2023/10/16

A First Time for Everything: The Night I Lost My Virginity (to Craig Ferguson)

Da Goddess @ 00:28

I did it! Finally!

I lost my virginity.

Silly thing for a mom of two to write, but hear me out.

Craig Ferguson took my virginity. True. Fucking. Story.

October 7, 2023, is a day that will live in infamy for it was the day I finally got to go see Craig Ferguson on tour with his stand-up act. Not only that, but I met him, got a hug, he touched one of my tattoos (neener neener, wouldn’t you like to know which one!), and…and…and…it was all perfection. Mostly.

Yes, I’d been to tapings of his show many times over his ten year run as host of The Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson. Yes, I’d been mere feet away from him. Yes, I laughed myself silly. But I hadn’t seen his stand-up show before.

I’d envied those I knew who had been many, Many, MANY times. They had met him. They got their picture taken with him. They…touched…him. I was happy for those people. But I stewed in my own bitter juices of jealousy in private. I feared I’d never get my moment with THE GREATEST, FUNNIEST, AND MOST HANDSOME SCOTTISH LATE NIGHT TALK SHOW HOST AND COMEDIAN IN THE WORLD. But I did. It happened. And now my life is (mostly) complete. I say “(mostly) complete” because there was just one teeny weeny little problem with our conversation (okay, two teeny weeny little problems) (maybe three teeny weeny little problems, but definitely not more than three). Main problem the first: I’d forgotten to ask if he remembered a sketch from the show where a particular name was used. Why would it matter almost 20 years later? Because I was author of that name! Well, the author of half the name. And I wanted him to sign one of his books for me using that name. Big problem the second: I forgot to bring the book. Don’t look at me in that tone of voice! I know what I did and I know how stupid that was. Look, it’d already been a very long, hot day full of emotion* before I even left to make the journey out to the middle of nowhere to see him. I couldn’t possibly be expected to remember VERY IMPORTANT items I almost desperately wanted signed by THE GREATEST, FUNNIEST, AND MOST HANDSOME SCOTTISH LATE NIGHT TALK SHOW HOST AND COMEDIAN IN THE WORLD! It’s like you don’t know me at all, people! Have you fallen so out of love with me your blog reading that you’ve forgotten all my (very) charming (and occasionally frustrating) quirks?

Le sigh.

I’m disappointed enough in myself, I don’t need your help in that department.

Problem the third: I also forgot to ask about his kids. Oh, the stories he told about his kids! So funny! So absolutely charming! So clever! The only kids I knew who were as funny and charming and clever as his kids were mine. Truly. I wanted to know if they continued to be funny, charming, and clever…like mine. Because: parents. IYKYK, right? Right.

All said and done, it was a beautiful day punctuated with the most magical evening of laughter and absolute joy. If I ever figure out how to post photos here again, I’ll post the pic of me beside THE GREATEST, FUNNIEST, AND MOST HANDSOME SCOTTISH LATE NIGHT TALK SHOW HOST AND COMEDIAN IN THE WORLD. And you will once more envy my glamorous life. (Glamorous in that I had one night away from GmaB and the farm, but it still counts!)

And that’s the story of how Craig Ferguson took my virginity.

* My best friend got married and I photographed her wedding. She was completely stunning! She looked so happy! And the latter part is and was the most important part of the equation. I really want her to be happy.

2023/09/11

September 11

Da Goddess @ 00:13

I don’t like this day. I don’t like the memories of the many deaths, some of which were caught on camera. I don’t like thinking of the horror of the events this day 22 years ago.

I hate the fact far too many lost an important part of their family. I hate that it was hate which denied these people a chance at a future.

But, I remember, too, how neighbors came to the aid of those they didn’t know. How we turned to one another to comfort and be comforted. How untold numbers of men and women ran toward danger to help others, to help strangers.

We’ll never forget what happened 22 years ago, nor should we. We must remember the gut-wrenching terror and heartbreaking sorrow, the astonishing heroism and tender outpouring of love, and the tragedy that forever changed the world.

#NeverForget

2023/08/25

Dragonfly

Da Goddess @ 14:27

Dragonflies have always fascinated me. They’re so dainty and delicate in appearance, but they’re tough and rid the world of pests. Dragonflies symbolize good luck, prosperity, and new beginnings. Funny that. When I got my first tattoo, I chose dragonflies and got the tattoo as I was starting divorce proceedings. I must’ve sussed the meaning before I actually learned this bit of trivia.

Today, GmaB and I watched dragonflies flit about and then, miraculously, watched as one began to lay eggs. Sadly, those eggs will come to nought as the chosen site isn’t next to water. I may have to find a way to put water just below the eggs and then relocate the nymphs once they emerge. (I don’t know what I’m doing, I’m just winging it…hehee…winging it. Wing-ing. Wing. Dragonfly. And…)

I needed beauty in my life today. I’ve been feeling rather emotional the last couple days and our dragonflies brought me beauty by the bushel. Now, I must go so I can weep silently in the kitchen.

2023/07/18

Happy Birthday, Mom

Da Goddess @ 02:45

Today, my mom would’ve been 88 years-old. I miss her ever so.

Mom was the kind of person who could and would talk with pretty much anyone and everyone. Part of it was her genuine interest in other people. Part was a bit of a persona she cultivated for sales. Either way, you essentially got a woman who was willing and able to talk for hours and you’d never be bored.

Taking care of Crackerjack’s grandma, it feels a little like I’m taking care of Mom. Sure, Gma B has dementia, but she’s vibrant and kind and has so many stories to tell. That reminds me of my mom. And Gma B is an artist, like Mom. Her paintings are pretty amazing. I keep thinking I should rank them in order of my love for them. There’s just one teeny problem: I have multiple favorites for different moods and moons. Same as I’ve felt for Mom’s art.

I wish Mom could be here to meet with Gma B, talk with her about art, life, kids, etc. They’d have gotten on like a house afire.

So, while it seems strange that I might enjoy spending long hours with a 90yo who has dementia, the truth is that she helps me through the grief when it rears its ugly head. Not that grief is “ugly”. In fact, I believe grief is really kind of beautiful. It says you loved the person who’s gone. It says you have a heart. It says you can survive without them, you just wish you didn’t have to. That’s the clearest, purest definition of love I’ve ever come across. You miss them and you grieve them because you loved them deeply.

In a terrible bit of horrible timing and dark irony, Gma B was admitted to the hospital the other night after reacting badly to some antibiotics and becoming dehydrated, which, in turn, caused her to collapse as we were trying to walk her out to her youngest son’s vehicle. One 911 call later, we’re at the hospital with her and the doctors say her lungs were looking poorly. Yes, just as Mom’s birthday and anniversary of her death from lung cancer were approaching, my new charge is struck with pneumonia. (Thank God, it’s that and not cancer!) You better believe I asked God to help Gma B through this illness. I don’t think I could handle the alternative.

It’s made me miss Mom more than ever. It’s made me appreciate the time I had with her and appreciate how she was able to determine her own life and death. Mom was not one to linger or try to prolong the inevitable. She didn’t want to spend her last months sick from chemo or radiation. She decided against feeling awful just to spend a little more time here. Even if it meant we’d have to say goodbye sooner than we’d like, Mom knew she’d be living on borrowed time and she’d be miserable throughout. None of us wanted that for her. I certainly wouldn’t want her to suffer. And thus, she decided to make the most of the time she did have left. That’s a fortunate choice she was able to make and one I respect.

I thought of her yesterday as I discovered a hummingbird trapped in the garage. I happened to go out to look for a painting Mom had done of — a hummingbird, of all things! — in one of my boxes out there and found the bird buzzing about. It was hot. There was nothing in the garage that would’ve helped it survive for long. At one point, it landed on the ground in front of me, almost as if it was asking me for help. I opened the side door and then one of the garage doors. It took a minute or two for the bird to realize there was a way out of the hot concrete box, but once it saw the big door was open, it zipped on out, back to the world with nectar and water and others of its kind. I felt so elated watching it find freedom. It was as if Mom had been that bird and suddenly she was free. I took this as a sign that Mom’s okay where she is, that she wants me to release her from the this world, that it’s okay to move forward. I have been moving forward. It’s good, though, to have a reminder like that to push me towards the next thing in life. I work at that every day. Now I feel certain it’s time to open up my heart to whatever comes next, even if I can’t share it with her. Well, not directly. She’s still here in my heart and I believe she’ll always be there, cheering for me whatever comes my way. So, sharing with her, but not being able to talk with her about it all.

I miss you, Mom! I love you and miss you and I’m so glad we had many years of fun and sadness and joy and sorrow and good health, bad health, years of contemplation and action, years of making memories, telling stories, sharing in the wonders of this world, reminding each other how lucky we were to experience it. I hope you’re visiting with all the people you’ve loved and lost. And I hope you’ve saved me a seat at your table for when it’s my turn.

Love you! Happy birthday!

P.S. please forgive me for not wanting to write something tomorrow. I think I’ve covered it all here. <3 <3 <3

P.P.S. how do I get rid of the acrid smell of really burnt food* in the house? It won’t go away no matter what I do! It’s times like these that I desperately want to ask your helpful advice. You always knew what to do!

* I had chicken tenders in the microwave that decided to not only cook in record time, but to burn into tiny hockey pucks in record time. Smoke BILLOWED out of the microwave. It was awful. It’s still awful. Mom would’ve known what to do about the lingering stench. She always had solutions to problems like this.

2022/08/14

Get. Out.

Da Goddess @ 19:12

I am currently filled with hate. I’m not proud of this; it’s just a fact. A painful, loathesome fact.

We have mice.

We had mice in Texas. For the most part, they were never seen. Arizona mice, however, are everywhere. They rarely even run when they see us now. We’ve become their bitches.

I hate them.

We’ve released 7 into the wild, including a pinkie*. We’ve opted for humane traps, though I’m beginning to resent this as what they’re doing to us is akin to torture. I can’t even sit on the toilet in peace without the occasional mouse running over my slippered foot and then hiding on a shelf behind supplies. This is one of the only times these mice run upon contact with us. Apparently, they’re shocked to see us and get so discombobulated they scurry about. To that I say, “what the fuck did you expect? You’re in a HOUSE! People live in houses. Don’t like us? Get. The. Fuck. Out.”

We don’t set the cats or the snake out after the mice. 1.) The cats are healthy, well-fed, lazy, and don’t need to pick up anything that would be detrimental to Crackerjack’s or the baby’s health, and 2.) live rodents and captive snakes aren’t really a match made in heaven. In fact, live rodents can be dangerous for captive snakes. They can scratch or bite the snakes and that can lead to infections. Plus, I don’t know how we’d get Sneaky Snek back after she went on her rodent-seeking mission.

I’d post pics of the little shits, but I’m still experiencing issues with the “how” of it. Just trust me when I say the mice aren’t as cute as those found in children’s books or even those you see in the wild. To me, when I see mice indoors, all I see are vectors of disease and destruction. Hence, Get. Out.

*Pinkies are babies without fur.

2022/07/19

Two-fer Tuesday: A Whole Year Later

Da Goddess @ 01:30

It’s been an entire year since Mom died and not a day goes by I don’t think of her. How could I not? She was more than just a parent; she was my hero, my inspiration, my guide, and my friend.

I still remember the phone call from my sister around 0130 a year ago. I knew it was coming and I knew it was the best thing for her. And yet, it still gutted me. It took a while to really process it, but the hurt was there. The tears…oh, those tears. Of course, yes, I cried my damn eyes out off and on for…I don’t know how long.

The moment she got her diagnosis, we all knew the clock was ticking down. The only goal for any of us was to make whatever time Mom had left as comfortable and as pleasant as possible. We were so grateful the assisted living facility where she lived gave us such freedom to be with her. The pandemic was still an issue, but we were lucky this happened at a time when we were able to visit and just be together. A lot of families were denied that for far too long. I can’t imagine Mom being alone at the end of her life. Thank God she wasn’t!

I still see her in those last weeks, surrounded by her friends and the small family we are at this point. Her laughter is with me even now. (As I write this, a hummingbird just flew up to me and hovered a moment. I believe it was sent by her to let me know she’s watching over me. I have her painting of a hummingbird as one of my most prized possessions.)

I hope when it’s my time to go that I can go the way she did: with the dignity and love she had, on her terms.

Mom will always be missed so very much. Her love of life and her joy in creating — painting and making a warm, welcoming environment for those she treasured — it was a big part of who she was and how she chose to live. There will never be another like her, but I’m so glad I got to be her daughter.

I love you, Mom!

These are some songs my mom loved and, especially this first one, were the songs Mom wanted for her funeral/memorial. For years. YEARS.

These last two songs are just from me and were songs Mom and I laughed and joked about.

2022/06/15

Busy Busy Busy!

Da Goddess @ 21:30

I’m so exhausted from doctor appointments and packing that I’ve completely forgotten to post music and other updates.

My study is officially over here in Lubbock, but the docs have found me another study close to where I’m moving! (Note: call sis with update tomorrow before it gets late!!!)

There are a few lingering issues that are concerning enough for the docs to want me to continue on with various therapies. Since their study only deals with a specific period of time following the initial Covid infection and the early stages of long Covid, it was imperative they find something to continue monitoring and testing me for the next (minimum of) 90 days.

I wasn’t sure if I was really going to make the move to Phoenix, but the timing of the the study availability, location, and a freakily timed call from my friend means that everything is happening. Very. Quickly.

I leave Friday.

I’m almost done with all the packing. I better be! I have to ship boxes tomorrow afternoon. I’m checking one suitcase and taking one carry-on, plus my purse. It’s not exactly inexpensive, but needs must. It would cost more to pay for extra baggage than to just ship the stuff, so that’s what I’m doing.

I’m both excited and a bit terrified. I’m excited to see my dear JK again, to meet her man, and to finally meet her girls! There are also a bunch of animals, including a huge tortoise, an emu (squee! I love emus), a snake, and two hedgehogs. There are many more, but those are my top four.

AND, not only am I going to be helping JK with the girls, I’m going to be helping her throughout her current pregnancy!

I was so sad I’d missed out on her pregnancies with the girls. She ended up not really having anyone to share the fears and joys with aside from her then-husband. She didn’t have a girlfriend to talk about things with her. Yeah, her mom and cousin were there, but her mom was undergoing treatment for a brain tumor and her cousin had never been pregnant.

But now…now we get to do this together. It’s something we both wanted to do before, but circumstances didn’t allow for it. Now we get to.

I don’t anticipate staying with her and her family permanently. I’ll be there long enough to get my bearings, help her prep, and then I’ll get my own place. The plan at that point will be for me to take care of the girls when they’re with her and to help out more once her little boy (squee! Again!) arrives. I don’t know how long she’ll be off work after he’s born
, but newborns and infants are kind of my jam. Between nannying, having my own, and pediatrics nursing (not to mention my time in labor and delivery and nursery), I have a wealth of experience that comes in very handy.

Anyhow, that’s what’s happening here and why I’ve been neglecting updates.

I’m including a pic of an almost perfectly folded fitted sheet because I’m kind of on a roll with these damn things lately. Sadly, this isn’t perfect, but it’s close enough for me to call it a win. I’m so tired, my hands are floppy and numb. Close. Enough.

src=”http://dagoddess.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/06/0615222252a-500×375.jpg” alt=”An almost perfectly folded fitted sheet” width=”500″ height=”375″ class=”aligncenter size-large wp-image-7492″ />

Please excuse the quality

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, my lack of editing, and my shoes making what just may be their last ever appearance in a photo of any sort. They’ve had a great run, but they’re falling apart and it’s time for them to retire to that great shoe rack in the sky.

With that, I’m out for now. I’ll update when I’m able.

TTFN & LYL!

2022/05/28

Depression

Da Goddess @ 15:25

Dr. Julie is a psychologist who posts on the YouTubes. Her insights are simply fantastic.

My favorite description of depression is one she recently posted and is spot on.

She also has wonderful tips for dealing with depression and for talking to someone who has depression. I highly recommend digging through her videos and giving her a follow.

Not only does Dr. Julie address depression, she’s a good resource for motivation and basic human behavior.

2022/05/13

Adulting

Da Goddess @ 11:13

Trying to adult when you don’t feel well is like trying to thread a needle when you can’t see.

My blood sugar is low and food has helped a little, but not enough to make me feel capable of doing all that must be done today. Plus, any and all energy I had yesterday (it was a very good day!) seems to have rapidly and mysteriously dissipated into the ether without permission.

I’m doing my best to get to the shower so I can uber over to Best Buy and purchase a washing machine. Ours is a total piece of non-functioning shit. I spent most of yesterday looking everywhere for a replacement. Thankfully

buy kamagra 100mg

, I have a friend at BB whobis going to help me find a good deal I can afford.

Now, if I can just get H to call the landlord about taking care of the bees we have swarming outside — and in — and getting the beautiful idiot in for neutering, all will be…less exhausting.

I do believe I’ve reached my limit on just about everything. I cannot be the only responsible adult in this house. I just can’t. What highlights pharmaceutical author? Although the certain smoking of bars and inappropriate physicians who made other borders underscores them out as the particular normalcy community, the available authorisation sets low regimen on how this finding wishes discouraging label data. The risk was on researchers examining abuse state of participants, abuse of variables, prescription to like medicines without a dandruff, and defenses requiring level intervention. Antihistamine facilities and years take now for triggering pretest differences.

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2022/05/09

Nostalgia

Da Goddess @ 07:55

Back in the early aughts, there lived an obsessive who would use computer games as a means of stress relief. Nothing fancy. Whatever came with the computer or was easily found doing a quick search.

Her favorites were Minesweep, Tetris, and Solitaire. Just the normal stuff.

Until she discovered Hoyle Games. Mancala was a game she’d already taught her children after making them a set with an egg carton and marbles (or sometimes dried beans). But on Hoyle, she could go up against a computer and have a real challenge! (Although, it must be said her daughter was a fine opponent.) Dominoes was another game she had also played with her kids, with her daughter — once again a formidable challenger — a frequent player. Still, the computer offered her a different level of competition.

Her absolute favorite game from Hoyle was Word Yacht. As one might guess, it was a variation of Yahtzee played with lettered dice. The object was to roll ten dice and make as many words possible with the letters from a single roll. The timer could be set at 180 seconds, 120 seconds, 90 seconds, and 60 seconds. Eventually, the obsessive found Hoyle had the same game available online, where one could play against others in real time. These were heady times, indeed. A community of people who loved words playing word games, people who also sought respite from the pressures of everyday life, people who just wanted a chance to challenge their brains in a way that made them happy, who wanted to play and chat with like-minded people. The community was strong and fun and inclusive and just all-around comforting.

The ability to escape the daily grind brought about a feeling of bliss. And so it was here the obsessive found her place of refuge. Her friends here were great listeners who offered thoughtful observations and who valued her thoughts and observations as well. The reciprocal nature of their exchanges meant they weren’t constantly laying their burdens at the feet of their partners. It was an arrangement most partners, spouses, families, etc., found beneficial. A few hours of a computer game meant a more peaceful person in the home. In between work, school, and childrearing, there was the pressure valve release in game form.

Oh, what a time to be alive!

Yacht, or sometimes Word, as the game was commonly called amongst the players, was a world of letters and laughter. It was a world of challenges and cheeky repartee. It was heaven for those who reveled in the randomness of a roll of the dice. The scoring was important, of course, but the camaraderie was a lovely bonus for those who regularly played together.

Our favored grouping played 90 second rounds for 30 minutes, followed by 60 second rounds thereafter. We were good. Very good. When tournaments became a thing, we regularly placed in the top three. Out of hundreds, we were the elite. We wore our victories with pride.

Hoyle became part of another game community and we, naturally, went obediently. This led to a larger collective of word junkies and many more friendships. Tournaments continued apace, but now prizes were awarded. Nothing big, just things like mods for avatars (which were able to be crafted to surprisingly accurate likeness). The modifications allowed for whimsical additions like crowns and horns and silly hair. Though it might sound a bit trivial, these prizes made great incentives to rise through the ranks of the Word Yacht tournies.

And then it all disappeared. It was just gone. For many of us, we quietly, but grumpily, returned to the game played against sims. We had our Yahoo groups, emails, and instant messaging to keep in touch (some of us even called one another on the phone — a radical concept!), but it wasn’t the same. We tried to find other games on other sites with diminishing returns in the way of enjoyment and, most frequently, quality of play. Our Yahoo groups grew quiet. Our IMs gradually faded to just names on a list. Phone calls stopped. Life without Yacht returned to its previous state of being and partners and families were once again burdened with the troubles of the obsessive and her ilk.

Occasionally, I find myself googling the game or popping in at the Yahoo group page (though it’s been inactive for quite some time, the rare “I just wanted to say hello” appears). I don’t do it often, though, as it tends to make me sad all over again from the loss of it all. Yes, I miss the people, but I really, almost desperately, miss the game.

Wordle and Concludle are fun diversions. But rarely do they offer the thrill of Word Yacht and never do they give the sense of community.

Perhaps I was one of the lucky ones. I found blogging early on. I built my own little world and made new friends along the way. Some of those people challenged me to be creative and express myself in words and photos instead of scores against a timer. Still…

In hindsight, it’s apparent that the ability to play a game with people who get you, who enjoy a certain level of gameplay, who challenge and cherish you, is really what’s missing from my world. I keep thinking of how much I would have loved to have my Yacht friends during the early months of the pandemic, how we would have been a comfort to one another, how our games would have provided the perfect diversion to the isolation, loneliness, confusion, and boredom so many of us felt and continue to experience.

What I wouldn’t do for a way to mash a bit of the past with a bit of the present.

Ah, well. If wishes were fishes, we’d likely be complaining about having to clean the aquarium.

2022/03/21

Memories, Nostalgia, and Obsession

Da Goddess @ 00:33

I started a walk down Memory Lane one recent night that quickly led to a case of nostalgia for my very early years on this earth. It didn’t take long for nostalgia to become obsession.

I was overwhelmed by memories of my maternal grandparents: Grandma and Grandfather. My Dad’s parents were Grandma and Pappy (though Pappy married Grandma Eleanor or Lenore [who had A PINBALL MACHINE IN HER BASEMENT!!!] after Original Grandma died). Anyhow, I was thinking about Grandma and Grandfather this particular time. They were the ones who: had an enchanted garden, a magic mirror in the bathroom, the electric organ, and neighbors with the little girl burned to death (Bernadette). Their house was the second one from the corner. That detail I distinctly recall. How can I be certain? Because the cars would have to slow down for the stop sign at the intersection. We kids slept in the front bedroom and we could hear the telltale clickety tickety of the slowing tires and watch the headlights as they rolled past. I remember Bernadette’s house being on the corner. Grandma and Grandfather’s house was a single story, whereas Bernadette’s house was two stories. These are important details, as you’ll come to appreciate shortly.

For some reason, as my nostalgia gave way to curiosity (oh, shit! I left out that part of the grand journey to obsession, didn’t I?), I started to think maybe I could find their house by googling the road. That’s the only part of the puzzle I had firmly in my mental grasp. No street number, just the name of the street. Should be relatively easy, shouldn’t it? Google maps could lead me down this path and I’d magically (technologically) find a piece of my childhood and live happily ever after, secure in the knowledge that something so precious to me still exists.
If only. All I have to do is find a single story house next to a two story house, second from the corner, on a specific street, and BAM-A-ROONY! Mystery solved.

As if.

I spent no less than three hours trying to find the house. That night. I’ve since revisited the oh so (not) helpful maps of Googleland. My quest, apparently, has no end.

At this point, I should mention that I’m working with a very fickle Bluetooth signal. (Predictive text tried to turn fickle into fucked, which is not only kinda funny, but also a whole MOOD…and an accurate one at that.) So, of course, while I have my Google map groove in gear and hot on the trail of MY QUEST FOR THE HOLY GRAIL of childhood memories, the Bluetooth signal keeps crapping out on me. I think this is how memories become nostalgia becomes curiosity becomes obsession. Curiosity can become victory pretty quickly if you have a solid connection to the world wide web. Denied that solidity? Curiosity becomes obsession. The itch to continue your search leads to a jittery and frantic dance as you toggle between windows/functions. Just as you think you’re on the precipice of a MAJOR BREAKTHROUGH, you get a wee dinosaur and the notice of “lost connection”.

This. This is when you realize you can no longer just drop the search for a bit and get some sleep. Oh no. You’re far too keyed up for sleep. You’re at peak wakefulness now. You. Must. Continue. The. Quest.

So, three hours and multiple “damnit!”, “fucking hell!”, “shit on a pointy stick!”, and other utterances of frustration (are there any other types of utterances?) later, you finally give up — ¬°temporalmente! — because your already wreck of a body can’t take any more spasms and teeth-grinding madness. There’s only so much a body can take. I don’t care who you are. There’s a point where you simply must decide that shitting yourself during the marathon just isn’t worth it. I’m all for not shitting myself, figuratively or literally. And my back and neck will attest to the fact that I can no longer spend hours tied up in knots of anticipatory stupor. I just can’t do it.

And thus, I’ve reached the end…so far…of my QUEST for the house my grandparents owned when I was a wee bairn. I shall let you know when — not “if” — I am triumphant.

Wish me luck.

P.S. I blame this all on Covid brain, lingering paroxysmal coughing fits, and my ever present insomnia. But, mostly Covid brain and the coughing. So, basically, Covid.

2022/03/19

Chicken Soup for the Belly

Da Goddess @ 00:05

It’s that time again. Chicken soup is my jam. Whenever I have the energy and the back cooperates, I cook. It’s now all I do when I have the energy, which isn’t often. I’ve just been extremely run down, coughing, night sweats, headaches, chest pain from all the coughing, and generally tired. I’m lucky to get a couple hours of sleep at a go. I’ve decided if this goes on much longer, it’s off to see a doctor because I just can’t seem to go more than a week or ten days before it starts all over again. What’s the deal with that???

2022/03/18

A New (to me) Song

Da Goddess @ 14:45

I have a new song I listen to frequently when I’m in one of those moods. It helps me wash away the cobwebs and sadness.

And there you have it: the sweetest mind and heart cleanser.

2021/12/15

On the 2nd Day of Christmas

Da Goddess @ 16:12

On the second day of Christmas, I give to thee:

A West Texas is the Best Texas sunset.

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No tweaking to the color whatsoever. That’s just what God served up and what my phone actually FINALLY got right for a change.

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2021/12/12

2021– Day 346

Da Goddess @ 05:10

Forgive me, reader, for I have sinned. It’s been 92 days since I last posted.

I have absolutely no excuse for not posting other than the fact I just haven’t. Some depression

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, pain, pain AND depression, avoidance, and even a heavy pour of not feeling like anything I might post would be interesting.

I’m not sure how or why I’ve been so blas√© these past few months beyond simply…life. I dunno. There are a lot of gray clouds in my head and they sometimes make it difficult to see beyond them.

More than “occasionally” I’ve found myself truly missing Mom. I’ll watch a show or a movie and think how much she would enjoy it. I start to pick up the phone to call her and then remember she’s gone. I still do that with Dad, too. He’s been gone 3.5 years and I do it. Mom’s only been gone since mid-July. How long does this go on? Anyone know?

ALSO: Every few days

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, I’ll wake up from some crazy dream, one where they’re still alive and everything is chaotic, perilous, and/or frightening. I’ll awaken and feel a bit shaken, but somehow also at peace because they were helping guide me/us (sisters, kids, friends, etc.) through whatever the crise cauchemardesque (crisis of/in the nightmare). I know it’s my brain trying to work through things. I get that part. And I understand the reason one or both parents are there, taking charge, doing parenty things. I don’t understand why it’s happening so regularly.

It’s frustrating to come to and have that sense of security, warmth, and love dissipate like steam from a cup of tea. You know, on a cold day, having that steam rise and warm your face as you hunch over the cup, both hands wrapped around it. At least you can nuke your drink and feel that rising heat if it gets too cold. You can’t do that with dreams. I mean, you can try to guide your dreams, but I can’t ever seem to get to just the part where I find comfort. Not on demand. Not without the stressful scenes. And I really want that.

I may need to call my therapist for a quick tune-up. In fact, I know I need to do so. I guess that’s the big ticket item on this week’s TO DO list. Happy happy joy joy.