom, constantly in motion, constantly on the prowl for something to make another person smile.
Cyber hugs and love to all those that are missing her, a parent or loved one as we try to survive the milestone/reminder in one piece. I think this is the 10th without Mom, but so much crumbled since then, I don’t think I want to know for sure. If it’s your first, know that there is a special prayer I will make to my special angel. In my experience, the first is the worst. I couldn’t even really feel it then, I was in so many pieces, even as a grown-ass woman.
Mom loved my enough during her life to last me a lifetime, and is still carrying me through dark times, just like I said they would. And her fiery spirit lives on in me, her other children and her Grandkids. There’s even some sass that looks familiar from the Great-grandkids, which is downright delightful.
I planned to post this two and a half months ago. I wanted to post it before Balticon for friends that would see it in our room, as warning of sorts. I know my haircut seemed rash for some reason, after years of talking about cutting it all off. Here’s some warning on this one for future visitors to #TheSeuss (our silly nickname for our home.)
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My General Practitioner prescribed something last winter(? Spring?) that I am only now finally coming to terms with enough to post publicly — a walker. Even after the daily struggles that I described for basic self-care, let alone toning and cardio and strengthening exercise, the determination somehow still felt like an accusation and led to a variety of ridiculous thoughts. I joke about living a #VealLife, but denied the need for a walker, in spite of:
Using a cane/sturdy parasol for years. They either compensate for dizziness; strength; pain management; removing cob webs from my sometimes slow moving brain; and hooking stuff to pull toward me when necessities are slightly out of reach.
Using braces and wraps for a decade. The trigger for their use was over a decade ago and, really, it took a particularly long time to recover from a sprained ankle while dizzy on stairs in December of 2012. I’m now also alternating compression gloves (also a gift from Heather, they help so much!) and various braces to help with hand joint pain (the pain is similar to broken bones, at its worst) and carpal tunnel. They are necessary for any keyboard work, chores or for holding our sweet Little Bear.
For years now, when traveling on public transportation, I have been using all the disabled services available. I feel I’m entitled to since I’m also traveling with my handicap placard. Whether it’s seating on a bus or a requesting a waiting wheelchair after getting off of a plane after hours of my joints stiffening at high altitude (a particularly nasty combo). I’ve literally gone from running in 5k’s and training for a half-marathon in 2011, to now simply hoping to survive the luxury of travel beyond a 3 hour radius. (But that’s a whole ‘nother post.)
My refusal of scooters as an option to the extent that I have long told loved ones that if they ever saw me in a scooter that they have to knock me out out of it and make me wrestle my way back onto it, to stay strong. Meaning, I could use it, but only when I HAD to. And I had to be ready to demonstrate that I hadn’t given up the fight, not yet. And if I had given up, it would remind me that there still is a fight to be had, every day.
But… a walker?
My heart sank, as it felt a bit like going backwards so many more steps than having to stop running and then regular cardio exercise. But she explained that it would make me more able to move around with the further stability for my continual dizziness as well as balanced support for my lower body. For years now, I am continually switching sides because of the flare up cause by stress on one side or the other, for using the cane. It would lead to more movement, knowing I was supported no matter which symptom had me debilitated, or chose to hit me while crossing a room.
Reminder: None of my illness/conditions are degenerative or terminal. And I only really remember telling a handful of trusted friends, venting fear of what it might be signalling – the next phase in body FAIL. I was already lost in the maze of options of which type would be perfect for me and was frustrated and venting to Heather, an extremely supportive friend, who literally jumped in at offering not only moral support but … a brand new walker. It was one of my first conversations and I was griping and whining, I don’t want to use one and I can’t afford one anyways and making all the excuses possible not to sink to that use.
Heather said that there was an unused walker, a basic one with the tags still on it and everything, back at her home for a family member that ended up not needing it and they’d just never gotten rid of it. Knowing that the lower end was $50+ after a previous Amazon session, I gratefully accepted the gift after the briefest of hesitations. It happened so fast and was so generous, that it made me accept the need and begin using it. In hindsight, I guess I was ready to use one before I knew it.
Boosters at the ready.
I set it up in our bedroom and then didn’t touch it for months. I had to stare it down and get used it, and to measure if I thought it would help move more.
Then, I spontaneously put it next to the bed one night last fall after laying in morning “stores” (breakfast, drink, pills, cane), in the hopes that maybe the first and most painful steps of the day would have me, at least, better supported than the cane gave with the joint pain I had. I just dove in and didn’t think about what it meant.
It was the difference between crawling to the bathroom and walking, granting much peace. Yup, crawling. It’s that bad and you should know that about me. This is me, now and I use it throughout the day in our bedroom.
In the months since then, it’s been a great relief to have it, next to my bed, every morning. I haven’t left the top floor of our home with one, yet. I only recently have allowed myself to assess and decide I need to pass that milestone, too, which means getting a 2nd one for the main floor. It’s where much of my Daughter and Grandson spend the daytime hours and where I’m of my most use as a human baby monitor, when I’m able.
And as a few very kind people know, I had it at Balticon. There are some folks that kept its presence private and secret, after I voiced my embarrassment, or didn’t have to, and they have my thanks for their discretion. It did make the difference to me getting out of the room or having any productivity in our room when I wasn’t able to leave it.
The following week, I asked my Rheumatologist about the weight of it and differences, after she was so happy to hear my motion has indeed increased with the use of the walker in the bedroom. She agreed that I need something lighter because of my Fibromyalgia “hot spots” for the main level of the house making it more of a challenge to use. And because on days I’ll need it, I sure as hell wouldn’t be able to get the one I have downstairs without aid and I’m shopping for a wheeled option for downstairs. Sexy, I know, but better to know before you visit.
Our oldest son and wife are living with us, and they and my husband are kind to me and I haven’t had to make that move, yet. For that, I’m exceedingly grateful (although not nearly good enough at showing it), because it also allows me to “watch” Little Bear from the comfortable nest of my bed/desk/dining table/sofa in our bedroom. Chooch or Gal are always on the same floor with me, so if any needs arise that I can’t cover still have him safe, but they are free to roam.
I’m the baby monitor, when I’m able to be one, watching him while he sleeps if nothing else. Lifting him, now at 13.3 pounds and two months old, is a painful struggle, but the Baby Bjorn helps, although rarely after getting him in it with assistance. Otherwise, I only carry him a few feet at a time and never on the stairs. Ever. I’m terrible on the stairs now.
Now, as was offered by a dear friend for my cane when I first got it years ago, I could dress my walker(s) up and make it snazzy, but I’ve decided I like the medical/functional appearance of it. It’s a constant reminder that it’s not an accessory, it’s a tool to strengthen my body, and to be used only as needed, not to the extent of my tendency recently towards laziness from fatigue.
I use my current, hefty and solid gifted walker next to my bed, for stretching and light exercise, balance and strength boosting, as little as it is. It’s not as much as other friends have/are doing in the aftermath since brother-from-another-mother P.G. Holydfield’s passing last August. But I’m still fighting where I can, damn it. I have realistic goals that I aspire to so I can make them and feel empowered to aspire to more. That’s my process.
And with all the added stress of moving in difficult times, weight gain has hit this Future Fat Granny. I’m doing ok with little changes and minimizing calories and increasing nutrition in my sustenance (smoothies for TMJ relief). But motion is still so painful that my vascular is not as cardio as it once was. Or whatever.
I’ve got goals for this year, and I need to lose some of the grief and uber nesting weight gain and get as strong as many of my friends are getting, as my body allows. There won’t be a race, but there will be health improvement.
Okay, so, yes, I actually have challenged a few folks to a race to age 100, including my former M-i-L on my Son’s wedding day. She has a lead on me, which she pointed out, and I told her something along the lines of hoping I was there to celebrate it with her. Sincerely. She’s a wonderful grandmother to my sons and I’m so grateful for that.
Rushed hospital photos by professional photog. Epic cuteness, and here’s my fave with us.
The health goals are there, and post-Balticon 2015, with the last memorial we have promised to throw for our P.G. is done. So many planned things were not done, but that was because I aimed too high. Those things are stashed away in the hopes we (SpecFicMedia.com) get to throw next year’s New Media Party.
Lookit, with multiple setbacks, thanks to the chaos of our rental home and such, I didn’t go as strong into grand-parenting as I’d hoped. But I can get moving a lot easier with the walker, and once I’m in motion, I keep going until I can’t anymore. Which is, admittedly, not very far, but as satisfying as I can get for now, newly dedicated to enlarge my route beyond the bedroom, first floor and home.
The walker has improved my motion to be less of a burden, and so my new friend stays so that I can try and keep up with all the wonder and surprise that the future holds.
I returned to my longtime neurologist, since he has all the documentation of everything involving my disabilities, having given up on hope of body pain relief via Western medicine. I still visit her to check in and track disease progression, but my focus is on the migraines that leave me completely batty at times.
After discussing everything and our Dr. P started me on a new daily medication, with instructions to double it after 10 days, to what would be my maximum safe dosage range. It’s one he’d put off using in the past because of concerns on how it would impact cardiac issues. I had worse migraines than before and he dropped me back down to the initial half dose and wrote another, new prescription. The last he has to offer, in his bag of tricks. I am giving myself a lengthy wean down on it before starting the new one. The side effects impact every person I live with, after all, and these are mood-impacting medications.
He also suggested Botox injections for migraine relief. A months-long panic attack ensued, in spite of knowing it’s safe. (No, I won’t look younger, the injection sites are primarily on the scalp and down the back of the neck.)
The needles are like acupuncture needles and it’s done in the office, it’s such a mild treatment. None of this reassures me because I keep wondering why it’s sane in the year 2015 to inject botulism into 31 locations on my head, every 4 months. If insurance covers it and if it works. Good news? Can’t make me more stupider! Hubby promises my skull can’t be penetrated and my brain injected with botulism. He hasn’t led me astray yet.
As of now, I’m about to start the last new daily and for some reason remaining on the half-dose of the last daily. Sure, I’m hopeful, but am again suffering from hope fatigue.
I mean, do I have to get my hopes up each and every time and pray they aren’t dashed as I more slowly realize that this solution is as ineffective or toxic as the last however many dozen? Can I just skip that part as I swallow it down and await results? I’m utterly exhausted from being hopeful on my medical stuff and I’d rather put it to use elsewhere in my life.
If it does help, trust me, the world will know it. I just don’t have the energy to get super hopeful and excited with so many other things in the world. Pain is pain, and it isn’t (knock on wood) deadly yet, so I’ll just save my hope for something else and keep a keen eye on the results before I get excited.
I am super annoyed for the five years of delays to dealing with *my* prior health concerns/goals.
And I am super tired of being a fucking lab rat/guinea pig.
And I am super motivating myself to take major steps on the breast cancer risk assessment. There, I’ve said it out loud, so I have to do it.
Countdown to our grandson Little Bear’s arrival: 11-ish days and counting! My phone app says he’s the size of a watermelon! Our poor daughter(-in-law) is completely overtaken by him and I can’t wait to offer to give her a break on carrying him all by herself, once he’s born and they’re ready to share.
I’ve still been chasing a return to normal health and a normal life for the last 5 years. What started out as debilitating flu symptoms, which after much testing, led to a diagnosis of Vestibular Migraines (migraines, near-constant dizziness, fatigue, memory and comprehension/cognitive problems and HIGHLY entertaining neurological problems). I want nothing more to be useful again, both in income and employment satisfaction, running and exercise, parenting up to my standards, podcasting and public speaking, putting creations into the world, and just living more fully.
It was a shock, especially as swiftly as onset incapacitated me, but in hindsight, I’d been battling my headaches and other symptoms while minimizing their importance for years. They were nothing compared to what my ex-husband’s family experienced with their hereditary migraine issues, so who was I to complain? The frequency even triggered a halt to using Tylenol products because of their liver damaging potential, and I’m still not allowed to take them.
Five years later, I have a mixed bag of chronic illnesses, having added fibromyalgia, tmj, etc., and have been chasing pain relief since November of 2009. Onset was a spectrum of symptoms from what was diagnosed as vestibular migraines and as I learned to adapt to them, symptoms of tmj and fibromyalgia became the focus of attention. When nearly all of of my 18 tender points, if not trigger points, are firing off pain, it’s easy to understand why I was chasing it as opposed to the migraines I’d been receiving treatment for almost 3 years for from my respected Neurologist, Dr. P.
I’d been juggling both, with nothing more from my neurologist at one point than break-through migraine pain management continuing, until last year. Dr. P. told me he couldn’t help me with my migraines until my Rheumatologist and I had my Fibro under control without opiods, which are migraine triggers.
He was concerned about possible interactions and took away my final tier of pain management – a pill that lets me sleep, no matter how intense the pain. That pill kept me sane for many years, just by being in my possession. It was reassuring because if the pain became unbearable, I would still be able to relieve it through deep sleep.
Many times, I would awake rested without the migraine. I rarely took it, as it could be risky for me to use otherwise, since I would have taken other medications up to that point. Again, just a reassuring pat would lower my anxiety and panic response, and at times, was calming as a valium.
And then, just, gone. It was a scary adjustment, but not earth-shattering as other life issues have been pressing in as well. I focused all my efforts on finding something with her that would work, trying a variety of medications and having some gnarly reactions to all of them.
Then, end of last year, I reported to my Rheumatologist the results of the latest pain cocktail, and she told me that she doesn’t have any other options to try on me.
Now I’ve redoubled my efforts with my Neurologist, with only a handful of options left.
I realize these health issues are nothing compared to health issues of others that I know or don’t know. But I grant myself the same kindness I do everyone else — a person’s pain shouldn’t be compared from one person to the next because we are all traveling with our own sadness, regardless of the reason.
It’s not a competition, this is me speaking about me, in a place I feel safe to speak, humbly, before I forget it.
After a mad dash to the Sonic for a grape slushie and a greasy burger, we went next door to Super Target, because it had everything on my list. With great glee I spent too much money because we were rushing to go home and look glamorous for my son and new DiL.
I didn’t look glamorous, here’s the only pic I took of myself. I wore a Target dress thing with purple and green, (my fave colors in the world). I only had foundation, blush and mascara on and looked like I’d been crying for a month, which I have. Every unattractive thing about me, is my badge of honor for how I was able to pull it together that fast. Because Love AND
And I wore the most badass shoes I could find. Gal and Eldest and Chooch, they know why already — because of the shoes Gal wore the first time we met.
They were surrounded by the six people they invited that could attend, and even the officiant clearly knew Eldest for a long time, somehow.
The service was beautiful. Perfect, even.
They spontaneously had it on a bridge, with his Dad’s parents, my sister and her husband, the officiant and his wife. Because I had just seen a family come together for a man they loved. It was… Precisely So. Perfection. Accidentally more awesome than a Royal Wedding.
I’ve asked the officiant for the readings he did, as part of the perfect soundtrack of the day. Every word was bonding them and healing me.
My beautiful and badass daughter is codename: Galadriel, Gal for shorter typing, lol.
Eldest may even be Naughty Bear again, since now we have another bear to love on. Not sure yet.
Sidebar: I didn’t even take pix. Um, yeah… ME. Too much joy, I couldn’t hold my camera phone. But my former Mother-in-Law had a camera at the ready and was snapping pix the whole time. I’m finding comfort in patterns, rather than saying “It’s the coincidences that are driving me crazy.” I can’t wait to see the pix she took, whenever I see them. More on why htey had to rush off, later.
Apologies and gratitude to J.R. Blackwell. We scheduled to take engagement pix in June or July (?), when last week, they decided to do the wedding Sunday because they didn’t want to spend money renewing the Marriage License and it was about to expire.
I never even had time to contact J.R. to change the long planned shoot and ask if she’d be able to do a 6 pm wedding. I knew she couldn’t (or shouldn’t try), so I’m glad I never got to ask. It was impossible for me to wrangle the details. And this made it all about my kids, which they deserved.
Praise Baby Jusus that they did! To survive this, I am crying, breaking down and grieving. I got to laugh and love and cry from joy.
I shall contact you soon, J.R. I want, if there’s a way, to do their shoot in Philly. Eldest, Chooch and I love that city, partly because of those we love that live there. Also, because we want to share Philly (and you guys!) with Our Gal.
THE BABY
The wedding was LONG planned and long-delayed when they discovered the pregnancy, and they went (and made us go) on the cheap. Because a baby is coming, and they know what that means — money and lots of work.
If a plane crashes on my home and I die today, it will be knowing my Eldest son is happy in love. Son “LT” started his senior year of high school with plans laid for collete. “Crazy J” who needs a new codename now that he’s ten + years older than when I assigned that code name. All three sons need to pick new ones, I suppose.
All this to say that Little Blessings are all we need to survive, somehow.
It was true when in battle mode and now it’s true in recovery mode.
It is appreciated beyond words.
It is known.
And at midnight, pulling in front of my sister’s house the night before the wedding, my Grand Baby countdown to delivery app (Fuck yeah, I have one!) turned our little raspberry into a Green Olive.
THE DONATE BUTTON TO DONATE TO CHOOCH AND VIV FOR FUND RECOUPING FOR FUTURE EVENTS HONORING Patrick G. Holyfield’s Children’s Trust.
Note: Anything left after that (HA!) will go to the ramp up of the newly revitalized biz, that Chooch will have to head, to get all these creative ideas out in the world. Vivid Muse Creations, LLC is open for biz, we just have our hands full right now to do work for payment. If you’d like to help but can’t, in an email addy to be provided soon, you can send offers of paid work, when we can get to it, in roughly 3 months to start. Maybe. It depends on what the Holyfield and our own families need from us at this time, as Patrick has inspired raw despair and the result is that lots of relationships in my own life are being healed. It’s a PG Miracle.
When I started the biz, it was completely inspired by the Podisphere and all the unrecognized (by the ‘Verse) creative geniuses. It was to be a harbor for those with creative talent that want to get their books published.
That was 2011. This is 2014.
Chooch and I recently decided to pull the plug on VMC, LLC, since he’s working so hard and can no longer do even the small amount of work coming in from two long-time customers. We were at our max, this was months ago, so never closed the business.
Now, we are considering opening it back up. The harbor needs some construction, but with the help of good people with leet skillz, I hope to make this a business that allows creatitivity to flourish and blossom and inspire others, the way the Balticon/Podisphere/Twitter & FB families inspired me to be brave enough to not only open it, not only promote it (humbly, you know me.), but broadcast it for the world to know. My big challenge to Myself.
Of course, this was life-changing for me, because I was experiencing things and learning a lot that went unnoticed before, much of it damaging for my health or of loved ones. I’ve been able to really explore those, without the luxury of therapy because of financial reasons, but I’ve had successes and am again finding “my voice” again, after embarrassment and shame at my situation was the microphone I communicated through for so many years.
I’ve made great strides towards my emotional growth in overcoming the depression that has been worsened since my debilities and other health issues that prevent me from being able to provide income to help my family during an extremely expensive time. (College, high school senior, high school freshman, plus too many other things. You get me.) Much of this I credit to Chooch, who supports me unconditionally, and then makes sure I catch my bullshit when I’m blinded to it.
All this even after I learned about “Counting Spoons,” but have only recently been able to put them into practice and stand by the boundaries I’ve set with others and with myself. If it’s negative for me or those I love, I try to understand it and heal it. If I am unable, I move on, because I recognize as a human, I cannot fix everything for everyone, regardless of my overwhelming need to.
I evaluate, I learn, I adjust expectations (to a point, and in scale with the same considerations granted to me on an individual basis), verbalize my line in the sand long before it can get crossed and therefore, is not my fault when people trash it and my trust in them is lost. People have themselves to watch out for, after all, and to assume we have mutual goals and want to get there the exact same with others is the definition of insanity, I’m beginning to believe.
Although much of this is new to me, it isn’t new to this blog. I actually posted about it over a year ago, and what I called “hope fatigue.” I didn’t even remember writing or posting it until I searched for the Spoon Theory link, but I’m happy to say that I’ve continued following the beliefs listed there. But again, I don’t remember writing or posting it. Fascination doesn’t begin to cover it, but if nothing else, I think that it also helps to demonstrate my neurological state then and now.
I’m shocked as I read it at the number of errors in the post (left uncorrected, because this blog is my memory bank and this matters to me), but primarily because I’ve wasted so much time learning and re-learning (and re-learning, based on some of the 40+ posts sitting in the Drafts folder) the same lessons, over and over and over and over with the same issues and people.
So BAM! While I’m smack in the middle of facing and accepting my handicaps/disabilities/Health Blahs, I’m hit again with more knowledge on how dumb my dumb brain truly has been and how excellently (HA!) it performs when being that dumb. I am constantly reacting and off balance, not knowing if and when I could live this life by my standards again, rather than compromising with every person that crossed my path, whether I was being obviously taken advantage of or not.
I also chose to embrace my health FAIL and to test those limits, then define them, then accept them and adjust my expectations of myself, with the same kindness I grant others, regardless of how they treat me or my loved ones. We are human, after all, and each of us are flawed, and it’s really pretty simple, in practice.
The testing process was immensely humiliating, in front of friends and family. I kept over-extending myself while testing limitations and failing, then picking up the pieces, examining them again, discarding what didn’t work and keeping what did, and tried again. But all of it was with the feeling that I was on the outside looking in, rather than a person even involved in the interactions. Everything was muffled through the meds and Fibro Fog.
So, with Nucynta, I’m happy to report that I’ve (we’ve) benefited already from that effort, just since the first of this year. Yay! But I also truly discovered how lost I was in the medication, far far more than I ever thought. *hiss*
Sadly, my body simply can’t tolerate the Nucynta, or at least it in combination with other medications. After my visit a few weeks ago with my Rheumatologist, I’m now off of it with the next script. The negative health effects were too drastic and the fatigue and weakness had worsened. It did provide a measure of pain relief, but not enough for what my body went through trying to shake myself into movement. It felt literally toxic and I had constant nausea and an inability to eat more than a few bites of anything, therefore my blood sugar was in turmoil. Unacceptable with summer and my son and nephew visiting and the other awesome things we have planned!
