A FanGirl's Guide to Westeros.

I can admit it, HBO's Game of Thrones sold me first episode. For a couple of months my brother would keep bringing up Game of Thrones. Whoop de fucking dooo. Didn't care. He burned the first season onto DVD for me and he had to hound me to watch them. So I finally did. Watched all of season one in a single sitting.

With YouTube being the wonder that it is, I have assembled a guide for those who are audio/visual learners. Those who have read the novels (Admittedly, I'm on A Clash of Swords right now) will appreciate the nuances that narration can bring. Those new to the wild land of mind games in hopes of scoring a throne will enjoy a perspective not really expounded upon in the series.

And for those of you who haven't yet seen GoT for yourself, give it a whirl. It's fantasy, but a more gritty version of Lord of the Rings. A version filled with lust, violence, and songs of pwning disrespectful families. It's very character driven. And Tyrion is my favorite.


On that note, let me get down to business.


Westeros has a history that goes back twelve thousand years. Yeah. So I'll use THIS VID as a way to bring you up to speed before you get going below.

[each link will open into a new window. heads up on that.]

WAY IN THE PAST
-History and Lore The Children of the Forest, The First Men, and the Andals. [Indigenous peoples, treaties and invasions]
-The Age of Heros [300 years before the start of Book/Series]

NOTABLE PLACES
- History and Lore of Valyria [Where the last invaders came from]
-The Free Cities [Cities in Essos, a contient across the Narrow Sea]
- Harrenhal
- Dragonstone

RELIGIONS
- Old Gods and New
- The Drowned God

ORDERS OF PEOPLE WORTH NOTING
- The Night's Watch
  - as told by House Stark
  - as told by House Lannister
- The Maesters
- The Warlocks
- The Alchemists Guild
- The Free Folk

THE GREAT HOUSES OF WESTEROS
- Targaryen
   -Character Study
- Baratheon
- Stark
  -Character Study
- Lannister
   -Character Study: Tytos and Tywin   |  Cersei, Jamie and Tyrion
- Tyrell
- Greyjoy
- Arryn

20 YEARS BEFORE THE BOOKS/SERIES START
Robert's Rebellion
THE MAD KING, AS TOLD BY:
- Lannister
- Stark
- Baratheon
- Davos Seaworth

ROBERT'S REBELLION, AS TOLD BY:
- Baratheon
  -Stannis Baratheon
- Catelyn Stark
- Targaryen
- Tyrell
- Davos Seaworth

THE FIELD OF FIRE, AS TOLD BY:
- House Targaryen
- House Stark

THE SACK OF KINGS LANDING, AS TOLD BY:
- House Targaryen
- House Baratheon
- House Stark
- House Lannister

After the rebellion
THE GREYJOY REBELLION, AS TOLD BY:
- Theon Greyjoy
- Robb Stark
- Stannis Baratheon

MISCELLANEOUS
- House Clegane

Das Tingles

Music. For me, it's the heartbeat of life. Every moment has a theme song, it's only a matter of finding said tune.

There are some songs that ...



...make me want to dance.

...make me meh.

...remind me of a special someone.

...inspire novels.

...make writing fantasy easy.

...appeals to my inner nerd something fierce.

... make me tingle.
Like Kit Harrington does. Rawr.

A Fucking Magical Night, my friends.

Between the new Game of Thrones episode (Aww, I feel so bad for Sansa and Tyrion! She should smile though-- Peter Dinklage is way hotter than Jack Gleeson. She missed a fucking bullet train with that psychopath. Anyhoo, the bit where Tyrion is describing the shrine he'll build himself [being the God of Tits and Wine and all] at the next brothel he visits... priceless. I'd love to party with that Lannister.) and getting THE BOSS ARC, ohmygoodygoodness, last night was pure lip-nibbling entertainment.


Being that Chapter 16 has been published online, I scrolled straight to Chapter 17 and devoured the rest of the novel in a couple hours. If you have not had the pleasure of eyehumping Neil Elwood, you have no idea what you are missing. If I could sum up THE BOSS by Abigail Barnett in three words, it'd be something like this:

Pure. Fucking. 

Awesome Sauce.

In a great many ways, I can relate to Sophie. But there were times I felt frustrated that she'd risk her relationship with a guy who adores the hell out of her, when she feels the same (but with more anxiety). Sophie is a well-rounded character; snarky, intelligent, independent and quirky. Neil is pretty spiffy, himself. Take away the money, and he's still a likable and approachable male lead. And hot as all hell, oh yeah [ignore my swoon, please]. Here is a kinky old man I wouldn't mind visiting for a length (wink wink) of time.

There were plenty of heart-melting and panty-pooling moments as Sophie and Neil push each other to new heights of sensual exploration. Awkward moments abounded, too; Neil's adult daughter overhearing one of their bouts d'amour and making for a very uncomfortable breakfast. Emma could have easily been a one-dimensional character; someone who hated who her father dated, being a Daddy's Girl and all. But no. She adapts and evolves into someone I can grudgingly respect; even through her introduction will not be long forgotten.

Between navigating that borderland of Fuck Buddy and Something More, and trying to keep head above water when it comes to a cut-throat business ethics and balancing a very tawdry sex life with one's incredibly nummy boss, Sophie has her hands full.

When all is said and done, I will continue to recommend THE BOSS to people who love naughty reads, despite me making this face when I tried scrolling down to read the next chapter and realizing there is no next chapter. 

One's Reasoning Behind the Self-Publishing Path.

I have a bias against the publishing industry (and not due to Fifty Shades of Grey, actually.) lasting well over a decade. And while there's a big part of me that would love to be acknowledged by a publishing house that I've got some story-weaving skills, there's one thing that stops me from being completely gung ho.

Once upon a time, a great many moons ago (something like 13 years) I worked at a bookstore. A nationwide retailer. I learned a horrible secret.

You know how books have something in the first few pages about how if one received this book without a cover, it's considered stolen, and the author never got its due?

Yeah. If there is too many copies of a certain book that goes over the store's listed inventory, for whatever reason, the book gets pulled, the covers "stripped," and then it is placed in a trash bag to be delivered to a dumpster.

Maybe I'm secretly way more anti-Nazi than I thought, because whenever I was assigned the job of stripping books, I died a little inside.

Why, I wondered, could they not donate them to establishments like libraries, hospitals or prisons? So wasteful in so many ways. Frankly, as an author, I would rather my novels not be wasted.  Why waste the paper, the effort of shipping and stocking, just for someones work to end up in the trash? I realize that is the whole premise of a bookstore, to have a variety of works available, but to just throw them away?

To me, that's fucked up.

So I went with publish on demand.

And I'm way okay with that. If someone buys my books, I'd hope they'd pass it along rather than toss it. Or if they had to destroy it, let it be a matter of survival. Survival is good. I've even seen an edible survival book.

Regrouping after two and a half years of working the front line.

An update for THIS POST

My gramma has been placed in a home, for now.

She declined to the point of not wanting to get out of bed- couldn't get her up to use the bathroom. She couldn't move her feet to walk, nor bear any weight on her knees. For a week straight, she'd slide off her bed because she couldn't brace her feet aginst the floor, so I was picking her up every time she thought she could support herself and refused my help to support her as she stood.

The three times I managed to wrangle her out of bed and into the living room, she'd refuse to eat anything. Unless it was sweet. Ensure? Oh you mean the chocolate shakes! Got those chocolate shakes. She wouldn't even eat soup, and she loves soup!

Now, she's had periods where she'd do that-- just stay in bed and not interact with people. Or she'd think it's 6am but in reality, 3pm, and cannot understand that it's not the way she thinks. The big difference is that this time it's lasted a lot longer than the usual one or two days.

I am not a small person. Just shy of six foot and overweight. I'm strong, but I'm not strong enough to haul a person room-to-room all Master-Blaster style, let alone a person who's two-thirds my body weight. [Actual conversation: Why can't you carry me?  Because I'm not the Incredible Hulk.] Anytime I needed to move gramma, it required calling my brother or my mother to help so we could get her to the bathroom/shower. And there's nothing more that Gramma hated was when I'd get her shower going. Who am I to tell her she needed to bathe? Seriously, she'd ask me why her bathing habits were any of my business. Hygiene - it's not just a theory.

We told gramma if she couldn't or wouldn't get of bed, we'd take her to the hospital. They didn't do anything, couldn't do anything. She wasn't injured and all her blood work came back fine. They chalked it up to her Alzheimer's advancing. So they released her. One of the nurses on duty understood our situation and called the local nursing home. They had a bed open, and thus she was transferred to the care center where teams of qualified people have the support, tools, and resources to provide the level of care Gramma needs.

She's doing well, more alert than she was before. Gramma thinks she's at home (which in one way is good, that her anxiety isn't getting triggered, because that was a biggie. She had gotten violent with me a few times because I wouldn't flag down the cars driving down the street to take her home, since she was already at her own house. Right now, she thinks she's at home and that all the people around her are her family, the ones she's been missing. That's the part that saddens me.) It'd be nice if her local children (other than my mother) would visit her. Kids and I bring her Frappuccinos. She loves the strawberries and cream.

If she can regain the strength to walk again, either with her wheelie-walker or her regular one, she will come home. Mom doesn't hold out much hope for that.

So, I'm out of a job. I've worked customer service most my adult life. This has been, by far, the most emotional draining experience of my thirty-three years.

-Gramma not recognizing me or my children or trusting us. When we'd identify ourselves, we were called liars or worse.
-Not having support as agreed upon. Even soldiers in war get a few weeks of R&R every now and again.
-Getting blamed for everything. My grandmother is not an animal who can be trained, like some of my family assumes. She has a free will, and exercised it whenever she could. Me telling, suggesting or helping her was not welcomed.
-Verbal abuse of me and my children. She would be especially mean to them when I was out of the room.
-Physical abuse. She's hit and bruised me with her cane, deliberately. She tried kicking the cat and tripped over a chair.
-House-wide sleep deprivation. Routinely at 2-3 AM, trying to wake me or my kids up.
-Mopping bathroom floors at the wee hours because disposable underwear were beneath my gramma's dignity. She'd go commando instead of wearing them.

There's a lot more, but it felt like a crushing weight of everything on my shoulders. My son has ADHD, and combined with someone with Alzhiemer's, it was pure fucking Hell on bad days. Did you know I once counted how many times she asked my son how school was (it was a Saturday) and it was 186 times, starting from 9am to bedtime. 186 times of saying it was Saturday, so no school, or that it was fine, Gramma. Just fine.

It's really exhausting, let me tell you. Especially on a constant basis. I realize I'm most likely coming off as a whiny bitch, but I'm okay with that. I am entitled to my feelings and frustrations.


So, now for the PSA

Alzhiemer's has been described as diabetes of the brain. So watch the carb intake and make sure to eat healthy.

Please make a living will, so if you are ever in a position where you cannot advocate for yourself, your family will know your wishes. Don't leave it up to them to figure it out as things go along. Planning for the future is important.

If you know a caretaker, or have a family member that utilizes a live-in caretaker, you would so totally make their day by giving them a break. An hour's respite is a truly marvelous thing and ever so rare. Caregivers [Moms, too] can give so much of themselves over to the care of others, that they don't take care of themselves. Sometimes a little reminder of taking a break is needed.

[/end PSA]


So now I find myself on a new pathway in life. Other than to keep writing, I don't know what I'm going to do. Pretty sure I'm too burnt out right now to get back into customer service, so something new.

Life is an adventure I plan on experiencing while I have the mental faculties to do so.

In Defense of Ros. And Fuck You, Joffery [A GoT Rant]

Once upon a time, there was a castle in the north called Winterfell. And outside the mighty walls of said castle, dwelled a wee village with its own whorehouse. But this was no mere whorehouse; it held a gem by the name of Ros.

Ros was a rambunctious redhead with big breasts, and had the ability to charm men using her, uh, wiles. She put Theon in his place and flirted with Tyrion. But then war came when the Lord of Winterfell died by order of a shitheaded little fucker who severely needs to get his throat ripped out by Nymeria, you know, after being curbed American X style. Then his head rent from his body and stuck upon a pike and marched around the capital city so all can cheer that the incestuous bastard who is the sum of all that is wrong in the world  is FINALLY fucking dead after tormenting so many poor lives. Yes, I fucking hate Joffery, and if I sound slightly unhinged, pardon moi. I just hope the fucking producers write a death worthy of such an arrogant sack of blonde puke and spunk. Seriously, if he gets poisoned and dies in his sleep, I might rampage. I fucking hate him, and here's me hoisting my tankard high in hopes that he suffers.   Ahem, I digress.

Ros was a bright woman with ambition. She knew her fate lay where there were people and power.  She traveled south to Kings Landing and got caught up with Littlefinger the fucking fucktard son of a bitch. Mr. Littlefinger was not a good man to work for, and as Ros came to find out, cared little about the workers in his brothel.

It was within the walls of Littlefinger's establishment, that a baby was murdered. Rumors flew of him selling his depressed sex workers to deviants as soon-to-be-dead toys. Littlefinger cared naught for any, unless something went amiss with his profit margins.

Littlefinger didn't give much of a shit that Ros was forced to beat another prostitute under the king's direction as he got his fucking jollies.

After suffering horrible experience after traumatic nightmare, she worked up the ranks in search of a better life.

Ros, the bright and beautiful woman, left her former profession behind and became assistant to Littlefinger, and privy to his schemes, especially a specific scheme involving a young noble woman held hostage at court. A young noble woman who grew up in the castle of Winterfell.

Despite being a spy for the Master of Whispers, Ros cared about the young noble woman, being that they both grew up in the same area, and the noble woman's father was once Ros' lord.

Ros told the Master of Whispers of Littlefinger's plot.

Littlefinger found out.  Littlefinger was a spiteful prick.

He gave Ros to Joffery as a plaything. And as the sack o'Lannister spunk got his jollies, he killed the one character I really liked. 

Oh, Joffery. I don't need to tell you this, I'll share because it applies.

FUCK YOU.

I was shocked to find out how Ros got written out of Game of Thrones. Granted, she wasn't a canon character, nor terribly important to the plot, but I found her fun and refreshing. And I liked how all the men at Winterfell "knew" Ros.

A) I'd like to thank the producers for having her on as long as they did.

B) Seriously, I hope they do justice with Joffery's death (ahem)

C) For reals. G.R.R. Martin can't let them do anything less.

Finding Happiness in a Pile of Shit

ETA: Update on the situation HERE


Jenny Trout and DRock did an episode of Roadhouse about getting over bad days, and it touched a chord within me. So much, that I've paused the vid to write this insane rant/vent of frustration.

I am a divorced mother of two, one of which has severe ADHD, and medication/therapy/diet change hasn't nailed it down to being utterly manageable at this point. It's touch and go. On bad days, he's utterly destructive. Good days, he's helpful and friendly. More days are toward the middle, with a touch of bad.

I also live with, and caregive for my grandmother. She has Alzheimer's. I've been here for two and a half years, those years I will never get back, nor make up to my children for putting them in this situation.

-  -

One evening in late October 2010, my mother called me. At the time, I lived in a city, in a shitty apartment in a drug-riddled and violent neighborhood, that my ex-husband chose to move to, before walking out on me (pregnant) and our eldest. He didn't tell me we were moving from the townhouse in the quiet part of town, it just happened. I HATED the new place ever since I first laid eyes on it. There were a couple awesome folks who lived there, but the vast majority of tenants were not the type of people I wanted near my kids. Hardcore drug users, brawlers, gang members.

So when Mom asked if I'd consider relocating back to our rural small town to stay with my grandmother, since my uncle had gotten arrested for selling meth, instead of you know, taking care of gramma, I gave it thought. What would it entail? Cook, clean, give her medication, I'd get the weekends off to do what I want and that was that. Ok, fine. So I agreed.

First month wasn't bad, except for a couple incidents. Gramma was excited I was staying with her, being that I was the one granddaughter who would come over to bake all the pies for holidays since I was 12, and that stopped when I was 20 and moved 100 miles away. Got married, moved again. Been a long time since we'd seen each other.

My birthday is Nov 5. My bbf (since 3rd grade, because we're that awesome) and I hung out on the back patio, lit with tube lights. We drank beer, smoked ciggies and discussed our novels and lives. She left, and no more than five minutes later, two police officers open up the back gate and start asking me who I am, who all is in the house, what am I doing here and where is my Uncle McTweaky?

Uh, he's in jail. Shouldn't they know that? This is a small town, less than 9 thousand people, and people with a criminal history, like Uncle McTweaky, are always on the police radar.

They told me that they thought the tweaker was conducting business, having a party, because of the tube lights. That he was here. After assuring them who all was in the house, giving them my name and vitals, they left.

On Nov 15, at approx 9:30 pm, someone opened a window, calling my tweaker uncle's name, hoping to do a drug deal. I freaked the fuck out and screamed I was calling the cops. Wish I had a shotgun or burly dog-- I intensely dislike home invasion. Having anxiety issues does not help in that regard, either.

Uncle McTweaky got sent to prison, 18 months.

- - -

My mother is one of eight kids; 5 girls, 3 boys. One of my uncles is dead. The other two, well, one's been in and out of prison the majority of his adult life and the other doesn't like being around his mother, as she is now.

My mother's youngest sister lives in town, but she's a blazing alcoholic, like my deceased grandfather. The other sisters live out of state. Two in Oregon (one has Down's Syndrome and lives with her older sister. Prior to that, she lived with gramma) and one in Colorado. The out of town sisters help support Gramma financially, as does my mom and an uncle.  It was agreed upon when I took this job, that I'd get my weekends off because Aunt Alkie and Uncle Flake would cover for me. That lasted almost a year. And I had to call them to arrange it, rather than it being "scheduled" like I thought. Then it came to the point where I'd call to arrange my day off (usually a day ahead of time, just to be courteous) and I'd get excuses. Major fucking excuses. Constant fucking excuses.

Ends up, my aunt and uncle disliked gramma asking if they knew where their father was and would he be home for dinner? (Grampa died in 1983. I have one memory of him, sitting in a chair next to a huge ashtray on a stand)... This became much more common as the days passed. No, and these two don't even call their mother.

I slept on the couch for the first seven months of this odyssey. Once Uncle McTweaky had his court date and got sentenced, my uncle and his son helped move out Uncle McTweaky's stuff from his room so I could have my own space. They moved the boxes and left the furniture-- so the furniture I had needed to say in the garage (and later be bitched about).

On more than one occasion, gramma would get up at 3 or 4 am, wander to the kitchen and turn on burners of the gas stove. Only one burner lit. So, she's tried blowing the house up. Me sleeping on the couch and waking up to the creak of gramma's walker, that's what kept the house from filling with gas and catching fire.

She's also tried eating dishwasher detergent tablets as candy, because it was wrapped in plastic.

Sundowning is a bitch. Don't know if you ever experienced sundowning, but it is a psychological/neurelogical thing where the person thinks it's much later than it really is. 6pm? Feels like 10:30pm. So trying to convince one that it's a bit early to head off to bed becomes a daily thing. The novelty wears off fairly quickly. I thank my training in the Glenn County Theater Company during my formative years helping me master inflection so I don't sound bitchy when I'm very frustrated. And I get frustrated with little sleep. And no, Virginia, 2am IS NOT the time to be getting up and waking everybody to start the day. That is a near-daily occurrence.

My grandmother's little sister, would come by once or twice a week to visit. Nov 17, 2012, my grandmother's youngest and last living sibling passed away from cancer. Gramma doesn't remember and still tries calling her number to get a hold of her. My great-aunt was the one touchstone my grandmother had of her own generation. Pretty much all her cousins and have passed away. My mother visits everyday after work, and on the weekends, so I can go run errands and do random things. My dad and brother cover me, too, for when I have to run to the store. My out of town aunts call a couple times a week. The In Town siblings... they don't call, they don't visit regularly. Holidays and Gramma's birthday, they put in 15 minutes. I'm serious about that time span, because they don't want to be around her, answering her questions, listening to her ramble on about a story that didn't happen the way she explains.

The first year of this, I did for free. Didn't get paid, shit, it's my grandmother! Family, ya know?

Then my aunts from out of town came for a visit, arranged for a social worker to assess gramma for assistance and voila-- found my self a paid caregiver after the background checks and whatnot.

I am not paid for the 24 hours I'm here, giving "Protective Custody" of gramma. I'm paid a bit above minimum wage for less than 8 hours a day. So I give over 16 hours "free" care to gramma on a near daily basis. That's saving my grandmother's children something to the tune of $4000 a month. Yay, me! Right?

I don't get healthcare from my employer.Because I work more than 40 hours a week, I don't qualify for medical coverage through the county assistance program-- neither do my kids, unless I want to pony up $849/month. Um, no. Most of my income goes to the household and prescriptions/medical appointments for my son. I do not qualify for the therapy sessions, that when I was working for free, I could get. I can't afford the psychiatrist that went hand-in-hand with therapy. But that's kind of a moot point, since I stopped taking antidepressants when they triggered a suicidal urge (which thankfully has diminished) I wanted to unleash.

The last assessment the social worker made, I started telling her how gramma has been. I didn't even really get into it before she said that it's time for a skilled nursing facility.

I told her that once gramma is placed, I was told that I had to be out of the house lickity-split. The social worker laughed! She asked if it was one of my aunts who said that? Yep. This is where things get way cooler. The family would have to go through the process of eviction. Since I have lived here for more than 2 weeks, it's considered my legal residence. So I don't have to worry about getting kicked out (although I have no real desire to stay here. Its just convenient for the time being.) by family wanting to sell the house right off the bat. And by family,  I mean my uncle's wife, the nurse, who wanted to drug gramma with Ativan, and brought over the pills to do so. Same woman who has every gift appraised (not for insurance reasons), the same woman who told her son he's moving in here whenever he wants because HER name is on the deed... yeah. It was also this woman's plan to move my Tweaker Uncle back in to watch gramma. This would be the third or fourth time-- I don't remember how many. I just know it ends with him getting arrested for selling meth.

I'm leaving lots of stuff out (mostly family drama, relating to those who don't see gramma and have no idea how bad she has gotten, because telling someone is one thing. Experienceing it, is another thing altogether.)

My sarcasm has been reprimanded on facebook (I feel special, that finally, random bullshit!)... I will share this, because while it was written right before this last Christmas, it still applies.

Quote:

Dear Santa, All I would like for Christmas is some tranq darts and a ball gag. I need some quiet. Please, Santa. Please. And a full nights' sleep would be pretty sweet, too. Thankyoumuchandstuff, Me P.s. I will up the ante and provide cake instead of cookies. Like · BUDDY OF MINE Damn... I don't know if they will let me return the cat and nine tails... Wait... wait... hmmm I think we can make this work *evil grin* Yesterday at 11:56am · Like ME You have it all wrong, Buddy. Ball gag is for my gramma. Yesterday at 11:57am · Like AUNT IN OREGON Sounds like it's time for you to retire from elder care. You're obviously not up for it. Caring for family is more challenging than someone you don't know and it's apparent this is too personal for you. It's highly unprofessional, since you're paid to be there, to be speaking about your "clients" this way and extremely insulting to our family and degrading to yourself to speak about your own Grandmother in such a public forum. Shame on you!!! about an hour ago · Like ME You are so absolutely right, I get paid to be here. Since I'm only paid for less than 8 hours a day out of the 24 hours I am here, are you and my mother's siblings going to make up the remainder owed for the 16 hours for each of day of the past two years I'v on duty, considering I also pay rent? Shame on me, shame on you for accusing my mom of trying to kill my grandmother by putting her in a home where SHIFTS of people could give her skilled care. You are making a shut-in of her, and now that Aunt Betty has died, who visits gramma on a regular basis? No one but my mother. NO ONE. Think your local siblings stop by to say hey? No. Last time was on grandma's birthday, and then when gramma went out to Uncle Bob's for Thanksgiving. They never visit or call. At least in a home, grandma would get more social interaction from her age group, or does Grandma's mental health in that regard not matter to you? In regards to my christmas wishlist, you don't have to try and convice gramma she's at her own house. Not up in Elk Creek, or Sacramento or Delevan, but at her own house. Every day. All day long. Or when she's up at 2 a.m. looking for the staircase to go downstairs. You do not have to deal with bearing the brunt of her anger of being denied her wants. You don't have to cope with her picking on your children-- and you know how nasty she can be. Yes, I would love for gramma to be quiet, just for a while, accepting that yes, she is home, I am family and yes, everyone knows where she is. That would be awesome, for her to be that lucid. Won't happen, though. So, I listen to her go on and on about how those cars are driving on the canal and maybe I can flag one down so they can take her home. And when I don't she gets mad. Cycle repeats. ALL DAY LONG. You are removed from the situation and have no concept of what it is like. So go ahead and make ignorant judgments and statements from afar. Here's a question for you: What's the point of keeping grandma at home when she can't recognize she's already here?  Too personal? Says the one who couldn't hang two months staying with gramma, let alone two years while raising kids. Which leads me to when you and Aunt Barb came around my birthday, when mom and I were in the car, ready to go to the casino and blow off steam when you amble out and tell me I need to take my kids with us because you guys didn't want to watch them both and grandma. Right there is proof positive you can't do what I have to do, and that I am a paid servant in your eyes. Right there. Best birthday ever, aside from the case of beer I couldn't drink because of my meds. That's a well-thought-out process, don't ya think? So, yes, get mad, get angry at my vent. We both know you won't take grandma. You can't stand being around her, daffy as she has gotten. And if I can't vent online, to those I consider friends/family of my frustrations of full-time caregiving, then maybe you'd prefer I blow up at your mother? No? Didn't think so.  Oh, and on this parting note, I relayed what you told me (when gramma goes in a home, I have to be out of here) to gramma's social worker. She laughed and informed me of my rights. So, thanks for the empty threat. You'll have to evict me, but that's a moot point. As soon as I can, I'm out of here for good. I would have never returned to this town if I wasn't asked.  You guys can figure out what you want to do with gramma. My mom and I have shouldered this far too long. It's your guy's turn. Enjoy.

That's me and my family. They won't and can't do what I've done for the past two and a half years. I've been threatened, harassed, had the police called on me, and can't even take a crap without being paged because I'm out of earshot. FOR REALS. If I want to take a shower, I have to make sure Gramma is asleep. She doesn't sleep worth shit most days.... every day is a day I have to play by ear. Now, 9 times out of 10, my grandmother doesn't know who I am. And when I identify myself, she calls me liar. She's told my aunts that I'm a whore, sleeping around with "all the guys," (you know what, if I were getting laid, I bet I'd be a hell of a lot chipper than I am now. Just sayin'.) running off and drinking, and that I am most assuredly NOT her granddaughter, I am no way related to her.


I have not been "related" to her for the better part of two years. Especially when we were stuck in a motel room, my kids, gramma and I, for almost 8 weeks, while mold abatement and rebuilding took over her house. That sucked major balls. She never knew where the bathroom was, even though her bed was right next to the door. She never wore Depends, either.

All of gramma's failings have been laid at my feet by various family members outside of my immediate family. The only ones who have any idea of what I contend with on a daily basis are my parents and brother. For that, I am extremely thankful they are there to help me get through the hardest of days.

- - - -

For me, to stay sane, it takes three things (plus gardening in the backyard when gramma dozes off for naps).

1) Writing. I've been writing since grade school. I didn't realize it until much later, but writing is my outlet. It is  how I cope with the big, nasty world. A dear friend bought me a Valentine's Day gift of a feather pen and I use the fuck out of it.

When I work on my novel, its usually in the morning, before kids and gramma are up. It's slow goings, but no matter how little, it still counts as progress.

2) Tie Dye. When I feel blah, chemicals of a colorful nature brighten my world. I make and sell custom tie dye shirts and dresses. I don't do it for the money (because if I'm buddies with someone, I do it for cost), but because it's chemistry and art, mixed with with a little science. Mad Scientist Gloves and Goggle kind of awesome.

3) Silk paint.
I went to art school, but I was the only one there with a strictly-photographic portfolio. I loved photography because I can't draw well. Dropped out a year later, but learned enough to be okay-- as in, one can identify the subject. Discovered silk painting. It's zen. I love doing it, because it takes concentration and practice. I see some silkpaintings others have done and I am in awe for the photo-realistic rendering they have accomplished.

When I do draw, it looks something like this:

that's a sword hilt, she's holding, btw.

Being creative and gardening. That's what keeps me sane. Can't say -happy- as I believe happiness counts as moments, whereas all the rest of the times, people have a baseline rate. High peaks are good times, low peaks, bad times. Goal is to keep things toward the middle. If things are happy all the time, that becomes static. One needs the bad times to even out the good, so people can appreciate the good things that happen.

I highly suggest the PBS documentary, This Emotional Life.




My name is Amanda, and I am a depressive with Borderline Personality Disorder. I have self-harmed before, contemplated suicide, I currently sleep in the same room I was molested in as a child, and yet, I'm still kicking and alive.

I may not be happy all the time, but I have my life.

My creativity is my security blanket. As long as I have that, I'm going to be okay.

__________________________________

Please consider making a living will, so that your loved ones can follow your wishes if you should ever be in a state where you cannot advocate for yourself. Don't leave them in the dark and don't put off the inevitable.

My kids know that if I should get forgetful like Gramma-Great, then they need to put me in a home. I do not wish this sort of hell upon anyone.