I almost called this blog “Poop Bloggy-Blog”.  Just returned home from colonoscopy numero tres.  Same results as the last two.  I’m perfectly fine and all I need to do is to drink more water.  I call bullshit but I’m no doctor.  The reason for the latest snaking is that I was in the hospital for 4 days a month ago due to some pretty awful pain when I make deuces, and I also lost 3 pints of blood, that is all I will say, no need to be too graphic.  The reason for this blog is to hopefully update everyone all at the same time so that I don’t have to repeat this story forty-eleven times.

So I always write blogs in my head while I am waiting for my turn at the snake, and today was no different.  Well, I guess there is one difference, I am still a wee bit high from the anesthetic, so this one should be a scorcher, and I am not going to edit this.

Prep time:

This prep was different than the last two, no devil vomit.  Instead I was to begin yesterday at 3pm by taking 2 Dulcolax.  Have you ever taken Dulcolax?  I have.  One does the trick, but I had to take two. Then at 5pm, I had to begin drinking 64oz of Miralax mixed with any beverage that wasn’t dairy or red in color, 8oz at a time until I completed 64 oz of it.  Seems simple enough.  WRONG-O.  Turns out, even though Miralax is technically flavorless, it makes you feel like hammered crap.  At 7pm (or 8, I don’t remember really) take 2 more Dulcolax to round out the evening of fun.

I followed most of these instructions.  I weighed 100 pounds when I started this procedure.  I don’t think the 64oz applies to me, but I gave it my best shot.  I ended up gutting down just under 32 oz of it before my stomach refused to take in any more of it.  But I did take all 4 Dulcolax.  You would think that I would have been ‘making doubles’ like a boss, right?  Wrong again chief.  The only thing that happened was what I like to call a starvation headache.  I finally took 1.5 Vicodin at around midnight and it knocked me out.  I woke up at 3am, still nothing.  I took the day off work today to do this procedure, so no matter what, I have to get down to business.  I started pushing around on my guts, and voila!  I feel as though I may have given you too much detail already, so let’s just say I spent the rest of my morning until about 6am taking care of business.

Travel time:

We live kinda far away from the hospital where I was having the procedure done.  The ride in the car was amazing.  I had to stop twice to do a couple more transactions, then on to traffic where we sat completely still for what felt like hours.  We ended up getting there 20 minutes late.  The first person I encountered asked me if I was pregnant.  Um, nope.  But I still had to make my dehydrated 95 pound body (yes, I lost 5 pounds) manufacture urine so that they could do a pregnancy test.  FUN!

Pokey time:

Look, I am not one to make fun of people with speech impediments (much) but the nurse who administered my IV had one.  She sounded like Barbara Walters and that’s all I’m gonna say about that.  No worries, I don’t care.  She’s an RN, so she’s obviously educated, her parents opted not to help her lock that down by the age of 10, it’s not her fault…moving on…

So she asks me where I prefer to have my IV.  I guess most folks who don’t get IV’s very often probably don’t care, but I prefer the top of my left hand.  It’s least invasive and I have really good veins, which is a good thing because I loathe needles, especially when they place a catheter in my hand that’s gonna be there for a while.  The moment she stuck me I knew she jacked it up.  When it’s good, it doesn’t hurt, and this one hurt like a mother.  After she asked me all the standard health survey questions, she noticed the IV wasn’t dripping like it should, and what do you know?  It wasn’t working at all, instead there was a giant pocket of IV fluid on the back of my hand.  MULLIGAN!  So she apologized and in good spirit I said, “Well if that’s your worst one all day, at least you got it out of the way in the morning” and she acted offended by that.  Like it was really MY fault somehow.  Ok(?) So she takes that one out and is going up on the bend of my arm, there…that’s better.  It didn’t hurt.  However, the tourniquet made the hole in my hand make a mess on the floor.  Good thing I didn’t see that.  Actually thinking about it makes me get kinda schweatty.  I won’t give you a play-by-play of that, but she gave one to me.  Bad idea.  I had nothing to vomit, but if I did, I would have.

I received an entire bag of IV fluid in just under 20 minutes, did the preggers test (passed) and then got to meet the anesthesiologist.  She was a pretty lady who was telling me all about the druggy-treats I was about to receive.  Then they wheeled me in.  She put the oxygen on my face and said it would probably annoy me, but I told her I have always thought it smelled like pancakes and syrup, or Kahlua.  She responded by saying “Oh I’ll give you your Kahlua in just  a minute.”  I love her.

The last thing I remember was watching her push the white happy juice into my arm then the next thing I knew I woke up in recovery.  I waited 4 weeks since my hospital stay to do this, so whatever was ailing me when I was there is no longer ailing me.  Ship shape she said.  It’s frustrating but also a relief that I don’t have Crohn’s or Ulcerative Colitis.  Now I am sitting here enjoying all 6 of these blueberry muffins I just baked.  All is well that ENDS well, get it??


Peace, Padinkydink<-(get it?)

No Sleep ’til Brooklyn


Actually I am not going to Brooklyn, I just can’t sleep again.  I haven’t written (again) in forever (again) and it’s not like I have a whole lot to bring to the table, but here goes anyway. 


This is in no way a plea for anything; I just have to let it out of my brain.  I’ve been sick.  I have Sjögren’s Syndrome, and it’s an autoimmune disease.  Do you think I have AIDS when I say that?  It feels like I am saying I do.  I don’t.  I didn’t catch it, I just have it.  As it turns out there is nothing on earth I could have ever done to prevent having it, and looking back at things…I have had it my entire life.  My body fights itself and my ability to fight infections.  I have had e.coli, giardia (twice) and all sorts of  other fun.


So I recently had a little stay-cation at Chez Mercy Hospital.  It was a totally spontaneous vacation (the best ones always are, aren’t they??) My stay was packed with four luxurious nights of broth and jell-o, and an exquisite blend of saline and dextrose at my fingertips.  Actually the IV was in my right arm, then they moved it to my left hand, then it was in the back of my right arm again.  It was all part of the mystifying fun and adventure.  My favorite part of the adventure was leaving there not knowing exactly what is wrong with me.  We have determined it’s either some form of colitis or Crohn’s Disease.  Can you stand the excitement!??  Me either.  I can hardly wait to book my next excursion…another colonoscopy!!  TMI??  Yep.  Thought so.


Unfortunately I am no stranger to the hospital, so that part’s not a big deal.  It sucked being there and I am in no hurry to go back, but what sticks with me is the remaining fact that these autoimmune diseases don’t like to be lonely.  They are like Ruffles…you can’t just have one.  And the more you have, the more susceptible you are to have even more health problems.  I didn’t know that, it was not in the brochure.  This whole recent experience has really changed my perspective on life.  I have felt physical pain a lot.  I have had 3 babies (which was cake by the way, compared to this), and I have daily random pain.  This pain, this time…it was different.  I have been thinking about things differently now.  I am a little more patient, (when I am not freaking out and crying for no reason) and I am spending more time with my kids. I have been telling them things they will need to know just in case I am not here when it’s time to learn them.  I know I will probably not live to be an old lady.  That stings a little.  Ok a lot.


I am trying to let go of any drama I may have in my life.  I am trying to savor moments more.  I am living like I am dying.  Even though I am not dying, well, we all are dying each day, but I don’t have a death sentence with a time stamp on the end.  I just have to watch out for things more closely than I did before.  I don’t know why I am typing this, it’s really more personal information than I care to share with people but sometimes my cup of whatever this is runneth over, and when it keeps me awake, I share it with both of you who read this shit.  (Yeah, like there are two of you!)


I guess if there is a point to any of this, it’s that I am loving my kids more than ever, and my husband too, even though I think he thinks none of this is real, and I could cure myself if I would just take my vitamins and drink more water.  Gotta love him.  He certainly loves me.  I never imagined in my whole life that I would have a husband that would prove he meant it when he said “In good times and bad, and in sickness and health”, but I got him.  He is wonderful and so patient and kind.  There is nothing on earth he wouldn’t do to make me feel better.  That’s the truth.


I also have to brag about my daughter for a second.  I was at the grocery store on Saturday with her and her friend who was sleeping over.  They asked if they could walk around instead of buying groceries with me, so of course I said yes. We were at Wal-Mart and I wasn’t about to pass up the chance to have them get some good ‘People of Wal-Mart’ pictures.  I grabbed all the stuff from the list, and a couple extra things for them to snack on, and I was in the checkout aisle when it happened.  I started to get hot like I was going to pass out.  I texted Madi to tell her I was in checkout lane 6.  Thankfully she got there quickly.  I needed to sit down but I knew that if I did they would probably call an ambulance and I really don’t feel like paying $500 for a ride to the hospital again, or making a scene at the Wal-Marts.  So I handed Madi my debit card and said, “You are going to have to do this.  I feel sick.”  I went to the car and pulled it up close to the door outside and she and her friend loaded all the stuff onto the belt, then paid for the groceries and brought them out to the car.  She is 12.  She has a mom who is sick.  I hate that for her.  She has seen her mom in the hospital on a few occasions.  She isn’t afraid of me.  She crawls right into the bed with me and is asleep and drooling within minutes.  My little bitty (my 4 year old) is afraid of me when I am sick.  She doesn’t understand it.  When I came home from the hospital this time, she didn’t want me to help her take a bath, to lie in bed with her, to read to her…she wanted her daddy.  That broke my heart.  I have been talking with her about it and now  she has eased me back into her little world.  She and I are peas and carrots again.  Tonight when I was lying in bed with her, I said “I have to go to my bed now, baby, I don’t feel well.”  She replied, “Mommy, go drink some of your hosipal (hospital) water.  It will make you feel better.”  Then she sang ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’ to me.  My girls seem to be little mommies, they definitely have the nurturing thing down.  My son is casually indifferent but I can tell it bothers him.  I don’t know what to say to him, he is 14.  I love him so very much, I still see that chubby little blonde baby every time I look at him, even though he is in high school now.  What do you say to your kid when they want to know why you can’t do the things other moms can do?


I am literally worth nothing without my family.  They keep me going.  They make me swallow the stupid pills that put my disease to sleep.  They give me the strength to get poked by a zillion needles and have gallons of blood drawn (did I mention I loathe needles and pass out at the sight of blood?), and to lie inside loud banging machines to find out what’s wrong with my guts and what I can do to stick around and get better.  I truly never feel alone.  I feel happy and safe here in this house with them all around me.  I am so very sorry for whatever I did in this life or any past lives to bring this annoying nonsense here to them and myself, but I must have also done something good because they are here with me, and I love them more with each moment.  This, along with every other silly thing I write makes no sense, but it’s gotta go.  I can’t keep almost crying at my desk at work.  I can’t keep staying awake.  I have to let it out.  Done.  Now, one foot in front of the other…


Love, Peace…



Excerpts From A Racing Mind

I know you know the words to ‘Santa Claus is Coming to Town’ and you know the part ‘be good for goodness sake?’  I think we should all do that.  I have learned that this life often deals not-so-favorable hands to people who deserve to have an ace in the hole, and deals all aces to the jerks who don’t even deserve a chance to be in the game.  More often than not, I have been one of the schmucks who gets dealt the crap hand, whereas the other guy seems to always win.  When life gets you down, the easy thing to do is give up.  Sometimes the first thing I think to do is just level the playing field and be a shady person, that way I am treating others the way I am often treated.  But if I do that, others may follow suit and before you know it, there will be no more decent people in this world.  Though I feel (and probably look) foolish for continuing to be kind even when kindness isn’t reciprocated, I will never stop.  I am not trying to sound like a goody-goody or behave as though I am perfect or without flaw, because believe me, that is far from the truth.  I will however say that I am basically a good person who tries to set a good example for my kids to live by, and I fail at it miserably most of the time, but my intentions are always good.


Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus inside each of us, there are still good people in this world who recognize that we need positive change, and we need to love our fellow man, to be good to one another and hope that it catches on. We need to evolve into a society that recognizes that the way we’ve always done things has brought us to where we are, and this isn’t a perfect place.  There is no progress without change.  It’s still OK to hold on to the hope that when we leave this place, we have spread knowledge and become more self-aware and maybe even become more refined or enlightened.  I want to be a million things I will never be, I am cool with that.  I want to say a million things I will not likely ever have the courage to say, but I will continue to move forward.  I am not sorry and I don’t owe an apology to anyone for not meeting their expectations.  I am the best me I can be.  I, like you, struggle with the goals I have not yet achieved; I too criticize myself and hope that everything will just work out.  I have found that the more you make, the more you should give, and the more you take, the more will be taken from you.  If you are good, it will come back to you, and the same goes if you are bad.


I am a lucky chick.  I have a happy life filled with love.  I have been fortunate to find a mate who holds the same morals and ideals as me, and we mesh together very well. My husband is the reason I know that all things happen in the exact order in which they are supposed to happen.  Ours is a true love story that proves there is a reason for every single moment, especially the bad ones.  We have 3 healthy children who mold us into better humans.  It’s amazing how you can learn from a child who thinks on a much simpler level, we often over-think and complicate things.  Children don’t do that.  They think of the quickest way to resolve things because all they really want to do is please their caretakers.  Good or bad, they want to make us happy, to them we are the center of the universe.


I am constantly meeting people who teach me about myself, who inspire me and remind me how very precious and fleeting life is.  If you think about it, you do too.  I complain about certain facets of my life but overall I have a terrific world that I have worked hard to attain and will continue to make better.  I look back on my past and think of how foolish I was when I was younger, and wish for enough time to say sorry to everyone I have hurt.   I know there isn’t enough time and it deeply bothers me that I have used words or actions to make people feel badly, and I wish I could undo a lot of what I have done, but I am moving forward because there is no way to undo all the wrongs.  There is only now and tomorrow, and so on.  Letting go of past hurts, including the hurts I have inflicted on other people, is a difficult endeavor for me.  I want to right the wrongs, but the embarrassment and remorse I have felt is the Karma I deserve, and I know that and I live with it every day.  Hopefully one day I will have mastered the art of  ‘letting go’ because it’s a hurtful process that seems to take a lifetime…maybe that’s what this lifetime is for me, the one where I learn to let myself feel the pain, then let the pain stay in the past so that I can grow.


The time to stop being petty and fighting to have the last word is now.  The time to treat everyone with equality and without harsh judgment is now.  The time to be better is always now.  I have always wanted so badly to live a life free from mistakes or social blunders but I am not that chick.  It’s just not in the cards for me.  I’m weird, I’m funny, I’m the one who says the wrong thing and has the worst timing.  I am the one who is nice to you even when you are not nice to me, and so far that hasn’t panned out for me, or has it?  When you reflect on your life, how do you measure your success?  Is it by your material goods or is it by the happiness you feel?  If I’m being honest, I do both.  I don’t like me when I am materialistic and shallow, and I like me even less when I say negative things (especially about other people) and we all are guilty of these things.  I am working to be a better person so that I can teach this to my children, and they can teach their children, and so on.


Do something nice for someone.  Then, do it again.  Measure your success by how far you can get others to go to pay it forward, and you will be rich.








I found myself tossing and turning at 3am.  Part of me thinks it was because I went to bed at a decent hour and my body rejects a good night’s sleep.  The rest of me knows it is because there are too many thoughts swirling around in my melon.  So I am here.  I was raging against the very machine that I should be fueling.  When the urge to write hits me, I need to go with it.  This shit would be way more convenient if I was being paid to do it, but alas!  I am still here.


Before my mother in law Mama Judy died I had the privilege to have a 2 hour phone conversation with her, which I recorded.  I called her from our home phone, then put her on speaker and recorded us with my cell phone.  I still have it.  I have only listened to it once.  She was aware it was being recorded, because she knew her cancer was terminal and I asked her if I could write her memoir.  It was our intent to have these conversations every week and touch on subjects leading up to the day our lives intersected and forward.   I wanted a piece of her to pass along to my kids and hers, and theirs when they have them.  Unfortunately for us, my busy life and her illness progression got in the way and our first recorded conversation we recorded turned out to be the only one we would ever have.  I’ve listened to it only once.  Two days after she passed away I was home alone missing her, and I listened to it in its entirety.  I didn’t realize how much I miss her until yesterday.  It was then that I found that I can’t even talk about her to strangers without losing my composure.


On the day I was listening to our conversation I heard the doorbell ring, so I had to pause the playback.  I opened the door to find our postal carrier holding a piece of registered mail that required my signature.  The letter was a long-anticipated update regarding a very long, drawn-out modification involving a custody/child support modification from my first marriage.  I was ecstatic to open the letter, I rushed inside and tore it open…quickly I realized it was just the news I had hoped for, and I was elated!  I ran back to my bed where I had just been sitting before the doorbell rang and grabbed the very phone I had just paused and held it to my ear and said “Mama!  Guess what!!”…and then it hit me.  Then I cried.  A lot.  That was nearly 3 months ago and I truly thought I had been handling my grief well, if you consider ignoring it handling it.  Two days ago I was speaking to a person in the child support modification unit regarding the letter.  I had called to check the status of the case, and she said the case was being held up because they had never received the paper I signed showing that I had received the letter.  She asked me if I remembered the day I received it…well of course I remember.  I told her I knew the exact date and when I recounted the event to her I heard my voice start to quiver.  I cleared my throat and apologized, I think I made her cry too.


April 29th would have been Mama’s 54th birthday.  I still want to call her just to say hi.  I want to send her pictures of the kids, I tagged her in some today on Facebook.  I have accepted that she is gone, but I guess I still can’t believe it.  When I was looking through my boxes of papers recently I found several birthday cards from her.  Her penmanship looked like calligraphy.  She never missed an occasion to send a card.   She sent centerpieces for holiday meals where she couldn’t attend.  Once I had forced my way into her life, she considered me her daughter; not her daughter-in-law or some chick her step-son was married to.  She considered me her daughter.  She loved my children as if they were her biological grandchildren, and none of them are.  The most important thing about my love for James and his family is that they understand that I am not just me.  When he married me, he married 3 people.  It’s not always an easy thing to marry into an ‘instant-oatmeal’ family as my cousin Ray calls it.  Most of the time there is a difficult transition for the ‘outsider’ to come in and sometimes they never really ‘fit’ in.  It’s a risky business at times.  But not for us.  James found me and my kids and couldn’t wait to sign on.  I have never felt a moment of awkwardness and neither have they.  His dad (Papa James) was the same way; when he married Judy she also had 2 kids.  He loved Kurt and Tiffany like they were biologically his and took on the role of their dad and raised them alongside his own children.  I am thankful for many things, but most thankful that James learned this wonderful trait from his dad.


Until Papa James and Judy died, I didn’t believe I had ever had the bittersweet luxury of the time to prepare, as if that’s really possible.  Each of them knew they had cancer.  They each knew they were going to die, so they said all the things they needed to say before they passed on.  In hindsight, I guess we all know we are going to die.  We each have every day of our lives while we are here to say all the things we need to say, but too often it takes a tragedy to awaken that part of us.  I’ve always been a passionate person.  I’ve had the unfortunate experience of losing many people I’ve loved dearly, and as a result of that I know that when you have something to say, you should say it.  It requires strength, courage, and sometimes embarrassment because people sometimes tend to think you are a weirdo, but I do it anyway.  My main goal in this life is to be good.  I am not always good at it, but I try nonetheless.  In order to become enlightened one must absorb all facets of their surroundings and truly be alive and aware inside each moment.  Stop for a second.  Really think about that.  Today, appreciate beauty in all things.  Listen when people talk.  I mean REALLY listen.  Don’t just nod your head and wait for your turn to speak.  Find comfort.  Find peace.  When you do all these things then you can share all these things.  I feel love and happiness in my life.  I am blessed with memories of those who have transcended to a different place, and comfort in knowing I am loved by my husband and children and many family and friends.  I am still here.  I am putting one foot in front of the other and moving forward every day.  Sometimes the days go by so quickly and others seem to creep by, but inside of each moment I try to find peace and serenity.  It isn’t always easy, but that’s how life is.


I know today will be a good day.  If my heart were a magic 8-ball and I asked it if today would be good…it would say ‘It is decidedly so.’










Today I caught a glimpse of a show featured on OWN (The Oprah Winfrey Network), I know, I know.  James walked through the living room when he saw it and immediately asked if he could change the channel.  He was only in the house for a moment to use the bathroom, on his way out the door to continue to do yard work, but he knew…if I watched anything on OWN he was going to have to hear about it later.  I will spare him from the details, for one thing I don’t think he reads my blog, and for another he has already heard me say this stuff before.  He doesn’t even take me seriously.  That in and of itself should tell me something.


The guest on this show was Author Elizabeth Lesser, she wrote ‘Broken Open: How Difficult Times Can Help Us Grow’.  I called my best friend and told her about it after watching the first 5 minutes of it.  I watched only 5 minutes more and I had to turn it off.  The words and story of Ms. Lesser hit so painfully close to home with me I couldn’t watch another moment.  I was easily brought to tears, and then reflected on my own life and as I always do, I said aloud, “I have GOT to make some changes.”  The premise of the book, and the meaning behind the title “Broken Open” is that she said we as individuals are all wound up really tightly like the bud of a rose.  We could easily stay safely wound in our ‘bud’ and never change or do anything, and in doing so we may shrivel up and die on the vine.  But, if we put ourselves out there and follow who we are in our souls, then we break open and follow our destiny.  Usually that happens when something in our lives forces us to do so.  Sure, there are brave souls among us who can venture out beyond our comfort zones and take risks.  There are people who fly by the seat of their pants, and in their lives they endure heartache and rejection and are resilient to failures.  But most of us (me included) fear exactly that.  What if I try something and take a risk and then I lose?  What if I do something and it doesn’t work?  I have had my share of heartaches.  I have been in a shitty marriage followed by an even shittier divorce.  I got myself and my kids out of it.  Had I not done that, I would have shriveled up and died there.  I don’t look at that as a risk I took, but a necessity for my sanity and for the love of my babies.  I thought that part of my life was over, but still, 8 years after that situation has ended, I am still finding out more things that happened during that marriage that I was oblivious to, and even though I am happily married to a wonderful man now, hearing about how foolish I was then stings no less now.


But I digress, that isn’t really why I am feeling the need to break open now.  I am miserable in other ways.  I am a creative person who loves to write and share funny things and entertain people.  I want to somehow parlay that into a career of writing.  I really believe I can help people who have been in my shoes.  I believe I have answers within me that can change other peoples’ lives for the better.   However, I am currently not following that dream.  I am currently doing accounting for a living.  I am going to shrivel up and die.  I die a little each day when I have to drag my head off the pillow, and my feet to the floor, walk to the shower, to iron my business casual outfit for the day, to fix my hair, to put on makeup, to brush my teeth, to get in my car, to drive there, to walk the country mile from my car to the door, down the stairs into the florescent cube farm to spend 8 mind-numbing hours in the nerdery on my adding machine counting the minutes until I can clock out and go home.  Then, the precious few hours I have with my family are tainted by my disdain for my career and my unhappiness and I am wasting everyone’s time and keeping a short fuse and not being the best Lesley I can be.


I hope that I don’t get fired for writing this, and if I do I guess that will force me to break open and finally end my misery,  but I do not find my day job to be rewarding.  I do not fit in there.  I do not know how to relate to people who want to work in an office environment.  I need to be here or anywhere else being a writer or start a vlog or something, almost ANYTHING else but that.  And to make it even better, my direct supervisor doesn’t like me.  It’s exhausting.  I feel like I am going to panic sitting here right now knowing I am less than 12 hours away from 8 more hours of it tomorrow.  I thought I was one step closer to something new and exciting.  My husband bought me a camera to mount in my car so that my conversations with my daughter in the morning could be webcast on a YouTube channel, but ALAS the fucking thing didn’t record sound.  So now it is sitting upstairs on a dresser collecting dust until he sends it back.  It seems there is always some roadblock or reason or way that my dream is on hold.  I just want to get up off my ass already.  I also want to scream and punch shit.


I am good at what I do.  I don’t ever just sit there and do other stuff or ignore the importance of what I am doing, but I do loathe it.  I file the stuff I am supposed to file, I call the people I am supposed to call, I complete all my assigned tasks each and every painstaking one of them.  I am not complaining because I need the advice of my readers.  I am complaining because it gives me a reason to do something to make a change.  I do not have a college degree, and I have NO desire to get one.  I am painfully aware that I am the ONLY person working there who does not have one.  I believe the fact that I not only hold my own but excel in what I do there is a testament to the fact that I don’t need a degree.  I admit it does kinda sting a little to hear everyone around me talk about college and how it was when they went and I do feel like I missed out on something there.  I am the only woman in my office who has 3 children.  Everyone else has 0-2 children.  I am social with only one or two of my co-workers because the rest of them probably whisper about how weird I am.  I struggle each day to fit like a square peg in a round hole.  I wish I could be like them just so the misery would be less, but I am not.  I am outspoken, age-inappropriate, not Catholic like the rest of them seem to be, a loser who never went to college and I just can’t seem to make things click.


I am not going to go back and re-read this.  I am going to post it “raw” because that’s the only way to have it be what I am really trying to say.  I am buying a copy of that book.  One day I hope to shelve it next to my very own and maybe be an esteemed author who helps another misfit such as myself find a way to make changes.  I just can’t live this life forever because it is quite literally killing me.  Off to go write some more someecards and take vicodin until I can sleep.


Love and kisses,

Your bundle of hope, PDNKYDNK