A Story About A Spaghetti Squash

Have you ever tried to make spaghetti squash before?

I have, It's very delicious and innovative in the different techniques used to make it.

Well, the reason I bring it up is that I want to tell you a story. A story about a spaghetti squash.

Once upon a time a little spaghetti squash was grown and picked from its farmers.

Then the farmer's shipped it to the grocery store where people like you and I pick it up to cook and eat.

In the process of bringing it home, it got bounced around the car amongst the rest of the groceries.

When it finally came time to cook the spaghetti squash there were two different methods of getting the spaghetti out of the squash so-to-speak;
the microwave or the oven.

I chose the microwave.

The first thing you need to do before putting this vegetable in the microwave is poking as many holes in the sucker as possible.

I didn't understand the meaning or reasoning behind poking these holes but, I did it anyway.

I placed the spaghetti squash in the microwave, set the timer, and start.

I start to get the rest of the ingredients ready when all of sudden...BANG! Half of the spaghetti squash comes out of the microwave,
all over the floor, the countertop, inside the microwave. It sounded like a gun went off.

It scared me to death.

I found out why the holes were needed after that.

Apparently, I didn't poke enough holes in the squash and it erupted like a volcano.

After taking the extra time to pick up the mess I sat down and took a breath.

Needless to say, I learned my lesson. Always poke holes in your squash, you can never have too many.

Violence is Never The Answer

I had made plenty of friends growing up. However, one of my closest childhood friends, Bush had moved away when I was very young. We did everything together; did homework, played cops and robbers, watched scary movies, played video games, etc. He was practically a member of the family, always eating over for dinner or vise-versa. 

It wasn’t until my 9^th-grade year, the beginning of high school that Bush had returned. Seeing him after two years, brought me delight at first until all I saw was darkness. By the end of that first day of 9^th grade, we both realized we were in the same classes together. At first, I seemed jubilant about it, then after a few short weeks, I noticed Bush was different. He wasn’t the friend I had remembered growing up with. It wasn’t until the angry monster and the psychotic talking that started to horrify me.

It became all too real when myself, Bush, and a few friends went over to my grandmother’s house to play some pool in her basement. Laughing, joking, listening to System Of The Down while we each took turns playing each other. Bush and I were playing when it came down to the final eight ball. I had my chance to sink the eight ball right in a corner pocket perfectly and the rest of the group started picking on Bush for losing to a girl. I hit the cue ball and sunk that eight ball right in the corner pocket, hearing them yell like a crowd in a stadium when a football team winning the Superbowl. I had never played so well at pool, I was overly proud of myself. 

Bush, on the other hand, had suddenly turned into a monster. His eyes changed from his hazel eyes to a dark emptiness, as if they had turned black. His hands gripped firmly onto a pool stick as his voice changes from joyful to sinful, “you think that’s funny do you. It would be a shame for you to walk home by yourself tonight. You never know what might happen to you on these streets at night.” The rest of us looked at each other in utter shock of what we are hearing. Without saying a word, more than half of the guests leave, leaving myself, Bush and Roger (Bush’s best friend) in the basement, alone. Bush still holding onto the pool stick as he smiles with a death look on his face, “You know my grandmother is right upstairs. Knock it off or leave,” I stated. “I don’t think you can stop me. Besides, I’m having too much fun”… “That’s it I’m getting my grandmother” I get up from where I sat, and start to walk by Bush when suddenly I hear a loud crack, followed by sharp pain on my back. I drop to my knees trying to catch my breath, Roger, in fear of his life, leaves the basement. Bush starts laughing from my struggle as I glance over at the broken pool stick. Then, I realized it. Bush had used the pool stick as a bat over my back and had broken it in half. Anger, fear, and adrenaline consumed me. I knew it was either try to fight him or run away. I hear Bush’s footsteps behind me coming closer towards me. Without thinking I got up, turning toward Bush in one swift motion, punching him in the face. Stunned, he falls to the floor, giving me time to run upstairs and get help.

One of my best friends, Angel, in high school started to date Bush and asked me if I had a problem with it. I was in an internal conflict on whether or not I should tell her of the horrifying truth of the monster Bush had become. It would be cruel and unfriendly of me to not say something to her. So, I warned her of what Bush could possibly do, she thought it was a joke, and ignored my warning.

A few weeks go by of the two of them dating, Bush’s overall attitude seems to be improving; more cheerful, less moody, and no ugly monster had appeared from the shadows. Until one Friday afternoon, Angel asked Bush about an upcoming school function that she wanted to attend to. Bush had no intentions of going to any school function, especially one that involved dancing, so he told her no. Angel was mortified. All she wanted was to get dolled up for a night out, away from parents, to be with friends and good company. Instead, she asked if he wouldn’t mind if she could go with someone else. If it hadn’t for the two of them talking in the middle of the school day I’m not sure the response she got would have gone any better. He told her that he didn’t care, so she asked a close friend of hers to attend the function, little did she know Bush was developing an evil cynical plan that would soon bring her night out into a nightmare.

It was the night of the school, Angel was already at the function with her friends and date having a great time. Like any school function, there was good music, lighting, teacher chaperoning, and morals were high. It wasn’t long before Angel, her friends, and the rest of the attendees overhear a commotion going on at the entrance to the school function. Angel glances over to see what was going on and sees Bush holding a baseball bat yelling, “where is she?!”. Angel’s friends start to question her if that was Bush standing there while the rest of the teachers chaperoning the event run to aid the growing feud.

A few more minutes go by, followed by louder banging, clanking, and screaming, the flashing red, and blue lights arrive to escort Bush off the school grounds. Angel in utter shock by what she is seeing, ended the relationship between her and Bush the very next day.

Bush was never arrested.

Hide and Seek Gone Wrong

Growing up there were several different games I played with my brother and two sisters in our two-story, four-bedroom, three-bathroom colonial house. One of the games we played was hide and seek.

It was a Friday evening, the street lights were lit with glimmer and glow in cool dark streets of New York. My parents had decided to go out for a night on the town, leaving my oldest sister to watch the three of us. We were all watching the television when suddenly, out of blue, I suggested we play a game. My oldest sister first dismissed the idea, thinking we were wanting to play some board game. I turned towards her with a smile on my face, “how about hide and seek?” I asked. My sisters looked at each other and thought it was a great idea. Mother and father weren’t going to be home for awhile, which gave us plenty of time to play. But who would be it first, I wonder? Before I could even blurt anything out my oldest sister suggested she would be doing the seeking first and the rest of us would hide. I was excited, for it was the first time in several weeks that the four of us had done anything playful, exciting, or joyful together.

My sister turned around facing away from us and started counting “1…2…3…4…” and we were off. My brother and I tried to treck quietly up the old wooden staircase leading to the second floor without making it creek or crackle along the way. A shallow sound from my steps crept along the staircase as we climbed to the top. “15…16…17…” My sister continues to count as her voice drifts off further into the distance as we look for a place to hide. My second oldest sister decided to stay on the first floor and hide.

After several whispers between me and my brother, we decided to hide together in our parent’s bedroom closet. “She’ll never find us here” my brother stated. As we wait for her to seek us out, my brother remembered that we had beans for dinner and knew it doesn’t settle well with my stomach. He hears my stomach grumbling and groaning, “don’t you dare” he whispered. “I’m holding it in. I’m so nervous that she’s going to find us”, I said in a frantic whisper. My stomach continues to grumble, groaning, eager to relieve itself of the building gases.

Finally, we here the cricking and creaking the staircase of my sister’s footsteps as she walks up the staircase to the second floor. Room by room she looks, making different remarks as she looks, “I know you two are up here somewhere”… banging, clinking, and clanking of closet doors in another bedroom down the hall. “I’m going to find you sooner or later”… her footsteps slowly getting closer to my parent’s bedroom. I start to sweat, feeling my heartbeat rise. My brother kicks me by accident, frightening me, I release the ever building gases that have been building. “Did you just?”… The smell slowly drifts his way, “Oh my…!!! Get me out of here! I’m going to suffocate in here. It’s turning into a dutch oven in here!” He starts snickering, covering his face with his shirt, coughing from the smell. A few seconds go by, the sounds of my sister’s footsteps close-in, opening the closet doors, “I think you two are missing the point of hiding and seek here…Holy…O.K…Who farted?”… “Oh, thank god! Move it!... Move it!... Move it!... Must…Have…Fresh…Air”. My brother climbs over me, plowing through my sister, freeing himself of the horrific smells of the deep dark closet. He sits on the bed taking deep breaths, glancing over at me, “next time we have beans for dinner, I’m not hiding with you again”.

After my brother finished taking a few deep breaths of fresh clean air, we all went downstairs and had a good laugh about why I shouldn’t eat beans, and play; hide and seek.  

The Fire Building Within

S

he hears the whispers of the wind as it blows through her long blonde hair and her mid-thigh dark blue dress. The tall muscular tattooed man glances over at the woman, their eyes meet. She turns her head slightly with a smile towards the handsome man. He approaches her from across the way, “hello” he says. She smiles, looking into his green eyes and leans into him whispering, “come with me”. His thoughts start to flow through his body, his muscles tightening, nodding in slight excitement, interest, and curiosity, looking into her sky-blue eyes, he follows eagerly.

She leads him down a dark street nothing but the sounds of the wind, sheets of newspaper whistling, car horns going off in the distance, she takes his hand leading him into an open doorway. He tightens his grip on her hand and pulls her to him, kissing her deeply. They twist and turn, bodies almost intertwining in lust, romance, hunger builds inside him for her.

She opens her eyes slightly looking down the dark alley seeing her cue, she signals the black van in the alley without hesitation, the van speeds up to them. She pushes him off her aggressively, smiling at him, “welcome to hell”. Confused, anger, frustration, and before he could make a sound a group of men grabs him from behind engulfing him into the darkness, the van door slams shut on him as the tires screech away down the alley and onto to the main road. The woman, still standing there in the same spot from where he was captured, lights up a cigarette and snickers as her heels start to click and clatter down the alley, disappearing into the darkness.

Confused the man starts to struggle with the men in the back of the van, not being able to see anything, he feels a swift and hard punch to the gut. Then, another man punching him in the face, knocking the tall muscular tattooed man out cold. A short ride later the van arrives at its destination and the men carry the unconscious man inside, strapping him to a chair. “That should hold him for now”, one of the men mutters. They leave the room with nothing, but the tall muscular tattooed man strapped to a chair and barebone walls.  

As the men lock up the door they hear the click and clatter of her heels coming towards them, “all done boys?” “Yes ma’am, as ordered” “good, now leave me with him” she demands. She takes the keys from them and starts to unlock the door. One of the men grabs her arm, “Amelia, don’t!”  “Let go of me Daniel”, Amelia’s eyes start to glisten red and orange, as if they were on fire. Daniel releases her, “I’m not letting you go in there alone!” “You’ll do what you’re told or should I remind you what happened to your best friend, Argo?!” Daniel lowers his head and walks away with the rest of his men.

Amelia snickers as she opens the doors to the room. As she walks into the room and sees an empty chair with broken straps dangling from the sides. She quickly turns, locking the doors behind her. She turns around to see the tall muscular tattooed man standing in front of her. He quickly grabs her by the throat, pinning her up against the doors, “who are you and why did you bring me here?!” the man demands. Amelia keeps calm as she grabs his wrist and tightens her grip around, “we know who you are Damien” Amelia’s eyes start to glisten over to red and orange. Damien let’s go of Amelia’s throat and backs away from her, “I thought I was the only one” “No, you’re not the only one”. 

Amelia puts her hand around her throat, her hand lighting up with blue flames, healing her wounds. “What the…How did you do that?!” Damien demanded. Amelia gets to her feet smiling at Damien, “we all have our own gifts, but we also suffer from those gifts”, before Amelia could continue Damien lunges forward kissing Amelia deeply, sliding his hands up her thighs. She pushes him off of her “you must stop, you could kill us both if you don’t” “I can’t help myself, I …I…I can’t stop”

Damien lunges back onto her, angering Amelia as he picks her up, pulling her panties off her. Amelia groans loudly and in anger, her eyes lighting up with fire throws Damien off her through the air hitting the back of the room’s wall. “Look what you’ve done now Damien…You pissed me off” Amelia walks towards Damien angerly as he tries to take a deep breath from the blow he took, she reaches down and grabs him by the throat, picking him up off of his feet into the air. “Are you going to calm the fuck down now or am I going to have to beat it out of you?!” Amelia’s eyes lighten with fire she tightens her grip on Damien’s throat.  Damien nods his head as Amelia lets go of him. 

“I don’t understand, why is it so difficult to resist you? I mean with normal women, it’s easy but with you I want everything. I want more, I want to feel every inch of you, taste every inch of you.” “You can’t” “why the fuck not?!” “Stop thinking with your dick for two seconds and listen to me. Do you remember anything about your past? Where you came from? Where you were born?” “Sure I do, I was born in Atlanta…” “NO, NO, NO, they have you so brainwashed. Think hard” “All I remember in Atlanta, that’s it. What more do you want?” Amelia takes a deep breath, “that’s enough for today. Get some sleep and we’ll try again tomorrow” “Tomorrow?! What the fuck do you mean, tomorrow??!”

To Be Continued...

Restless Night

Feeling the sheer pain, pressure on the left side of the iliac crest wing of my pelvis majority of the night, makes me want to cry but I won't. Part of me wished, it knew what it felt like to bear a child so a comparison of the pain resemblance could be conducted. Plus, the overly joyous wonders a child would bring is adventurous enough for any parent. However, when pain and discomfort are enough to keep you from sleeping next to a five-foot-ten-inch hulk of a husband, you know you’re in pain.

My mother woke me several times throughout the course of tonight to tell me that I had fallen asleep in the chair, she at first didn’t want to wake me after hearing the groans coming from the bedroom a majority of the night but when she heard the groaning pains continue then subside after a course of over an hour she was worried. She asked me if I was O.K., as any concerned Mother would. I frankly, didn’t know what to tell her other than I was in a lot of pain and to just leave me be. She assured me that she was here if I needed her and continued on her way.

She stayed awake most of the night worrying and contemplating whether to take me to the emergency room but she knew I would refuse. All the wires, noise, and discussions from staff members would cause them to stick me in an MRI machine causing my shunt to be un-programmed which would mean a long three-hour drive to Orlando to get it re-programmed and it wasn’t something I was willing to risk over me having a night of debilitating pain. I see my doctor later in the day today, so all I have to do is get through tonight, go have my morning session with my therapist, and all will be forgiven, so-to-speak.

To help distract myself from the pain I watched my nightly new episode of Everwood, listened to classical music, and typed away on an older laptop an old friend gave me. Since most of the personal belongings were taken from me it’s been difficult re-building what has been lost. Just being free of the judgment, hatred, self-loathing, and self-worth. Starting from scratch with a new beginning, a somewhat of a new life, was enough for me.

All truck drivers know once you’ve had the taste, the worth of being out on the road, you’ll never forget it. Some even still crave the road each, and every day, I know I do. I miss the open road, having my own bed, my own fridge, and good nightly conversation or just simply the nightly television show or movie. Sigh, that was the life for me. Stinky, smelly, truck stops, with horny, polite, ungrateful, rude, inconsiderate, generous, poor, and wealthy drivers. Truck drivers fell into a different type of class, their own class of greatness, one that moves the country one truckload at a time. However, my trucking days were a means to an end when a doctor, one day, walked up to me, with a frown on his face, a clipboard in hand, and says “I’m sorry Amy. Your trucking days are over.” I hit the floor, my heart sank. A career, that I had built a good, solid reputation out of nothing. My entire family was proud of what I was doing and who I had become. They still couldn’t believe it every time I brought the truck home that I drove such a large piece of equipment, it even made my brother and sisters jealous at one time.

Now, I’m seeing doctor after doctor for conditions that will eventually overcome me and the doctors that took my medical card are trying not to give up on the idea of me continually being able to work. My doctors, however, I harpooning down, continuously reminding me of my limitations thinking there are no consequences for there actions, or at least for one’s feelings.

I’m in constant pain. Whether the pain is in my head, abdomen, or leg, I’m in constant pain. Between the pins and needles to the throbbing, stabbing, pinching, barbaric tortures my body puts itself through, I wake up and go to sleep, in pain. When I walk into the doctor’s office asking for a simple pain medicine or an anti-inflammatory to help ease the symptoms, they ask a million questions or rebut on digging out their prescription pads. However, if the pain is bad enough to put me in the emergency department they are more than happy to give me pain meds then, even if I don’t ask for it. 

When new pain arrives and I simply ask for them to discover what the problem is without pain meds it’s almost, the hard-to-believe expression on their face. After imaging and tests, the doctors insist on meds for the pain because it apparently appears on the tests that I’m in pain. All I’ve ever asked is for them to fix me. To return me, to my original state to which I was so that I may once return to the open road where I feel, I belong but no. There is no going back, there is only going forward with the treatments and surgeries to remove what is bad, and replace with mechanical parts. In the end, aren't we all just replaceable with mechanical parts?

A Chaotic Dream

Press Play Then Read

One night I went to sleep and dreamed…

Waking up this morning to my parents arguing and me being partially blamed for it because I have an appointment at 12:15 and Mother couldn’t get ready in time so they could leave promptly. Listening to the rumbles of a family argument erupting into a battle to be reckoned with, is no one's ideal way of fun. Instead, it’s rather a trouble and gruesome scene that brings out my PTSD of my childhood day’s that would cause an adult to have nightmares.

The sounds of their voices escalating into a full-fledged scream make my hair stand up on the back of my neck. I recognized that sound, I get up from my oversize plush beige chair-ottoman combo, quietly head for the bedroom door to close off what sounds of the argument I could. I didn’t want to become involved in another one of their arguments and I certainly didn’t want to listen to it. However, shutting the door didn’t stop all of the noise from penetrating through the thin walls, into the bedroom with their voices echoing throughout the house. I was ready to be a mole that burrows into the ground and hides from the predators so it doesn’t get eaten but, there was no avoiding the argument.

As I listened, the memories of my childhood flourished throughout my mind, listening to endless fights and arguments, then waiting for the inevitable outcry and anger to be taken out on someone was to be expected. I had already had an all night up and down sessions from not taking my heartburn medication the morning before, feeling the hot acidy of the stomach acid crawl, burning it’s way up my esophagus was no one’s way of having fun, it would reach the top of my throat burning the back of my tonsils. The feeling of wanting to vomit my dinner was a constant barrage of pains, burns, and reminders of what happens when I forget to take my medication.

For the rest of the day, they would go without speaking unless necessarily appropriate. I, however, would eventually have to endure the backlash of their argument by being a moving target for which anger towards each other would be taken out onto me, just for being there. I was half tempted to cancel my afternoon appointment with my urologist, just to avoid the conflict of which was to come. I knew I needed to go, the enduring non-stop bladder pains needed to be looked at pronto.

It wasn’t long until Mother came in the bedroom, inviting me out to grab a coffee and breakfast, which is rather unusual for her to ask in a humble but pleasant manner after getting into a debacle with her husband. I agreed to go then we departed only to find out that after my appointment today I would have to travel around town with her to variant places for her liking, regardless of how I felt, I was going to have to go, there was no winning this argument after all, she just got into a huge argument with her husband, so, who was I to stand in her way of going anywhere. She has every right to do as she pleases. I just wanted to be left out of it, for her to simply drop me off at home, but no, that seemed rather repulsing, revolting, and impossible to her without having to explain herself to hubby for going to different stores by herself. Besides, who was going to open the front doors for her or do this or that but me, the one person that has a debilitating disease that likes to show its ugly face whenever it so chooses. I just had to know when it does decide to show up, unfortunately, it was on occasions that I felt like absolute garbage, trash, or the mere thought of getting out of bed seemed impossible.

Who am I to bitch and complain? I’m an almost thirty-year-old, married, “ungrateful” sick woman that lives at home with her mother. Most seem to believe it is simply for the benefit of having to pay low rent, living a common life of going to work everyday go home, have dinner, sex, then head to bed. It didn’t occur to anyone that my life would be complex than that. I go blind on and off throughout the day, my head feels like it has bouncy balls bouncing around throwing my balance off, ringing in the ears causing irritation, depression from severe pain, and anxiety from the constant derogative conceited disrespectful remarks I hear throughout the day, I mean, what could be wrong with that? I am able to work, right? Wrong. I’d like to see someone be able to work who can normally see on a regular basis, suddenly, without notice, lose their sight, be in constant debilitating pain, walk in a drunken type manner without being actually intoxicated, all from balance problems.

Something else happened today that I haven’t done in a few months now, I smoked a black and mild cigar. Oh my heavens, the smell of the sweet cigar, as I inhaled sweet glory, my lungs feeling satisfactory, my brain screaming, and my muscles throughout my body start to relax. My body becomes enveloped in a high-like state that sends my mind, body, and spirit into a peaceful serenity of great harmony.  

After being brought back to reality, I was home, listening to her simply to me about a delicious dish that was enough for two full grown adults, grandmas baked beans, "I want there to be leftovers. I know once your husband gets a taste of these there won't be any leftovers so I'm going to tell him not to eat them all." I first looked at her in sheer disgust as normally my husband doesn't eat everything in the house when there is plenty of fucking food in the house. Furthermore, the food that we have been eating lately hasn't even been made for everyone in the house, or we simply, picked up our own food, hot and ready, out of a fast food joint or pizza parlor. I was simply appalled by her stating that when all that was being made was cauliflower, sweet potatoes, and grandmas baked beans. Simply, there isn't enough food for four grown adults to sit humbly at a dinner table and have enough food to fill their bellies completely. 

The Rumble

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Once Upon I slept...

I was awoken on a dark dreary morning by a force to be reckoned with. Hearing the shuffling and chaotic manner to which he searched, I knew he was missing something. His manic behavior to which he was searching, the tremble in his breath as he spoke aloud in anger, becoming more irritated by the minute. I awoke to the noise in the room, I ask what was wrong, “I can’t find my wallet” he answers agitated and frustrated. “OK, we’ll find it. Did you leave it in the car?” “I’ll go look”, he leaves the room letting out a deep sigh as he exited.

As I start to look around the dresser, in between the seat cushions in the chair that he sat in the night before, I hear him start yelling outside, “Fuck! Shit! Son of a bitch!...Where the fuck is it?!”. Amongst continuing to look for his wallet I knew his voice had woken my parents, I prayed that they didn’t come in the bedroom, a vocal brawl was about to erupt, and I didn’t want them to become part of it.

The door to the bedroom opens, “Have you found it?!” He demands. “If you don’t calm the fuck down, we’re going to have a bigger problem than you not finding your fucking wallet”, a large sigh exhales his body “I’m sorry, I’m just getting pissed. I can’t stand it when I can’t find something. I’m not mad at you, I’m just…” I had remembered I heard him knock something over with his hand last night off the nightstand. 

I cling to the furniture as I slowly make my way over to his side of the bed. I kneel on the floor, hearing, feeling, the bones in my knees and back, crack and crinkle. I start to feel around between the bed and the nightstand, my small fragile hand feels his wallet as I grasp it, “I found it” as I pull it out and hand it to him. “Now help me up”, I reach out to him, his large masculine hands clenched my small fragile hands, he puts his head under my arm helping me to my feet. “Thank you, my body isn’t what it used to be. You do need to work on staying calm in a time of conflict” I stated to him.

He apologizes for his attitude towards me and I decline to acknowledge his extenuating circumstances, I was becoming grumpy, angry for him waking me over not finding such a simple item. Emotions start to flair as I embrace his arms, feeling his hands wrap around my body, feeling his strength, as he asks me to forgive his anger, kissing my neck, “Please forgive me, I’m not mad at you. I’m pissed at myself for waking you, not finding my wallet. Please forgive me.” I let out a deep sigh, “I forgive you” “Are you mad at me now?”, another sigh escapes me, “No, I’m just tired and grumpy” I kiss his warm lips, “go to work, I don’t want you to be late or have to rush to work. I love you, be safe”. I depart his arms, heading for the bathroom, to relieve a screaming, painful bladder. As I sit on the toilet, the sounds of sniffles come from his voice as he exits the room, to his car, and leaving the driveway.

I knew I could have handled things better with him but I was awoken to frantic, loud, and rude behavior. If he was calm, passive-assertive, and had awoken me gently and asked me to help him I would have possibly reacted better, instead of giving him no satisfaction that I wasn’t mad, happy, or sad. I was just frustrated, grumpy, agitated, pissed off, and extremely tired. I was pissed off at the world for him waking me but he does every morning. He wakes me to give me his departing kiss every morning, it was nice, beautiful, romantic, knowing that he cares this much about me. I was being an inconsiderate pain in the ass because I had to get up, help him find his wallet, and then be content with him being so loud waking everyone in the house. 

Midnight Laundry

Have you ever forgotten to do something before work? Like, wash your work clothes?

Being able to read my many books is becoming increasingly difficult. In fact, I haven’t been able to read them at all. Everything is becoming one big blur, I keep getting frustrated by not being able to see clearly. Mother envisioning me walking into a doorway or wall think it’s funny.
All it does is hurt my emotions enticing me to become irritated. However, I say nothing because we live under her roof. It is rather funny if you think about it. Not quite a first but later it will be.

Walked Into The Door Frame GIF from Loudhouse GIFs

Yesterday, Mother had guests over all afternoon and evening. While I tried to relax in silence, I hear the laughter and intermingling of guests, while the sounds of tiles are being shuffled around their brand new eight foot, cherry, oblong table. I knew what game they were playing, Rummikub.

It was a rather familiar game that Mother taught me before. Nevertheless, I couldn’t remember how to play. The doctor educated me on Pseudotumor Cerebri; it can cause temporary memory loss, headaches, nausea, disorientation, blurred and double vision. This eye-opener told me that I had to prepare myself for such occasions. I decided to start a journal. It first started with writing everyday tasks such as writing my feelings, thoughts, and events that occurred throughout the day. Little did I know, my writing would start to improve over time.

While I sit in my little green comfy chair, in the corner of the bedroom, I continued to listen in on the commotion in the other room. As the sounds increase, so does the pain in my head, ringing in my ears, and lightheadedness. My husband mentions to me of the laundry out in the car, and that it needed to be done before work tomorrow. He didn’t want to disrupt their social gathering by the repulsing smells of fish and body odor. Him and I both had some downtime until after their social gathering to wash the clothes. Afterall, working in the fish business is a smelly job but my husband loves it.

It was around 7 or 8 o’clock in the evening and Mother’s guests were leaving for the night. While listening to one of my usual TV Shows, Frasier, I hear the groans and grumbles from the bed of my husband’s slumber. He had fallen asleep before doing his laundry.

1 AM rolls around, my husband awakes from his slumber. He realizes he had fallen asleep before doing his laundry. Everyone in the house is asleep, silence is the key. He got up from the bed, creeping quietly through the house sliding the screechy back door, and out to the car to retrieve his stinky work clothes. He returns with the clothing and heads straight to the washer to wash his clothes. As he opens the lid to the washing machine, the sounds of the washer start to go off like a musical, however, as brief as the musical washer was, it was rather loud and annoying. He loads the washer with his clothes, adding the fabric softener, laundry detergent, shuts the lid and starts it. Not five minutes after the washer starts to run the sounds of Mother’s wheelchair starts to arise.

Mother wheels herself out of her bedroom, rather angry and pissed off for being woken by the sounds of a washing machine. My husband knew he didn’t have a choice in the matter, and he wasn't trying to deliberately wake anyone but he did. But, the laundry needed to be done, showing up to the place of employment with stinky, dirty clothes on, isn’t exactly appealing to an employer. I awake to hear my husband rumbling around, I ask softly from under the warmth of our bed, “Is everything o.k.”? “I woke your mother up, she looks pissed. I didn’t mean to wake her. I have to get these clothes washed.” He shuttered. I sighed as I slowly sit up from where I laid and uttered him over to me. I gave him a warm kiss, told him to apologize to her for waking her before he leaves and all would be forgiven. “She knows you need clean clothes for work” I whispered. He smiled and kissed my forehead, left the bedroom to acquire his now clean clothes from the washer and places them in the dryer. Thirty minutes go by and the sounds of the dryer's alarm are going off, the clothes are done. He opens the dryer door, pulling all his work clothes out and wraps them up in his arms. Walking quietly back to the bedroom with arms full of clothes, he drops them onto the bed. He starts to fold the clothes, I glance over at him, “Put on what you need and we’ll take care of the rest of them later”, I said.

He nods and puts on the clothes that he needs, gives me a kiss, grabs the keys, and heads out to leave for work. Before leaving the house, my husband consequently apologizes to Mother for waking her and awaits for the disastrous conversational exploitations to come. In anger, Mother lashes out and yells, “you are not to do laundry at 1 AM again, do you hear me?!”. His emotions and facial expressions are surrounded by shrouds of guilt and shame, “Yes Ma’am, I’m sorry again for waking you, it won't happen again”, my husband leaves the house for work.

She is right in a way that he should have waited to do laundry, or done them before bed. However, he didn’t have a choice, he has to get up and go to work at 1 AM every morning. He fell asleep and I am unable to see clearly enough to walk in a straight line, let alone, do laundry. I felt terrible and angry at myself for not helping him. He is the only one in the house right now working but he needed to have the clothes done.

A Morning At The Ranch

This story is about a strong, courageous, mindful and caring woman. My grandmother and her "Ranch" on Route 9N in upstate New York; spending most of my day at her tennis court-sized pond, trying to catch the critters that live in it. For weeks, I would try to get them with my bare hands, but I was fruitless. One morning, I asked Gram if there was something I could use to make this easier. Drinking her Maxwell House coffee out of an espresso cup and smoking a Winston Red, she walked me through the back door, barefoot, onto the cold concrete floor of her rickety, archaic, and dusty porch. She handed me a freshly emptied coffee can. “Now don’t you bring those frogs and tadpoles into the house. Leave them in the pond, O.K.?” she griped. I glanced up with a smile and said “O.K. grandma, love you” “I love you” she replied. I dash off the steps, followed by her two German Shepherds, Lady and Chief. We headed for the pond to see what troubles I could get myself into. Of course, the dogs would not hang around me for long, once Papa sped up the driveway and into the woods on his four-wheeler, the dogs would be right on his tail, like a wolf pack running down their dinner.

After numerous attempts to try to intercept these tadpoles I, annoyingly, would watch the nickel-sized slippery, slimy creatures burrow themselves into the mud to get away every time I corral them into a corner. In the process of trying to fandangle these slimy creatures, my feet always managed to slip on the sludgy slope near the edge, causing my new Reebok sneakers to be drenched in the muddy, murky pond water. Amid playing in the pond, I glance up along the pond water and see a small school of goldfish swimming towards me. I look around and see the old bridge that is broken in several places that leads to the little island, “perfect”, I quickly, but cautiously step out onto the bridge, hearing the wood squeak and crack. I lied on my side with my wet soggy feet hanging off one end and arms off the other. I reach over grabbing my coffee can firmly with my small hands, I slowly lower my hands down as the goldfish continue to swim towards me, my hands and coffee-can enveloping into the murky water. The goldfish swim into the thick cloudy stirred up water, "Oh please, oh please, oh please...YES!" One of the goldfish swan right into my Maxwell House Coffee can, it was quarter-sized goldfish, "fat and cute" as I called it. I was exhilarated, as I stand up from being hunched over the bridge my grandmother’s voice echoes, “AMY!...AMY!...AMY!” “Yes, grandma!” “Breakfast is ready!” “Coming!” I had to decide whether to leave the goldfish in the pond or bring the slimy little bugger with me. She did say no frogs or tadpoles, however, she never said anything about no goldfish. I giggle in a shroud of excitement I hold my shoulders high, bringing the goldfish with me to show her what I caught. I was so proud of myself for catching this goldfish. I couldn’t run fast enough back to the house. I hear the sounds of Papa's four-wheeler as I approach the door to my grandmother's ranch.

As I carefully and cautiously move the coffee can around my waist to my backside, I open the door and smell the warm maple syrup taking a deep sniff inhaling the smells of the house, eggs, sniff, bacon, sniff, pancakes! “Amy come eat your breakfast is getting cold” “Grandma looks what I caught” I place the muddy slimy now green Maxwell House can on the counter. “Amy what did I say about bringing frogs and tadpoles into the house” “It’s not a frog or tadpole, it’s a goldfish” as I point to inside the can, “See”. A deep sigh glazes over my grandmother’s breath as she walks over glances down into the can, “Oh, you did catch a goldfish. All right, well just leave it there, go wash up and eat your breakfast”.

I walked into the bathroom, washed my hands without soup and headed back out to the kitchen. “All washed up Grandma”, grandma glances down inspecting my fingers, hands, and arms, “you know better young lady, now go back in the bathroom and wash your hands with soap this time”. I let out a similar sigh like my grandmother’s and blurt out, “dangit” without hesitation my grandmother yells out, “what did I just hear” “nothing gram” “I better not be hearing bad words come out of your mouth. I’ll wash that mouth out with soap” and she meant it. I walk back into the bathroom and wash up with soap, “you breakfast is going to be cold by the time you get out here” my grandmother hollers out. I finish washing up meet my grandmother’s gaze at the other side of the island showing her my hands and arms. She points to my plate and throws on a hot pancake to warm up the cold one. I turn around and sit down at her antique extended rectangular table with a tub of Country Crock Margarine and Mrs. Butter Worth’s Syrup.

I glance over and see my grandmother cooking herself something to eat while she smokes her cigarette. Not five minutes into eating, her phone rings. “Hello?... Oh, Hi” as she continues on with her conversation I inhale my breakfast like a hungry little munchkin. A sound of a horn beeps and grandmother’s voice finishing up her call “O.K. I hear you outside, bye”.

Grandma turns towards me as I take my plate to the sink, “your mother is here” “O.K. gram, I love you” I stretch my little toes towards my grandmother giving her a kiss on the cheek and a hug. “I love you too and don’t forget that little bird is watching you” I shake my head insisting that there is no such bird. Grandma laughs and helps me put my shoes on, opening the front door where two eager German Shepherds are waiting to get in. I greet Lady and Chief at the door and head for the car “Amy you forgot your goldfish”, grandma walks out carrying the Maxwell House can in her hands. Chief and Lady almost tripping her up “Lady! Chief! Good grief, move your butts out of the way” she sighs followed by her laugh as she hands me the can.

My mother glares over at Grandma and me “there are no goldfish going in this car”. This sad look of mayhem consumes me, “Can I go put them back then please?” Mother glances down at her watch “hurry up” I run out of the car with a little bit of the water spilling “oops, sorry!” I hurry out to the pond and return the goldfish to their home. As I head back to the car, I see gram and mother talking through the driverside window. My mother glaring at me as she finishes her conversation with gram, “hurry up Amy or we’re going to be late”. I finish the last few feet in a running sprint for the car. I climb in sitting in the many seats of my mother’s grey van, buckling up as she starts to back up out of the driveway and onto the road, leaving the “ranch” on 9N in Upstate, New York.

My First Spinal Tap Experience

Lumbar Puncture

In 2014, I had a spinal tap to help relieve the pressure in my brain. My very

first spinal tap, however, was a terrifying experience for me. During the moment of the needle entering my back while I lay on that glass table half naked, I feel the tip of that needle go too far into my back hitting a nerve. It took my breath away, I thought I would scream from the pain but I was taught not to cry out in pain, so I held it in. My right leg was shaking uncontrollably, and hearing the words, “oops! Went a little too far there”, while I start to cry quietly in pain. The radiologist trying to move the needle but it doesn't budge, I am on the verge of screaming in pain. The radiologist starts to demand I stop shaking my leg and relax, he tries to move the needle again while my leg is still shaking, nothing happens, the needle still won't move. My leg continues to shake. I glance up at the monitor, I can just barely see the screen out of the corner of my eye, what I see puts me into a sheer panic. The needle was lodged between my two vertebras. My spine had shut onto the needle and the more he tried to move the more pain I felt. The radiologist had to have a nurse sit on my leg and hold it, so the radiologist could try and finish his job.

After a third attempt at moving the needle, the radiologist had the nurse call the on-call Attending to come fix the problem. Lying on the table for another ten minutes in agony the Attending shows up, "what's going on", the Attending asked the radiologist. Before the radiologist could say anything the Attending looks at the monitor, "Holy Shit!". The attending has a nurse give me something to help relax me so the needle could be moved. I was terrified at this point. The Attending had the nurses hold onto each of my limbs and told me to relax and breathe. The Attending dislodged the needle and he was able to remove the necessary spinal fluid to relieve the built-up pressure.

I spent six weeks in physical therapy after that for the damage that was caused. The radiologist tried to cover it up by saying on my chart, “everything went excellent”, despite the comment and pain he had endured me through.

Homelessness vs. Mother Nature

During the winter months, homeless need to stay warm, and keep hydrated, to avoid dehydration, and hypothermia. However, to stay warm during the winter months when temperatures can average between 20 to -40 degrees, in some parts of the country, costs fuel when living out of any vehicle. We’re spending $30 a day to put gas into the tank and keep the vehicle running just to have some heat.

Just to see how warm our bodies have been lately I went and picked up a few different things at the local Walmart, Hardware, and borrow some equipment from the doctor’s office. This is going to help determine how well-insulated vehicles that are not RVs or Semi-Trucks really are.

My average body core temperature using a standard thermometer that simply goes under the tongue was 96.5 degrees. Almost, two degrees below normal, borderline hypothermia. I hung an outside/inside thermostat to show the average degrees outside and inside the car.

The outside temperature reader was placed on a tree nearby while the inside reader was hung at the center point of the car, one in the front, and another at the very back of the car. A one week test was conducted using the same points to determine temperature readings at sunset, midnight, late-night, and early morning. During the night, on an average temperature of 18 degrees was recorded. Inside the car, with the motor running all night, the average temperature was 58 degrees at the front of the car, 49 degrees in the center point of the car, and 37 degrees at the very back of the car.

Without proper insulation and heat, the body will do everything it can to stay warm. The organs are the most important on the human body and that is the first thing it is going to protect. Fingers and toes, not so much. There were several steps my husband and I took to help better insulate the car to keep the heat in and the cold out.

One: Flex Board Insulation – it’s not very thick but you can use it to put in the back windows and floor area to help keep the car insulated.

Two: Padding – Mattress Pads are your friend. We purchased a full-size mattress pad at Walmart. It was expensive but worth it. We folded the full-size mattress pad in half and laid it down with the back seats folded down and made a bed.

Three: Pillows – Body, Travel, and Standard Pillows – placing the pillows on top of the padding, up against the doors, down onto the floors, and windows. This will also help keep the heat in and cold out. ****I would not recommend placing any pillows on the front dash or on the floor in front of the front seats. This could potentially cause an electrical fire or other damage to the vehicle***

Four: Blankets and Comforters – Fleece Blankets and Down Comforters- Have you ever watched The Mummy? Do you remember how the mummy got wrapped up like a mummy? Well, guess what. Time to wrap up like a mummy. The fleece blankets are great for a base layer besides wool socks of course. You can wrap the fleece blanket around your feet and legs to help keep the heat in. The one down comforter underneath you and one down comforter on top of you. This will help prevent hypothermia.

The only problem with all of these items. They require money to purchase. Luckily sometimes people are giving away some of these items or the benefits of the holidays is some items are cheaper than others. So, things like blankets and down comforters, that are $200-$300 for a good one. You can purchase a cheap one for $40-$60 and it will help do the same goal you are trying to accomplish.

When in doubt don’t sleep alone if you can help it. If you do have to sleep alone, sleep during the day when it’s warmer outside. During the winter, temperatures can become extremely dangerous, threatening your life and safety.

Don’t fight mother nature. Review local weather conditions ahead of time by listening to the local radio station broadcasts or purchase a local newspaper for upcoming storms, and freezing temperatures.

You're Homeless, Now what?

·        What steps do I need to take to not become homeless anymore or at least make things a little less stressful?

o   Social Services – SNAP, Emergency Assistance, Temp Assistance programs

§  Apply for every program possible. Better to get a no from social services rather than realize, you could have gotten some help, compared to nothing at all. Just be prepared to explain your life story, personal life, and list everyone known relative, whether dead or alive.

§  Expect to spend 3 to 4 hours at Social Services minimum!

o   Homeless Shelters – Social Services may already recommend this to you. However, what they don’t tell you is many of these Homeless Shelters are already full.

o   When Shelters are full make your own – A lot of stores throw away pallets, boxes, even building materials. When, in doubt, build your own shelter.

o   Know who you can trust – Police are there to enforce the law. There is no law against being homeless, however, there are a lot of laws against where you can put up your “shelter”, park, or sleep for the night.

o   Where is a safe place for your shelter – Whether you have pallets, boxes, tents, or tires for your shelter you need a safe place to put it up. Sometimes there are other encampments around your area, you can find them. Some are in plain sight, others, the woods.

o   Time to Face Facts – If you’re on your own or with loved ones. You are homeless, your personal belongings are no longer personal, everyone can see you. You no longer blend in with the crowd. You stick out, the one people will point at, stare at, laugh at, and even feel sorry for you. Not many people are going to step out of the crowd to help you. The only thing they can do is stare, gossip, and point.

o   Theft – it’s not a matter of when stuff will be stolen from you it’s a matter of, people will steal from you. You are at the bottom of the totem pole, so-to-speak. What values most to you, keep with you always. When you are able, get a backpack. Stuff is going to get stolen if you're not careful.

o   Journal – If you are alone, get a journal and start writing daily. You can lose track of days quickly. This will help to keep track of what day it is and help keep some of your sanity.

o   The on-lookers: If you live in your car, guess what, you are now a target. When I mean a target, I don’t mean someone is going to walk up and shoot you. What I mean is local and state police are going to keep an eye on you for your safety and the public. Also, if your personal belongings are in plain sight, especially electronics, your car will be broken into. Keep valuables out of plain sight. When in doubt, find a Tint Wizard to Tint your windows. However, make sure the tint stays legal, of course. If you can’t afford to get your windows tinted, buy sunshades from Walmart. During the winter, sunshades go on sale for $.50 - $3.00 each and they work great for keeping peeping toms out of your windows. 

o   Nightly knocks – If you don’t have permission to be there, don’t stay there. For example, if you are camped or parked on someone’s property you need their permission! If you don’t have their permission, you are trespassing and can potentially be arrested for it. Walmart offers overnight parking, call the store manager up and ask. Better to ask and know than not know and spend the night in jail for loitering. Also, remember those peeping toms? Well, they like to come knocking nightly so be prepared for restless nights.

o   Sleep during the day – It’s easier to sleep during the day but harder to work during the day and stay awake at night. Learn tricks to help you sleep. If you must sleep at night, go somewhere public.