Week 8 – 2016, pt 2

Of course, the last week has also been full of scammer crap that I’ve become more creative in dealing with.   Examples:

nash4 nash3 nash2 nash1

sigh. You’d think, at 217 years old, I wouldn’t be surprised yet, but nope.

Then there’s this guy who wants to be my slave:


and another one…………


1 month later………..

Wow, what a difference a month makes. Perhaps it’s a combination of the medications finally working properly, and time, but I feel better. I have even started dating! It sounds ridiculous even to me, but hey – as I said before, I don’t do alone. It’s been an interesting experience, and one I’ll probably go into further in another post.

For now, though, I’m posting some pics of me from recently.

This isn’t something I do…. I don’t take selfies. I sure as hell don’t post them online.  But I’m feeling better about myself.  So here I am.

me 2015




I took this photo many years ago when we were still living in northern New Hampshire. I happened to notice the sunlight coming into our tiny bathroom window, and ran to get my camera. Balancing one foot on each side of the tub’s edge, I snapped this photo because the scene absolutely spoke to me.


Later, when I got it printed, it moved me even more. That tree was me.

That’s me – that tree, standing there alone – exposed to the elements, with nothing (or no one) for shelter.

“But she wasn’t around, and that’s the thing when
your parents die, you feel like instead of going
in to every fight with backup,
you are going into every fight alone.”
Mitch Albom, For One More Day

Words can’t always heal

words1My heart was recently – absolutely – shattered by someone I never expected to do it. One friend flat-out said “I don’t know how to help you” – another just didn’t answer the phone or texts.

Telling someone who has lost someone – that it’s for the best, or that you are better off, or – in the case of death – that they’re in a better place – causes MORE rage. It does NOT help the person who is mourning that loss.  It makes them feel even more alone, isolated.

While this began as a response to a facebook post by someone who was discussing how to help someone who’s lost someone, I realized that it’s a subject too close to my own heart to merely comment on something that will soon be gone.  I don’t KNOW how to comfort someone whose heart has been shattered other than reciting the same cliche’ responses other people have.  NOTHING and NO ONE can make the hurt go away.

And it sucks.


The sheer amount of energy it takes to be HATED by someone is staggering. It consumes you. It’s what you think about when you wake up. It’s what is in the back of your mind when you’re washing dishes or cooking dinner. It’s forefront in your mind when you’re reading another diatribe. It pervades your sleep, teasing your mind into complying with its games even when you’re trying your hardest to forget and just … JUST rest.


The sense of betrayal is always there as well. Everything you do – EVERY SINGLE THING – is something you did before, when you were loved – or thought you were. When you trusted, and were trusted – or thought you were. When you were partnered with this person who you thought had your back. Would defend you through thick and thin. Would LOVE. YOU. Only you. ALL of you. Or so you thought.


People tell you “It’ll get better. This is for the best.” But it doesn’t feel like it ever will get better. It’s almost like telling someone with cancer – a disgusting disease that is eating at your very soul – “it’ll get better”. It will never be the same kind of “better”. Of course, some day, the day might come when every thought, every feeling, isn’t doused in a healthy dose of regret and hurt. That day may come when the first thing I think about when I wake up isn’t “ok, what’s he gonna pull today?”. But I have a feeling that that day is a long way off.



I wrote before about time flying by.  I remember when this tiny bundle was finally brought to me, after what felt like FOREVER.  He was perfect. He was healthy, despite the fears to the contrary that sent us into the o.r.  Now, technically he’s a man. He’s old enough to go fight for our country, gamble, and whatever else is new for an 18 year old.  He graduates high school in 13 days and will go to college in the fall.  But I still see him as that baby, being cradled in my grandmother’s arms (from this post) and it’s so hard to accept that he doesn’t need mama anymore.




One of the neat things about this house is that all of the windowsills are fashioned out of what appears to be marble.  They are thick slabs of marble that you know will support whatever you put on them.

On the sill in the kitchen, the first thing I did was place a photo of my mom hugging her mom, who is cradling my first-born.  My grandmother (Nana) hopefully did not realize that mom was also supporting the baby, because we weren’t sure that Nana really had him – she’d been showing signs of dementia – so mom has one hand on nana’s shoulder, and the other one is supporting Nana’s other arm, which is supporting the baby.  It’s all done out of love, of course.  Each morning, I sit at my table and drink my coffee with mom and Nana as they sit perched on the marble windowsill.






I’ve often heard of people describing how they can feel lonely in a crowd of people, and I feel the same way. Only I’m not in a crowd, just a few others in my house.  My daughter knows I’m here, but I don’t think anyone else does.


Time is flying by me.  I’m losing time to do stuff that I want to do before I’m too old to do it.  I’m losing time with my kids.  Time is life.