July 4th fell on a Thursday.... and we're all pretty blah about it.

No one wanted to come into work this morning.

And I'm not just talking at my job, I'm talking about across the US. In fact, I found the perfect response to people asking me how my fourth was. I loved it so much, in fact, that I printed it off and I'll be hanging it on the back of my computer at work:

My day off was good.
My 4th was good.
Saw some fireworks. They were good.
Ate some hotdogs. Also good.
Please stop making small talk with me,
my life is an endless tunnel of pain and
you're not helping.

Even though I ate nachos instead of hotdogs, the sentiment remains the same.

Instead of going down for a cookout like we have for years (I wasn't feeling like it and don't enjoy doing all of the same things that Momma and I used to do together, it's just not the same and I don't feel right about it), I decided to stay home for the 4th.

Devon and I ran to the store to pick up stuff for homemade nachos and a few little fireworks and then I spent the day burrowed into my cave with my pups (and of course D) binge-watching the third season of Stranger Things (and OMG y'all!! it was soooooo good!).

We stayed in our fort like this all day (#noregrets) and then around 9:45 last night Bubba and I set off fireworks and we watched the firework show downtown (you can see it from our backyard) for a few minutes and then we all went to bed (well, I showered and then went to bed), where I did get some pretty good pup snuggles last night (Spart isn't a fan of all the noise that was going down outside).

We were all in bed by 11:30, because as I said.... America was independent yesterday, but had to show up for work today.

Continuously trying.... and maybe getting some help along the way.

I've been having a real struggle ever since losing Momma. And it seems that no matter how hard I try, I just can't seem to get over the hump. At least, that's what people are calling it, both to me and when they talk about me in general.

I'll be fine one minute and ridiculous the next. Actually, fine wouldn't be the word I would use. Fine would imply that at some point I'm ok and if I'm being completely honest, I never have any of those moments. My moments now consist of crying and being able to hold it in. That's where I am.

My sleeping schedule is a joke, I'm still getting random pains everywhere for no reason, I usually can't stop the tears, exhaustion is a revolving door that I can't seem to step out of, and I can't get out of my own head no matter how hard I try.

It's been like this since it's happened. And not to sound cynical or like I'm the only person that's ever been through a hard time (I am most definitely not), but it just feels like.... I don't even know what it feels like. I've never felt it, so I don't have anything to compare it to. If there even is anything to compare it to. If I had to choose a word, I would probably go with overwhelming.

But, I went to the doctor this past Wednesday. And I love my doctor. I trust her implicitly and she listens without judgment. She also knew Momma.

We talked for awhile and then she had me take some kind of test, and while I'm not really sure what the name of it is, the directions were simple. Don't think about your answers, just write down the first thing that comes into your mind. Apparently when you're graded on this you can get a 0-27, but the higher it goes the more of a problem there may be? I'm at a 25.

With that being said, she thinks I need to start taking a low mg antidepressant. I've never taken anything like that before and didn't really think about it until she mentioned it. But, as I said, I trust her and she's not the kind of doctor that just tries to throw medicine down your throat. She only prescribes medicine when she legitimately feels like you need it and that it will help. So, I agreed to try it out.

(She also took eight tubes of blood and did my pap, so the entire appointment took about 2.5 hours. And I was thoroughly exhausted by the time I got home and all of yesterday.... and still am today.)

I started taking Lexapro (well, the generic version of it that's too absurd to pronounce) on Wednesday evening (she wanted me to start asap) and I go back in August for a follow up to assess where I am with it. It's also supposed to help me with sleeping, but not yet. In all fairness though, I've only taken it twice and I'm assuming it needs more time to enter my body and try to do something about any of it.

So, that's where I am with it. Struggling and crying and feeling dizzy and completely unsure and exhausted. But, trying.

It has been a llloooonnnnngggggg week and I'm ready for some "rest."

Getting up at 5:20am is never fun (hello, Mon-Fri life).... but getting to wake up next to these cuties is always the best.

Allergy season is upon us and it has (so far) hit Tayder the worst.

Tayder is allergic to grass (yes, my dog is allergic to grass and it’s weird MOVING ON), and breaks out every year around this time. This year has been especially irritating for him and it’s gotten to the point where he had to have a haircut so he could be properly cleaned/medicated. 

And now, he keeps mean-mugging me like shaving his butt and putting medicine on it is a fun time in my book. 

My thoughts on the first season of Outlander. (Part I).

I was first introduced to the Diana Gabaldon book series "Outlander" when I was a senior in high school. My English Honors teacher (whom I adored) decided with the topics I chose to discuss/write about and the books I chose to report on that this might peak my interest.

And she wasn't wrong. Within the first couple of days of her telling me that I should definitely pick up "at least the first" in the series I had my boyfriend (yes, the one that is my fiance now.... it still sounds weird to say fiance, by the way) take me to my favorite used book store (where you could buy books for cash, but also trade in others for credit and gain credit for purchase as well) to hunt it down.

I not only read the 640 page novel within three days (while also keeping up with my actual school work, taking care of Momma/the house, and waitressing), but my teacher was very pleased that it was the next book that I had chosen as discussion for my writing/reporting in her class and appreciated my input on it.

She had informed me that this series wasn't necessarily for everyone, but she knew that I would be in a sort of awe over it. And again, she wasn't wrong.

There are currently eight books in the series (with a ninth forthcoming) and I own them all. I hunted them down over the years (they were harder to get your hands on when you didn't know how to buy things online and didn't live around a major bookstore/were kind of poor), and when Momma and I decided to move from FL to TN we drove a giant box truck (with my brother and Grammy following behind in our van) I even read the book out loud to her. Considering that our radio was broken and we only had so many entertainment options for that long ass trip, she was pretty happy about it.

I heard rumors back in 2013 that they were thinking about adapting these novels into a tv series, so not only did I decide to re-read the first one, I also started following along to see if they were in fact going through with it. Sure enough, by 2014, it was a thing and people were going INSANE throughout the entire process.

But, it wasn't a thing that I got to participate in, because the series was on STARZ and my budget does not allow for such extravagant cable options. And it went on like this for a few years, with me reading here and there about the going ons with the show, but not watching. And then, a few weeks ago they decided to add the first two seasons of the series to Netflix and once I found out, it was added to my queue.

I'm about halfway through the first season (episode eight, I think?) and I have to say so far, I like it.

It stays pretty close to the source material, with a few minor changes here and there, and to say that Murtagh is my favorite would be an understatement.

But, I also knew going in that there were going to be difficult moments to watch. There were certainly exasperating and gruesome parts to get through in the novels, and I assumed if they wanted to make the show anything like them, there were definitely going to be some parts that made me squirm.

Case in point: the scene where Black Jack flogs Jamie on his already mutilated back. This was a hard one to read, because you try not to, but can't help but to imagine what something like that would look like. But then, you see it happening in a scene that felt never ending and it's truly grotesque. It's just incredibly difficult to imagine that someone could be that sadistic and not only do something so horrible, but actually enjoy it. It's just real hard to get through.

Also hard to get through? All the raping and attempted raping. I don't know about you, but I've never been able to watch a rape scene and get through it without turning away or having to fast forward through it. I know it happens and I know it was extremely prominent back in the day, but watching something like that is just not easy and I can't get past the uncomfortableness and wrangle in my feelings about it. And it's not just like that with this show, but all shows/movies where it happens.

But, with the bad (hopefully/usually) comes the good and there's a lot to be said about it so far. Sure, Claire is being held against her will at the castle and with the clan, but honestly, things do not go well for her when she's on her own and while she doesn't necessarily "need a man" to get through this, it's nice to know that many of them have come to love and care for her. And then.... there's Jamie Fraser. Enough said.

I've always been fascinated with history and especially the 1940s/1700s, so the fact that this show takes place in both is both exciting and welcomed. Like I said, I'm only about half way through season one, but it's starting to really pick up the pace (there was a lot of setup that had to be done) and while Claire still insists on saying "Craigh na Dun" on occasion, at least it's not every fourteen seconds. (Praise it!!)

So, for now, I think I'm going to keep going with it. I even got D kind of into it and he's watched almost as much as I have.

You got to know when to hold 'em.... know when to fold 'em.

*while standing in line to buy a soda on my lunch break*

Cashier at gas station: “Do you wanna buy a couple lottery tickets?”
Man in line in front of me: “No, I’ve already lost two houses, three cars, thousands of dollars, and my dog.”
Cashier: “Oh my! All from gambling?!”
Man: “No.... from my two ex wives. Why would I want to gamble again?”
Me: 🤣🤣🤣

I'm trying.... but mostly struggling.

Y'all, it's been a ridiculous year and I don't foresee it getting any better. In all honesty, 2019 can go f*ck itself. And I truly mean that from the deepest part of my soul.

The hardest thing that has happened, and has ever happened is losing Momma. I know it's hard on everyone, and I get that. I truthfully do. But.... I don't know, there's something different about this. I'm not saying that my grief is larger than anyone else's, but I have just never been on this level. Never, in my entire life.

I've done a lot of hard things. I've had to make tough decisions and no matter the situation or outcome I've managed to pull through it, for better or worse. But.... I always had Momma right there to back me. Never one time did I ever falter and not know she was there. She always has been. Now though, I don't know what to do.

I was going to have a "Celebration of Life" for her on 6/22 and I thought that may help, but I was more dreading it than looking forward to it. I know it's something that people think needs to be done for her, and for our family, and maybe even for me, but it's overwhelming and like most things these days, just makes me want to cry. In all honesty, I made the decision to cancel it. Momma didn't want anything like that in the first place and I think she would want me to do what I feel.

And I know that this looks like I'm doing nothing but complaining, and I get that. Hell, it even sounds that way to me, but I don't know how else to say it. I don't sleep, my meal eating is all over the place, smiling is getting harder to fake, and everything gets to me. All of it. It doesn't even have to be bad and it somehow still gets to me.

Getting out of bed is getting harder, brushing my hair and teeth seems like a never ending chore, cleaning my house annoys me, concentrating at work is becoming more difficult, and doing yard work makes me want to collapse. There is literally not one single "task" that I can "complete" without being overwhelmed and exhausted. Even my f*cking body is against me and has all these random issues and painful spots. What's causing the pain? I have no clue, your guess is as good as mine.

So yeah, I'm trying. I've been trying. But, I'm mostly struggling.... and I think on some level, possibly even failing.

I exasperate Tayder most days.... but for some reason, he still deals with me.

“I’m real tired, mom.... can you like.... just not?!” -Tayder, most days, but especially today ❤️

(And yes, my little baby has cataracts, he's eighteen!)

Our kitchen floor is FINALLY (almost) done.

Back in March I mentioned that D and I had decided to start some "home renovation" projects. Nothing too huge (although eventually we will have to tackle the bathroom and the thought of that makes me break out in hives), and lord knows with the way I feel and my attention span, it's been a bit of a challenge.

The living room painting is still not completed (all walls need at least one more coat and the trim needs finished), but the ceiling is painted, so there's that. Oh yeah, I have decided to paint all of the ceilings in our house black and all the trim charcoal by the way.... I like the darkness and living in a "cave."

The biggest thing that we've done thus far is our kitchen floor. I got this random idea (thanks, Pinterest and every DIY blog ever written) that creating our floor out of pallets would be a fantastic idea.

It's been a stressful couple of months living in a "construction zone" but this past Memorial Day weekend (three days!) we FINALLY finished it.... mostly. I say mostly only because it has to have it's final "leveling" layer of polyurethane applied, but other than that IT'S DONE.

Our kitchen is kind of normal again, and the next project in there is D is gonna build cabinets with an attached counter, because we literally have NO counter space. And very little cabinet space. And of course, we have to paint (the ceiling is going to be black), and I think we've settled on the walls being a navy blue. Who knows when all of this will get done, but since I plan on living in our house until I die (because f*ck moving), we've got some time.

But y'all, the biggest hurdle in there (the floor) is FINALLY (mostly) done. And yes, I love it.

Can we all just stop at this point and admit that he's a horrible person?!

A little known fact about me is that I have had the same arch nemesis since third grade. And this is only a little known fact about me, because even at the age of twenty-nine I still won't let that shit go, because GRUDGES ARE WHAT MAKE UP MY SOUL AND FUEL MY LIFEFORCE.

Besides, it only takes once for you to have to carry one of your pigtails home with a note from your teacher explaining that a boy in your class cut it off, not you before you hold onto that grudge forever. I mean, OF COURSE I DIDN'T CUT OFF MY OWN F*CKING PIGTAIL.

But, I digress.

Because for almost as long as I've had my arch nemesis, there was also another boy that I just didn't care for. Seriously, I just haven't ever liked this other guy. It all started in fifth grade and escalated from there. I mean, he never did anything directly to me, but I just didn't care for him.... or his brother.

And that's really saying something, because I usually have to have a legit reason for not liking someone. I don't usually just "not like" a person upon meeting them, but this dude? UGH.

The entire time that we were growing up, I tried to tell everybody that he was just not a nice dude. And once we got older, I maintained that I thought this guy was a giant bag of d*cks. People would say things to me like, "you just don't know him, he's a real nice guy" and "he's made a couple of mistakes, but who hasn't?" The last one is valid, but still, it always felt like people were giving him a pass, because his family had a little bit of money and he played sports (ie: basketball, baseball). I know that sounds kind of cliche, but that's honestly what it always felt like. Even some of the girls I grew up with had a "crush" on him, because he was, in their words, "so cute." *barf*

It was like it was "ok" that he was nasty to people or that he thought he was better than most just because of these things. And I never understood it. I never understood why people just felt the need to give him a "pass." But, I figured I wasn't supposed to understand it and that I never would. (I don't.)

When we grew up and finished school his douchery seemed amplified to a level that would make even Steff McKee take a step back. I didn't have to deal with him anymore (victory!), but I felt bad for the people I knew going forward that would have to inevitably see this jackass in everyday adult interactions.

A couple years after we graduated I heard that he got arrested for drugs or something another and still, people said things like, "well, he has a problem." Yeah, he has a problem, he's a d*ck, that's his problem. But, oh no, of course this wasn't his fault. It was everyone else's fault. It was his family's fault (even though they had always been extremely supportive), it was the women that had come in and out of his life's fault (because apparently he thought he should never get broken up with and people should deal with his shit?), it was society's fault (because our small little town had "held him back").

It went on like this for a few years, with his family sending him to rehab and him completing it a total of at least three times. He would stay "good" for awhile and then you would just randomly hear about some ridiculous thing he would pull and it would start all over again.

A vicious circle.

And the circle didn't just include drugs, but a myriad of things that should have been added to the list of his asshattery, but instead, became the list of things that had "befallen" him. The fact that people were still allowing him to do these things and have sympathy for it was incredibly frustrating and exasperating.

Well.... guess what?! He did it again. And this time, it would be nice if people made him accountable for his own actions. Even though, I'm sure they won't, just from the "comments" that I've seen.

There was an article in my old town's newspaper (yes, I still subscribe to the newspaper from my hometown.... I DO WHAT I WANT) on the front page (because shit like this always makes the front page in a teeny little town) with his mugshot (he looks creepily like Herbert the Pervert from Family Guy) detailing what had happened. And what had happened was, his girlfriend had broken her hand and went to the doctor where they prescribed her painkillers, because you know, SHE BROKE HER F*CKING HAND.

Apparently to him this meant that she had a big ole bottle of painkillers up for grabs. When she refused to give them to him (because I'm assuming she didn't want to be a drug dealer, didn't want her boyfriend on painkillers just to be high, and oh yeah, she had a broken f*cking hand) he proceeded to kidnap her (ie: he held her in her own home against her will by force), beat her, steal her phone so she couldn't call for help, and take some of the pills.... all in front of her child.

And if that wasn't good enough (you know, the punching her in the head, strangling her, holding her down, covering her mouth so she couldn't scream for help all in front of her kid), once she gave him some of the painkillers so that he would hopefully leave and it would end, he left and then came back to do it again, because he hadn't "gotten them all."

Luckily, after about 45 minutes to an hour she got away and was able to call the police, who showed up, observed the scene, and took his bitchass to jail.

Now, I don't know the circumstances. And I'm usually the first one to admit that you shouldn't "jump to conclusions" without having all of the facts. I get it. Sometimes things are not what they appear.

But.... sometimes things are exactly what they appear to be. And what appears to me is, this guy is a tool and has received far too many passes for far too long and people are STILL making excuses for him. Yes, excuses. NOT reasons. EXCUSES. Because honestly, what is the reasoning behind any of this? I'll tell you, there isn't one. There are only excuses.

There are a bunch of comments on this article, most of which still seem to have a tinge of "sympathy" FOR HIM. Not for the woman who went through all of this. And especially not for the child who had to watch this happen to his mother. But for him. What. in. the. actual. f*ck?!!

My favorite one has got to be from a girl that I grew up with (whom I love) that said: "Drugs.... they change a person in the WORST possible way... 😔😔   I hate to see him make these decisions and just glad she wasn't seriously injured. Don't do drugs folks. Period."

Yes, drugs do change a person in the worst possible way. And I'm so very glad that she wasn't more seriously injured than she was. Watching someone make these sort of decisions is heartbreaking and baffling.

BUT.... my thing is, can we please do something about this before someone does get seriously injured? Was this not enough? He has clearly been doing questionable and morally ambiguous things at an escalating level for YEARS and people keep giving him a "pass" because he's him. So, this time.... can we not? Can we hold him to his own accountability and stop making it everyone else's "fault" and make him take responsibility for this shit?! (For now he's been charged with: domestic violence, interference with an emergency call, and custodial interference.)

Seriously.... let's just.... yeah.

UPDATE: Apparently, it will do no good for everyone to hold him accountable for his own actions, because said girlfriend that got the crap beat out of her in front of her child over drugs has decided that it is a wonderful idea to not be his girlfriend anymore.... but to become his fiance. And if I see one more of those "we've had our ups and downs and people may not understand blah, blah, blah, blah, blah" posts on FB, I'm gonna barf. People make my head hurt.

My little buddo is sick and so very pitiful.

I had to take Spart to the emergency vet yesterday afternoon.

He has a tendency to break out in hives. He has for as long as he's been a member of our family and since he is mostly white with extremely fine hair, it's usually very visible. Usually, this problem can be handled with a couple of Benadryl and a nap and he goes on his merry way.

But, not this time.

He's been kind of groggy for a couple of days, but all of our pups have, because it's been raining for damn near three weeks straight, so I didn't think much about it, because that pup can DO SOME SERIOUS SLEEPING.

Yesterday morning when I got up for work he didn't want to go outside to potty with his brothers (not unusual for him), so I let him sleep and headed on out. About two hours later, Devon called me and said that his right eye was swollen damn near shut and his neck was swollen. I left work and headed straight home to give him Benadryl and Tylenol and to wash everything that he could have laid on just in case.

A couple of hours later his right eye was starting to look better. It was still red, but the swelling had gone down and his neck looked less swollen as well. So, I let him continue napping.

Well.... when he woke up from his nap his right eye was still red, but his left eye looked like it had a tennis ball attached to it and he couldn't open it, his neck was re-swollen, he was covered in giant hives from head to toe and when he tried to set down on his butt he cried out in pain (I later found out this was because he had welt-hives on his rear end that I'm assuming were quite painful.) Even his little private parts were swollen up and blood red.

I called every vet I could think of immediately and luckily got him into the one around the corner from our house. The poor little fella is not a fan of car rides and once I said the "v word" (vet) he used every bit of strength he had to try and not get into my car. I had to physically pick him up and put him in the car and carry him into the vet office.

He was diagnosed as having had a severe allergic reaction, but we have no clue to what. He also was running a temperature and has an ear infection.

One giant shot, steroids, ear drops, two prescriptions, the last nerve I had left, and $218 later, he's feeling a bit better.

When he got his shot I stood there holding him and the vet had to give it to him in his rear. Usually he will eat anything and everything in sight, but when the vet tried to give him treats as a peace offering, he was having none of it. He was all, I WILL NOT EAT THESE TREATS AS A SIGN OF DISRESPECT TO YOU, SIR."

The entire time he was sick the only thing I could think was, something was gonna happen to Momma's dog. Because he's my pup, but he was also Momma's baby and the thought of something being wrong was doubly unbearable.

He slept on and off for most of the evening and he's had a couple of the "normal" side effects associated to the steroid he has to take (heavy breathing/panting, restlessness, groggy, etc.) and he's had a couple of accidents in the house (he honestly can't help it though!), but for the most part.... knock on wood.... he seems to be doing better.

I came into work this morning, because almost everybody else is off due to Memorial Day, but UR is letting me go home at lunch and stay so that I can watch over him the rest of the day and since I'm off for the next three after today, hopefully I can keep a good eye on him.

Hopefully, in the next couple of days he'll be fully recovered and feeling like his regular/goofy/lovable self again. (Although, he's still all about some cuddles). ❤

Some things I've learned since my boyfriend asked me to marry him.

Oh yeah, did I forget to mention that? I know I talked about how my boyfriend was trying to talk me into marriage and I didn't know how anything was going to unfold. Well, guess what?

I still have no f*cking clue.

But, he did ask. And apparently it needs said, because my entire family and all my friends were like "well.... what did you say?"

I said yes.

He actually had to propose twice (ok, he didn't "have to" but he did), because he actually got my ring from his grandmother and mother. You see, the engagement ring was his grandmother's and the band was his mothers. And that to me is better than getting some new ring, because it's more special (or at least, that's my opinion on it).

But, in his haste to propose (at our home while I was wearing no makeup and cooking dinner in my pajamas), he proposed with the band. I didn't want to tell anybody until I had the chance to tell Dani, but made the exception for him to tell his mom, because come on, it's his mom. He sent her the picture of me wearing it and she was like, "aw sweetie, wrong ring." So, he did it again. And that's just too good apart of the story to leave out for me.

With all of that being said, I thought I would share some of the things that I've "learned" since becoming engaged.

#1: I never thought the day would come where if I ever decided to get married, I wouldn't have Momma here with me: and I don't care for it one bit. In the interest of full disclosure, Devon talked to Momma about asking me to marry him before she passed away. I know this, because she mentioned a little something about it to me. I think she did it just so I wouldn't know he was going to ask, but so I knew when he finally did, she more than approved. We used to watch that show "Say Yes to the Dress" together all the time, and would just have fun with it. But, never did I think the day would come to where she wouldn't physically be here with me if I ever had to say yes to a dress. And I know she's here in spirit and in my heart, but it still hurts and I would be lying if I said I knew how to process any of this. (I don't).

Side note: Devon told me when he asked her she kind of chuckled and said, "that girl will marry you, but she'll never change her mind about babies." It's amazing how well she knows me.

#2: Everyone thought that I was going to "die alone" as an old spinster: which to be fair, isn't that far of a stretch. I've always said that marriage and kids are not for me (and I still maintain my stance on the not having kids part) and I like to spend enormant amounts of time alone. Well, alone with my pups at least. I know most people find the company of others to be comforting, but me, not so much. I prefer to be by myself (mostly). I don't know why, but I just do, and I've always been ok with that. When I made the comment, "wow, alot of people thought I was gonna die alone" my brother let me know that whether anybody else did or not.... he definitely did. Thanks, bro.

#3: Wedding dress shopping seems a lot more challenging and expensive than tv would leave you to believe: there's not an endless supply of dresses you love in your price range. I decided to just "look" at wedding dresses online, even though I have no idea when we will get married. But, I thought that since I didn't want anything real "fancy" that the process would be relatively painless. I. Was. F*cking. Wrong. Did you know that "legit" bridal places don't usually even have dresses for less than $300? And yeah, I know people spend much more money on those kinds of things, but I have no desire to be forking out almost an entire mortgage payment (or more!) for ONE DRESS.

#4: While I usually love the fact that Devon doesn't have too much to say about the way I dress/look, I find it very irritating that he won't give me an opinion on what kind of wedding dresses he likes: it's a simple question(s), dude.... THERE ARE TOO MANY OPTIONS. He's all, "it's your dress, it doesn't matter what I like and don't like, it's for you to pick out and love." And while that's usually a sweet sentiment and I love him for it, I'm also like dude this is hard, help a gal out. Then he mentioned something about a poofy camo wedding dress and while I love camo I had to look at him like he was smoking crack rock. Then he mentioned a black wedding dress. But when I said something about an "off white" dress he was all, "you don't wanna wear white?!" I was forced to tell him that "white" is traditionally for virgins, because it's a sign of purity, and we've known each other since we were fifteen, THE JIG IS UP. Needless to say, I still have no idea what I'm doing.

#5: And not that I had any doubt about it, but I'm real happy that I'll have a different last name: for a long time Momma and I talked about me changing my last name (I would have taken her maiden name) and we always said that I would do that by the time I'm thirty. Well, I might not be married and have an official different last name by the time I'm thirty, but I'm on the way.

Basically, I've learned that I need a nap and a drink. Oh, and while I like Say Yes to the Dress, it's a bag of horseshit.

Be that as it may, I'm still trying.

One hundred eleven. 111. It seems odd to write that number, because it doesn't seem like it's really all that significant.

And yet, here I am.... acknowledging the fact that Momma has been gone for 111 days.

It seems like it was just yesterday and three lifetimes ago all at once.

I would like to be able to say that I'm doing good and that I've learned to accept and move on from the situation, but the truth is, I'm not.

I'm not feeling better, I'm not physically better, and I'm not mentally better.

Basically, nothing is better and I don't foresee it getting there. I'm sure eventually it will, but for now, I'm still in Limbo replaying my entire life up until that point over and over again until my brain may in fact overheat.

I'm still having those anxiety attacks. It's actually getting harder to get out of bed, and I can't tell if it's a mental or physical thing. (But, my bet would be mental).

I don't want to leave my house and whether it be lack of sleep or something else, my entire body is in pain. Even going down the road to Aunt Poot's for a cookout seems like an incredibly daunting task. I still randomly burst out in tears and replay everything that I tried to do and couldn't do all over and over in my mind.

I try to tell myself that nothing can change what is, but that doesn't help AT ALL.
And don't even get me started on how "Mother's Day" went over this year.

I've been attempting to do more things around the house (trying to keep up with cleaning, laundry, mowing/weed eating grass, etc.), but still find that I would rather lay in the dark and not move at all. I'm pushing myself to "do more" and keep finding that it's exhausting. And not a regular kind of exhausting, but an exhausting that I've never felt before.

After speaking to a friend of mine that lost her mother a couple of years ago, she suggested that maybe I should go and talk to my doctor for something that would help "short term" until I can cope with things on my own. I just don't know about it.

I don't mean to feel this way, and I even feel guilty for it, but I can't seem to help it. My "putting on a brave face so my family and friends don't worry about me" facade is getting better by the day though.... probably.

Apart from that, here I sit. In Limbo.

But, I'm trying. Because as I've said before, and I will be forever convinced of, she would kick my ass if I didn't.

Snapchat is an evil.... but mostly hilarious.... thing.

My brother and D decided to play around with Snapchat filters and to say that it was pretty damn hilarious would be an understatement. Personally, I don't do Snapchat, but I've seen enough of the filters around to know that it can get pretty wonky at times. I mean, we've all seen the girls with the puppy eyes/tongues, right?!

There's a new one out (at least, I think it's new?) that switches your gender. They decided to play with that one a little and hilarity definitely ensued.

In fact, it changed D into his mom, my brother into a Bratz doll, and me? Well.... it directly changed me into my brother. And we laughed about it for hours (I actually couldn't breathe for a minute, because I was laughing too hard). Now I think D finds it both hysterical and creepy at how much my brother and I look alike.

"Our damn parents are so ungrateful and rude." -Our pups on a daily basis

Dude. ❤️ Life would "succ" without you too.

Teenagers are the f*cking worst and I won't change my mind about it. 🙄

Look, I know we were all teenagers once (even though I'm convinced I was born with the personality of an eighty-seven year old man), and teenagers are inherently more dramatic than most people (except maybe other people on FB?), but COME ON.

My little cousin posted on her social media account, and while it's hers to do with which she pleases (even though teens on social media blows my mind, because if social media would have been around when I was her age it would've been a big f*ck no from my mom), and I don't have to follow her and see her posts, I'm still going to complain about it, because THAT'S JUST WHO I AM AS A PERSON NOW.

Also, the fact that I turned twenty-nine a few months ago (effectively starting the last year of "being in my twenties") and found a giant patch of gray hair (not a hair here or there, but an ENTIRE PATCH) awhile back may have something to do with my bad mood towards "young" people, but we're going with this is just who I am now.

These are some of, but let's be real not all of the issues I have about this post, but not life in general, because ain't nobody got time for all that :

#1: "Take you back" where exactly? As someone who is in your current life, I'm going to go ahead and let you in on the fact that we all (and by "we all" I mean me) know this was taken on a trip through your SCHOOL, you complained the ENTIRE time, AND you got GROUNDED for a MONTH when you got back, over something you did while there. And while I (and everyone that isn't your parents) thought it was stupid, the fact is, it happened. Also, in case you forgot, you were PISSED OFF and swore you wouldn't want to "relive that ever again." Well, here we are.

#2: BUCKET HATS?! Bucket hats are back and a f*cking thing again? This is how old I am?!!?! I'm officially "these trends were around when you were a kid/teen and now they're making their way back around" years old?! F*ck.

#3: That little girl that commented on your post that you answered? Listen, I know she's your "best friend" and you're going to be "best friends" for the rest of your lives and you can't imagine your lives without each other, but as someone who has been in the same situation as you with the same kind of friends (not to mention I have personally met this little girl), let me just say.... dump her. Dump her right now. BECAUSE SHE IS THE ABSOLUTE WORST.

#4: PLEASE STOP shortening your words to a couple of letters. You're educated and I'm old. In other words, I don't know what you mean and you know how to say what you're trying to say using legitimate words. USE YOUR WORDS.

There are more, but I'm stopping here. Because even I'm like, "damn Katie, calm the f*ck down over there."

Tayder and Xur are like Devon and enjoy/want all the sunshine they can get.... Spart is like me and gets annoyed by light.

Extremely Wicked, Shockingly Evil and Vile.

So.... I watched that new movie/kind of documentary? about Ted Bundy on Netflix. You know, the one with Zac Efron and Lily Collins? Yeah.... about that.

Let's just get one thing straight from the get-go: TED BUNDY WAS NOT AN ATTRACTIVE MAN. Every time I see a documentary/read something about him one of the most often mentioned things is the fact that he was so "good looking" and "charming".

And I'm over here like WWWHHHHHAAAAAATTTTTTT?!?!?!???!!

Even if he wasn't one of the most notorious serial killers on the planet (or, I guess, was) I would still look at that dude and without a shadow of a doubt the first thought that would go through my head would be, that dude is a f*cking psychopath. How anyone could have ever looked at him or see him speak and that not be their first thought is so far beyond me I'll never reach it. Was there no one paying attention? Sure, there are people that are good at hiding the monster within themselves and can convince people that they're amazing and good-hearted people. I'm not disputing that. What I'm disputing is, how did anyone find this man attractive or charming enough to even want to stand near him?!

Ok sure, everyone said that he was charismatic and courteous, but you know who else they say that about? Charles Manson. And.... Jeffrey Dahmer. Oh, and Dennis Rader. Then there was Richard Ramirez. Followed by Joran van der Sloot. Not to mention Adolf Hitler. ARE YOU SENSING A PATTERN HERE, PEOPLE?!!?!

Let's just all agree that a creep is a f*cking creep and Ted Bundy shared in the tippy-top of that list.

Oh, and can we all just agree that women who are "fans", "fall in love" with, and "seek out" these types of people to "share their lives with" whether it's inside or outside of bars are f*cking insane?!

It was a good film and I have to hand it to Jim Parsons on every single level available. He not only makes a convincing prosecutor, but I honestly felt that the actual prosecutor had to feel every emotion that he displayed, because how could he not?!

The movie is set up to almost attempt to make you have sympathy for Bundy, and I'm assuming it's like that, so that when it reaches the end you can feel how all the people involved that were "on his side" and never suspected anything felt. You're meant to feel duped and in turn, maybe have some understanding for the people in his life. And if you knew absolutely nothing about Bundy's story and only had this movie to go on, you might actually feel that way.... personally, I've read a lot about him and watched numerous documentaries, so that feeling never came for me. What can I say other than what I've said before? A creep is a f*cking creep.

What I've we've gathered from this:

Ted Bundy in any capacity = horrific.
People falling for his "charm" = petrifying.
His crimes = blood-curdling.
Zac Efron playing this convincing of a sociopath = confusing.

And finally, just to reiterate one last time, TED BUNDY WAS NOT AN ATTRACTIVE MAN. STOP SAYING THAT RIGHT F*CKING NOW, IT'S CREEPING ME OUT AND GIVING ME THE HEEBEE JEEBEES.

November 1999. ❤️