That One

You hide, inside
A solitude of your own mind
A place devoid, divided, devised
Of hopeless hoping
Of moody, mellow, moping.
You hide, deep inside
Your mind
A cave of your own creation
Where it’s spacious
And there is nothing but time
To run out of
To run out on
You’re clicking and clacking
And believing your own quackery
It’s painful to see
You crack up
Right In front of me
You hide, inside
Because misery loves company
And folly, and melancholy.
Like twisted branches of Christmas holly
You feel misinformed
So you watch and wait
Because you gave up on praying
And think of it now as
Quaint little sayings
That keep you feeling safe
Or safer.
Maybe saner.
But you disdain it.
So you hide. Inside.
Your mind.
Where you are judge, jury and jailer
Living in
The safety net of your own failure


I like medical shows. You know, those actual reality shows where people walk in from the street with a nose that won’t stop bleeding or are driven in after a stabbing. Of course sometimes it’s something benign like babies with runny noses and sprained ankles.

That extends to drama as well, so long as the ailments and corresponding diagnoses are actually plausible. I adored House. ER had its moments.

My all time fabourite medical show was called Mystery Diagnosis. It’s a show about, you guessed it, mysterious illnesses which were hard to diagnosis. It’s real people talking about real problems and their bizarre journey towards finding out what was wrong with them.

The reason I love these shows is because I like to see how quickly I can guess their illness. It’s like my own personal game show.

I have a sick fascination with this. But, I’m actually, oddly, good at it. In fact, I think I could play a doctor on television quite convincingly–so long as you didn’t ask me to actually explain anything. Or math. God I hate mathy things. So nothing involving dosages. But, that’s kind of irrelevant.

The problem with these shows is that I can’t turn it off. I get into diagnosis frenzy. I start diagnosing myself, my friends, my family, strangers who walk by.

“I think that guy has had his liver checked. He looks jaundiced. He needs dandelion tea and plenty of sunlight.”

That was actually on a Dr. Quinn episode once and I was so excited that they got it accurate! Dr. Mike gave the patient dandelion tea and within a few days she was responding as to be expected.

And then I get sucked into Google for hours learning about things like Legionnaires disease–which by the way was first discovered in 1976 at a Legionnaires’ Convention. Like 35 people five or so died before they found out where is was stemming from.


Also, there is (apparently, lol) this parasite that some people believe was developed by the government as some sort of anti-terrorist form of terrorism, though some think it was just a freakish evolution–but it has like these threads that shoot out of your skin. Fine little hairs; all different colors. And a lot of people were being labeled as crazy hypochondriacs for inventing this problem but finally a few doctors took it seriously and realized that it wasn’t just a parasite but somehow combined with fungus and a virus and was able to spawn in a very odd manner. (Or some wackadoodle idea of like.)

And some say the only way to get rid of it is by torching it. Others, by bringing it to a temper of 180 degrees or higher for at least 120 minutes. But, some swear that it’s also killed, or perhaps repelled by, Bounce dryer sheets. Though I can’t for the life of me figure out why they can’t hone in on exactly what chemical or compound causes it so they can replicate and administer in a more effective way than simply rubbing everything with dryer sheets.

Other people, of course, say they are just bedbugs.

Or that it’s a case of M├╝nchausen Syndrome.

I have no opinion. I don’t know what it is exactly. Probably just a bunch of crazies with some inexplicable symptoms which they are far overreaching to try and explain. But, I was still obsessed with reading about it for weeks. Then I discovered videos of people showing off their weird symptoms which eventually turned into watching old episodes of World’s Dumbest Criminals and the videos about the lack of safety in amusement parks around he world. Look it up! It was just a few years ago that this girl’s legs were completely severed by a wire from a ride that snapped. Terrifying!

Oh my God, Intervention! And My Addiction on TLC. Oh, oh! And Freaky Eaters. There was a lady who ate her dead husband’s ashes so she could feel closer to him. Now that’s what I call some freaky eating!

I like seeing the odd connections between things. Like, did you know there is a direct correlation between a woman’s chin and her cervix? Yeah, if you’re a doula you probably did know that. But, most of you aren’t. And it’s a trick that comes in very handy when you need it!

There was this one special that used to come on PBS when I was a teenager where they go through all this art, worldwide, from centuries ago until the present and find all of the hidden references to aliens and spaceships. What the fuck!? Who ever thought of that? It used to scare the shit it of me for some reason so I kept all the lights on.

Then I discovered the one about the Egyptian tombs and pyramids and how they were built. (Don’t ask me. That had way too much mathiness.) but how the bodies were preserved was just so freaking cool! How did they know so very much back then?

Once I was watching this ER show on television in the middle of the night while my husband was at work. God this must have been like 15 years ago. Anyhow I was just sitting there and this guy on the television had been in a bad accident. He was conscious and alert but he had basically been scalped, but it was still attached to his head in the back. It was a lot of blood but I was cool. Then the doctor examines him by pulling back the scalp flap and it was just skull and blood and it was so cool! But then I fainted. I freaking passed out on my own couch. Alone. Like an idiot. Which really taught me the valuable lesson of never going into the OR with any of my clients unless I had stable blood sugar. Trust me, it makes all the difference! (I haven’t passed out once!)

The way our bodies and brains work every day is completely amazing. And we don’t often consider that until they start to fail us. Until we’re angry that they aren’t working the way we want them to. That they are aging before we feel ready. And they hold weight in all the wrong places. We have a big butt or our hair is too frizzy. Our ankles swell in the heat and we have a trick knee. Our memory isn’t what it used to be. We battle with our own mind like it is holding us hostage against our will. And often we feel like it is.

We complain so much over our bodies. Thinking of them as a burden and not a gift. As a curse more than a vessel providing our souls an opportunity to interact with other souls. We see only the bad about our bodies, our lives, and how very frustrated we are with our limitations.

Why do we do that? Why are we so entitled from the very moment we arrive on this planet?

It’s a very curious thing. And even as I sit here and see the complete wrongness of taking this life for granted I am still powerless to it. And I will continue to do so with this fool-hearted belief that I, somehow, will never have to face being separated from this body one day.

We just do that. I don’t know why. It makes no sense to me. But, that’s what we do.


How I bake this dairy
Unstacked, unboxed, unwrapped.
How I use my fleishig pan
Kosher, pure, dipped.
How I fire up the oven
Scorched, kashered, holy.
How I watch it bubble
Baking, treifing, erasing.
How I eat impurely
Hungrily, defiantly, angrily
How I say goodbye.

My Cloud

He is my dark little cloud
He just hovers about
follows me around
Wandering nearby
Wondering why
Wimpering and sighing
Occasionally crying
Just thinking about dying
He’s a dream stealer
A thought reeler
A maker of rain
He’s a general nuisance
But I am so used to him
I can’t help but love him
I can’t help but want him
To reach out and touch him
And I sure can’t out run him
So I let him stick around
I let him hang around
fuck around
While I’m stuck on the ground
Because his angst is so charming
And harmlessly disarming
So very alarming
All right, but so wrong
Like a gangster
A mobster
A scenester, but meaner
Oh, I’ve seen him.
I. have. seen. him.
Besides, I’ve got nothing better
Than to get wetter
and wetter
And we both know it
My faces show it
His expressions grow
And casted
Sometimes I can outlast it
I feel so fucking fantastic!
God damn!
He’s much more than I am
More like a man
Than a cloud
He’s always around
When I need him
When I forget what to believe in
When I forget to keep breathing
And get hopelessly needy
When I’m confused, and believe me
I see things which deceive me
But he straightens me right out
And pours the rain down
Oh God, it’s just laughable
How he’s so unstoppable
That little hopped up
cotton ball all puffed up
And blown up
A white marshmallow dream
In an aerial sea
He means
Far too much to me
To try and fuck him around
Or try to nail him down
He’s my dark, brooding cloud
My sad little clown
Who is never quite sound
But strangely profound
So he just hovers above ground
In circles, spinning around
He ain’t never coming down
And I would not dare ask him.

Like You

I’m your eyes when you can’t see
I’m all that’s left of what you gave me
However long that I still breathe
I know now that I will never be free

I’m your heart now that you can’t love
I’m the memories of who you gave up
I’m all the bad still left inside
And that things that are wrong with your mind

I serve as a reminder of all that you’re not
Nothing more than the fights that you fought
All your might, all that’s right, and all you fear
And I will forever be here

I’m the things that you cannot say
I’m the places that you cannot stay
I’m the one that keeps them all straight
I’ve got nothing else to live for anyway

I’ll be around for just as long
I’ll probably do just as much wrong
And hope that someone else comes along
So I can go back to where I belong

There is never going to be enough time
And there are far too few clear signs
To make sure that it turns out all right
But you know that I will keep trying.


I can’t seem to write worth shit today. So here is a bunch of pictures from my weekend.

And since the awesomeness that is my iPhone WordPress app won’t let me put pictures in order with captions (WTF!?)


My five year old missing his first tooth.
My little cousin, who is now my BIG cousin.
A Nirvana lighter my husband bought me on a out “date” to the gas station, because, duh. Nirvana. (People with four kids know you have to qualify any outing together without kids as a “date”.)
My beautiful sister in law.
My daughter and my little nephew.
And my brother, dressed in my dad’s clothes and dish gloves, helping my husband fix the septic pump at my mom’s. (He would probably kill me for posting this. But, he doesn’t bother reading anything I write, so it’s all good.)

I’m sure you can figure that all out.










Pictures I didn’t post:
My 2 year old biting his cousin on the foot because he was a manaiaclly, overly tired toddler.
My husband’s buttcrack hanging out while he fixed the pump.
The huge, red zit on my nose that made me feel like Rudolf.

NaBloPoMo Day 9 –

When I was 10 or 11 we had this truck that was a total PoS (piece of shit). Now, I’ve owned a lot of PoS vehicles and so I’m not quick to label anything as a PoS. But, this truck was like king of the PoS vehicles. If I recall, it was Ford F150, maybe a 77? Something like that. (I’m sure my mom will correct me on the correct year and model when she reads this.) Anyhow it was big, loud, and ugly. And the color? Well, mostly red, but it was like 5 or 6 different colors, including rust. It had two pretty comfortable bucket seats which would have been nice except there were three of us, so someone had to sit indian style on the floor between the two. I usually took that seat because I found that if you layered enough blankets you could could make a little reading nest. Coupled with the loud vibration of the truck to drown out the voices of anyone talking, it gave me an excuse to shut out the world and escape into my book. And at night you could stare through the moonroof at the stars.

Unfortunately, that moonroof wasn’t airtight so when it rained, it leaked and the person (again, usually me) sitting in the middle had to hold a trash bag over their head to prevent from getting wet.

It looked similar to this, minus the quality interior and that convenient little console:


Anyhow, I tried hard to be big about it. I mean we didn’t have money. That’s just how it was. I didn’t have name brand clothing. I didn’t ever have the latest footwear fads like those high-top black Reeboks or K-Swiss tennis shoes I wanted so badly. And my toys were all off brand or bought from the thrift store. It rarely bothered me. But, this truck? It was just humiliating.

Earlier that year this boy, Ben, joined our class about a month into the school year. I thought he was cute, but I never told him because I was shy and dorky before shy and dorky was cool. He was one of seven kids and so his mom drove this huge van. Now, conversion vans were the shit in my school at that time. Complete with soft, cushy seats, plush carpeting and even curtains; it was like a family room on wheels. Everyone wanted their mom to get a conversion van. Ben’s mom, however, drove an old, brown van with tan interior which was quickly labeled, “Reese’s” –as in the the peanut butter cup–by the boys in our class. It was pretty clever, honestly. But, Ben was also shy and dorky, and so clearly mortified by the kids announcing the arrival of his mom in the carpool lane by yelling, “Reece’s!”over and over again in unison. Eventually his nickname became “Reece’s” and then the whole school was calling him that. I knew from experience how quickly these names could spiral out of control as I had a similar incident the year prior when a boy named Jackie decided my (maiden) last name sounded like “beast” and I was called “Laura Beast” for the rest of the year.

I wasn’t about to let that happen to me again so, I made my mom drop us off out of view of the other kids. On nicer days she dropped us off on a sidewalk nearby the school and we walked the rest of the way. On colder days she pulled into the staff parking lot and we basically sneaked out of the truck and beelined our way to the front entrance like a covert operation.

Today I was cleaning out my van because the inside, I’m sad to say, looked far too similar to what’s left in the bottom of the cereal box after you eat all the actual cereal combined with what the inside of a preschool probably looks like at the end of the day. Since I didn’t have any kids with me I was actually able to real–clean. Not just like “how much can I fit into the plastic bag from 7-11 while my gas pumps?–clean”. I even splurged and got a car wash so I can stop acting like my van just happens to be the color of dirt. Then, in true redneck fashion, I used Armour All to clean the dash and I was like holy hell this is clean! I should move into this van! And then I remember the van is just shy of being a PoS. And by “just shy of”, I mean it’s only because I CANNOT afford anything better that I refuse to let myself think of it as a PoS. And that made me think of the Reese’s van, and now here we are: my NaBloPoMo post for Day 9.