Posted in adoption, anxiety, C-PTSD, cats, community, depression, disability, family, food, food cravings, health, housing, job hunting, life, nanowrimo, poverty line, PTSD, storage, urgent, writing

10/31: FOOD! (and a bit o’begging) and #NaNoWriMo

(trigger warning: talk of suicidal ideation and PTSD further down) Pardon the wonky spacing…

Here’s hoping that since I was able to log into my EBT account to check my balance, that it’s been reinstated. I tried logging in over the weekend on my phone and it said it couldn’t access the account. Just now, I was able to on the CB. Tomorrow is the day I get to see if they’ve changed my amount.

I haven’t gotten any letters (picked up mail yesterday). I definitely need those food stamps right now. If anyone has every seen my fridge/freezer and pantry from before the eviction, you’d understand why the barren landscape of the fridge and freezer (and somewhat barrenness of the cabinets I have now) is so daunting.

I’ve almost always had frozen meat of different kinds, as well as veggies and other things… and the only things in the freezer right now are a wedge of local bleu cheese and the packs of Dorot minced garlic and basil. And a couple of ice packs. No ice cube trays to make ice. No chicken, no nothing. The fridge usually has cheese and sauces and lots of other things… not right now. So, food stamps for November are SUPER important. I need to restock. Badly.


I was raised to have a full pantry and fridge/freezer (although my mother took that to excess with a second full sized freezer crammed to the hilt). This was so that if one couldn’t go to the store, we could still pull from what we had and make dinner or whatever. I’m not a huge fan of frozen veggies anymore, but I’ll gladly still stock some up for backup needs.
Frozen chicken breasts and pork chops… stew beef… you name it. A frozen dinner or two on occasion (Amy’s Rice Mac and Cheese is amazing and awesome comfort food). A container or two of crumbled hard cheeses in the freezer… Feta and Bleu usually. Grated Parm… all in the freezer. Yes, you can freeze them. I LOVE making scrambles with some of the cheese sprinkled in at the last minute… 

So, here’s hoping my food money got reinstated.


I’ve pretty much given up asking this one friend of mine for help. This person has told me that if I need something, to ask. Period. I did. A month ago. They said they’d help a week later… I checked in then… had to wait… and then wait… I know this person is dealing with a lot, hence why I’ve decided to no longer ask.

My only thing is that this month has SUCKED for tasks, which have been my only income for two years. All while trying to find steady employment I’m physically capable of. But this month has seen ONE task, one cancellation fee, and less than $200 in income. And that has gone to nudging my checking account back up to ZERO (thanks to the cell phone I need in order to run the app for getting tasks). So, I’ve had no usable income this month.

A month ago, when I got storage caught up before auction, I thought I’d have another decent month, so I didn’t worry so much about October. Then my app for getting tasks stayed silent. I had one cancel, one was fraudulent, and then the one I did get.

Another that was supposed to be today, but I don’t have the tools on my to mount things to concrete (better drill than what I have… which i have in storage, but can’t get to, and masonry drill bits, which I don’t have at all), so the whole thing, including assembly, got cancelled. Last night. Mind you, it wouldn’t have counted as October income anyway, as the billing would take a couple of days to process.

So, I need help just to get October paid. Then I can get in there and get tools out (if I can FIND the damn things) and my mattress and other stuff so I don’t look like I’m squatting in my own apartment.


Yesterday was Portia’s Gotcha Day Anniversary. 10/30/2010 is the day I adopted her. Eight years later, she’s saved me from suicide and getting stabby toward male humans who don’t understand personal space on transit (PTSD from sexual assault sucks when you’re on transit). We almost had a vet visit due to a couple of hotspots on her skin (that’s the one main health issue with her: sensitive skin and stomach). But no money, denied for CareCredit, and waiting for PAW Team to call back (it takes time to get an appt with them) all ended up with me just keeping an eye on her for now. They’re likely from stress-grooming, so my friend is going to hand off a partial bottle of CBD oil for pet use and I’ll try that in her wet food (which I need more of soon. See her wishlist on Amazon… if someone was so inclined).

My girl is now roughly 13… they said she was 4-5 when I adopted her. But no one really knows exactly how old she is. I’ve been saying she’s 12 for about 2 years now. So, I’ll finally bump it up to 13. Still a guess, though.

IMG_20180328_210201_131.jpg


Tomorrow is November 1st. The start of NaNoWriMo. This will be my 13th year straight. It’ll be fun and challenging, but I’m game. This year I have two ideas that I’m going to combine into one SF story. I also have a couple of backup tales if my characters take a break and don’t want to talk for a bit.

~A

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Posted in anxiety, C-PTSD, chronic pain, community, creativity, depression, disability, faith, family, friends, grief, health, homelessness, job hunting, life, poverty line, PTSD, society, storage, transitions, urgent, writing

10/27: Creativity and Storage

It’s now been a week in the new place. I also still don’t have access to storage so I can get my mattress and stuff out. I was depending on one person who said they’d help, but hasn’t so far.

Tasks are slowly picking up. I had one yesterday and have another one tomorrow morning. Unfortunately, those two will only get me closer to $0 in my checking account as I’m about $260 in the red. If I’d had work throughout the month, I wouldn’t be in this predicament.

So, I’m asking. It’s only one month’s rent plus late fees ($305 plus about 40 or so), and using PayPal will keep it from getting sucked into the checking account (I did finally deactivate the GFM).

It wouldn’t bother me so much if it weren’t for my back. I’m sleeping on the floor with very little cushion. I’m now getting numbness along my right side (the side I keep re-injuring), which isn’t good.

The sooner I can get into storage and get things out, the sooner I can move the rest of it into a smaller unit again. Which means less storage rent. My goal will be to go from the 8×20 unit down to a 9×10. It’s about half the price.


Now that that’s all out of the way…

I finally heard from the one place I might be doing that internship/job (the place doesn’t pay me, SE Works/state does). I like the place. They’re an arts organization that focuses on making arts education available to all, among other things. I’m hopeful.

Right now, my focus in on getting my life back on track, but I also can’t forget what drives and heals me: creativity. With that, I am happy to say that I will be doing NaNoWriMo for the 13th year running. I’ve done and won all previous 12 years. Last year, I was a mess, though. I admit that. I ended up piecing together my 50K words from various half-finished stories. This year, I have two small ideas that are going to be expanded into one larger tale. I haven’t decided if it’s going to be fully off-world SciFi or Post-Apocalyptic Earth… not yet. It doesn’t wholly change the story much. In the snippet I wrote earlier this year, I do reference a poison gas that was used in WWI (Mustard Gas), but it could still be referenced similarly in an off-world story. Just maybe the planet they’re on is one humans colonized and shit went sideways.

Who knows… I’ll let the characters determine that part. I know that Post-Apoc stories are a HUGE thing right now. It would be very easy to make this PA.

My writing has stalled in some aspects the last two years or so. Four years ago, my dad died, and he was my biggest fan and cheerleader. A month ago, I lost another cheerleader, my friend Connie, to cancer. She was always in awe of how I came up with the adventures and random shit my characters ended up doing. So this year is for Connie. I’ll make sure they get into a decent amount of mayhem.

Now that I’m coming out of homelessness, I can stop being on constant alert… hyper-vigilant mode. That’s from a combination of homelessness and PTSD. It’ll take some time to fully come out of it.

I think writing this tale in November will help pull me back into life again. Where I don’t have to keep looking over my shoulder.

~A

Posted in anxiety, creativity, crowdfunding, depression, emergency, faith, family, friends, homeless, homelessness, housing, life, music, storage, urgent, writing

9/25: #crowdfunding #update

***SHARE ME!!!!!***

Not much to report. There’s $758 (well, minus the percentage WePay takes) from GFM. Between that and what I’m getting from my latest tasks, I’ll have a total hovering just under $900.

The really GOOD news is that my new PP card showed up today. I wasn’t sure if it would show before Thursday, but it has.

I still need to get up to $1400 (just checked the emails… $1493) or so before NOON on Thursday 9/27. Once I’m done at the dentist in the morning, I’ll start blogging and working on getting the rest of it. My Case Manager working on job stuff *may* be able to get a bit of it, but the short notice and amount may not work in my favor on that front. So, I’ll need about $500 600 and change (my phone bill may take a small chunk of it… timing sucks ass) before noon Thursday.

The good thing amidst all of this mess is that I did my application for the apartment today. I got to see the apartment and it is tiny, but yanno what? That’s fine. It’s still bigger than the 8×10 room Portia and I have been living in the past six months. I can focus on getting my life back together. Get back to the basics that make me who I am.

Climbing back out of the abyss of homelessness. I can do this. With help from the community at large.

~A

Posted in activism, artsy stuff, community, creativity, crowdfunding, dreams, emergency, faith, friends, history, observations, poetry, storage, urgent, writing

8/16: Act (poetry)

[Still urgently needing help with crowdfunding and saving everything]

Dream.
Is to
Believe in oneself.

Living.
Is more than a commute and
Bland food.

Belief.
In self and the good in the world
Leads to peace.

Create.
What you see is beauty.
Others might agree.

Explore.
The world has much variety.
Experience it.

Love.
All our differences that make us
Stronger.

~A

Posted in anxiety, artsy stuff, auction, creativity, crowdfunding, depression, dreams, emergency, family, life, poetry, storage, urgent, writing

7/30: The Sanctity of Space

The Sanctity of Space
[Poem about what I’m going to lose if I don’t raise the funds. I have a task tomorrow that will put a bit into the ‘kitty’, but not a lot.]


The sanctity of space
The collections of memories
The baubles of comfort.

Stashed out of reach
From
The Collector of Time.

Seeking peace amidst
The flurry of madness.
Afraid to lose.

That which is attached to
History and future.
Slipping away.

The tendrils of commerce gripping
The hope of dreams past and
Yet to come.

Ornaments of family gone.
Held in grief and love.
Pain yet released.

The paraphernalia of memories
Not forgotten
If only for the tangible itself.

Dreams returning to life.
Passions on hold
Hidden behind lock and key.


~A

[Yes, help is still needed. Badly. Unless a miracle happens, I don’t see a chance of getting storage caught up before August 1st. I’ll find out when auction is and go from there.]

Posted in crowdfunding, depression, empath life, faith, family, grief, homeless, homelessness, life, observations, storage, urgent, writing

7/27: The Little Things Attached to Grief

Sitting here in my room with freshly popped popcorn (not supposed to have food in our rooms, but several of us -especially the loners- do, so no biggie), reflecting on things.I recently posted about getting back to my creative writing as an outlet for my anger and frustration here at the shelter.

If my father were still here, he never would have let me stop. Granted, he also never would have let me get evicted and be homeless. Losing him in 2014 was a massive blow to me. I’ve written, sure, but I haven’t had that regular nudge like he did in our phone calls.

“Are you still writing?”

“Kinda. I mean, I haven’t worked on anything lately.”

“Amanda, you’re too good at it to give up.”

I found it extremely difficult to write during NaNoWriMo last year. I can see how being homeless has been increasingly difficult to allow myself to write again.

Read that last line again: to allow myself to write again. 

Yeah. I haven’t been writing because real life has been sucking my soul dry. My therapist said (paraphrased) that you can’t run on an empty tank. You need to fill your soul with things you love so you can handle the things you don’t. 

So, as hard as it is to deal with the real world, I give myself permission to write again.

My dad would have insisted.

Another thing attached to my grief is a towel.

A towel, you ask?

Yes, a towel. After he passed away, I asked my sister to leave some bedding and stuff so I can stay at the house for a week to help with things. She left one blanket, a set of old sheets, and a beach towel. In the nearly four years since that trip down there, I haven’t used any other towel for drying off after a shower. I have towels. Plenty of them. Well, most are in storage, but yeah. And here I’ve been using a beach towel with bleached out holes along one side. There isn’t any major sentimental value to it as in childhood memories, but I can’t let it go.

It may not be attached to childhood memories, but it is one of the few things I can link to the house. To my last days in the house. To walking through the house and remembering events and accidents and games and growing up. To sifting through what remained and claiming what I could.

But, why a towel? I don’t know, honestly. I have a few other things of his, such as the pewter pin that commemorated the launch and commission of the sub he was on in WWII (USS Mero), but a towel?

It’s One of Those Random Little Things Attached to Grief.

~A

Posted in anxiety, bugaboos, crowdfunding, depression, dreams, emergency, empath life, grief, homeless, homelessness, life, storage, urgent, writing

7/25: rediscovering myself

So, yes. Still need help with getting things caught up financially. Preferably before the end of the month. Whether it’s via the GFM or PayPal (preferred), any help is vastly appreciated.

So… after last nights fucked up mess, I had therapy today. I read her the poem and the second post about getting my life back. Talking to her about the argument and what I posted got me realizing that I’ve been focusing so hard on real life shit that I’ve pushed aside all the stuff I love that has defined who I am and how I want my life to be.

Music, writing, etc.

While I can’t do much on the music front, I can write. She noticed that whenever I get into the deeper emotional stuff, I back out and start talking about my writing or music.

I had a warped little prompt pop into my head while on my way there. So, I’m playing with it and seeing where it might go. A mix of fantasy and murder.

I’ve missed the creative release. I see who I become when I push that aside and try to work too hard on real life. I have to stop feeling guilty for writing in the midst of the mess my life currently is. I’m angry. At myself and the injustices I see and experience around me. The bullying and lies. The hate.

I give myself permission to create in the midst of madness. I need to keep reminding myself of this, as I no longer have my dad to nudge me.

~A

Posted in anxiety, bugaboos, crowdfunding, depression, dreams, emergency, empath life, grief, homeless, homelessness, life, storage, urgent, writing

7/25: rediscovering myself

So, yes. Still need help with getting things caught up financially. Preferably before the end of the month. Whether it’s via the GFM or PayPal (preferred), any help is vastly appreciated.

So… after last nights fucked up mess, I had therapy today. I read her the poem and the second post about getting my life back. Talking to her about the argument and what I posted got me realizing that I’ve been focusing so hard on real life shit that I’ve pushed aside all the stuff I love that has defined who I am and how I want my life to be.

Music, writing, etc.

While I can’t do much on the music front, I can write. She noticed that whenever I get into the deeper emotional stuff, I back out and start talking about my writing or music.

I had a warped little prompt pop into my head while on my way there. So, I’m playing with it and seeing where it might go. A mix of fantasy and murder.

I’ve missed the creative release. I see who I become when I push that aside and try to work too hard on real life. I have to stop feeling guilty for writing in the midst of the mess my life currently is. I’m angry. At myself and the injustices I see and experience around me. The bullying and lies. The hate.

I give myself permission to create in the midst of madness. I need to keep reminding myself of this, as I no longer have my dad to nudge me.

~A

Posted in anxiety, C-PTSD, chronic pain, creativity, depression, faith, homeless, life, observations, poetry, society, writing

7/2/18: Fighting the World (poetry)

(A bit of gut-pouring poetry. I can’t go into what’s behind some of it this publicly, but it’ll probably make damn good story fodder one day. I do believe I’ll be okay. It’s just in this moment, this is how I feel.)

I feel as if I am
Fighting the world.
Pain and Anger hit me from
All sides.
My heart races,
Try to calm down.
Who do I trust
In this concentrated form of
Society?
When playing favorites is
Par for the Course.
Gossip and Backstabbing
Reign supreme.
One should be able to trust certain
Individuals.
But no longer.
I want to scream.
But all I can do is cry
Myself to sleep.
Too many objects to juggle.
Too much drama swirling around me.
This warrior is tired.
Too many battles.
A general with no more fighters.
I feel like I am fighting a
War with the world around me.
As well as the
World Within.