Invisible With Liberty and Justice for…well…some

I went out into the world with good intentions. I had a smile on my face. I had music in my ears, it was raining, I was happy. When you are a middle aged woman however…you could be naked and eating baby animals and no one would see you. I went into a honey shop, and wandered around and was pretty intrigued by all the cool stuff. I went in because a sign out front said COME IN AND TRY OUR MEAD. ok! Sounds amazing.

There were only two people in the store and me. So I then see two girls walking out with coffee. COOL! I really left the house with intent to find coffee. How cool that the place I wandered into has coffee! I wander to the back, there is coffee. I stand there and stand there and stand there. I start to wander away…the girl who works there appears completely annoyed by me.

‘Do you want drip?’

Uh, I guess so. ‘Yes!’ I smile.

‘Room for cream?’

“Yes, that would be great!’

I stick my credit card into the space age dynamic that takes our money now…I am looking at the mead counter and menu.

“I wanted to try some mead too!’

“Do you want the coffee first or the mead?”

“I need coffee.”

Her: nothing

“I just need your signature.” Her way of saying GET YOUR CARD OUR OF THE READER – because there is no signature, I just needed to press one more thing to finish the transaction.

She puts a carton of cream on the counter. I take it with me to the coffee thermos thingy on the counter – which is…like church coffee so why are you being such a bitch? I bring the creamer back to her as she is standing there waiting for me and I can’t help but feel daggers.

I screw the lid on, smile, set it back down as she seems to urgently need it back.

I walk over to the mead bar area, which is a full set up of a giant bar inside of this bee store. “Are you going to sit down?”

“No, I just wanted to try some mead.” Am I mumbling?

‘It’s ten dollars for a flight of …..” She shoves a menu in my direction.

“I just wanted to taste it thanks bye.” BITCH. Wow. I had money to burn in my pockets, I was all chatty and happy and she was all snarly and mean.

If some of you have businesses and you wonder why sales are down, it might be because you have annoying, cunty people working for you.

I then went to The Peppercorn – an amazing shop full of anything to do with food, eating, cooking and kitchens. Three times I stood at the knife counter…picking up knife books…looking at prices, meandering around the knife area like it was candy. Back over to the cookbooks, back over to the knives. Then I hear a dude talking to an older gentleman at the knife counter all about how those knives are made. I’m in the middle of a recipe of a book I am holding and I just see this and keep reading. Weird. I stood over there forever. ANOTHER man is standing there for four seconds and another employee addresses him immediately.

I guess only men buy knives. I mean I was pulling out all the cool knife carrying bags, looking at knife books, flipping knives around to find the prices. Then I milled around the store some more and I’d come back.

I chose a knife, chose a book and walked around some more. Saw another man get helped at the knife counter and it just hit me – I don’t need to give this place my money. It’s as invisible here as I am. BYEEEEEE. I set everything down and left. About $80 worth. Yes I could have said I NEED HELP – but this is how this went down, I’m just reporting my experience. Fuck them,

I wasn’t angry…I am just realizing my own value and how others do not. Toodle loo.

I then went to the Boulder Book Store. I cozied up in a chair, I asked for help in finding some stuff, I read some books and chose a nutrition book and a Japanese to English translation book.

I’m on the verge of possibly being hired as a chef in training at a Japanese restaurant. Needless to say, an opportunity of a lifetime for a middle aged white lady. He sees me. In the interview, the owner conducted BTW…

(I went to an interview a few days before that the owner had set up, but sent a grunt to interview me…while he sat at the bar eating and drinking—see…I researched the place, I knew he was the owner, I loved that he’s built this up from a food cart on the mall to a brick and mortar. But he could not be bothered. The kid interviewing me said “I think you’d be a great fit’ I’m like ‘based on what? I’m a warm body?’ He didn’t even have my resume in front of him. The owner did come over, but just to take a poster out of the window and hit this guy on the head with it and also completely ignore me and never look at me or acknowledge me. BYEEEEEEEEEEE. Have fun with hiring warm bodies.)

So the Japanese owner is interviewing me. He has opened a restaurant at 62, I tell him I am inspired by him. I am 52 and pursuing a new career as well. The GM is there too, he is suspicious of my resume and short times at each place. I tell him yes, this is true. There are two places on there owned by the same people and it was me just trying to gain experience and find the right environment. Trying to break into a new career is hard. I was doing hair at the time of this change. I now want to be challenged and do something besides burgers and pizza.

I am to go back tomorrow to meet the current chef and see how that goes. ‘She is about your age too.’ I am so elated to hear this. I raise my fists in celebration. He tells me he has to talk to other people, and I have to meet Akemi but can I start next Wed? YES. I say.

I am already picturing myself there. I have purchased a Japanese to English Bilingual Dictionary with pictures. I’m visual. I fantasize being asked to move to Japan to run a restaurant. My delusions of grandeur or am I manifesting? I don’t know. I am trying to enjoy life and go on adventures. I am trying to be positive and realistic about my expectations. This will be challenging. It will be hard. I will be judged constantly. I will be expected to be a manager and to run the kitchen. I said ‘Why are you hiring someone with no experience in Japanese cooking?’ They said they have their recipes and they want them followed with no changes. When someone has their own training they have their own ideas and they don’t make the food how it should be made. This is true. They also said they will happily collaborate on new ideas but not with things already on the menu. I respect this and always have. Even when I was making sandwiches and pizza. The customer should get the same product no matter what time or day they come in-no matter who is in the kitchen. It builds confidence in the whole dining experience. I think he liked that.

I interview great. I do not lie or charm. If its not a good fit we all need to know this right away.

This is going to be incredible and life changing if this is happening, It’s truly a huge giant fluke to be honest. I quit my seemingly other DREAM JOB that turned into a virtual doctrinating nightmare of a process into the non profit cult world and two days later this comes up. I know it will be hard. Everyone in the kitchen is young, male and Japanese. They all speak Japanese in the kitchen. I have everything to gain but it will be a challenge. Like the food labels? My poor eyesight…I need new glasses…my grief brain…all of it. I am ready for this I think. I’m trying to be real.

I will be learning how to make beautiful Japanese food. This is an opportunity of a lifetime. He said his last chef is moving to China to open his second restaurant he is opening there. This is happening.

I am going to another interview this morning, just to stay open and not lose opportunities if THIS one doesn’t happen. I will be a stage at a kind of fancy place that also has a female chef. I said I was excited about that and she was all ‘meh’ and told me I would be working with Patrick and interview with her later. I will be a grunt, everyone will be watching me and every move I make and reporting back to the chef. It is stressful. I can only do what I can do. I have one knife.

I’m 52 years old.

This is happening.

Where most people think women belong.

Where I think women belong.
This is Chelsea Miller. She MAKES KNIVES.
She’s a badass.
I want a Chelsea Miller knife.

What If

What if…I quit the job that dismisses me crying in front of the group (that said to me ‘Judy you’re being quiet why are you being so quiet you need to talk’) after I said to the group ‘I’m sick of being vulnerable all the time my daughter died a year ago and I am vulnerable and raw all the time I can’t do it anymore I just wanted to come to work and cook’ by telling me ‘everyone has problems’. I have never cried so much in my life let alone cried at work, this last year has completely destroyed the person I thought I was. It was so hard to be called out like that in front of everyone I work with and the very next comment made was ‘well everybody has problems.’ Also that I’m being oppressive to people of color by talking about not wanting to be vulnerable.

The social justice warrior world is eating itself alive.

Is this crazy making to anyone? I’m the COOK. They hired me to cook, clean, serve, and manage the kitchen. I am now an oppressive racist.

My daughter is dead and I’m getting out of bed every day, I think that’s a pretty big deal. And I’m getting out of bed to go to this stupid job. If I am silent during these (collective liberation) meetings I am told I am being oppressive to people of color, if I talk during these meetings and say things like this, I am oppressive because I’m having my feelings and taking them away from the people of color.

My feelings are shit, point taken.

The person pushing against me and going after everything I say and do at this job is a mother.

It’s truly astounding. I think I’m doing a pretty good job taking care of my grief asking for help from my friends and loved ones and I’m not being the best person in the world but I’m doing the best I can right now. This is the fucking place I work – and they are a DOMESTIC VIOLENCE SHELTER FULL OF PEOPLE IN CRISIS. It’s too much.

This is too much. I just want to cook food.

I’ve been living like this for three months. I practically have an ulcer now, I don’t sleep as you can see it’s after three in the morning, I am not only grieving, I’m now fucked up because I have lost all confidence in myself on what to say or do at THIS job.  The job that when I first started I shared that I wanted to bring in guest chefs and put together a little cookbook for everybody and teach cooking classes as some people have never been in the kitchen and they’re afraid of cooking there’s so much emotion involved around food and I wanted to integrate all of my eating disorder knowledge and help with that and not talk bad about food and present things as a healing part of getting one’s life back together- yeah what a jerk. I was already fucked from spending the last year not knowing what to say or do in general. I understand the concept of collective liberation. I understand white people are inherently racially supreme by learning this in a world that presents this to us, we are terrible and we ruined the planet. I get it. I have always been a huge supporter of any underdog no matter race or gender and I don’t like that I am walking through this tremendous, hellacious grief and I am so thankful to have the two people in my life right now who know of the grief of losing a child; and thankful for my support peeps in my life for sure…but having to walk through this shit everyday so I can pay rent.? fuck you

Life is too short. It really, really is.

People hate grief, and they are pretty harsh if you are a parent and your kid died from a drug overdose; people are very judgy and mean and cold and disrespectful. So yeah, I’ll stay in my little apartment –OR NOT- and hopefully go find a job chopping onions all day so I can pay my rent. That’s about all I can do right now. I do not need to be defending my existence, I can barely do that. I’m going to build up my company, my hours, my money, my menu, and my skills.

Leave me the fuck alone.

Who wants to sign up for a healing retreat?

What If?

What if I invest fully into what I want out of life? What if? What if I can be as weird and free as I want? What if loving MORE instead of protecting more made my life fuller?

What if we all played the WHAT IF GAME???

Play it today and see what happens.

Take a fear you are ruminating over (what my brain does on loop) and reverse it with the opposite ‘what if’.

What if…I was not worried about quitting this job/making enough money/doing everything right?…so essentially: What if I was happy and proud to be here?

How would you work in those conditions? Maybe you DO quit. Maybe playing the What If game sets you free?

Try it and report back.


I can’t focus. I need help with this website. I keep reading about Renaissance women who do several things in life. I do and have several passions. My exploding brain is just making them a big mess on this wordpress site and reading about putting a website together is making my head spin. I used to be able to be really focused.

How can so many idiots be making it out there in life and I can’t?

I want #livebig to be a thing. I want my art to be a thing. I want my cooking to be a thing. I want my yoga to be a thing. I want to thrive and sustain myself with my work.

Her Shampoo

There is something about grief that goes against everything I was ever taught, and that is; if you work really hard you can fix something. Or: If you want something bad enough you can get it. Or: Bootstraps bla bla bla. The truth is, is that there is no coming back. The truth is, is that there is nothing to come back to. There are no bootstraps, there is no fixing or filling or striving or commandeering this. It resides in me, it is me, I am bereft, I am hollow, yet I am full, I am a ghost and yet I also chase ghosts. There is nothing to believe in. Eventually I come back into the world in whatever broken way I can because I have bills, but I am never fully back in.

The wind blows through me, no amount of self care in the world can fix this gaping, living, breathing hole that now resides in my heart and eats all of my food. It is like that parasite that lives in clown fish and replaces their tongues  I may curl my hair, wear lipstick, laugh with friends, just like the parasite host; the fish goes about it’s life. Humans put on their human bodies and we participate in the world, but for the grieving one’s, our heart is not in the game. We have loved ones, and we have care and we know survival and all of these things are in picture frames that decorate our lives but we are like a sheet hanging on the line with the breeze blowing through it moving however it likes. That little parasite always visible.


I can understand hoarders now. Watching that show, I used to get so mad at the people wanting to keep old diapers and dried up, dead cats, and mounds of rotten food. All of these people had a common string of loss somewhere in their story. Sometimes it was a divorce, or big a life change and sometimes it actually was a death. Something happened to them that they never came back from the ‘thing’ that broke them. I empathized with this in their stories but I always got so mad that they would rather hang on to that stuff so much so, that their water would be shut off by the city and they’d poop in a bag over moving on. They always kept all the stuff that reminded them of their ‘before’ life. The thing that they ‘missed’. I understand it now.

I have all of Savannah’s things. I don’t have a closet in my studio apartment. There is one little built in cabinet thingy that serves as a closet and me being the master of organization have found a way to keep all of her things and mine in an orderly fashion and still have my apartment space. I have all of her books, clothes, stuffed animals, journals, makeup, hair products, lotions, hair ties and bandannas. I have her shampoo and conditioner. She had just bought colossal sizes of both as she was moving into her own place, but she died. I am to the point now that those things are starting to run out. I am ignoring how much this upsets me.

I know she is dead, I know she is not coming back, I know that if I don’t have these things anymore that all of this will still be happening but I don’t want to run out of the shampoo and conditioner. I don’t want to use all of the lotions. Do I expect to have these things around until I myself die? I don’t know. I am not thinking about the future in any way shape or form, I am just worried about the running out of her things. That’s the other thing grief did to me, it took away my ability to see or care about my future. Funny that that’s what Zen is supposed to be like. The Here and Now of it all.

Given this careless future thingy, I have been going about my life in a sort of fearless manner. Moving to a new city, changing every habit that I’ve ever had, reading voraciously like I did when I was a kid, lying motionless in bed for hours and days sometimes; breaking every rule I’ve ever made for my adult self. Applying for a job I never thought I’d get because it sounded amazing and like I’d be perfect for it. Telling people what I think of things, not giving two fucks if I upset them because I no longer try to guess how they feel. I do not having the capacity to take care of another soul nor worry about if they can take care of mine and this has changed me and the way I am my SELF to others. Getting the job I never thought I’d get. I got it.

I have a salaried job. I can pay my rent. I will be making food for people and running the whole entire kitchen system at a safe-house. I get to take care of people by just being there and helping them feed themselves and by existing in this form, I can help them. I found out my previous frat house job had a GM who was manipulating my position there and thought I was taking advantage of them so he was not giving me the hours I needed. WOW. That’s what prompted this. I refused to beg for hours all summer and thought I’ll just work somewhere else. I fretted and cried and worried and this man shit on this grieving mom for months and looked me in the eye and called himself ‘my family’. Ironically enough, nothing could be more true.

Since I no longer care or need permission to have my feelings, I found all of this out because I spoke up. It got worse and worse; the information I found out. It turned out to be the best thing I’ve ever done is stand up and voice myself with no editor or no worry about ‘how I seem’. I didn’t let ‘the men talk’ and I blew everything up in their faces and none of it really matters anyway. It changed my life so drastically for the better; to take these actions, and this call to adventure, that now, I can’t believe I am in the position I am in in this body in my life right now. I want to hoard more shampoo. I always want to have her lotions.

I am breaking out of my life into a life I didn’t even know could be mine. It is not mine. It is the other self’s life. I feel like a cardboard cut out of me is doing all of these things. I am also going after the rehabilitation center where Savannah died. One person against the broken machine of a system who profits from people’s fears and pain. Joining with Shatterproof so I can be an advocate for change. I hate groups, but they have a platform dedicated to this very thing. Right now I am one lady going ballistic online, calling journalists, the DEA, planning a march, calling and writing anyone and any system involved in this same broken system that created it. It’s like watching the beginning of 2001 a Space Odyssey.

The awful evolution, the overacting extras in monkey suits, the beautiful music, all part of the system that we just accept and help create just by being in it. Watching monkey’s and being a monkey. Asking monkey’s for help. Some of the monkey’s are like me and lost in the same system and doing their part to fight back. Given the number of opioid deaths in this country however, this small army is growing, but it is hard to fight things from under grief. Sometimes you just want the monkey’s to have their bones so you can just go back to bed.

My cardboard cutout buys healthy food but my real self doesn’t see the point in living a healthy life. I eat the food. I also sneak away from healthy Judy and buy cake and candy and sugar and beer. So many rules have defined my life that I just can’t bear to stick to any now.

There are nightmares and re-reading of journals and texts and thinking back to when she was three or seven or thirteen and wondering if I could have done something different. How did such a brave, strong, sensible, discreet kid get into heroin? It must have been something done to her or her psyche. Or is it just a shot in the dark that gives us all our lives and demeanor’s and pain and pleasures? Why am I still here when I should have been dead a thousand times already? I picked up hitchhikers. I drove drunk. I let men beat me. Is it like Groundhog Day or Russian Doll where the main character tries to save the life of someone so many different ways only to watch them die anyway? If I went back in time and changed that one day would she have died in another year from a different thing? I would spend a lifetime looking for that day.

Is she mad at me for talking about this? Is she in a better place? Is human life really this stupid?

Even if you shut all of this off; all of this universe crap and ‘better place’ crap, you still have grief. You still have the hole. You can appear in any way shape or form here on this earth and you will always be beside yourself. Literally, you can look over and see yourself standing there. Both of you with the same look on your face.

I can buy more shampoo.

It will always be her shampoo.

New Year, No Gurus

I am finding that I am getting through the day because, well, it is a day that has 24 hours to it (on this planet) and I am alive in it. That’s it. There is no magic spell. There is no Dream It and Make It Happen Genie that grants you anything. I am doing my best. I am spending time alone, I am spending time with friends old and new; these are very genuine and loving relationships. I had a wonderful trip with my son to the beach over Christmas and it was rewarding and beautiful and relaxing and fun.  He is one of the best people I know. I almost didn’t go on the trip because of money and it was so wonderful, I am glad we did it. Good things are happening and I am being in ‘life’ like I am supposed to but I still want to give up every single day.

When Savannah died in April, I wanted to die. People told me not to die. I did not die. I searched for the meaning in life, in my life, in how one stays on the planet after tragedy. I listened to audio meditations, ‘healing’ meditations, I  held fundraisers, I promoted a non profit that fights addiction and raised over $4000, I scoured the internet for grief counseling, wrote in journals, read Savannah’s journals, did my tarot, painted, wrote, went to a bereaved parents group, reached out with all of the reach I had and spent hours and hours researching every single thing I could find on grief and death. I watched tragic, awful stories on Netflix about murder, torture, escape and death to see if there are worse things. (There are plenty.) I had my headphones on most of the time at work or during my time alone listening to self help gurus, meditation music, guided meditations; which for years has gotten me through stuff, until finally I had a breakdown. I ripped my apartment apart; ripped everything from the walls and smashed a lot of stuff. (It was very satisfying and Marie Kondo ain’t got nothing on me.) I scared my family. No one knew what to do with me. This is suicidal depression.

Positive affirmations are so evasive on social media; you can’t get away from memes telling you to BE HAPPY, or BE SAD. Or BE ANXIOUS. Apparently every single emotion and feeling is perfectly fine and absolutely normal and you need to just go about your day. Its mostly the being happy ones, the striving for success ones, the pick yourself up and dust yourself off Memes- I can’t take them anymore. The world in general, wants to swallow these sayings like some big pill, so that they can ‘be positive’ in hopes that some ‘positive magic’ will come in and take over for them. (Like God, but for ‘spiritual not religious’ people. Its a positive affirmation instead of a prayer.) And it does, ‘come in’ for a bit. Reading them and believing in them and using them to motivate me got me this far, but when something horrible actually happened in my life, I quit believing in this ‘positive’ over meme’d magic.

There is no magic. There is no pill. These are lies we tell ourselves so we will get out of bed and keep everything in a friendly, even keeled fog. Even if you get out of bed, there is still the floor you have to walk on. There are clothes you have to wear, bills you have to pay, food you have to ingest. This positive affirmation shit is no longer cutting it for me. I have to pay rent. I have to quit missing work. I could ‘dream big’ and ‘believe’ all I wanted; I was going to get evicted DREAMING about success and money and happiness.

I got to the point where I could no longer ignore the fact that all of these self help coaches and gurus I’ve been listening to, all happen to be multimillionaires. Do you really want to know a good way to be successful and rich? Sell your ‘happy’ ideas to a very vulnerable and semi bourgeois, very WHITE, audience who have a big disposable income and who are suffering from First World miseries who will buy your books and tapes and pay several hundreds of dollars to hear you tell them to ignore reality, get into the ‘vortex’, think and dream big and IT will happen. Meanwhile, doing these things does not pay your bills. If I had listened to this shit for reals, I wouldn’t be here. I couldn’t just dream of money, I had to go make some so I wouldn’t be homeless.

I moved up to Boulder and Savannah died the very next day. I moved here because I was going to do my Reiki and start my business as a healer again but when I got the news, it all seemed a sham. The great healer…couldn’t do a fucking thing about her own daughter. I didn’t get any ‘feelings’ from her the night she died, I had no ‘energy force’ reach me, I couldn’t zap into her body and prevent her from dying from a drug overdose with my Reiki vibes. It’s all part of that magic people want to believe in so desperately that they’ll give you money for it. I don’t believe anymore.

I was faced with making the decision of going back to my apartment in Denver to live with my boyfriend and his three small kids (every weekend) or go for it in the city I had wanted to live in for years and try and make it on my own with every dream dashed and start all over from below zero. I didn’t even have a job. The plan was to work with my friend in her biz and build mine and work somewhere and build build build this ‘healing’ practice. It all dissipated. The help, the friend, the healing idea overall. And I couldn’t go BACK. To anything. My life was forever changed.

I did not have the mental capacity to deal with small kids or present any kind of ‘normal’ to anyone so I could not go back to living with boyfriend.  I did not want to take care of any living souls at all whatsoever in any kind of way, nor was I capable. I don’t have to raise three very young kids who are not mine and I have the piece of mind to know this despite society/ego/self cramming it down women’s throats that we are nurturers. Motherhood is a load of shit and the hardest work you will ever do that there are no rewards for no matter what everyone tells you or what you tell yourself. Children aren’t like puppies, they are human beings that you had sex with someone to make. They come out of you and you raise them and feed them and have fun, memory lasting, good times with them. They become themselves and their own beings and sometimes even after all of that; they die. I simply can’t take on three kids who have a mother and a father already. It’s their job.

Ask any woman in her 50’s (and over), if in her next life, she would have kids. Go ahead. Ask one. A very close friend will tell you NO. No WAY. Your life is on hold as soon as that baby pops out. No matter how cool you think you are; running 5k’s, being in cross fit or starting businesses…oh yes, We may strive, as mothers, we may thrive, but mostly we survive it. We make due. We wait. Look at any famous successful women, I mean REALLY SUCCESSFUL. They either don’t have kids or had the kids and still chose the career and had someone raise the kids and they are forever judged for it. There is no way out of this thing unscathed. Or maybe she chose a job that ‘works around the kids’. Doesn’t count. She had to put off what she wanted. The man just continues on with his day, his job, his life. #metoo will never happen to moms. It will never be EQUAL. Stay at home dads are treated like Gods. Even if a woman has a 6 figure income and she’s an amazing, amazon woman…SHE LEFT HER CHILDREN to be successful. Yeah, next life…no way. This life however, I will continue to fight having to scrape the bottom of the barrel just to pay rent.

Children have minds of their own and you as a parent are not the light of their life past the age of 11. I am lucky enough to have had the pleasure to actually like and enjoy my children immensely. They were and are some of the best, most interesting, and loving, kindest people in the world. My parents did not like me, (you do not HAVE TO like your kids.) I just happen to think very highly of mine and was/still am very proud of them. Savannah put me through the ringer, but she was one of the coolest people I will ever know. I will never be as talented, as good of a writer, as raw and real as her, nor have any minuscule of the fashion sense she had or be as good of a friend as she was. My son is an adult and living his life and we are very close and comfortable together and have fun and laugh and laugh together and we are honest with each other and I couldn’t ask for a more loving soul to call my son.

I am justifying here that I can have these unconventional thoughts on motherhood in general AND still be an empathetic, lighthearted, adventurous, soul who is also a mother, but who can no longer listen to the bullshit of the push for mandatory happiness. Good attitude? I got it. Sure! Laugh more? I definitely work on that by trying to watch less tragedies. I’m too much of a realist to get over this immense pain of losing a daughter by way of meme’s and the law of attraction.

Every time I listened to Abraham Hicks (whom I have been listening to for at least six years now…) I began to wonder if any of the advice she gives would help, say…a mother who’s child has been taken by ICE. If this mother could afford a $250 ticket to a Phoenix speaking engagement perhaps or a possible $14,000 ticket in a high end room on a cruise ship seminar, would this woman, who’s child was locked in a cage in America, who is sad and grieving and worried; would these seminars and Laws of Attraction help her? If she could just ‘imagine’ her child not locked up, not in danger, maybe she could get through this.

Nope. I’m not buying it.

Abraham/Esther speaks about all of her homes and cars and trips non stop. I get it. We shouldn’t be ashamed of our cool stuff and her talking about it helped everyone accept wealth into their ‘vortex’.  A real, ‘If she can do it, gosh darn it, so can I!’ attitude. And more power to her entrepreneurial self for working hard and making all of her money. She had her husband pass away so I was very interested in her teachings getting me through my grief. All I heard now in my new life, that I am forced to lead, was people whining about money and that death wasn’t real because we are all eternal souls. Which is great for the dead person. The living mother that I am now, left behind in this non blissful, painful realm of the human life we lead here on earth, was not BUYING IT. None of this was hitting home anywhere for me and my grief let alone in my job search.

Being in the midst of a real life altering, tragic death, lifted the veil for me. Are people who are starving in the world going to get anything out of these seminars? No. Trump probably listens to them too. He sure believes in himself and thinks everything he wants is possible. He dreams big doesn’t he? He has lots of money. He thinks he’s right about his thoughts and feelings and that he’s just misunderstood. Read ANY MEME now and imagine Trump reading it. It will kill it for you.

Anyway, starving people can’t afford to attend these seminars and doing so won’t feed their families. Why don’t they give this advice for free if they believe in it so much? Why not go to the poorest of poor villages on earth and give free self help seminars? Or just HELP.

Abraham/Esther promotes ignoring reality. Which in theory is beautiful! Don’t get me wrong, I am so annoyed by reality and its relentless ability to set fire to all of my grandiose dreams and desires, believe me, I have created my own little world here in my apartment nest. Especially after I ripped it apart and nailed blackout curtains to the wall. I found this ‘wishful thinking’ and ‘build it and they will come’ type of advice and belief system to be total bullshit. They’ve got this covered too though, by leading you to believe its not working because you don’t believe in it enough. So the six year old with leukemia just doesn’t trust the future enough? Or believe it to be true enough, so they die?

Positive Thinking gives us all a false sense of REWARD. As if we are all entitled to feel better than others because of our amazing attitude that the Debbie Downers just can’t achieve. And along the same lines of this, people who are ‘negative’, are also justly punished under the same veil of falsely accusing themselves of not being ‘strong willed’ enough. So I guess all those sick and dying babies in the world are just not good enough to stay on the planet because they don’t believe.

Again…I am all for having a good attitude. I am a friendly, congenial, compassionate person. I’m just not swallowing the pill of HAPPINESS OR DIE.

So I tried to find gurus who maybe do speak to the poorest of poor. Sadhguru. Again with all the wealth and fame and cars and houses. Dandapani…nope. Took the name of an ancient king, but has a degree in electrical engineering, became a monk, got married, and has cashed IN!! (I’m sure their love is real. Who am I?) Eckhart Tolle! Who wouldn’t love that guy? He has the more nihilistic approach by far, which I like in a guru, but I cannot afford to ever go see him. Even if I could, is he going to make sure I don’t miss any more work because I can’t function or will he pitch in when rent is due? Or do I just close my eyes and stay present? No. No one is going to do that but me. Plenty of people are helping me, have helped me and continue to help me but I have to do the work. It is sucky, awful work and the worst reason imaginable to do the work; my daughter died and I have to carry on because I have a son and CONFESSION: because I kinda want to see what happens.

One day when I was driving I had a ‘Final Destination’ moment. The one where I’m on the highway and a giant truck appears in front of me that is carrying very dangerous metal things on the back of it. I went into my typical fantasy mode which I usually do when I am behind a truck with very dangerous metal things on the back of it; imagining being killed. The best part about this fantasy is that I die but not by way of suicide; something just kills me. I have concluded that it would be so much easier this way and also not my fault. Then I had a revelation.

I had spent so many years doing this, this not wanting to not be alive anymore, that this game was natural and a natural fantasy for me to really ‘feel’ what it would be like to not be here anymore. I could imagine all the ‘feelings’ of disappearing. Imagine people finding me, coming to the hospital, or apartment, or highway roadside. The fantasy usually ended up with imagining my kids getting the news of my death and then being devastated and making those feelings real would usually pull me out of it. Now, I was the devastated one, so there was no stopping me. I imagined being killed in my car by these giant steel tubes and then I imagined seeing Savannah and running up to her and it ‘felt’ great. Then she turned around was was all: ‘What are YOU doing here?’ She was pissed! ‘I missed you!’ I said. ‘I wanted to be with you! I hate this!’ I said. ‘No! No, you can’t be here!’ She told me. I thought she was sad I was dead but it was something totally different. She conveyed to me that she had immense things to learn and that she was busy and didn’t have time to help me with this whole death thing. She was very annoyed. She was in her own experience and it had nothing to do with me. That was a game changer. My death fantasy even got fucked. Nothing works anymore.

A few weeks later I tried the fantasy again and imagined a speeding car hitting me and killing me instantly, this time when I ‘died’ my first ‘feeling’ was ‘NO! WAIT! I HAVE STUFF TO DO!’ This shocked me. The fantasy no longer worked. I wanted to hang out here a bit longer and I was hesitant in the fantasy to ‘die’. I do want to see what’s going to happen. Everything changed.

I was struggling with money and working and not making enough to pay rent and this was only three months after Savannah died. I cried all the time and found it very difficult to work. I went to quit my job, was ready to pack and had two helpers who would move me back to Denver/Boyfriend’s apartment that afternoon. My aunt encouraged me to go into my job and quit in person and not do my regular disappearing act and to just tell them what was going on. She runs a restaurant and she is always willing to help people with work struggles. I took her advice and went in person to quit and got offered my current position and a pay raise. That boggled my mind. I told them everything that was happening. They helped me. So I called off the moving crew. All my typical rugs had been pulled out from under me.

Most recently, I realized I was not getting the hours I needed to make enough to pay my bills. I thought I was doing so good just keeping the job. Still crying…A LOT but I was showing up. So my first thought of a solution was to ‘Dream Big’ and ‘Believe’ that I would have all the money I needed. I love to travel and I thought I’d rent a room, pay less rent this way, live smaller, work my job and try and save money so I could travel more. New idea: DONE. (Still on the Believe It And It Will Come track.)

Then I had my third revelation: The easiest straight line to my money solution would just be: work more. I could simply ask for more hours, put my time in and make it a point to keep my apartment and build my own financial stability from the ground up. Wow. Just work more. Odd concept. No dreamers need apply.

That sounded realistically easier than what I was preparing to do in my new scheme which would have involved ten times more suffering regarding: A) trying to get out of my lease contract B) owing money for breaking my lease C) moving in with people I don’t know D) borrowing money to move in with people I don’t know E) giving up my privacy and alone time F) not having an independent lifestyle and living under someone’s house rules G) never digging in and making my life mine by always relying on someone else to provide the place/roof under which I live. It was so simple when I took dreaming out of the equation. If I just asked for more hours, I could keep my independence which means more to me than almost anything I suppose. Again my boyfriend offered to let me move in with him and not work til I figured this out; DREAM COME TRUE!!!! NOT WORK???? HELL YEAH!!! Honestly. I would be almost 90 steps back if I did that and I don’t want to handle his kids and when would I ever just settle into a life I wanted? Always running, always chasing the Law of Attraction DREAMSCAPE. If you want it it will come to you…

NO. I can’t live like this.

This is the essence of what living big means to me. LIVING. Listening to people. Communicating. Being with real people. Not memes. Hugging strangers and being kind and opening up and making someone else’s world better. Not selling people bullshit. Stepping IN to your LIFE. Saying hi. Shutting off that needy brain. There is no vortex. There’s just YOU.

I asked for more hours.

I got them.

I went on a beach Christmas vacation.

I put my apartment back together.

I have to leave now to go clock in.

I let my landlord know I am catching up and rent will be late. She was wonderful.

I am cutting hair on The Hill for all the college kids I know.

I am planning more trips.

My boyfriend and family and I had the best New Year’s Eve party ever.

I didn’t give anyone any money to figure this out.


I Can Be This Broke Anywhere

If I’m gonna be broke, I want to be broke all over the world.

And the best way to follow your dreams is start living them in the present moment. I will be a visitor and traveler everywhere I go. I no longer wait for adventures I create them. I have everything to gain. I might just be down the street sometimes but Boulder is a huge destination place and people from all the world come here; and I live here. If I’m going to work and save my money, I’m gonna save it so I can travel around the world.

I did it in my 20s and I have missed it immensely ever since. Back then someone paid my way and now I’m going to do it myself. Especially since a lot of the bloggers and ‘influencers’ (new word) now are very young; when I go out by myself all over town I see women doing the same thing that are my age or older, we want to travel alone too. I want to influence that! An old broad abroad.

Especially now; in this year (months) of grieving so heavily and feeling like I don’t have any fears because the worst thing to happen already took place. Anthony will travel with me sometimes! He’s a great adventurer and will pretty much do anything. And traveling alone is awesome too. I was on a little roll last year and had previously promised myself I would go somewhere every three months and I did it and I miss it and I want it back.

I have a job now that allows me time off when school is out and I would like to work my way into a place to live where I don’t have to pay so much rent and be out of town whenever school is out.

Ideally, Airbnb was awesome but the landlord crashed down pretty hard on that and it got kaboshed. So I will just hang out here until my lease runs out in May then I will figure out what I’m doing (for the rest of my life it seems) and in the meantime, I’ll run around town writing up places I go in Boulder. In December I’ll be in San Diego in March I’m planning a trip, in June I’m planning a trip, in September I’m planning a trip and I’m just gonna stay on this roll in this little bubble of mine where everything I want already exists.❤️😇💛

Living With Sad

You put it in the car with you when you are going to the movies. You tell it:  be quiet now, we are going to have fun it is OK for us to have fun please just sit here I will get back to you later.

You sit across from it while you are eating dinner. You tell it: We are eating dinner now I have to eat. It’s OK for me to enjoy things like cheese sauce and chocolate chips. You are going to have to wait. I cannot cry while I swallow food.

Some days it gets to have all of your time and you cry and cry and cry without a care in the world because no one is around or someone you love very much is around and you both share your time with this Sad and then you get to move on for a moment.

And it is moment by moment like this. You aren’t running from it, you aren’t all consumed by it, it is part of you; it is your partner, it is your new soulmate and it is your new annoying friend because it opens a window for you to see the world so much differently than you ever saw it before.

Photo by Jody Fausett – AMAZING ARTIST!!!

collageart/painting by me💛

Filling the World with Grief

For each person that died from a drug overdose, opioid, or heroin overdose, there are approximately 20 -to 30 people left behind grieving. Family and friends. All whom are lost and sad with nowhere to go. Oceans of people left with this endless, questioning guilt and sorrow. I went to a couple of bereaved parent support groups, and am learning with life and being in it and talking about this, drug overdose deaths scare everyone. I mean, I narrowed down the bereaved parent groups, but a lot of deaths there were car accidents and health issues. I know the numbers of bereaved parents from drug overdoses have got to be higher than that given these stats:

  • In January 2017, the Centers for Disease Control has estimated that the number of people in the USA who had died from overdose in the 12-month period prior to January 2017 was 64,070. – International Overdose Awareness
  • Aug 16, 2018 – As with 2016, the 2017 death toll is higher than all US military casualties in the Vietnam and Iraq wars combined. The 2017 numbers are preliminary estimates, with the final figures expected to come out later this year. The rise in overdose deaths appears to be linked to fentanyl, a class of synthetic opioids. – VOX

Centers for Disease Control and Prevention stats

There is a stigma of shame and guilt surrounding these deaths however. I feel it everyday and see the ghost look, haze that comes over people’s eyes when I do say the words HEROIN OVERDOSE. I am so used to thinking of it and talking about it. Its traumatic. Where are all of these ocean’s of people? Most of us just stay home. There is one group in Aurora and one in Durango for grief support for substance abuse. I can’t start my own chapter yet. I am barely washing my hair.

I can’t bear the looks anymore. At first, in May-Aug. I worked hard on several events with supportive friends and raised over $4000 for Shatterproof They are a wonderful, amazing organization. Many many people pulled together initially and donated and it was wonderful. I just need some time to heal before I fight before congress right now. I couldn’t even pay my rent but I got this money raised for other families. I needed to step back a minute. I need to heal myself a while longer before I can help others heal.

Family and friends have blatantly walked away, unable and unwilling to give support. I have a handful of strong support people in my life right now and other than that I am isolated and alone. I can write til I’m blue in the face here in my blog and 6 people are reading it. Google search the phrase ‘disenfranchised grief’…or check this out. I’m living it. Also this is a wonderful read: Grief of an Overdose Death Part 1. and Grief of and Overdose Death Part 2.  ‘What’s Your Grief’ is a wonderful site. Thank you Lisa Williams and Eleanor Haley for creating it!

I have this strong need to help somehow. To talk, to help other families, to get policies changed, to help break the stigma. For now I am just trying to survive. I can’t BRAND this and get it read or get my support/words out there. I will do this. I will. I want to create foundations and scholarships and publish Savannah’s poems and do so much for the world but right now I’m barely making it to work and/or to the shower. I’m sick of being the alone lady who cries everywhere. I can do that at home. So I do. Michael (BF) is doing his best. My son and I are trying to create from this and we are being brave for one another and send each other puppy photos and funny stuff and talk a bit here and there. We are going to the beach for Christmas. I can’t call him crying everyday though. THIS is being strong for him. I am estranged from my strange family. Been divorced from her dad for over 20 years, my boyfriend has a family of three small kids and can only do so much. He does a lot already. I have to do this myself when all is said and done really.

And all this talk about TALK ABOUT YOUR MENTAL HEALTH is ridiculous because I am constantly telling people I want to die and they just agree and say ‘have all of your feelings.’ Its crazy. It’s on you mental health sufferers, to get your own help. Call a hotline, go chat online, read something, get the help yourself. NO ONE IS GOING TO SAVE YOU. They don’t want to. People can’t and do not drop everything. I can’t ask just stay here and sit with me. It’s a crazy, fucked up world this Planet Grief and it can fuck off.