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Knocked Over By A Feather

IT WAS A BIG FUCKING FEATHER…

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Trending 3/31/17

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I bought a bottle of the ejuice that I use in my vape thingy online. It’s called “Vape the Rainbow.” It was supposed to taste like Skittles.

It tastes nothing like Skittles. It’s disgusting. It has the worst aftertaste. I can’t use the stuff at all and it costed me $18. There are no returns either, so I’m really ticked off. The other two flavors that I’ve gotten from the site were lovely, so I’m surprised that it’s so gross.

You don’t have these issues with a cigarette.

No, I’m not going to start smoking again. I just need to physically go to a vape shop and try the flavors first before I purchase them.

Ah well. That’s what I get for being a ding-dong.

I’ve always learned my lessons the hard way.


 

It’s been raining almost all week here. Overcast, chilly and even a few thunderstorms have rolled by, scaring the living hell out of my oldest dog Maggie. She runs upstairs and hides in my bedroom. I feel bad, but all I can do is comfort her.

I wish that there was a way to explain things to animals.

Me: Hey Maggie? It’s just God bowling up in heaven. No worries.

Maggie: Oh, that’s cool. But I’m still freaked out, so if you need me, I’ll be under your bed.


 

I’m almost out of marihuana, but I don’t feel like contacting the weed guy or spending the money. My weed guy isn’t what you’d call dependable, but he offers a good product at a fair price when he does respond to my ever so polite texts.

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Reefer makes you a drug-crazed sexpot? That’s news to me.

 

I’m thinking that perhaps I need a break from it for a bit. I’ve been an on again/ off again pothead since 2009. That’s the great thing about weed (for me) is that I am fine without it. It’s like a luxury that I indulge in for bursts of time, then I get tired of it.

Random Beatles Fact: The song “I Got To Get You Into My Life” is really an ode to weed.

What can I do, what can I be
When I’m with you I want to stay there
If I’m true I’ll never leave
And if I do I know the way there
Ooh, then I suddenly see you
Ooh, did I tell you I need you
Every single day of my life
Got to get you into my life

Crazy trippy, huh? If you don’t believe me, Google it.


 

I’m planning on buying myself a cane.

Finally.

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Now available in many fashionable designs.

 

It’ll be like buying a new purse, only not.

I’ve looked at them many times at the drugstore, but haven’t popped on one yet. (Due to being a cheap skate, plus good old-fashioned stubbornness.) But after struggling to walk at the mall the other day, I think that it’s time to just do it already.

It’s a part of the acceptance process.

Mer don’t walk so good, she needs assistance.


 

I might be visiting Alice in Texas. We’re still working on the details.

I love to fly, just put me on an airplane, ain’t got time to take a fast train.

If it pans out, she’ll be the first blogger that I’ve actually met in person and I’m going on almost 5 years now. She’s one of my best friends, so I’m not even nervous about it at all. We’ve talked on the phone numerous times and we still click. It’s almost audible.

Thankfully, we both like naps.

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Trending 3/17/17

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I’ve recently had to add to the list of foods that I can no longer eat.

  • Eggs
  • Onions of any kind, even scallions
  • Legumes (sadly this includes hummus, my favorite legume ever)
  • Red meat (I can’t fucking afford it anyways)
  • The souls of the people who cut me off while I’m driving

I’ve had Irritable Bowel Syndrome for an extremely long time, but this is getting to be ridiculous. Before long, I’ll just be living on chocolate and kale.

Plus, my beloved coffee is giving me bubble gut every morning. This makes me mad.

I still drink it anyways.


 

If you’ve never experienced someone informing you that they regret ever knowing you, be thankful.

regret
My reaction to most things these days.

It’s a first for me, although I imagine that there must be a few people who have thought it.

Just in case you were wondering, it doesn’t feel so hot.

I have my share of regrets, but to actually be someone else’s is not something that I strive for.


 

I am close to the end of my hair transition. It’s been almost 2 years since I’ve dyed my hair and I’ve been waiting patiently to see how it really looks.

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I’ve had nothing but compliments on it. It might make me look older than I rightfully should, but it also makes me feel like a natural woman.


 

I haven’t really talked about fibro lately. Maybe I am whined out.

This week has been hell on me physically. Sharp, aching, stabbing pain and weakness, as usual, especially in my legs.

I’ve been taking my meds, smoking pot and sleeping. Not even real sleep, mind you, more like dozing.

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This will be the last time I use a Bitmoji, I promise.

 

The only sorta cool thing is, the combination of meds, marihuana and lack of adequate restorative sleep makes me loopy as hell. Life has a haze of surrealness to it, which is really trippy sometimes.

It’s just my reality. Nothing that I can do about it. What does it matter if I can’t remember a word when I’m talking to somebody or my major life goal for the day is to take a shower?

It still makes me feel sad, angry, screwed and useless, but I need to learn to adapt to it somehow.

If that means that I’m flaky, then I’m fucking flaky.

*End Rant*

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Trending 2/28/17

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I’ve gotten to the point where I am constantly weary.

I’m not exactly depressed, mind you. I wake up everyday without fear. I don’t have any suicidal inclinations whatsoever. I can laugh. I have an appetite. I can make important phone calls and (half-assededly) pay the bills enough to avoid shut-offs.

I’m just weary as fucking hell.

Weary: adjective
The feeling or showing of tiredness, especially as a result of excessive exertion or lack of sleep. Physically and/or mentally exhausted.

Yes, my body and mind are weary, but so is my soul, if that makes any sense.

I feel like I am up to bat in the great baseball game of life, constantly swinging at everyone’s curve balls.

My daughter hates her job. *Swing*

My mom feels like utter shit again today. *Swing*

My husband has some sort of new thing to complain about. *Swing*

My best friend is really depressed and sad again. *Swing*

My dog vomited on the carpet. *Swing*

Our car tire is flat, there goes the money that I’ve saved this month from quitting smoking. *Swing*

(You see where I am going with this, I hope. I’m too weary to explain myself more.)

It seems that each new day brings numerous fresh hells to contend with and all I want is some peace.

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Somebody buy me this.

And me being me, I feel like I need to fix everything for everybody because I am an ultra sensitive empath.

Get a new job then, honey. 

I’m sorry ma, I wish that I had a magic wand. I hope this new doctor finally fucking helps you.

I’m sorry, dear. Blah, blah?

I’m sorry, I hate depression and being sad sucks ass. I totally get it.

Gross. Where’s the paper towels? 

Well, we need new tires, so here’s the money. Sigh. Oh well. 


 

I’m always so concerned about becoming addicted to my pain and anti-anxiety medications. I mean, it’s everywhere you look, right? Addiction is bad, drugs are evil, withdrawal is awful. (All I really want is a bag of weed.)

So I decided to try to wean myself off of the Klonopin.

Yeah, not a good idea, you guys. My patience for bullshit started to decline. Tweaking out about small things came back with a vengeance. I found myself becoming easily irked.

When I told my mom what I had been doing, she texted me back on Words With Friends. In a nutshell, this is what she said:

“Why the hell are you doing that for? Take them, silly. You need them. You are no addict.”

My mom is always right. Well, 97.3%.

So I am back to taking one in the morning and one at night, like I’ve been doing for over a year now. I do indeed have a nervous condition or else my doctor would not be prescribing them.

Duh.


 

I need to slow down my movements. I realized this when I cut my thumb whilst chopping a head of lettuce last week. (I am happy to report that the skin flap has fallen off, just this morning.)

As some of you may recall, I was a cook in nursing homes and in daycare centers for many years before I applied for disability. My knife skills are (were) the shit. I know my way around a kitchen. Cooking was also one of my favorite things to do at home.

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I seem to have misplaced my cooking wine.

But nowadays, since I have muscle weakness from the fibro, which sadly includes my hands, cutting veggies is really difficult for me. My husband usually does the chopping and then I’ll do the rest.

My motor skills (large and small) are no longer what they were. (This might explain why I am constantly dropping things and bumping into walls.)

Plus, I get dizzy from out of nowhere, so oftentimes I have to ask my husband to take over for me.

I was chopping that damn lettuce way too fast and whack! Instant boo-boo thumb.

Thankfully, I didn’t get any blood on it. The lettuce was not contaminated with red sauce. (Thanks for the idea, Jackie.)

I need to slow my roll. What’s the use of hurrying?

No use.


 

I’ve been all around the mulberry bush in this post, so thanks for sticking with me.

One last final thing, today is my mom’s 72nd birthday. We celebrated the weekend before last, with dinner at a Mexican place and then my SIL made my ma her favorite dessert, strawberry shortcake.

She’s working today (she works 5 days a month as an RN) and her two bosses will give her a gift card, plus a cake. They have always been so good to her.

Like I always ask, what’s trending with you?

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