I swear I have hauled a thousand pounds of books, all carefully packed so as not to bend or fold the covers, from one end of the country to the other with protracted stops in between. They give me comfort, inspiration, and familiar company when I need it. They patiently wait after each move to see if they will finally be displayed and honored as they deserve. They are history. They are the touchstones of lesbian publishing. I have read them all. I know which will lift my spirits, which will ease my pain and the handful of true favorites I can always count on.
I am also proud to be “owned by” so many wonderful books that have chosen me. I seem to accumulate more than I weed out. How can you possibly get rid of an old friend? What if someone does not protect and value what is so dear to me? And, just so we are on the same page here, throwing away, allowing the destruction of or general lack of respect of a book is absolute sacrilege. Even the least treasured of titles should still be passed on to someone to enjoy. Only once did I have to commit the ultimate sin. It was a hard cover called “Sappho was a Right On Woman.” I was so devastated when I ripped the cover from the pages, tearing and ripping as hard as I could. Then I fed the contraband into the dumpster outside the Army Barracks. That memory still haunts me from time to time.
I can count less than a dozen books that I have parted with under friendly circumstances. The rest I have kept close to me even in unpacked boxes for years at a time.
I just cleaned my bathroom. Wiped the last of your long brown hair from my sink, scrubbed your footprints from my tub. My head spins just wondering WHY.
Why did our lives touch? Why did you show me your baby book? Why did you do my dishes? Why did we tell our stories to each other? You always remembered how I like my coffee. You met my parents. Why?
You scared me with your leather until I felt so powerful wearing it. I became inventive with tools to cause you pain. That was what you wanted. You brought your hunger for bondage and abuse, pain and submission. I suspended my customary caution and went willingly into a dark adventure. All the while you smiled, seduced, maneuvered and spun me around.
I finally know the answer to the question…
Are you the most evolved person I have ever met or are you haunted by some past events that possess you?
Are you hungry like I am? Go grab the fixins for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and then follow the instructions below:
No fair cheating, go get the ingredients before reading on please.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Place the bread on a clean cutting board. Make sure you will have plenty of room to spread out... the ingredients.
Lay the two soft, fresh slices of bread next to one another, perhaps touching.
Slowly move your finger tips over the smiling slices of bread. What is the texture you feel? Is the bread warm or cold? Does it retreat from your touch and then rise back up to meet your fingers?
Gently move your hands to the lid of the jelly jar.
One small bit at a time, use your long fingers and smooth palm to coax the lid from what is inside. Sweet smelling fragrances drift to your nose as you draw your face oh so
near the jar. With great care, inset the spoon into the mouth of the jar into the resting jelly below. Move back, forth, in circles with the spoon.
carefully, steadily stir the gooey fruit down in the jar. Listen closely.
Your hand gets a bit sticky but you don't mind as you steadily keep stirring the jelly until it becomes almost fluid in it's promise of spreadability. Glance back to the bread laying ready on the cutting board, lean in to sniff it's freshness again. Focus your senses on the scent in your nose from the bread. Move to the jelly and gradually lift the spoon, filled with mouth watering flavors and touch just the tip of your tongue to it. What can you taste? What did the texture feel like as it met your lips? No fair just licking the spoon clean, the bread is waiting for attention too! Place the spoon on just one corner of a piece of bread and slide it back and forth across the delicate bread. Place your ear very close as jelly is moved from side to side until it evenly coats the now moist bread. Move again to the jelly jar to stir briefly again, listening to the wet cavern reacting to the spoon's movement. Withdraw the spoon, filled again, to the next section of the bread and finish your artwork.
(take a breath, just spread the peanut butter on your own.)
Fold the two coated slices face to face allowing the two distinct tastes and smells to join together in a fusion of flavor. Your mouth waters as lips touch against just the very edge of the nearly-gushing sandwich. Tentatively, you feel the texture on your outstretched tongue then you draw your lips closer. Top and bottom lip placed gently on the bread, so as not to bite into it but to squeeze the two sides together just a little bit. Your efforts are rewarded with an oozing mixture of peanut butter and jelly. You back away to look at the edge where it is just about to drip. Automatically, your tongue reaches out to catch the drops and push even more ready to ooze out back into the safe, wet familiarity between the slices. Your mouth and tongue quickly dissolve the drops you caught on your tongue. Now your mouth wants more of that smooth goodness. You bury your tongue deep within the moistness and gather as much as your tongue and even a little bit of sucking can capture. Your mouth waters instinctively even as you withdraw your tongue.
(OK, now go eat the rest of your sandwich in peace!)
by Cleveland Geis Care to Screw? After evaluating the demise of my latest relationship I have come up with a few fundamental complaints. One is that I haven't screwed in four years. No, not in the traditonalsense of the word. I mean really screw... like with a screwdriver and a piece of wood.
You see my lover fancied herself a handywoman with tools. It is entirely likely that she was the only one who considered herself quite so handy. In any event, it left me without much opportunity to maintain my previous scquiantanceship with tools.
I moved several odd screwdrivers, a hammer and perhaps even a chisel to Arizona with me when I left the Army in 1988. The trouble is that I, having collected a tool here and there, am not entirely sure which of the household tools were mine and which were hers. I never used them often enough to "bond" properly and now I'm afraid I can only claim familiarity with a single hammer (obviously mine based upon the inferior brand and construction).
When my lover recently announced she was leaving me for some trollop she has met (not entirely accurate as I had introduced them and she is actually quite nice) I was left to divide up our worldly goods. There were "Mine", "Hers", and "Acquired during the marriage" things to sort through.
As is the case in any terribly unhappy split this task was done in great haste and with at very least an undetone of hostility. I suspect that at least a few of the tools that had congregated in the shed should have been placed in the "Mine" category but is was alomst like trying to recognize a relative you hadn't seen or spoke to with in decades and had never been particularly close with in the first place.
So, having nothing left with which to srew It may turn oout to be months before I am to screw again!
Indeed, I am now faced with the arduous task of acquiring more oddball screwdrivers. This may be my calling to actually go out into the world and ensure myself a constant and ready screw partner - one that can be releid on in good days and bad. Yes, I am speaking of purchasing my own brand new set of matching screwdrivers!
I am shy but she coaxes me to tell her that I like it when she forces her tongue into my mouth while holding my bottom jaw open or closed as she wishes. Quietly, with a shy grin I finally tell her I want her to rape my mouth. I also allude to additional scenarios in this catagory of "The Game". She says "Louder." With great difficulty I repeat that word one more time "When I say Take Me I mean I want to enter the darkness of symbolic rape." I watered it down far from the primal expression of the same desire. "Louder" I sigh, gather myself as quickly as possible to obey her command, I want you to rape my mouth and keep going. Rape me" I hope that was loud to her as it is all I can hear pounding in my head.
"Are you sure?" she asks supportively. "Yes" I blush. "Are You Sure!" she slips effortlessly into the game. "Yes!" wondering what I just signed up for. No, dispell the fear, the overthinking. Just experience whatever comes. This could even be one of those games where your anticipation is the whole game and nothing ever actually happens. I know better.
It's a game of trust, dominance, submission and the arousal of primal desires. It all starts with emotional head games exceptionally well executed.
Once the topic has been opened for discussion the top takes immediate control. Immediate, within minutes of the invitation from the bottom.
"I am not coming back into the apartment. I want you to take me home."
I obey wondering if this is part of the game. She is a creative genius, I will go withit. For me, this is part of it.
She orders me to drop her at the mailbox and asks me, already authoritative, one final time, "Are you sure?"
I meekly reply, "yes." "Louder!" she commands.
"Yes!" I assert. "You need to do better than that. Are you sure!"
The next Yes that came out of my mouth was reminiscent of Army Basic Training, "Yes, Drill Sergeant!" at the top of my lungs.
"I won't be there for coffee in the morning. You can only call me twice tomorrow and you can email me once so ration accordingly. I won't see you at all tomorrow. Leave the chain off your door all week. I will use my key."
I wondered if it was too late to ask for a new rule.
"Can I request that you announce yourself and I acknowledge you and then you have free reign."
"I will announce myself and once I hear your reply I get free reign, that means anything, you have no further inpput. Don't worry about it, don't analyze it, don't even think about me at work. You are not to ask questions at any time unless I permit it. I will make the next move. Stop analyzing, I mean it. Fucking relax." Those were commands.
The next morning I spent my first phone call trying to play the game. I asked if she was the one selling the circular saw. She said no. I commented on the saw, said thanks and hung up. Proud of myself for being creative, I settle in for a smoke.
My phone rang, "Hi, how are you?"
"Do I know you? I'm sorry, you must have the wrong number. Have a good day."
Click.
By afternoon I got the email from her that blasted me for playing the "I don't know you" game. She is forcing me to kick it up a notch. The only problem is that I have never been to this place before and feel like my eyes are shut with an unidentifyable emotion invading me. It is gaining influence but I have no reference for whatever it is. It is as unfamiliar as the first day in kindergarten. I am at sea.
BUT I am focused on NOT being focessed on any of this. Just experience whatever comes each moment, even if that is nothing. Don't anticipate, control, wish, interpret or question. Just feel, react, relax, trust.
I sent my one allowed email and got back a response to call asap. She curtly indicated that dinner would be delivered at 7:00. I tried to ask if she was coming over to eat with me and she said "That was a question". Click.
Dinner was dropped off around 7 but not by her. Psyche! She got me. Very subtle, leaves me one step closer to having no control, submitting, wanting.
Dinner was accompanied by a note that told me what stage of the game we had reached.
"I hope you enjoy the dinner - and so you know - this is part of the game - the part that anssures you I will take care of you - keep your best interest at heart - don't confuse things - and by the way - it pleases me that you are having a woman over for dinner. Have a great night."
A warm blanket enveloped me instantly, leaving no doubt that she would take care of the whole process. I was not sure what steps were in "the process" but I was sure she was competantly in charge.
I did not call to thank her as I was not sure which way to go with my call allottment sitution. Instead, the woman sharing dinner with me called from her phone. We had just had a lovely double entendre filled exchange that left no doubt in her mind about "green light, red light".
"I should really cook you my chicken curry some time."
"I am not crazy about curry but how about this: You make arrangements to cook your curry dish with HER, I do not want to be invited. I don't want curry, would rather not be around curry and don't want to know if it was fabulous. Do you understand we are not talking about food?"
I never knew if she was catching on or not. She is a brilliant absent minded butch grandma who has many wild stories aobut the 70's and free love. She dove in with both feet. She was married twice, had several female lovers. The Las Vegas models and dancers loved her little butchy flannel shirts and Birkenstocks. "So, call her, here is her number, call right now and and make arrangements to cook together. Again, Don't tell me if or when or how it was. Pay attention, this part is important, for now... I cannot hear any references to it, this will take focus and memory on your part. Please try hard.
She presses dial while I head to the porch to try NOT to wonder, think, question, FUCKING RELAX.
Here is an update to this writing which was years ago: I had to part with the majority of my books when I left CC. I returned to the model of "everything I own fits in my van" and moved to take care of my elderly Aunt in Utica New York.
Thus began the company Grandma Care, LLC which has employed me numerous times over the past decades as a live in caregiver, PRN behavioral health tech in various inpatient and outpatient settings, full-time pre-nursing student (paid for my education), previous polydrug addiction (fully funded), existential depression (funded, untreated), relapse on polydrug addiction (fully funded) and steady climb back to the right path. Life lessons, I have found, do not always come in books. Sometimes they are things you live through and then add to the knowledge bank in your head and in your soul.
Simmering down to attend to the details in life "for reals". Examine foundation for termites (figuratively) Financial Audit (do I have enough money to reach my goals?) Mental Status Exam (a little over stimulated, simmering down does not mean napping.) Mechanical Assessment (van doing very well, has that lived in look) Health Statement (full steam ahead!) Electricity Inspection (retrain those neurons, retain, retain, retrain, retrain!)
Let's examine the finances first... There is absolutely no need to panic. You are not unemployed. You are semi-retired. There is a difference. Attitude. Empowerment. Money.
I have 6 thou in the bank, 8 thou credit card debt. I cashed in one of my IRA accounts to pay of the credit card bill but when I lost my job at the counseling place it seemed clear, crystal clear, that it was time to get back to school. Kind of like Rod Stewart without the quart of come in his stomach. (remember that rumor?)
I have 50 thou in my 401K from the Bank job (not robbing a bank, working for a decade at the Bank) as well as 25thou from OpenText. Crazy place but at least I saved money for retirement. Thank you very much Anne V Roediger, MCPA. Anne surely did teach me alot about money. So, that with the financial aid (Pell grants) I will get for being poor will get my through. I always paid my way each semester so this is my first experience with a Pell grant. No student loans, never, ever.
If all else fails I can go back to work for Grandma Care doing elderly support gigs or BHT group homes for teens. I am OK. I can pay a full years worth of rent and not even come close to the limit on my credit card. I know this is unwise and have learned to live within my means pretty well. I use my money wisely at 48.
OK, still not feelin that safety thing for money but I know all I have to do is get to 65 and I am golden. Bank pension almost 2 thou and social security (if exist) about 1600 monthly. Better yet? OK, I miss owning a house and nesting. I am not good alone, I sleep too much, smoke too much and create to little. I have owned numerous potters wheels and a freakin perfect kiln over the years. I even set up an outdoor studio at CC. I used it very little. Why? I choose a different stimulus. I chose coffee. This was the beginning of the end.
OK, just about done with 2013 FB year in review. Once posted it looks static so I should get it right. At 3:30 in the morning. Is this my brain's alive time? Like crazy kitty hour when cats just start going nuts.
19 comments:
Merry Christmas! Peace and contentment to you all!
You too, Robin!
I swear I have hauled a thousand pounds of books, all carefully packed so as not to bend or fold the covers, from one end of the country to the other with protracted stops in between. They give me comfort, inspiration, and familiar company when I need it. They patiently wait after each move to see if they will finally be displayed and honored as they deserve. They are history. They are the touchstones of lesbian publishing. I have read them all. I know which will lift my spirits, which will ease my pain and the handful of true favorites I can always count on.
I am also proud to be “owned by” so many wonderful books that have chosen me. I seem to accumulate more than I weed out. How can you possibly get rid of an old friend? What if someone does not protect and value what is so dear to me? And, just so we are on the same page here, throwing away, allowing the destruction of or general lack of respect of a book is absolute sacrilege. Even the least treasured of titles should still be passed on to someone to enjoy. Only once did I have to commit the ultimate sin. It was a hard cover called “Sappho was a Right On Woman.” I was so devastated when I ripped the cover from the pages, tearing and ripping as hard as I could. Then I fed the contraband into the dumpster outside the Army Barracks. That memory still haunts me from time to time.
I can count less than a dozen books that I have parted with under friendly circumstances. The rest I have kept close to me even in unpacked boxes for years at a time.
I just cleaned my bathroom. Wiped the last of your long brown hair from my sink, scrubbed your footprints from my tub. My head spins just wondering WHY.
Why did our lives touch? Why did you show me your baby book? Why did you do my dishes? Why did we tell our stories to each other? You always remembered how I like my coffee. You met my parents. Why?
You scared me with your leather until I felt so powerful wearing it. I became inventive with tools to cause you pain. That was what you wanted. You brought your hunger for bondage and abuse, pain and submission. I suspended my customary caution and went willingly into a dark adventure. All the while you smiled, seduced, maneuvered and spun me around.
I finally know the answer to the question…
Are you the most evolved person I have ever met or are you haunted by some past events that possess you?
Are you hungry like I am? Go grab the fixins for a peanut butter and
jelly sandwich and then follow the instructions below:
No fair cheating, go get the ingredients before reading on please.
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
Place the bread on a clean cutting board. Make sure you will have plenty of room to spread out... the ingredients.
Lay the two soft, fresh slices of bread next to one another, perhaps touching.
Slowly move your finger tips over the smiling slices of bread.
What is the texture you feel? Is the bread warm or cold?
Does it retreat from your touch and then rise back up to meet your fingers?
Gently move your hands to the lid of the jelly jar.
One small bit at a time, use your long fingers
and smooth palm to coax the lid from what is inside.
Sweet smelling fragrances drift to your nose as you draw your face oh so
near the jar. With great care, inset the spoon into the mouth of the jar
into the resting jelly below. Move back, forth, in circles with the spoon.
carefully, steadily stir the gooey fruit down in the jar. Listen closely.
Your hand gets a bit sticky but you don't mind as you steadily keep stirring
the jelly until it becomes almost fluid in it's promise of spreadability.
Glance back to the bread laying ready on the cutting board, lean in to sniff
it's freshness again. Focus your senses on the scent in your nose from the
bread. Move to the jelly and gradually lift the spoon, filled with
mouth watering flavors and touch just the tip of your tongue to it.
What can you taste? What did the texture feel like as it met your
lips? No fair just licking the spoon clean, the bread is waiting for
attention too! Place the spoon on just one corner of a piece of bread
and slide it back and forth across the delicate bread. Place your ear
very close as jelly is moved from side to side until it evenly
coats the now moist bread. Move again to the jelly jar to stir briefly
again, listening to the wet cavern reacting to the spoon's movement.
Withdraw the spoon, filled again, to the next section of the bread and
finish your artwork.
(take a breath, just spread the peanut butter on your own.)
Fold the two coated slices face to face allowing the two distinct
tastes and smells to join together in a fusion of flavor. Your mouth
waters as lips touch against just the very edge of the nearly-gushing
sandwich. Tentatively, you feel the texture on your outstretched
tongue then you draw your lips closer. Top and bottom lip placed
gently on the bread, so as not to bite into it but to squeeze the two
sides together just a little bit. Your efforts are rewarded with an
oozing mixture of peanut butter and jelly. You back away to look at
the edge where it is just about to drip. Automatically, your tongue
reaches out to catch the drops and push even more ready to ooze out
back into the safe, wet familiarity between the slices. Your mouth and
tongue quickly dissolve the drops you caught on your tongue. Now your
mouth wants more of that smooth goodness. You bury your tongue deep
within the moistness and gather as much as your tongue and even a
little bit of sucking can capture. Your mouth waters instinctively
even as you withdraw your tongue.
(OK, now go eat the rest of your sandwich in peace!)
Hope that gave you a chuckle.
by Cleveland Geis
Care to Screw?
After evaluating the demise of my latest relationship I have come up with a few fundamental complaints. One is that I haven't screwed in four years. No, not in the traditonalsense of the word. I mean really screw... like with a screwdriver and a piece of wood.
You see my lover fancied herself a handywoman with tools. It is entirely likely that she was the only one who considered herself quite so handy. In any event, it left me without much opportunity to maintain my previous scquiantanceship with tools.
I moved several odd screwdrivers, a hammer and perhaps even a chisel to Arizona with me when I left the Army in 1988. The trouble is that I, having collected a tool here and there, am not entirely sure which of the household tools were mine and which were hers. I never used them often enough to "bond" properly and now I'm afraid I can only claim familiarity with a single hammer (obviously mine based upon the inferior brand and construction).
When my lover recently announced she was leaving me for some trollop she has met (not entirely accurate as I had introduced them and she is actually quite nice) I was left to divide up our worldly goods. There were "Mine", "Hers", and "Acquired during the marriage" things to sort through.
As is the case in any terribly unhappy split this task was done in great haste and with at very least an undetone of hostility. I suspect that at least a few of the tools that had congregated in the shed should have been placed in the "Mine" category but is was alomst like trying to recognize a relative you hadn't seen or spoke to with in decades and had never been particularly close with in the first place.
So, having nothing left with which to srew It may turn oout to be months before I am to screw again!
Indeed, I am now faced with the arduous task of acquiring more oddball screwdrivers. This may be my calling to actually go out into the world and ensure myself a constant and ready screw partner - one that can be releid on in good days and bad. Yes, I am speaking of purchasing my own brand new set of matching screwdrivers!
And the game begins...
I am shy but she coaxes me to tell her that I like it when she forces her tongue into my mouth while holding my bottom jaw open or closed as she wishes. Quietly, with a shy grin I finally tell her I want her to rape my mouth. I also allude to additional scenarios in this catagory of "The Game". She says "Louder."
With great difficulty I repeat that word one more time "When I say Take Me I mean I want to enter the darkness of symbolic rape." I watered it down far from the primal expression of the same desire.
"Louder"
I sigh, gather myself as quickly as possible to obey her command, I want you to rape my mouth and keep going. Rape me" I hope that was loud to her as it is all I can hear pounding in my head.
"Are you sure?" she asks supportively.
"Yes" I blush.
"Are You Sure!" she slips effortlessly into the game.
"Yes!" wondering what I just signed up for. No, dispell the fear, the overthinking. Just experience whatever comes. This could even be one of those games where your anticipation is the whole game and nothing ever actually happens. I know better.
It's a game of trust, dominance, submission and the arousal of primal desires. It all starts with emotional head games exceptionally well executed.
Once the topic has been opened for discussion the top takes immediate control. Immediate, within minutes of the invitation from the bottom.
"I am not coming back into the apartment. I want you to take me home."
I obey wondering if this is part of the game. She is a creative genius, I will go withit. For me, this is part of it.
She orders me to drop her at the mailbox and asks me, already authoritative, one final time, "Are you sure?"
I meekly reply, "yes."
"Louder!" she commands.
"Yes!" I assert.
"You need to do better than that. Are you sure!"
The next Yes that came out of my mouth was reminiscent of Army Basic Training, "Yes, Drill Sergeant!" at the top of my lungs.
"I won't be there for coffee in the morning. You can only call me twice tomorrow and you can email me once so ration accordingly. I won't see you at all tomorrow. Leave the chain off your door all week. I will use my key."
I wondered if it was too late to ask for a new rule.
"Can I request that you announce yourself and I acknowledge you and then you have free reign."
"I will announce myself and once I hear your reply I get free reign, that means anything, you have no further inpput. Don't worry about it, don't analyze it, don't even think about me at work. You are not to ask questions at any time unless I permit it. I will make the next move. Stop analyzing, I mean it. Fucking relax." Those were commands.
The next morning I spent my first phone call trying to play the game. I asked if she was the one selling the circular saw. She said no. I commented on the saw, said thanks and hung up. Proud of myself for being creative, I settle in for a smoke.
My phone rang, "Hi, how are you?"
"Do I know you? I'm sorry, you must have the wrong number. Have a good day."
Click.
By afternoon I got the email from her that blasted me for playing the "I don't know you" game. She is forcing me to kick it up a notch. The only problem is that I have never been to this place before and feel like my eyes are shut with an unidentifyable emotion invading me. It is gaining influence but I have no reference for whatever it is. It is as unfamiliar as the first day in kindergarten. I am at sea.
BUT I am focused on NOT being focessed on any of this. Just experience whatever comes each moment, even if that is nothing. Don't anticipate, control, wish, interpret or question. Just feel, react, relax, trust.
I sent my one allowed email and got back a response to call asap. She curtly indicated that dinner would be delivered at 7:00. I tried to ask if she was coming over to eat with me and she said "That was a question". Click.
Dinner was dropped off around 7 but not by her. Psyche! She got me. Very subtle, leaves me one step closer to having no control, submitting, wanting.
Dinner was accompanied by a note that told me what stage of the game we had reached.
"I hope you enjoy the dinner - and so you know - this is part of the game - the part that anssures you I will take care of you - keep your best interest at heart - don't confuse things - and by the way - it pleases me that you are having a woman over for dinner. Have a great night."
A warm blanket enveloped me instantly, leaving no doubt that she would take care of the whole process. I was not sure what steps were in "the process" but I was sure she was competantly in charge.
I did not call to thank her as I was not sure which way to go with my call allottment sitution. Instead, the woman sharing dinner with me called from her phone. We had just had a lovely double entendre filled exchange that left no doubt in her mind about "green light, red light".
"I should really cook you my chicken curry some time."
"I am not crazy about curry but how about this: You make arrangements to cook your curry dish with HER, I do not want to be invited. I don't want curry, would rather not be around curry and don't want to know if it was fabulous. Do you understand we are not talking about food?"
I never knew if she was catching on or not. She is a brilliant absent minded butch grandma who has many wild stories aobut the 70's and free love. She dove in with both feet. She was married twice, had several female lovers. The Las Vegas models and dancers loved her little butchy flannel shirts and Birkenstocks.
"So, call her, here is her number, call right now and and make arrangements to cook together. Again, Don't tell me if or when or how it was. Pay attention, this part is important, for now... I cannot hear any references to it, this will take focus and memory on your part. Please try hard.
She presses dial while I head to the porch to try NOT to wonder, think, question, FUCKING RELAX.
Hehehe ... yes indeedy!
I think you got it!
Here is an update to this writing which was years ago: I had to part with the majority of my books when I left CC. I returned to the model of "everything I own fits in my van" and moved to take care of my elderly Aunt in Utica New York.
Thus began the company Grandma Care, LLC which has employed me numerous times over the past decades as a live in caregiver, PRN behavioral health tech in various inpatient and outpatient settings, full-time pre-nursing student (paid for my education), previous polydrug addiction (fully funded), existential depression (funded, untreated), relapse on polydrug addiction (fully funded) and steady climb back to the right path. Life lessons, I have found, do not always come in books. Sometimes they are things you live through and then add to the knowledge bank in your head and in your soul.
I can't imagine that sort of writing would give anyone a chuckle at 0-dark hundred in the freekin morning. Guess that is what makes you... you! Coool.
Simmering down to attend to the details in life "for reals".
Examine foundation for termites (figuratively)
Financial Audit (do I have enough money to reach my goals?)
Mental Status Exam (a little over stimulated, simmering down does not mean napping.)
Mechanical Assessment (van doing very well, has that lived in look)
Health Statement (full steam ahead!)
Electricity Inspection (retrain those neurons, retain, retain, retrain, retrain!)
More to come.
Let's examine the finances first... There is absolutely no need to panic. You are not unemployed. You are semi-retired. There is a difference. Attitude. Empowerment. Money.
I have 6 thou in the bank, 8 thou credit card debt. I cashed in one of my IRA accounts to pay of the credit card bill but when I lost my job at the counseling place it seemed clear, crystal clear, that it was time to get back to school. Kind of like Rod Stewart without the quart of come in his stomach. (remember that rumor?)
I have 50 thou in my 401K from the Bank job (not robbing a bank, working for a decade at the Bank) as well as 25thou from OpenText. Crazy place but at least I saved money for retirement. Thank you very much Anne V Roediger, MCPA. Anne surely did teach me alot about money. So, that with the financial aid (Pell grants) I will get for being poor will get my through. I always paid my way each semester so this is my first experience with a Pell grant. No student loans, never, ever.
If all else fails I can go back to work for Grandma Care doing elderly support gigs or BHT group homes for teens. I am OK. I can pay a full years worth of rent and not even come close to the limit on my credit card. I know this is unwise and have learned to live within my means pretty well. I use my money wisely at 48.
OK, still not feelin that safety thing for money but I know all I have to do is get to 65 and I am golden. Bank pension almost 2 thou and social security (if exist) about 1600 monthly. Better yet? OK, I miss owning a house and nesting. I am not good alone, I sleep too much, smoke too much and create to little. I have owned numerous potters wheels and a freakin perfect kiln over the years. I even set up an outdoor studio at CC. I used it very little. Why? I choose a different stimulus. I chose coffee. This was the beginning of the end.
OK, just about done with 2013 FB year in review. Once posted it looks static so I should get it right. At 3:30 in the morning. Is this my brain's alive time? Like crazy kitty hour when cats just start going nuts.
maybe it is a good time to re-read that book I destroyed, eh?
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