My Normal Life

If You Need Me Call Me

It occurred to Pooh and Piglet that they hadn’t heard from Eeyore for several days, so they put on their hats and coats and trotted across the Hundred Acre Wood to Eeyore’s stick house.

 There are some days I don’t want to be here anymore. I know, sometimes, we might all feel that way. What makes us just go through with it, though? Do we really think that people don’t care that much about us? I tell my boyfriend everyday that I love him, the negativeness he spouts off about life. I send him messages while he’s at work; I jump up and hug him, trying to beat our cat, when he walks through the door. I do all of this because I worry that there might be one day when he feels that he just doesn’t want to be here anymore.

I know he’s not always as chipper as I seem that I am. He gets so discouraged about the least fundamental things that I just leave him alone for a little bit to build his little farm. I don’t know if I’m really not supposed to bother him, though. So, I continue to shove all of the love that I can into his face. I worry that he might make the same decision my aunt did one day. I don’t want to be the one that might find him. 

“Hello Eeyore,” said Pooh.

“Hello Pooh. Hello Piglet,” said Eeyore, in a Glum Sounding Voice.

“We just thought we’d check in on you,” said Piglet, “because we hadn’t heard from you.

Suicide is in the top ten death rates the United States.

 Eeyore was silent for a moment. “Well, I don’t know, to be honest. Are any of us really okay? That’s what I ask myself. All I can tell you is that right now I feel really rather sad, and alone, and not much fun to be around, which is why I haven’t bothered you. You wouldn’t want to waste your time hanging out with someone would you now.”

My mom went over to my aunts, her sister’s house,  having not heard from her for a few days. She had been living with my grandma. Growing up, my grandma had what I learn, emphysema. Her needing an oxygen concentrator is really all I remember her with, yet she still trucked on like life was normal; attending everything we participated in at school, showering us with love and glitter. 

I can talk about when we drove down to Tennessee to be with Grandma Millie when my Grandpa Bud passed. Then, when it was my Grandma Norma’s time, who I was just speaking about, I like to remember all of her good times. I can talk about when all of my grandparents and elderly relatives have passed, remembering all that they loved, taught me. I find it the hardest to talk about how my aunt left us. She wasn’t supposed to. It wasn’t her time. I had hoped she would be around when I had graduated high school; be at my house warming. I had thought she’d be there if I had ever found my person I was supposed wander upon one day, not knowing that I would. She would have been with me through all of my adult paths in life. But no; she decided not to be with us anymore and her sister had to be the one to find her.

Pooh looked at Piglet, Piglet looked at Pooh, and they both sat down, one on either side of Eeyore.

Eeyore looked at them in surprise. “What are you doing?”

“We’re sitting here with you,” said Pooh, “because we are your friends. And true friends don’t care if someone is feeling sad, or alone, or not much fun to be around. True friends are there for you anyway. And so here we are.”

“Oh,” said Eeyore. “Oh.”

I’ve read that there can be various warning signs of suicide. People can start talking about wanting to die or even begin looking for a way to kill themselves. There can be days when we start talking about feeling hopeless or having no purpose. There can be days when we might just talk about feeling trapped. The increasing use of alcohol or drugs is an indication, too. Sleeping too little or too much, showing rage or talking about seeking revenge and displaying extreme mood swings are more indications.

And the three of them sat there in silence, and while Pooh and Piglet said nothing at all; somehow, Eeyore started to feel a very tiny little bit better.

Because Pooh and Piglet were there. 

I wish I could have been there for my aunt. I wish she would have talked to me, as sixteen being such an intelligent age. I am a tad more grown up now, though not perfect; I sometimes feel I can understand better. I will be Piglet or Pooh to anyone’s Eeyore, even if some ears or a hug is all that that is needed.


winnie the pooh

My Normal Life

Goodnight My Darling

She needs to stop updating her Facebook every day.  She keeps stumbling across the same updates from a random website she opted for that reminds her that the average couple is intimate about 54 times per year. The average married couple may only do that 18 times per year but, even in order for them to be united; they would need to hobble off to one of the many chapels on one of the corners in this city. So, is it wrong to feel left out of this when it’s been over a year since the last time she’s even felt able to touch her other one in those inappropriate ways she’s seen on an episode of one of those shows she was watching? They’ve been together for almost eight years; she knows that she needs to stop over thinking so much. She can’t control everything, especially his pants.

Maybe, she’ll get what she wants tomorrow if she just says goodnight to him in that magical way she’s been trying so hard to pull off. It does make her wonder, sometimes, what they’ve been living for. She’s tried to talk about affection, multiple times, striving to drop it into any conversations. She’s read in too many women’s articles, that by not talking about it is not the frequency problem. Making love can completely clear the mind, while bringing two people closer together. It also releases the endocrines that can help to make him feel closer to his partner. She already feels like he’s her lobster. Most days.

When she continues to obsessively look at her media pages all day and count baby after baby after baby that people can’t seem to stop shooting out, her levels of feeling the need to rip off his belt in order to tear off his pants lower by the hour. She doesn’t want to be intimate with him just to make a duplicate. She just wants to be able to touch him in the loving ways that normal couples seem to do in life. TV and movies don’t help either. They can’t watch a single anything on their television where the characters aren’t all over each other ten minutes after the title flashed across the screen. This really just makes the urge for him grow more by the hour, making her feel like a horny teenager all over again. When she looks at him, with her puppy dog eyes in the hopes that he gets the hint, he just continues to watch whatever, unaware of what is on her mind, a typical guy.

He’s like a drug to her; when she gets his attention, she really happy for awhile. When she doesn’t, it’s like the world’s falling apart and she doesn’t know what to do. She wants to be craved by him. She wants him to think about kissing her as much as she thinks about kissing him. She has tried to talk about this topic. When she tucks him into bed at night, she can hear him start to mumble about where the cat is as she calmly lays in a straight line on her side of the bed. She begins to slyly rub at his leg. Then, she slowly rolls over, trying to bring out her inner Aphrodite. She prepares to make her way to the spot no one likes to hear other people talk about. Two seconds later, her fingers are shooed away. This makes her feel like she needs to take a class on how to get into a man’s pants sometimes.

She retreats. She didn’t make it a big deal when really it was it was breaking her heart. She gives their cat a goodnight pat on the head and slumps back to her chair, holding back the tears. She sinks down and then just listens to him snore from two rooms away. She knows she’ll have to be back there soon, even though they have another bed. He has too much crap on that one for her to move, though. She wouldn’t want to interrupt their cats little tent they compiled onto it.

She knows she didn’t fall in love with him because she was lonely and lost. She fell in love with him because after getting to know him, she realized she wanted to make him a permanent part of her world, a road she knows they’re on and some rocks she feels he could be taking a rest on at times.

She knows she loves him; potatoes aren’t always perfect.


My Normal Life

The One That’s Living Below

8:00am, my alarm goes off. I reach over to turn it off and begin to get out of bed. I’ve always been so simple to awaken in the morning. I don’t recall the last time I hit my snooze button. My sheets are always thrown off and I am dressed in five minutes, not really sure why. I don’t need to be in a hurry; my work is not nine to five, just a get the job done. I can leave for the day when I need to. My day is brightened even more when greeted by our cat, as I wander through our hallway, though his only need in life right now seems to be food.

As I bend over to fill his little bowl, thanked with a little face rub on my hand, I hear a loud thud upon our ceiling. The apartment above seems to be awake as well.  Fabulous; their day has begun. I know now that the pandemonium will not end for another twelve or more hours.

Children seem to know how to walk at their loudest proportion upon a carpeted floor. Their conversations cannot seem to be had without being shouted at towards each other. Music that is played at the loudest tone that is all about the base is also their favorite to be played all the livelong day. Thankfully they no longer have dogs, for they used to clean off their balcony, with no notice. Water rained upon ours, making us too nervous to touch anything.

During the day, I really do not mind. If you live above people, they can hear you below, even if you try so hard to be silent.  But, perhaps, after 7 or 8 pm, you could reduce on your stampeding around for no reason. My guy also needs to be awake at an early hour and I annoy easily. I know you would like to continue with your fun and so on that you’re blasting about all day. You would like to continue stomping around from room to room or whatever it is you need to pound around above us for. But at 11pm, I do wish you would please tone it down a lot. Even if you tell us that your kids are practicing their gymnastics in a ten foot living room, no injury won’t be endued.

I mean, seriously, dude, I would like one day where there wasn’t 12 hours of thumping around. A few whacks or bumps we can handle. I know that you have kids. What you seem to produce is a never ending, headache producing hammering above us! I, myself, am not a quiet person, yet I would know how to walk in a more silent motion if people were to live below me. In fact, our previous residence, which was on the second floor, we received not one complaint, yet we have been here two months and it has been a never-ending pandemonium! So, I ask you to show some respect for your surroundings.

I can shut a cabinet without slamming it. I can walk across the floor without any person knowing when I am coming. I can even SLAM a door in a silent way. Yet, you seem unable to do any of these. I am even aware of what you guys are talking about at times. This makes me feel that I am back with my dad in Michigan, for I could hear his television 300 feet across his home in another room, with walls among us. So, if I can hear you guys talking, one floor down, with all the wood and padding that is between us, then you need to tone it down!

11:30pm I feel is approaching. Look who has joined us, my boyfriend, who went to bed a few hours ago, yet you seemed to have awakened him with your clobbering and bass music. He is not happy. He has not been feeling well all weekend, didn’t even go into work today. So, if he wants to be well rested tomorrow, he needs his shut eye. Yet, to have to hear the same continuous beating for almost twelve hours how will he be able to? What could you possibly feel the need to pound around that long for? Why does a person need to actually jump from one spot to another every minute of the day? What are you beating around up there for? Even my niece was not that rambunctious. This makes me want to go to my nearest pharmacy so that I can get your children some Risperidone, a medication I take to help with my anxiety, then slip it in some chocolate chip cookies and leave them at your door.

So, please; chill out and I’ll put my broom away.


Thank you.

Image result for loud neighbors funny

My Normal Life

Stay Out of My Bubble

I will not always be perfect. I need to be brave in this life and keep pressing on. I need to stop hating myself for everything that I’m not and start loving myself for every little thing that I already am. I’m slowly working on myself for myself all by myself, and I know that I will come out glittering and fabulous! I will be somebody that nobody thought I could be.

Some days I really do think, “Screw this…. I will just be a stripper!” Then I remember that I’m fat…and I can’t really dance. I get out onto the floor wiggling my big butt around with the bass that’s pounding from the speakers. Shaking my ass is the closets I can come to actually dancing. I feel like all eyes are upon me, I am center stage, and that I need to put on the best performance that I have inside of myself. If I fail, I sense that’s all I will be remembered as: the fat girl who can’t dance.

I remember 280. That’s a big number. It’s one of the biggest that has appeared on my scale in these past few months. One would think this number would be my motivation to lose this big butt that I have no fear to sing about at karaoke every week. It is not, though. I don’t really have any right now. I hate my pants. I hope I didn’t have to re-stretch my t-shirts after I wash them. I still make the same wish to one of those fairies out there, who seem to have been on vacation for the past twenty years, the same wish when my head is on my pillow at night: I wish that when I am awake in the morning, my weight on the scale will be a healthy one and every person in my life will think that is how my body has always been. Or I hope that it will be so simple for me to lose five pounds in one day, even if I just sneeze. Or maybe, I should just ask my fairy to finally motivate me to get off of my fat ass and actually try to do what I have been wanting my lazy self to do for these past six months; lose 100 pounds.

However, you all need to leave me alone about it. I don’t want to do any of this when I feel like this topic is brought up, shoved into my face every day. I need to motivate myself. I need to force myself to do this. I should want to do this. I want to be able to climb up a flight of stairs without hunting around for air. I hope to walk into any store and begin to look all around to choose from any of the clothes that are on the racks. I wish to be able to sleep in my boyfriend’s favorite t-shirt. He smells nice.  I want my life to be so simple. But nothing seems to be easy.

When I’m just wasting days on my computer, reading through Pinterest for suggestions on how to shred these pounds, still continuing to sit upon my behind, I find other interesting topics that keep my mind happy and drawn off of this matter in life. At times, the random facts I always stumble upon always help me to get through the day. I always ponder if life is too short. I have found that is false. It is the longest thing that I do. Is there really love in the air? False; Nitrogen, oxygen, argon and carbon dioxide are in the air. Growing up, we were all told that the United States is the land of the free, but, that is false. The USA has more prisoners per capita than any other county in this world. Is home really where the heart is? Another fake; the chest cavity is where the heart is. “Shoot for the moon, even if you miss, you will land among the stars.” Wrong! The nearest star is 93 million miles from the moon. Is love really all that you need?  Bo-GUS! You need water and food.

These were useless pieces of nothing that I need, but they make me feel that I have added to the emptiness that is filling my head. This emptiness that seems to fill my attention is what I always believe how my stomach feels. I eat breakfast, lunch, dinner and other snacks in between, yet my guy can eat breakfast, wait twelve or more hours to eat dinner. I know that I could wait, but I sometimes wonder what my body wants me to do. Mostly, I’m sure I eat out of boredom. I know that I need to change all of this.

I wasn’t picked on when I was younger. I consider myself lucky. I know when growing up at certain ages, any girl is subject to bullying. I never really had too much trouble walking up to other children and just joining in on the fun. I felt like I was supposed to have a boyfriend while in high school, seeing it always happening on TV shows and other girls. I thought the only reason a guy responded to my smiles was because I wasn’t the same shape as every girl in school. Nonetheless, I did not let myself sink into that hole I knew was trying to drag me down. I joined the school’s theater club to help me onto my happy path.

In my world, I felt awesome. I was able to be up on that stage. I was not judge by my round butt, or wide hips. I did not care that fat hung off my arms or that I had to buy my clothes in the adult woman’s section.

Even in my older years, I am still able to do this. I have days where I critic the way I look more than I’m sure any other person around me is doing. I think I’m more judgmental now about my appearance than I was in my younger years. When I am getting ready to shower, I will stand, pick and pull at every piece of my body in the mirror. I will mentally tell myself that I need to change what is in front of me. Even though there is a person in the other room that I know loves me for me. I still feel that I need to wake up the next day and the body that I have been wishing for, for the past fifteen years is what I hope to see in the mirror. My fat ass will always remain upon my body until my psychic will finally be correct about one thing in my life that I have been going to see her about. When that day happens, a big parade will be held for me and glitter will rain down; I can feel it. Until that day happens, though, just let me continue being me. That’s always still a good thing.


seem to want to lose weight

My Normal Life

Where Am I Right Now?

I know that I tend to be the type that once she’s had just one drink, I feel the need for another one ten minutes later. Then, I know that I choose for a little more after that. Later, I think all of the emotions that have built up suddenly inside of my mind are the ones that are causing me to get drunk to numb all of these inside of me to get out of me. I don’t know what the hell it may be, though. I have happiness in my life. I am overly loved by my family.  My guy seems able to handle plus understand me. I sometimes wonder if I really am the girl that he met on our first date and if I will always be the one he fell in love with. I still hope that he is the person that is meant for me.  If I was able to remember his name after our first date, then that’s a very good thing. I am horrible with names. Not being able to remember his birthday or our anniversary, yet him, the computer tyrant that he can be, is able to pull all of that out of the air and still care about me. I know he is my lobster.

Sometimes, really for no reason, all we do is drive. What we may be driving for is to think about the feelings that we could be hiding. Maybe we just need to always try and stay close to the people who feel how the sunlight should always be; shining through the clouds. Or we could legitimately be connected with the ones who are entirely as excited when the sun is hidden behind the dark clouds as the rain pours down and the thunder pounds above.

If it was good enough for me to move across the country with him, than that shows commitment. I gathered every piece of crap that was simple enough to fit into our moving truck and moved 3000 miles away from my family, friends, my home that I still owned. However, my love, you cannot get mad when I simply feel the need to pack my suitcase just to go back and visit our Great Lake State for the stupidest reason on this Earth. Sometimes, we just need to take a few days apart to breathe. Hotels can be expensive in Sin City.

Ever since our move, even a married woman may not know how to feel on a bad days like these. I may be constantly thinking about just packing up and leaving you. Those days seem to be increasing. Nonetheless, I love you with this little particle that is helping to support my inner being; my heart that I sometimes feel may be lost. When I am away from you, even if it’s just for 30 minutes, I feel the need to call you just to hear your voice.  When you walk through our door after being away from me for eight hours, I always need to jump out of my chair and squeeze my arms around you as fast as I can just to get every ounce of love into you. I do our laundry, I clean our cats litter box, the one you vomit at when you look at it. He was your cat before we met. I may not pay the bills, which I am constantly reminded about day after day. I am made aware that I only paid a small amount one month, nothing another time, or about how much you have given me minute after minute. I try to help with every five cents that I can. This is what a thank you or a hug could be for. I was taught how to say those two words when I am giving my appreciations. Still, I am just reminded that you paid a greater amount than I did for each bill.

2 packs of cigarettes, twice a week, for one month equals about $200. And the alcohol I bring home every other day is about $250. But please remind me again how you still pay for the car that I drive for work every week. I’ll just quit the job it took me two years to find so that you can drive two blocks to your office.

I love you, still at times, I feel like it’s killing me. If I were to leave, I would miss you more than you would ever know. I would miss us. I would miss having you to talk to; almost like back when we began. At times I sometimes wonder if I just need to move on in life. There are days when I feel like what we are is pointless. Love is not finding someone you can live with; it’s finding someone you cannot live without. There are days when I look into the mirror and just wonder if this will be the last day?

When I look at a certain picture, looking at your smile, I can feel my smile creeping its way onto my face. I can feel the warmth in my cheeks beginning as I looked into your light, blue eyes, almost as if you were really in the room with me. My stomach starts filling with the same chills that it had filled with the first night that I felt a foot punting me in my ass; when I turned around; it was you, introducing yourself to me on our very first date. Oh, such a gentleman you were.

I occasionally sit on my chair or lay in our bed, imagining what our children would look like. I know, one of them would for sure, have blue or hazel eyes, dark blonde or light brown hair. They could be a total computer nerd. One will, more than likely, want to be the center of attention at all times. In order to have children, though, certain articles of clothing need to be missing, which seem unable to be touched in over a year. Yet I still throw my bra across the living room when I walk through the door everyday day after work, unnoticed.

Whenever this conversation about children is trying to be brought up, a wall seems to be put up on one of our paths. This isn’t Mexico, babe. Love, children, sharing the same name has been suggested in our relationship, you sink back into your farmer’s game. I know this road in our life is not cheap, each penny you feel the need to pinch at. I know that it is a big hump that we will have to work on. It is one that I am willing to devote a big portion of my attitude towards.

A wise woman once said to fuck this shit, and then she lived happily ever after. The words I need to live by. I know that I can be a very demanding. As difficult as I can be, I do wish that everything worked out in my way. I guess I think this would make us both happy together. Last night, we seemed to be on top of the town, kissing like we invented it. You’re the soul in my heart. I feel that you’ll be my last breath when we grow old.  Ever since we’ve been together, I feel that I’ve been stronger as well as freer at times. I know that I belong with you including that you belong with me. You make me smile and just the thought of you can drive me wild. You have made my life complete and I love you. You are my lobster, as many times that I tell you.

It all comes down to the last person you think of at night. That is where your heart is; my heart that I am willing to devote towards you. I know that life is tough, but darling; I realize that you are as well. Maybe we just need to let shit go and start over. We should just try to erase all that we were talking about today, as hard as I know that I can be for you. You can’t let one tiny little dust particle that upsets you off your mind for two hours, like me. Besides, I need to listen to you drone on about pointless anything, complaint after complaint. I sit and I listen, because I love you.

Just keep that cute smile upon your face, my love. I will always be the arms you can come to, even when you don’t think that you need a thing.


Image result for relationship funny meanings

My Normal Life

I’m Pretty Cool, But I Cry A Lot

I refuse to apologize for being a bitch. No one has ever really apologized for treating me what feels like crap and bringing this tartlet out of me. Perhaps they don’t even realize they’re treating someone like junk. However, getting a person so stirred up for something, reminding them constantly that something so exciting was going to happen; then when it does and that person is a little ignored during what was supposed to be the most extraordinary event of the year, all that had been building up inside of them for a few months; can make that one organ that helps to keep them alive not want to beat anymore.

I am usually a strong person, but you know what makes me want to cry most nights? This can be when I run over to whoever made me feel what a best friend’s house is after a really long work day as soon as they called, because they needed toilet paper or whatever. Then, they just start rambling on about a huge argument they had gotten into with our other person that past weekend when they were out at a bar, while I had been sitting at home, alone Friday and Saturday. This makes me wonder a little what I’ve really been living for. I had been on my couch, alone all weekend, after messaging or calling people with no responses.  Some things are making me feel that the less people I chill with, maybe the less bullshit I really do have to deal with. I don’t think I need to be told that I’ve changed when I’m really trying to stop dealing with former people. Our parents really do notice who our fake friends are before we do.

I don’t know if I have reached a dangerously awesome level of freedom when I don’t care what anyone else thinks of me. Maybe it’s about time for life to give me some more lemons with this freedom. I don’t even really like lemons. I prefer bananas, if any fruit. This portion in life has given me some anger issues, some anxiety, a bigger tolerance for alcohol, and a serious dislike for that old road I feel like I need a border for. But, I haven’t received any lemons.

There are times when I feel at least 60% of the stories I tell go unfinished because someone either cuts me off or I realize that no-one was even listening. Some just needs to admit that life would be boring without me.

As I get further down this road, I didn’t really lose a friend. I’m starting to understand who the true ones are. A good friend knows all of your best stories. When a person truly cares about you, they actually make an effort to be with you, not an excuse why they can’t. Just as long as they hang around me and laugh with me, doesn’t mean they are truly a friend. People can be very good at pretending. I know I can. Theater was my favorite after school activity. I still like being the center of attention.  At the end of the day, real situations can expose fake people.

I don’t really hate anyone; I’ve just lost all respect for some. Maybe this is a sign that I need to start cutting out the people who claim they care about me and then turn around the treat me what feels like shit. I can’t always trust everything that I see. Even salt looks like sugar.

This road in life, I’m getting tired of fake people, fake smiles, fake hugs, and fake hopes. I feel sad, hurt, angry, mad and disappointed. But you know what? I will put on a smile and move on. It will hurt, but I will survive.

Friendship is not always about who I’ve known the longest. Maybe, it’s about who walked into my life and said, “Hey; I’m here for you,” and then proved it. I know I’m not a perfect friend. I make mistakes. I love people who still stay with me after knowing the real me.

This new road I am venturing on, I have new people ahead who I know will more than likely be there for me.  I think I’m ready.

Friendship quote

My Normal Life

A Smokier Path In Life

I joined my high school’s theater club freshman year, just as all the clubs were beginning, in the fall. I feel like I was following in my dad’s footsteps. He did theater when he was in high school, and me being a loud, center of attention needing child, I knew that was the group I needed to join.

We did “Peter Pan” my freshman year, I remember grandma and aunt Nancy coming to see me put on a standing ovation performance as Nana, the dog. I was so marvelous. I knew I made them proud, the way I pounced around the stage during that first act, just as I had rehearsed. I could see them both smiling at me, a few rows back. I knew how difficult it was for grandma to leave her house, needing to bring her oxygen with her. But, I realized she would give her tubes to anyone of us if we needed them. I look through old pictures and see grandma Norma when I was really young. She always looked so content. She was always the happiest. I don’t remember exactly when she started needing her ventilator to help her with her breathing, but I do know that’s mostly what I recall her having as I grew up. She always had a big smile on her face, though

Emphysema is a long term, progressive lung disease that causes shortness of breath. It destroys that spongy tissue, which I didn’t even realize our lungs had until I started researching this, and it severely affects those small blood vessels plus the airways that run through the lungs. The air and blood flow are both affected. It can have a very dramatic impact on the ability for either lung to empty air-sacs, but also for blood to flow through the lungs to receive any oxygen. This all explained to me why grandma needed those air tubes just to help her get out of bed every day. She needed those to help her walk, talk, just to even give me a hug. With those tubes in her nose, though, she got out of bed every day in a better mood than any other person in the family.

My sophomore year, I don’t recall what play we were doing, but the second night, I walked into my director’s office, not really knowing how to tell him what was on my mind. This was a really exciting show for me, since I had an important role. I felt this just being my second year and knowing how dismal my last character was, I believed I had to glow like glitter in order to obtain the best future anything that I could. Yet, now I had to tell my director that grandma had died yet I still had to get out on stage like life was perfect. And I did. I made her proud. She stayed strong until her last day, these days now, I try to be as strong for her. When I know mom’s not having a good day, even though I’m 2000 miles away, I send as many messages as I can. I call her, no matter the time difference, just to be sure she’s okay. I bug my sister the same way, too. I’m sure they both would change their numbers if they could.

When moving onto Junior year, I was thinking that I really only needed to worry about those ACT’s that everyone all of a sudden kept talking about. That huge test that was, apparently, the only thing that could get me into any college. Good grades, money or names wouldn’t help you at all. I didn’t like tests. I never really did well on them, and now all of a sudden if I wanted to continue down my road in life, I needed to take a major, nationwide exam. I required a piece of paper to tell me how “smart” I was. That pointless paper left my mind that year, though.

Mom went over to aunt Nancy, her sister’s house, having not heard from her for a few days. She had been living with grandma. This is one point I never really like to talk about. I can talk about when grandpa Bud passed, when we had to drive to Tennessee to see Grandma Millie, to be there with her. Then when it was grandma Norma’s time, who I was just speaking about. I can talk about when all of the grandparents have passed, since I still love them all. I find it the hardest to talk about how she left me. She wasn’t supposed to. It wasn’t her time. She was supposed to be with me when I graduated high school. I had hoped she would be around if I had ever found that one person I was supposed wander upon one day, not knowing that I would. She would have been there when I was having my first home owners party. She would have been there for my sister’s baby shower. She would have been there, to give me a big hug at my moving to Las Vegas party. But no; she had to commit suicide and her own sister, had to be the one to find her.

There are some days I don’t even want to be here anymore. I know we can all like that. What makes us just go through with it, though? Do we really think that people don’t care about us that much? I tell my boyfriend everyday that I love him. I send him messages while he’s at work; I jump up and hug him, trying to beat our cat to him when he walks through the door. I do all of this because I still worry that there might be one day when he feels like just not being here. I know that he’s not always as chipper as I can be. He gets so discouraged about the least fundamental things that he just wants to be left alone, but I don’t know if I’m really not supposed to bother him. So, I continue to shove all of the love that I can into his face.

Suicide is in the top ten for death rates in the United States. As is cancer and emphysema, two more that have taken three of the grandparents and dad. These are the main reasons I don’t smoke. I remember back in high school when I tried to smoke and hated it. Plus, I already thought I was cool enough so I didn’t need a cigarette to impress anyone else. None of my friends smoked, so why did I need to?  I remember mom had quit, when I was younger, multiple times dad tried to, but once he couldn’t, he would just continue, never really around us. I don’t know why my sister started. I never really know why anyone person finds it so relaxing. My form of relaxation is to get up on a stage at a bar while singing one of my favorite songs as I’m dancing like a fool.

Esophageal cancer seems to occur more frequently in men and more commonly in those that smoke. Since dad had smoked almost my entire life, this was not a big surprise. It was either that, or he would get what his dad had had. Of course, any symptoms don’t usually occur until their more advanced stages, those mostly being difficulty swallowing. Others can be weight loss, chest pain, vomiting and chronic coughing. I’ve read that people with a family history of cancer also have a higher risk of this one. So now, having been on both sides and happening with more than, I believe four members, I am starting to worry for me and my sister more. I know that these cancers including anything else my elders have had in my family have mostly been smoking related, I don’t really panic that much. My worry just builds up when I walk up to a counter, ask for a pack of cigarettes, take it home then hand it to my guy. I feel like I’m handing him a little box of death.

As one that I love goes out onto the balcony to have I don’t even know what number cigarette that is, I continue to worry about him and that always brings my sister to mind. I care about those two the most after I’ve looked back all that has happened on this health path in life. Trying to change my mind is hard enough, so just by accidentally emailing an article about lung cancer or possibly mentioning a humorous memory about one of my grandpas because of something I came across on my Facebook, could maybe push them further towards the Yellow Brick Road of Health, but I doubt it. They’re both too stubborn.

Grandpa Bud and Randy are my only two who I don’t recall what smoking lung related path they had chosen in life. As grumpy the old men that they were, I still love them. I love all of my family, here or not, whether they decided they just didn’t want to be around anymore or if they wanted to, but to continue yet on a rougher ride in their life. Looking back at all of this, viewing over to the right side of the room, I can see a little bit of dad is sitting upon my book shelf. I get to tell him I love him every day.


My Normal Life

I’ve Been Mississippilessly For Awhile

First and foremost: be kind. It’s gangster. I think I’ve been learning there are different roads of kindness throughout my long road in life. From all of this, it hurts when I realize I’m not as important to someone as I thought I was. If they won’t lift a few fingers to call me or to see me or to spend time with me, it’s time for me to lift five fingers and wave buh-bye! I almost broke my thumbs doing that the other night with all the messaging I was putting into my phone and only getting a response from my mom. One would think, that with flying two thousand miles across country, just for a few family functions, more would be excited to see me. Yet, everyone seemed so unavailable for what seemed the entire month I was there. It hurts when you realize you aren’t as important to people as you thought you were. Fridays and Saturdays are still lonely in this old age.

I can totally understand people being busy with work, family, with life when trying to invite them out during the middle of the week, me being on a different time zone after all. Then I see what is going on with them for the night by updates in their lives every five minutes, and I happened to be just down the road. Yet when I look at my phone, there is no response to anything I had sent out to see if anyone wanted to party down. This is when I begin to realize, maybe I just have to let go.

Have you ever sat with your friends and just known that you’re the least important person in the group? Then, you felt like it really wouldn’t make a difference if you were there or not? The problem is, that I don’t know what a true friend is anymore these days. A stranger can become my best friend just as easily as a best friend can become a stranger. If I just got up from the table and left, would anyone even notice? It’s almost like I’m not even friends with some people anymore. The saddest thing is when I am feeling real down, I look around and realize that there really doesn’t seem to be a shoulder when I need one. Except my guy in the next room.

Sitting in my chair all day, even if I did have plans, can get a little boring. It may not seem like such a big deal, but there really isn’t that much on Netflix. I can get what seems like an automatic reply to a text message to plans we’re making, like “Oh yeah, I can’t wait, I’m down for tomorrow. SO excited you’re here!” And then the next day; nothing. I pretty much gave up sending a “Hey, are we still down for today,” message because I knew I would get nada. If one moment I cut them off, chances are they handed me the scissors. I’m not really mad; I guess really more hurt. There’s a difference. I do know I’m not the only person in this big ass world. But, when I haven’t seen the faces I thought would be excited to spend five minutes with me, the way that dreaded social network made it seem, there only seemed to be excuses or no responses on my phone. These days, I really just miss the memories, not the people.

Good friends are like stars. I don’t always see them, but I do know they’re there, somewhere. Still not mental, just a little torn up. There is a difference. It’s almost the same as a friend who comes and goes, but the true friend lasts forever. The problem is that I don’t know who my true friends are anymore these days. Nowadays, I’m beginning to realize that they can break your heart, too. Some walks on this road in life, you might have to take alone.

I sometimes think that when I’m out for my fun, sixty percent of the stories I tell go unfinished because either someone cut me off or maybe no one is even listening. I think I even learned this these past few years in my life. Airplanes have been making me think. They also make me realize that I might have found my new promise land. Silver is becoming my new Gold.


real friends

My Normal Life

I Can’t Fit My Pants

My boyfriend and I have the same t-shirt. We got it one night as a bonus from one of our bars; a shot, a beer and a t-shirt all for six bucks just for the Golden Knights being in the play-offs. We both picked out the same size. When we put them on, over the shirts we were already wearing, his fit a little snug. For me, it fit a lot snug. I even needed to go to the bathroom and stretch it out as best that I could. My boyfriend didn’t seem to make any adjustments to his. Even after I wash it and put it on like a normal shirt, I still need to re-stretch it.

Lately, with all of my old shirts, my pants, I feel the need to make changes to them. I can’t walk into any store of my choosing for regular clothing like a normal American woman. I have to shop at one of the “bigger” girl shops. This has been what feels like my whole life. Growing up, when shopping for any clothes, I don’t remember ever shopping in the regular girl’s section. I believe I always picked out shirts, maybe even pants from the same section my mom usually got her clothes from. But, even today, my section is different than hers. Again, it’s the section with larger options.

Teenage girls share their favorite outfits with their girlfriends. I never did that. My friends were always smaller than me. I would sit around their bedrooms, looking at their outfits, thinking to myself, “I wish I could wear that shirt,” “I can’t wear shorts that small.” I don’t even WEAR shorts! My ass would be hanging out! I know that if I even tried to wear a tank top, the fat that hangs off of my upper arm would be stared at when I walk anywhere.

Every so often I don’t know what I’m feeling anymore; happiness? Love? The cat on my lap? Someday’s, I think, “maybe I need some music.” Other days, I really just need the lyrics. Those words can help me find the right ones to express my feelings. The words can be the pathway to happiness in life.

I tell myself every night that I’m going to be different in the morning. I am discovering that the key to a woman’s brain may be buried deep down inside her playlist. It may be a LOVElove song, one that could never explain to someone how much their heart aches enough for them. It might be a lost heart love song. Even though I am not lost on my emotions path in life, I still listen to many of these songs that are so deeply filled with sorrow. I listen to them, then I let whoever is still buried in my thoughts wander out and wonder, “What if?” I’m sure you all do. I still never regret the decisions I have made. I might be stuck between who I am, who I want to be and who I should be, but I will always have the help I need.

I always wanted to be somebody. I think I realize now I should have been more specific on what that was. I’m beginning to feel like I’m having such a boring life only because I listened to some guy on TV telling me how to do all my shit, so I think I deserve this. Even if I am on the right track in life, I could get run over if I don’t get off my ass and just continue to sit here.  I know I shouldn’t put off until tomorrow what I can do the day after tomorrow, yet well-behaved women seldom seem to make history. The more rebellious ones look to be the ones on that list.  Edison failed 10,000 times before he made the electric light so I need not be discouraged if I fail a few more times. I mean, people do tend to say nothing is impossible and I accomplish nothing every day. I intend to live forever. So far, so good.

Maybe I could just go sit on my balcony to write down what’s on my mind. No person out there could keep me down, no matter how hard they tried. I’m really starting to love him and our life more when I can make the night time last. When you love somebody, I better tell him because I sometimes feel that I might one day run away. When I do tell him, the world’s alright with me, just with one look into those deep, blue eyes. When the sun goes down, he is the one I’m going to be with. There couldn’t be better days than these.

I know that life may be short. We all need to smile while we still have our teeth. I’m already missing one, so I’m on my way down that road. I guess I need to start studying for that test we all have. I actually hope I can arrive to death late, maybe a little drunk. The way my life seems to be these days, I feel every day that I have almost been there, done that, practically like I’ve been there several times only because I’ve apparently forgotten.

The music from my phone at the same moment every day begins my time, even though by now, my mind is really a natural alarm. After I dig through the closet, stretching out my shirts, still continuing to hate my body, I walk into the bathroom to make sure that I look what I know is not normal. I could be a lot nicer to myself if I liked my outfit. I just need to make myself smile and let everyone know that today, I am going to be a lot stronger than I was yesterday.

I sometimes still wonder what ever attracted him to me. I know I’ve changed, a lot, over the years we’ve been together. I’ve put on weight since our first date. The picture of me that was on that dating site he chose from has changed. My personality hasn’t, but the body he sometime cuddles with at night has. He is obviously still attracted to me, but I’m not attracted to me. When I have shirts that are two sizes bigger, pants from when we first met that I can no longer fit in, I still have in my mind that he doesn’t want to share a bed with me. But he does.

seem to want to lose weight

My Normal Life


A family is a basic social unit that consists of parents and their kids, even if they live together or not, which is a good thing, since I live 2,000 miles away from every person that has loved and supported me my entire life. The closest family I have that I could run to if I wanted to, is still five hours away. Nevada is really just two major cities, then just sand. Yet, with the way technology is so updated and the support I have in those Great Lakes, all who loves me would not care if I called them at 1 am Western time just because I was having another one of my random breakdowns over nothing. That’s what family and friends are for.

Some of this family I wasn’t born with. Some of them, I just met one day on the first day of school. That one amazing day we walked into class, sat next to each other for the whole school year, or we joined the same after school group, or maybe had the same friends, they just found themselves drawn to me. Don’t deny. I’ve known these guys since elementary/junior high, so that is basically our whole lives. We all went through puberty together. They were there for the good days, bad days, the no days, and I’m still here for them, just a plane ride away. I mean, hell, they were all here a week ago! Well, most of them were. Other ones, who I might call/message too much still need to come out here. I know I’ll be back that way soon, but I would like them to see my side of a new life. I want them to see that I am a little grown up.

The thing about sisters is just that; sister. Or sista’. She hates when I say it like that. I may be the elder one, but she has matured in so many more ways than me. She has a good job, gave me a beautiful little niece, and she still listens to me complain about the stupidest things in life even if I’m not in the right state of mind. Or if it’s a certain time of the month. She also knows that I’m here for her. She holds it all inside more than me, since I’ve always been a loud mouth, always unable to hold anything inside. Might be a little problem. Yet, this is what the one thing legalizing itself across the nation can be good for.

I look at my mom, and I know she’s my best friend. I know I can’t tell her EVERYTHING, but, like I stated above, I’m not afraid to let it all out, which she hates sometimes. She thought she had two daughters where at sometimes I think she raised two inappropriate sons. I know I have a good mom, though. I complain to her about the same thing over and over, then she tells me the same way to fix it, as I just brush it off like it is the lamest way to go about doing that. She just doesn’t understand that I’m just trying to get it out; not that I want to actually FIX it. Then what would I have to call her about? I would call her just to make her mad because that’s what daughters are for. I would also call her to cry over nothing, and she would listen. I can call her to talk about the lamest thing ever, and she’ll listen. She’s my mom.

The one person I can’t call anymore; my daddy. I can still talk to him, though, if I wanted. I was able to bring a little portion of him back with me after I had gone back for his viewing.  I sometimes do still  pick up my phone and attempt to call my dad to ask a random question. Now I have to look these answers up, which will never be the same.

Family are the ones who raised me, family are friends. Family is just stuck with me for the rest of their lives.


Mom and Dad11dad3 SavannahMom and Dad2 me and jamieFriends Las Vegasme and mandyJess and Sam