Haikai Challenge #91: Midsummer Rain

Copyright Xenia Tran

On the return drive

From a life-changing journey

Drops became torrent

~Cie~

Prompt Used:

Haikai Poetry Matters

Notes:

Today the final decision was made and my son and his dad agreed to close on the historic Grover Hotel. To follow along with our story in renovating and living in this building in a Northeast Colorado ghost town, visit my Good Stuff From Grover blog. (Also features samplings of my poetry and other good stuff.)

Weekend Wrap-Up: A Leap of Faith that Hopefully Doesn't End in a Giant Splat

Image by Marta Cuesta from Pixabay

Greetings, Crazy Cheerleaders, Delivered Ones, Esoteric Escapees, Horror Harridans, Naughty Netherworld Dwellers, Ones Seeking Enlightenment or at Least Food For Thought, and Ones Stranded in Eternity!

I have reached a crossroads in my life. Not a little itty bitty crossroads either. A big hum-dinger of a crossroads. So big, in fact, that I wrote the following poem and note about it:

Image by Stefan Schweihofer from Pixabay

cricket silence

between scraping sounds

autumn begins

for me a new beginning

or perhaps the end of all

Jane & Cie

The Hokku (Haiku) portion of the poem was written by Jane Reichhold. The Ageku, or closing stanza, was written by me.

Come the fall, I should have pictures of the old hotel my son is buying to renovate. This probably sounds a lot posher than it is. This building is in a town listed on the Colorado Ghost Towns website, and it needs a lot of work.

For me, this move is literally either a new beginning or the beginning of the end. I have run out of options.

Here is the Grover Hotel. I am going to be in touch with the Colorado Historical Society on Monday to see what needs to happen for us to receive a grant to help us with renovation. 

The Grover Hotel was built in 1900, at the point when Grover was a boom town. After it was a hotel, it was a church, a hospital, and then a boarding house. I am not entirely sure how long it has been vacant.

There are significant repairs which will need to be made, including the roof. My son and I are meeting with a plumbing contractor and an electrician on Tuesday. We are fully committed to making this building once again as beautiful as it is stalwart. It has a lot of problems, but we believe that it can once again be an asset to this tiny town.

Concurrent with my commitment to making this move 100 miles from Denver, I made the decision to quit my job. 

I have never been unemployed for long periods of time. I've worked ever since I was 16 years old. Being unemployed makes me feel like I've given up, even if logic dictates otherwise.

I had two cars: a 2011 Ford Fusion and a 1998 Subaru Forester. The Forester was bought used and ignorantly. Always take any newly purchased car to your mechanic for inspection before committing to purchase. I did not do that. The Forester has been a money pit, and it overheated on me for the last time last Friday. I am going to let the mechanic sell it for parts.

This leaves me with only the Ford Fusion.

Working as a delivery driver comes with significant risks. Fortunately, the only two accidents I've been in with the Fusion have been minor and the other driver was at fault in both cases, so their insurance covered the cost of repairs. As a reminder, never make a deal with the other driver, always go through the insurance company for repairs. 

If I had agreed to have the parents of the young lady who slid into my car when the roads were icy pay me for the initial estimate, I would have been screwed six ways to Sunday. The initial estimate quoted repairs costing less than $500. The actual cost was nearly $2000. 

In any case, I am not in a position to risk my now sole vehicle by working as a courier. I need to concentrate on preparing for the move, including getting rid of a significant amount of stuff. 

I am very nervous about this move. I have plans to sell handcrafted items. I will be revealing my blog dedicated to these items early in the week, once the inspection has come back. The inspector wants to consult with a structural engineer regarding the foundation before he gives us his final assessment.

I am really no longer able to work "normal" jobs. Once the property has been purchased, I am going to have to go to social services in the county where the property is located and talk face to face about why my 401K, which I can't access without a significant penalty until I reach retirement age, is preventing me from qualifying for SNAP. Thankfully, I get Medicaid, but I don't get SNAP. I find this ridiculous, considering that I made less than $10,000 last year.

This place really is the last stop on the line for Yours Truly. If I can't make a go of it here, I'm well and truly done. 

I have a strange and amazing imagination and a lot of fine ideas. The problem is getting people to know about me.

I am also not known for my normalcy or for being sugar and spice. I am not sweet, petite, or pretty, and I tend to speak my mind. One person referred to me as flinty. I identify as a curmudgeon. I have heard that well-behaved women rarely make history. It would be a shame if such a badly behaved woman as myself was buried by time and dust, I think.

Click to Enlarge

I'll go more in depth with this issue later, but I think that it's worth mentioning that many people can no longer afford to live in the city. This house is being purchased with money that my son's father inherited. I can tell you this: $200,000 may sound like a lot of money, but it isn't.

We could piss this money away on rents of $1200 per month (and rising) for a modest, two-bedroom townhome. I love this place, I really do, and at $1200 a month, it's cheap for the Denver metro area. But the rent rises every year and staying here has become unsustainable for two disabled people who are receiving absolutely no help from the housing authority.

We could buy a condo in the outlying areas of the Denver metro area. The only acceptable one we found would have been $240,000. It had three bedrooms and one bathroom. My son is inviting a friend to live with us. We would have felt like we were all on top of each other pretty quickly, and there would always have been a queue for the loo. Not fun!

We could purchase a mobile home for around $90,000 and piss away $700 a month on lot rent. Mobile homes do not earn equity, they depreciate like a car does. I will discuss the money pit which is the mobile home that I own and am clearing out to sell at another juncture. Everything is broken down in this place and I have never had the money to replace or repair it. There was a flood which required treatments for black mold in the aftermath. It's possible that the place will need to be condemned. I'm hoping it can be salvaged because I'd like to potentially get back a little money from it.

The Grover Hotel will cost $90,000. Admissibly, it needs a lot of work, which will come out of the remaining money. However, it has six bedrooms spread out over two floors. It has a basement. It has an attic. It has a back yard. I'm not sure who you'd have to kill to get something like that in the Denver area, but I do know you couldn't get it legally.

Housing costs are driving the working class out of the cities. This means they either have to make long commutes, or they end up unemployed and on welfare living in rural areas. 

Denver, like other major cities, likes to brag about how they've created apartments with wonderful amenities right next to the transit hubs. While this is true, the rents start at $2000 per month for a closet (small studio apartment). The working classes cannot afford to live in these places. I guess we can set up tents in the parking lots of abandoned buildings, hope that the restaurant throws out some edible food, and use the area between dumpsters for our toilet while hoping not to get bit on the ass by a rat. No, I'm not being hyperbolic. This sort of thing is actually happening every day.

My son and I will come back to Denver once a week for our woodworking class and pick up a week's worth of groceries. Denver is more than 100 miles from Grover. We may visit the Botanic Gardens once a month. We lose out on all the cultural activities that we loved, such as going to the museum. I was working, which meant something to me, but I have to stop doing that and hope for the best when it comes to creating my own products to sell.

This is the sort of thing that happens when people are punished for being part of the working class and for being disabled.

We need to stop looking down our noses at the working class. Not everyone can or wants to be a CEO. That person at the McDonald's who made your burger and fries enabled you to not have to make your own burger and fries. Why in the world anyone believes that people in the working class should be punished by being forced to live in poverty is beyond the scope of my imagination.

American society as it currently stands is not sustainable. We either need to implement changes that benefit the middle and lower classes or things are going to break down even further. This never leads to anything good.

I hope you will all visit my new website when I reveal the URL. I want to do some giveaways and think of ways that we WAH folk can help each other.

~Cie~

Tan Renga Challenge 2019: Day 8: Autumn Begins

Image by Stefan Schweihofer from Pixabay

cricket silence

between scraping sounds

autumn begins

for me a new beginning

or perhaps the end of all

Jane & Cie

Note:

The Hokku (Haiku) portion of the poem was written by Jane Reichhold. The Ageku, or closing stanza, was written by me.

Come the fall, I should have pictures of the old hotel my son is buying to renovate. This probably sounds a lot more posh than it is. This building is in a town listed on the Colorado Ghost Towns website, and it needs a lot of work.

For me, this move is literally either a new beginning or the beginning of the end. I have run out of options.

NaPoWriMo 2019 Day 28 + Poems in April 2019 Day 28: Major Changes

Greetings from Grover, Colorado

Guess we're making an offer on a place that is

Really in the middle of nowhere

On the outskirts of the outskirts

Very far back in the backwater

Everything in the past leading us to this

Rural hotel in a very tiny town

Can't imagine that most folks would want to

Own a place that's such a 

Long way from everything

Out on the Northeastern plains

Rippling grasses and whispering winds

Accentuate the solitude

Dreary it may seem to most

Only the broken dream of such a view

~Cie~

Notes:

A daunting move filled with possibilities.

This place appears in the dictionary next to the phrase "fixer-upper" and the word "boonies."

It is zoned as a multi-use property and has given new life to my dead dreams.

This may be the most important move I will ever make.

The Cheese Grates It: The Straight Dope

This is basically a copy of a letter to one of my few real friends in this world. The names have been changed to protect the guilty. Except for my name, because I want to get back to the purpose of this blog: keeping it real, and talking about that weird shit that everyone is afraid to talk about.

So, I got fired yesterday. I knew it was coming. It was still traumatic and awful, and I could have prevented it by going with my gut. Read this cautionary tale and know that I want you to trust your instincts. I wish I'd been encouraged to trust mine. It would have saved me a lot of grief in this life.

Long story short, I've been working 60 hour weeks, including when I was sick. I was very sleep deprived. I ended up falling asleep during my shift, not just a micro-sleep but a deep, deep sleep. I don't remember doing it. The last thing I remember was looking at the clock to see the time. Then I came out of a deep darkness to see the father of my patient in the room, and he was angry.

I understand this, but I wish he hadn't yanked my chain and told me he'd keep this on the down-low and not report it to the agency. I told him that I was very sorry and would remove myself from the case. However, he didn't keep his word, and not only did he not keep his word, he told the company a trumped-up story. The truth was bad enough, he didn't have to embellish it the way he did. I understand that he was angry, but I thought that this was an extremely ugly action on his part. I can't stand a bullshitter, and I was sad to discover that this person was a bullshitter. Deep down inside, I already knew it, but I still didn't want it to be true. More on that in a bit.

I didn't do anything that impressive for my company, although they liked to tell me that I did. They liked to flatter me to get me to do what they wanted, like burn myself out working way too many hours, but I was nothing special. I was just a cog in the machine, a sucker that they could use up. 

I saw it coming. I should have left last year when they ousted the mother of the patient I'll be working with again at this point.

Here's the sordid tale.

Little Ms. Sweetheart Stephanie (the clinical nurse manager for the case I was working at the time) was trying to get the "goods" on Angie, the patient's mom, to report her to child protective services. 

Angie is a single mother. This kid's dad is involved, but he lives back in the family's home state. Angie brought her son here so she could give him medical marijuana oil, and it may have saved his life. He no longer has constant seizures.

She can be a bit of a flake, but she's always seemed like a straight shooter to me. 

Angie has never left her son unattended (there was always a nurse with him) and she certainly doesn't abuse him. Which means that Stephanie didn't have a leg to stand on when trying to prove neglect. Nonetheless, she kept texting the day nurses, demanding report multiple times during the day. Angie got pissed about this and called the office, saying that she was going to come down there and "bust somebody's ass" if they didn't put a different nurse manager on the case. It was an unfortunate choice of words, but she didn't literally mean that she was going to hit anybody. Stephanie, however, played the drama queen and insisted that she felt afraid for her safety, so the agency released the family.

I signed up with the second agency at that point so I could still help the family now and then. I thought about just going with them, and I should have. I was at sixes and sevens. My mother and my brother both thought I should stay with the primary agency as they'd "treated me well" and they paid more. However, the primary agency was actually very controlling. My coordinator was literally starting to behave like a jealous lover. He would call me outside of normal business hours, telling me that I was "inconveniencing" him and the company and threatening my ability to continue working in the industry. When I said "fine, then put me on PRN status and I won't inconvenience you any more," he backpedaled and told me all about how I could make "so much money" if I just stayed with the company, that they'd get me all the work I needed, that I was a "quality nurse" and they didn't want to lose their "quality nurses."

When I told my mother about the "jealous lover" behavior on my coordinator's part, the threats that if I left I wouldn't get a good recommendation from them, the calls outside normal business hours, she said, "I just don't know what to say". My brother said, "wow, sorry that's happening." I really got no support at all from my family, and I don't have that many friends, so, you know. I was flying by the seat of my pants, like always, and I don't tend to follow my own instincts to protect myself.

 Since I know this agency doesn't give a fuck about any of their people, I'm pretty sure the only reason they "cared" so much is that the coordinators get bonuses when they plug a person into a case. The agency then works its personnel to death and is more than happy to drop them when the inevitable happens and someone either gets sick or falls asleep on the job. 

My coordinator kept promising me 48 hours a week with the main patient I was working with "just as soon as we're able to move the current nurse off the case." I always thought that was sketchy. If they were willing to talk about her that way behind her back, they were willing to talk about anybody. It's like being involved with a cheater--if he'll do it with you, he'll do it to you. That was how I felt in the relationship with that company. I should have busted a move and gotten away, but I was afraid that I wouldn't get a good recommendation.

With the family of the patient I was primarily working with, they always seemed like really "nice" people--the kind of "nice" where they'll smile to your face while stabbing you in the back. You can drink their coffee and eat their food, but they'll turn on a dime. 

I should have gone with my gut and saved myself a lot of grief, but I've been taught from as far back as I can remember that my feelings don't matter, that I need to always pursue the highest wage (since I was a failure who couldn't find a suitable husband to take care of me), that I need to stuff my feelings to please others, and that I'm wrong about everything.

The one thing I don't understand is why my creativity felt so suppressed while working with this family. It never made a lot of sense on the surface. They never told me I couldn't write or that writing was stupid. Still, I've been experiencing this nagging feeling for months "just give it up, you'll never go anywhere with it, you're not a good writer anyway, you need to focus on being a good nurse, you were never cut out to be an artist" and so on.

It would be easy enough to get over being fired, as the family I was working with are back-stabbers and the agency saw its people as cogs in the machine, but every time I think of the fact that I'll never see my patient again, I start hating myself all over for screwing up so badly. I've had trouble stopping myself from self-injury. I haven't been able to write because I feel like I don't deserve to, even though when I walked out of the office I felt truly creative for the first time in months. My energies are pushing my special friend Gem away, and my logical mind is telling me that he never was with me in the first place and that I made it all up inside my head because I'm nothing but a stupid, lonely loser who needs to drop this belief in spirits.

Much of the time I wish that I'd never felt the pull towards certain people or been able to "talk" to spirits. It's made me a real pariah. It's not that I think I have a connection to every celebrity, but I have always had a tendency to "know" something about the people I was watching in movies, on TV, music videos. A lot of the time it was stuff that didn't make sense, but later I found out it was true. As time went on and doubt creeped in, my accuracy decreased.

There was one case where I watched a short-lived (about 2 years) British drama in the mid-1980's. I could sense that the show's male and female lead had actual romantic feelings for each other. I could sense it so strongly that I had to stop watching the show. 

This was a "soul call." These people (the woman in particular) were looking for help because her obsessive, stalker husband (who she was trying to make an ex and he was fighting her) was making it difficult for the romance to move forward. This was something I found out later. Everything was eventually resolved, they got married in the late 1980's and have been together ever since. They have a son. I'm happy for them. 

I'm also glad I don't feel their energies anymore. It was something that was far too intense, and nobody was able to help me understand it.

 I created the One Love blog because I wanted to be able to show people like me that they aren't alone, but so far there have been no people like me and I still feel alone.

I've found myself wondering why I couldn't have met Gem during this life, why we couldn't have had a life together. I understand now why it wouldn't have worked. Gem was more than ten years older than me, was married, and lived in a location far distant from my own. Having him with me in spirit has been nothing short of amazing, but he has a hard time dealing with the self-harm aspect of my personality. It upsets him a lot. He just told me it's because there's a lot of anger involved in the moments when I start wanting to self-injure, and his general attitude towards anger is to turn on his own anger and fight back. However, with this situation, he can't do that. He also said he feels helpless in the face of it and feels like anything he says will only make matters worse. The suicide ideation is something he understands personally, but he says that he never had any compulsion to self-injure; if he were going to take himself out, he would have just taken himself out

I discovered that I still think along the lines of having to hide my real thoughts and feelings with Gem, because he might discover that I'm actually an asshole. His response: "Honey, I already know you're an asshole. I'm still here." 

I guess you know it's the real thing when someone knows you're an asshole but they still care about you.

Gem was upset with me last year because I wan't testing my blood sugar levels. I'm type 2 diabetic. After my most recent fasting draw, my A1C was way up. I have since learned that my fasting blood sugars are terrible. I'm going to have to ask the doctor to increase my Metformin and see if that helps. If it doesn't, I'm going to have to go on insulin because my pancreas is failing.

Here's the thing: this society tends to treat diseases like type 2 diabetes as some kind of personal failing. It's not a personal failing, it's my pancreas failing. I shouldn't have to be ashamed of it. Blame and shame help no-one. 

Here are a few more tidbits about diabetes. You can't "eat yourself" into diabetes. If you don't have the genetic trigger, you will never develop diabetes. You could eat nothing but cake and pie and wash it down with Coke or Pepsi, and you still wouldn't develop diabetes if you don't have the genetic trigger.

Being heavy doesn't "cause diabetes," but having metabolic problems can prompt weight gain and make weight loss difficult.

Alzheimer's disease is not "type 3 diabetes." I want to beat the ever-loving fuck out of whoever thought up that terrible idea. An online acquaintance was recently diagnosed with early stage Alzheimer's. He's a big man in his late 60's, who has been caring for his very ill wife. He started having memory problems and went to the doctor. The doctor was a "kind" soul who told the poor fellow that he has Alzheimer's, which is "otherwise known as type 3 diabetes," and that he brought it on himself by being fat. I'm glad that the man had enough self-respect intact to fire this worthless excuse of a doctor, but he felt awful after his appointment with this clown. He is also worried, and rightly so, about what is going to happen to him and his wife with the current horrific state of affairs in the U.S. medical system.

By the way, thin people never get Alzheimer's. Nope, not a one. Everyone who has Alzheimer's is fat. Really, really fat. Super obese land whales to a one.

I mean, look at this monstrous land whale. Just look at all that flab. Must tip the scale at, oh, likely at least a half ton. I mean, if he'd ever put the fork down for even a second, he wouldn't have type 3 diabetes!!!!!11!!

That's hyperbole doing a mating dance with sarcasm, for those who might be missing a hyperbole chip and/or a sarcasm chip.

Alzheimer's disease does not discriminate by body type, and it is not "type 3 diabetes." It does, however, have something in common with type 2 diabetes. You can't "bring it on yourself." You can only get it if you have the genetic trigger.

Eh, I guess this has gone on long enough. One thing I know for certain is that in my next life if I have to be stuck hearing soul calls, I want to know what they are from the start. Maybe reading my own writing from this life will allow me to do that. 

I really don't want another life, but I know I'm stuck having one because I've botched this one so badly.

This is me, trying to get back to my purpose, trying to believe that I'm allowed to have a purpose, trying to believe that I have some kind of inherent worth. As usual, I'm having a hard time doing so.

By the way, Malcolm Young in no way deserves what's happening to him.

~The Cheese Hath Grated It~

Down By The River Skai

A peaceful spot along the River Skai

I've had a lot of personal trouble lately, and it translates into trouble writing. When I was younger, I often wrote more when times were troubled as a form of escape. These days, when times are troubled, I feel like I don't deserve anything positive and that includes feeling like I don't deserve to write.

I know I'm not one of those well-liked bloggers who gets lots of lurrrrve and encouragement from their followers. Comes with the territory of being a depressive, defensive porcupine. I don't even particularly like the idea of being a super popular blogger, because too many people really don't get what I'm writing  or what it's like to live with severe mental illness, and have a tendency to say things that come off as belittling.

Anyway, if you really want to know what's going on with me, complete with a Tarot reading, you can follow this link to my esoteric stuff and bitching about social inequalities blog. If you're one of those super duper uber materialist people who think that we're born, we live, we die, the end and that tarot readings are for unevolved morons with their heads in the clouds, please don't follow that link just to start an argument. I'll just call you an asshole and tell you to fuck off. Now that I've predicted the future, you don't need to bother yourself.

I'm very upset over the situation I describe in the linked post. I'm diabetic, but I haven't been able to make myself eat anything but cheese and nuts since yesterday. This also means I haven't been able to take my medication. With all my health problems, I probably shouldn't be working anyway. However, it is impossible to live on disability payments, so I continue working long hours in spite of the fact that I shouldn't.

Like me, my character Pepper has a lot of problems, including mental health issues. When I saw this picture, I thought that perhaps Pepper was feeling very depressed, so she retreated to the Dreamlands. She went to a peaceful area along the River Skai. Gerry found Pepper there, and he sat beside her, put his arms around her, and just held her, not even having to say anything at all.

I think Pepper is very lucky.

This isn't the end, not that anyone cares. I'll be back with more, even if nobody reads it at all.

~Cie~

Bad Luck or Blessing In Disguise?

The death card in Tarot rarely refers to physical death. It generally refers to an extreme change in life circumstances. I did not draw this card, but the reader will soon see why I used it to illustrate my circumstances.

I had something terrible happen last night. I literally fell asleep at work, not just dozed off but fell sound asleep. I woke up to see the father of my patient in the room. Understandably, he was angry with me, but he said that he wouldn't tell the agency. However, when I called them to find out about changing cases, I was told that I'll need to come in tomorrow to talk to the clinician on the case. To me, that sounds a lot like fired. I'm considering doing a pre-emptive strike and telling them that I'm quitting.

That's the way this agency works. They work their people into the ground, and then when something like this happens, they fire them. An excellent nurse that I worked with, one who did ventilator cases, got fired for the same thing. They were having her work 60 hours a week all the time, and she fell asleep. The family told the agency, and she was fired.

I'm working for a second agency and could probably go full time with them, although it's a $2 per hour cut in pay. Still, better than nothing. I'm feeling like maybe I should just go to work for them.

I've also got my foot in the door with a company that works with retired uranium workers and miners who have lung problems. They pay more hourly. Perhaps I will pursue this option.

I got one of those online card readings, but I'm the one interpreting it. It only involves the two pediatric home care agencies I work with.

The top left card represents the first possible outcome. (going with the second company)

The Magician: Mastery over word, mind, and matter. The ability to turn ideas into actions, handle problems, and control one's life. The initiation of new projects, great works, or a new way of life. Eloquent and moving communication. Arcane and eldritch technologies.

The top right card represents the second possible outcome. (staying with the first company, provided I'm not fired) 

Six of Wands (Victory): A sense of honor and satisfaction at the resolution of an important matter. Triumph after great struggle. Jubilation at the hearing of good news. The realization of hopes and desires.

The middle left card represents the force drawing you towards the first possible outcome. 

Queen of Cups, when reversed: The dark essence of water, such as a deep and foreboding lake: Discomfort with the worlds of mind and matter, leading to a retreat to the spiritual. The embrace of negative relationships, driven by the desperate fear of being alone. Devotion to fantasies and daydreams, to the exclusion of practical skills or the pursuit of knowledge. Insecurity leading to dishonor, vice, and undue susceptibility to outside influences.

(With the first company, they claimed flexibility with the schedule, but I've never seen that. My writing has definitely been suffering, which is, I suppose, the devotion to fantasies and daydreams. Perhaps it's my Achilles heel. Impractical people do not do well in this world.)

The middle right card represents the force drawing you towards the second possible outcome. King of Wands, when reversed: The dark essence of fire behaving as air, such as lightning: An exciting and reckless leader who inspires others to irresponsible acts. An artist whose depraved love of chaos causes him to take hold of destructive ideas and make them appealing to the masses. One who is charismatic and intimidating, using demonstrations of his own skill to dupe others into accepting responsibilities beyond their ability. A dashing and magnetic personality, appearing and disappearing with great suddenness, and leaving upheaval in his wake.

(This honestly sounds a lot like my coordinator at the agency I currently work with. I don't know about any artistic tendencies on his part, but he is a charismatic and intimidating person who pushes people into taking on too much responsibility. He's ex-military and doesn't mind throwing his weight around. When I was thinking about quitting to go work for the agency that works with retired nuclear power workers and miners, he railroaded me into staying with the current company, including doing things like calling me outside work hours to tell me how much I was inconveniencing him by looking for other jobs.)

The bottom card represents the critical factor that decides what will come to pass. Seven of Wands (Valor): Standing courageously for your beliefs in the face of adversity. Fear of failure overcome by the will to succeed. Great obstacles met with heroism and determination. Inner strength brought to bear at a critical moment.

(I intend to stand up for myself. If they say that I'm fired, I'm not going to beg for my job back or throw a fit. I'll politely thank them for their time and walk out of there with dignity.)

If anyone has any other thoughts on the reading, feel free to tell me. I hate doing readings for myself because I tend to be blinded by my own embroilment in the situation.

This may be one of those blessings in disguise, but right now it's hard to see it that way. If nothing else, I can always go to work driving for Uber Eats and this contract company called Roadie which delivers parcels. It would be a cut in pay, but I'd never again have to worry about letting anyone down if I were too sick or tired to work. 

Of course there's always the damn insurance problem.

Cie

Who has either been blessed with backhanded good luck or cursed with bad

Jekyll and Hyde

In this case, it's more like Nurse Jekyll and Ms. Flake

If the two agencies I work for were to describe me as an employee, each of them would say "are we talking about the same person?"

It's kind of like I have a Jekyll and Hyde thing going on, but not in some sort of evil sense, more of a flakiness quotient sense.

With the main agency, I tend to be on time or early for my shifts. I have only once called off with short notice, and that was for a training shift. I had food poisoning.

With the secondary agency, I have never been on time for a shift, and while I've not done a same-day call-off, I've rearranged which nights I'm going to work on several occasions.

Now, in my defense, the home I work at for the secondary agency is in a place that's hard to get to from where I live. There's always a lot of traffic and my start time is an hour earlier than normal. Still, it's like my Plan Ahead chip malfunctions whenever I'm going to work a shift at this home.

I think if I worked as more than a fill-in, this agency would probably be questioning my value as an employee. But since I show up for my shifts and the family likes me, they let it slide. In fact, they asked if I could pick up more shifts since the regular night nurse left. Yeah, I'd be cool with that, if only I could get my Clone-A-Cie machine working!

~Cie~

That Thing That Happened Nearly 20 Years Ago

Image purchased from 123rf.com

That Thing That Happened Nearly 20 Years Ago

Trigger warning for talk about sexual assault and self harm.

*************************************

It was the night of October 31 into the morning of November 1 1997.

I made the mistake of taking my ex boyfriend to a halloween party that a co worker was having because I wanted to be open minded and show him that we could "still be friends." He got angry with me when another co-worker and I flirted with each other. I took him out of there so he wouldn't start trouble. I made a lot of stupid decisions that were the product of improperly treated bipolar disorder, including driving while really drunk.

My ex followed me into my apartment. I believed he was gone. I went to bed with all my clothes on. I woke up with my clothes off and him on top of me. I don't know if I actually told him to stop or if that only happened in my head. I remember saying it several times, but I don't know if I ever used my vocal cords. When he was done, he said "well, now we're back together." Interestingly, he never called me again. He must have known that what he did was wrong or at least that I didn't want it.

I did not cry prettily. I didn't cry at all. I was in shock. I was in shock for several days. Then the panic attacks hit, and they kept hitting. I had several panic attacks within every hour I was awake, up until about the fifth hour, then they started to subside.I didn't want to go to sleep again, not ever, but I eventually fell asleep again from sheer exhaustion. This went on for a year. Then, finally, the panic attacks went away. They just went away.

I learned during this time that Xanax knocks me unconscious and then makes me suicidal when I wake up.

I learned that prozac works differently than most SSRI's do in my case. It makes me flat rather than manic, which is what most SSRI's do. I cut my arms to see if I still had any feeling in me. It didn't stop the panic attacks though.

The doctors wanted to medicate me so I wouldn't think about it. Everyone else just wanted me to shut up about it, to sweep it under the rug. I was told "you got over this before, you'll get over it again." (I had been sexually assaulted previously at 18 during my one failed semester at the University of Colorado).

I never told the police, because I was sure that since I'd been drinking I'd be blamed for what happened.

As I told a friend recently, I can go out of the house, no problem, including at night. I can work. I don't think about this incident all the time. And yet, it never leaves me. I sleep with a bunch of pillows surrounding me on a twin bed because subconsciously I feel safer in a small space.

Part of me still feels like what happened is my fault. If I hadn't taken my ex boyfriend to the party, if I hadn't gotten so drunk, if I hadn't flirted with my co-worker, it wouldn't have happened. And then maybe the sick relationship with the predator who took advantage of my vulnerable state, told me I was "the one" and then flaunted other women in front of me and forced me to do things like kiss his feet and watch bestiality porn under the threat that he would withdraw his "love" wouldn't have happened either.

All I know is that being sexually assaulted fucks a person up. How could it not?

Rape isn't funny, not ever. And it is never the victim's fault. It doesn't matter how drunk the victim was or what the victim was wearing. The one at fault is the rapist. End of story.

The act itself probably took 5-10 minutes all told.

Twenty years later, it still feels like a fist gripping my heart when I remember and I feel sick inside and like there is a layer of filth on me that will never, ever wash off. I feel like other people can see it. Even though I don't think about it all the time, it is beneath my skin every moment of every hour of every day for the rest of this life.

~Cie~

The Cheese Grates It: Vacation? WTF is That?

A survey site asked me to describe my ideal vacation.

I have not been on a vacation since 2003. I have no idea what it would look like as it seems like an impossible dream. I would like to visit Hawaii before I die. I would like to perhaps go down to Arizona to visit my brother and my son's dad and grandpa.
It would be nice to relax.
Vacation...what the hell is that?

~The Cheese Hath Grated It~

Don't forget, The Cheese does Tarot readings by email for $25 and proofreading at a dollar per page. Email her at chartley65@gmail.com with CARD READING or PROOFREADING in all caps in the subject line to make arrangements for these services.

The Cheese Grates It: That Crazy Moment When I Found Myself Defending Kellyanne Conway

This was a response to this article.

Not much I can say in Kellyanne Conway's defense, but I do agree with what the author of the linked post says. I've always hated the "working mother vs. stay at home mother" battle. There should be no such battle. 

I wouldn't say that being a mother is the most important job I've had in life because I didn't consider it to be a job. I do consider it to be my most important role in life, and that remains true even now that my son is 26 years old. However, I would never say that it must be everyone's most important role and fully support and defend people who choose not to have children. I've also always hated when people imply that those who choose to remain childless are somehow "selfish." 

Hell, I've had people tell me that I was selfish for only having one child because I deprived my son of having a sibling. My son's father and I divorced when our son was four years old. We did go to counseling, etc., but we were always fighting. We got along much better as a family once we were divorced, and to me, that's far more important than attempting to live up to some sort of white picket fence fantasy.

When my son was a year and a half old, I had an early miscarriage. While I wondered what could have been, I realized that something must have been very wrong with this potential child's physical vehicle and I can't say that I grieved for the loss. My marriage was already in the toilet at that point. Having another kid would not have allowed my son's dad and me to give him some of the things he ended up needing in life.

So, since I was divorced and all of my subsequent relationships were terrible too, should I have picked up some dude in a bar and gotten knocked up so I could give my son a sibling? Actually, my son was a surprise because I wasn't supposed to be able to get pregnant due to polycystic ovary syndrome. I don't like casual sex, so the attempting to get knocked up would have been odious to me and probably put me in an even worse psychological state than I already was, having untreated bipolar disorder and all. 

So, this went off on a bit of a tangent, but what it boils down to is one thing: another person's choice may not be our choice, but we need to respect their right to make that choice. Being a working mother is not wrong. Being a stay at home mother is not wrong. Having no kids, one kid or several kids is not for anyone but those bringing them into the world to decide. I do, however, think that the doctor who agreed to perform the IFV for Nadja Suleman (Octomom) should be taken into a dark alley and beaten with a lead pipe. His actions were unconscionable. 

TL:DR Being a stay at home mother is not a lesser choice, and being a working mother is not a lesser choice. Also, respect other people's right to choose how they live their lives.

~The Cheese Hath Grated It~

Cie Dreamwatch: Golden Angel

Image Source

Complete with a beautiful meditation to connect with the angel Raphael

This image is similar to the one I dreamed was tattooed on my right forearm. It is now a tattoo I would consider getting, when I have money for such things again. It is unlikely that I would get a tattoo on my forearm at this point. My mother is still alive, but if I got a tattoo on my forearm, either she wouldn't be or I wouldn't be. 

No, I'm not implying that I'd kill my mother. Either she'd kill me or she'd have a sudden, fatal cardiac or vascular event from seeing me with a tattoo. My mother is extremely conservative and believes tattoos on women are inappropriate.

I got another tattoo on my left forearm in the dream. My recollection was that it was some sort of a little cartoon fellow, dressed a bit like a lumberjack. That one didn't hold as much immediate significance for me, so I can't recall him as clearly. He was cute and had a friendly little smile.

~Cie~

The Cheese Grates It: When Victims Feel the Need to Confess

Stock image purchased from 123rf.com

This post is a response to Evan Rachel Wood's revelation regarding being a survivor of sexual assault.

https://twitter.com/evanrachelwood/status/803354562337865728/photo/1?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw

It's sad that women feel the need to confess that we've been sexually assaulted, as if we're the ones who did something wrong. My most recent sexual assault happened nearly 20 years ago. I don't fear being home alone. I don't fear falling asleep. However, I am not and never will be the same. I was 32 years old when it happened. I will be 52 in February of 2017. To the day I die, I will never forget it. It was an acquaintance rape (ex boyfriend.) I never went to the police. I had been drinking, and I knew they'd ask why I let him into my apartment. I let him in because I didn't expect him to rape me.

We'd been at a Halloween party "as friends" and he got angry with me for flirting with a co-worker. So he wouldn't cause more trouble, I took him back to my apartment even though I was way too drunk to drive. I let him in. I thought he'd left. I went to bed fully clothed. I woke up with my clothes off and him on top of me. I told him to stop. I was too drunk to fight. When he was done, he said "now we're back together again." I had panic attack after panic attack from the time I woke up until about 5 hours into the day. I was terrified to go to sleep because I knew once I did I'd just wake up to the same thing again. This went on for a year. My family told me "well, you got over this once before, you'll get over it again." I was a mess. I was dying inside. The only reason I didn't commit suicide was because of my son. I know now that some of the poor decisions I made at that period in my life were due to untreated bipolar disorder. Regardless of the reason, nobody deserves to have done to them what was done to me. When I'm alone, I still prefer to sleep in a confined space, i.e. a twin bed or a couch. I think that subconsciously I feel safer there.

~The Cheese Hath Grated It~

Friendly Fill-Ins for November 11 2016

1. Financial management should be taught in schools.

2. The last item I donated was some clothes to be sold to benefit the Colorado Sled Hockey team.

3. My (personal) song is  Albatross by Judy Collins , because it describes what living as me is like in the lyrics.

The lady comes to the gate dressed in lavender and leather
Looking North to the sea she finds the weather fine
She hears the steeple bells ringing through the orchard
All the way from town
She watches seagulls fly
Silver on the ocean stitching through the waves
The edges of the sky

Many people wander up the hills
From all around you
Making up your memories and thinking they have found you
They cover you with veils of wonder as if you were a bride
Young men holding violets are curious to know if you have cried
And tell you why
And ask you why
Any way you answer

Lace around the collars of the blouses of the ladies
Flowers from a Spanish friend of the family
The embroid'ry of your life holds you in
And keeps you out but you survive
Imprisoned in your bones
Behind the isinglass windows of your eyes

And in the night the iron wheels rolling through the rain
Down the hills through the long grass to the sea
And in the dark the hard bells ringing with pain
Come away alone

Even now by the gate with you long hair blowing
And the colors of the day that lie along your arms
You must barter your life to make sure you are living
And the crowd that has come
You give them the colors
And the bells and wind and the dream

Will there never be a prince who rides along the sea and the mountains
Scattering the sand and foam into amethyst fountains
Riding up the hills from the beach in the long summer grass
Holding the sun in his hands and shattering the isinglass?

Day and night and day again and people come and go away forever
While the shining summer sea dances in the glass of your mirror
While you search the waves for love and your visions for a sign
The knot of tears around your throat is crystallizing into your design

And in the night the iron wheels rolling through the rain
Down the hills through the long grass to the sea
And in the dark the hard bells ringing with pain
Come away alone
Come away alone with me.

4. Three things I am thankful for this week are:

My son's emotional and financial support when I had to make the terrible decision to have Trinity put to sleep

The veterinarian who helped us

and

Trinity

?/?/2005 to November 9 2016

Although we couldn't afford the extensive testing, the veterinarian's professional opinion was that between the fluid in her lungs and the staggering when she walked, Trinity had both brain and lung cancer. She said if treated, we might be able to have a couple weeks to a couple more months with Trinity. I felt such a decision would be more in our interest than Trinity's.

I couldn't say goodbye, so I said good night to my best girlfriend and my son and I stayed with her until the end. 

I have a lot of cats waiting for me on the other side.

I have three still living, and my son has two.

I will not have any more pets. I don't have the resources, and I can't stand the grief every time I have to have one of them put to sleep or one of them dies.

~Cie~

The Cheese Grates It: Sad Sack in the Material World

It's a bright, warm day, and I feel sorry for myself.

I feel sorry for myself for having a body that's betraying me in a myriad of ways.

I feel angry at myself for feeling sorry for myself, because there are people whose bodies are doing even worse things to them, and they manage to maintain a positive attitude, where I am trying to win an award for kvetching.

For the record, I think that people who say that "a positive attitude is a choice" should be boiled in oil. There's an implication that what a person has gone through in life has no weight and that mood disorders are a "choice." Fuck that shit.

Then again, I don't want to waste my oil. Cooking oil and motor oil are both costly. I won't be boiling anyone who irritates me with annoying epithets anytime soon.

I have been feeling lately like the materialists are correct: there really is nothing beyond this miserable, shitty existence. We plod through until we die wretchedly in a nursing home, or by suicide if we can't bear the thought of existence in a nursing home. My "spirit friends" are really nothing more than me personalizing my own thoughts because I can't stand the loneliness of my existence.

For the record, I'm not saying this is true. I'm saying it's how I've been feeling.

I started feeling this way after reading an article by a materialist which postulates that we are conscious of our own existence because of entropy.

This in and of itself sounds every bit as theoretical as a belief that the personality continues to exist following the death of the body. However, nobody is ridiculing this theory as "fiction," although it very well may be.

The materialists say that people like me are delusional.

This is a terrible thing to say, but sometimes I wish I was delusional, that I could fully believe something without question or doubt, that I would kill and die for my belief. However, then I would be a devotee of The Rump, and that is a fate worse than death.

I feel sorry for myself because I feel like I'm being railroaded at work. 

I know, the cure for that is to "believe in myself" and "stand up for myself."

I have never believed in myself, and "standing up for myself" could get me canned. I can't risk not having a job. I have to play this thing out carefully.

A little background on the reason why I'm feeling railroaded.

I had been working with a given patient for close to a year. There was a disagreement between the patient's mother and the homecare agency that I work for. The agency decided to discharge the patient. 

The mother went to a different agency, and I have been hired on with them. The case coordinator at my current agency pitched a case to me which would give me $3 per hour more. I was also looking into starting work with an agency that works with retired nuclear and uranium workers with respiratory issues.

When I let my case coordinator know that I was looking into the new line of work so he could find a different nurse for the case he was proposing to me, he became very upset with me.

I've generally gotten on well with this person, but lately I've been seeing the Hyde part of his personality, and it's kind of scary.

Those of you who have known me for a while know that I'm an agnostic when it comes to deity. I don't believe I'm doing "God's work" with the type of work I do. If God there be, he can do his own work. I've got plenty of work to do without doing his share too.

However, I do believe in doing the right thing. (Yes, agnostics do have a conscience.) I want to be where I'm needed most, particularly if I can't be doing what I love.

My (former) patient's mother called me yesterday, asking if there were any way I could come and help out for a few hours so she could go to work. The woman is desperate. The new agency has not been particularly proactive about getting nurses for the case. Basically, I'm the only game in town.

Even though I would be back on the lower end of the salary chain at $20 per hour if I stick with this case, I feel like it's the right thing to do. This family desperately needs me. I would want for someone to care enough about me that they'd help me if I were in that situation.

I don't know what to think. I don't know what to do.

I wish I had something to take comfort in. But I don't.

It may be my karma to end up alone and full of doubt. People throw that word around a lot. However, I do have actual belief in the concept. It isn't as simple as most people make it out to be.

I'm going to get ready for work now. I haven't eaten all day, so I need to scare up some food, and also something to take with me for the 12-14 hours I'll be working tonight.

For the record, I use the term "materialist" rather than atheist to describe individuals who believe that the material realm is the be all and end all. There are atheists (people who do not believe in a deity or deities) who do believe in what might be termed "metaphysical" phenomena. They are rare, but they exist. 

~The Cheese Hath Grated It~