Dear Dad, pt 1

It’s been seven and a half years since you shuffled off this mortal coil. I still miss you. I’ll always miss you.

I’ve been back in therapy for almost two years now. Facing some of the old stuff that keeps spilling into my current life.

I still tell our stories about the different incidents with mom’s Alzheimer’s, and how I’d try to make you at least smile, if not laugh a bit.

The past seven years have been tough. I’ve been homeless. I’ve struggled with so much stuff. And every time a new ugly thing hits me, all I want to do is call you. Talk to you and get your input, although many times, you instinctively chose to not speak much, letting me talk it out myself. Of course, I gave you the credit for helping me those times.

Whenever I do get a task with a furniture client, I get asked how I know this stuff. How to know what’s needed to fix it. You know what I tell them? That I was your helper as a kid. We had that fixer-upper house and how I would climb under the house with you, despite my fear of spiders. How I would insist on going to the old Ace Hardware store with you. That place was magical. Not sure if you saw it that way, but I did. The creaky floors and all the gadgets to look at. I learned so much from you.

I’m having a rough time right now. My whole world is in upheaval. My job is ending early. My apartment management is being a bunch of jerks. See, my disabilities have gotten worse. And while I may not have inherited much physical stuff from mom, I did inherit her hoarding tendency. I’m not too bad with it, but with it and my health, cleaning is challenging. And then we’ve had two floods from sprinklers on my floor of the building. They just got almost all the work done from the first one and a week ago, someone else’s sprinklers malfunctioned and flooded some of our units.

So I started a GoFundMe to start raising funds for the deposit on a tiny house on wheels. So, if you could, please whisper in the ears of a whole bunch of folks that I need a little help to make the next step in my life. You would get a kick out of some of the designs and layouts.

That’s all for now. I’m gonna try to make these a regular thing. I miss you, dad.

Love, Me

1/2/19: A Bit Different

I’ve always been kind of an “odd duck” well, rabbit. I’m still not entirely sure if identifying as Rabbit from Winnie-the-Pooh is a good thing or a bad one. But I’ve had several friends agree that I’m Rabbit. But I’ve always been different. Not so much in a neuro-atypical way, just different.

I was the kid who plucked dog and cat hairs from the family pets and looked at them under the 3x microscope. The one who “hunted the dragon” which was actually my dad working on the yard. The kid who was caught on film in rainbow striped tights and a slip (top, not skirt) and ballet shoes, using my dad’s drafting table after hours to doodle.

The teen who wore black leather lace up boots and a beret or real fedora -black with a grey band- and pink and blue shiny eye shadow. Drawing and dancing and singing and pretending I was famous. All while contemplating suicide because of emotional abuse.

I tried, in my 20’s, to go with the pack, to dress like others and fit in. But I realized as I inched closer to 30 that that wasn’t me. It wasn’t WHO or WHAT I was. Still not me now. I rejected the “American Dream” concept of a house in the ‘burbs with the white picket fence and all the other trappings.

My life has been filled with good and bad. The bad has had a tendency to overwhelm me and my life. From a sexually abusive relationship to almost dying at 35 from Cellulitis. To being homeless for most of the past two years. It hasn’t been easy, not by any means.

For labels: I’m an Androgynous Aromantic Asexual Furry Cosplayer who also happens to write SF/F… and, well, there probably are a few other things. I paint, I sew, I design floorplans of houses and costumes. I can draft my own patterns to some degree. I refer to myself as a Geek-of-all-Trades.

And just about everything that one with all those labels and hobbies (along with more I didn’t list) would have to help define who they are is locked away in the storage unit up for auction tomorrow at noon PST. My identity, my first fursuit, my costumes, my sewing machine, my music.

My everything.

I’m not perfect or beautiful or famous like I had dreamed of as a kid. I’m just this one person who is trying to pick my life back up after being on temporary hold for almost two years. I’m a person who stumbles and falls on my own feet while walking along the path of life. I think a lot of us do that. I just choose not to hide the bruises from my falls.

~A

1/2/19: Waiting (#poetry and #crowdfunding)

WAITING

Broken lines of light come to me over the water below
The bridge under my feet is cold and slick from the winter rain.
The moon betrays me to the night sky.
I stand over the water.
Watching.
Hoping.

In my dream I felt this night.
I saw the moon over me, the rigid steel of the bridge around me.
The ripplies of water disturb the lights of the city beyond.
I saw this night.
I felt it.
Yet, he is nowhere.

In this dream, he stands in this place.
On this bridge.
Silence only broken by the water below, hitting the supports.
He stands here.
Why, I do not know.
So, I wait.

My impatience overtakes my desire.
The bells in the distance tell me midnight is here.
Yet I am still alone.
Here.
On the bridge.
Waiting.

Pacing, hoping he will show.
I fumble to make sure it is safe in my pocket.
Staring into the deep black water.
Below.
And I wait.
He never comes.

~APA 2007 (I have no clue where this came from, but it’s one of mine. *shrugs*)

12/26: wishes and dreams

Wishes of snowflakes dance in the air.

The streetlights flicker into existence

The muted sun says goodnight over

The western hills.

Dreams of bigger things whisper in the hearts

Of those who have little.

Nicer baubles dance, teasing those who

Have enough to share but don’t.

Patience is not always an easy virtue.

It tells us to wait. Wait for it.

Wait for what?

Ahh, but you will see. When it is right.

Memories of past, reminders of pain and glory.

Dream the future. Wherever we go.

The past must be invited along.

Remember and learn to do better soon.

Those who came before were the same as you and I.

Different names and births, but same nonetheless.

Hear their tales and heed their advice.

Those wishes of snowflakes will dance through the night.

~A

12/4: The Lake (poetry)

Waves pull back
Let go.
Gently lap at the boulder
I stand on.

Breeze manipulates the water.
The leaves.
Fall on the surface of the lake
Before me.

I am here and
Yet…
I am elsewhere. Wishing
I were.

The craggy peaks around me.
Tell an Ancient Tale
Of geologic fury
Long ago.

My mind escapes.
Where I am is not where
I wish to be.
And still.

Closed eyes, trying to ignore
The person next to me.
Making me wish. I was anywhere but
Where I am.

Peaks make the wind whistle.
Rhythm matching the water.
Nicer tune than the person
Talking to me.

Eyes closed. Breathe. Slowly.
Calm my heart. Remove his hand.
Get up. And make sure he doesn’t
Follow me.

9/6: No Soul-Sucking Allowed, Dammit (but #crowdfunding is)

I started this on Facebook, but opted to bring it over here. And yes, still #crowdfunding to get funds to save storage. 

This is only slightly tongue-in-cheek. Slightly.

My ideal work environment: not dealing with random humans. The occasional co-worker might be okay. I’m currently feeling a smidge Dragonish (i.e. anti-social), so occasional contact is okay.

And no cubicle farms. No/few phones. Email is preferred. I don’t stumble over my words as much. Also my foot doesn’t end up in my mouth as much. 

And not soul-sucking work. I’d like to keep my soul intact for a few more years. At least until I turn 50. Five more years is all I ask.

Let me enter data, do creative-ish things like websites or social media, have a variety of tasks/projects. Research. Gimme things to research. I lurv research. Just not medical, as they want bio degrees. I don’t have one of those. Research and write things. 

Pays well enough for me to move into a market rate studio close-in and cram the rest of my stuff into a smaller storage unit again. Also be able to pay for storage, utilities, Netflix and Hulu again, and eat without needing food stamps. Oh, and put money into savings and pay off a few bills.

*   *   *   *   *   *

Yeah… that shit would take a fucking miracle. I’m screwed.

~Dragon 

(Below is what I need to not lose my storage. Before the 15th)

8/3: Sealed Secrets (#poetry, #crowdfunding)

Dreams abated.
Life has me in a
Stranglehold.
Caught between my past and
What I am to
Become.

Who is that person?
The future does not give
Sneak
Peeks.
It holds those secrets close.
A seal on its contents.

Where will I be in
Five years?
Ten years?
I do not know.
Preferably breathing.
Hopefully more than that.

I wake each day.
Not knowing where that day
Takes me.
The adventure can be small
Or one of great challenges.
But I have to wake up first.

~A

(Yes, still crowdfunding. Any help will do.)

7/31: #YouCaring, #Crowdfunding, Storage, and Stuff

I really didn’t want to go this route, but here I am. In the menu, you’ll see a new page/link.

YouCaring: Saving Penguin’s Possessions

Come tomorrow morning, August rent for storage will be tacked on, adding another $280 to my current $351. There will likely be other fees attached to July rent.

The goal is to get the excess raised ASAP, preferably before the 15th. The sooner, the better. Why? Because I need access to my nicer shoes for things like interviews. The only interview-worthy shoes I have with me are a pair of ballet flats with skulls on them. They’re not obvious, as they’re woven into the design. I also need access to the rest of my tools and supplies.

I currently have 240. I’ll need $631+ after tomorrow. They don’t take partial payments. I’m doing what I can to make money here and there through Taskrabbit, but I can get a task a week or nothing or four in a week. I do have this ongoing one, but the pay rate isn’t great.

Through my VR Coach, we’re getting some job leads, and I sent him a link for a library job that pays pretty decently. He’ll talk to them some more tomorrow. My hopeful goal is to be in my own place, or pretty damn close to getting into one, by my birthday, which is two months away. I hate being in flux like this.

I also need to start scrounging up the funds to submit my application for second citizenship in Switzerland. I have the family info laid out and verified. I’m on file with the consulate. I just need to come up with the funds and do a bit of brushing up on many things Swiss before going to SF for the interview (at the consulate). Starting next year, the process gets even more restrictive, so I’d like to get my application in before the end of the year. The fee is between $600 and $700.

Granted, I also need to get my US passport as well. I’ve never needed one.

Someone asked me recently what my dream job was. This is my response:

To travel around Switzerland staying in the different villages. What would I do there? Transcribe and digitize the parish records for births, marriages, and deaths of those in each village. So that people like me can access this information by a much easier-to-process request, as it would all be in a database. It took months and several nudges in a forum to find someone who could track down my paternal line. One woman finally found my great-grandfather, who was born and married twice there. His first wife likely died in childbirth. His second wife is my great-grandmother. My grandfather was born here in the US, but having his parents born there gives me a greater chance of obtaining federal citizenship (there are 3 levels of Swiss citizenship). She was able to trace back five more generations of the male line. 

I don’t know how to go about getting this job. Who would I be working for? The government or the Catholic Church, as it’s their records I would be working with. I don’t know. But it is one dream job. 

Until I do go there, I still have to survive here. Which means work. Which also means not losing treasured memories and items I’ve collected. Which means swallowing my pride yet again and asking for help.

Hopefully, I’ll also be able to go back and finish my degree starting in a few weeks. I have several hoops to jump through, but I only need one semester with no mayhem such as an eviction to mess me up. I want to get it done. Get my hands on that precious piece of paper I can hold up to all the naysayers and say, “SEE? I’M NOT STUPID! I BEAT THE ODDS!”

I have survived so much in my life. I refuse to be held back from achieving my master’s degree. One semester. Two electives and my capstone. Seven credits.

I just have a few hoops to jump through to get through it.

Reducing the stress of finances will help. Any help is appreciated. Even just sharing links.

~A

5/16: The Break (poetry)

Standing still.
Rain hits my face
Runs down my nose.
Cars pass me by
Hitting the
Puddled potholes
On purpose.
The spray
Hits my legs and
Soaked half-dead shoes.
Socks no longer
Protect my bare feet.
The rain is not heavy
But just enough to soak
Every layer
Down to my skin.
Waiting.
Hoping my turn is next.
The break in the rain.
A chance.
Bask in the light.
As the clouds break
Apart.
Just for me.

~Amanda 

5/12: It’s Alive!!

Another short musing.

For years now, I have heard “poetry is dead…” 

I’m no Poet Laureate or anything, but the fact that I have friends who regularly get their horror/suspense poetry accepted to genre mags, and that -this week alone- the pages/posts that consistently get the most hits are the poetry posts… 

Those who say poetry is dead can go suck it! Between poetry and my fiction, writing in general has been very therapeutic for me. It helped me process my mother’s Alzheimer’s and eventual death. Dealing with my PTSD (and the assholes who did enough damage for me to develop it). With my dad passing away suddenly. With my own brushes with death, my suicidal ideations…etc… writing has helped me process a LOT of shit. As well as general observational pieces. 
Poetry is powerful. And in the right “hands,” it can rock worlds. Just look to Maya Angelou. She made words soar.

Poetry is alive and can be used for great things in times of upheaval.

~Amanda (still in pain, but not as bad as 2 hours ago)