Ramblings of a ‘Rioded’ Mind

Avatar by @little_Corvus

Writing is so incredibly hard. Most days I don’t feel like I can do it well at all. It used to be something that I could do without much effort or thought. I could just string together a few sentences, and it would sound brilliant.  Or at least I thought it was brilliant. Now that I think about it though it was all probably crap. Oh! That right there, that self-deprecating thing I just did, that is a significant thing about writing that I hate. I end up thinking everything I write is total crap. Shit, I think this is crap. But it is just a blog post, so I shouldn’t be so hard on myself.

These last two weeks have been my hardest writing weeks this year. I got so behind on assignments, the weather just wouldn’t make up its damn mind, so my body decided to be an asshole and stop functioning. Then it seemed that everyone died in one week and I had to deal with all of that and my obligations. We finally get to this week, and everything seemed peachy, then I got strep throat, so I ended up in the ER for 9 hours drugged out of my minded and pumped up on steroids that I am still feeling now.  My chronically ill life tends to catch up with my professional life but never this catastrophically.  I think it is because I have never been this busy before.  I always wondered how do you become a working freelance writer if you are constantly sick? I don’t know many people who pull it off.

I worry I am one of those people who can’t quite keep up with the riggers that come along with this job. The deadlines, interviews, events, and coming up with a unique enough pitch that someone will want to publish. There is no other job that I can possibly do other than that of a writer. It’s really all I am good at and all that I am physically able to do, even though lately that seems to be contrary to the facts.

I think working with editors and fighting to get paid is something that takes the fun out of work at times. I should have to chase people down to pay me what I am owed and yet that is also apart of this freelance gig cause sometimes people will opt out of sending you the cash you were promised.

But instead of me complaining about how bogus freelancing can be I will talk about my absences from my own blog. I spend a ton of time writing for other magazines and websites that I have neglected my own space. That and I decided once I recovered from the two spine surgeries that I had, I would jump back into writing with such intensity that I haven’t had time until now to look at my site. But I am back, and I will try and write more here, and be more proactive on all my platforms.

I was thinking of using this space to start reviewing some music and doing some fun side work that I don’t get to do for the sites that I have been writing for. But that all depends if I can work out my schedule in a way that gives me time to rest and time to work in equal amounts. Cause with ME/CFS and Fibro resting is honestly the only thing that keeps my brain-fog at bay.  But I am sure none of you want to hear about that nonsense. I talk about it at length in so many articles and blog post that I feel like my disabilities are becoming something that completely defines me, and that isn’t what I want. They are a significant part of my life but not the controlling factor of everything.

Anyways what I wanted to talk about was how hard a time I have been having with writing and the disillusionment I have been feeling about the industry, but it all just meandered everywhere and ended nowhere. So I think that’s all the writing I can do tonight. Talk to you guys soon.

 

 

Me the night before my second spine surgery.

Shit Happens…

So I have had two spine surgeries within three months and I have been bed ridden six months out of this year I think.  I had been growing my hair out and I was even able to install faux locs, which looked so good. But the stress and the incredible, agonizing pain I was in made my Fibro flare up, which flared up the subsequent tactile allodynia, and made having hair hurt again. I couldn’t be in that much pain that I couldn’t control and then have the head pain which I could control. So I shaved my head again. So I’m back to being bald and lovely.

The Black Bibliophile Podcast Logo.

The Black Bibliophile Podcast Logo.

The cabin fever is intense at times. I haven’t been able to sit up for more than 3 minutes for six months. I lack the money to purchase a proper chair. I have been reading and trying to keep up with The Black Bibliophile Podcast. Which can be daunting at times because of all the formatting and research. My last two episodes have been me just talking about books and throwing my segments to the wind. I think this next episode I’ll try to get back to formatting as usual. I wanted to get back to writing also. I haven’t written a creative story in so long.

I have just been writing articles and think pieces. Which is fun but I want to get back to the science fiction stories I was so good at writing. Or at least thought I was good at. I finally finished my first zine it’s called The Cosmic Egg. It’s got all the poetry, short stories, and personal essays I’ve written in the past five years all in one 32 page booklet. I wanted to put it all together so I can move on from those stories and start new ones. It marks the end of one life and me starting another.

The Cosmic Egg Zine.

The Cosmic Egg Zine.

Financially we have hit a wall. The store is struggling because of the construction next door. This new building not only blocks the view of our apartment but it completely obscures the view of our shop from the street. So we have less foot traffic in the store. We wanted to move the location of the store but all our efforts were thwarted. We are young and so is our business. Many retail store front owners do not want to lease us their space.

So we might have to close for a month or so to find a new location for the store and to move into a new place ourselves.  It’s a lot.  All I can do is lay here and try to heal. I’m three weeks out of surgery. I can walk to the bathroom, walk up one flight of stairs (Slowly) and I can brush my teeth.  So it might be awhile until I can actually manage to help my business and household.

The world doesn’t stop. I can’t even attempt to describe my feelings on 45 and the chaos he is inciting. I’m just tired.

So look out for more zines and short stories. I’m going to try and keep the blog posts coming and keep anyone who cares updated on my life.

I Probably Need To Want Something Else…

I’m in pain but I am afraid to text the one friend who gets it cause I always text her about it. The emotional labor I constantly ask for has been building as my pain gets worst. So I don’t text her.

I want to ask my partner to make me something to eat cause it hurts to move but I know he has to watch the store, and he works full time. I don’t want to burden him more with my illness.

I want to post on twitter that this is the worst pain I’ve ever been in and that I don’t think I can take it. But I don’t want to be that girl that constantly whines on the internet about her chronic illness.

It’s not a good look.

I spend 21 hours a day alone in my room. I don’t see anyone, or talk to anyone. It could go like this for weeks, and sometimes it does.

The only human interaction I get is right before my partner and I go to bed.  We talk a little and then he has to sleep cause he has work in the morning.

I spend most of my day on my phone looking for a distraction from the pain. Or reading a book if the screen is too bright that day.

No one told me being sick was so lonely.  No one brought up that I would have to watch other people live their lives from a cell phone screen.

They never talk about it.

I feel like as the years go by and the more disabled and cut off from the world I become I just start to feel helpless.

I haven’t had sex in over a month. My partner is too tired. He’s gotten off in that time tho. even if I am in pain I still try to keep him “satisfied”. But I have to go on wanting. The only time I’m not in pain or aware of the shittiness that is my body is when I am having sex. Something to do with chemicals and adrenaline and science. For how ever long it lasts I get relief, and to feel like I am wanted.

Why is it ok for me to go on wanting?

I wish he could help me cope with my illness. I want there to be more hours in a day so we could spend time together.

I guess I want a lot of things. I want the pain to stop, I want my short term memory/memory to come back, I want to be able to walk without pain, I want to run my business, I want to not be jealous of all the people on my social media feeds. I want my partner to help take care of me more, and share the burden of my illness. I want to be more independent, I wish my surgery was successful.

I want to be able to say all these things and not feel like a burden.

There’s so much more I want to say, but to talk about my illness and symptoms would be to talk forever. There is literally no end to how each disease affects each individual part of my body.

I am an amalgamation of wants and wishes can’t be properly voiced.

Tall Grass

The wind calls out from under

That never-ending blue sky.

the

Tall thistles sway back and fourth.

The dry tan of their bodies reflecting the bright sun into our eyes,

I lay underneath the telephone poles and wires, buried out there in the tall weeds.

The electromagnetic waves most likely eating my brain. I dream of far away oceans of static.

buzzing swells, pulsating white black dots.

I see wisps of fluff crawl across the sky. My fuzzy ocean dreams fade, and I dream of Stars.

Far reaches of space, black and starry-eyed I swim through dark matter.

It clings to me like a baby clings to its mother. We dance, we spin, nebulas kiss my cheeks as I twirl by.

Comets light my way.

Mermaid moons and me in the tall grass.

Waiting to be set free.

Let the worms eat me, let the soil have its fill. Let the stars drink me in.

All want me.