http://ping.fm/5gAWU Info about Nanocyborg Uberholocaust. Pretty interesting!

Check out NǽnøĉÿbbŒrğ VbëřřĦōlökäävsŦ – Slow Dreary Seasonal Progressions Of An Ancient Solar Entity (Part I: Winter) http://ping.fm/dJ4gM via @lastfm Time for a long ambient doom jam. 70 minutes--epic! Enjoy!

"The mashed together, distorted text that you couldn't read in the Word Captcha did not match what you entered. What a surprise!"

The Only Religion We Need is Love

Be more like...these guys? YES!

This is a response to a post on Trent Vanegas' excellent "Pink is the New Blog" regarding Ricky Gervais' humanist views.

I'm one of those people that both sides hate. I'm an agnostic. The Fundamentalist Christian lot hates me because I don't agree with their view of a deity who is in essence an abusive egomaniac parent, punishing their children for not completely and utterly adulating them. Seriously, if there is a deity or deities, they are so much more advanced than humans that our adulation would not be in any way necessary to their existence! I despise organized religion because it has started so many conflicts and separates people from each other.

On the other hand, I get crap from atheists because I don't believe that we are all just "walking meat sacks" whose entire consciousness will wink out when our bodies die. I believe there is something more to it than that but I don't claim to understand what it is. The more acerbic Atheists think that people like me are stupid because we have any spark of spiritual belief. And I don't think that's cool either, or that it's very scientific. A true scientist would say that we can't PROVE such a belief is true but would keep an open mind to future findings rather than belittling someone who said they think that survival of the conscious energy is possible in some form.

The point is that none of us really KNOW for sure. So it would be nice if we could stop belittling and hating on each other and show some love. Whatever the case of the existence or lack thereof of a soul, it sure as hell wouldn't hurt to adopt the Bill and Ted philosophy and be excellent to each other. It would certainly make it a better world.

Happy Xmahannukwanzyule.

My Heart

The Suicide Queen said it better than I can so I am taking her words and making them my own.

Are we friends ? please read if you are not sure !

I try and learn something new about myself every day... on that same note, "people" tend to revile themselves to me everyday as well... either verbally or by their actions... or inactions... I happen to be going through a very difficult period in my life. I have cut myself off from any "outside" pain... I swallowed it all up internally... 

However, one thing I can not deal with, and never have been able to deal with... is rejection... personal rejection brings me more pain than all of my negative experiences put together! I am who I am... and I will not change that for anyone. I see the world in black and white, and to me, the grey area promotes drama and bullshit... I refuse to live in that zone... nor will I walk on eggshells anymore... 

I have wasted too much of my life walking on eggshells... If we are mere "surface level" friends... this is not the place for you... feel feel to follow me on Twitter @faycinacroud or on Facebook  but I am saving this place  for "true" friends... and if you think we are "surface level"  friends, then this is not the place for you. Twitter, Facebook, fine... but not here... This is a place for the friends I love and who love me...

I look at it this way… I may have a very short time left on this earth… I am very volatile and while I have "just talked" about suicide for years, it is a real possibility that I may take the plunge any time, and the possibility grows stronger and stronger as I lose more and more. I want to be surrounded by people who love me… is that so wrong ? I need “True” dependable friends at this point in my life and I do not have the energy to waste on providing a "jolly time happy place" for “surface level” friends…

If you want the (usually) funny shit, go to UNDEAD or RBUMM. Hell, they could use some readers. You can also go to the UNDEAD in the Netherworld or Short Time Attention Span Abbreviated News or KHEL 666 pages on Facebook. Either look them up or go to the links through the banners in the sidebar on the blogs.

If you care about animals and want to connect on that level, go to Animal Anarchy. There is also an Animal Anarchy page on Facebook. There is a link in the sidebar of the blog.

And if you are a troll, please just DIE, DIE, DIE, FUCKING DIE!!!!

I really have no patience for users, abusers, or especially piece of shit fucking worthless excuses for existing, aka Trolls.

Honestly, the one thing I ever wanted to do in this life is have fun and die happy.

So much for dreams.

Happy Xmahannukwanzyule.

Disenfranchised

"Poor Pluto" was found here.

Nobody likes Pluto or me.

Now I have not only managed to ruin my son's little family by accidentally letting his cat out when I was coming in--10 days ago, I don't imagine she will ever be found--but I am now estranged from my family. 

I was going over to my son's apartment last night and probably should just not have done so--I was not in a good mood. I called wanting him and his father to at least do the dishes so I wouldn't have to look at that same stack of dishes.

 I got stuck in traffic near the fucking mega-church that used to be a Wal Mart...if that isn't depraved, I don't know what is. The capitol of cheez whiz commercial corporations sells one of its buildings to a cheez whiz commercial church. That place has to be about as devoid of spirituality as a septic tank. Mega church: because preaching judgment at others is really what Jesus was all about. So not. Please--kill me now. I hate this world.

So I get there to Son's place and when ex husband asks me how I am, I mutter "horrible." He should have left it alone or said "sorry to hear that" but he starts in with the Dr. Phil "what is making your day horrible?" I said "Nothing, I don't want to fucking talk about it. And couldn't someone have cleaned the counter?" Yes, probably I should not have said that. But I'm sick and tired of everyone expecting that because I have ovaries, cleaning is only my jurisdiction. 

I was just going to make fucking ham sandwiches--because that's really all there was. Ex husband said something snotty--I don't even remember what it was. I said "fuck you, I'm leaving." I went to grab my coat, a big row ensued, and he said that I came in expecting to be treated like "a spoiled little princess."

Folks, that is the worst fucking thing you could possibly say to me. I, of all people, have never in my life been treated like anything even remotely close to a "spoiled princess." I live in a house that doesn't have the ability to flush the toilet. I have to piss in a trash can on puppy piddle pads. I don't have any working appliances. I can't take a shower here. I am constantly developing skin infections because I don't have the ability to shower more than once a week. I live on Yoo Hoo, dried fruit, and chocolate. They don't have to be refrigerated. I feel like shit about 1000 percent of the time. I don't even fucking like champagne or caviar and I could give a flying shit less about designer labels. I hate to shop. I hate when men try to buy me drinks because I know it means they think they're going to get some pussy. Hint...they aren't. And then they get pissy because they don't.

So...spoiled princess. That really triggered it. I threw my fucking keys at the bastard's head.

I can never forgive him for those filthy words. If he had called me a bitch, an asshole, a cunt, even if he had accused me of fucking every man in Colorado that I wasn't related to, I could forgive that a lot sooner than those words. Why not just call me a Kim Kardashian wannabe to put the icing on the cake. Seriously, Sir, FUCK YOU!

He left for a time, ostensibly to go look for the cat. Who the fuck knows or cares what he did. 

Then my son springs on me that the whole last semester when I thought things were going great and he appreciated that I was helping him out that instead he thought I was grouchy most of the time. 

Fine--I can't win.

I no longer have a family.

And I don't have any friends either.

I cut myself for the first time in more than five years.

I will be cutting from now on.

I have a few things to finish up and then I am done.

No offense to anyone who is a believer, but I don't believe in God so don't pull the old "it's a sin to commit suicide" card. I'm not trying to be some sort of acerbic "smartier than thou" atheist. I'm not really an atheist either. I know that something happens to the energy that might be called the "soul" after we die, but I don't know what it is. All I know is that I don't believe the stuff I was taught as a child. I hope you're right that there is some sort of afterlife, if you are a believer. But I hope that you're wrong about it being under the jurisdiction of some sort of egotistical, judgmental high school principal figure. Because that is how I see the Church God.

I guess I still liked the Christmas holiday because it was such a great thing when I was a child. Up until this year--because this is the year that I lost everything. I hate Christmas. I wish I could go back into the past and kick that stupid little credulous turd that I was when I was ten years old, spit in her face, tell her that her beliefs were a lie and that one day her father would be a sick, demented old man and then he would be dead. I would tell her that Christmas was a lie. Why? Because I want the stupid little bitch to stop lying to me from the past. I just want to kick her straight in her ugly buck teeth! I hate her!

All I want for Christmas is a sharp knife, a shotgun, and a couple of shells.

Sayonara.

Why I Hate Myself

No further explanation necessary

Feeling Vulnerable

 

I sometimes go through periods of extreme vulnerability where I don't feel safe sharing much about myself. I also might switch to blogging elsewhere under a different identity. I have several of them. I don't think I have any trolls following right now so anyone who wants can email me at faycinacroud@gmail.com if they'd like to get hold of me. Thanks and peace.

Teh Handy Capped: They Come in 2 Varieties

A commenter on Ragen's blog post about the perceived health costs of obeeestity had this to say:

Emotional appeal seems to be a big factor here. Disabled people are divided into the “Thinking about them gives me the warm fuzzies, and I’m not being asked to do anything seriously inconvenient” category of ‘real’ disabled people who deserve help, and the “I don’t instantly get how their disability works, so obviously those people are fakes!” and “I feel icked out or sad contemplating them, so obviously those people are better off dead!” categories for everyone who doesn’t create sufficient warm fuzzies.

I find this a lot with the way people with mental illness are treated even in this day and age. I have several identifiable mental illnesses (type II bipolar disorder, borderline personality disorder, and OCD.) and I am also a health care worker. I have had people refer to those with bipolar disorder as "crazy" when I was standing right there. I had just been diagnosed and was still afraid of people finding out. These days I'd say "that I am, but really, you don't need to compliment me in front of everyone!" or something equally snarky. I've had fellow health care workers say of people who self-injure that "they're just crybabies looking for attention. Hopefully they'll do everyone a favor and do the job right next time." Meanwhile there I was with a bandage on my wrist because I had been cutting myself. This was before I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, and I had been raped a few months before and was having panic attacks on and off for literally 5 hours a day at a time. Nobody was listening to me and I felt horribly lost. I thought all the time about killing myself, but even as messed up as I was I realized that I was the most stable family member my son had. Now, you have full permission to feel really sorry for my son. His childhood was rather chaotic.

People with mental illness scare the nice "normals" so they would rather we'd just go away. I'm both fat and mentally ill so I get the "thing that shouldn't exist" messages from all quarters!

I've always really identified with H.P. Lovecraft's story "The Outsider."

Image by Roberto Parda

Update

 

THANK YOU!

I would rather have a small number of totally awesome people following me than a bunch of fake ass ones, and I have that, so THANK YOU! 

Black Sheep asked if I did any knitting or crocheting. My grandma tried to teach me to crochet when I was about 12 years old and I ended up throwing the crochet hook across the room! The poor woman looked at me like I was insane. I wasn't insane but I was a girl with undiagnosed bipolar disorder entering puberty. My family didn't know what to make of me. I never had the patience to learn skills like knitting and crocheting. Now that I am in my middle years, I would like to but I don't know when I'll have the chance! I am planning on collecting socks to make Happy Socks for shelter kitties. This is just a clean old sock with a bit of the stuffing used to make stuffed animals or pillows and about a teaspoon of catnip pushed into a sock on which any holes have been mended, and a knot is tied in the long part. Voila--instant cat toy!

I wanted to learn to knit sweaters for penguins but I looked at the knitting instructions and went "knit...purl...WTF?" I am so craftishly challenged!

I would love for Black Sheep to email me. I would like to know if she would be interested in having an invitation for my rotten Hoarder Challenge blog where I try in vain to clean up years worth of hoarding disorder. It ain't pretty. Don't worry--I don't hoard animals. I now have just the 5 cats. I had 7 at one point but two of them went to live with my ex husband. One was his in the first place and was living here while he was in Montana. The other was little Anna, whom Trinity terrorized and she was better off being rehomed with Isis, because while the two of them may not be best buds, at least Isis doesn't keep Anna cowering under the sofa with her jealous beeyotchiness like Trinity did.

As for writing, I do write under various pen names. I've had a couple of short stories published. I published a book once but I pulled it off the market. Long and horrible story that I won't go into here--it's a post in itself! Let me just say that there are a lot of very Machiavellian people out there who don't care who they hurt in trying to get what they want. I try not to be like them--they suck. And once my house is actually semi-clean and I can show pictures for it, I intend to publish the contents of my Hoarder blog as a book. But only the Selected will ever be able to visit the blog itself--that is always how it will be!

Amanda is still my friend after all these years, even though she knows exactly how awful I can be. And that is a true blessing. Thank you!

Thank you to the Select Few who choose to keep coming here in spite of my being a horrid c*ntbag of a human being sometimes. It is making a difficult time of life a little easier. The 28th of this month marks the first anniversary of my father's passing into spirit. While it is a mercy that the suffering he endured for a terribly long time is over, it is still a hard hit to the gut whenever I realize that I will never see him again--in this life.

Thank you all again for enduring me!

--Faycin--

Faycin's Rejection Letter

So as I mentioned in this post, I had submitted a story for consideration in an anthology and the fucker got rejected. Normally it is my policy to obliterate any story that gets rejected but I really struggled about doing it with this one because I really liked this story.

Their form letter went a little bit something like this. For a form letter it was actually pretty friendly. But I'm feeling a bit butt-hurt, so I'm going to snark it, if more lightly than usual. And I'm snarking myself too. So the sourness of the grapes may be somewhat ameliorated. 

First off, and with all sincerity: thank you for sending us "Faycin A Croud's Totally Great and Incredibly Amazing Story"!

As you may have heard, five years ago when we did the original call for stories for Eat Shit and Die 1, we received about 675 stories.  This time around, we received almost THREE TIMES that amount, with 1,958 stories submitted.  Not only were we blown away by how MANY stories we received, but we were also blown away by their raw quality.  The bad news is that the reality we live in insists there's only room for 30 or so stories in the book, and that means there's going to be 1,920 stories that we can't fit into Eat Shit and Die this time around, regardless of how awesome they are.

Unfortunately, yours is one of them.  We regret that "Faycin A Croud's Totally Great and Incredibly Amazing Story" will not be appearing in Eat Shit and Die 2.

Normally this is where an email like this would end, perhaps with a brief thank you for your submission.  But we're serious when we say the sheer quality of the stories we received staggered us.  There's enough excellence, there in our inbox, to put out FIVE really amazing volumes.  And it would be a crime to leave these stories unpublished like that.  Many of the stories that aren't right for the Volume 2 anthology (for a bunch of different reasons: anthology pacing, variety, length, and so on) would fit wonderfully in any hypothetical future collection, or some other kind of ESAD project down the line.

Of course, right now the focus will be on Eat Shit and Die 2: on assembling the book, on getting the stories illustrated, on getting the finished book out intothe world, and in making the whole thing as awesome as we can.  But after that, if all goes well, we'd like to continue doing some really exciting things with these really great stories you've sent us.  And we'll be keeping your story in consideration for whatever those plans might be.

Obviously we can't promise anything, and nobody can predict the future.  But if all goes well, a while down the road, we may be able to send out some more acceptance letters.  There's a chance you could hear from us then.

Even if we're never able to purchase your story and this is the last you hear from us about it,let us say this: thank you.  You created something out of nothing,brought a new narrative into the universe, and shared it with us. Reading these stories has been a humbling and inspiring experience. Thank you, once more, for being a part of it.

So yeah, they're not douchebags. They actually seem like pretty decent people. And I'm not great at following rules, so I probably didn't fit the criteria as well as people who can follow rules might. I didn't destroy the story, which is not my usual m.o. Normally stories that aren't accepted get obliterated immediately. I am very unforgiving of myself and subpar work on my own part. It's like they don't deserve to take up space on my hard drive, or even on the remote server where I back my work up. 

I'm much more forgiving of other people--I try to encourage them, even. But with me I am absolutely vicious. Nothing but the best will do--ever. 

I'm constantly letting myself down.

Hopefully the dachshund rescue guy will call soon. I'd rather get this painful process with the relinquishing the dogs over and done ASAP. Plus I still need to get some sleep.

~Faycin~

(Not the next Great American Author)

http://ping.fm/AwfWo More from the "you can't make this shit up" department.

http://ping.fm/ATqKV This happened in Soccoro, Texas. Hope they catch the bastards!

http://ping.fm/AvZ5c And now from the "you just can't make this shit up" department.

http://ping.fm/gi9QO All I can say is what the hell. It's like they want him dead!

http://ping.fm/Wv2iT Information about the aftereffects of Agent Orange.

Has anyone ever figured out a way to really keep their glasses clean? I've been wearing glasses for a year and still have problems with it.

Don't you just hate it when you hit that little x in the corner of a tab and you didn't mean to? Me too!

http://ping.fm/9BCBB Just want to let everyone know you can share tunes here!

I'm on the Prog Rock trip tonight. Join me if you like! Check out Time of Orchids – Darling Abandon http://ping.fm/VaKkI via @lastfm

In a Nutshell

Yeah, I'm not. I'm full well aware of that. Kiss this.

I'm feeling really sensitive and easily wounded right now. Well, more than usual.

I'm letting the guy from the dachshund rescue take my dogs tomorrow. They've been with me for 9 years and I've never been a good owner. I resonate with cats. Dogs are like 2 year olds that never grow up. Cats are assholes that want their own way and are affectionate when they want to be if they like you. I get cats.

I feel really, really badly about taking the dogs to the rescue. But I am not around for long periods of time sometimes. They should be taken out 3-4 times a day. I often don't even feel like taking them out once. I didn't train them well because I'd never had dogs before and didn't know what I was doing. They're nice dogs, but they're not good dogs. However, I'm sure that someone who knows what they're doing will do fine with them.

Also, it squicks me out that whenever I let them out of their enclosure (yeah...that's not good either) they run straight for the cat box for a "treat" or the trash can to chew on my used sanitary pads.

Yeah--dogs are gross. And I can't get around that. I like dogs the same way I like small children. I like them better when they're someone else's and I can deal with them for a couple hours and then send them home! I have all the sympathy in the world for the plights of dogs and small children. But I can't deal with them living with me!

One of my stories got rejected today. That pissed me off because I thought it was a really cool and interesting story. My M.O. has always been to destroy any story that gets rejected. But I like this one a lot so I'm really struggling with this decision.

So I'm feeling really unloved and butt-hurt right now. And as a large person, I do not need fucking "you need to be thin or you are ugly and worthless" ads coming on right now every two seconds to remind me that I'm ugly and worthless.

You know, I know that fat does not equate with ugly, nor does it even equate with unhealthy. People get the diseases of AGING at about the same rate, regardless of whether they are fat or thin. The difference that I can determine is that very thin people are more prone to osteoporosis while very heavy people are more prone to arthritis in the lower extremities at early ages. That's it. Now, people who literally weigh a ton and can't get out of the house because they can't even move, that's a different story. Something really bad has happened there, just like something really bad has happened in a case of anorexia. Does shaming these people help? Never has, never will.

But as an average, every day, run of the mill fat person, I can tell you that die-ts don't work and the die-t industry exists because die-ts don't work but they've convinced us all that it's our fault that die-ts don't work. Geddit?

That being said, I'm running late so I'm going to hit the choke and puke on my way to work and then do the nightly grind with no hope of better things in sight, and the memory of my father dying at the end of November last year in my mind as I prepare never to see these dogs that I let down again.

Yeah.

Fuck my life.

Changing Mind

Not that anyone will see this, but I've decided to grant this dumb blog a reprieve and not take it out back and shoot it. Which it probably deserves for sucking so much, but I'm feeling generous today.

I have had an extremely hard go of it over the past year plus. My father's longtime declining condition worsened radically last year and of course he ended up dying at the end of November. He had been extremely sick for quite a long time. I had a friend of 5 years bail on me, but not before cutting me to the quick with some very vicious words to me. 

This was just shy of a couple months before Dad died. This person told me that I did not have any "real problems" and was just a whiner. I don't know what you call a parent being terminally ill, but to me that sort of qualifies as a real problem. Or living with mental illness. That kind of qualifies as a real problem. Having no hot water and a rotting floor? Oh, just a teeny tiny problem. I suppose that having someone give you a nuclear bomb for a suppository might qualify as a more immediate and potentially physically devastating problem, but cheez whiz, cut me some fucking slack here. I kind of had a few real problems. I guess that maybe being a heartless dick is bigger than any of those, so maybe Former Friend had a point there.

I somehow managed to get through the last semester of nursing school, but that was devastating to me financially. I ended up taking out several payday loans, and attempting to pay these fuckers back leaves me with very little money. I also maxed out both of my credit cards. My son is in school in a very rigorous program. Because it's an allied health program (pharmacy technician) he does not qualify for financial aid. I would like to know what in the monkey hell our gubbermint is thinking, not giving financial aid to programs such as EMT, paramedic, and pharmacy technician. Of course we don't NEED any of these people or anything. What we need is a few more CEO's.

Cheezus Krispies on a flaming turkey...

At any rate, the pharmacy technician means that this semester M has 21 credit hours. He can't work right now, all his energy is focused on school. His dad and I are helping him pay for his apartment and groceries. I help him cook a meal when I go over to take him to school--he doesn't drive yet, we can't possibly afford to help him pay for a car anyway. So I do get one decent meal a day. I guess I can't complain too much but it is distressing to not have a working heater in my house, a working refrigerator, or a washer and dryer. It did strike me that I could get soup and some crackers instead of just having juice for breakfast. Long as the soup doesn't have MSG (foul item created by Satan to make people like me poop ourselves and have respiratory distress) it's a pretty good meal.

Then there's dealing with a lifetime worth of hoarding issues. Those of you who have the address to my hoarder blog know about this. It is hard and it is discouraging. I often feel like a huge loser.

I also had the betrayal from a supposed friend and a supposed colleague. I don't get over shit like this easily and I'm still not over it. I don't like backstabbers. I wish both of these c**ts would fall off a cliff. If that makes me an asshole, so be it.

I got trolled on my size acceptance blog, which made me go deeper into hiding and remove all my blogs from my profile. I may put this one back on there, but I've been afraid.

And the hits keep coming...

If anything even halfway decent happens to come my way I'm swooping that shit up, and none of y'all fuckers get to tell me I'm wrong for doing so. Because it's time for my fucking ship to come in and my ass to be at the pier!

Of course with my luck it will be populated with naught but a skeleton crew.

Dead In the Water

It is time to "Fayce" facts. This blog is dead in the water. And so am I.

So long, and thanks for all the fish.

The End

Oops

I don't know why things were pinging to this blog. I had taken it off my Ping list. This blog is a dead fish, a downed ship, dead in the water. Nothing will be going on here in the future. Not like anything was actually going on before.

Faycin

http://ping.fm/wgmy2 The funniest of my recent blog discoveries.

http://ping.fm/ZPcnJ My new favorite blog

http://ping.fm/CrxxJ Contenders for Idiots of the Year

http://ping.fm/QhW3y LAPD says a gay man can't be raped. Tell them they're wrong!

http://ping.fm/UW8lq I fear these despicable little bitches will get off with a slap on the wrist.

http://ping.fm/HxC04 Help find these murdering scum who set cats on fire.

Faycin has a new blog. It has one whole post so far!
http://ping.fm/fT5eS

http://ping.fm/c4FQx Please read this article, very important info re: environment, human rights.

http://ping.fm/M8FqT When calling CPS is vindictive or stupid

When Calling CPS is Vindictive or Stupid

A blog reader called CPS on blogger Brandy Douglass regarding this post about her son's decision to trade his calculator for Pokemon cards.

It is not fun to have CPS show up at your door.

 It happened to me twice. One time a vindictive former "friend" whom I'd called the police on because she was sending semi-threatening letters to me (made from letters and words cut from newspapers and magazines stating things like "men and boys get your hand jobs here", mind) called CPS to tell them that I made my then eleven year old son sleep in the same bed with me. Of course it was not true and my poor son was traumatized by the thought that he might be taken away and put in a foster home.

The second time it was some interfering idiot parent from my son's school. My son had complained  to a few friends that I made him eat apples or some other real food before he could have candy. One of these friends' parents interpreted that I only fed the poor child apples. My son was afraid that I was angry at him. I wasn't, but I wished that I could find the stupid parent who hadn't bothered to confirm with me what was going on before she called CPS.

My son is now 21 and lives in his own apartment. However, I still blog under a pseudonym because there are plenty of idiots and freaks out there who could stalk me, think it was funny to report me to animal control for having too many animals (I have 5 cats and the city legally permits four) or call my work to tell them about my blogging activities since I sometimes express controversial opinions.

I'm sorry you had to go through this crap.

Is Blogging Dead?

And can a person die from choking on their own saliva? Maybe not, but it sure as hell feels like it sometimes! And why does it hurt so much more when my cat kneads my side fat than when he kneads my butt or thigh fat?

One of my favorite bloggers has decided to hang it up. I hope we'll stay in touch but I really don't know why she'd want to stay in touch with a curmudgeon like me. 

Last year at this time someone I considered a "forever friend" in the world of blogging gave me the old "fuck off." The two of us used to work off of each other's creations. It was really a blow when I lost that. I don't think about it all the time but it still hurts me.

This July a couple of people that I'd once been stupid enough to consider friends betrayed me big time. I've decided that they're both pathetic, but it obviously still bothers me.

I think that people these days would rather Tweet and Facebook. Twitter is fucking impersonal. I have an account, but I hardly ever use it. Ditto Facebook. For as much as it's supposed to bring people closer, a lot of the people on there just seem snarky at best. I'm not particularly fond of it.

I know--I should get out there and "meet real people." But neither my personality nor my lifestyle is very amenable to that. And the "real" people I meet tend not to get me anyway. 

I'll probably keep blogging anyway. I just need to get over the idea that anyone will actually read it.

It sometimes baffles me that for as much as the Internet COULD bring people together, it seems more like a desert scattered here and there with lonely hovels than a real community. Which is kind of how "real life" seems too. 

Even when I was a little tiny child, I related to this song. I have always been so lonely, always hoped to find friends who understood me, thought that blogging would at last lead to that, and have given up. Nobody will ever understand.

Not Suitable for Public Consumption

I was a waitress and bartender for a while. Some people liked my snarky personality, but many didn't get it. I'm actually not unfriendly, I just have a sarcastic sense of humor. It got me in trouble.

I probably should never go out in public. Most people really don't understand me.

I wish I had the option to work from home. I'm pushing 50 and still having to deal with the public, now as a caregiver. Talk about having to keep your snark in check. It's frustrating.

Couldn't I go back in time and just tweak this one little thing?

I could fuel it with garbage and everything!

This was a response to a post by Gina at Slappy in the Face.

The hardest part of the not dwelling on what might have been is the thought that if I had just been properly diagnosed earlier I could have become a little more stable emotionally and started working towards being someone I could respect even if that someone could never be considered "normal." Hell, normal's overrated anyhow. I just feel like I've wasted so much time, and sometimes that really hurts.

Poverty: It's the Rat's Ass

I'm poor myself--flat broke most of the time. As soon as I get paid, out goes the money. I don't have a working refrigerator so I have to eat things that don't require refrigeration. Here's the clincher--I work full time and I make well above minimum wage. But after taxes and insurance come out of my paycheck, I only make $1400 a month. $1100 of that goes to mortgage and lot rent on my mobile home. It wouldn't be practical to move and I'm still trying to fix up the place so it would even be salable. A lot of damage was done to it by a water heater leak last summer. Thanks to help from my mother I do have new floors and the black mold caused by the water damage was removed. It was bad times.

I'm also trying to catch up from having to max out my credit cards and get some of those godforsaken payday loans when I was doing the internship for the LPN program this past spring.

As some of you know, being poor is damn stressful. The least little unexpected thing and we could really be screwed because we have no savings. Well, at least I don't. And then there is the stereotype that poor people are lazy. Believe me, I wish I could be lazy!

The Hair Down There

For the proper double entendre, here are some jungle bushes.

Warning for potentially embarrassing but possibly humorous subject matter and WTMI.

This was a response to a post at The Hand Mirror, which is a feminist blog.

I identify as a feminist, for those that weren't already aware of this fact. Because as they say, feminism is the radical notion that women are people. And I tend to be accused of being a feminist whenever I refuse to be a doormat.

I'm 46 years old, female, and heterosexual. I started shaving my armpits and leg hair when I turned 12, after a classmate referred to me as "gorilla legs." I have very thick hair on my head and tend to be hairy on my arms, legs, underarms, and down yonder as well. I am a nurse and I still can't refer to it as a vagina without blushing when talking about my own, foolish though that may be.

I have been celibate for the past 13 years, in part due to physical issues with my plumbing, in part due to having had a lot of bad experiences in picking the wrong men, which is in part due to my mental issues (bipolar disorder, borderline personality disorder.) I stopped having partners about the time when the obsession with shaved pubes started. I only had one partner at about this time (1998) who thought that I ought to shave the old "jungle bush." I did it to please him. On the off chance that I ever got involved with anyone again, I would not do it again. It's uncomfortable when it starts growing back in.

I would never in a million years get one of those damn Brazilian waxes. Ye Goddesses! Really, Ladies? Have the hair ripped out of the most sensitive part of your body to please...who? Maybe I'm just an old fart but I really, really, really don't get it! Of course I'm pretty allergic to pain, so that could make a difference!

In the long run I believe that everyone has the right to do as they please with their own body. But for me personally, I'll keep the hair down there.

Stress: It's a Killah!

"You're not looking so great, Boss. Stress--it's da killah!"

This was from a discussion post in my general psychology class.

1) Does our society value or even prize stress? Is there a competition for who has the greatest amount? If so (or not), why? Be sure to demonstrate deep thinking on this one! While it is your opinion, it must be backed with a well thought out argument.

Our society certainly values stress. The type A personality is looked upon as an "achiever," whereas the more low key type B personality is seen as a "slacker." The more projects a person is involved in, the more he or she is seen as a success. People who are unwilling or even those who are incapable of being "on the go" all the time are viewed as lazy, unmotivated, or at best unwilling to try.

Phrases such as "I'll sleep when I'm dead" are telling as well. Although medical professionals talk about the value and necessity of adequate sleep, the medical profession is itself filled with sleep-deprived workers, which increases the possibility of making critical mistakes. Medical interns are still expected to adhere to horrific shifts, sometimes being on the clock for 36 hours at a time.

In nursing school I encountered first-hand a serious inflexibility and unwillingness to change on the part of the program's creators and as well on the part of the clinical sites. Fortunately the nursing homes allowed students to choose between day (6-2) or evening (2-10) shifts or I don't know that I would have been able to get through, as we were working four clinical shifts a week. The hospitals did not offer this flexibility and I had an extremely hard time with it.

While growing up, I was often accused of being "lazy" because I always had difficulty sleeping at night and then would be tired during the day. At this point in my life I still feel guilty about sleeping during the day, even though I work nights.

People are expected in this society to do many things and do them well. There is a great deal of pressure to achieve and be rewarded for achievement in the form of material possessions. Those who are unable or unwilling to do this are seen as "less than."

Poverty also creates stress, but this tends not to be acknowledged because the people living in squalor don't have the sorts of coveted possessions that would brand them "winners."

One of my classmates felt that most physically stressful jobs garner higher pay. While there were other parts of her argument that I agreed with, I disagreed with her on this point.

Faycin says: I feel that you made many very good points and I certainly agree with you on the child raising issue. I raised one, and I had to say, well congratulations to me on that! If I'd had more it might have killed me!

I'm not certain though that the majority of physically stressful jobs are higher paying. Nursing assistants, for instance, are very low paid. I worked as a nursing assistant for years and the pay was always crap, except for the place I'm currently working. The only reason I stayed with being a nursing assistant instead of trying harder to find a job as an EMT after I got my EMT certification was because the place I work paid nursing assitants better than the starting EMT wage, which in 2004 was $8.50 an hour, I joke you not. Deplorable!

My brother works as a firefighter, paramedic, and a SWAT team medic, and at this point since he's a captain at the fire department he makes a decent wage. But when he first started as a firefighter, he was making $11 an hour.

Doctors and some RN's make good wages and these are both physically and psychologically demanding jobs. But a lot of physically demanding jobs are very poorly paid.

I know I probably come off as argumentative and I don't wish to seem so. I actually agree with most of what you said, and many stressful jobs do get higher pay. But a lot of them are also very poor paying, which isn't right--and causes more stress!

Crawling Out of the Woodwork

Be forewarned that this will be a rant of epic proportions. Because the fuckers that decided it was a good idea to invade my space this week really got to me. So there is a good chance that I am going to go nuclear.

Oh hell, them backstabbers really pissed ole Faycin off this time!

Let's start with the three fingers that are pointing back at me. I have not always been the best of people. In fact, STUPID, IGNORANT, SELFISH FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT pretty well describes it. 

Back in 1986 I was a stupid, undiagnosed bipolar/borderline twat of a dumb stupid whore. There was actually only one incident but I think it still brands me a dumb stupid whore, because what else is someone who cheats on their spouse? By the way, this incident did not break up my marriage. That didn't happen until years later and it was not over anyone cheating.

My then husband and I had this mutual friend. I really don't know how it started, probably with watching porn because I was hypersexual. The ex husband and I for whatever reason decided to bring this mutual friend in on things, but I became too upset and felt like a slut. However, later I hooked up with the mutual friend. I feel really gross talking about this, and I deserve to feel gross. It was gross. There was no actual intercourse, I stopped short of that, realizing how wrong what I was doing was. However there was plenty else. I hate myself for having been such a vile disgusting slut and I do not expect forgiveness. I told the mutual friend that this could not happen. He kept pursuing me for a while until I told my ex what had happened. We mutually cut this guy out of our lives.

I had pushed this shit to the depths of my psyche. Certainly it belongs in the sewer. I didn't even think about it for many, many years. Then out of the blue this individual crawls out of the wood work to try and friend me (under my real name) on Facebook.

Crap.

That really set up a downward spiral, emotionally.

I messaged him that I preferred to keep the past in the past. Fortunately I have not heard from him again. However, I became severely, almost non-functionally depressed. WHICH I PROBABLY DESERVE FOR HAVING BEEN SUCH A TURD! That aside I had nightmares while curled up on the couch in the "Fireside Room" at work, in a fetal position, wishing that a meteor would come through the roof and splatter me like the cockroach I am. I dreamed that I was held prisoner in a house by a rapist. He would command me to have sex with him. I begged him to leave me alone, to let me go. He said he wouldn't, that I was there to service him.

When I woke up I realized that the rapist had never used any weapons or physically restrained me. I could have escaped easily. I did what he said because I felt like I had no choice.

The feelings I had the two times that I was raped as an adult (once at eighteen and once at 32, both date rape situations) came back. I felt nauseous, like trash, worthless, insane. The one thing that fortunately did not repeat was the panic attacks.

So yeah, motherfucker, thanks for crawling out of the fucking woodwork and bringing those flashbacks to me. Maybe it's my god damn Karma. If so, you'd think we could be done with that shit. But nooooo!

This morning, your old pal Faycin got a missive in her inbox FROM ONE OF THE FUCKERS WHO FUCKING BETRAYED HER THIS SUMMER!

Once upon a time I respected this "person" and thought us to be colleagues of a sort in the field of paranormal interests. I allowed her to use poetry that I had written (under a different pen name) in her zine. I own the copyright to this shit so that is not an issue. If she ever uses it without my permission I will sue her. Course that won't amount to much but I think I would do it anyway. I'd like to think she's not that stupid, but...

SINCE SHE WAS STUPID ENOUGH TO CONTACT ME IN THE FIRST PLACE AFTER WHAT SHE FUCKING DID TO ME, I'M NOT SURE OF ANYTHING ANY MORE!

She wrote that the former zine is going to a different publisher and she wanted me to give permission to allow the content to be repackaged and republished.

ARE YOU REALLY THAT FUCKING STUPID? LIKE FUCK I WILL EVER ALLOW YOU AGAIN TO USE THAT WHICH IS MINE, SINCE YOU FUCKING THOUGHT IT WAS IN YOUR RIGHTS TO STEAL AND DESTROY SOMETHING ELSE WHICH WAS MINE!

Asshole.

Sorry for being so cryptic but having two, two, two of these fuckers coming at me in the same week and blindsiding me and leaving me feeling sick and in literal physical anguish really makes me mad and really makes me think the Universe hates me.

Let me alone. I already feel pathetic and worthless and sorry enough.

~Faycin~

Invisible Illness

Invisible Illness week was September 12-18, so of course I'm late. I'll be late to my own fucking funeral.

1. The illness I live with is: Bipolar disorder, borderline personality disorder, obsessive-compulsive disorder with a hoarding component (boy is THAT fun!), fibromyalgia, hypothyroidism, possible pituitary dysfunction manifesting as Cushing's syndrome, hypertension (mild)

2. I was diagnosed with it in the year: Hypothyroidism: 1981 Fibromyalgia: 1990 Most of the mental health shit: 2004 (same year that my late father had his big stroke) hypertension, this year.


3. But I had symptoms since: I first manifested the symptoms of mood disorder when I was 9 years old and started puberty. I don't remember with the fibromyalgia but it seemed to onset in my early 20's.


 4. The biggest adjustment I’ve had to make is: Realizing that my life will never be normal


5. Most people assume: That I choose to be the way I am


6. The hardest part about mornings are: Depends on whether I've worked the night before. I'm usually very tired in the morning, regardless.


7. My favorite medical TV show is: House


8. A gadget I couldn’t live without is: The fucking computer. My "friends" live in it.


9. The hardest part about nights are: I think too much


10. Each day I take __ pills & vitamins. (No comments, please) Lithium, 5-HTP, Vitamin D, magnesium, amlodipine besylate, cinnamon (for digestion) 


11. Regarding alternative treatments I: Wish I could afford them


12. If I had to choose between an invisible illness or visible I would choose: Visible. I think. Although if I had severe psoriasis or neurofibromatosis, I would still have to deal with foul treatment from people. What difference could it make, I guess. Undiagnosed people pretty much suck.


13. Regarding working and career: I have held the same job for the last 7 years. I am okay with it but it doesn't pay the bills.


14. People would be surprised to know: I'm actually a nice person under my veneer of evil and curmudgeony.


15. The hardest thing to accept about my new reality has been: What new reality? I've always been an outcast.


16. Something I never thought I could do with my illness that I did was: Got through fucking nursing school. Yay? I never wanted to be a nurse, BTW. It was my mother's idea and I went along with it.


17. The commercials about my illness: Say that it can be cured with a pill. HA!


18. Something I really miss doing since I was diagnosed is: Having creativity benders.


19. It was really hard to have to give up: The idea that one day my life would be good. The idea that I could turn normal someday

20. A new hobby I have taken up since my diagnosis is: Blogging. Boy, that has worked out great! I've made so many friends! I'm not at all as ostracized as I always was!

Snarking--another service I provide.

21. If I could have one day of feeling normal again I would: I don't know. I've really never felt normal.


22. My illness has taught me: That there are a very few genuinely good people and everyone else really does suck.


23. Want to know a secret? One thing people say that gets under my skin is:

Referring to people with mental illness as "crazy." I use the term "crazy" myself. I use it to describe the mean-spirited bigoted behavior of theocrats like Michele Bachmann. I may have problems, but I'm not crazy.

24. But I love it when people: Are real and honest and genuinely kind and not pretending to be my friend just to get something out of me or play mean tricks on me.


25. My favorite motto, scripture, quote that gets me through tough times is: At least I'm not a fucking sociopath.


26. When someone is diagnosed I’d like to tell them: You aren't less than those who want to make you feel less than.


27. Something that has surprised me about living with an illness is: I can still work.


28. The nicest thing someone did for me when I wasn’t feeling well was: Sometimes people make or buy food for me. Also there were two wonderful people that donated money to help with the repairs on my home.


29. I’m involved with Invisible Illness Week because: Because what the fuck.


30. The fact that you read this list makes me feel: Like this is probably nothing you didn't already know. Nothing I do has any value.