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New music from My bell Michelle Williams. A hot remix to her track “Sick Of It” 4/5

]]> http://rollercoasterfamilylife.wordpress.com/2009/05/10/i-hate-mothers-day/ Sun, 10 May 2009 16:02:50 +0000 Irish http://rollercoasterfamilylife.wordpress.com/2009/05/10/i-hate-mothers-day/

It’s just another stupid holiday created by capitalists that have somehow ingrained in MOTHER’S that they need to be appreciated and pampered if only for one day out of the year because they are MOTHERS.

Flush that stupid idea. Seriously. Why wake up hoping that your spouse even gives a crap? Why hope that this year will any different? He’ll sleep in, not deal with the kids, and then have the nerve to say “Aren’t we going to church” after I’ve scrambled to get 2 ready. (The 1st kid is sick, my dear. He can not go to Sunday School or church).  Oh, wait, let’s not forget how much he doesn’t care about holidays & birthdays. That to include never sending his own mother a card on Mother’s Day or her birthday. I think in the 10 years we’ve been married, he’s picked out & mailed her MAYBE 2 or 3 cards. If there were more, it’s because I picked them out. I’ve since given up. Sorry to my nice MIL, I just won’t pretend your son is doing it anymore.

I am pissed right now & don’t give a flying fluck about Mother’s Day.

At least I sent flowers to my mom.

This is the only thing that is making me smiling today: (besides my kids’ home made cards):

It’s one of those days where I wake up and feel sick and tired of everything. It’s those mornings where I feel like I’m ready to grab that needle and inject air into my veins. It’s one of those days where I’m feeling like if whatever I’m having doesn’t kill me, the waiting will. It’s one of those days where I feel like it’s not worth going against it anymore. I feel like I’m about to surrender.

I’m greeted with the sickening feeling of familiarity. The white washed walls, the curtains that separate me from that annoying old lady on my right. I’m so sick of sharing this room with her, can’t they give me my own room already? As if hearing the same story for the first hundredth time isn’t bad enough, I have to sit through the next hundredth?! I’m so sick of them telling me that I don’t have to get a private room because I’m leaving in a few days time.

I’m sick of hearing the beep beeps of the machine telling whoever reading or bother to listen, I’m alive. I’m alive dammit, I’m freaking alive, I’ve been alive for the past 8 weeks. Sometimes I wish I wasn’t, like today. I’m so sick of having the smell of chlorine flood my nostrils and I’m so sick of having god forsaken chemicals flood through my body.

I’m so sick of nurses having fake smiles plastered on thier faces when they come and take my temperature, plug in my IV or worst, tell me everything is okay. I’m so sick of the doctors tell me that everything is going according to plan, and my treatment plan is running on schedule. That’s it, a plan. As long as it goes according to that plan, it means that they’re doing their best. It’s comfort for them more than it is for me.  

I’m so sick of eating the bland, saltless food they serve here! I want my escargots and beef ribs and baked potatoes soaked in sour cream! I want chocolate fudge melting on freezing ice-cream and raspberries dipped in honey. I don’t know why they force me here cause we all know that there is no point me being here.

I’m so sick of pretending to be strong and fight this. I’m so sick of faking that stupiiiid smile and putting on that brave face when people come and visit. I hate telling them not to worry and that I will come home and everything will be normal. Who am I lying to? Normal is but a mere memory. There isn’t a normal anymore. Even if say I beat this, which is very unlikely, normal will not come. The medicines, the precautions, the monitoring, this thing will loom over my head, waiting to bite me when I’m the least prepared. Nope, normal is no longer in this picture.

I’m so sick of having blood drip out of me and crying in pain. I’m so sick of seeing my hair on the floor, and I’m so sick of the bruises in my arms. I’m so sick of having flowers and that sunshine through my window. Shut the damn blinds cause the sunshine only reminds me of what I’m missing out on. I’m so sick of being told that I should be sleeping or resting that I shouldn’t be standing or walking.

I’m so sick of them bringing in the bloody wheel chair. I have two legs that work fine, for now. Let me use them. I am not a paraplegic and for heavens sake, stop telling me to get better when you don’t let me act better. I’m so sick of the corridors where there are no smiles but tears and frowns. I’m so sick the cold hard floor beneath my feet. I want to feel the grass, I want to wear my Jimmy Choo’s and parade around in my red blazer and wear that daring red lipstick one more last time.

I’m so sick of this place. I don’t want to die here. It’s been 8 weeks and the results aren’t improving. The doctor’s going to walk in and see me in 3 minutes time and like always, he’ll have that annoying fake smile, ask me how I’m feeling, tell me that it’ll take time and that the improvements will come any day.

Sometimes I just wish he’ll tell me that there’s no more hope, discharge me so I can live my last days the way I want to. But then again, today is the day where I’m so sick of it. On normal days, I smile and think, tomorrow will be a better day.

aLLy.k

Author’s note:

I wrote this when I was sick with the flu. I was going to throw a fit, and mind you, that’s just the common flu. Sick of it (the title) struck me. Coming up with the story was a little harder. I wanted to write about war and how everything was fake, but then the idea of fighting to survive strucked me. I put myself in a patient’s shoes, someone fighting to live. And I couldn’t help but think, everyday cannot be a victory dance, where it feels like the war will be won. Where the patient feels like a warrior in 300. Ready and armed to fight till death. There is certainly a point, no matter how positive or strong that patient is, a point where everything just feels wrong. In this story I picture how it would be when it reaches the lowest of lowest points.

In my honest opinion, I think the hardest part is recovery. Simply because it’s tiring, frustrating, painful and even more torturing that the needles or the basic fact that you’re fighting something you have no control of can cause. Recovery is definitely not for the weak hearted. That said, I believe everyone recovering or fighting, strong or not, should be given a break to vent out and break down and just simply rely on someone other than themselves.

But then again, that’s my honest opinion.

This is the image out of my front window this morning.

What a horrible little animal! I wonder if they make good eating?

Once upon a time, a single mommy went apartment hunting.  She brought her dearest possessions (her kids) to rent an apartment that “seemed” peaceful.  It wasn’t. 

Had she done her homework, she would’ve found out that the area she picked had once been under other management, more than once. (flag #1)

She would’ve known that there was escalating crime in the area (flag#2)

She would’ve known that while “move-in specials” are a nice way to get business for the property management, they sometimes have the same effect as allowing a low class bunch of dead beat jerks to afford the first couple months rent and giving them enough time to wreak havoc on other neighbors. 

*hint*  If they can’t afford the regular rent and deposit, they usually didn’t have a job in the first place, and they’ve probably been kicked out of everywhere else.

 the single mommy with her most precious possessions live on edge because of the two  shootings.  One in which their little friend’s daddy was killed.  and the second which a nearby apartment was sprayed with bullets.  See photos above. 

It’s not that these people that do this kind of thing are anything but little boys playing with grown up toys. 

They are cowards, that is why they shoot and then RUN.  They are like the roaches that invade at night and scatter when you turn the light on. 

Cockroaches might be elusive, but they can still be exterminated.

All it takes is vigilance and not a speck of fear. 

 Other people’s fear is how they reproduce. Living on other people’s fear is how crime trickles in at first and then becomes a flood.