Posted in creativity, depression, peace, poetry, politics, writing

6/10: The Prize

The envelope torn.
The card blank.
No winner.
No loser.
No one left
To claim a prize
No one bothered
To save.

The circle continues.
No one
The prize.
Chemical hate.
No one gets the prize.

The envelope burns.
The card long turned
To ash.
No losers left
To be the
Runner up.
Skies changed.
No going back.

APA 2017

Posted in creativity, paranormal, poetry, writing

5/22: The Room

My eyes cannot
Adjust to the
The room is
Like those who
Put me in
I felt them despite the
No empathy.
No warmth.
I have felt my way
Around the perimeter.
I know not
Where the door is.
It cannot be felt.
They think
Can be
Not all of
My kind
Are social creatures.
This was their mistake.
I am
With the darkness
That surrounds me.
Let them try.
They will not win.


Posted in anxiety, artsy stuff, creativity, empath life, faith, life, patreon, Personal, poetry, storage, writing

5/21: quick “note”

You guys (and gals) never cease to amaze/amuse and befuddle me. My earlier post was really nothing spectacular… just more of a “hey, I am still alive here” post… and yet 11 likes on it… this one won’t be much better.

Pretty sure I’ve rambled about this before, but tonight’s poem made me think of this. A lot of my poetry is train of thought. I rarely edit them. Most of the time, I hand write them. Those may get a word change or two when getting typed up, but still, nothing radical. My poems also fall into a “freestyle” form. And they tend to be either observational (the one from earlier this past week about being at the station and watching people is that type) or internal and sometimes extremely personal. I don’t write those to get attention or anything… they’re random stream-of-consciousness pieces. Nothing grandiose.

I sometimes read them to my therapist, who loves them as both a written art form but as being therapeutic. They can trigger an intense conversation in session. Tonight’s poem, which will post at 11pm PST, is an internal reflection piece… it’s kind of an internal conversation… take from it what you will. I’ve noticed a lot of people pay attention to the poetry posts. So, as long as you read them and like them, I’ll keep writing them. The monthly Patreon poem will be a longer, likely more traditional, work. These are just short little ones.

Well, half an hour before it posts… enjoy.

And thank you for bearing with me with my frantic situation over storage… and ensuing “crash and burn” this weekend. It takes a lot out of me.


Posted in anxiety, chronic pain, creativity, life, Personal, poetry, writing

5/21: been quiet…

I know that after all that flurry of posts and such and now I’m quiet. The reasons I can think of: 

  • Dealing with a brutal headache and TMJ pain.
  • Burnout (crash and burn) from the anxiety of coming that close to losing everything. 

So, I’m laying low. There’s a part of me that wants to go out and do ALL THE THINGS!! but my knee and back (along with the headache and all) are telling me “nope, rest for now” so, that’s what I’m doing. Decompressing from the stress.

I have some writing to do… doing the Writer’s Games again. I like how they push me out of my normal writing comfort zone. 

I may get a poem up tonight. We shall see. 


Posted in anxiety, cats, community, creativity, crowdfunding, depression, homeless, life, patreon, Personal, storage, urgent, writing

5/12: Aiming for Optimism (#crowdfunding)

Aiming for a little optimism here..


Damn, I missed. Never been good at archery.

It isn’t easy to be optimistic when you’re technically homeless and still (frustratingly) jobless and you’re trying desperately to round up funds to save all your stuff in storage from auction in less than a week.

Anyone who ever wonders what keeps me sane in all of this mess of my life didn’t see or hear Portia this morning. Something got her ALL wound up and she was on the window ledge on the¬†other side of the [non-working] hot tub that’s in this room. At one point, she lost her balance and landed on the solid hot tub cover. *thud* then running around on the cover. I’ve sworn in the past that when she ran around the apartment, she sounded like a herd of buffalo on the run. The bounding around on the hot tub cover beat that. I was in giggle fits the whole time I’m listening to this. She gives me moments of silliness or utter affection, usually when I need it the most. It’s very therapeutic.

But the concern for my belongings in storage is still there. The concern for getting my life back on track. The two best places are over in the sidebar (on mobile, scroll to the end of this post and you should see them): PayPal and YouCaring. When you look at the YouCaring, you’ll see nearly $700 on there. Most of that is LONG gone. I need to get to roughly 1500-1600 on there to pull it from auction. If I can at least SHOW I’ll have it the day before, they’ll pull it. WePay takes a couple of days to do the transfer.

So, I ask for people to share this… or the YouCaring campaign. Any of it. There’s an 8×20 storage unit with the vast majority of my life belongings in it. My father’s “coffin” flag for being a WWII Vet. My photography. A bit of my father’s photography. My sheet music. My mother’s beat up 100+ year old copy of Handel’s Messiah. My costumes, some of which I designed. My furniture. My clothes. So much stuffed in there. Memories. Collections of silly things I can’t replace. Most of it doesn’t have great value except to me.

These are the things I need to save. Things I need help to save.

In other news, I have revamped my Patreon… maybe a little more friendly and tempting for those interested.

Thank you from Amanda & Portia

Posted in activism, community, creativity, empath life, faith, history, life, Personal, writing

3/11: Anger and Society

Today, on my ride home from my interview, there was a guy on one of the trains who was angry. The MAX around here can be rather interesting. Just between those two trains, I came across people already drinking alcohol (public intoxication gets you in the drunk tank here), tourists, and a lot of in between. This guy, though. He stood out. He was on the same platform as I was and sat down across from me, but facing the rest of the train (I was facing the windows). Even before he got on, while still on the platform, his walk, his stance, his face, everything was pure anger.

At what, I don’t know. At one point, he balled up one hand and punched his other palm… then after someone else got on at the other end of the train car, he got up looking like he was gonna go after this other guy, but my guess is that he realized it wasn’t the person he thought it was, so he sat back down.

Why so much anger? I don’t have the answer to that. I can’t read minds. I’m only an Empath. And his emotions were palpable.

It got me thinking about my own anger about things in my life and society. Sure there are people I dislike, maybe even hate, but to hold so much anger that your body changes to show it in every move, every glance, even standing still. Or sitting. I don’t hate that strongly. I may shout at the world in anger over societal issues or something really fucking stupid that someone public said that’s disrespectful of history and people (Spicer, I’m looking at your sorry ass).

I swear a lot. I vent my frustrations in therapy and online. But I try to also look at all of it as something to learn from. Every day, we wake up with the chance to learn from what we experience. Not everyone sees that chance. But this is why I blog. I am a writer. I love using the written word to help me understand why things happen. Writing is my art form. Sometimes I’m messy at it, but that’s what editing is for (the blog is mostly stream-of-consciousness, though).

I try to not walk around angry. Every so often, it happens. We all have those days (don’t deny it, you know you do). But the lesson comes in how we deal with that anger. I write. Others draw or paint. Others are more violent. I wish they weren’t. I think society could get a lot more done without so much hate and anger and violence.

But that’s just my opinion.


Posted in cats, community, emergency, grad school, homeless, Personal, urgent, writing

3/1: Need a Place to “Ponder Changes” #temporary #urgent

I need to be out by Midnight 3/2, tomorrow as of this writing. Below is a different take on me “I need crash space!” plea. The stuff between the two horizontal lines.

My therapist has bumped the gap between my appts from monthly to about every two weeks. Primarily because of the eviction thing, losing one of my cats, struggling with life in general. According to her and a few others who have apparently seen others in a similar situation, I’m handling it pretty well. I don’t feel like I am, but in a way, I guess I try to be more like Spock with most of it and then let the emotions loose on occasion.

I mentioned to her today that I’ve been using the term “crash space” and she suggested wording it differently. So, here’s my alternate version:

My life has come to a crossroads in a rather sudden fashion. I have been uprooted from an apartment I thought I’d have at least another 6 months in, but that wasn’t meant to be. In a way, the forced letting go of this apartment I’ve called home for over 7 years is a way for the Universe to shake me up, pull the rug out from under my feet…

Push me in the direction I am meant to go.

I just wish I could see the path chosen. Much like the Void I mentioned yesterday, the path ahead of me is hidden. I’d like to say I know where I’m going and what I’ll be doing, but I can’t say that. What I can say is this: I am in need of a small amount of space where I can sort things out and focus on what I need to focus on: healing, finishing grad school, and finding work. It’s me, my goofy senior cat Portia, some of my clothes, a couple of cheapie laptops, and some of my food. All I need is a few weeks or so to recuperate from the recent stress, catch up on school work, and find a job. Then save up some of it (once I get work, I can pay you a meager sum, but really need to save up for getting into a new place of my own), and head back out into the world solo. Portia isn’t too keen on dogs. I love them, but she doesn’t. I can help cook and a few other things, but my back makes most cleaning a challenge (I try to plow through it as I can).

About me: non-tradition grad student working on a remote program with a school in Kansas in Library/Archives. I’m also a writer and photographer, as well as a number of other hobbies and passions. I volunteer at the Architectural Heritage Center processing the slides of the founders of the Center. I’ve been sick, partly due to the stress, so I’ve been away for a while. I’m fairly quiet, as is my cat.

About Portia: She does do her “zoomies” so she sounds like a buffalo racing around, but overall she isn’t a loud cat. She squeaks and is fluffy. She’s roughly 11 or 12. She’s adorable (and knows it), hates dogs, is addicted to Feline Greenies, is about 13 pounds, and is a dilute Tortie. She also loves being underfoot.

I think that’s it. I’ll likely need help transporting myself, Portia and stuff I’m bringing with. I’ll try to limit my clothes to one rolling duffel, but I also have a container of other things… and then Portia’s carrier on the frame of an old pet stroller… and then food. I can try to get most of the stuff into the ‘granny cart’ … no guarantees, though.


Posted in Personal, politics, writing

1/20: Defiance, Dragon-style

Many people are changing their political postings so they aren’t public. 

I will not. 

I am not backing down. 

My words are my weapon. 

I will not cower in fear. 

I will not be silenced.

I knew that fear. 

I lived in it for too long

No more.

I will fight. 

Words will rule over a man who cannot grasp them. 

We will win.

Will not back down. 

The bullies and abusers do not rule me.

I, and other maligned people, rule over them.


Posted in crowdfunding, emergency, eviction, Personal, poetry, writing

Poetry: Broken (#crowdfunding) 

Broken down. 

I fell off the wall



I can’t fix me. 

I should be able to. 

But the parts aren’t all there.

I have some missing pieces.

I tried to repair myself before. 

But I lost something along the way. 

Courage. I can fake that.

Self-esteem. That’s harder to fake.

I like my wall.

I’m safe there.


But I fall sometimes. 

Help me put myself back together. 


Maybe with enough help.

I can get back on my wall. 

I don’t know if anyone can see me.

I feel invisible. 

Not a new feeling. 

The brokenness. 

Maybe I fake bravery too well. 

I don’t think they can see the damage. 

I can’t do this alone.