It’s been a while…

I know, I know… It’s been a little while.  And I promised myself that I would start doing this more.  But honestly, my head has been everywhere else but on keeping up with this blog.  I have been writing a little everyday, trying really hard to get my “novel” as close to completed before the next NaNoWriMo starts.  I want to be able to start on a new project knowing that my current project has been written, not edited, but written.

It’s a good thing that Camp NaNoWriMo in April and July, as well as joining a writing group on Facebook, has kept me pretty focused.  I am pretty pleased with things are headed in my current WIP, but have so many ideas on where I want to take it.  It’s a good thing I still have 20,000+ words that need to be written just to meet the 50,000 word goal.

In the meantime, I want to resurrect part one of a short story I had posted back in December.  I’ve been thinking of incorporating it into one of my bigger projects, either the one I’m working on now or one for the future.  Any thoughts, suggestions, or comments would be great.  Especially since reading other people’s material makes me question any ability that I think I have.

With that, here’s part one of The Stairs…

I vaguely remember what the bathroom looked like. There was a large mirror to my left and above a cream, faux-marble counter. The white wooden door of a medicine cabinet peeked out from behind the left side of his head. To the right was nothing but the hazy glow of white street lamps trying to shine through a frosted window.

Up until that night, I had never been that excruciatingly angry.

He was practically begging. “Please.” “Why not?” “Just for a minute.” But I couldn’t, I didn’t want to. Here we were, locked in a dark bathroom on the second floor of a house that belonged to someone I didn’t know. I can still hear him trying to charm me into giving in. He had a hold of my right wrist and was gently tugging it, trying to persuade me to my knees. All the while smiling. And begging. I said no. Nicely. And I said it repeatedly. But he kept trying to sweet-talk me. “Don’t you love me?” “C’mon, please.”

Finally out of frustration, I snapped at him. “Get your whore Andrea to do it.” It was petty, I know. But what can I say? I was only 15. I didn’t know any other way to behave. As the words flew out of my mouth, I pushed him away from me. I was still so disgusted about his previous indiscretions that I figured what better way to get him to leave me alone.

How we got from inside the bathroom to out in the hallway, I don’t remember. But he was beyond pissed. I could hear him mumble something as he turned toward the stairs. I don’t remember what exactly, but it was enough at the time to make me feel like I had just been gutted. I was nauseous and angry and hurt. In the seconds it took him to walk toward the top of the stairs, I took a tally of all of the hurtful things he had ever done, all of the nasty, hateful things he had ever said, and all of the rules and regulations that came with being with him. In those few seconds, I wanted him to feel every minute of pain that he had ever caused me.

I had every intention of hurting him. And I truly believed it would have been his fault. He had pushed me to the edge. I wanted him to know what it was like to be bruised and beaten, and then have those same wounds kissed better by the person who inflicted them.  I wanted him to see what it was like to feel like a caged animal living in fear.

I fully intended to push him down those stairs.


a case of the feels

The hollow weight that rests in the middle of your chest. A wave of emotions that cannot be explained.  The feels.  Ahhh… I almost forgot what these were like.  So many years I was on medication that kept the feels locked up.  Experiencing them again is almost overwhelming.

This should have been tattooed on my chest.


But now it’s like every little thing sets me off – a song, a commercial, a book, a TV show.  And not something that can be easily written off as watery eyes… No, it’s got to be full out sobs sprinkled with some mild convulsing.

What the hell is wrong with me?  Is decreasing my medication turning me into softy?

I can’t be a fucking softy!  I have a reputation to uphold.  I’m the gatekeeper for Hell.  I’m the ruthless Ice Bitch.

I need to get a handle on this whole emotions thing again.

The Week That Was – AKA: TW2

It’s like the universe heard that I wanted to try and get off my crazy meds, so it decided to fuck with me this week.  Either that or I have some kind of crazy asshole attractor because this week has been full of them.  Well except for maybe Monday.

Ahhhh.  Monday.  Monday was great.  I requested that day off because it was the Yankees home opener and I wasn’t going to miss opening day this year.  I started my morning with coffee, sleepy kitties, and writing.  Lots of writing.


I decided that I was going to attempt Camp NaNoWriMo (there’s a little less pressure to meet a word count).  I did’t get as far as I wanted back in November so I decided to continue the quest.  Pretending to be Diane Keaton was glorious!  Of course, being able to watch the Yankee game was great too. We won by the way (yes I’m part of the team.)

Of course the badassness of Monday quickly disappeared when I woke up Tuesday and realized I had to go back to work.  I knew I needed to get a bunch of shit done since I was out.  But surprisingly I wasn’t stressed until some doctor called to chew my ass about a payment she missed.  Hey broad, I didn’t forget to make your loan payment.  I also wasn’t aware that you were now in charge of paying the bills instead of the your business partner.  Had you responded to the numerous emails and phone messages that were left for you over the last year, the whole situation could have probably been avoided.

Wednesday… ehh.  The only good about Wednesday, besides another Yankee game, was that I was looking forward to Acupuncture Thursday.  I LOVE going to acupuncture.  It’s amazing to be able to feel all of the bullshit escape by way of those tiny needles.  That feeling of alignment usually lasts well into the weekend… unless your upstairs neighbor is an arrogant prick who feels his dog doesn’t need to be on a leash and that dog then runs down the stairs to attack our dog.  Technically he isn’t my dog; I would say he’s more like the family dog.  Either way, the stupid neighbor dog ended up biting our dog and left a lovely little puncture wound in his butt cheek.  I was pissed.  I’m still pissed.

Look at this face.  Why would you want to bite him in the ass?
Look at this face. Why would you want to bite him in the ass?

That leads me to today.  First thing this morning I called the apartment office and let the manager have it because the arrogant prick neighbor also works for the complex.  How are you going to send me little notes in my door about how to keep my animal(s) on a leash, but the shithead that works and lives here isn’t following the same rules?  Talk about some bullshit.  As the day progressed, it was like all of the other assholes of the world were taunting me.  Assholes with a stick in their ass, assholes acting like the world owes them something, assholes not pushing their stalled piece of shit car out of the middle of rush hour traffic.

Hopefully this weekend turns around.  Breakfast with my in-laws, tutoring in the afternoon, then watching boxing with friends, and of course plenty of Yankees baseball.

just call me crazy

A few months ago, I read an article on about the connection between madness and creativity.  It seemed that the idea light bulb floating above my head remembered how to turn on.  This was exactly what was happening to me.  In the height of my depression and anxiety I was completely in touch with the creativity portion of my brain.  Words seems to spill out like a waterfall.

Granted, I was a complete mess.  I felt like I was on a permanent acid trip comedown… Feeling every emotion at once but at 1000 times stronger than ever before.  Nowadays, I don’t feel such a variety or depth of emotions.  Don’t get me wrong, I feel emotions, but they always seem muted.  I don’t feel like I am as touch with who I am mentally as I did at my craziest.

So that brings me to the most recent few months… I have decided that I want to try and stop taking my crazy meds entirely.  I don’t want to take my Cymbalta or Xanax anymore.  I haven’t wanted to take it, or even wanted to need it, in a really long time.  Hell, when I was first diagnosed as having major depressive disorder and anxiety disorder it was my mission to not have to rely on medication.  I think that I have finally reached the point where I can do this.

I have learned a lot about how food, meditation, exercise, acupuncture, and other things can better control my depression and anxiety.  I don’t want to feel like parts of my brain have been shut off or dying from non-use.

Now… if I can just convince my doctor that I’m completely rational and that this is a good thing.  🙂


It’s officially March, which reminds me of a few I things.

1) LB3’s (little brother #3) birthday is later this month. And it’s a big one. 21. And that’s depressing. Cuz I swear I’m still 17 and he’s just some long haired blonde kid asking me to carry him around. Where did all the time go?

2) March of the Pigs by Nine Inch Nails. When I first heard the song, it wasn’t one of my favorites, but after listening to it a few hundred times on And All That Could Have Been, I have a new appreciation for it. Of course that album is amazing.

3) Spring. Fucking. Break. The only thing that is great about it is that there isn’t as much traffic on my commute to work. And that’s seriously depressing. It’s that painful reminder that I’m an adult that has bills to pay. Damn that responsibility shit.

I’m back!!

Oh yeah motherbitches…

The laptop has been purchased and I am back to the blogging, writing, and stalking on Facebook and Twitter.  I’m so damn excited that I just want to sit and play with it all the time (get your mind out of the gutter perverts… oh wait, I thought it first).

While I try to get back in the habit of writing and try to figure out what to blog and when, here’s a lovely little number that I always think of when I hear the words, “I’m back.”

At the mercy of money

Ok… So my laptop finally died. It’s only about 4 1/2 years old which is probably the equivalent of a lifetime in computer years. Of course due to financial barriers, I don’t really have the magic funds to replace it. Hence my absence from the blogging world. I have my little iCloud reminder popping up every Monday night, quietly slapping me in the face with the fact that I haven’t been able to keep up with this or my sad quest to finish my “novel.” Being broke sucks donkey balls!!

Good thing after finishing my taxes I now owe the government a small sum, which I could easily use toward the “get-Mo-a-new-computer-fund.” Oh well. Such is life I guess. Doesn’t make it suck any less though.

So here I type from my small iPhone screen with promises of returning to world of the functioning. Once I get the money I need saved for a new surface.