It wasn’t my fault…..line; oh yeah, it was!

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2018-01-27_12.54.32In which Captain Merphlepoof sleeps through an earthquake, Lorelei spends half this blog naked, there is some unnecessary meanness, but Nurse Practitioner’s Rule and so do Social Workers!

Sometimes insomnia is a blessing. On January fourth, 2018, while early-to-bedders were startled awake in the dark by the earth shaking their beds, I had all my lights on and was wide awake for the roll. My cat slept through it though. She is getting old after all. She used to be a very efficient early warning system. It wasn’t a huge quake, though it felt further up the scale than it actually was since this time it was close. It was also long and loud, I watched my furniture sway while my bed, my solid redwood bed, shook for about 20 seconds. If it hadn’t been deep, I suspect there would have been damage. The worst part for someone with C.P.T.S.D. is the sound. It was loud. It roared and grumbled. Inside the apartment, it sounded like things were breaking, but nothing was damaged. If it had been less of a roller and more of a throwing things up and down, that might have been different!

Because I was awake and had my lights on, I was impressed, but fairly unconcerned. I had exited the shower only about ten minutes earlier, another lucky break, and was sprawled on my bed naked. When the walls started to groan, I should have jumped up and thrown something on, but as the earth’s crust rolled to a stop, I sat still waiting to see if it was going to start up again. It felt like a pre-shock. I’ve been there before. And as I sat there in all my vulnerable glory, my Kindle started to ping as the flood of Facebook posts came in: Earthquake? Did you feel that? EARTHQUAKE!! That had to have been at least a 5! And soon the magnitude and location started being posted, and then the adjusted magnitude of 4.4.

26172839_10209870398387818_3866016165342914805_oTwenty minutes later, I was still au natural, one eye on Facebook, the other on my tall shelves, in case they started to sway again, ears perked for stony growls. It crossed my mind that perhaps a good aftershock was needed, at least to motivate me to put pajamas on. It would have served me right if I had had to run out in the hallway, but lucky for the neighbors, I didn’t. Merph was still sleeping soundly. Finally, she awoke and stretched with a chirp.

People were posting about their dogs freaking out. Merph yawns and says, “Meeeer Ma Meh” which translates to, “Pfft. Dogs. Such cowards! I do not bother to wake up for less than a 5.5. Pet me.” 

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I was still getting notifications about the earthquake an hour later. I’m still awake, because I would be anyway, but I now had an extra layer of anxiety.

The feed is homogeneous, except for one stray housing listing.

My feed looked like this:

“earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake earthquake” LOOK! This is very EXCITING! It’s a HOUSING POST at a rate I CAN AFFORD!

The earthquake was in Berkeley. Someone in Berkeley is NOT posting about the earthquake. WTF?  Oh, BUT WAIT! The WTF’s don’t stop there!
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Slow Start To The New Year

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In this episode: Lorelei discovers she may have a new spirit animal, finds she is losing patience with white fragility, and laments her lack of appreciation for brawny Scotsmen; if they are real Scotsmen (they may be American models in kilts for all she knows)

I Can Haz New Spirit Animal?

26165565_10209877033073681_7194738149102289868_nHaving an invisible chronic illness really puts a damper on my otherwise exciting life. We’ve talked about that before, right? Although, I suppose it is exciting never to know exactly what you are up to on any given day, eh? It’s like a spinning wheel of fortune at a cardboard carnival. Will I reach my destination today? Oh look, I won three whole days in bed, all expenses NOT paid, but a bonus party in my cranium! Hooray! A couple of things I can generally count on though: Chronic Lateness and Low Energy.

Messaging with to my roommate who was encouraging me to do…..stuff:

Think of me as a sloth person. I have a huge, “to do” list, but it takes me a full day to climb down the tree just to drop my weekly poo.

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And I realized that I had just summed myself up perfectly.

Damn.

Best New Year’s Eve Ever!

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Prologue:

The year started off with a magnificent full moon, but I forgot to go outside and see it. It gave me an excuse to thank my friends for putting up with all my Moon jokes in 2017. On social media, and in conversation anytime someone mentions, the moon, regardless of context, I almost compulsively comment as if they are talking about me. My last name is, Moon, get it? My sense of humor is not everyone’s cup of tea, but it is not nearly as groan worthy as my father’s was.  I blame my, inner 12 year old, my favorite, “get out of maturity” card.

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By the way, this gorgeous painting is by an artist named, Jana Ireijo. It’s only $450. If I had a wall to hang it on, I’d probably be batting my eyelashes and saying, “please” a lot, right now.

Part One: Not Exactly Flush With Festive Spirit, My Inner Virgo, Pulls Out My To Do List

I have to say, I wasn’t sorry to see 2017 go, but I wasn’t feeling particularly excited about 2018 either. My situation is still a challenge, my soul still feels like it is weighed down by a stack of pianos topped by a vengeful elephant who is not tickled by the ivories! The ugliness that crowns our country is still swirling through it the way that murky flood waters churn, hiding shit and disease, dangerous objects and death. I don’t see much improvement on the horizon without a proper shakeup. Yes, it could happen, but I’m just not excited.

I was so, not feeling anything, this time around that I couldn’t even dig up a smidge of envy at the revelers gushing of their plans to party and dance the night away. I had nowhere to go. I didn’t feel up to making myself shiny and putting on a festive face. For once, the idea of kissing someone at midnight didn’t even glimmer in my mind. My loneliness was barely a blip on my radar. I just wanted it to be tomorrow already, to mark off another day of gears grinding. Honestly, my apathy was liberating.

I didn’t have any work, but I have been caring for my roommate’s cat. He’s been traveling a lot lately. He was home briefly and left again without buying cat litter and I had already used up the last of LiLi’s litter, adding it to his cat, Ichi’s box.  Things were getting smelly. I had to buy cat litter for both of them now, and so I ended up at Safeway on New Year’s Eve with two plastic jugs of gritty clay in my cart, while everyone else was buying alcohol.  You know you have reached the climax of full blown Cat Lady Spinsterhood when you spend your New Year’s Eve at Safeway, buying cat litter for your roommate’s cat. At least I put on lipstick and combed my hair first and I wasn’t in my bathrobe. Go me!

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As if restocking the cat toilet on New Year’s Eve wasn’t awkward enough, I happened to step into line behind a former neighbor in the checkout. Continue reading

Insomnia Has My Life On Hold

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Here’s a window on what it’s like to live with my disabilities, particularly the sleep disorder aspect:

Other than managing to make it to Friendsgiving, I’ve had a bad four day weekend, healthwise. I’ve missed several fun outings that I actually didn’t even know about. I think I often miss notices and event invitations posted online because I spend too much time sleeping, trying to sleep or scrambling to get things done during waking hours when it’s acceptable to do things. I suspect also that sometimes people stop inviting me because they know I have trouble getting up on time and they don’t want me to feel bad because I often can’t afford to do what they are inviting me to do. Ironically, when I have steady social activities I get better at getting up. I’ve probably spent 75% of the past 100 hours in my bed. My back is a wreck. I was recently assisted with the funds to buy cushiony and supportive bed stuff and I can’t wait, because that will improve my sleep quality and make waking up less painful. Every little bit helps!

For now though, extreme insomnia rages, I’m too exhausted and too old to grit my teeth, caffeinate, stay up and push through after a sleepless night so I eventually nap and then don’t wake up because I’ve fallen into REM sleep. Once there, I have intense dreams that are very real and long. I have quests in my sleep. I solve problems. I have love affairs. I do interesting things. I meet strangers. I speak to demigods and ghosts. I do some of my best writing while unconscious. It’s almost like I’m doing all my living in my sleep.

Lately, I’ve had a lot of what other people would call nightmares, but they rarely upset me. My distress at being attacked by someone sinister or chased by lions or zombies is often Continue reading

Disneyland

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I wanna go to Disneyland. There I said it.

Tired, happy, poor, sometimes pitiful, me

One of the worst things about being poor and disabled is that it is very difficult, if not impossible to do things on your own to improve your situation. I am largely dependent on both, learning to do without and the generosity of others, to make things better.

It is specifically the combo of being poor and disabled that throws me into moments of bad attitude, fear and self pity. If I were wealthy, I would have access to things like targeted exercise classes that would give me strength and flexibility or treatments that would make the disability less disabling. I would be able to get out to social distractions, art, music, etc, more frequently despite my limitations. If I were only poor, I’d still be deprived of a lot of things, but I could do more things to improve my financial situation.  I could go on hikes, ride bicycles, exercise more, do things that don’t cost money that my body has great difficulty with now.

I am so lucky and grateful that I do have an abundance of friends that try to include me, help me financially and treat me to things. There are days when I wonder if it would be easier somehow if I were friendless and could be used to having absolutely nothing. It’s easier to be blind than aware in so many aspects of life. There are days when I wish I had never had a taste of what it was like to be able to get out and do things that cost money, to buy things, to be productive and useful. That sounds bleak, horrible and perhaps a bit nihilistic, but can you miss something you don’t know? I’m glad I have my friends and I’m glad to have experienced some of what life has to offer so I’ll take this option with lots of gratitude.

I have also realized that I am still having trouble psychologically wrapping my head around my dramatic change in circumstance. I’m still thinking of myself as a person who should be able to afford to collect things, make art, go places and can help other people out when they are struggling. However, Continue reading

My Shoes!

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I’m finishing and loading up a bunch of things today, because I had that marvelous combination of time, internet access and my neuropathy being veddy, veddy quiet. Enjoy!

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“You can’t understand someone until youve walked a mile in their shoes.”

What a ridiculous idea! I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes for two steps and I won’t let you walk a mile in mine. I wouldn’t even let you walk around the block in them.

This is my path. My pain. My difficult road. And sometimes, it’s my easy street. You couldn’t stand to wear my shoes for a minute. Stop looking at them.

This isn’t some kind of challenge. And walking in my shoes won’t make you more empathetic or less judgemental. You’ll just end up pissed off with sore toes and a twisted ankle.

Oh, it’s possible the whole experience would give you some fleeting respect, a little awe for how I’ve managed to traverse such uneven ground in mismatched shoes for all these years. You might marvel at how most of the scars from my falls ended up on my insides instead of on my knees. But your appreciation won’t last because after you’ve taken your pity tour, you’ll be tottering along in your own shoes again, feeling quite superior. While you’re strolling easily or scrambling over debris in YOUR path, you’ll forget all about walking a mile or a minute of mine, although from time to time it may cross your mind that you’re glad you don’t have to.

I’ll let you in on a little secret because I know you won’t remember it next time we meet. I don’t always walk in my shoes either. Sometimes I kick them off and run completely off track for a while plunging my bare feet in sand or wiggling my toes in the grass. Sometimes I stop and lie flat on my back and thrust my feet into the cool night air and laugh at the sensation of lightness.

Sometimes I think subversive thoughts about not putting them back on again or just buying a new pair. But, no, they’re my shoes. Sometimes; a comfortable old friend, sometimes a particularly cruel bully that shadows me home, taking my refuge. Some days they hurt me to my bones, other days they soothes my soles.

I’ll walk in them until they become ghosts. When they fall off in tatters, I’ll walk barefoot until the sun sets.

LM – 2014 / 2016 /2017

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Another Mothers Day Blog

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I don’t have the spoons to write a big Mother’s Day blog this year.

Mother’s Day is one of the rough ones for me. Honestly, ALL of the, “in your face commercialized holidays” are rough when you have painful family issues. It’s probably just as well, I’m still recovering and slept through the whole day. I missed most of the cheery, teary sugar and schmaltz and that’s just fine with me.

Some people I know and care about lost moms recently. Some have mothers who had health scares or were in the hospital this year. I want to send extra love to those who are missing their mothers and to those for whom Mother’s Day has extra meaning because they weren’t sure there mother’s would be here this year.

 
As always, I want to acknowledge those for whom Mother’s Day hurts because their relationship with their mother is/was difficult, terrible or absent. I want to acknowledge those mother’s who pulled out all the stops to love and protect their child but lost them anyway through death, drugs, mental illness or just emotional distance. I want to shout out to all the heroic parents who have had to be both Mom and Dad to their kids. And I want to give a big hug to all those Moms whose kids happen to be furry, feathered or scaled. You aren’t less than because you chose to nurture a pet rather than pop out a hooman. You have your reasons. It’s cool. Maternal love doesn’t discriminate.

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