Knocked Over By A Feather





I was sitting down in front of my laptop yesterday afternoon, feeling absolutely icky after my epic four-hour nap, when I had what I think some people call a “moment of clarity.”

“I’m sick. I’m really sick…fuck.”

In all of my spoken and written communications over the last five years, I have used the words depression, anxiety and fibromyalgia way too many times to count.

But, I don’t think that I have ever just said or typed, simply, “I’m sick.”

It’s so strange, but I wish that I could climb a moderately sized pile of dirt and stand on top of it while shouting, “Hey, you guys! I’m sick.”

Yeah, I’ll just pop a squat here…good enough.

The word sick is everything to me now, not the actual diseases that I have. They all combine to make me an extremely unwell 43-year-old woman with exhausted eyes and a wry smile.

Unhealthy, chronically ill…fucking irreversibly sick.

If you strip things down to the basics, it’s really so much easier to comprehend. Perhaps this is a phase, a part of the whole acceptance thing that I keep hearing about. I have no idea, I just sort of roll with the punches.

You know, the truly saddest part is that the healthy me is still inside this now sick body, confused as fuck about what the hell happened.

Why can’t I get my ass up to the little store? It’s a short drive and I can lean on the cart.

Why can’t I cook a big dinner? Or shit, even a small one?

Why can’t I think straight and do all of the things? Even putting a clean sheet on my bed is a monumental challenge now, what the hell is wrong with me?

Because you’re fucking sick, Mer. Get it?

Got it?



Stable, but Wobbly

My blog will be 5 years old (can things that you can’t touch have birthdays?) in October, the exact date I can’t recall.

I have worked hard to keep this blog as authentic and entertaining as possible, but right now, physically and emotionally, I feel like a used snot rag.

I’m not shutting down my blog and I am hopeful that I’ll come back eventually. I’d like to thank you guys for reading my posts and interacting with me. Saved my fucking sanity an uncountable amount of times, seriously.

I don’t want to get all dramatic and make you guys worry. I’m doing okay, really.

Stable, but wobbly.

Now I’ll have the time to run for Queen of the Lemons.

I have many things planned while I step away from my blog. I have books to read, shows to watch, zen doodles to make, my coloring app and my favorite, just zoning out.

I’ll probably continue to write some, just not here.

I’ll also be reading some blogs, because I don’t want to completely cut myself off from the blogosphere.

Kim will continue to be posting here on Wednesday like she has been and likely on another day, which hasn’t been established yet. (Email me, Kim.)

Stay safe, stay strong, keep laughing.  ❤


Aunt Mildred and Her Owls

When I was growing up, our neighbors to the left of us were an older couple, with grown up kids. They were always around though, coming and going. I remember that their son had an orange Chow who enjoyed scaring the hell out of me through the fence in our backyard. I could see him snarling at me, between our tomato and green pepper plants.

He was a mean dog who wanted to eat plump little me if he had gotten the chance, I’m sure of it.

My mom became tight with the woman of the house, forging a strong friendship despite their age differences, which only proves the fact that age means absolutely fucking nothing when it comes to relationships.

My brother and I called her Aunt Mildred, out of respect for our elders. It wouldn’t have been right to call her Milly like my mom did, plus she did have an “aunt” kind of vibe about her.

I have many memories of Aunt Mildred. One time, while we were all at a store, I pointed to a box of Summer’s Eve disposable douches and asked her what they were.

She got all flustered right before my young eyes. “Ask your mom, Merry.”

My mom said that it wasn’t anything that I needed to be concerned about for a long time, now go walk the yellow line and get outta my hair, kid.

yellow line
We 80’s kids knew how to live on the edge.

Aunt Mildred was a quiet, sweet, kindhearted woman who moved to northeast Ohio (for some reason) from Alabama. She had a bit of an accent and a gentle lilt to her voice that was soothing to listen to. I always hovered around the adults when I was younger, listening intently to their conversations, hoping for some magical insight on what being an adult was all about.

I also hoped to catch a swear word now and then.

It all seemed pretty swell to me. If I had only known the truth, maybe I would have spent more time walking the yellow line like my mom always told me to do.

In jest, I’m sure. Um…it was a joke, haha.

I think.

Anyways, the main thing that I remember about Aunt Mildred was that she loved owls. She collected them. She had owl knickknacks, coffee mugs, wall art, clothing, throw blankets…anything that you can think of that’s inside a home, there was an owl on it.

When she moved a few cities away, we stayed in contact with her, until one day, we didn’t. Life happens as it does and people fade away from our life.

I hadn’t thought of her in years until the other night when I was coloring on my smart phone, which is now a new nightly habit of mine.

While I was searching for another picture to bring to life, I came across these owls. She instantly sprung to my mind and I decided to start working on it, taking my time to make it perfect.

“The Who”

According to my calculations, there’s a chance that she’s still alive. If so, she’d be in her early 80’s by now.

At any rate, I colored this in her memory. She was a lovely person and I’m glad to have known her.

It’s amazing to me how little things like a love for owls can trigger a memory of a person that touched my life so many years ago.

*My mom corrected me below in the comments. Aunt Mildred was younger than I thought, she’d be in her early 80’s now. I had originally said that she’d be in her early 90’s. Thanks, mom.*

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