Election Stress!


So, today is Election Day in the US and we are just hours away from the first polls closing on the east coast.

I decided to wear my Bernie Sanders shirt to vote to pay silent homage to the Bern.

Recent media coverage is similar to that of a sporting event; CNN has been promoting their election day programming like one would a boxing match.  The media’s sensationalizing of this election in particular has been a shit show.  I know I speak for many when I say that I just want the shit to end.  I want to wake up tomorrow with the best candidate for the job declared the winner.

Times like these are anxiety provoking.  I for one have been having stress/anxiety dreams for the better part of a month leading up to this day.  But the end is in sight y’all.  We’ll get through this.  Hopefully in once piece.

With that in mind, I give you a song that gets me pumped, especially when I’m feeling down.  It’s “Ain’t No Man” by The Avett Brothers.  Be well, everyone.


A Lesson In Humility

Home from a long day of work, you pass your roommates quietly and retreat to your room without of word.  They greet you, but all you can do is nod in their direction.  Your room, your solitude, your sanctuary; that’s where you want to be.  That’s what you’ve been fantasizing about all day.  There, you push aside the clutter from your bed.  Outfits you decided against, books you have read and reread, the bath towel you forgot to hang, and fall face-first into your mattress.  You’re dead tired, and you can feel it in your bones.  Your workday was especially cruel and finally in bed, you try to push the frustration out of your mind.

Customer complaint after customer complaint, and your manager nowhere to be found you, as the assistant manager, smiled and validated their frustrations, apologized profusely, and committed to remedying the situation as soon as possible.  The customers felt listened to and left with hope that their orders will be fixed.  You sighed an exasperated sigh as the crowd in the store thinned out.  With the store finally empty, you retreated to the back room once your manager resurfaced.  Your resentment of him grows with every day.

Once in the safety of the back room, you cried.  You tried to be as quiet as possible, but the overwhelming nature of the work day had caught up to you.  Unbeknownst to him, the optometrist entered the back room to search for contact lenses, and found you curled up, on the floor.  Meek, mild mannered, and unsure of how to proceed, he cautiously asked if you were okay.  You swore up and down that you were fine, but he knew that you were lying.  But with his final patient waiting in his office, he grabbed the contact lenses, mumbled something about checking on your later, and shut the door behind him.  You wiped your tears, you checked your eye makeup in your pocket mirror, and you went back to the storefront.

Your manager left after making some excuse about picking up his daughter.  You knew he only cared for her on weekends, but you allowed him to hold on to his lie.  You’re too tired to care.

You reached out to a friend via text message, wanting to feel some level of normalcy.  You talked about your depression with him and felt understood for the first time in a long time.  You were even able to joke after awhile.  He sent you a list of songs to listen to on the drive home and you thanked him for it.

At that moment, a woman entered the shop.  She told you she was there you pick up glasses.  You asked for her last name, and when she told you, you responded with her first.  She was taken aback by your memory and the recognition of the name made her smile.  As you retrieved her glasses, she mentioned having short term memory loss.

“I might not remember this in ten minutes,” she said, “but there’s a good chance I will remember you next month when I least expect it.”

You mentioned The Ex’s terrible short term memory, but she quickly interjected.  She did not have a typical case of memory loss.  She admitted to you that she had a brain tumor.  Doctors had tried operating on it, able to remove three percent of the growth.  But in the time since the surgery, 1.5% returned.  She continued; she seemed to feel comfortable around you.  She explained the tumor was wrapped around her optic nerve, and that it will eventually cause blindness.  This was in addition to the macular degeneration that her ophthalmologist diagnosed her the month prior.

Your laconic show of sympathy was borne of shock; for a brief moment as you remembered your uncle’s inoperable brain tumor six years ago.  You fought the lump your throat fiercely.

“If the tumor doesn’t blind me, the disease will!” She let out a laugh and you were shocked by her candor.  She admitted to being nearly blind in her left eye.

When she tried on her glasses, she looked elated, and she was able to see more clearly than she had in months.  That’s when she hugged you.  You were blindsided by the show of affection; she hugged you just for being there.  She repeated herself.  “I might not remember this in then minutes, but there’s a good chance I’ll remember it next month.”

You prayed that she would see next month.

Before leaving, the woman spoke of hope, living each day to the fullest, and staying in the moment, focused on the here and now because “tomorrow is not a guarantee.”  She thanked you again and left the storefront.

For the second time during you work day, you cried, sobbing into your hands and hiding behind the cash register.  You were touched and you didn’t know how to not only process your feelings, but proceed with your day.  For a moment, you felt guilty having been so upset earlier in the day.  You spend so much of your day angry.

You closed the store, you drove home, and you listened to the songs your friend sent you.

In bed, you send a text message to your friend and thank him again for the music.  You succumb to your sleepiness, still in your work clothes, with your legs hanging off the edge of the bed.

You don’t dream.

No Children.

no children.gif

I started my day in a very negative place, waking up with an intense migraine and nausea.  A friend of mine called a few minutes after I woke up, after getting off of the night shift at a local hospital.  We caught up for awhile.  It was a very real conversation, especially for 8 AM.  He mentioned being happy that he’s no longer married to his ex-wife, who will be remarrying soon.  I mentioned feeling content with being single, which was only half-true.

Continue reading “No Children.”

Under Covers, A Playlist.

5. “Ne Me Quitte Pas” by Nina Simone (Jacques Brel cover)

Since quitting drinking, Ambien is the only thing that can lull you to sleep.  Quick, effective, and less of a hangover in the morning.  You decide that both your brain and body feel better and you go with it.  While you’ve been making a conscious effort to walk along a straight and narrow path, you can justify replacing drugs and alcohol with pharmaceuticals.

The Ambien does, you notice, effect your dreams, and each dream is intense, vivid, and bizarre.  Last night’s dream was no exception.

In the dream, you lit a post-coital smoke while next to The Ex in the bed you shared together.  Naked, awash in afterglow, you lied on your back, taking long drags of a Parliament Light 100, the signature brand of the ex before The Ex, He Who Shall Not Be Named.  It was a vivid dream.  You could see the smoke swirling above you, forming familiar shapes.  For a moment, they were like cloud forms.  You took another drag and exhaled deeply towards the sky again. The Ex was lying next to you on his stomach, head turned to the side, watching you smoke.  His face was neutral, not disgusted, as if he was looking past the cigarette and at you, deep into you.  You’re not cuddling, but your bodies are pressed against one another’s. The cold, sweaty clamminess of his skin feels too real.

Continue reading “Under Covers, A Playlist.”

Songs To Stay Awake To, A Playlist

5. “How Can You Mend a Broken Heart?” by Al Green

You play it for the 47th time since last Tuesday; Al Green’s voice blares in your ear while his words resonate in your heart. You’re driving home after seeing The Ex-boyfriend.  I-95 at night does little to hold your interest and you’re alone with your thoughts.  For the 47th time since last Tuesday, you think about what you could have said or done to change the course of the history between you and he.  Not you and The Ex.  That history is one you’ve resigned yourself to.  You’re thinking of “the one that got in the way.” The catalyst for change.  The Hurricane.  For the 47th time since last Tuesday, you think about the fine lines in his lips that you’re never going to trace again.  You think about all of the things that you haven’t said, the things that you’ll probably never get an opportunity to say.  You think of, for a moment, this silly alternate reality in which you and he can be happy, consisting of walks in the park and matinee horror flicks.  You sigh.  You change the song.

Continue reading “Songs To Stay Awake To, A Playlist”

“Must Get Out Of Here” Monday!



It’s 6:30 AM.

I started writing this because I can’t sleep.  The anxiety of being trapped in the house is finally getting to me in a physiological way.  Insomnia reigns, my heartbeat thumps in my chest, and my breathing verges on hyperventilation.

Continue reading ““Must Get Out Of Here” Monday!”

Beginning Again


can we be friends again

Relearning a person is an interesting thing.

I recently reconnected with an old friend.  I guess “friend” isn’t accurate.  We were something more than friends, but something less than partners.  We fell in that grey area, an area in which he seemed to be comfortable and where I wasn’t.

Continue reading “Beginning Again”