Posted in His Days (about the husband), Mi Vida Loca, nonfiction

Why I’ve Been So Quiet Lately

 

Hello People. Hope your end of the week is a good one.

Why I’ve been so quiet on here lately is not good. I wish it was good news but it’s not. The husband had a stroke. Yeah, it’s been the shits. He hadn’t been feeling well since Thanksgiving (Canada’s Thanksgiving). For a few days, he was confused and disoriented. I should have taken him to the doctor then but he refused to go.

Sunday night I couldn’t rouse him from his sleep. He had been asleep all day. Not even getting up to go to the bathroom. Anyone who is in their mid-sixties knows this is not natural. We got to go pee often. One of those age things.

Anyway, he hadn’t even moved positions and I was getting concerned so I tried to wake him up…..and couldn’t. He was breathing but he wasn’t waking up entirely. I managed to get him to open his eyes a bit but he couldn’t talk when he tried to. That’s when I knew I needed to call an ambulance.

He did manage to wake up enough to realize the EMS guys were there but he wasn’t able to speak very well. So off they went and I followed a few minutes after. I was with him in the ER from about 8-8:30 pm Sunday night until they told me to go home and rest about 4 am Monday morning. He was pretty much out of it when I left. He couldn’t talk and his right arm wouldn’t move, plus, his right hand was swollen about twice its size.

I went home but I didn’t sleep. How could I? I rested as much as I could and was back to the hospital Monday morning.

I didn’t know any more than I did early that morning until I could talk to the doctor. I finally was able to after a couple of hours of watching him drift in and out of a restless sleep. They had done a CT scan of his head and lungs as he was having some difficulty breathing. They also did a whole bunch of blood work the night before.

The first day…..this is what they knew for sure……he had a bad lung infection and his kidneys weren’t working as they should. They weren’t confirming yet that he had a stroke but in my heart, I knew he did. He was put on two antibiotics and a saline drip as he was also highly dehydrated.

He was able to talk a bit better but his speech was very slow and a bit garbled. He couldn’t use his right arm or hand. The doctor said they could tell from the CT scan that he had a couple of prior strokes in the past but they couldn’t tell if he had one now. There was a couple of different tests they wanted to do. Let me tell you I was scared for him. He was in pretty bad shape.

To make a really long story short. They are now saying he DID have a stroke along with his lung infection. They were worried about his kidneys and liver as neither one was working as it should. The right hand being swollen they couldn’t really explain.

When I left him yesterday his speech was back to normal. His right hand was no longer swollen and he had mobility in his right arm. They still had him on antibiotics. Also, now his blood pressure is high and they were giving him shots to bring it down. This is a man whose blood pressure was always on the low side. Not good.

And he’s not eating. He hasn’t had anything to eat since Saturday. He took one bite of his cheese sandwich yesterday at lunch and that was it. I couldn’t get him to eat anything else. Of course, we all know what hospital food is like. His was even worse. He had a bowl of soup. It was supposed to be soup. I think. Everything he eats or drinks has to be thickened up because of his lungs. If it’s not thick it will go INTO his lungs instead of his stomach. Not good. But, omg, that was some nasty so-called food.

I felt so sorry for him.

He wants to come home. They have no date as to when he will be released. I won’t see him until tomorrow morning as I am exhausted and I have so much to catch up on here at home. He understands. I’ll take him his clothes then. I’m hoping I will know more then also. We shall see.

Anyways, that’s been my life lately. If you have any extra good thoughts to send the husbands way, please do. We will both appreciate it.

Now I am off to do laundry and dishes. Sighhhh

 

 

Posted in nonfiction, postaday, Word Fun

Word Fun ~~~ Phobia Words

Today I thought I’d have some word fun. I love words, as most of you know, and I wondered where do we get those strange words for phobias? Yeah, my mind is a strange place….

Anyway, phobias, which are just basically fears, seemed like an interesting topic of conversation. We all have them. If someone says they aren’t afraid of something…they lie.

Now me, I have arachnophobia (fear of spiders) and claustrophobia (fear of closed in spaces), I also have achluophobia (fear of darkness).

What about you? What are you terrified of?

Here’s a list I came up with for words that mean some strange fears. Ok, maybe to those that have these fears they aren’t strange. So I should say, strange to ME fears.

What do you think?

evil-clowns-1759563_640

 

For all you Vampires out there…. alliumphobia (fear of garlic)

Here’s one of Trump’s fears….allodoxaphobia (fear of other people’s opinions)

Now this one is not one I understand at all…. bibliophobia (fear of books)

My cats have this one…..brontophobia (fear of thunderstorms)

Now, I wouldn’t say I have this fear, I just like to avoid them…..  catoptrophobia (fear of mirrors)

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I wonder how people with this fear go the bathroom?….. coprophobia (fear of excrement)

Another one of Trump’s………criticophobia (fear of critics or criticism)

I know someone who has this….ergasiophobia (fear of work)

I’m not sure what to say for this one….. eosophobia (fear of dawn)

I only have this when I gain too much weight….. geniophobia (fear of chins)

And I know I don’t have this one! ……graphophobia (fear of writing)

I swear there are some people who have this that I know…..hedonophobia (fear of pleasure)

I don’t think anyone who is in the world’s oldest profession has problems with this one…… ithyphallophobia (fear of erect penises)

Ok, I have to admit, I have a bit of this one…… koinoniphobia (fear of rooms full of people)

Know anyone with this one?……  linonophobia (fear of string)

My ex-mother-in-law had this one to the point she would faint if she saw one…..musophobia (fear of mice)

Wonder what someone does if they have to go out in a storm if they have this one?…… nephophobia (fear of clouds)

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Hearing about some….I have no doubt a few people have this one…… novercaphobia (fear of mother-in-laws)

Lot’s of people have this one!……ophidiophobia (fear of snakes)

Do you have this one?……phasmophobia (fear of ghosts)

I know too many people who seem to have this one!……phronemophobia (fear of thinking)

This is one for all those old men in politics who seem to have this one about women! …… prosophobia (fear of progress)

 

 

Hope you enjoyed my little list of fears.

 

 

 

Posted in Blogging, Mi Vida Loca, nonfiction, postaday, Wednesday Whatever!, writing

Wednesday Whatever!

Wednesday

 

 

I was trying to think of something to write today and couldn’t. My mind was blank. Then I saw this blog post come up in my email box (this one)

I like the blog, I subscribed to this blog and I enjoy reading it whenever one of the authors put out a post. You should read it. Go ahead. I’ll wait.

Ok, for those of you too lazy to go read it (ha!) Michael Helms, who by the way is a very good writer, asks, ‘when is an author an Author? Then he goes on to explain that he read an e-book that he felt was terrible. It was short, so it wasn’t even technically a novel, it was also badly (if at all) edited. So does this make the person who published it an author? He says, no. And I agree with him. It doesn’t make a person an author if all they publish is a bad short story. That’s not the reason I’m writing about it.

The reason I’m writing about it and pointing the post out is this……..

Am I an author? Or just a wannabe? Or maybe I’m ‘just a writer’.

You see, I’m not against what Michael says in his post. I’m more challenging some of the comments on the post. It’s the age-old debate…..does self-publishing make you an author or someone who just self-published? And if a writer puts out a book that isn’t professionally edited with a professional book cover does this automatically make it a bad book?

As most of you know my books were NOT professionally edited nor do they have professional book covers. Although I must admit I think the kind friend who did my book cover could be a professional at book covers. Anyway, the point being….does not having ‘professionals’ involved in the process make it a bad book? Automatically?

I think what got to me the most about Michael’s post was it hit a nerve with me. It hit my self-doubt button. That sucker is never far from the surface anyway.

 

Writer-

 

Am I an author? Or just a wannabe? Am I a fake because I self-publish?

In my comment to the post, I admitted that I did not have professionals involved in the process of publishing my books. Not because I didn’t want to. Because I’m a poor person. I just don’t have the money to hire professionals. Which brings me to another question. Are you a ‘professional’ just because you get paid to do something? I imagine you must have experience too. The couple of people who helped me edit my books are not paid to edit. But, one is a writer with many books under her belt and one was a teacher for most of his life. Does not THAT make them ‘professionals’?

Besides, I’ve seen traditionally published books with lots of editing mistakes. Does that discount their professionalism?

I’ve been having lots of problems getting my third book going. I have self-doubts as I mentioned. I am tired most of the time…….I could make dozens of excuses as to why I’m not writing. The bottom line is the doubt. Am I a writer? An author? Or a fake?

I know this feeling will pass. At least I hope it will. It’s not Michael’s fault that his article brought up these feelings. Nor the commentators on his post. It’s all mine. I own it.

Do I have to be traditionally published to be taken seriously as a writer? Some would answer that last question with a resounding yes. Why? Because that’s how it’s always been done? Times change folks. I’m old, but not too old to change with the times. Self-publishing is not a bad thing and yes it’s here to stay. Get used to it.

Now all I have to do is get myself in gear again and start writing, whether I’m an author or not. Because I refuse to let my fears or other’s opinions keep me from my dreams.

 

 

What’s your take on this debate?

 

Posted in Blogging, Fiction, Flash Back Friday, Humor, postaday, stories, writing

Flashback Friday

Hello, people!

I hope the start of your weekend is fantastic! I’m taking a small break from my edits to bring you this flash from the past.

Here’s a short story I wrote way back in October of 2012. I hope you enjoy it. 🙂

 

It Was a Dark and Stormy Night

Yeah, I’m borrowing the title from Snoopy.  He said I could. We’re  close friends. Snoopy borrowed it from Sir Edward George Earle Bulwer-Lytton, and now there is a contest every year called

The Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest

The contest uses the infamous phrase to showcase the worst extremes of this “purple prose”. It only uses one sentence, where I  thought it would be fun to write a story with that title. I kind of doubt it will be scary, but in honor of Halloween,  one of my favorite holidays, I thought I would borrow the phrase and see what happens.

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I was home alone with my little dog Sam. The wind was howling through the trees, it almost sounded like moaning. Of course, that was just my imagination. Usually, storms don’t bother me. In fact, I love them. But this one seemed different. There was a feeling in the air, it was heavy, like a smelly wet blanket covering the whole house. We had lost the electricity an hour ago. But I had plenty of candles lit. I hate the dark, things happen in the dark that doesn’t happen in the light.

It wasn’t raining, not yet anyway. But the wind was blowing and the trees outside were hitting the side of the house. A steady bang, bang, bang. It was driving me crazy. I made a mental note to have the trees next to the house trimmed… soon.

The thunder could be heard rumbling over the wind. Every now and then the lightning would light up the house. Because of that and the candles, there were odd shadows flickering on the walls and ceilings. It would be a great night for Halloween. But that holiday was still a few weeks away.

I sat on the couch with Sam as close to my side as he could get. I liked the company, even if it was in the shape of a small dog. At least we had each other, and I wasn’t completely alone. I felt foolish. A grown woman afraid of the dark, but I couldn’t help myself. It was just that kind of night.

I heard a soft creak, like a footstep when the wind and thunder were silent for a few seconds.  It sounded like it was in the house! Sam and I just froze for a second, I felt the poor little guy shiver in fright. I have to admit it scared me too!

I gathered my courage together, picked up one of the candles and decided to take a look around the house. Yeah, stupid I know. I mean, in all the scary movies one sees, the girl always goes looking around the dark house on her own and meets up with the boogie man!

This wasn’t a movie. I would rather meet up with the boogie man on my terms then sit on the couch and await my doom. So off we went to search the house. Sam was close on my heels, I guess he wasn’t willing to be alone either.

We did a quick survey of the main floor and saw nothing unusual. So I decided to take a look upstairs. I slowly started to climb the stairs as the candle flickered at each step. I tried to listen to anything beyond the wind but heard nothing strange.

So step by slow step I continued upwards. We got to the landing and I stopped to give another listen. Nothing. I took a step forward and immediately heard a creak and I knew it wasn’t me that made it.

I decided to keep moving forward. I had to find out if someone else was in the house with me. It was either that or go hide somewhere and wait for the boogie man to find me! Neither option was the greatest. So taking my courage in hand once more I continued forward. I slowly walked down the hall. The first room I came to was the bathroom. Taking a quick look inside I knew no one was there, and yes, I looked in the shower too!

Poor little Sam was with me every step of the way. I made myself a promise that I would give Sam some extra special dog cookies once we were over this night! He deserved them for keeping me company on this scary night.

Taking a deep breath, I continued to the next room. My bedroom door was closed like usual.  I grabbed the door handle and slowly turned it. As I opened the bedroom door I heard it give a small screech, I never noticed that it needed oiling until now.

As I opened the door all the way and stepped inside the wind picked up in force and pushed the outside tree against the side of the house. The bang that followed made my heart jump and my hand holding the candle shake.

I walked into the room and took a quick look around as Sam stayed in the doorway.  I saw nothing out of the ordinary and even got enough courage to throw the closet door open and take a look. Nothing. Whew!

My heart slowed down just a bit and I left to check the last room. An extra bedroom. That door too is usually closed, but I noticed soon enough that it was open a crack. My heart started to beat fast once more.  I stood just outside the door wondering if I shouldn’t just turn and run. I took a deep silent breath as I put my hand against the door to push it open.

I gave it a slow push and took a quick look. I didn’t see anything so I took a step inside…then all hell broke loose!

There was an awful howl as two gray and white bodies streaked past me out the door. Sam gave a loud bark and took after them. Sam was yapping excitedly as I ran into the hallway just in time to see my two devil cats running hell-bent down the hall with Sam nipping at their tails!

Both cats raced toward the stairs and when the first one hit the curve before the stairs the second one almost ran him over. As their paws scrambled for footing they bounded down the stairs with the now brave Sam close on their butts!

I started running after Sam as fast as I could without putting out my candle. I heard a loud crash downstairs and wondered what piece of furniture was a victim of their flight.  Then I heard yapping and hissing and thought I better get down there quick!

Managing to get down the stairs without tripping in my haste, I entered the living room just as the lights came back on.

I stood in the middle of the room and surveyed the damage. I blew out my candle and yelled at Sam to hush! He had the two devil cats Notwen and Pouncer cornered on top of the TV stand. I just had to laugh. One, because I felt so relieved that there wasn’t a boogie man in the house! Two, because Sam was so much smaller than either cat and he acted so proud that he got them hissing and cornered!

It took me a few minutes to get the animals calmed. Afterward, I just sat on my couch and laughed at myself. But, after that day, I make sure I always have plenty of candles in every room in the house. You know, just in case.

 

 

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Posted in Fiction, Flash Back Friday, postaday, writing

Flashback Friday

Hello people! Hope this day brings you joy in some form.

For today’s flashback Friday I’m bringing back a short story I wrote in September 2012. I did a bit of editing, of course. Why is it one can always find ways of improving on a story? I do hope you enjoy one of my earliest endeavors.

 

Was It A Dream?

His lungs burned with the effort of running.  Yet he ran on. He could hear his pursuer  behind him as he ran. His feet were bloody, cut up by the sticks, small stones and leaves underfoot. The trees overhead swayed with the wind. His ears were full of the sound of his battered feet hitting the barely seen trail and his labored breathing.

He was terrified because he couldn’t remember how he got to this place. He didn’t know what he was running from. He just knew that he needed to get away. He didn’t even know what was chasing him or why. Just glimpses of something not human, eyes glowing green. The sweat pours down his face and stings his eyes as they search for someplace to hide.

He was desperate to stop and catch his breath. He was afraid if he did he would collapse and that thing would be on him. His fear was pushing him on, his desire to live was driving him to keep breathing and to keep running.  He didn’t want to die.

It seemed to him that the sounds behind him were growing fainter. He hoped he had finally outrun it. He spies something off to the side that looks like a shack.  He makes a sudden turn without slowing down. A  hundred yards or more and he was at the run down building. His shoulder hits the door and it crashes open.

He slides to a stop inside, turns and slams the door shut again. Quickly looking around he spots a wooden chair and pulls it over to jam under the door knob. He collapses in the middle of the room, his breath ragged. He wipes his sweaty face with what’s left of his shirt. He forces his breath to slow, his ears listening for any noise outside. He closes his eyes to listen. But there is nothing to hear. Not even insects. It was eerily calm.

Suddenly there was a loud crash against the door! A large body was slamming against  it, but the chair and door don’t give. His heart  pounding, he desperately searches the shack for some kind of weapon. Anything to  make him feel he might have a chance.  He notices a number of small windows  set high in the walls. No way for anything to crawl through.  A cot with rotted bedding sits against one wall. A large empty fireplace is against the back wall. He notices a heavy, hooked fire poker laying half in and half out of it. It could do some damage if necessary. As he holds it in his hands  he instantly feels better, for at least now has a weapon.

He surveys the rest of the shack. Shelves with unknown, rusted tins are on the wall opposite the rotting bed. A small round table sits in the middle of the room with the mate of the chair under the door knob laying on its side next to it. The table has a thick layer of dust on it. Doesn’t look like anyone has been inside for decades. He suddenly notices in the gloom another door next to the fireplace.  It was smaller than a normal door, maybe a closet he thinks. He remembers noticing as he ran to the shed, that it was built against a large mountain. So the small door  couldn’t lead to outside. That could be a lifesaver he thought, as that thing outside couldn’t surprise him from the back of the house. Or it could mean his death as he had no way out of the shed except through the front door.

Suddenly his nose picks up the smell of smoke.  He turns around and sees smoke curling in through the cracks of the front door. Damn! Whatever was out there was trying to smoke him out!  In desperation he looks around the shack. There has got to be another way out! He can’t die like this! He won’t die like this!

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Taking short shallow breaths as the smoke gets thicker he remembers the small closet door. He races over to it and pulls it open. Maybe by some miracle  there will be something inside that can save him. As he pulls open the small door, and he gasps in hope! It wasn’t a closet. It was a door to the inside of the mountain! It was lit by strange crystals. He had never seen anything like it! Briefly he wonders if he was running from one danger into another. But, as he heard the wood behind him crackle with flame he knew he didn’t have a choice. He had to move forward. Behind him was certain death.

He closes the door behind him and walks forward. The crystals give off a glow as they light the way for him. He hopes that because of the fire, whatever is behind him won’t find the small door.  The path inside the mountain curves to the left as  his bare, bleeding feet raise little clouds of dust.

As he walks he notices the path heading downward,  he’s walking further into the heart of the mountain. He spies a bundle of what looks like rags ahead of him. As he gets nearer he sees the bones. Human bones. He can’t tell how old they are, not even from the rotted cloth. His heart skips a beat, but he knows he has no choice but to keep going forward.

As he walks, he loses his sense of time.  Seems like hours since he first walked through that small door.  Just as he thinks the path will never end he walks into a large cavern.

The strange glowing crystals cover the walls, lighting it up as if the sun shone inside. He stood in awe of  the beauty. The colors were clear and pure. The silence unbroken. He is so tired. He can’t resist sitting.

Just for a minute he thinks. I have got to rest just for a second. He leans back against one of those crystals and feels a slight warmth. His hand still held tight to the poker. As his head begins to drop to his chest in much-needed sleep, his ears pick up a noise. It’s very slight, but in the quiet of the cavern it  echos against the walls. His head pops up, his eyes searching for the source of the noise. He scurries behind the crystal as he sees something that strikes terror in his heart.

A creature floats inside, slowly coming right towards him! It has green glowing eyes, in a face that is hidden by a cowl. The eyes glow brighter as they fix on him. He saw no feet. Just a light-colored robe of some kind. It went from head to foot in a silvery type material. There was nowhere to run anymore! Just as the creature floats closer he feels himself fading, he slips down and his eyes close. His fingers relax and the poker slides away.

He gasps awake, sitting straight up, terror on his face. He glances around and can’t believe his eyes. He’s home! In his own bed! Was it a dream then? Just a dream! Frantically, with his heart still beating hard he looks around his familiar room. Nothing is changed. Everything is as it should be. He sighs with relief. He swings  himself to the side of the bed. His feet hit the floor and he winces in pain. Glancing down he feels the blood drain from his face.

His feet are dirty, bloody, and hurt like hell. Then he notices the smell, like smoke that drifts from his torn T-shirt. No! It had to have been a dream! Right?

Just a dream………….

Posted in Blogging, Mi Vida Loca, NaBloPoMo, Nano Poblano, nonfiction, postaday, Stories of my life

Something I’ve Never Talked About

Hello people! Hope your day is going great. Ready for Thanksgiving? Those that are celebrating it tomorrow, I hope it’s stress free and fun-filled!

Today, I’m going in a different direction with my blog. First, let me state, I am NOT looking for sympathy. I talk about my past sometimes, about abuse, about my ex the narc, about family and some issues I have with them. I very rarely talk about my life in the here and now.

I do talk about ME, but not about my life here, or my husband or anything that is going on at home. Some know my story, most don’t. I’m actually a pretty private person. So why have I decided to let some of my story known? Because I need help. I need to hear from some other people who might be going through some of what I am going through and how to cope during the hard times.

Let me explain.

caregiver stress

I’m from the states. I came to Canada close to 14 years ago when I struck up a friendship with my now husband online at a gaming site. We talked for hours on the phone and online. So I decided to take holidays from my job for a couple of weeks and go to Canada to meet him in person. To make that long story short, I came, I met, things happened, I stayed, we got married.

My husband’s health had always been good, except for his back. At odd times and it seemed for no good reason his back would go out and he’d be in terrible pain and could hardly stand up straight. He’d take a few days off work and lay on the couch and his back would get better. Till one time it didn’t get better.

That was a little more than 2 years ago. He bent over to lift an empty bucket and his back went out. We thought it would be like the last number of times, he would rest on the couch for a few days and his back would be better. Didn’t happen. It ended up he was off work for 8 months while the doctors tried to figure out what was wrong. Good thing we had insurance from his work place to help us make it through.

After months and months of doctors visits and tests and x-rays, they came back with his prognosis. Spurs at several places on the spine and arthritis of the spine. Inoperable because of the spurs being so many along the spine, of course, for the arthritis there is no cure. Double whammy.

So we talked things through and he decided he would try to go back to work as he had 5 more years before he could retire with full benefits. He tried to go back to work, but between fighting the insurance company and his workplace for the right to go back to work he developed anxiety attacks that would land him in the emergency room.

Finally, he was able to go back to work full-time doing the job he had been doing for 35 years. He lasted 3 months. His back and the pain that came with it just wouldn’t let him do it. So he opted to take early retirement, even though we couldn’t afford it. We had no choice. There was no way he could work. So I became his caretaker.

Our marriage was rocky years before he had to quit his job. In fact, it was so rocky I had thought seriously of leaving and going back to the states. Again, let me stress I am not saying this for sympathy, it’s just bare, cold facts. Period.

Suddenly our roles were reversed. I was his caretaker, I became the leaning post. Things financially became difficult. More than difficult. He lost the house we were living in, his house for the past 20 years. He loved that house. The mortgage was something we just couldn’t handle anymore. We were behind in everything, barely hanging on. We lost it all. The house, his credit, everything. He had to file bankruptcy as the house and bills were in his name and were his before we got married.

We had barely enough money left to buy a 30-year-old mobile home. He fought me every step of the way too. But he had to face reality. We needed a roof over our heads and this was the only way. We bought the mobile home, at least we had a home that no one could take from us. But it seemed to be the last straw for him so to speak, he pretty much gave up. Also, right after we moved he fell down some steps outside and injured his back even more.

Now, he is on 2 super strong pain medications, plus sleeping pills. He can barely walk or function. He is almost bedridden. In two short years things went from him working every day to him being disabled with no chance of it getting better. In fact, the doctors have told us it will just get worse.

Here is where I need help. It’s humbling to admit to it. I’ve always been strong when I needed it. Now, I’m not so sure.

How does one cope? How does a person find that strength? That patience?

It is down to me doing almost everything now. We have a friend that comes over and helps with things I can’t do, thank goodness for friends. But, I find myself losing patience sometimes with my husband. Maybe it’s because he’s given up. I don’t know. There is no way I would leave him now, he needs me and I just couldn’t leave knowing he is in the shape he is. We have a relationship most wouldn’t understand, but we do, that’s all that counts.

I know a lot of what he does is because of the medications. And that he drinks. He does weird things. I have to watch him all the time. He leaves the water running in the bathroom, he leaves the portable heater going, he does other strange things.

Yesterday I lost my temper. It’s not something I’m proud of. It happened.

So my questions are…...Are there readers who are caregivers? How do you cope? How to you keep your patience with trying days? Is there a trick to this? What am I doing wrong? Am I doing anything right?

I could go on and on, but the bottom line is, my husband is completely disabled, on strong meds, drinks. I’m doing the best I can, I think, with what we have. We are trying to find help, but we fall into that middle ground, too young to qualify for a lot of government help, too old for other things that might help. I can’t go to work, as I can’t leave him alone. Plus, I have a few health issues of my own.

I am not too proud to ask for help, nor too stupid to do so. Anyone with any suggestions? Thanks from the bottom of my heart.

Posted in Blogging, Mi Vida Loca, nonfiction, poetry, postaday, writing

His Pain ~~~ A Poem

grief

 

 

 

His Pain

He moans in his sleep,

as his pain is still there, ever vigilant

His eyes, empty when awake,

the body, thin, frail, bones jutting outward

Hands shaking, reaching, clawing for another pill

anything to make him forget for a few more moments

She watches, silently, nothing she can do

as she hides the only thing that makes his life bearable

Her memories, fading, being replaced with the man now

the smile forgotten, as it never shows itself anymore

Hands shaking, she doles out his daily dose of numbness

as he can’t be trusted to do it himself anymore

He talks of ending things, his pain, his numbness

She listens in fear, one day knowing it might come to pass

He shuffles, slippered feet helped with a cane

She watches and sighs silently, wanting to help, but can’t

He cries his tears of frustration, needing his life back,

She has no tears left, watching his life fade……..

 

 

 

Posted in Blogging, Guest posts, Mi Vida Loca, nonfiction, Stories of my life, writing

I’m Doing a Guest Post!

Hello people!

Hope everyone has been having  a wonderful week!

I just wanted to let you know, today I am guest posting over at Stories That Must Not Die. It’s not a pleasant subject that I wrote about. Childhood sexual abuse. It’s also one that I don’t talk about much on my own blog. It’s a true story. It’s my story.

It’s raw, it’s brutal and it was a part of my childhood. I would really appreciate it if you would go over there and give it a read. Or not, because I would certainly understand if you don’t want to read something so unpleasant. But the only way we can stop child sexual abuse is to talk about it, make it so it’s not taboo anymore.

I’m not ashamed of what happened. It was NOT my fault. But too many stay quiet and continue to hurt. It’s not right. I wanted to show those others that went through what I did that they don’t have to feel ashamed, or scared, or hurt anymore. There are people that understand. There is help.

So let’s make this an open discussion, let’s not hide anymore.

My story is called, The Night I Became Terrified of the Dark

Go read, go discuss.

Thank you.

Posted in Blog challenge, Humor, Mi Vida Loca, nonfiction, poetry, writing

A New Thing From Me

napofeature4

 

 

Hello people!

You see that banner up there? Yeah the nice red one that says NaPoWriMo 2014? That’s the one! It’s National Poetry Writing Month.

Guess what? I am doing something absolutely crazy for me and joining in this month! Yeah, the woman who keeps saying I don’t do poetry.

I am doing a whole month of poetry! Me! Ahhhhh!!!!

I think I have lost my mind people. So I’m hoping you will take pity on me and be gentle when you read my stuff this month. Please?

So as the banner says, I’m diving in, just hope the pool is not empty and I crack my head open on the bottom.

Here is my first effort this month. Just 29 more to go. Ha-ha!

 

NO APRIL FOOL’S JOKE

Stepping out from behind my wall,

My stories of fiction and such will have to wait

To do poetry all month-long is now my fate

I don’t know if I’m crazy or  what,

But I’m going for it and I hope I won’t be late

It will look pretty bad if I fall on my face

Not to mention hurt my pride as well

I will have to rely on peoples good grace

I have a friend who promises to help

As I go on all month-long

He is well versed in prose and such

And a brave soul  as well

So here I go my readers, my friends

My first real effort this month

And know this is no April’s fool joke

As I put myself out there for all to poke

Posted in Blogging, nonfiction, postaday, Uncategorized

Please help no amount is too small…

No one should have to lose their home because they are sick. I’ve lost homes before. I know what it feels like to worry half to death where you will be living. It’s not fun. Please help if you can, if nothing else to reblog this. The WP community is a great one, let’s show Merry just how great we can be.

Posted in Blogging, Mi Vida Loca, nonfiction, postaday, stories, Stories of my life, Uncategorized, writing

A Thing That Went Bump in the Night

Happy Halloween everyone! Hope you are all ready for the little monsters that will come a-knocking. Since this is the first Halloween in our new home I’m not sure how many we will have this year. I put that into the husband’s hands. I will be busy writing as I’m so far behind schedule, it’s scary! (Not to mention kids terrify me on the best of days!)

I wanted to finish the serial story I have been writing and of course other things got in the way. Yesterday I spent most of the day dealing with insurance people, government people, bank people and doctors. By the time I was done I was ready to either collapse or kill someone. Justified homicide I say!

I certainly was in no frame of mind to write. So I let it go and tried to relax. But I did promise a Halloween story and I’m here to deliver! As for the rest of “On the Run”, I will get to that if it kills me, which it might as tomorrow is the start of NaNoWriMo and I’m not missing that!

Okay, enough of my whining. Let me set up the story.

Way back in January of this year I wrote about Abe. He is my resident ghost and has been with me throughout my life, well since I was about 5. He’s moved with me wherever I went. It’s a true story and if you haven’t read it you can do so here. (My life with Abe)

I also wrote about growing up in a very haunted house. We all saw things that couldn’t be explained away. We felt things too. You can read that post here. (The Haunting of Home)

Now I’m going to tell you about the poltergeist we had living with us. Now I don’t know if it was the same spirit we all felt that I talked about in The Haunting of Home, but I do know it was a special kind of scary for us kids. The story will explain why.

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crazy-frankenstein.com
crazy-frankenstein.com

Our house was a two-story duplex. One family living upstairs, my family living down. It had a scary dank basement and a dusty, dry attic. It was an old house. The closest we could figure it was built somewhere in the very early 1900’s or maybe even as early as the 1890’s.

We knew about ghosts in the house. After all we had all heard them, even the adults admitted hearing something. We saw shadows, heard footsteps, even the odd sounds now and then. I probably heard and saw more than anyone else. I think I’m more ‘in tune’ with the spirit world.

Everyone that lived in that house did not like to go to the basement. It gave off an evil aura. But I’m not going to write about that again. What I want to tell you about is the poltergeist.

We had an old fashion walk in pantry in the house. The kind that had a door and was like another room. In fact it was another room. It was lined with shelves and cupboards and had a window on the opposite wall of the door. A small window, but at least it lets in some light.

It was of course right off the kitchen. On the other side of the kitchen and pantry were a bathroom and a bedroom. The bedroom was where my little brother slept. My bedroom that I shared with my sister was on the opposite side of the house.

One night we all heard banging and crashing in the kitchen. It was the middle of the night and it was loud! We all got up, me, my sister and my parents. We went into the kitchen and my mom turned on the light. The pantry door was open and there were flour and sugar all over the kitchen!

I mean it was tossed all over the table and the floor. The pantry was also a mess. My mother screamed my little brother’s name and she stomped toward his room. He was the only one that wasn’t in the room.

She found him sound asleep! She had to shake him hard to get him to wake up. I remember being so scared. But I also remember thinking my little brother didn’t do that. There was no way he would have incurred my parents wrath that way. It was too stupid even for him to do.

My parents were known to have tempers. Both of them. Back then there wasn’t the no spanking thing there is today. We not only got spanked. We got beat if we did something wrong! My dad would use his fist on the boys. My mom would too but I was usually her favorite target. Not that night though.

They thought my little brother was the culprit and he was only pretending to be asleep. I could see he didn’t do it. Even that young I thought he should be covered in flour and there wasn’t any in his room or on him.

I remember my mom made us clean up that kitchen and pantry before we could go back to bed. I believe it was a Friday night, because I remember thinking that it was a good thing we didn’t have school in the morning.

When this happened, me and my brother were fairly young. I was probably around 9 or ten, him a few years younger. We were close back then and I asked him in a whisper while we were cleaning if he did it. He swore to me he didn’t and I believed him.

So the day goes on as usual and we all get ready for bed. I was a little freaked out going to bed that night. I had never heard of poltergeist yet. I knew about ghosts, sure, but not this particular kind. By definition a poltergeist is:

  • Poltergeist, a troublesome spirit or ghost that manifests itself by moving and influencing objects

Yeah, that pretty much says it all.

Wikipedia also says this: Single poltergeist cases often range in duration from a few hours to several months.

Our poltergeist didn’t last months, but it lasted along enough to have the whole family on edge and me and my poor brother walking on eggshells. Why me?

Because our resident poltergeist made another appearance. This time I got blamed. Yeah, lucky me.

It happened a few weeks after the first incidence. We didn’t know it happened until we got up one morning. Again, the kitchen and pantry was filled with flour, sugar and cereal. Also powdered milk. Anything that could make a mess was on the floor, shelves and walls. No one heard a sound this time. We all slept through it all. That in itself was rather creepy. How could all this be done without noise?

The reason I was blamed? My mom figured my brother could not be so stupid as to do it twice. So it had to be me! Crazy right? Not to her.

I swore and cried that I didn’t do it! Because I didn’t! Hell I certainly wasn’t that stupid! And I certainly didn’t want a damn beating! So much for certainties.

It was months before it happened one more time. My dad had put a lock on the pantry door for at night. Since nothing had happened for quite some time he felt it had to have been one of us kids. Then that one last time happened.

The pantry door was locked. We were all asleep and we heard noises coming from the kitchen. So we all run out there and the kitchen is a mess! Again! The pantry door was wide open and the shelves were full of flour and sugar. Then as I was standing in the doorway while everyone else is in the kitchen blaming one another for the mess, I feel a cold breeze go by me. I mean it was icy. It gave me goose bumps.

We cleaned up the kitchen once more and my parents felt certain it was still one of us kids! How we got the lock opened? Well they weren’t quite sure about that, but they were determined it had to be us. I believe we were all grounded for a while. As none of us did it, no one would confess.

From what I can remember it never happened again and no one would talk about it. They didn’t want to talk about it. And they like burying their heads in the sand when it came to things they didn’t want to discuss.

As for me. Oh yeah I remember. I’ll never forget that cold, icy breeze.

 

good-wallpapers.com
good-wallpapers.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Posted in Blog challenge, Blogging, Daily Prompt, Mi Vida Loca, nonfiction, postaday, Stories of my life, writing

Daily Prompt: Release Me

Daily Prompt: Release Me

Tell us about the blog post you were most nervous to publish — and what it was like to set it free.

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Well the very first post was the scariest. I had never blogged before, nor had I ever written anything for public consumption.

All of my writing was done for myself. In journals or notebooks, even on the odd scrap of paper I would write my thoughts and stories to be read by me alone.

I’ve always wanted to write books. Novels to be read by millions of people. Wouldn’t that be a thrill? I’m a bit more realistic about the millions but having people read what I write and enjoy it still is a thrill.

After the first blog post I got a little braver. Then I felt the need to write about my abusive ex-husband and his stalking of me. I had never told anyone the whole truth. Not sure I could do it even now. Maybe because I was afraid? Embarrassed? A bit of both actually. But I had to tell the story.

My family didn’t know all of what went on in my 13 year marriage. They all disliked my ex, as he was a liar, thief and worse. I don’t think they ever thought about what I might have gone through or was going through those years I was with him. They have a habit of burying their heads in the sand when there are things to deal with they don’t like.

It’s also much easier to think I was a part of all his schemes then to think I was more his victim than anyone. It’s sad to say, but it was and is easier to paint me as the bad guy than it is to think of me as helpless to stop what he did.

If anyone is interested and hasn’t read it before that part of my life is in a three-part series I wrote almost a year ago called “I was a Stalking Statistic”. Part one, Part two, Part three.

As for how I felt after I wrote it and hit that dreaded ‘publish’ button? I felt scared. Isn’t that silly? I felt scared. I was scared no one would believe me. I was scared he would find me again. I was scared to have people think less of me.

Than when none of those things happened. When everyone was sympathetic and kind and supportive. I got over being scared. I was happy I finally got it out there. I haven’t written about those 13 years of marriage per se. I have alluded to them now and again. But it was the aftermath of my leaving that has stayed with me more in a strange kind of way.

Royalty-Free Stock Photography by Rubberball
Royalty-Free Stock Photography by Rubberball

There is one more post that I haven’t written. Why? I didn’t think the time was right, yet. It was a dark time in my life, when it should have been some of the happiest. I’ve written bits and pieces here and there about it. I haven’t written expressively about it though.

My childhood. My dark childhood where I was sexually abused for years. I haven’t written that. It’s eating at me though. It’s telling me it’s almost time to write that story. Soon enough I will. For now that skeleton is staying firmly in the closet. But I hear it scratching to be let out.