for 5 August, 9 August, 11 August ~ the pain has already started

To be, or not to be, that is the Question:

Whether 'tis Nobler in the minde to suffer

The Slings and Arrowes of outragious Fortune,

Or to take Armes against a Sea of troubles,

And by opposing end them: to dye, to sleepe

No more; and by a sleepe, to say we end

The Heart-ake, and the thousand Naturall shockes

That Flesh is heyre too? 'Tis a consummation

Deuoutly to be wish'd. To dye to sleepe,

To sleepe, perchance to Dreame; I, there's the rub,

For in that sleepe of death, what dreames may come,

When we haue shuffel'd off this mortall coile,

Must giue vs pawse. There's the respect

That makes Calamity of so long life:

For who would beare the Whips and Scornes of time,

The Oppressors wrong, the poore mans Contumely,

The pangs of dispriz'd Loue, the Lawes delay,

The insolence of Office, and the Spurnes

That patient merit of the vnworthy takes,

When he himselfe might his Quietus make

With a bare Bodkin? Who would these Fardles beare

To grunt and sweat vnder a weary life,

But that the dread of something after death,

The vndiscouered Countrey, from whose Borne

No Traueller returnes, Puzels the will,

And makes vs rather beare those illes we haue,

Then flye to others that we know not of.

Thus Conscience does make Cowards of vs all,

And thus the Natiue hew of Resolution

Is sicklied o're, with the pale cast of Thought,

And enterprizes of great pith and moment,

With this regard their Currants turne away,

And loose the name of Action.

~~@

To live or not to live, that is the question.

Is it better to stay, and suffer all of the ridiculous highs and lows of life?
Or to leave, and avoid the trials and tribulations altogether?

We cannot answer this.

Even after you die you still might dream. And who knows what you'll dream?

If it wasn't for that fear who would bear all the evils and humiliations of life?
The injustices and oppression? The gloating of the powerful?
The pain of loving someone who could care less?
The lack of integrity? The abuses of the government?
The rejections we all face?

Why would we put up with all of this when we could just end our lives so easily? Why burden ourselves by continuing to live?

It's the fear of what awaits after death.
Death is an undiscovered country, a place from which no one ever returns.
The existence of death puzzles us and makes us put up with all the miseries of life.

So instead of exploring something we can't perceive in advance, we continue to put up with our lives here.
Our imaginations make us cowards.
And our resolutions only turn us into self-compromised human beings.

Therefore, we choose to take no action.

something wicked this way comes

tumultuous mind

money worries

health fears

loneliness rules Bunny's heart

seeing people's vacation photos

knowing she can never take a day off

knowing it will be a long, long time

before she'll walk by the ocean again.

all the invisible things

she clutches tightly to her chest.

all the physical things

she's lost along the way.

is it a storm brewing,

or is Bunny making mountains

out of molehills?

only time will tell.

Bunny lives her life

in a house of sticks

and the wolf might be

at the door.

right now she's staring at his birthday,

the 2.5 year mark,

her wedding anniversary;

all housed within 6 terrible, memory-filled days.

none of Bunny's "friends"

have been with her for longer than 2 years.

some have not touched base

in weeks and weeks.

was it something she wrote?

something she didn't?

something she is?

something she isn't?

is there a physical storm

brewing on Bunny's horizon?

or is it only in her

lonely, terrified little heart?

either way,

she's waiting for the

other shoe

to drop.

~~@

come back to me,

oh, please, come back for me.

wait for me, my love.

i need you so,

i can't do this, you know?

sit with me, my love.

~

p.s. added 31st July: i keep checking back to see if anyone has any kind thing to say. *sigh* i've always heard, "if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all." so i guess that's it.

dreams of renewal

my mind is turning more and more inward. i just had two days off in a row. two days of staying here in the apartment working on a widow's quilt for one of her sons. two days of no talking to anyone but my daughter when she called once a day. otherwise i did not speak at all.

i find it easy to not speak. should that bother me? or should i be grateful that being so utterly alone is easy, and always has been? i've always turned inward to escape my life. mother, father, brother ~ check. first husband and the out-laws ~ check. widowhood ~ check. inward i go and i fantasize. i write in my head and carry it forth to the computer.

i've written 3 novels, over 600 pages each. so different in genre and yet, not really in vein. one is about a woman who escapes from abuse. one is about a woman who gets murdered before she can be saved. one is about Hell. they are all written from my soul and my observations of people, and from my misery. i write to expunge the poison. i write to vent. i write to free myself.

"It is an interesting biological fact that all of us have in our veins the exact same percentage of salt in our blood that exists in the ocean, and therefore, we have salt in our blood, in our sweat, in our tears.

We are tied to the ocean. And when we go back to the sea--whether it is to sail or to watch it--

we are going back from whence we came."
- John F. Kennedy

i dream of being renewed. i dream of a home by the ocean. i dream of salt water and gulls, of sand and driftwood, and shells. i dream of sleeping a rest-filled sleep with dreams that do not haunt me once i awaken.
i dream of kinder mornings where i can walk on sand and feel water swirl around my ankles, where i look down at shells and small crabs scurrying, and out at infinity.
i dream of sunrises and sunsets that warm my home with their light and promise of days that do not hurt, that do not have stress or worry in them. i dream of looking out at the water from every window and every door.
i dream of rebuilding myself one shingle at a time, one porch, and one window. if i could live by the ocean in a home, a real and true home that i own and no one can take it away from me, i think i could do this widow thing.
i think if i were home, i could find myself again and then start to heal. until then, i am a lost and abandonedsoul searching for peace, searching for a way to stand up for herself, searching for the water she no longer sees. not even off on the horizon.

i feel childish in writing this but i wish for things i cannot have or cannot find. i wish for a different life. i wish i lived beside the ocean in a little house, a real home that is mine. i wish for a small group of friends who have known me, known the "us" i used to be. i wish for a past that doesn't haunt and hurt and i wish for a future that is safer, more calm, more peaceful. all these things i find inside myself though. i daydream, and night dream. i know they will never be true in a physical sense, but i can live in my dreams.

what would he say to me if he could see me now? what would he think of this body whose carriage is strikingly weary looking? what would he think of eyes that cry over harsh words and being ignored or dumped? what would he do if he saw me laying on a bed that is sometimes without sheets or pillowcases because i am too tired to pull them out of the dryer? what would he say to me as i research what to eat, count pennies, and struggle to smile a fake smile? would he cry? would he offer comfort? would he turn and abandon me too, because i no longer look like the me he knew. i look like the old me from when i was ruled by tyrants. i look like a far older, more exhausted version of that old me when i had nothing and no one to save me, to comfort me, to reach out to or work for.

oh, my heavens, and in saying that, did i just admit that i am not worth me saving me? must contemplate that.

i wish anyone who reads this, peace and this nugget of truth. try to always be kind. you never know what kind of anguish or how deep it runs that someone may be hiding.

fuzzy little Clown of God

the Bun did not cry today. yea! she had the day off; first day off in 11 days. whew! she slept late, for her, 6:45. she did all her errands before 11 AM, renewed a prescription, bought a book on sale, went to the dollar store for batteries for her flashlight {in case of a storm and lights out time} and toilet paper, and then to the grocery store. that's right. the Bun has some food again. yea!

and then she worked all day. embroidering on a quilt for a widow. lots of embroidering on this quilt, lots and lots. Bunny does what she can day in and day out. but then she took an hour and a half right after supper and did a little something for herself.

she painted a little pair of shoes for fuzzy little feet.
the finished products.....

and here she is in her little patchworked jacket and waders and hat. she is "fishing for compliments." see? see? Bunny is a fun girl. she can be very funny. she makes people at work laugh all the time.

Bunny has a wonderful sense of humor, but she is also a sensitive soul. not really a paradox. just a quirk. Bunny gets her feelings hurt but she thinks it is all part of who she has become, the product of what life and people have done to her. but Bunny will never quit, or ever give up. she will keep praying and quietly living her tiny little life. she will continue being the fuzzy little Bun that she is.

she has written that she is damaged and some have told her she can heal. at this point, Bunny thinks some scars never fade no matter how much Vitamin E you rub on them, or cod liver oil. she has been told that there is the woman she can become with work. but what if this is the woman she was to become?

Bunny worries and wonders why she cannot find lots of friends. she does have friends online, and there is someone close. she does have a friend who is sort of local. she and Bun meet when they can, but Bun's job and this widow's responsibilities prevent that from happening too often. but Bun has friends. just not ones like she's always read about, or seen in movies and on television. but then she read a book by Madeleine L'Engle that SSSF sent her. in this book L'Engle writes, "who are you to think you are better than our Lord? after all He was singularly unsuccessful with a great many people." and it's true. He had his followers but did he have true friends?

Bunny has also read the blogs of other widows who have written that those they felt were their closest friends did not understand their grief, or said harsh and critical things to them that astounded them. words well meant, but with a tinge of betrayal in the empathy department. so Bunny feels she is in good company.

who is Bunny to think she was to become someone other than who she is? life happened to Bun just like it happens to all of us. maybe this isn't what God had truly hoped would happen, but it is what happened and Bunny has tried to handle it with grace, dignity, and faith in something better. that something better would be Heaven.

writing expels the poison that collects in Bunny's furry little soul. writing is like an exhale for her. she exhales all the bad stuff but yes, with the inhale sometimes some of the bad slips back in. but most of it is out and gone. bad things happened to Bunny, terrible things she can never make public. you would look at her differently. you, dear reader, might look into her soft little eyes and see the living pain of what she has endured and she would not be able to bear that. if you write, "bad things happened," it is so generic, and few will use their imagination to color that sketch. but if Bunny were to paint the whole picture, well, Bunny is not doing a public service announcement here. but do not pity her or tell her it is better to talk about it. {Bunny did try once last August but the widow looked at her so horrified that Bunny had to make a quick joke, then be on her hurried Bunny way. Bunny learned, oh, yes, Bunny learned not to talk.}

but Bunny has her fantasies. Bunny has the night and her dreams. she has her art, her children, and her Dragon. {and to the mean person who said Dragon wasn't a Dragon, Bunny pities you.} but she knows that "those who move through life in step with their peers, who are bright and beautiful, seldom become artists." ~ M. L'Engle. Bunny is an artist.

some days Bunny can almost breath. a lot of days she clenches her teeth and keeps going one step at a time. she has gotten rid of the problem with Voldemort. between her daughter's and her strategy, they ran the con and got done what needed to be done; motivating him to do something they needed him to do, something that only he could do for them. Bunny and her daughter smiled. now, true, their smiles were rueful, but they were smiles nonetheless. another chapter is about to close distancing him from her even more.

Bunny had an epiphany the other night. she realizes that she is starting to feel nothing for the people who hurt her, including the recent ones. she feels nothing. no anger. no need to tell them off. the hurt is fading like that exact moment when a firefly's glow fades. wink and it's out. telling the mean people off would never work for Bun. she knows that they are either truly evil or they are stupid and will never understand. it would be a pointless conversation.

Bunny is going to cling to the things that she has saved from the wreckage of her life. she has her creativity. she has her empathy. she has her children. she has her memories. she is going to float along here facing whatever wave life tosses over her. she is going to float along here until she goes to where she is called, needed, and/or wanted.

she has survived a lot and will continue to.

Bunny has taken this photo of herself to remind everyone of her resiliency. during the Salem Witch Trials, Giles Corey was accused of being a witch. they placed a board on him and put rocks on it to crush him, to force him to admit to his sins. he was innocent and refused. he said to his accusers, "more weight." Bunny doesn't want more weight, but she will take it and withstand it until her body, not her soul mind you, but just her homely, fuzzy, little body quits. know that as her soul leaves her broken body, she will be laughing. ah, blessed freedom.

{Bunny thought it was funny that Carmen Sophia laid down beside her

to take part in her little dramatization.}

Bunny has not gotten to live the life she had dreamed of as a young girl, but she wonders how many really get to, exactly as they dreamed of. Bunny has her art. she has her memories of her beloved Dragon. she has her children. yes, she's writing it again in case you've forgotten the amazing wealth that Bunny has to her name. she has her dogs. she may get my feelings hurt, a lot, but her mind is her own and her thoughts are wild and free. she is a silly little Bun. she is a Clown of God. like Giovanni from the book, Bunny performs for others to make her way. but she has faith. she believes. she tries to live her life in such a way that it would not make sense if her Dragon was not waiting for her, or if God did not exist.

she is trying to live with quiet honor and integrity, and some semblance of grace.

peace.

Bunny's Primal Scream ~ with visual aids

Bunny is interrupting her own blog posting with this small soliloquy.

Bun became very frustrated last posting. she took a break to gather her thoughts. what she got upset and hurt about were all the suggestions of what she could do to help herself. she had already written in previous postings of trying all of those very same suggestions. it was like those who commented had only just joined the blog. "none of us knew exactly what efforts you'd already made." all of them. she had made all of them, as written in the previous blogs.

Bun doesn't like to keep writing the same things over and over. she thinks if you want to know her, you would have read. or if you had not read her before, you'd assume from her articulate writing that she was a hard working Bunny who wasn't just sitting there waiting for handouts. she wasn't asking for advice on where to turn. she was lamenting the state of her life. just throwing it out there hoping against hope that someone would simply say, "there, there." or maybe a "stay strong, sister. we keep you in our thoughts and prayers." or throw out a "this too shall pass."

she was hoping those who read her would simply mention that they have come to sit with her in her panic and grief so she would not have felt she had reached out to a critical universe. or if you have not read her words, at least have given her the benefit of the doubt since her writing is very correct and concise and at the very least semi-intelligent sounding.

*sigh* Bunny had her hopes set too high. it was kind, yes, to see all those suggestions of what Bunny could do. it also frustrated her that 1. her previous writings had not been understood, and 2. that it was assumed she had sat down on her fuzzy tail and done nothing in all this time to try and help herself.

"those of us who have stuck by you even if we don't know you." Bunny hopes it wasn't so hard to read her words and look at her photos that you had to "stick by" her. "sticking" makes her think that she is an impossible little creep who doesn't deserve friends. "stuck by you" makes her feel like she is hard to know and even harder to really care about. but yes, if "sticking by the Bun" was what it took to ride this out with her this far then yes, you are all "pretty darn unique and special." you are all "gifts." but to tell Bunny that "even the mean lady in her own way" was only trying to help Bunny, wow......hang on a second. Bunny is teary again.

..................................................... Bunny has never thought meanness was a unique and special gift. Bunny has been on the receiving end of a lot of meanness and she just does not think that meanness is the way to reach out to anyone, especially someone who hurts. "reaching out the only way we can....." *sigh* Bunny just wishes that her previous postings with all the information had been read so that she would not have been responsible for writing it over and over in each posting, so people could keep up. or, that she was thought of as a go-getter Bun who would try and try with all her might to help herself out before lamenting her sad state.

now, someone has written to Bun and they want an explanation of what she's done and why she was turned down for benefits and help and aid. *sigh again* this is Bun's blog. she should be able to write what she wants, and not have to continue to go over material she has so many other times. but alas, she does not want to be rude. if someone demands she validate her claims and prove she has done her homework, or made calls, or tried to help herself, here, in a nutshell mind you, is what she has been told.

Medicaid ~ she is not disabled, she is working and makes a little bit too much money. she does not have children living with her that are under 17 or who are disabled.

Church ~ Bunny is on the list for anything they want to help her with. it is a long list. and no way does either of the Catholic Churches Bunny attends have the funds to hand out cars. and yes, Bunny has called Catholic Charities, but, while she qualifies for free grief counseling, there are no appointment openings at this time. they will let her know. in the meantime, they will offer up prayers for Bun and Bun should keep praying. Bunny does.

Clinics ~ Bunny does not qualify for 3 non-profit clinics because, for 1 clinic, she has a job. they serve only the unemployed. clinic 2, she makes 25 cents an hour more than minimum wage which is the cut off for that clinic, and clinic 3, she is pending insurance at work. yeah, Bunny knows. it won't be until April 2012 but it is more than a lot of people out there so Bunny was told she was living the good life and therefore does not qualify.

VA ~ we were not married long enough for me to gain free medical through them. Dragon did not die while on active duty. they are very sorry.

American Diabetes Association ~ Bunny has filled out two forms twice for a free meter but the test strips for the ones they want to send would cost Bunny $118 a month. Bunny cannot afford it even if they send the meter which they say they have but Bunny has not received it yet. she does like their online recipes though.

Food Stamps ~ Bunny has a tad more than $200 in savings which is the cut off for food stamps.

Target ~ yes, the store. the pharmacist there is going to help Bunny. there is a cheap-o meter to test Bun's blood glucose ~ $12.99. the test strips are cheap. for a box of 100, $9.99. when Bunny gets paid next week, she's headed to Target and the pharmacist is going to teach Bunny how to do it. she's a very nice lady who likes Bun very much. Bunny was the party Bunny for her daughter's birthday party at work. the pharmacist feels bad that Bun has to wait until April 2012 when she has seen how hard Bunny works. Bunny got teary when the pharmacist showed her the meter and test strips. the pharmacist hugged Bun.

Bunny thinks that's all there is. if she has missed one, she apologizes. she is having a rough time emotionally of late, but she really has tried very hard to help herself, on her own, and not be a burden. and yes, anonymous, our country is that messed up. the cracks to slip through are all over the place.

hoping she has placated her readers and the mean person with explanations of why she got frustrated, Bunny would now like to continue with her blog.

Bunny's Primal Scream

Bunny falls to the sofa and tears start to flow

Bunny cries so hard she slumpy slumps over

Bunny sits up and sighs heavily.

she misses her Dragon so much.

she expresses herself with these photographs so that she might try and convey her suffering.

this is Bunny's art, her art of grief.

it is how she expels the poison of bad thoughts.

she is trying to get through life.

in her fragile state, Bunny is worried about comments. she will disable that option for a while, just until the troubles in her life have subsided. she has a problem with Voldemort she has not made public as well as a new little health problem that has nothing to do with high blood pressure or diabetes. bear with her. maybe one day she won't be so afraid of what all of you will say to her and she will allow comments again.

until then, she wishes peace for all of you.

diabetes is winning

anyone out there? anyone at all?

health-wise, i am not doing well. saving up money to go back to the doctor. hopefully before the pills run out. will need a renewal on my scripts soon.

i still don't test my blood glucose. don't have a meter. don't know how. can't afford the class yet. still waiting on April 2012 for insurance. i work hard, almost 40 hours a week. not quite full-time.

i do my best. my best is not good enough. each morning i wake up very low blood sugar-wise. i tremble. i eat something quickly ~ applesauce, banana, both. but i have been leaving for work shaky. hungry. low on energy. they don't know. i never let them see how low i am. work hours are performance based. so i perform.

when lunch comes, i am at the end of my rope with regards to energy. i inhale the food at times. other times i eat slow and fight to keep it down.

i am down because of this. emotionally down as well as physically down. my Carl would be afraid for me. i have lost 11 pounds in the last 6 weeks and that's without trying. i just don't eat enough and i work a lot.

when i come back here, i work on a quilt that is taking me far too long, and yet, i cannot work too many hours on it every day. i am wiped out and shaking from exhaustion.

and God help me, i sometimes don't work on it at all. i take care of my dogs. i eat something. i go to bed at 8:30.....like tonight.

i am failing. i am falling. there is no one to catch me but me, but my arms are far too tired.

Bunny is physically very run down, but she has to keep going. she cannot quit because there is no one to catch her. no doctor who will help her without an unGodly amount of money. i have no idea where my body stands with regards to this condition i have. all i can do is keep doing what i am reading, eating what i can afford that fits both conditions, and try to keep going on this journey and get to wherever it is i am going to end up.

i wish with all my heart that he were still here. i need someone to talk to. i need someone to help me prepare food. i need someone to check on me. i need my Dragon back. i can't do this alone. i can't afford a doctor. Dragon would find a way. somehow, i have not been able to.

2 years, 5 months tomorrow. seems like forever. seems like nothing.

deflated

i toss

i turn

sleepless.

what words to use to express now i feel. silence seems safest and yet it is a betrayal to what i am trying to achieve. but i cannot stand the pointers who push and suggest and tell what can and should be done. i just want to be heard and comforted. no one has ever been face-to-face with me and comforted me.

it is not all black and white. lots of it is gray shrouded in fog. no one can see another's soul, not unless the whole story is known. odd bits tossed on a table cannot possibly allow for armchair counselors/veterans of this particularly brutal war to draw the correct assumptions, then to give the correct advice.

i do not want to silence myself again. i do not want to lose my voice again. i have worked so very hard to get even here, to this humble state. i have only wanted comfort. i have only wanted to speak in a small voice about what i feel, the troubles i am having in dealing with all the financial, medical, exhaustion, and grief issues. i am not as bad off as some, but i am not as well off as others. i have not written about all that happened. i never could expose myself publicly that way. but know that there are deep pains and horrors that have left scars on my soul. flashbacks come and he is not here to comfort me, to hold me. i am once again alone. and oh, how i wish he had not died.

"unnailed, uncoffined, unknown."

the threat used quite often to keep me in line, to keep me working, ever working, always working, bent and beaten to the tune sung by people who believed they owned me. they never owned my soul. but their mantra is what i am washing off the wall of my life. little by little, but it takes time. something that was painted over and over upon itself for over 50 years takes a little time to wash off.

do this, do it this way, do that, you should be here, you should be further along, well, of course {idiot understood} do it your way, but you should be much further along.

i tire of all this. no, i cannot do it your way. sorry. i amble. i am a wanderer. i take pictures. i study it. i work through the whats and whys and then do away with. i am looking fully at each piece of my life and then packing it up slowly, and only then do i put it away. but the cost is insomnia and exhaustion. the gain, though, is letting go of the memories.

still, i wish i could feel some anger. i never could stand up for myself.

but i can for them, the constants in my life, plus one more, my son, who is a very private man.

for all the work i have done, for all the work i have yet to do, i need strength. i need to sleep. and God help me there are nights i cannot.

sorry, yes, there are times i feel deflated.

and i do try to write it out, hoping for comfort. sometimes someone has the words. sometimes, someone gives them to me. and for a time, i am soothed.

it has been 2 years, 4 months, and 24 days, and i still have not had the luxury of anyone coming to physically sit beside me while i cry. no one to hold me while i sob. no one to get up and make me a cup of tea to soothe my ravaged throat. no one to mourn with me. i have done it all in isolation. it is hard to have your husband die and look around at 1 week, 1 month, 7 months, 14 months, 19 months, 23 months, 28 months and 24 days and still no one is coming to sit with you so you can talk about him and cry with them, gain comfort from them. moving the day of his funeral, as circumstances mandated, has almost destroyed me. but there were no other options. and you can never, ever know the reasons why. you just have to accept that and try to find it in you to offer comfort.

and if you write in a comment that i have my adult son and daughter to fall apart in front of, and that my Dragon was only their stepfather, you never read a single posting of mine, nor do you have the capacity to understand what he means to them, and what it means to be a mother.

"who are you wanderer?" and the answer you have to give no matter how dark and cold the world around you is: "maybe i am a king."