2013, cyd, new

dry hot and dusty as hell

My last surviving grand parent died a couple of weeks ago. Two days to the hour o my Nana's death, my favorite cat, Boo, died in my arms. The grief was paralyzing. I got two big envelopes from my Nana's lawyer, I need to read it and try to make sense of the legalese.

Interesting point, none of my brothers and sisters on the forms. This is all so weird. The wait period to get our inheritance is 10 months. This is the time for my mom to monkey with things, but I don't think she will.

To be honest, which I try to be on here, I could care less about who gets what. It would be nice, but not as nice as hearing my Nana say "I love you" one last time. And now she is gone. Thinking about it literally all the time is not healthy, but I can't help it.

Then there was Boo, I held her as she died. I even tried mouth to mouth because she was fighting for breath. It got me a few more minutes with me, but she died all the same.

It is what it is. I'm not going to get closer to any of my family over this. This is my pain and I'm not sharing it with anyone.

Anyone got a spare 4,000 bucks to get zenweb.net back? I can't get into any of my online accounts on the computer, I have better luck on my phone. I didn't forget to renew it, I just had to let the domains go.

The CA fires have colored our sky yellow. I would write a poem somewhere around the sky and the deaths. But I haven't written anything since I was in the hospital 4 years ago.

Everything is weird, but I'm going toward good right now. I gave into the urge for new clothes. I got a sheared faux fur bomber jacket and a black mini dress, both in black. Retail therapy.I had credit on the site I bought the clothes from, so I got the two items for ten bucks. Pretty cool.

Doc got a new bike for work. I'm thinking of cannibalizing my mountain bike for parts. With the goal of learning to ride again. And, yes you can forget how to ride a bike. The last time I was on one it was in the dark, and rain and I got run off the road to the ditch. I never got on a bike again. But hell, I only have so long to live, I should do all of the living that I can, just in case there is a heaven, I'll have something to talk about.
2013, cyd, new

Hey there, hi there, ho there

I'm back, bitches and bastards, TC paid for a forever pass, I should use it.

The cops came over and did a welfare check about a month ago. My witless little brother hasn't texted since his angst rampage. And has no clue what life is. He's in his mid-30's, lives at home still, is an ex-con, I could go on. He's a loser. But hey, I'm apocolyptic you know. I get so pissed when I think of what he did, what I did.

I'm GenEx. He's your typical millenial. He is damn spoiled like me. And I was, too, until he came along. When Tripper came home to live with us, I didn't resent her, I don'/t know that I do. But my oldest little brother, I resented the hell out of him. Little cunt lived by a different set of rules. All the rest of us lived by the law. Especially me. I was the biology one, I was the real daughter.

That brat has always been a theif. And a colossal liar, whitch he does very badly. Just like my dad. Even I could beat him at poker.

I sat through a lecture from Doc regarding what time I get him up. I just spent an hour trying to wake him up and now he is laying down until, let's say forever. He knows it makes me homicidal trying to get him out of bed. He got mad at me earlier, maybe he's getting even with me.

What else happened . . . Carter and I are instagram friends. Time and blood heals all wounds.
2013, cyd, new

Got Caught Stealing

Having had yet another clever thing stolen by a bunch of what I have to assume are white middle aged hate macines; The line in my twitter profile "Not liberal, just literate." is being passed around. I'm starting to really despise all social media. 

Maybe I should look into writing big things. Like flash fiction. My eventual new site will include blogs an such.

It was an interesting fall/winter. The police came by to do a welfare check on Doc and I. We've no idea who it was. But Doc and I were fine. Had our jammies on. When I saw the cops at the door, all I could do was laugh. 

I knew I hadn't done anything wrong, so the visit scared me. One of my parents could be hurt or dead. Paranoia is a hateful thing. It really fucks up my life. Everytime Doc is out of the house I get scared and nervous. Sometime he calls and puts me at my ease.

So, how is everybody? Has everybody had a holiday season? Happy New Year.

2013, cyd, new

I can trust only you with this next level honesty

My Nana is dying. Slowly. It's to the point where the doctors can just make her comfortable as possible. I don't know if hospice care is in her future, or if she'll just go home from the hospital and let my uncle, PissFace, continue to care for her.

And I guess PissFace feels he is owed something and is already carving up the inheritance. But my mom does my Nana's books and will likely be the executrix of the will.

I'm just glad I am one person removed from all of this. I told Kraig I wanted the house, whatever shape it is in, my favorite childhood memories happened there. I never felt unsafe there. But I don't want to "lay claim" to anything because my Nana is still very much alive and that is her house.

Meanwhile my father is dancing with death and they keep fighting over who is leading. My brother takes care of him when my mom is at work or in Oakland to see my Nana. 

Ok, I have unloaded. No emotional stuff, I can't even begin to comprehend the loss of the person I most love, and the person I most hate near to death. I'm just pushing the emotions down right now. There is no point in mourning the living. I see no sense in it. I have my little black dress for his funeral. I won't be going to hers. My mom won't have one. Maybe a memorial service. I don't expect to be notified about either, though I made my brother promise me. If it comes down to me or mom, he will choose her. So I don't make him choose.

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2013, cyd, new

On the state of the Cydniey Quinne Reese

I finally settled on a name. This time I am going to legally change it. And take on Doc's last name. I always wanted to be among Reeses. Some sites now know me as Quinne, some still know Cydniey.

I've been waiting about 2 months for my webhost to contact me about restoring one of my sites. I guess it's just not going to happen. I looked at other webhosts, and chose Bluehost on the advice of this marvelous piece of software I use on my sites. I got phoenixwillrise.com on Bluehost. But you have to pay three years in advance, and that is not doable now. Right now, the first of the year I should be able to get at least one onto Bluehost. I love my current webhost, but the waiting in silence has gotten old and I'm not the type to nag. I bring it up once and that is your chance, buddy. I am not forgiving. That's no secret about me. I hold grudges.

I am trying to let go of a lot of grudges that are weighing down my psyche and my life.

There is controversy considering the Big Ass Truck. We were selling it back to S. He paid to get it fixed since the fixes were needed before he sold it to us. I'm hoping we get it back. It's the easiest way to get a vehicle. But I have a feeling S has found a buyer and needs the title. I want the Big Ass Truck. Doc doesn't know this about me but I have a fear of driving in cars after the truck where you are above everything. The truck is jacked up with chunky tires. I have to literally climb up into it. Please, Universe, give us the Big Ass Truck back. If only for a year.

If Doc starts on rebuilding his credit like I am, in a year we will be in good shape to get a truck of our own. A smaller truck. Doc's not into having a giant truck anymore.

My dad had a heart attack, and a few hours later, a stroke. He is in a rehab hospital awaiting stablization of his heart so they can operate on it. WAIT! I know it is your want to send thoughts and prayers. I have visited, been the good "daughter" and I am done. The mic is dropped. I feel nothing about this. I have chosen not to think about it. Chances are that my mom is going to have to care for him in ways she never thought of. Schadenfruede is due here. But I'm not feeling it.I guess I'm not cold-hearted after all. My heart is dead. And I'm fine with that. Doc and I have our own lives to lead.

Kraig remains a problem. He wants to come over during the week and hang out, but Doc isn't home. So, no. He's being stubborn, Doc is being stubborn and I'm just sitting in the middle trying to appease everyone. I don't like it here. This is not me, being in the middle. Ususally I am simply discarded. Or disregarded. There's a song in there, but alas, I have a King sized case of writer's block. I'm afraid what is goiing to come out when I can't hold it in anymore. An Epic Concept Album that about 300 people will listen to, ever. I could do worse.

Speaking of that, I haven't heard from the band in a couple of weeks. We were supposed to rehearse last weekend. I don't know what happened with that. The guitarist and bassist are being sketchy. So I have no idea where the album recordings are going. I'm here and waiting. I can't afford an Uber home from there right now. I'm paying off all of my credit accounts early. Webhost, paid. Cable bill, paid. Money put away in my savings account to pay the credit card way more than is due.

I have a story but it is in the beginning, so I'm going to experience more of it before I write it out. Suffice to say I am leaving the house in a few days and going to a bead store.
2013, cyd, new

It's a Nice Day for Leather

It's cool today. In the low 70's. Fall weather that will fall away. I'm still trying to get used to the time change. It's only been a few days.

So, how am I doing? It's one year exactly since I got home from the psych hospital. I remember nothing. My cure makes me "sedated out of my mind," as Doc put it. He's not wrong. I am zonked. I can't even take care of the house. I've done nothing this year except acquire supplies. But I have no creative urges.

And there is a small hole forming on my knee of my favorite jeans because I lean my elbow on it constantly, and my elbows are really rough, so eventually holes start to form in my pants. I went to the Old Navy site to check out the price of a replacement pair. Turns out they turned the entire line into jeans with holes.

Fashion is Hard.

Doc is doing well. As far as the internet goes.

I have to call my mom and ask about my dad. Though, if there had been any change, I'm pretty sure she would have called me.

I just wrote this thing and lost it. I am typing in a queer position. Not Queer, queer. I'm starting to see why people can't listen to me.

The worst part is the memory thing. The second worst part is that I'm still mean for no reason sometimes and I wear Doc out. I'm trying. Just not getting anywhere but deeper in this damn mud.

The State of the Cydniey: ragged, but looking marvelous!

2013, cyd, new

Something Clever Goes Here

As soon as I look at a blank page, my mind goes blank. I had something to write and now I don't.

I'm vexed today that the house smells like the hospital. Once Doc clears out, I will light incense.

I got a vape pen, but I can't smoke it right. Doc has tried to explain, but I don't get it. I need it to quit smoking. I'll have to work on it more. Explains why I could never get B's dab pen to work for me. I feel broken.

I get my meds tomorrow. I'm doing well, so far, but I know the clock on that is running down. I started the day with the last klonopin. I have half a Xanax left, and a tylenol with codeine. That's for sleeping. I'll have all of my meds tomorrow.

Chewbacca threw up in my bed last night, under the covers. I put my foot in it around 6am. Got up to move to the couch and ended up cleaning the puke, putting a towel down and laying on top of my covers and falling asleep until my alarm went off.

Doc just messaged, he got all of my meds for 90 days for under $100. Relief. All of my meds have come out with generics in the past couple of years, cutting the cost tremendously. The Cymbalta itself used to cost $300. Now it's a tenth of the price.

I just want to take them before my mind discovers what my body is missing and starts in on me.

I am at war with my brain. I'm tired of it feeding me non-stop memories. I really want to let go of the past, but this mass of grey tissue won't let me. I want to look forward to the future, maybe pay attention to the now.

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2013, cyd, new

It's Been a Spell

Everything goes fine. It goes along with no great change, so I'm good with it.

I was really wrong about a lot of things the past 20 years. It's like I got medicated right to see through the delusions. You've been reading the mad rantings of a schizophrenic at assorted medication soups. Most of you know this. Others have assumed it. I'm broken, and so are the thoughts and words of the past 20 years.

Don't get me wrong with the "20 years" stuff. I'm not old. I stopped growing up emotionally and fashionably, and musically some time before that 20 years hit. I stopped developing when the illness started to take over. I remember some fucked up delusions from one of my high schools.

So now I have that giant duffel bag of memories of the time wasted, things not realized. I want to either bury it in the desert or burn it all and scatter the ashes.

I don't want a do-over. I couldn't promise myself I would make the choices that get me to Doc. I want to get ECT again. I won't. It's too unpredictable. I lost some stuff last time that I really wanted to keep and it seems to have brought these other thoughts to the front of the queue.

I've been listening either to Depeche Mode and Pink. I have so many memories to DM that I just kind of get lost in their music and wander the jungle of my brain. Yes, there is a jungle in there, a beach too (see: Happy Place, Rehoboth Beach). The jungle I mostly leave alone. But with the guidance of the music, I go in there and wander and scavenge mental photographs of parts and leave other parts to their weirdness.

Pink just makes me feel empowered. And I like that feeling.

Speaking of feeling, when I laugh or smile at something, a joke, a person, whatever, I feel this tingle in my tummy. I don't know what it is, but I like it. If I laugh too hard, it gets a bit overwhelming and I have to lay back until it passes. Does everyone feel this? Is that why people like to laugh so much? Curiouser and curiouser.
2013, cyd, new

Update of sorts

I've been trying to make an entry, I'm trying again. The meds have my memory so fuckered, I can't remember the password to get into the computer, so I can't let it go to sleep. I made that password with great care and use it more than five times a day. But, gun to my head, I couldn't tell you what it is.

Anything I do is like sleepwalking. The house gets cleaned. The dishes get done. I pass time. I've no idea how any of this happens. I forget things the moment after they come into my head. The time it takes to open a notebook and grab a pen (both of which are in every room), what I wanted to write down is gone.

I've tried writing poetry, but it really sucks, so I'm taking a break from it.

I'm in stasis with my websites, not feeling really inspired, and trying to get one back that I rage deleted. But I'm not even working on phoenixwillrise.com. It's waiting for me.

It's all just so hard. I don't cook anymore. Which reminds me, I need to put a roast in. Oh, too late, I WILL do it tomorrow. I'll even take the roast out and wash and repackage it. I have to eat it fresh, I do not like left overs. And I have Chinese food left over for the next time I eat. Yes, I see the contradiction. Chinese food is in a class all its own.

Doc tries to lead me to my memories using little verbal clues and devices. It frustrates us both, but sometimes it works, so I wouldn't dream of asking him to stop.

Okay, that's all I can do. And I'll have to re-read it four times before I post it. And if you ask me about it hours from now, I will deny doing it.