Stream of Consciousness

poison of another kind

when i was a kid

the world was on fire

and only the ice

could make the pain sleep

silly child

i didn’t know the cold

could burn just as deep

Stream of Consciousness

like a cat

i need a nap.

a break from the to-do-lists and never ending laundry. from dishes and cooking every meal and waking up all night long.

a break from emotional exhaustion and the world that tells me to suck it up and pretend i feel great.

from the constant pressure to have it all figured out. from dressing professionally and cleaning everything up again and again and again and again and


i need a nap. to curl up in a warm corner filled with cushiony pillows and soft blankets, with plushies of wolves and dragons and foxes and a curtain to hide me away, to dull the sunlight that reminds me to get up and get moving.

far away from screaming responsibilities that don’t really matter, from fake smiles and mocking faces, jeering laughter when i fall down. from ‘supposed to’ and ‘should’.


today, i need a nap that will make tomorrow better.

so tomorrow can’t rob me of a nap today. can’t remind me of to-do-lists and dishes, cooking every meal and waking up all night long.

i need to learn to nap like a cat. not a worry in the world.

only me and what i need. tomorrow and all its lists, today and all its to-do’s, gone from my mind. only warmth and comfort and the hope that tomorrow i will learn to enjoy life. i will learn to live. so i can sleep at night.


Stream of Consciousness

Napping is a Skill

One which I am well practiced at.



I also like Snoopy, just in case you’re wondering. (Not any of the other Charlie Brown characters, only Snoopy and Woodstock.)

What can I say, Snoopy is a writer and a napper. He also enjoys food and yet never gains any weight.

And you know, he’s a dog.

All around the best qualities.


I wish I could eat whatever I wanted and not gain weight. Then again, don’t we all. 😉


I have Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (or Myalgic Encephalomyelitis) – CFS (or ME) for short. I sleep a lot.

I love napping.

And its really very healthy. Some places have a rule where you break for lunch and take a nap. Google even has adorable little sleep pods. Though, I’d personally like a wee bit freaking lot more privacy than that, just gotta say.

Napping helps you be more creative, more mentally aware, and capable of performing labors and mental challenges with efficiency and accuracy.

And the writer in me is telling me that ^ sentence could’ve been way more eloquent.


Anywho – do you nap?

Why or why not?

Stream of Consciousness

Depression and Hope

What do you do when you’ve had a falling out?

It’s not you. Not entirely.

No. You lost something other than yourself.

Standing among the ashes of this lie. A million threads weaving its heart into yours.





Somehow you stayed. You remained. The truth never leaves.

It hides until you’re no longer blind to it.

It hides inside those smiles. The ones you don’t feel.

It hides inside your heart. As you sleep the days away.

Because there’s nothing here for you.

Not until…

Not until.

Until the pain beats through the silence and you’re left staring at the wreckage.

The ashes. The lies.

Seeing them for what they are for the first time.




What remains when everything else has fallen apart?

The truth.

And a piece. Simply a piece.

Something you thought you’d lost long ago.

Shadows remain. The darkness remembers. It took hold and never let go, knowing you’d need it some day.



Sometimes, every once in a while, the lines between Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and depression blur, until I realize I’m sleeping the days away and forgetting to smile.

I know why now. Those ashes are buried deep. But I welcome the pain of truth. It is healing, even as I pick apart the wounds so I can wrestle the lies out of my bloodstream.

I know why this pain is here, even if others don’t. I know why I struggle with depression. And knowing makes all the difference, doesn’t it? At least for me it does. Yet, it doesn’t make it easier. There is no magick wand to wave. I am only human.




So I’ll deal with it in my way.

I’ll romanticize the truth, the lies and the sadness. And I’ll paint them together with the beauty of words and slowly write myself into a smile.


This will never go away. But the beauty of it is, it doesn’t have to. I can accept the truth, even as the lies draw blood. In life, there will always be opposition, there will always be struggles and trying times and downsides to every happy moment. This is mine to deal with. I’ll take the bitter. And the sweet will only be sweeter.

Because I am stronger. I am not alone.

I am a writer. And this hope, holding fast to me in the shadows, never leaving, undying – this hope will help me write myself to life.




The world can laugh. The world can mock and misunderstand and shake its head.

I won’t go back now. I can’t. I’ve fallen apart.

Now is when I pick up the pieces.

Starting with hope. A pen in my hand. Laptop keys beneath my fingers. Fire in my heart, in the shadows, in my soul.


I haven’t written in over 2 weeks. Haven’t exercised in close to a month. Haven’t felt the desire to do anything but sleep, swarming inside the paralyzing, heavy weight of depression, knowing the struggling butterfly and moth wings fluttering beneath the surface of my skin will go away.

Well, I have felt it. But that desire is behind bulletproof glass.

I can see it, can feel a whisper of its touch.

But I don’t know how to get to it.

My body has turned to lead, weighing me down and anchoring me to the floor.




Depression reminds me of a phoenix.

So, I guess, I’ll be a phoenix rising from the ashes.

Again. And again, and again, and again.

Depression never goes away. But neither does hope nor the ability to heal. And that works for me. We all have issues. And sometimes, mine help me with my art. Oddly ironic, isn’t it? Especially since my art is my life, who I am, why I breathe.

I will write again. I’ll get back to exercising and trying to sleep at the same time every day and night. I’ll get back in the swing of what makes me happy, wiped clean once again and ready to burn with life.

I always do.



Stream of Consciousness

Hotel Hell #3

To continue my chronicling of my time spent in Hotel Hell, we’ll finish the last two weeks of December 2012. We’re catching up before getting to the here and now because I hadn’t really decided if I wanted to write about my time spent here while I remained or if I wanted to wait until we had moved. Week 3 decided that for me.


  • (Okay, so technically, I’m predating week 3, but so be it.) A few days before we were to move into our new apartment (YAY!!!), the manager called and told us we could not move in.


Because we have an eviction on our record and monies owed showing accordingly. This means no one would rent to us.

We didn’t take this news well. We had thought we’d be out of this small room to rent at the end of two weeks. We had even packed accordingly. 2 weeks worth of clothing and needs.

  • The muscles in my neck got stuck on the left side and I had to go to the chiropractor for an emergency adjustment. I couldn’t move my neck and the pain was constant. Really freaking annoying!

After being adjusted and being able to think, we realized that the mattress we’d been sleeping on was not healthy for us. It felt like a giant had slept on it for half a millennium. Not comfy.

Soooooo, we got my mattress out of storage.

Then we realized that the room itself leans inward. Imagine a large “U” shape. Both sides of the “U” curve in at the bottom so that the floors are leaning into the middle, giving us quite the predicament.

A few weeks later a friend was kind enough to saw off a few wooden beams and situate them between our beds so that we could sleep comfortably. Major improvement!

However, the room still (obviously) leans.









Lucky didn’t seem to notice either way. He was, however getting a little peeved that he couldn’t run around like a banshee.

Continue reading “Hotel Hell #3”

Stream of Consciousness

Hotel Hell #2

Welcome to Hotel Hell.

Here you will accompany me on a strange (and sometimes creepy/disturbing/gross) journey within the confines of these walls.









Here we find the back entrance, up the stairs and through the door. (And my insane sister.) I love my family. 😀

  Continue reading “Hotel Hell #2”