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Entries in Depression (14)


One day it just hits you

Every now and then, something happens or someone says something that touches my core. I’m sure you know what I mean. You finally get it. Your eyes open and you see a situation with clarity and instead of feeling overwhelmed, you are energized and hopeful.

When it happens, it is a beautiful moment.

Without going into details and in order to protect the innocent, I will not disclose the conduit of my newly realized revelations.  A girl has to have a little mystery, after all.

Simply put, I am back. I am moving away from the gloom and doom. I am stepping out of the pity party and getting back to the business of my life.  It’s about time.

I’ll be 60 years old in a few weeks, and I refuse to let this milestone pass without recognizing its significance and celebrating the fact that I have been blessed and privileged to live 60 years.  Wow!

My second book, Dark Pretense, will be out around my birthday, and I hope you will celebrate with me by checking it out.   It has been a labor of love that I wish to share with the world.  Just knowing I am providing a few hours of entertaining reading to anyone warms my soul and fuels my passion to write, write, and write.

Details to come.

Much love!!

Now go out there and enjoy this amazing day!




Image from Google Images


Can't stop the feelings

The following post should probably be presented (in person) to a licensed psychiatrist or therapist, but I don’t have the money.  So you all get to be my shrinks.  No worries.  You don’t have to do anything.  Just read.  I just need to get some things out of my head before it explodes.  My apologies in advance.  There’s an open bar if you can find the cocktail waitress.


It is 2:20 pm and I’ve been sitting in the living room most of the day.  In fact, I just woke up from a forty-winker that was spent sitting straight up in my lounge chair.  I must possess some special talent to be able to get my Z’s in a fully upright position.  It couldn’t possibly be my getting old(er). Yea, it’s got to be talent.  We’ll go with that.

But let’s get back to the reason for this post.

Sitting in the living room all day without doing anything is not normal.  Not my normal anyway. I got up this morning with more back pain than usual, after having a restless night. I didn’t start the day out right.  I tried writing a witty blog after breakfast, and ended up moving it right over to the Recycle Bin, in a huff.  Because. It. Was. Not. Funny. At. All.

At 9 am my time, I listened to a radio show that was streamed live on the internet from Kansas City.  That was one of the only worthwhile parts of my day so far.  My friend Erin Margolin and her Dad were guests on a local Kansas City radio station, talking about The Gay Dad Project.  It was a well-spent hour.  If you’d like to know more about it, please visit their website at  Listening to Erin’s heartfelt words to her Dad about his coming out when she was 15 brought me back to 24 years ago, when I came out to my son, and then left my husband.  My other son was too young to understand at the time.  I wonder just how much I hurt them by coming out.  I know it was something I had to do, but what a price to pay for freedom! 

So that’s on my mind.

After awhile, I stared at the TV while a deluge of dark and/or weird thoughts flooded my brain.  Questions about my life….all unanswered or with unacceptable answers.

  • What will I do now that I’m finished with school?
  • When is the second Hunger Games movie coming out?
  • Will I actually ever publish my second book? 
  • Are the kids doing okay?  I mean really okay?
  • How am I going to get through Christmas?  
  • Why can’t I make a decent pot of chicken ‘n dumplings? 
  • Am I depressed or just hyped up on sugar again?

I sat there and thought about things.  Like a zombie. Only zombies don’t think, do they?

You see what I mean?  Useless. Pity Party Central. All Aboard!

My best friend undergoes an open-heart, multi-bypass operation tomorrow, and my mind keeps going back to her every few minutes. I just want it to all turn out okay.  My head hurts, my heart is breaking, and my stomach is in knots.  I wish I could be there with her.  Thank God her family is all around her, though.  She’s very, very loved.  She’s that kind of person. 

But that’s not all that has me feeling today.  I wish I could just turn my feelings off.  It seems, when I let myself slow down long enough to feel, all the feelings of every kind, even remotely associated with my life…rush in.  All at once.

So I don’t know how I’m feeling.  I just am.    



I saw it in their eyes

Last night I sat in my chair in the living room and wrote my heart.  My hurting heart.  Then I posted it.  Then I took it down for fear of gaining sympathy.  That’s not what I’m looking for.  I wanted to share my feelings at a very raw, painful time in my life.  I read countless blogs of wonderful writers who share their inner-most pain, but I just usually try to entertain.   That being said, I’ve decided to repost last night’s blog because I don’t get any more honest than I did when I wrote it.  I’m posting, not for sympathy, but for awareness.  If you know someone who’s been discriminated against, please share, and/or please pass this along to others.  Thanks.

Today I sat in a little room, dressed in my best business outfit and humbled myself in front of a person much younger than me, because I needed a decent job.  The interviewer herself didn't bother to dress up.  She wore “trashy casual” and her hair was a disheveled mess.  I actually felt sorry for her.  For about half a second.  Until our eyes met and I saw it.  She had already discounted me before I even had a chance to speak.  She had dismissed me and had no intention of hiring me.   I saw it in her eyes, and as much as I tried to ignore it and do my very best to interview well, her prejudice permeated the room and my existence.  I shudder as I write this because I still feel it. 

Welcome to my world since September 2009 when I was laid off my job due to downsizing.  Ever since that perfect, nicely paying job, I have crashed, head-on, smack into the middle of age discrimination.  Now I’m sure none of you want to read my bitching, because you don’t come here for that, and you can leave if you want.  But this post is coming from my core.  And right now my fucking core is red hot.  Tonight I am not about fiction or humor.  Tonight I am fighting mad.

Yes, I’ve landed a couple of very low-paying, sub-par, entry level jobs over the past two years, and I’ve tried to stay with them as best I could.   Now all I hear on TV is how the economy is improving and jobs are being created and better jobs are out there.   I’m just trying to get back into the workforce.  But I have to tell you, I am sick and tired of being treated like a decrepit old woman, when I am anything but that!   I am so ashamed of corporate America, I can’t even begin to express my sadness and my angst.  

Where are those people who profess to being liberal, tolerant, caring and compassionate?  Well, they are certainly not interviewing prospective employees.  It’s one thing to claim age discrimination is wrong (or any other type of discrimination for that matter), but it’s quite another to back it up with action.  I have a keen, quick mind, a shitload of education, and a world of experience….and it is all going to waste!

Will someone out there tell me why this is happening?   I have literally tried everything short of having a full-body transplant and I am still just viewed as a nice little old lady.   I’m supposed to bake cookies and smile a lot and have a house full of cats.  OR whatever?

This forced aging of my psyche has tainted my outlook on things to the point that I don’t even know how to be funny anymore.   I don’t even want to blog anymore.  It’s not like I get many readers anyway.  I refuse to be pegged into a one-subject blog-role.   Yes, some of us old folks do enjoy variety. 

I am 58 years old.  I have been around the world.   I am educated.  I am compassionate.  I am liberal but poised and diplomatic.  I know manners.  I love young people.  I love babies.  I love old people.  I like all kinds of music.  I love to dance.  I AM funny.  I can write.  Oh HELL yes I can write.   

And I feel.  And it hurts when all someone sees when they look at me is old.   God it hurts so much.  I don’t put young folks into categories.  Why would I ever want to do that?  I would be missing out on knowing so many beautiful souls.

But people?  I am so fucking sick of crying.   When I look back at today and so many other interviews I have had, I always pick apart each second of the interview, trying to figure out what went wrong.

I dress very professionally, so that’s not the problem.  My resume and references are impeccable.  Not the problem.  My interview techniques are polished and practiced.  Again, not the problem.  However?

I have a bad back and knees, so I walk with a limp, a little bent over.  Today, I tried so hard to straighten up when I walked through the door.  I must not have accomplished my goal.   I also have some gray hair and my teeth are not good.  They are not brown, but they are spaced.  And?  I have wrinkles I didn’t have two years ago, from aging and worrying and life being so very hard.  I’m also overweight but I can still fit through the door, for crying out loud.

Did that woman size me up because of those things today?  I can’t say for sure.  All I can say is that I saw something in her eyes that I’ve seen at almost every interview. 

A dismissal.  I was being dismissed.   For my age?  For my appearance?   Both?

How the hell does anyone fight back?

How do I get the message out there so people like me won’t be discounted and dismissed?

I just don’t know anymore.   May as well throw my hands up in the air, give up, find my rocking chair and learn how to knit little booties for all my cats.  I have no cats, but as an old person, I’d need to get some, I suppose.

I’ve just had it, can you tell?  No, I’m not paranoid.  And, no I don’t want sympathy.  I’m just really pissed off and need to let off some steam.

And tomorrow I’ll get up, dust myself off, and do it all over again.




Mirror Mirror on the Wall

Mirror Mirror, today I turned seven years old.  Yesterday I lost my other front tooth.  Now I don’t have any front teeth at all.   Mom says I will get new ones soon so I should just be patient.  I’m still going to brush the spot where the teeth belong, though.  Maybe that will make them grow in faster so that stupid boy at school won’t call me names.  He says I am ugly.  My Mom says I am pretty.  I think my Mom is right.   But I don’t feel pretty without my front teeth.

Mirror Mirror, today I turned 12 years old and I got my period.  My Mom and Dad threw me a birthday party BBQ in the back yard and lot of my friends came including my best friend who lives next door.  My Mom gave me a little booklet telling me that I am becoming a woman now and need to take care of my personal hygiene.  She also told me that if I lay with a boy I could get pregnant.    I’m kind of worried that I may already be pregnant because a boy came to the house where I was babysitting last week and we did some things.  I think that may be what Mom’s talking about.  I’m scared now.  I want to tell my best friend but I just can’t.   I don’t really even like that boy but the things he did to me felt nice.  I hope I’m not pregnant.

Mirror Mirror, today I turned 16 and my Mom and Dad threw me a Sweet Sixteen birthday party.  All my cousins and some friends from high school and my best friend came and it was pretty fun.  We had music and lots of food and we danced and played games and joked around a lot.  My Mom was drunk again.  She drinks all the time now.  I think she wants to be a good Mom, but when she gets drunk, she’s really mean.  After the party, I went to my room and I could hear her screaming at my Dad that I was a whore.  She said she saw me sitting on “that boy’s lap” and kissing him and I was boy crazy and was going to end up pregnant before I graduated high school.   My Mom doesn’t know anything about me.  That wasn’t even me sitting on a boy’s lap.  I don’t have a boyfriend.  I don’t like boys.  I like girls. Only Mom will never know because I will never tell her.  She would kill me.  I would rather be called a whore than a lesbian.

Mirror Mirror, today I ran away from home.  I’m sitting in a motel somewhere downtown, and I don’t know what I’m going to do next.  Tomorrow would have been my high school graduation, but I couldn’t bear to go because I don’t belong with those other kids.  Going to classes was even worse than staying at home with my drunken Mom.  At home I was the maid, the cook and the whipping post.  At school I was ridiculed and hated because somehow they all found out I was gay.  I’m not 18 yet so if my folks find me, I’ll have to go home.  I can’t go home.  By now, Mom probably knows I’m gay, too.  I’m scared.

Mirror Mirror, it’s getting dark and I hear lots of noises outside the motel door.  There are sirens and people yelling and horns blaring.  I just double-locked the door.  No one knows I’m here but I’m still scared.  They’ll find me by tomorrow.   I have no money and no food.  I can’t call any of my friends or my relatives because they might tell my Mom.  I’m really sad to be missing my graduation.  I went to graduation practice and found that I would have been sitting next to her, the girl I’m in love with.  She used to be nice to me until she heard that I liked girls.  Now she doesn’t speak to me.  She doesn’t make fun of me like everyone else, but she no longer smiles at me.  I loved her smile.  I loved her.   I still love her.  I hope she has a beautiful graduation day and a good life.  She’ll probably marry quickly and have kids.  She’s beautiful.  I’m not beautiful and I’m a lesbian.

I’m a lesbian!   I can’t be.  I just can’t be gay!

Mirror mirror.  It’s getting light out.  I’m sure that my Dad or the cops will find me soon.   But I will be asleep when they get here.  I took enough of my Mom’s pills to make sure of that.   Goodnight Mom and Dad.  I love you.   I’m sorry I disappointed you.


  Every time I hear of a young teenage homosexual committing suicide, a little piece of me breaks off and disintegrates.     The hate and the bullying and the ignorance have to stop.



I'm not the only one fighting

I got up today, realized I was feeling much better than I have in a few days, and proceeded to make my all-important pot of coffee for my morning infusion.  Without my coffee reserves, the IV bag dries up and just hangs there with no purpose at all other than gathering sympathy from those assholes frequenting Starbucks.

I’m kidding.   About the assholes at Starbucks.  And the IV.   Because I’m a kidder.

But seriously.

I can’t afford Starbucks.  In fact, I’m not even buying Folgers these days, but rather the generic Wal-Mart shelf brand.

Boo fucking Hoo.

So what.  I still have my coffee, right?  I still have a roof over my head.

At this writing, I am unemployed for the third time this year, have been a couple months now.  Things are tough.


They’ve been tougher.  A helluva a lot tougher.


I’m a tough old broad.  And I’m strong.  Sometimes not real strong, but strong enough.

I have an interview today, and I am, once again, very hopeful for a positive employment outcome.  IF I get this one, I am hopeful for a long-term employment relationship instead of the short stints I’ve had this summer.   So cross your fingers and toes for me if you get a moment.  I know lots of people are asking for prayers and things to be crossed, and they probably need it more than me.  Just fit me in there if you can.

I read several blogs today and my heart was heavy with emotion for these people I’ve never met who spill their hearts out (much the same as I do) and put it all out there.  I just want them to know they are not going unnoticed or unheard.  I hear you!   We all hear you and we love you and we want your lives to get better.   We think you are amazing, strong, wise and (did I already say?) Amazing.

And we want you to be happy.  We want to be happy.

It seems like a very simple lesson, one that I continue to learn over and over again, but I learned today that I am not the only one fighting.  And I’m not the only one who cares.


If someone tells you they are struggling, please PLEASE take a moment and listen.  Give feedback.  Console.  Empathize without condescending.  But listen.  That’s all they need.  Really.  That’s all I needed yesterday when a dear friend listened to me cry and spill my heart out over the phone.  That was all I needed.   It takes an awful lot for me to spill like I did to her.  And she listened.  I won’t name names because she already knows how important she is to me.

Today I have strength and determination to deal with and hopefully overcome these “fighting days”.  Thanks to one person who listened.

Just so you all know, I am here for you.   And I will listen.  Just keep that in mind should you ever have one of those fighting days.



(Image from Google Images)

The Top 10 Reasons I Must NaNo

The fabulous NaNoWriMo and the exhausting Grad School are taking their toll on me, so I haven’t been paying much attention to my beloved blog and my few (but precious) readers.  So here’s a shorty.

Yes, I can do short.  It’s a stretch for me, but I am going to make it happen.

The Top Ten Reasons I Must NaNo

10.    I figure, if Snookie can write a book, so can I. 

9.      All my plants died, so my singing talents won’t get me very far.

8.      The voices in my head promised they’d be quiet while I write.

7.      (Someone once said )  I look sexy when I’m writing.   

6.      My older son is the math nerd.  Younger son is the law nerd.  I am the Word Nerd.  I have to represent!

5.      Writing a novel works the same way as “an apple a day keeps the doctor away”.   I’m healthy as a horse and this is just the third day!

4.      Some of my best friends are doing it.   NaNo, that is.   (what did you think I meant?)

3.      Football season and the Denver Broncos tank this year, and it looks like No Basketball.  I gotta do something with my time.

2.      I’m out of batteries for my vibrator reading light.

AND, the number one reason I Must NaNo?

1.      I need this.  Not funny, I know.  I seriously need this.  I’m not feeling all that confident these days, and I need to succeed at something.  I will succeed at NaNoWriMo!


So there you have it, yet another list from yours truly.   I’m fast approaching the 5000 word mark in NaNo and I’m stoked.  In case you haven’t noticed, I’m keeping a count on my blog page. 

Look over to your right.  It’s under the really big NaNoWriMo sign.   I’m a bit of a show-off.

Later, dudes.    Coming soon……..a little peek at my new novel.

(Image from Google Images)

I'll give you humbled

This week I started a job and went from unemployed to underemployed, meaning I had to take a job making a fraction of what I used to make.  Sure, before, I was part of that 14 plus percentile of Nevada unemployed, and deemed practically unemployable for several reasons, to include my age and the length of time I’ve been seeking work.  I had to face the fact that jobs for middle management were not available and people like me were being forced to take anything in order to pay the bills.

At the beginning of the summer, I took a job at a huge company, and that too, was an underemployed-category position.   I’ll just politely say that job from hell was not a good fit for me.  People literally yelled at me, the place was noisy, and the stress level was through the roof.   I don’t know how anyone can work there, and my hat goes off to the friends I made that toughed it out.  They are made of some tougher blood than me, that’s for sure.

So now I work for (leaving the company name out for obvious reasons).  I am a phone tech support person, considered the lowliest of the low.  Oh yes, there are many levels of “low” at the massive company, and I’m down in the “sub-basement with the corpses”, so to speak.   To add insult to injury, I’m in training with someone who used to work for me.  And?  Someone else who used to work for me is already working on the phones, and has been there a year or so, so she has tenure over me.   And did I forget to mention?  She hates me.

You probably think I’m writing just to vent, and you are mostly correct, because this first week was humbling, humiliating and sobering all at the same time.  I walked in training class with my head held high, though, and tried to learn the (new company) ways.  The job is simple enough…..really simple actually.  What will I be doing?    I will be helping customers navigate the (company) website when they call in.  I can’t do anything for them except tell them how to navigate.   And why?   Because I am the lowliest of the low and we are only allowed to help customers navigate.  If they want anything else, we have to transfer them somewhere.  

Transfer them where?  Oh, if the customer wants me to actually do something for them instead of instructing them how to do it, I’m not allowed to do that.  I have to transfer them to Customer Service for that….which means my job is even lower than the Customer Service techs.  

Let’s recap, shall we?  I am a 58 year old woman with a B.S. in Business Administration, and working on my M.A. in Organizational Culture.  I have 40 years experience in the workforce, to include 25+ in the computer industry and over 20 years in management.   I am working an entry level position at a giant company that offers a very small paycheck.  I have to walk in there every day, knowing there are people who used to work “for” me, now in a higher position than me.

And before I climb down off my pity-party stool, I want to add one more gripe/observance.   During my job at the previous company, although the work and some of the staff were intolerable, I made some awesome young friends.   They never treated me with disrespect or shunned me because of my age.  Nor did I them.  We communicated our individualism to one another, and friendship and compassion ensued.  They made me very proud of our ‘younger’ generation.

And then I started working at (my new job).  This week in training class, only one person has spoken to me on a regular basis, and he’s close to my age.  The others are mostly 20 and 30 year olds.  They only speak to me if I say something first and I’ve pretty much given up on that.  One man in particular, is bigoted and frequently spouts things out in class that would have gotten him fired if he ever worked for me.   His disgusting references and misuse of the words ‘retarded’ and ‘gay’ turn my stomach every day.  Everyone else seems content to just chat about booze and bars.  I don’t hear much else…or maybe my brain has numbed to the mindless drone.  

I am very happy that training comes to an end next Thursday and I can be left alone to take phone calls and earn a badly needed paycheck.   I have to do this, for me and Joan.  Truth be told, if it was just me, I would get in my car and drive off into the sunset and never look back.  That’s how disheartened I’m feeling about life and the turns it has taken these past couple of years.  I didn’t know how good I had it just a few short years ago.

I feel so fucking old.

I’m sure you’re all getting out your tiny violins to play me a sad, sad song, and that’s ok.  But don’t bother.  Just be happy for me that I’m writing about my issues instead of finding solace in the bottom of a bottle or who knows what else.  Hell, I’m afraid to drink at all these days, because I don’t believe in drinking to drown my sorrows.  It’s too easy to make more sorrows that way.

Truth is, I just needed to write out my feelings tonight.   I needed to do this so I can “shake it off” and get up and continue with my life.  Right now it’s not a fun life, and sometimes I really wonder if I will ever have fulfilling work again.  

Unfortunately, it’s a rollercoaster ride…….but not one of which I can stop and get off.   Not by choice.

One “good thing” about my first week at the new job?   Being so very proud that neither one of my sons show the disrespect, bigotry and total unprofessionalism that I’ve witnessed this week. 

You boys make me so very proud!

Ok, I’m done.  Thanks everyone, for reading.  I love ya’s and really appreciate your friendships!

Sometimes I can Hear the Wrinkles

At what time in a woman’s life does she realize she is old?   Is it the telltale signs of gray hair or lines on the forehead?   Is it the passing of menopause?  Is it the arthritis in her back or the tendonitis in her shoulder from all those active years?    Is it the loss of muscle tone and beauty? 

Do you think such a woman is old?

Let’s not be so quick with our judgments, and look at some other measuring criteria, shall we?

Is a woman old when she’d rather curl up with a good book and nice glass of merlot than be in a crowd?   Is that sparkle in her eyes when she gazes upon her precious grandchildren a measure of old?  What measures the old?   Is it her wisdom?   Is it her memories?   Is it a life lived fully and with little regrets?

I offer that the woman is not old.   She is, instead, a priceless gem, a precious metal, an honored and, deservedly so, revered member of society.  

She is still on her journey to reach her true worth.  A journey that is a culmination of her life, and those lives which have been touched by her.


Being in my late fifties has opened up a different level of awareness for me.  Sometimes I don’t know quite how to handle it, as it seems too much to take in all at once.  Other times, however, I am sad because I can’t do some of the physical things I did in my youth.  I was always very physical and now arthritis truly is taking its toll on me. 

 But still, other times, I am content because I’ve learned so very much in my lifetime, been all over the world, loved and been loved by many, and have a family of which I’m so very proud.   Age does have its privileges, of which memories, wit and wisdom are just a few.

I don’t dwell too much on my age, except for when I’m reminded by some well-meaning younger person calling me “dear” or “sweetie”.  That does not amuse me, even though I know they are merely paying their respects. 

In fact, I still love my Classic Rock, and I love to play it very loudly while driving down the highway.  Sometimes I sing…badly and loudly.   I’m a Rock Star in my own mind. 

I still enjoy a good rollercoaster.   In fact, there aren’t too many I don’t enjoy.  I love to dance!  I love computers and all things techy.  I love flowers and good food.  Italian is my favorite.  Nothing beats well-made pasta and sauce.  

And, as you’ve probably noticed, I still go on and on about me.   Writers tend to do that.  We like to get the word out…even if it’s just about ourselves.   We need that audience.  It’s our fuel.  One of the best things I’ve discovered in my “not so old” age is writing.   I don’t know what I ever did without it.

The next time you look at your partner, your Mom or Grandfather, take a good look.  I guarantee you there is a person inside with a lifetime full of experiences of which you could learn from and delight in.  So take a little time to listen and share.  Of course, if Grandma hits you over the head with her cane, it might not be the best time.  But try again later.

Thanks for reading.  How do you feel about aging?