Somber Sunday


It’s a somber Sunday in September. All the rain we have been wishing for all summer finally came and it’s cold, wet, and uninviting out for a Labour Day Weekend. I didn’t have much planned for this weekend, something I miss about not having a boyfriend was having someone to do stuff with on weekends like this. My friends are now spread out over the city so it has become more difficult transportation wise to do things with them. But I’m excited for a friend’s Birthday next Friday. At least I will make it for the dinner part and we’ll just have to see about the going out part. Another friend turns thirty today but I’m not sure what she is up to. 

I’m all about getting organized to take this one silly class. I realized I don’t have the textbook and can’t get it until the end of the month. Plus, it took so long for the U of A to get back to me on how I should approach this course as a disabled student that I just mailed the forms in with doctor’s letter on Friday. Plus, their is a portion of funding I have to apply to for student grants/loans and I’m waiting on this pin to access my grade 12 diploma marks. They said that would take 2 weeks by mail to receive. Meanwhile, class starts Tuesday and I have no idea how any of this is going to work out — taping lectures and getting handouts.  It has made going to just one three hour class stressful. 

On the medication front, I have emailed my doctor after a really bad last appointment where she didn’t do anything helpful for me but leave me between a rock and a hard place. She did not increase the amount of one drug I need to fall asleep or increase my clozapine so I can sleep just on that. So, hopefully she responds to the email and I get that sorted out. I’m worried about how that will affect my course. Clozapine is an antipsychotic and those pills can be really aggravating side effects wise. 

Every Sunday I go and get my blood work done as per the Clozapine. It’s nice because the place we go is usually deserted on a Sunday. I did a bit of shopping at Kingsway this week and am wondering why places are so late in getting Fall clothes out. It gets chilly pretty quickly here. Wish I had more exciting things to tell you but life is a bit of lemons lately. 

I have a makeup blog coming out, a fall fashion one, and the usual flash fiction stories.

Take care

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Poem: I’m Not 


I’m not a crystal ball, I cannot tell the future. It’s a crime to know what time brings.

I’m not a shiny diamond, in that tear drop shape I wanted. Maybe, I’m a future bride but maybe I’ll buy my own ring.  

I’m not a simple book, when you look through a library full of literature. I’m classic, contemporary, romance, adventure, biography, mystery, fiction, non-fiction — “a little brown mouse in somebodies house.”

I’m not defined or confined by a word, I have amassed the wealth of many words. And I might be a run-on-sentence but that’s just because there are no pauses in life.

And I might be blue – eyed and blond but I am not a matter of my looks but a matter of seeing deeper. I’m not the body infront of you I’m the one that was me at twenty-three. 

And I’m not going to try to hold you back because I’m the one who stumbles, you can go on with your life . . . I’ll be fine.

And you are not a matter of your religion, I love you anyway, though I wish you saw the light in the darkness. 

And just because I cannot do all the things you can, does not make me challenged, does not mean I can’t do anything — just call and ask.

I am not someone whose fallen and wants to sit life out, now you hear my voice calling — I have the voice of a lion, screaming let me out! 

And I’m not a room you visit just because it’s peaceful, I’m all the nuisances that came together to form the feeling in this room, as you sit and drink your tea — I’m the warmth that you’re feeling. 

I’m not alone, although sometimes I believe it, I am not isolating myself, I’m just trying to find a middle.

I’m not the amount of time I stay awake at night, I am the woman always thinking, until sleep finds me sooner.

I’m not my favorite dog, but I carry her with me, I need those memories to sustain me until I can get another.

I’m not a single picture, I’m a collage, a mosaic, a seer of the big picture. I am paint, charcoal, pencil, 20 LB paper, erasers, stubs, and paint brushes.

I’m not a tumble in the sheets, I have a name, and If you’re here with me, you’re here with me. 

And I’m not defined by things, all that can be bought. I love to look gorgeose but I’d just as soon sweat and feel the high of endorphins with makeup running down my cheek.

I am not the way you look at me, like you know all about me, what makes me tick, what makes me sad, what makes me happy.

I am not a moment in the sun, I am the hummingbird flitting so fast she can’t breathe. And everything that ever was is eating through me thrumming.

I’m not defined, I’m not confined. 

But why in the world would you look at yourself, really look and see, — everything you’re not?