BAD Evening, GOOD Morning

Yesterday evening was bad. Worse than I’ve been in months. I watching an episode about the main character realizing she’s addicted to pain pills, and at the end I thought how nice it could be if I had some happy pills to take. And the thought didn’t scare me, I legitly considered it, almost hopeful, for a moment or two. I then knew I was in trouble. I ended up crying into my “pregnant lady” pillow, as it’s called in my family. I cried because I thought I was finally getting better, finally starting to come out of this oppressive depression. Even though they’ve been fleeting, I’ve had moments of being happy. I didn’t used to. But no. Pretty much every day the last week I’ve been unable to do anything after getting the kids into bed, just no desire and not enough will to force myself. I’ve not wanted to watch my Halloween movies for almost 3 weeks. I had a great Halloween party last weekend, and I didn’t enjoy it – at all. I was just there making it happen. I was just satisfied that both girls had a great time. I cried because I’m tired of not being happy. And I cried because to get the help, or even pills, I need, I have to put in time and energy I don’t have the energy or desire to give.

Last night I had a dream about Mom. We were at Mom’s house (looked like the one we lived in while I was in high school though it was supposed to be Mom’s last house). We – Michael and I and whomever – talked about Mom, and what was going on with her and what she needed, and we (I) did some of the things. Eventually I went looking for Mom (“Where is she anyway?!?”). And I found her! We talked about what was going on with her – bowel obstruction – and what she needed. Mom was in good spirits, smiling, and willing – and able! – to do what she needed to.

When I woke up, I felt so much better. It was a good dream. :) It was a good morning.

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ISS Top Fan!

Sooo, I was just given the “Top Fan Badge” by the International Space Station on Facebook. :D

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I thought I could.

But I fell asleep.

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Misused Power

I tried to use Sabrina Spellman powers to close the bathroom door so I wouldn’t hear the toilet run at night.

I blew it! If I had Sabrina’s powers, I could have just fixed the toilet leak!

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Reply to the Minister

This was from the assistant minister at my church:

“I just heard from James, he stops by often during the week, that you were upset with Bob for something and I wanted to check in with that. We pastors always want the chance to hear what we did and make peace!”

Here’s my response:

Hi Darcy,

James is right, but it’s not just with Bob. I’m mad at both of you. But I want to qualify that I’m not upset with either of you personally, it’s professionally. And it’s not for anything you did, it’s for what you didn’t do.

I went through a really stressful time turning my and the girl’s lives upside down trying to change my career and facing a real possibility of failure. I lost a semester of school, and $15,000+. Right on the heels of that, as things were finally coming together and smoothing out, my Mom died. But it wasn’t suddenly, it was a struggle with a bad nurse trying to kill her and us (my brother and I) trying to find the right help. Even before that, Mom had been on the decline for 3 years. And in all of this, I had no help from my church. I had told Bob back when things got serious, when Michael and I had to put Mom in a dementia care facility, and cried on his shoulder. Yet you were surprised this last Mother’s Day when I told you I had lost my Mom years ago, even though her funeral was only last October. Did Bob not tell you what was going on? When I was struggling with selling the house, I asked for help from the church. None came. After Mom died, I asked you to officiate her funeral, and you did. Then, nothing. From anyone. No one checked in. I showed up most weeks with the girls simply because I was trying to keep up with school while in my grief and financial poor-ness, and I could leave the girls in child care / church school for free while I sat in the Mayflower room and did my homework or studied. Church became just a large babysitter for me. Did you or Bob know? I doubt it. No one asked. It was like no one cared.

Initially I was mad at the church. But after a few months, I reflected, and remembered a few things. I remembered Renee’s son coming to me in person and offering to come over to my house every day after school to help me prep it for selling. I remembered Seth pulling me aside at Kroger and offering me money for a babysitter, telling me I was a good person and deserved good things. I remembered the A.W.E. and the support I got at my table. As I realized that there were members of the church who cared, I realized it was not the church at large I was mad at. It was the leadership I was mad at. The ministers, the ones who are supposed to look out for us members, and see that help is provided when we need it. That doesn’t mean the ministers themselves are personally providing the help, but at least being the facilitators.

So that’s why I’m mad. It took over a year, and a rumour from new member for you to finally reach out. At least I know James was listening too.


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Support Group – I Have a Question

Here’s what I sent to my grief support group email list:

Hi Everyone,

Question, if you’ve already been through it: How did you handle the anniversary of your parent’s death? Tomorrow is the anniversary of my Mom’s death. Today is 1 year since I last saw her, and I’m not doing so well. Finding it hard to go into the office at my new job and be fine enough to interact with people like I need to be.

-Jennifer German

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Pretending to be patiently waiting for Halloween time to begin.

Meanwhile, very happy Fall started early!

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So this is life

Two weeks ago (Aug 19 or 20):

Things are really good. I mean, everything-going-my-way kind of good = great. My MCAT score is top notch, my med school app was verified early, I finished applying to U of M, I started my new job, kids and I are all healthy, Amber likes Star Trek: The Next Generation so we can watch it together, Aurora is still coming to my room in the mornings for cuddles, I’ve made headway hanging up pictures in the condo, doing a little more unpacking, etc. I really want to be happy. I know I should be happy. For brief moments when each good or fantastic thing happens, I am happy. But… it doesn’t take. I’m just not happy. Why can’t I be happy? Oh, right.

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Don’t give up and die,
Just rest your weak eyes.
The End has come and gone
But life keeps moving on.
When you wake you’ll see
Then you can stay with me.


I started writing this at the beginning of Avengers: Endgame, for Tony Stark. I tried to end it for him, ’cause it seemed perfect. But the last line just wouldn’t wouldn’t settle, it wouldn’t write down. Until I wrote it for Steve Rogers.

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Lottery == All the Legos

At the grocery store on Saturday (Meijer), I paused at the Lego aisle for a moment, wistfully looking at some of the newer sets. You know how people say if they won the lottery (medium, like $100K to $500K) they would pay bills, buy a car, buy a house, or go on a vacation? I realized if I ever won the lottery, I’d buy all the Lego sets I want, and the ones I’ve wanted before that are way too over expensive only found on eBay now.

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