Today your host has taken on a boyish look. Purely unintentional, of course.
I spent the few hours I had to myself running from store to store to make another love pack for a friend. I wasn’t even tempted to stop at the liquor store. Oh, and no, it wasn’t my husband’s empty threats that made that decision for me.
About five years ago, I had a serious drinking problem. On the evening Chloe was born, I staggered from the hospital bed, holding my fresh cesarean together, high on morphine, and went outside the San Francisco hospital, met up with my friend Robbie, and we split drinks of Jack Daniels and Coke. The Coke made the whiskey much more tolerant. I had never had whiskey before, but that night started a binge drinking that lasted for six months. I was in a horrible place, mentally, having been raped just twenty one days before the binging started, and no one believed me. Women who aren’t virgins can’t be raped. Men you have previously had consensual sex with cannot rape you. Pregnant women aren’t sexually desirable, so they cannot be raped. I fear that doctor is still practicing in the state of Louisiana.
Today, I had my first bottle of whiskey-Jack Daniels-since November of 2005. I drank it straight. I even bought a small bottle of Coke, poured the Coke out and filled the bottle with whiskey. Then just drank it. Straight whiskey. It made my liver recoil in horror. At this point, I didn’t care. I was in almost the same place I was in when I started drinking before: Something awful had happened to me, and I needed something to compensate. Ease the pain. I hadn’t been raped, not today, but something inside of me just told me it was a bad idea to go get Chloe from school. I don’t know why that was.
My insurance has been pushed back another week. They have been showing their ass since my dentist wrote a statement that I needed nearly $10,000 worth of work done on my teeth; whether he can save them or not. My insurance company is waiting to see if I pay for all of this out of my own pockets. They keep pushing the date back further and further. None of my kids have medical insurance because of this. In the long run, I felt like a failure. I felt like I have failed myself and my children. The sad part is they all look up to me so much. I am their hero. I am the one they all want to be like when they grow up. A morphine addicted, raging alcoholic? That’s a good role model there!
While I was out, I wandered to a bowling alley. Which was interesting because I’d never saw it before. I crashed inside, watching the bowlers, taking huge swigs from my coke bottle, making trips to the bathroom to refill it. No one questioned me. Until a woman made a gutter ball, and I commented, “Good thing that landed in the gutter! It was so slow it was going backwards!” She spun around with a silly grin on her face and offered me a ball. “Can you do better?” she asked. “I could do better drunk!” I replied, finished the last of the Jack Daniels in the bottle (I had guzzled the entire bottle of whiskey in about five to ten minutes), took the ball from her, swung it at the lanes, and some how it skipped over a few lanes, pushed another ball out of the way, and made a strike. Five lanes away. “How’s that for a good bowler?” I asked. The woman and the other people on her team actually cheered for me! I finished the game with them, scoring three strikes (once I figured out what lane we were supposed to be playing in), and on the way home, I fell asleep. I woke up in my own bed, wearing some weird saddle shoes that weren’t mine.
My husband had the day off, and he was pissed that I did not bring Chloe home. It was about 7pm, and the school called and told him no one had been there to pick her up.We’re going to have to talk, so I ave to sign off. Yep, before 11pm.
See everyone in the morning
Has anyone else ever saw a calendar like this before? One that ends in August?
My Jewish friend, Josh, sent it to me in February. Ironically, I came down with strep shortly after, but that was a coincidence, right? When the calendar ran out today, I asked the simple question: Why? His response? “According to Jewish law, the world ends tonight at midnight. Since you’re not a Jew, you’ll blissfully think there’s a tomorrow. Good luck with that.” And you guys think I’m weird.
My doctor has bullied me back into taking Metformin. The drug that caused my near-fatal accident in April. Again, that was just a coincidence. Having a blood glucose level in the teens just an hour after taking the nasty pills was totally coincidental. This time, he has told me that if I refuse to take the pills, I won’t be getting out of the mental hospital. He says this is for my own good, but after I took the first pill today, I threw up. There goes my $5000 caps. My dentist has told me that if I keep throwing up, he’s going to drop me as a patient. My physician tells me if I don’t continue to take this medicine that causes me to throw up, he will have me committed.
I was actually happy when I went to see him today. I’ve lost four dress sizes and I’m down 50 lbs. I just have the numbness and pain in my leg. I assumed that when I went to see him today, he’d see that I was serious about losing weight and focus on my pain. Nope. He questioned me about taking the Metformin. Although my three-month blood sugar test was pretty good, it was a 5, he’s hell-bent on me taking a medication that I am having serious reactions to.
Later on today, I had the signs and symptoms of a low blood sugar. It happened around dinner time. I snuck some food before dinner, and ate a little too fast, and it all came up. My husband assumes the worst: That I am pregnant (poor guy is VERY forgetful when he’s on pain killers). Chloe actually chimed in and said she hoped she was getting another little sister. No! No more babies! Hayley is just now sleeping longer than an hour at a time! Besides, I hate being pregnant.
Right now I don’t know what to do. I’m going to try to wait it out. See what happens after I get my insurance through my work. Then it’s kiss this doctor goodbye! Let him experiment on other people. I’m tired of being his guinea pig.
Back in the fall of 1999, I was a college senior. I was going to graduate in May 2000 with a Bachelor’s in Telecommunications. However, that September, once it was too late to drop our courses, the company that was sponsoring our degree program went belly up, and we were all informed that we would not have jobs once we graduated in May. We had two choices: Continue and get graduate with associate’s degrees or change majors. Crushed, I looked through the other majors offered by the University, determined to get something higher than an Associate’s. I settled on Nursing. The school had a 100% NCLEX rate, and the degree in Nursing was a Master’s Degree. Looking back, I should have gone to a different University. The road through that nursing program was an easy one, and it was then that I decided that taking the easy road was not worth it to me. We were allowed to have notes and text books during exams, our instructors simply corrected us during skills check offs. We literally had nothing to learn. Two and a half years after I graduated from nursing school, I was bored with nursing, and tried to pursue a career in the chemistry field. Unfortunately, I needed a PhD to work in that field, and that is when I found out that going into the chemistry field was not the easy road.
I worked hard to get where I am now, and I am happy with who I have become. Not just academically, but spiritually and emotionally. I like me. I like me very well.
There are many people who will take the easy road in life. Whether it’s with their academic life, or with their own life. They are not doing themselves any favours. It’s easier to send out negativity in the world. It’s not so easy to be the positive light in someone’s life. That is how I want to see myself. The ray of sunshine in someone’s bleak life. The positive that makes up for all the negative that comes their way. For me, this makes everything better. The world is a better place because I am a better person. It’s worked more for me than any pill, drink, ever could. Being a good person: It’s the ultimate high.
The problem with getting my butt out of bed before noon, and getting all my work done by noon, is that by 2:30 in the afternoon, I’m exhausted. Doc Mick says it’s because I took my Roxanol and that will cause sleepiness. Well, duh. But I wasn’t expecting it to make me sleepy since I have taken narcotics in pill form before, and they never really did anything like this to me before.
Some problems have come up at home. Mainly involving an argument about child care for Chloe, between Dennis and I. See, he called my mother over yesterday to watch Chloe while he slept off his pain meds and I was at the store. My mother and I do not see eye to eye about how a child should be raised, and she did something that neither I nor medical science agrees with, and it ended when I banned her from our home. I demanded to know why Dennis let her around our kids. Dennis said she was the only one who would watch them. I said they would have been better off alone than in her care. They certainly would be safer.
But I choose not to reveal what she did, least someone wants to make my flesh world a little harder. There is no more danger to my kids, the house is clean, and we’re reaching for that happy ending.
Today, Chloe was able to go back to school. I was able to organise the bedroom, so the closet doors shut without the laundry basket in the way. Dennis is going to the studio after a while, and there’s really nothing for me to do but try to nap away the effects of the Roxanol.
I’ve been catching up on some reading around the web, and it seems that some people are confused about me. They seem to think that I ‘hate’ them simply because I do not like the fact that they steal or lie. I despise liars. I despise thieves. I do not hate them, I see them as people who are missing something vital in their lives, so they lie or steal to make up for that. I do not feel sorry for them, but I often wonder if they know what they are fully doing in their existence. Do they know that by lying to others, they aren’t going to make or keep many friends? I tried, for eight years, to be friends with a pathological liar. It’s back in my archives last fall. She lied and lied and lied to me and for what? Because she wanted to feel as important as she thought I am? I’m no one important. Did she desperately want to be my friend? She should have been herself. I liked the woman I met, not the woman she became. Ultimately, my friends and family decided that she wanted my brother-in-law’s fame and fortune and I was relieved when she excused herself from my life. I was glad she made that first move because I did not want to be the one to tell her I wanted out of the “friendship” out of fear of causing drama with her. Boy, did she know how to cause drama! During our friendship years, I had sent her several photos of myself, including undeveloped film for her to have processed to “prove” I was who I said I was. Once we no longer were close, those pictures kept leaking online. She would claim equipment failure or hackers or viruses, but I have yet to find a virus or hacker to back up her claims. I also found it interesting that when her power would suddenly go out, my dad’s would not, and he lived just a few blocks from her. Every time my brother-in-law would refuse to call her on the phone or buy her expensive presents, those pictures I sent her would be magically leaked online. Even though I did not send them in digital formats.
It only took once for me to realise what was going on, and I never sent her another set of pictures of me again. When she wanted to meet up, I would make excuses not to, and she would storm the MeetUp boards. It was always hilarious, because others would jump to tell her that they had met me.
Now, the above story would be a good indication of someone I would “hate”. But I don’t hate that person. I don’t hate anyone. Hate is an option I choose not to have. Despite and dislike are different from hate. To me, hate is a point of no return. I’m all about the forgiveness these days, opening the veins of my life to those who want to read about it, and I am willing to forgive those who have done me wrong. That does not mean I will forget what they have done to me, and I won’t make myself vulnerable to another attack. But to second judge me as someone who hates? You’re just wrong. I don’t hate any body, and I’m certainly not out for revenge to anyone. Paranoia: You have it bad.
Someone sent me a single yellow rose while I was in the hospital this time. No one from my real life is taking responsibility for it, so I assume someone from here or my journal sent it. Whoever sent it, thank you!
Some people claim I am a good photographer. I have been snapping pictures since I was nine years old, with an old 110 mm crap-tastic camera that I didn’t cry too hard over losing at the fair later that year. Then I progressed to a 35 mm camera. Then the Advantix. Finally, in 1999, I got my first digital camera, and I’ve been known to have taken over 10,000 photos since going digital. I have many books and boxes filled with photos. Somewhere in between the fancy cameras, I had some Polaroids, which gave me the sweet taste of instant feedback on my photo taking ability.
The pictures I feel I take the best are the ones of nature. Still photos.
Naturally, my monkeys never sit still long enough for anyone to take a good photograph of any of them. At least once per year I splurge on a new digital camera. I pay about $500 for a new camera every year, and to me it’s worth it. The one thing I love more than taking photos is taking better quality photos. Let the prints show what I saw through the lens.
At dusk today, I photographed the sun. Perfect theme for August, right? Of all thirty photos taken, less than half came out right, and out of that, only four are good enough to post here. The rest are here.
The photos are raw, unphotoshopped, and I do not have any fancy lenses or features on my Nikon.
Another reason I don’t prefer to photograph people over nature/still photography is because I always manage to capture people in their most awkward moments. As evident below.
Maybe I could get a job as a professional blackmailer? *grins*
Yep, I know that’s going to end up on my harasser/content thief’s website with some kind of snarky horseshit. I really do not care what she steals from me anymore. Anyone who only gets 300 hits per month is a nobody on the web, and if she thinks that by stealing my photos and making comments that my kids, husband and family dog are ugly, that I am going to give her hits, she’s wrong. So please, don’t comment about that anymore. I no longer care. Besides, I’m sure her n00dz are a million times better than photos of my ugly face, kids, husband, dog, and life. Just ask her!
Jamie aka: The being known as Wonder Girl, 30, mother of four, wife to one, she is a senior biomedicine student who is learning to fit in in the world around her. After nearly three decades on this planet, she still doesn't know where she belongs. Best friend of Matt, sarcastic, spoiled, apathetic, kutie brat, babe. Just your average woman, living in a not-so-average world, surviving by her incredible super power of being able to see right through you while
accomplishing more tasks than you ever thought imaginable. She is the being known as Wonder Girl and she is speaking, I believe. More? Aren't you brave!
