June bug funeral

     As the light from the moon gave the wisps of a cloud slowly passing over a macabre glow, a girl stepped into a forest clearing the land below. The clearing itself took the girl by surprise. She had been walking for ages in that forest. Tree after tree, gradually growing closer the further she walked.  The girl had almost let herself become worried she had lost her way before stumbling into the open.  With every step, her heart had fallen further. 

     Now, in the open air, a smile crept to her face as her eyes turned skyward. She watched the moon, not quite full, reveal himself to her from behind his hiding place.  As the young girl's smile grew, so did the moon. 

     To the casual observing glance, the moon would have appeared no different. To the girl in the field, it grew.  

     That silver light shone brighter than it's golden counterpart in that moment. It encompassed the clearing as the only pair of eyes for miles slowly grew accustomed.   The girl and the moon stood transfixed with one another. 

     Minutes slipped past. The glow still focused on the clearing. Focused on the deep brown oblivion in the girl's eyes. Neither one flinched. Neither one wavered. Neither one stopped grinning. 

     As the minutes grew to hours, the girl suddenly felt tired. She had been so determined to continue her journey until sunrise, but this unexpected encounter struck her somewhere she hadn't been sure she still had.  The next moment, with her satchel underneath her head, she was on the ground. 

     The amount of time that passed between her lying down and succumbing to sleep is a mystery, but once she slept, the moon continued to grow. The larger it's size, the more focused it's ray.  Sometime during her slumber, a spotlight shown on the lost girl. A glimmer of moon light remained even as the sun rose to take it's place. 

     The girl awoke at first light, threw the strap of her satchel over her head, and began her trek. When she reached the edge of the clearing, she turned her face once more to the sky. She smiled at the sun, and the sun back at her. Her eyes traveled the outter rim of the clearing. She closed her eys and etched this place into her mind. The place of her last restful sleep in 382 days. 

     She inhaled the warmth of the sun as she turned, eyes still closed, toward the forest. The girl exhaled slowly, as if she knew she what she was leaving behind.  She stepped into the shadows of the trees and opened her eyes.  Light gray irises shone through the branches, challenging the dark with each step. 

     

Damsel in distress

Once upon a time, in a strange settlement in the middle of a city, in the middle of a country known as the United States, there were various kingdoms. 

Our story today follows a girl. A girl who may not have been born with flawless princess beauty, but if she had figured out how to properly apply makeup, she could have almost been there.  This girl grew up with a dream: to be a princess. Unfortunately, her real obstacle on that road was not skin deep. 

You see, the girl in this story was not a very nice girl. She saw everything in the world only in terms of how beneficial it could be to her. If she could find no such value in an object, or person, she'd crinkle her nose, roll her eyes, and sigh a sigh so full of contempt it could curdle milk.  She had grown up with the dream of becoming a princess, and that included treating others as her subjects. 

There is one lesson she, eventually, learned. This lesson, however, did not point the girl on the right path, as lessons in stories so typically do. This lesson she learned, helped her to deceive. 

She discovered she was able to seduce potential princes with a spell to honey coat her malice and a gentle helplessness concealing her evil plan. 

Oh, how this trick worked for her.  She worked her magic on man after man; perfecting her craft for the perfect one. She had gone through her fair share of decent men and nice guys and men playing the same game as she (all of them having discovered her for the snake she truly was), before she found him.  

She saw the potential in the poor, unsuspecting prince from the moment they met. He was soft spoken, with kind eyes.   His smile, when he was feeling confident, was contagious. He was sweet, caring, and wanted to be strong. That was his downfall. 

This girl was cunning. She set up a long game for this one; she had aged quite a bit before her claws finally took their grip. She lured her prince in with a smile and clumsy 'trip' into his arms. 

His presence at court became a rarity. Those who once called him a friend, began to forget his smile and quick wit. When he did turn up, she sat glued to his side. Her sly smirk and condescending glances lingered on everyone in the room. The pair seldom spoke, and always retired early. 

The prince fell into darkness. 

After three years of whispered trickery and witchcraft, the court had a glimmer of hope. The girl, who everyone feared would get her wish and become princess, stopped showing up on the prince's arm. 

The prince would dance and laugh again, if only for a short while, before retreating to her. It was small, but there was hope for the people of the settlement. 

That hope was soon extinguished.  The prince married that girl, and her darkness spread through his kingdom. 

It was once a beautiful land; green and full of promise. It now sits in shadow. 

There is legend whispered in the streets by those brave enough to cling to hope. A legend of one who will cut the snake's tongue and end the troubled times. 

None so far have risen. 

So the subjects live their lives; smiling unto their prince and his spell-bound happiness, averting their eyes from his damsel's malicious gaze. They wait. 

They wait in the darkness for one who will bring the light. 

RBF

I have five stages of exhaustion. 

The first stage is sleepy. It's a mild stage, easily cured with a cup of coffee or three. Lately, this has been the main stage of existence. It's not a hard one to handle, so I've gotten used to it. 

The second stage is resting bitch face. My attitude is still the same. I'm still happy and sarcastic, but I've lost the ability to control my face. While I might be saying, "No, no, don't worry about it.  I'll take care of it.  Easy." My face will be saying, 'Really? I have to do this now, too? Great.'  To fix this, I have to constantly remind myself to 'fix my face' and drink more coffee. Coffee saves the world. 

I know I'm entering into the third stage when I'm failing at fixing my face. I know that because people start asking if I'm okay. They tend to stop asking when I officially reach stage three: resting bitch attitude. I don't usually get this this far into the cycle. It's the point of no return. Im so exhausted and just plain grumpy, but I can't sleep. My body won't let me. I just lay there, eyes closed, trying to will myself into sleep. But I can't. I have to finish the cycle. So, for anyone who encounters me during stage, go the other way. 

This morning, I entered stage four. I was up at four fifteen to coffee automatically brewing. That is seriously the best way to wake up, especially at this stage. Bounce out of bed, spill creamer on the counter, grab a cup and get ready in record time. This is the listen to musicals and 90s music and sing at the top of my lungs between fits of self-administered giggles stage. This is the most fun I've had in weeks. It's the elevator drop right before it stops. 

...and then it stops. Then I enter the final stage. Where I fall asleep as soon as I run out of fuel. In my car outside my apartment. In the tub. At my desk. On the floor...right next to my bed. In the closet, finding pajamas. I just run out and stop. This stage doesn't even have a name. It's just the end. I will finally get rest. I will sleep for 15 hours straight and I will be me again. 

I hope I can put that stage off for a while today... As comfortable as this room is becoming, I have to work until about 7pm. 

typical

Once again, I had such high, high hopes for the day. Last night, after a glance at my calendar, I curled up and set my alarm for 20 minutes later than usual.  

That never happens. 

-

That was last week. I haven't even had time to finish a post! No events scheduled for three days lead to down to staff and about to be down three. That means my brain is a skip's scramble. My body is running on empty. Caffeine isn't enough. I wonder if this is how some people start doing drugs...like Liv Tyler's character in Empire Records. 

Calm. Deep breaths. I'll be home three and a half hours. I won't have a 12 or 14 hour day today. It'll only be ten. 

My stomach is screaming at me. This is the only time I've slowed down enough to be able to hear it for days. In ten minutes, when I have to start running around again, it'll be silent again. Well, not silent, just unheard. 

Emails are going ignored. I'm not ignoring them, I just haven't been in my office long enough to have an answer. I wish I could just say that, but I can't. I can't promise I'll have the information tomorrow, or Friday, or even by Monday. 

My desk is, once again, a hot mess. Not that I get much time to sit there to be bothered by it. 

I can't even be coherent anymore. I'm easily distracted as it is, but I would always be able to hop back into my sentence right where I left off. Now, I just stare. Stare and forget I was even speaking in the first place. 

I've been blonde for a year now. I think. My timeline has been muddled lately, too. This weekend, with this mess, I dyed my hair the darkest red. I chopped it off. Four inches: gone. I gave myself bangs. I switched from brown to black eyeliner. None of these things I noticed until this moment. This one moment of calm. None of these things will I remember once I grab my keys and run out the door again. 

Five minutes. 

My eyes are drooping. My skin is pale. My skin is always pale, but blush and a little bronzer used to bring me to life, now they make me look like I'm on display at the mortuary. 

Three minutes. 

If I just had time for a nap. Just one nap, short and sweet, I'd be good to go. Maybet circles would lighten. 

Two minutes. 

My feet barely had time to relax. Time to shove them back into my heels. Where are my keys? Oh, under that stack of paper. 

One minute. 

Collapse.  

Wine, wine, wine.

Most of my days end with a sigh and a glass of wine. Yesterday was entire bottle. 

Oh, yes, self medicating is bad, but doctors also say a glass of red wine with dinner is good for you. 

If a little is good, more must be better!

Today, though, was good. I didn't get much done, but I feel good about what it did do. 

I have a girl who has been through a hell most people couldn't imagine. She lives in constant fear of returning to a similar hell, and tomorrow, she has a very real chance of actually doing so. I don't think that would happen, but it is a possible outcome. Worst case scenario. 

I talked with her until I couldn't speak any longer. She cried and she yelled and everyone was a bitch and everyone was out to get her. It took every ounce of strength I had not to cry, too. 

So why, was today a good day?

I left her with dry eyes and hope. If I can just do that, then every bad day is worth it. 

Today, today was magical. Today ended with pumpkin spice m&ms. Also, a glass of wine. 

The calm

Tomorrow, a new girl moves in to one of my houses. She's young and shy and even tempered. For the first time in months, I feel the good sort of anxious. A weight has been lifted and calm has settled in it's place. The storm is over and the weather is finally changing. I spent all day yesterday painting her room; painting over the last remnants of the old inhabitant. The storm. 

She was schizophrenic, although sometimes I think there was more to it than that. She'd be sweet and playing air guitar one minute, and throwing a chair through a window or breaking a staff's arm the next. More than once, I put my life on hold to stop the destruction. Zoo trip with my visiting aunt, wedding reception, and, multiple nights, my dinner.  All skipped. All spent dodging flying rocks and 'fuck you's. She was the human embodiment of chaos. 

She was the only one whose med list I knew by heart. I'd read it often enough to admitting nurses, psych hospital staff, and pharmacists that I'd be shocked if I didn't. I'd spent more time in hospitals and had more interactions with police officers in four months with her than I had my whole life before. 

She went to church every week. Sometimes twice a week. That never did any good. The pastors said she had demons in her, a theory I'd normally only except in a horror film. Standing in that room, newly painted like the sky on a cloudless afternoon, I felt it. It could have just been the color of the walls, but I could feel the lack of darkness. 

She wasn't all bad, hence the chaos. At the end of what was one of the most emotionally and physically taxing days of my life, she brought a smile to my face. I finished a phone call and felt tears filling my eyes when she walked up. She bounced her head off my shoulder three times, each time accompanied by a 'boop,' and then she simply walked away. Without one word, she moved toward the door. I yelled after her, asking what it meant. She turned back and smiled a pure, genuine, smile and said, "you know, honey." Moments like that are the reason I do what I do. They're also the reason her bad days hurt so much. 

One bad day, after talking with her for over an hour, her guardian gave the okay to phone the police and have her taken to the hospital. The arrival of the police only upset her more. I was on the phone with her mother, my staff was clinging to my dress and cowering behind me. I was already fighting tears when she did it. She was yelling at someone named Joe (there was no Joe present, nor did she ever know anyone named Joe), and when an officer stepped toward her, she landed a punch. They both had tasers aimed at her before I remembered to breathe. She got a few more hits in before being thrown against the car and handcuffed. I spent the next five hours bonding with her mom while she was admitted. 

I've seen her pick up broken glass and slice her wrist. I've seen her try to carry out a death threat on her roommate. I've seen her shot up with sedatives by badass psych nurses. I've also seen her give what little she has to make someone else smile. I've seen her stop what she was doing and give a friend a reassuring back rub. I've heard her give a peer the same pep talk I've given her so many times. 

She didn't leave of her own volition. We had no choice but to give her notice. She was a threat to the safety of her roommates and staff. She was the reason I couldn't sleep at night. What is she going to do next? 

I was the one who took her to her new house. Movers came and packed up her things, and I drove her over. The house is in a part of town I only hear about on the news. I can only imagine what could happen once the honeymoon stage is over. I left her in a neighborhood where, when she's outside throwing her rocks and yelling her 'fuck you's, the neighbors won't stay inside and shake their heads. I gave her one last hug and finally let the tears I held for her flow, but only once I'd started driving away. She couldn't see them. 

I was conflicted up until the moment the paint dried. I took a deep breath, and felt peace for the first time in that room. Although, it could have been the fumes. We'll see tomorrow.  

not my day.

The best way to start your morning: phone rings as soon as you step into the shower. 

No, I will not answer that. 

When it rings a second time, however, I can no longer avoid it. 

Work starts as soon as I wake up. 

It's not even eight am and I've already solved my first crisis of the day.  I haven't even had coffee, yet! That's an accomplishment. I am going to be positive today. 

Three emails, six phone calls, and 28 text messages later...

Apparently, I am not the only one who thinks I need a clone. Apparently, some people believe I already have one. Receiving a phone call from a client's guardian asking why I'm not at the house to meet her is bad enough, but not knowing that I was supposed to be there is even worse, especially when I have a doctor visit for someone else in half an hour. 

No, the bedroom is not painted. I am waiting to get the supplies from the other office. They said they'd bring them today.  

Oh, it's being delivered today? Of course, I knew that. 

Yes, yes, I have someone on their way to meet you. 

Lies! Am I allowed to be pessimistic and whiny, yet?

No, one of the handicap parking spots is actually open at the clinic! There are two, and they are always taken. Every time we come here, I have to park around back and wheel her up the hill to the door. Today can still be a good day after all. It's only 930.. It can still be a good day...

"We don't have you on the schedule, Laura." 

It is taking every ounce of whatever I actually have left (I forgot to take my allergy medicine this morning, too) in me to not slap this girl across the face as I as her, "Are you sure?"

"What time are you supposed to see the doctor?" Her voice told me I'm not hiding my emotions very well. People aren't used to seeing me angry. 

She runs back to talk to the doctor and apologizes for the mistake. Of course, since we weren't marked down, they're double booked. 

11:20 and I'm still sitting in the exam room. A creepy exam room. It's not our usual. There's so much I could be doing! I fixed my face after the encounter with the receptionist, but I don't think I can hold it much longer. It's been a long time since I've angry cried, but this whole week has been like today, and I know it's coming. 

I have another appointment at 1. I have to paint that bedroom. I have get a check in the mail and I still don't know where it needs to go. I have a staff with a case of missing vacation hours. I'll have to trek to the pharmacy and wait around while they fill her prescription. I have two ridiculously important emails to answer. I know my voicemail light is blinking away on my work phone. I can feel it. 

2:37 pm and sitting in the pharmacy is the only moment of peace I have had today. I hate the pharmacy, but this is the most relaxed I've been all day. I hate that the douchey one is the only person I can talk to because everyone else is new and looks at me like I'm not speaking English.

Breathe deep. Close my eyes. Smile.  

I have a bottle of wine at home.