Category Archives: Writing

Nothing Means Something and you Need to Worry!

suspision

You know how when you just know something’s going to happen, but you’re just sure exactly when it’s going to happen; and all you can do is sit around and wait?

It’s unnerving, right?

You keep looking over your shoulder, expecting to see one of Tony Sopranos’ hit men and you think you see him in the shadows, every few minutes, but you never really see an actual figure; just a vague shadow, that disappears into an imaginary mist.

Well, I keep waiting to “pay” for my big, bash, birthday weekend, but oddly, the debt hasn’t been called in… yet.  I’m sure I can feel Tony’s guys, lurking in the darkness, but so far, nothing.

It was a decadent weekend!

Well, I say decadent…  I guess it was maybe a tiny bit depraved, at least for this 64-year-old woman, with PMR/GCA, a bad knee and numb, tingling feet!

I was a wild women!  I ate all the bad things, I drank lots and lots of red wine, I walked 4.2 miles in one freakin day, I ran around London like a Swirling Dervish!

And now…  I wait.

I  thought Monday would begin with a “BANG,” however as I carefully opened one eye at time, and peeked around my bedroom, I felt surprisingly “okay.”  Hmmmm?  Strange.  I was however, shall we say, cautiously optimistic.

Maybe there was like a time delay, on these things…  I mean it’s “pay back,” right?  And they say, “Pay back is a Bitch,” so it’s not going to accommodate your schedule or your expectations!  It will make you pay back, when you least expect it!  That’s only fair.

For some reason on Monday, after this totally self-indulgent weekend, I began to notice just how filthy my house was!

WTF?  Who’s been cleaning my house for the last 6 months, a 100-year-old, blind person?

Now, you need to know I have ALWAYS kept an immaculate house!  Even when I worked full-time, between me and the cleaning lady, who came every 3 weeks, we kept that place spotless.  I blame it on the OCD…  “a place for everything, and everything in its place,” will be my epitaph.

Anyway, feeling kinda good, I went to town!  First the bathroom, then the kitchen…  then with energy to spare (Seriously, I had energy to spare!)  I vacuumed the whole house and washed the kitchen and hallway floors!

By about 3:00 I was tired, but like Phil Collins, I was not dead yet!  With the house in order, I laid on the couch and watched several episodes of  “The Good Fight,” and I waited…

Tuesday, saw a little less activity out of me, because I was sore, but surprisingly not PMR/GCA sore!   No, sore like I had done too much!  Walked too much, bent down to much, stretched too much, lifted too much, pushed too much, pulled too much… you name it, I did too much of it!

And here we are, today is Wednesday, and still nothing.  

Still sore, but not crippled by it.  Not overly tired or incapacitated by fatigue, although I did sleep straight through the night and slept 9 hours!  Even my bladder and I were on the same page last night, remarkable! None of the aches and pains, usually associated with my auto immune conditions, are rearing their ugly heads… yet.

Where I come from, nothing means something.  If you ask someone what’s wrong and they say “nothing,” you know it’s something.  If the kids are quite (acting like nothing’s going on) you know they’re up to NO GOOD!  If you ask your husband what he’s thinking about, and he say’s “nothing,”  ...no wait, that one’s probably true!  He’s most likely really not thinking about anything at all.

So, nothing happening, means something’s definitely coming.

I’m Italian-American.  Actually I’m Sicilian-Irish-American.  There’s a lot of innate  loyalty, duty, pride, tradition and honour (yeah, ok, maybe it’s that honour amongst  thieves kind of honour) oozing through my veins.  And although I may have my foibles, and oddities, I pay my dues. 

A deal is a deal. I would never renege on an unspoken “agreement.”  I had a legendary birthday celebration weekend and I’m ready to pay the piper.

So here I sit, with nothing happening.

Watching.

Waiting.

Looking over my shoulder.

Ready to meet Tony’s guys and pay my dues.

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Dear Anonymous…

fuck you

 Is that “magnificent” enough for you?

You recently left feedback on my blog site that said:

“Hey, you used to write magnificent, but the last few posts have been kinda boring?  I miss your tremendous writings. Past few posts are just a bit out of track! come on!” 

“Fair enough,” I thought!

The feedback was much appreciated and I actually went back to you, straight away, asking specific questions; trying to get a better idea of what you thought had changed and how I might turn things around.

Was it the subject matter? 

Was it the fact that I may have lost some of my anger?

Which posts did you think were really good, verses which ones not so good? 

You made your penetrating observation on April 14th at 7:25 am; I responded on April 14th at 7:27 am.  I’m thinking, you were probably still on-line when I responded!  It’s now April 16th and still nothing from you…  Is that really all I’m going to get?

No additional words of wisdom? No tried and true blueprint for “How to be a Better  Writer,” or cunning tricks of the trade, teaching me how to “Grab Your Reader?” 

Well, you’ve let me down.

And by the way… what’s with the “Anonymous” anyway?  Did you have to change your User Name or create a whole new profile, just to leave that feedback for me, or are you always Anonymous? 

Does using that label allow you the anonymity you need and give you the balls to say what you think, without really putting yourself out there?  Does it provide just the right amount of refuge, so that you feel empowered to speak your mind, but not vulnerable and exposed to any comeback you might receive?

Look… I really do apologise that you have found my blog posts “boring,” of late.  It may have something to do with the fact that my life is fucking boring! 

Think about it…

I go nowhere.

I do nothing.

I see no one.  

Not sure how much you know about what having a chronic illness is like… but I gotta tell ya, it’s not fun, interesting or entertaining in any way.  You don’t get to turn it on and off, at will.  You don’t get to control the extent to which you will or will not be impacted by it.

It “controls” you.

It violently seizes you, by the back of the head, pushes you to your knees and tells you to get on with it…  You don’t get to bargain or negotiate.

It tells you when, it tells you where and it tells you for how long.

You just submit.

So yeah, I guess if a few of my posts were “… just a bit out of track,”  I may have been a little preoccupied getting fucked by one of my two, chronic, auto-immune illnesses.  Or perhaps it was from the vile side effects caused by the toxic corticosteroids I’m taking; or the obscene withdrawal symptoms I experience, every time I reduce my dosage. 

Oh… and just so you know, I don’t write for anyone but myself!

I write to get all the anger, fear and resentment out of my head, so that I don’t end up imploding!  If you read it and like it, I’m happy with that.  If you read it and you don’t like it; well, I’m sorry my words didn’t resonate with you.  Maybe next time.

I will suggest to you that if you want to give someone “constructive” feedback, you might want to follow through.  Providing vague, half-assed, glib gibberish is not helpful.  It’s a waste of your time and it’s a waste of my time.

You want me to “…come on,” well give me something I can sink my teeth into.

You know magnificent?”  

You miss “tremendous?” 

Then, please, by all means, point the way…