Poem: Free Verse — “A Land of Peace” #amwritingpoetry


Wrote this a few days back. Edited it this New Year’s Eve. Sorry, it couldn’t be happier, but I hope you perceive the wish for that which is peaceful.


Credit: Seth Macey via Unsplash


I hear the blunt of your hammer,

Your riffle as it clambers;

If only to block out the ruckus,

While I’m tucked in flannels.

The world spins and stammers,

Your barrel it twirls, the gun’s reloaded.

I’m a maid of ages,

So, bring home my man, prisoner of war.

Life in medicine-hands, he’s grave and damaged.

No one plans life’s intense dramas, when they’re a blood-bath.

Bullots locked and loaded,

Zipping through air in motion slowed, air ripples —

As a surgeons hands riddle, shells from a civilian caught fleeing —

From a soldier he knows not, from a war he caused not;

From a visage of war, he’s not committed to fighting.

So, bring home my man, he’s the prisoner wounded,

The civilian in shackles; although, you’d never recognize their weight.

He’s the media image — the child crying enamored —

Of a wrinkled photo, the last of his mother.

Or, a soldier’s son’s tears dripping rivers,

Afraid and stammering, the stream of saltwater.

His sister caught snitching, but a morsel to spit-out.

And they’re all dying in masses,

But we peeped through fire-ball wreckage,

Rusted 3rd-world problems to obscene to believe.

We couldn’t perceive a media of glorified killers; crosses blunt ashes.

Of people left bawling as the bugle was calling —

Oh, bring home my man,

He is lost in bombs crashing, the stitching of wounds,

Tumors, fractures, and a machine gun’s destruction;

Stomachs bloated hungering, and cataracts gleaming.

Smoke-ridden eyes granted sight, now horrified —

To realize their home’s a wasteland of dreams.

Oh, bring home my man, he’s lost and he’s broken.

The terrors too much, pain scarred soul-deep,

And his child is weeping, no control is frightening.

Oh, bring home my man from your war of terror ageless,

Be you pagan or Christian, Muslim, or Jewish;

You still war with Aries and feed Jupiter innocent flesh.

Oh, bring home my man, no more cause him anguish,

Not the dreams of a ‘silent night’ lost.

Not another year ridden with gun’s reloading,

Gun’s we’ve packed centuries,

To a place mermaids once swam.

The memories paper-bag brown, curled;

Worn like faded leather; a letter disintegrated.

A story once told,

Where three sisters met,

As poppy red blows in lands long forgotten.

1st world woes, claim to expose,

3rd worlds implode, and no one knows;

Root of the evil, that grows and grows.

So, carry home my man, let his feet not in Opium fields drag.

He’s healed your wounded, your dying;

Now he knows he must leave, lest forever he sleep;

Support his weight, his shoulders slumped —

With night terrors, violent streams of woe.

As the new year comes upon us,

Think not of war’s carnage, let all children —

Of every age in existence,

Live in a land of peace.

Never a gun’s bullets ricocheting;

Never a nightmare, but a life of opportunity;

A day without weeping, words tucked —

In the pocket of a heart that beats, not bleeds.


©️Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.

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Photo Challenge: Fiction – “A Better Life” #fiction #amwriting #writing #vegas


This past week’s photo challenge was hosted by MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie

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Credit: Nekneeraj

——

The lights assault my eyes, as they blur past me. Vegas is a beautiful city at night. I had had a table with my friends at the club with bottle service. Slowly, I remember us drinking the vodka shot by shot until the girls had enough.  

 “Were done, I’m already too drunk. I want to be able to shop tomorrow afternoon,” Megan said and her friend Kelly nodded in agreement. 

The other guys and I laughed and jeered, egging the girls on to do one more shot. They refused and went off to dance. After an hour or so passed, I saw them leave the club, removing their heels on the way. 

I noticed my good friend Ryan had passed-out on the cushioned bench around the table, parallel to me. I continued drinking, sipping my vodka shots, determined to finish the little vodka left in the bottom of the bottle. It was expensive after all to get bottle service. 

A concerned bouncer who had been watching me with deep dark eyes, set two glasses of water down in front of me. “Sir, you need to drink both these glasses,” he said. 

“Umm, no. I want more vodka. I’ll pay for another bottle,” I slurred. 

The bouncer shook his head, “You need to drink these glasses now sir. I don’t want you to get alcohol poisoning and die in my club.” 

I sighed grabbing both glasses, I downed them one at a time.”Gees, I was thirsty,” I told the bouncer.

 “I’m calling you and your friend a cab at the back door entrance,” he said nodding at Ryan. ” I don’t have to, I could just throw you out. But, I get this feeling you’re running from something, trying to drink it away. So tonight, I’ll be nice,” the bouncer said. “I get it man, but you’re a grown-up and even in Vegas, you have to have limits.” 

Another bouncer came to aid the first bouncer, guide us out to the cab. I leaned on the first bouncer’s shoulder and the other guy half-carried Ryan out the door. 

The cab driver looked nervous, “I don’t want anyone throwing-up in here,” he announced. But the bouncers ignored him. 

“Where is your hotel?” The first bouncer asked me.

I had to think a moment, everything was such a blur and it was difficult to think. I was so tired and mad at her. Why’d she cheat on me after ten-years marriage? Why’d she leave me for him?

“Um, we’re at Caesars,” I stammered, then reached into my pocket, pulling out a wad of bills; I tried my best to count out $100.00 exactly. I gave it the cab driver. He nodded, “okay where too?” The bouncers shut the cab doors and the driver took off down the Las Vegas strip.

The lights of Las Vegas were beautiful, brilliant, and blurred. But they also made me nauseous. I closed my heavy lids, and opened them as I tried not to sleep. But I couldn’t stop myself and I fell asleep quickly. 

——

Ryan was shaking me. “Come on Blaine, wake up. You’re 6’4″ and two-hundred-some pounds, I can’t lift you alone. You need to help me.” 

I blinked in the bright lights at the entrance to Caesars guest reception. It would take us forever to find our rooms because the hotel was so huge and neither of us were well enough to remember where our room was specifically. 

Ryan’s hands shook and his face was pale white. He ran and threw-up in a garbage can. He apologized five-minutes later to a man near by helping guests at the front entrance and gave him a twenty, and thinking this man would have to clean the garbage can up. 

I was slowly, stepping out of the car, but my legs nearly collapsed and I groaned in frustration. I reached into my wallet and pulled out eighty-dollars. I could count money now at least, though my head felt like someone was hammering my temples. 

“Here,” I said to a couple of men upfront working for Caesars. I gave them my cash and asked,”Help us back to my room, please.” 

Two silent men grabbed the cash splitting it and they smiled at me now. “Of course sir, do you have your keycard?” I nodded, pulling it out of my pocket. I gave it to the men and they called for two other men, one whom I leaned heavily against as we made an endless journey to my room. Sometime in there, I fell asleep. 

——

It was 3:00 pm when I awoke in my hotel room. Immediately, I went and threw-up in the bathroom several times before I felt better. I took a shower and washed away the smoke and putrid smell of vodka and vomit. I called room service to put some food in my stomach and help me recover. I ordered some French toast, coffee, and orange juice –two orders –one for Ryan as well, when he awoke. 

I saw him lying on the bed and I tried to shake him awake. I thought he only needed more sleep. He wasn’t a big guy, so perhaps the vodka hit him harder than me. 

A day later, Ryan still wasn’t up and I asked my friends what we should do.

“Well, sometimes you really need to sleep it off. We’re not so young anymore, hangovers can last two-days. He’s breathing so he must be fine,” Kyle reasoned and my other friend Maison seemed to agree. We went down to the casino to play poker. 

 On the third day we asked reception to call a doctor for us. It was expensive but my friends and I were worried about Ryan. He was cold and his chest barely moved, his breathing was so shallow. 

The Doctor was tense upon inspecting Ryan three-hours later. “I’m sorry gentlemen, your friend died earlier this morning, about the time I was called to your room. If only you’d called sooner and emphasized how badly he was doing,” the Doctor chided. 

“Ryan had alcohol poisoning so badly he went into a coma. He has no heart beat and isn’t breathing as you indicated earlier. It’s tragic but I guess you’ll understand me now when I say, watch your alcoholic intake; in Vegas especially.” 

I started to cry in front of the Doctor and my friends. I didn’t know how I could tell Ryan’s family he’d passed on. He’d been the one who said we needed a boys trip to help me get out the funk of my wife cheating and divorcing me. 

I remember him saying, “Blaine you need to get out and have some fun. Come to Las Vegas with me and the guys. Forget about your problems for a while. I’ll forget about mine too,” he said. He never told me what his problems were and I never asked, I thought regretfully. 

Now my good friend Ryan was gone. I closed my eyes imagining lights blurring past me. It wasn’t only how I felt when I was drunk. It was how I felt all the time these days. As if I had no control as all the pretty lights rushed by. 

When I did have time, I made the wrong choices. The lights were my escape, but I needed to pay attention now, to move on in my life as Ryan would have wanted. I couldn’t drink the pain away. 

I vowed for Ryan, I would live my life better. 

——-

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

 

Photo Challenge Prompt: Fiction – Wishing You’d Stayed


Thanks to Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie for hosting this photo prompt.


Man Against Blue
Ronnie Garcia Moron

 It takes a great deal of pushing and a lot of poking to make me angry, but Yasmine knew which buttons to push. The neighbors never heard us fight, until that night in August.

“You always want to be together; I can’t be with you all the time. I’ve work and sometimes I need alone time, and occasionally, guy time.” I yelled.

Yasmine flicked back her long brown hair and laughed at my rage; she was far away inside her head again; I could tell.

“Look who’s upset,” she said softly. “It took me a long time to make you this angry, Logan. I thought you would never notice me. You’re always leaving me home alone.”

“Yasmine, I’m extremely upset at you, scared for your mental well being, and scared for our relationship. But you think my words are a joke.” I say.

She laughs and slids her arm around my shoulders. I shrug it off. Yasmine crosses her arms and says:”Calm down Logan. Stop being such an ass. Your married, you don’t get space anymore.”

“Being married doesn’t mean no space.You never used to be this way Yasmine. You did stuff with your friends and visited relatives. You also worked as a successful interior designer.” I told her.

“Now, you stay home all day and you lay in bed. I’m trying and I know you’re not well. But one of us has to work and support us financially. You need to look for ways to occupy your time. Read, write, watch TV, walk, or pretend you’re designing a new interior space.”

Yasmine gave a thin smile at my suggestions. “I suppose you want me to keep visiting the psychiatrist, the doctor who says I’m suffering from depression because I lost our baby.” Tears leaked out of Yasmine’s deep brown eyes. I wiped them away.

“I think it’s best for you Yasmine. The psychiatrist makes sense. You’re sad, tearful, and you can barely make it out of bed. You’re also anxious and you’ve terrible self-esteem right now. When I tell you you’re wonderful, talented, and beautiful, you don’t believe me. Yesterday, you said you believed you were a baby killer.” I said.

Yasmine smirked.”Before the baby died, I believed you. Now, I don’t believe you’re telling me the truth. I’m in awful shape and I think you’re placating me. I believe you’d rather by anywhere else and not with me.”

“Listen,” I told Yasmine. ” When I said I need space, all I meant was I need some time each week, where I can tye up loose ends from work. I also need a night away from you every week or two. For my own mental health, I need a few hours where I can forget and not deal with our issues.” 

“I talked to your friends Becca and Lynn,” I told her. “They said they’d love to take turns hanging out with you one night a week if you’re okay with that? You guys could go see a movie or go shopping, something along those lines?” 

Yasmine buried herself beneath the comforter on the couch.”I don’t want to see my friends, look at me? And I need you here Logan; I was thinking, we could have another baby?” 

“It’s not that I don’t want another baby with you sweet heart, ” I say carefully. “I keep telling you, it’s not your fault Jacob died. It happens to many woman with their first pregnancy. It’s just right now, you’re still recovering from losing Jacob.” I told Yasmine.

She covered her ears, “I don’t want to hear it Logan. Stop talking. It’s my fault Jacob died; I didn’t take care of myself. Now, I’m sick and I feel I can’t do anything. Everything makes me tired and I’m so mad at myself.”

I sat down beside Yasmine and rubbed her back.” Relax. We have time. Work on feeling better. Try to take a short walk, even around the block. Be in the sun on the patio to get more vitamin D and sleep whenever you need. However, you have to promise to take your pill.” I said.

“I don’t want to! I hate my med. It makes me feel foggy.” Yasmine complained.

“The doctor says in a month or so, when you’re used to the medication, the fogginess will go away. But you have to let your body get used to the anti-depressant. I notice when you take them, you’re much happier. You get out of bed. You make conversation. You sketch out designs for rooms,” I tell her.

“But Logan . . .”

“Please, for two-weeks, try taking your pill. If you don’t, the Doctor says you’ll have to go back in hospital, Yasmine, ” I begged.

Suddenly, Yasmine flew into a rage. She pushed at me and screamed. She grabbed her car keys before I could catch her and snuck in the elevator. When I reached her parking space, it was empty. I’ve never seen Yasmine again.


Yasmine’s my wife and it hurts me to know she could be anywhere and I can’t help her. I don’t know if she’s well or still suffering from depression. No one’s been able to find her, not even a private detective.

I grieved for Yasmine. It took me two-years before I started writing my stories down in journals. I thought, when Yasmine came back, she could read about what happened in my life after she left. I tried to make my journal entertaining for her to read.

Then, they found her body. Parts of me ached which I never knew existed, when I learned Yasmine was dead. I’m not sure how they can find out how she died now. But I’ve convinced myself I caused her to commit suicide.

I tear the pages out of my journals; I had had them bound and printed into volumes for Yasmine to read. Now I know she will never be able to read what I wrote. 

Broken and grieving, I destroyed all my journal volumes. All the typed pages scattered across the floor in my office. Broken journals, like my heart. 

How does one heal after hurting so long, believing their other half, couldn’t be dead? 


©Mandibelle16.(2016) All Rights Reserved.

Maydays: Fiction – Part 2 – After The Plane Crash #Maydays


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Thanks to K.L. Caley of new2writing for hosting #Mayday prompts. Today’s theme is a battle or fight of some kind. Also, Part 2 of a continuing series After The Plane Crash. Read Part 1 here. The battle I’m showing is the main characters fight through her fever and aches from being lost in the wild two weeks.

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Please read Part 1 here.

——-

“Young lady are you awake.” A woman’s voice whispered to me quietly. “What’s your name?”

I make a noise, not wanting to leave the land of my dreams. It’s safe and peaceful here. Danny is with me and we’re drinking a beer together like old times. I know my friend is not real but I don’t want to admit to myself in my dreams; Danny is dead.

A gentle hand feels my forehead. “She has a high fever. I’m not surprised being out in the wilderness that long. She’s sweating. I think it was an excellent thing the doctor got here so fast and we were able to hook her up to an IV to get some fluid and nutrition into her body.”

 The woman’s voice was soft and sensible. She sounded like the voice of a lady who was a mother. She smoothed back my hair and I sighed in my state of half sleep. I was cold and sweating at the same time. Iceness overcame me and I shivered trying to pull plush blankets around me as I sweated.

“Aunt Tabitha, what can we do? If we keep giving her the IV as the doctor said, and introduce her to some soup and other food in a few days, do you think she’ll be alright?” 

The voice I heard speaking was the deep male voice I had heard before I passed out. The voice had a rich timber, it sounded young and attractive. 

A small smile shaped my lips, then I groaned as cold sweat overcame me. “Poor thing,” Aunt Tabitha said. “I’ll take care of her Eric. Don’t worry, your Auntie took care of you when you were ill as a child and I would do the same for this poor young woman.”

“I appreciate it Aunt Tabitha. I really do. I didn’t know who else to call. The workers wanted nothing to do with her.They thought she had some awful disease the way she appeared to them.”

Tabitha gave a harsh laugh. “Ha, those locals are full of stories and superstitions which have no basis in reality. This woman will be fine. When I clean her up a bit and later when she can wash her hair, I imagine she’s a beautiful girl, Eric. I hope the man who died in that plane crash wasn’t her boyfriend.”

“ I don’t know . . .” Eric said softly. “I’ll leave you too it.” I heard him walk away and a door shutting.

 I was awake but not fully. I faded in and out of feverish dreams, nightmares where I was trapped in a never ending forest. No animals in sight. Nothing edible and carrying no water. Only dead silence filling my ears.

I was dressed in a bra and panties and had nothing else on — not even shoes. Darkness descended and it began to snow and my body was wracked by cold as the wind picked up and the snow built up around me. I couldn’t move. I was so cold I was frozen stiff like an ice sculpture; I shrieked aloud.

——–

Eons pass where I am stuck inbetween what’s real and what’s in my dreams. I dream about my Mom and Dad, how worried they would be about me. I know it’s been past two-weeks now since the plane crash. My feaver hasn’t abated for days but Aunt Tabitha dutifully stays at my side. At night there is a hired nurse. A thin bird-like woman who doesn’t speak English but sees to my needs. 

Aunt Tabitha is with me whenever she can be. I’m aware of her reading on her tablet. Sometimes she reads to me, but I want to tell her she’s only giving my mind more material for nightmares. 

I know she has asked me my name several times but I have trouble finding a voice strong enough to answer her when I feel semi-lucid. Only when nightmares overwhelm me do I scream and plead for them to stop using my voice loudly.

Today my head feels much clearer. I look to see the IV attached to my arm and am thankful it’s giving me nutrients because I think food would repulse me right now. With heavy eyes I scan the room. Strangely, Aunt Tabitha isn’t here. 

I move my head and neck gently, testing my muscles which ache from being in bed too long and from hiking through the woods. I wiggle my toes and stretch my legs. I straighten my arms infront of me and put my arms above my head, stretching my whole body like a cat. I feel a jolt of pain in my side.

Pain throughout my body becomes apparent. Bruises and scrapes mostly. I look at my one wrist and see it’s wrapped in a bandage.I must have sprained it. I’m not sure why I didn’t notice when the sprain occurred.

I feel dirty and have the urge to scrub my body until my skin is pink. A bath would be heavenly. My hair is limp and greasy on my head, I can’t remember ever having hair this scungy. 

I lean up in bed regarding the room around me. It’s a large bedroom and the room,  a work of art and design. The room has a peaceful ambiance, painted in grey-blue.

The furniture including the head board behind me is bleached wood like drift wood from the ocean. I feel relaxed in this place, gazing towards a giant white window with a padded blue window seat full of pillows matching my bed’s dark ink blue duvet and silver and white striped sheets.

I haven’t seen the sun in days. The bright white light of the sun bathes me through the window, but is too bright for my eyes. I shade my face with my hand and gaze in awe at the lush greeness of the mansions front yard. They’re fountains and flowers in the distance.

“Wow,” I say and my voice feels gravelly. I start saying random words and sentences aloud to make my voice sound normal but I can’t seem to rid my voice of its weakness.

 I raise my body into a sitting position, crossing my legs under the bed covers. My body cooperates slowly and with aches, but I manage. 

I have decided to have a bath or showe.  I’m certain I can stand and walk. On careful feet as if I were a toddler, I slip out of the bed and start walking to the bathroom I spied at the end of the room. 

It feels so far away at first but my legs remember how to walk quickly and my steps are more assured as I go. Resting against the door frame, I peer into the bathroom.

There is a large tiled glass shower with a wooden bench inside; I am thankful for the bench.The bathroom is designed well with a heavy marble countertop, twin sinks, and dark blue cabinets underneath the counter. A vanity table near by, holds a few cosmetics, clearly for a woman. The toilet is inside a closet in the corner of the bathroom.

I drop my clothes on the wood floor, carefully removing them as my muscles are still sore. The loose grey sweat pants and large white T-shirt are far too roomy to be my clothing and I leave them on the floor.

 I open up the shower door and hobble over to the bench where I sit turning on the shower nozzle convienantly located near my head. The shower is hot, too hot at first. But the showerhead gives a cleansing rainfall shower. I sigh in pleasure as the water washes over me. Picking up a puff hanging on the wall, I squirt jasmine scented Dior body wash on it. I scrub my body free of natures dirt and fevers sweat. 

My body’s skin is as pink as I imagined, when I reach for Dior face wash and volumizing shampoo. I wash my hair four-times before I’m satisfied it’s clean and I condition it, letting the conditioner soak into my dry long brunette strands before washing it out. The sun has caused some of my brunette strands to bleach blond.

When I’m done washing, I relax and let the hot rainfall water run massaging my muscles which ache. I stay inside the shower longer then necessary but I haven’t felt this well in forever.

 “Are you ever coming out?” a deep voice asks outside the shower chuckling.

I gasp and quickly turn the shower off fumbling. I cover myself with my hands uselessly. Eric is outside the glass shower and I’m naked inside, no towel within reach.

——–

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Moral Monday’s Flash Fiction: Off Her Feet


Thank you to Nortina from the blog Lovely Curses for hosting this prompt. This Monday’s moral is: “Blood is thicker then water.”

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http://www.themominmemd.com
 

——

“Come on Arryn. This is our annual vacation since we’ve been eighteen-years-old. You have to come to Phoenix.” Harley begged.

Arryn loved golfing, drinking beer, and the various sport’s games he and Harley usually attended on their trips. But Lisa was eight-months pregnant and Arryn wasn’t comfortable leaving her alone all day. The Doctor said Lisa should stay off her feet and Lisa seemed to ignore this particular instruction.

“Harley,” Arryn said, “I think this isn’t the best time for a holiday.” Harley scoffed. “I knew you would back-out. Lisa isn’t dying, she’s pregnant.”

—–

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Navigating Anew – It’s Okay


Ever since I left hospital, I have felt as if I’m navigating completely new territory that I have no experience with. I don’t know if what is affecting me is the new medication I’m on or a lack of the old ones I went off. So, my health and getting through each day has become a challenge. 

Each day it is extremely difficult to get out of bed and start my day. The best description I can come up with is that there is this giant wall and I have to climb over it inch by inch to reach a point in the morning when I feel okay. It is difficult to get out of bed, shower, and do my hair and makeup. I sleep to 11:00 am almost and that is too long, but it takes me to 1:00 pm to feel somewhat myself. But still everything feels so much harder to do. Maybe I’m overmedicated I don’t know. But struggling through each day is difficult. I try to remember to take things day by day and not to worry.

But my stomach always feels upset and I’m getting aching muscles as side effects. Not to mention I learned from my dentist since about a year after I started taking medication (became ill) the enamel on my teeth has rapidly been decaying until I have none left on my lower teeth and we don’t know the exact cause. I have always taken care of my teeth well. I only ever had one cavity so this is disappointing and troublesome on top of the rest of my health problems. 

Still, I have tried to plan things and go out and do things despite feeling not so up to it. This week it was just my weekly blood test and the dentist but atleast I walked a bit around downtown and the weather was a beautiful twenty-three degrees celsius. Next week I will have my blood test and my Uncle’s funeral. I will hopefully see my friend on Wednesday night for a couple hours and then on Friday I am getting my nails done at The Beauty Lounge. I hope I can do everything I need to do. 

I have to find sometime this week to go to the Shoppers near our house to pick up some parcels, get medication, and some other things. Either tomorrow or Saturday I will do that. And sometime I need to see A. We saw Jurassic World on the weekend. It was very good. I really liked the storyline and of course the newest genetically modified (for modern time) dinosaurs. It did justice to the original Jurassic Park too, one of my favourite movies as a child. 

I’m looking forward to feeling better and doing more things. I would like to do some catch up on some beauty blogs, do some work on my novel, and read some books so I can tell you about some of those. Things will be fine I just have some kinks to work out. In medicine, nothing is ever as good as it seems. So of course, a drug that makes me sleep is going to have some consequences for my energy in the day. But things will get better, I’m positive that I can with my doctors help find solutions. Thanks, for reading.  

 

Something To Say This Night


I don’t have a lot to say tonight but I might ramble on a little bit. I find writing a post up at night can sometimes be soothing when you are trying to get to sleep.

I spent Wednesday and Thursday at A’s apartment and gave you a little glimpse of my life there on Thursday. After that post I made chicken wings in the oven with a frying pan since A does not have baking sheets. But the spice A put on them tastes pretty fantastic, so I enjoyed eating them and so did he. He ate them fast so I think that’s a good sign. Around 5:30 pm I got a ride home from A and today was just useless.

I managed to correct my Writing 201 piece where you write about teaching someone about something. I chose: How to Get The Perfect Manicure or Pedicure. It’s posted on my blog. I fixed it this morning only to find that I didn’t fix it enough this afternoon. So now I hope it’s finished. And I’m looking forward to next weeks long form assignment. There are only two weeks left so that means two more assignments. You don’t have to do the assignments for this course but I don’t know about you but I learn better by doing.

So, tomorrow I believe I should start the first section of the open book final I have to do for Proofreading. I hope I can get at least a 75 percent mark on the exam. Also, I’m going out out with A. We are going to go hang out at pub or some bar down Jasper Ave. I want to wear this sparkly gold Lululemon shirt I bought, the only Black Friday purchase I made. It has a very interesting design but I find myself asking: Am I to old to wear Lululemon shirts to the bar? Can anybody really tell the difference? Ordered a couple long sleeved shirts from Lululemon as well later. I had a gift card for part of that. But there will be nothing left there come boxing week so best to get clothing I like now.

I’m sad to miss out on a Christmas Celebration with my ladies at the Druid. My doctor (one of them) moved my appointment up until Monday and my body can’t handle going out on Sunday night and going somewhere Monday. So sad to say, I must pick the doctors since it took half a year to get the appointment. But later in the week I have a good appointment for a manicure and pedicure ( thank you groupon) so that will be good and in between I may finish my final.

Have to get some chocolate for my brother Nathan and his girlfriend too. Not sure where, I guess Purdy’s or Lindt at Shopper’s Drug Mart. I need a couple things from Revlon, so Shopper’s might be a good place to go to first.
I have to stay up until 11 pm tomorrow, that might be hard but that’s when A is coming by so I think for now I’ll sleep.

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Catching Up


Hey everyone! I know my blogging has been sparse lately, sorry about that. I have had a real decline in my health this summer and it’s been difficult to concentrate on activities such as writing and brainstorming  blog ideas.

I’ve been extremely fatigued and tired. For 2 weeks I think I just about spent most of my time sleeping. Maybe, I was sick, I think, as illness seems to hit me harder with whatever larger illness I have. Although, sleeping 24-7 has passed I still find my health declining to a place it was at about 2-years after my first episode.

I managed to enjoy my birthday “month” and this past week hasn’t been an exception despite extreme fatigue. I had a lovely dinner with the ladies at Earls Tin Palace last Tuesday and thank goodness it was $4 Bellini night because I needed alcohol. It was great to see everyone who came even though I couldn’t be involved in the conversation as much as I wanted to be.

I’m sure no one noticed but I notice these things and hope that soon I will be able to be more chatty again and less tired. By 9:30 pm I was so so sleepy and by 10:15 pm I just had to leave and take a cab home. It was fine with my friends but I felt sick the cab ride home until I went to sleep. As I often do when I’m fatigued-out, I get flu-like symptoms that go away when I become rested. It’s something I always had but am just recognizing what it is now. I think I have days that are just bad days that I feel like I have the flu but really I’m just so utterly fatigued I feel ill.

But thanks everyone who came out I really did have a great time despite my symptoms. I was so happy to see you all there and hear all about your lives, especially those of you who are travelling to fun places and having or have had kids recently in your lives.

I was also very blessed to have a ride to a friend’s Wedding shower that Sunday via Tara. And the shower was great. A beautiful bride got to be around all her best girl friends, bridesmaids, and women relatives and she seemed to enjoy herself immensely. The weather was perfect and I felt good that day ( which hasn’t been happening so much) and everyone was so nice. The bride received many nice gifts, particularly kitchen based. I decided to go with a couple sets of dishware for the shower and the wedding, the bride picked out a beautiful light blue color for her dishware. It is the same color I would have chosen. 25-years from now everyone will know when our dishes from because we all like light blue dishes.

I can’t wait for the stagette night and only hope I feel as good for that night as night’s have been particularly tough me at times. I more worried about lasting the entire night so I think I will arrive around 5;30 pm for a couple left over jello shots and the comedian and probably take off a bit earlier then everyone else from Cook County on Whyte Ave. I am so excited to go to a country bar it has been so long and my 2-stepping is probably worse than it ever was but I might be able to figure out some of the line dancing again.

Moreover, I am finally going to see my psychiatrist tomorrow. I have to tell her all about how much worse I’ve felt this summer and get her to look into Chronic Fatigue as a definitive diagnosis for what I have. Basically, Chronic Fatigue is going to sleep and never ever waking up feeling rested. There are different degrees of Chronic fatigue and I received the definitive diagnosis definition and charts/symptoms for Canada from the M.E. Society of Edmonton. I now have to take this information, along with filled out charts/symptoms (why I think I have CF) to my doctor. I printed out a list of Doctors that deal with CF in Edmonton, but I’m hoping my psychiatrist who knows my situation best can diagnose me.

If I actually have CF I’ll tell you all about it and how my individual symptoms fit in. I don’t know that this makes treatment any easier but it does tell you that yes there is something physically wrong with me that I can tell people and use for health disability status/AISH etc. I’m positive I fit the criterion, or else I don’t know what disease I fit and it could open new possibilities I haven’t thought of. Possibility can be a great thing sometimes.

— 2 days later — I have visited my psychiatrist and presented my research. Apparently, CF is very difficult to diagnose because of all the other illnesses you have to rule out first. I feel we have ruled out plenty of illnesses but my psychiatrist sent me for some blood work and she is going to send me to a rheumatologist who specifically deals with CF and Fibermielga — 2 similar diseases. It might be a whole year before I see him but I am very excited to start the process and finally get a real diagnosis on what I have dealt with fatigue wise. I may have initially had a psychotic episode caused by depression but sometimes illnesses can result in other illness such as CF. You can get better from CF but you also cannot. I hope that the fact that I was young when the fatigue first hit me (23-years-old) means that might be possible someday or that there is some treatment being developed out there that can someday help me. Although CF has been written about since the early 1400’s the medical community has only recently begun to deal with it and try to come up with ways to help patients.

The Doctors Office


I am sitting here in the newly renovated waiting room of my doctors office and cringing. For some reason waiting rooms make me very uncomfortable and I try to maintain my distance between me and the other patients carefully. It’s not that I have anything against them, it’s just that this whole place makes me tense up. The doctors office carries the fear of sickness and unusual behavior of certain people. Often, it is dirty carrying the dust off the street not to mention the stench of unwashed people. Now, there are some good and some bad things about the newly renovated waiting room. For instance, the waiting rooms cold dingy white floors have been replaced by pleasant modern wood floors; yet the walls painted a modern tan are strikingly bare. The chairs are new and comfortable, they no longer sink when you sit in them and are arranged in a new more functional way. Everything looks modern and warm, yet somehow to me it feels like a waiting room still – cold and smelling too clean now.

But it is the people in this waiting room that disturb me most – clean or dirty. Some of them are very sick, unwell inside their heads; they wail and moan, rock back and forth, talk in loud deformed voices, socially they cannot handle themselves. Some pathways in their brains just do not run the way a healthy person’s brain does, or at least not at the moment. But I am ashamed to feel this way, these very ill people cannot help that they are how they are; they require compassion. They just want to be treated normal yet that is a really hard thing for people to do for them. I was a little like them once.

Some of the other people I would consider normal I guess. They are relatives of the patients or people who are able to handle themselves in public – who care for their appearance, are quiet and polite, who wear fashionable clothes, put on makeup, bathe often, just have that well cared for look. I consider myself one of these people now. But thinking about all this, my uncomfortableness in this room, it makes me think what a hard life it is for some people – to have a mental disability. One that sets you so apart from other people by your behavior, actions, appearance, and sometimes intelligence. I only know what it is like for me and my small disability. But for some people who have to live penny to penny on AICH, who cannot communicate properly or effectively, who are often alone in their struggles. It must be a very hard life. Another thing to consider a lot mental illness are not cut and dried, and often not curable. Each bipolar person experiences the illness in his or her own unique way with unique symptoms, some similar to others, but still unique. And Lithium does not suddenly cure you, that’s not how it works. So I am sorry I hate the waiting room at my doctors office, but that will not change. I have compassion but I cannot help how I feel. I am relieved when my doctor takes me to the calm of her office, even more when I can leave this awful place. At least they tried to make it nicer, renovating it, but to me, it did not help.