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Depression

Depression

Just read it.  It’s all true.  I spent 14 hours in bed today.  I am PANIC stricken I have to go out tomorrow and Thursday and can’t get out of it.  Imagine when I have to move?  I have to figure something out. I don’t want to go to the projects.  I don’t need to be taught a lesson by my mommy – I’m 51 years old for fuck’s sake!!  Just stop!! Haven’t I been through enough lately?  Please…

Disability denied.  More info wanted. Hearing set — 10-14 MONTHS from now.  Backlog she said.  I could be dead I said. She said yeah. I didn’t say anything. 

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THE BEST DAMN BOOKS EVER!!!!!!

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https://www.facebook.com/ArchangelsCreed

I read a lot.  Like a book a day, especially now since I am trying really hard not to kill myself, because the doctor thinks it would be a bad idea.  I beg to differ.  However, the books are SOOOOOO amazingly awesome, you will become lost in their own world, and you will devour them, one by one until you get to the last one and scream “where’s the next fucking book????” like most of us have.

Azure and Kenra have set us up for an onslaught of some serious writing combined with enough sexiness to make even me blush and that it really hard to do.

THANK YOU!!!!!!!

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I got my first donation today from a lovely lady named Claudia!  I am amazed and humbled that someone would reach out to help me, and I can only say thank you and hope that other people will also do the same.  It is so hard for me to ask for help, yet at the same time it is also hard for me to be here knowing the uncertainty and the helplessness of the situation.  She told me that she understood what I was going through, and to have hope and to pray the the situation will work out in a way that I can live with.  She is correct.  I need to have faith that this will all work out, and I have left it in the universe’s hands.   If you can find it in your heart to help me, that would be a gesture of faith that I am not alone out there.  I understand people have it way worse that I do, but I am going through it, and the not knowing, the unknown is eating away at me.  Thank you for listening.

Happy Holidays to you and yours!!

I am enclosing the link here – if you want or need more information or want to ask questions, please do so – I welcome them.   http://www.gofundme.com/5ewzlk

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Go Fund Me – I am a SURVIVOR and I want to SURVIVE!!!!!!

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Go Fund Me – I am a SURVIVOR and I want to SURVIVE!!!!!!

stillhadhope

I have decided to pull out all of the stops on this and do whatever it is I can to stay where I am instead of being out on the streets without a penny to my name.  I don’t know if this will work – you can only try and all they can do is say no.  Sometimes they say yes.  I have learned that over the years.

I was watching something on the internet the other night, and someone uttered a line that struck a direct chord in me – she said “History is written by the survivors. And I am surely that.”

I am. And I will continue to be.  I am just not above asking for some help along the way.

Thank you. ♥ ♥

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Jacob

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Jacob

If you would please take a moment of your time, please sign this petition for a young man named Jacob who is taking on one of the big Pharmas to lower the cost of the medicine he needs to keep him alive.  It is a friend of a friend, so it is a personal favor for me.  He’s a sweet kid – he (and no one else, for that matter) doesn’t deserve this.  He deserves a long, healthy life, which is currently being denied to him because of greed.  Thanking you in advance.  It only takes a minute, but could make a huge difference.  I have a child – I know what it is like. ♥

Faith in the Future

Pisces Daily horoscope for December 8, 2013.

Have faith in the future.  It is very hard for me to do that at the moment – the uncertainty – the waiting, the wondering, the WHY.  I have struggled before and have overcome; yet this time is taking its toll on me so heavily.  I am not asking for much. I want to stay where I am, close to my daughter, in the apartment I have come to love so much and regard as “home” and my safe place, where I am comfortable and my fur balls have room to roam and play.  I just need food and warmth and yes – I need the internet to be able to do all the things I do.  This is all I am asking for.  I don’t think it’s much.  So I leave my future in the hands of the universe and I pray that things will turn out okay for me and that I can continue to live simply, yet happily.  I don’t really think that is asking for too much.  I have had a lot – I have had nothing.  It’s the not knowing that is scary, but I am survivor, and I guess I will make it work one way or another.   I just wish someone or something could send me a sign saying “you will be okay”.

Just a nice little reminder, in case you are in the giving/holiday spirit – there is a link on the title page to my PayPal.  I am not proud.  I would genuinely and humbly take any donation anyone wants to make.  I can even do something for it if you’d like (legally).  Times are hard – so very, very hard.  😦  But I will survive.  Somehow.

 

Life

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I haven’t written about me personally in awhile – I guess probably because I have been in a real funk and hugely depressed and haven’t felt like doing anything, which is pretty much what I have been doing.

It has been one month and 3 days since my ankle surgery – one month and 3 days trapped in a wheelchair AGAIN – something I swore I would never let happen to me again after what happened.  AND – one more month to go to the day.  January 7th I go back to the orthopedist and hopefully he will tell me I can walk again.  I am going stir crazy inside. I just spent two years of my life working my ass off to get be able to leave the house without panicking – to be able to WANT to go out and do things and drive places and see people, and now I can’t – back to fucking square one. I haven’t picked up a drink – going on 16 months now, but gods knows I have wanted to.

I really can’t stand this time of year either.  Everyone with their holiday cheer and their disgusting displays of consumerism – buying shit they don’t need with money they don’t have – I used to be guilty of that, but since I am about to be homeless unless a miracle occurs, I’m not into it this year.  I am almost out of heat – social services said oh yes we sent out xxx to your oil company – the oil company said well gee, we never got it – what the hell am I supposed to do?  If I pay for it, I will never get that money back.  I spent all my foodstamp money on me and the kids yesterday – they need to eat too.  Ho fucking ho.

I have been thinking a lot about suicide lately – someone very young in the community took his own life and I wonder what the hell would make someone who had their whole life ahead of them want to kill themselves?  I am old – no one wants me, my family (except my daughter and brother) don’t give a shit, my friends (with the exception of one or two) have pretty much deserted me, as I have no money to go out and I don’t drink anymore, so what the hell is the sense in bothering with her?  I sit here and wallow in self pity, and then I try to think positive and pull myself up again, and then something else goes wrong, and it’s like the blocks just come tumbling down again.  You build it to the top,  you think you have it all figured out and BAM!!  I know it’s not just me – I know there are millions of people worse off than me – at least I have a place to live, and a car and my daughter and food and my furballs for now, but I keep thinking what is going to happen in the next few months when my savings runs out and I can’t afford to stay here and keep my pets, who are the only things that really love me unconditionally.  I have looked and looked online for jobs you can do at home – every last one of them is a scam – you have to pay, or you have to have this, or that – there is nothing.  I just want to go to sleep and not wake up.  If it weren’t for my daughter, that is exactly what I would do.  It’s not that I can’t work – I can certainly work at home on my computer – there is just nothing legit out there.  So I wait.  I wait another month, hoping that the ortho says yes, you can walk, and then maybe I can start job searching, although I don’t know who is going to want to hire an almost 52 year old handicapped woman.  I want to think positively, but it’s so hard when you’ve been shot down so many times.

You know, in the past two years, I have gotten and stayed sober, lost over 150 lbs on my own, doing it slowly and healthy and the right way, I have gotten myself off 80% of all of the medications I was on, I am (was before this last surgery anyway) in therapy and doing well – you would think that would matter to someone – someone would say WOW look at all she has accomplished on her own with the help of her doctors and her daughter – she is someone we would value, someone who has so much to offer….but no.  No one has said anything.  And I have asked.  Believe me, I have asked.

So I hope you all are having a wonderful holiday season with you and yours, and maybe I will catch you sometime soon again.

Lost and Found Blog Tour

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ZA Maxfield

Excerpt

LOST & FOUND

Chapter One

Ringo had knocked on Gavin’s door plenty of times. This time he had his heart in his throat. He could feel the cold chill of trouble coming same as he could feel the thunderheads that gathered out over the ocean, ready to pound the Newport Sands Resort with relentless rain.

Strings of Christmas icicles fluttered in the breeze along the edge of the RV’s awning. At night, they were pretty, but right now, in the weak afternoon light, they were cheap bits of dirty plastic Gavin kept up all year round.

He knocked again. “Gavin, it’s me, Ringo. Open up.”

After a minute or so, the flimsy metal door opened a crack. “What do you want?”

“Where’s Bird?”

“Bird? He’s inside.” Gavin opened the door the rest of the way, but didn’t come down the steps.

“He wasn’t inside an hour ago when he ran into someone’s RV after their cat.” Ringo shook his head. “Goddamn it, how many times do I have to tell you? You can’t just let that dog out to wander around.”

Irritation played over Gavin’s features. “What’s your damage, Ringo? So he pees on the grass. If he shits, I’m sorry. I’ll pick up some other dog’s shit sometime, as penance.”

Ringo folded his arms across his chest. “Some lady from the As said Bird scared her grandkids. She was hysterical.”

“Oh, well. If she’s from the As then—”

“Aw, Gav. Cut me some slack here, will you?” Ringo leaned in. He wasn’t above pleading a little. Gavin had more than once insinuated that the resort had different rules for people with better rigs or bigger wallets, which was bullshit. Everyone had to behave like they paid for a spot in the As. Ringo didn’t ride Gavin for half the shit Bird got up to, but he was forced to respond when Bird caused a mess. “This isn’t a trailer park, it’s the Newport Sands Resort. These RVs are multimillion-dollar land yachts and the people expect to be able to open their doors without your dog charging inside. If Bird leaves this rig, you have to go with him. You take him out on his leash from now on, or you keep him in.”

“Sir. Yes, sir.” Gavin saluted smartly. “No letting Bird out off leash.”

“It’s nothing personal. Management gets on me if they think I’m not doing my job—and they won’t hesitate to have your ass and your rig hauled out of here.”

“You couldn’t just leave the form letter I normally get when someone from your security team sees Bird off leash?”

Ringo was too embarrassed to meet Gavin’s eyes. “Don’t you just throw those away?”

“But nothing personal, right?”

Christ, there was everything personal between them. Ringo felt it in his gut and his heart and his empty goddamn bed. They hadn’t spoken in over a month and he’d missed Gavin every single day. But that’s not why he was here today. “No. Nothing personal.”

“If that’s all then, I’ll just haul my ass into my rig and—”

“Look.” Ringo raked a hand over his buzzed hair. “I don’t know why you gotta be like this. You never heard anyone say, ‘You can’t fight city hall’?”

“I hardly ever let Bird run, only when it’s absolutely necessary. And with it being Christmas, the park is half-empty anyway. You know people only say that city hall shit when the government is taking advantage.”

“You signed the lease. You know the rules. How is asking you to walk your own dog taking advantage?”

“Never mind. Message received and noted.”

Ringo sighed. “Why should the rest of us deal with Bird if you’re too fucking lazy to do it? While you’re wallowing, he’s scaring off the tourists.”

“Is that what you think?” Gavin eyed him sourly. “I’m wallowing?”

“I think you need to walk your dog on a leash, like everyone else around here. What if you let Bird out and he eats something bad? Even a lick of antifreeze could kill him. What if he gets into a fight with another dog? You need to think what your neglect could cost Bird, too.”

Ringo was about to turn away and leave when Gavin reached out and caught his arm. “Wait.”

“What?” Ringo took a step up toward Gavin. Even with another step between them, he was taller, especially since Gavin had a way of slouching lazily against his doorframe. His posture now was relaxed, and yet closed off. Typical.

Gavin sighed. “I did let him go out alone this morning. I couldn’t take him, so—”

“What do you mean, you couldn’t take him?” Ringo looked Gavin over closely and realized he didn’t just look tired, he appeared to be in pain.

Gavin grimaced. “Look, it’s nothing. Right now, I can’t take him out, is all.”

“Wait. What?” Ringo asked. “Did something happen? Are you sick?”

“No, I’m not sick. I finally had to have my knee repaired. I stepped in a hole on the beach the other day and tore it again. The doc said I didn’t have a choice anymore.” Gavin looked anywhere except into Ringo’s eyes. “I figured I had some time off between Christmas and New Year’s, might as well get it taken care of. But I just got home, and it’s been tougher than I thought, and I—”

“Jeez.” That’s why Ringo had seen Gavin come home in a cab the day before. ChristAlone and hurting and you still won’t ask anyone for shit. “You couldn’t have told me that?”

“Why should I?”

“Because I’d have helped you. I’d have taken Bird out for you, for one. At least I can ask one of the interns—”

“I had that Jules kid take care of Bird yesterday, but I thought—” Gavin chewed his lower lip “—I don’t know what I thought.”

“Jules is a good kid, but he’s gone home until after New Year’s. Do you want me to see if I can get a couple of the other kids to take shifts? They can walk Bird until you’re well enough to do it yourself.”

Gavin gave a reluctant nod. “I’d appreciate that.”

Ringo sighed. “Goddamn it, Gavin. I’m only a phone call away. We’re not seeing each other anymore, but that doesn’t mean you can’t ask me for help if you need it.”

“I don’t know why you’re surprised I didn’t. We didn’t work out because you always tell me I don’t ask for enough.”

Ringo frowned at him. “I thought it was because I wanted to give you too much.”

They stood nearly nose to nose. Ringo could smell the warm, smoky campfire scent of Gavin’s skin, could feel desire building between them, even from that brief contact. But he couldn’t make Gavin meet his gaze.

He sighed. “I didn’t come here to autopsy us.”

“Not much left to dissect, is there?” Gavin wrapped his arms around himself. Maybe he was cold, and maybe he needed holding. Ringo had a lousy habit of wondering what Gavin needed, as opposed to just giving him what he asked for, and Gavin hated it.

God, Ringo wanted to hold him. He wanted to wrap himself around Gavin and never let go. How did everything between them always go to shit?

Instead, Ringo said, “Go back inside, you look like hell. I’ll ask around, or I’ll come back and walk Bird myself.”

“Ringo—”

“Don’t get your panties in a wad. Everybody has to learn to ask for help, just like every so often people ought to seek out someone who needs help and give it. It takes your mind off shit to look outside yourself for a change.”

Gavin snorted. “The Gospel According to St. Ringo.”

“Right.” A gentle tease, instead of Gavin’s customary porcupine spines. That was better. “Yeah. Well. Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”

“I’ve tried it.”

Ringo ignored that. “I’ll be back later. I’m assuming you have pain meds. What about food?”

“I’m fine.”

“I’m going to infuriate you by checking on you every so often, and I’m going to do it with hot meals. Just warning you ahead of time.”

“Ringo, don’t make this a big deal.” Gavin started back inside.

“Gav—” Ringo reached for him, but he jerked away. “Don’t make me pull information out of you like this. I need to know. Please, if you need me, call me.”

“And then what?”

Ringo shifted his weight from his right leg to his left. “What do you mean, and then what?”

“What would happen if I needed something?”

“I’d get you what you need. What do you mean what would happen?”

“What if I need to be left alone?”

“Do you really need to be left alone?” Ringo asked. “’Cause the Gavin who plays his sax at midnight because he knows I’ll have to come and tell him to knock it off loves my company. It’s the Gavin who pushes me out of his bed before dawn the next morning and tells me I’m—”

“Smothering,” Gavin snapped. “Hovering. Blocking the exits and taking up all my space.”

God, Ringo’s shoulders ached. “Just tell me what you need, Gav. What can I do for you?”

“Nothing. I’ll be fine.”

“Sure you will.” Ringo sighed. “I’ll see you later.”

Gavin lobbed him his slow-pitch softball smile, round and a little wobbly. Ringo guessed that was the best he was going to get. “See you.”

“Yeah.” Ringo nodded.

Ringo wished Gavin would say more, like he was looking forward to it, or he’d be glad for the company—something Ringo knew was true, even if Gavin would rather die than admit it—but if he waited for that, he’d stand there forever.

Instead, Ringo got in his golf cart and took off because it never paid to give Gavin even the gentlest squeeze. If Ringo squeezed, Gavin would slip through his fingers like a bar of soap, and they’d end up back at square one.

What do they mean by square one, anyway? Was that a reference to a game or the first stone on a path? The first bubble on the SATs or the first letter they turn on Wheel of Fortune?

Ringo’s square one was the very first time he’d seen Gavin playing saxophone for the summer crowd at the picnic tables. He’d looked like a young Carlos Santana in shades, with a mustache and a highly kissable soul patch. He’d worn a weathered fedora.

Gavin always wore a hat, but that was mostly because his hairline was receding. Ringo went along when Gavin pretended his hats were some kind of fashion statement. They were that too, from skull caps to stingy-brimmed straw fedoras to out-and-out wool felt mafioso lids, but Gavin kept his hair buzzed short and his head covered because he was vain about going bald.

The first time Ringo had seen him, he’d thought Gavin had stepped right out of the movies.

Central casting, get me a Latino street musician.

Ringo drove back toward his office, five miles per hour, waving at the tourists. Trying to look strong and silent. Reassuring, as if he were “the law” in this here town.

As if he were doing something besides pining for a guy who didn’t want him around.

His sister had warned him musicians were dogs, but Ringo had never listened.

God knew, Gavin was a musician. To paraphrase Ringo’s mother’s favorite poem, music was the thing with strings that perched in Gavin’s soul. Wherever Gavin went, he had to blow his horn or pick at his guitar or drum on the park benches and the trashcans with chopsticks. He bought instruments whenever he could, and he always had a half a dozen or so on his patio undergoing repairs. He was constantly tinkering with some broken guitar or refurbishing a brass instrument that needed a little TLC. He sold some on eBay, and some he got attached to.

What he couldn’t live without one day, he gave away the next.

Ringo stopped to bag up some garbage that had blown off a picnic table, and even that reminded him of Gavin: give Gavin a milk carton, a plastic fork, and a couple of rubber bands, and you’d get an entire symphony orchestra.

Gavin had warm golden skin and cold brown eyes, and he lived in a crappy camper because it made him feel free. He didn’t have to live like that; he liked it.

He drank too much, and he laughed too loud, and when Ringo got near the cracks in the shell Gavin had built around himself, Gavin chased him away like a junkyard dog. Gavin had a miserable fucking temper. He could lash out.

It hurt a lot to love a man like that.

Especially when Gavin was always the center of attention and could pick and choose from any man around. He never kept any of his lovers for long; he didn’t know how. He always seemed lonely to Ringo, even if he was rarely alone.

Ringo had pried his way into Gavin’s life through persistence and the judicious application of alcohol, and although they’d washed out, they still kept company sometimes. Lots of times.

Ringo always said that if he had it to do over again, he’d do it over again.

He pitched the trash he’d policed into the Dumpster as he rode by. Hole in one.

Whoopee.

That was probably his entire quota of “win” for the day, the rest of which would be spent filing incident reports and making sense of client complaints. He was responsible for lost or stolens, and there was one case of employee pilfering at the snack bar to deal with.

When he got back to the office, he shut himself inside for the better part of the morning, until a knock sounded at his door.

“Yeah?”

Jurgen, one of the interns, a college kid from Germany, entered and stood nervously in front of Ringo’s desk.

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

Ringo took off his reading glasses and rubbed his eyes. He was only thirty, but he couldn’t read without glasses for shit. It made him wonder if he was going to be like his nana, with her bottle-bottom trifocals, when he got old.

“You know the guy who lives in the Cs over by the laundry room, Gavin Lopez?”

“The musician?” Jurgen nodded. “Is there a problem?”

“Little bit. He’s out of commission for a few days because he had to have some knee surgery. Would you mind walking his dog? I’ll pay you, but don’t tell him I said anything about money.”

“I can do that.” The kid spoke English well, with little to no accent, and he was respectful and polite. The smile he gave Ringo was unforced.

“Maybe if you went first thing when you get to work, at lunch, and before you leave?”

“Sure.” Jurgen gave another bob of his head.

“The dog’s name is Bird. Let him run in the fenced off-leash area by the volleyball courts while you’re at lunch. Otherwise keep him on a leash at all times. Give him some exercise; he’s an energetic, curious pooch, so if he gets loose he’s likely to wander into people’s rigs.”

Jurgen smiled wryly. “I can see how that might create concerns.”

“I’ll let you know when to stop—just a few days probably. You’ll be here over the holidays, right?”

“Yes, I’ll be here. Is that all?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Once dismissed, Jurgen left. Ringo wondered what his story was, if he was studying for a career in hospitality, or if he just wanted to work in America for a while. The resort always had foreign interns as part of an exchange program with the local university. Whether they had aspirations to stay in the States, or just wanted a chance to work where they could surf and go to Disneyland and tour the beaches where Baywatch had been filmed, they came and went.

Jurgen seemed like a nice kid. He’d be good for Bird, and maybe Bird would be good for him.

When Ringo made his rounds later, he saw Jurgen and Bird on the beach together, Jurgen running along the water and Bird bounding happily along beside him in puppylike high spirits when he wasn’t busy chasing after sea birds. The sight warmed Ringo’s heart. A boy and a dog could be a beautiful thing.

He watched Jurgen play tug of war with Bird for a while, and then he continued on his rounds, making sure everyone was in their proper space. He liked to greet the campers and check in with the groundskeepers. He needed to make sure the empty cabins were locked up tight.

Since the economy was still in the shitter and the price of gas was at an all-time high, some of the resorts streets echoed with emptiness. The holidays hadn’t brought crowds to the resort the way they usually did, but they still had the die-hard snowbirds.

The size of the population didn’t matter, though. He had to keep security tight, and his crew had to stay dialed in to any potential problems so they could prevent mishaps or react quickly if they were needed.

A case of illegally dumped trash was the most he had to deal with before he sat down at his desk again after lunch to write up incident reports. His security detail for the day, Gunn and Frisbo, patrolled the grounds together while he caught up on paperwork.

Most days, their lives revolved around a series of small, inconsequential matters and the paperwork that went with them.

Most days were dead boring, but it went with the job.

Yessir, I am the sheriff in this here town. Evildoers, beware.

– See more at: http://riptidepublishing.com/titles/lost-and-found#sthash.59Uwflyc.dpuf

 

 

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