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2013, cyd, new
cydniey

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
cydniey

I Just Got a Text

The Big-Ass Truck is going to be dropped off in the driveway within the hour!!!!!

2013, cyd, new
cydniey

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
cydniey

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
cydniey

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
cydniey

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
cydniey

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.

2013, cyd, new
cydniey

Oops

That last entry was rather dreary, and I just feel like I need to say, my life is not dreary. It is comfortable and I have most everything I need and a good deal of what I want. I'm not healthy, that is something I would wish for, but I am not near death or anything.

I've been working out. I used the last two winters to built up my spring/winter/fall wardrobe. When I step out after the temps drop, I'm going to be stylin' baby. But I want my skinniest body back. I have to resist the Zyprexa that knocks me out at night, and makes my brain beg for food all. of. the. time. I think I have emptied the house of things I can eat. I looked in the grocer's circular to find some food, and I couldn't.

I'm a very picky eater. I will cook anything you bring me to cook. But I hate most food and my missing teeth make it really hard to bite or chew. One of my biting teeth on the bottom is loose, but not loose enough to come out, and it's been like that for a really long time. But it makes me not want to bite into things because when I do, it moves. EW!

There, a silly teeth story. I still haven't gone to a dermatologist for the cancer, but I will soon. Once Doc gets into the habit of work every week day. I have the name and addy of my mom's dermatologist that takes care of her basal cell carcinomas and she recommended her highly.

I have been battling the black and brown widows on the patio. So far I am winning. I got bit by one of them last year. And the year before that, Evie got bit and died. It's been a gas. Or a spray. Heh heh heh.

Doc let me get all of my jewelry supplies. Metal stamp kit, metal clay kit, a bunch of clay, jewelry for a doll I am making and for earrings.

So I am busy learning to do new things. I got my Wacom tablet, which is an electronic drawing pad. I'm lousy at drawing, but it came with software that lets me "use" brushes and mediums to play with. Once I am ready to set up my websites again, since I renewed them, it will come in handy to make the graphics like nothing else.

2013, cyd, new
cydniey

Catch-Up

I haven't been writing, anywhere, for a while. It's been 7 months since I was in the hospital and while they have opened an investigation into the things I experienced, I am really to traumatized to care about whatever hollow apology I get. Nothing will change.

The Bell's Palsy is almost gone. I can't spit still, but I never really feel like spitting.

I'm having some head problems, even though I am taking my meds religiously. Hallucinations, both auditory and visual. I'll never get rid of them, I know that now. I have to ignore them. I can either shut them off completely, or not put myself into a near-coma. I choose not.

The second time I saw Shutter Island (I just watched it again), everything in it seemed so obvious.

Have you watched "Shameless"? Closest thing to my childhood on TV now. Doc got me into it.

I don't know if I had anything else to say. Any thing that was in my head when I started this is gone now. If I could have anything, it would be my memory.

2013, cyd, new
cydniey

Hey, Howya Doin'?

My birthday came and went with just the right amount of celebration. I got a cake and presents from Doc for the next few days, as they arrived in the mail. I got a black cotton shirt dress, mini, with tassels hanging from the hem. I also got a Dodge Charger Daytona Hot Wheel car. And cake, chocolate cake with no flowers. It was a perfect week.

And Chewbacca's lime green and black mesh ESA K9 harness got here. A little adjusting, and it fits him perfectly. I just can't walk him because I'm afraid of this neighborhood in the dark and the pavement is too hot in the daytime. This all reminds me that I need to adjust Rose's harness that Chewy has been wearing back to Rose's size. The old cat harness I am using for her is breaking and too tight on her, she's gotten a little chubby. Not so strangers would notice it, but I do.

I've battled and been victorious against two black widow spiders in the past two weeks. When I'm done here, I plan to go out with the broom and bug spray and decimate some nests, the fuckers are taking over my patio. And after Evie died upon being bitten, ever since then, I have been freaked out about the others. And they all hang out near the nests. Evie walked through one, and I think stopped to freak out. That's when she got got. I won't let any of the animals walk under chairs out there. Today that stops. I go out, I clean up, I destroy arachnids of the poisonous persuasion.