Category: Life

Malicious Compliance

I swear, I have not cried this much since taking Applied Statistics 😭😭😭!! Aside from my poetry workshop professor being totally useless and providing no guidance, my Shakespeare teacher is just as bad, if not worse. She gave me an F on my final project rough draft! No, I did not earn an F; it was freely (and probably gleefully) given. Unless people are dying or I’m drowning in untreated depression, I do not get Fs. The only non-A grade I’ve earned is a C+ in statistics. I’m giving a breakdown, so if you don’t want to read a lot of whining, I suggest skipping this post.

Contradiction One

This assignment is a partial rough draft of my final paper. Partial, as in not complete, because we are just starting week 6 and this was week 5’s assignment and there are 8 weeks per term. Okay, so the entire final paper is supposed to be four to eight pages including the References page, which is a page by itself. I submitted three written pages and one References page, so that is four pages for a partial rough draft. I get zero points in the spelling and grammar section because my four pages include the References page. That is my only zero on this assignment. There is no paper-length grading section, so she just stuck the zero in spelling and grammar, which is a travesty in itself because I am a spelling and grammar Nazi.

Contradiction Two

As seen in the announcement above, there is no need to summarize the play and provide an overview of the plot. Okie-dokie. I don’t feel it is necessary, so I leave out the plot and go on to briefly describe the context within Elizabethan culture.

And I get the grading score below 👇👇.

It should be, “You start off well…”

Contradiction Three

As a general rule, I do not like using quotes in my papers because that makes the school’s TurnItIn anti-plagiarism program’s score higher and a lot of teachers won’t even audit the program to see if it is capturing properly cited and quoted texts (quotes) and flagging them as plagiarism. I would rather write it in my own words and include the references on the References page, as one’s supposed to do even with paraphrasing or rephrasing. So, I did the latter, per usual, for my thematic summary and got positive feedback with this comment:

Since I can follow directions and take feedback well, I added direct quotes and in-text citations in my partial rough draft. Same approved scholarly resources, but I pulled some quotes from a couple of them and cited them. I am now told to not use “long quotes” (it was bullet points) and instead “use [my] own voice” and also not end on quotes but my own voice; you know, like I was doing before. Just…whatever.

Since she has pissed me off, and I can be petty, I included a quote from her announcement about not needing to summarize the play (in-text citation and including her in the references) and am doing a play-by-play of The Taming of the Shrew and the movie 10 Things I Hate About You since I am so “vague.” I go through the rubric point by point to make sure I cover everything, and I have taken 300-level classes before and aced them, so I do not believe I am missing something.

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AuDHD Associations (and Animal Cruelty)

Disclaimer/Trigger warning: Do not read the article I linked if you cannot tolerate descriptions of animal abuse. There are no pictures of the animals, but it gives some details that I wish I had not read.

I have a hard time differentiating and separating. Those might not be the correct words but I don’t know what would. Association, maybe? A component of rigid/black-and-white thinking. I was very fond of my grandfather (Dad’s dad) and he had big teeth with a gap, and a warm smile. My entire life, I’ve noticed that feature and it would make me like that person. Like, I have a soft spot for 50 Cent because I think he looks like my grandfather due to the big teeth. Never mind that they aren’t the same skin color 😂. The same goes for Gary Busey and Chris Rock.

In the same vein, my dad had a deep voice, so I am taken by that as well. James Earl Jones, Sam Elliott (he’s not bad on the eyes, either), Barry White, Morgan Freeman, the deep-voice dudes from The Statler Brothers and The Oak Ridge Boys, etc.

I met a work friend of Mom’s one time at the mall and due to AuDHD, I never could remember her name. However, this lady was decked out in purple from head to toe, so I called her the Grape Lady. Whenever Mom would talk about this friend, I would ask, “the Grape Lady?” and Mom would confirm or deny. I do that with most things because my brain is a bit slow on the uptake with a lot of things. I could not think of the word “vacuum” on more than one occasion and move my arm away from and near my body and say “vroom, vroom” to let my husband know to what I am referring. He is actually very good with these clues 😂😂.

Anyway, this association thing, or whatever it’s called, works negatively as well. My aunt had a little ankle biter that bit my ear one time — no blood, but it did not feel good — and he soured me on all small dogs, so his behavior affected my view of a huge number of dog breeds. It’s not intentional, but it is what it is.

So, to my point. While searching for a puppy, I found a site named Greenfield Puppies. My brother-in-law lives in the same state that kept popping up in my search as closest to me, so I thought he may be close to some of the breeders (I was incorrect). The results included pictures and videos of the puppies, and I could tell many of the breeders were Amish, as mentioned in my previous post.

On Reddit and Facebook, people say reputable breeders offer health guarantees and socialization, which these breeders offered, as well as the purebred puppies being registered. The puppies were going fast site-wide, so I chose a puppy and breeder and googled them. I was looking for something like a social media page that included the pups’ parents, which I had found when doing the same with Goldens. The first result I got was a news article, Lancaster County kennel owner pleads guilty to animal cruelty in 2018 ‘debarking’ case. Same last name, same state and county, same lifestyle/religious(?) affiliation.

Being me, I became immediately distressed and sick to my stomach. I contacted my BIL to see if he could find out more since he goes through breeders, and he only found what I found and said the woman was probably related to the breeders, especially since the Amish are a tight-knit, oft-related group and apparently are very into breeding animals/running mills, which I didn’t know, either. I’m a very sheltered and naïve person in many ways, which is odd since I’m so cynical and a realist for the most part. With animal abuse and cruelty becoming a felony, I became too trusting in people being law-abiding.

Then came the conundrum. Do I shun them (no pun intended) because they are running mills and treating animals poorly or do I rescue a puppy so he doesn’t have to live in that situation any longer? I decided to go with that breeder and wish for the best, which may mark my character but I was really torn and wanted the puppy to have a good life outside of his first three months. Then, the whole 💩storm happened that I wrote in my last post. Now, I am extremely put off by the Amish. It’s not something I am proud of but the research and the experience Adam went through getting our puppy and the way Ozzy has acted since getting here are negatives upon negatives.

After Ozzy got here, he did not know how to enter the house (which I think I mentioned previously). Except for getting in the bed with me, he prefers the floor, which is sad but makes sense since Adam said the puppies were in a barn. Everything is just so new to him and it makes me really sad. The “socialization,” I’m guessing was the breeder’s wife and kids taking turns to feed them but not pay much attention to them. I am very glad he is here but I feel so bad for him for how he was born and briefly grew up.

Neville’s experience was so different. His breeder shared tons of videos and pictures of him playing with his brothers and sisters, fetching, swimming, training, and being loved on. He knew how to sit and have his collar placed. He knew how to walk on a leash. He loves hugging us and sits at our feet. He is a wonderful, amazing, smart dog. I hope he can teach his brother some of that!

I always adopt/rescue and not shop, but I wanted a reliable service dog, and now I am paying the price because I have contributed to the worst type of people (mill runners, not necessarily the Amish) and the only consolation is that I can give Ozzy the best life imaginable since I put all my kids first.

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My Cutest Mistake

Do I have a story to tell, and I was not even in attendance! I take a while to tell stories in writing because I try to explain a lot, so bear with me. Since Neville chose Adam and has as little to do with me as possible, I have been pretty upset. Plus, one day, Adam made me feel exactly like Dad and his second wife made me feel, which cut deep. It was a whole thing, and I could not tell Adam what was wrong because I would just start crying and I finally told him via text. It wasn’t intentional, but it’s how I felt.

Anyway, I started looking for Golden retrievers because they make good service dogs and are very helpful for disabled people. While I was looking at Goldens on the Greenfield Puppies site, I looked through the other breeds and they had Bernese Mountain dogs (BMDs), which have always been my dream dog after I discovered them. Before that, it was rottweilers and Golden retrievers.

Breeders in my state charge a crazy price (probably standard, but crazy to me) for dogs which is why I chose another state fairly close to us. The Goldens and BMDs were about 80% cheaper and AKC registered with health guarantees, the last two things are supposed to be signs of reputable breeders. I’m not too concerned with the AKC thing, but it is a perk.

After weeks of searching, I found a cute little BMD named Kyle who was only $50 more than a Golden and he was about 5 hours away from us. Since we don’t have a car, we tried to find a way to get him because shipping him here would have been $500 in and of itself, which is no bueno. I could rent a car for $65+ gas and that would be much cheaper, obvi. I found lots of puppies, but they were going fast because the prices drop as the puppies get older.

“Kyle” (breeder photo)

So, I called(!!) the breeder and told him I would like to buy Kyle and he said okay and wanted to know when I could get him and I said it would be two weeks. He said that people were calling about the ones left because the price had just decreased so I asked if I could send a deposit. I could tell by multiple videos that a lot of the breeders on this site were Amish. The location includes Amish country and the way the women were dressed was very telling. Fine. No big deal. They have to make money somehow, but that meant no PayPal or Cash App and the like.

The guy said I could mail a check for 70% of the cost of Kyle and I could let him know when it was in the mail. I said I would and I did so through bill pay with my bank because who has paper checks these days?!? Well, we were able to make arrangements to get the pup a week earlier, which was fine with the breeder, and his wife told me via phone to bring cash for what I owed them. I was sleeping when she called, but said okay and hung up. I was not going to be in a car for 5 hours and then try to work, so Adam was going.

Five hours later, Adam gets to the breeder’s, and the guy refuses to give him the pup because he wants the full amount in cash and would not accept the check that arrived that day (I also had screenshots from my bank for Adam to show him in case the check hadn’t made it). He said people were coming who were going to pay more for the dog because the jerk did not mark the dog as sold after we settled on me putting a deposit down. I guess there were words, and the guy went into his house and would not come out. I was livid. Like, ice-cold livid.

I had already seen an atrocious animal abuse/puppy mill case online when searching the breeder’s last name (different first name, but same location and most likely related), so I had soured on the Amish, which I will discuss why in another post. I called the breeder and told him via answering machine (because… Amish) that I had recorded our phone conversations (I had not) and my husband would not leave without getting the police involved. I did not know that Adam had already left; he had terrible cell service there, we found out. Before he left, Adam said he told the guy he would be hearing from our lawyer (we don’t have one).

The breeder called me back a bit later, which I didn’t answer because I’m emotionally stunted and cannot handle confrontation or back up my bravado, but I read the message as he was leaving it (thanks, Apple!) and he said something along the lines of he didn’t want me to not have a puppy or go home without a puppy. I called Adam to tell him to stop driving but couldn’t get through so called through Facebook Messenger (thanks, Facebook!) and he was already talking to the breeder and was going to go back there to get the puppy. He had already made it an hour away from there 🥹🥹🥹.

The breeder tried to act like he had a change of heart and wanted to do the right, honest thing, but Adam said he had expected the full price of the pup in cash and wanted to keep the deposit check as well!

About 7 or 8 hours after that, I got my little boy 🥰🥰. He was a mess because he got car sick several times, so he had to get a bath as soon as he got to his new home. I don’t think he has ever been in a house. Adam said the pups were in a barn in a stable with other animals, and his bath water was so dirty. He didn’t know how to step into the house, either, and is still getting used to going in and out of the house. He didn’t know how to take treats from my fingers/hand. He is learning.

Bathed!

I named him Oswald Hemingway and we call him Oz or Ozzy. Neville is super jealous but also really wants to play with him. They are 8 months apart in age, so we have to watch Nev doesn’t get too rough, and Ozzy definitely cannot keep up with him. Nev does his Phoebe running with him, which is hilarious. I’m at square one with potty training because he was an outside/barn pup (which I did not know), so that is a pain. Neville is much more motivated and eager to learn, but he also had a good breeder who taught him things before we got him.

So that is my very long, exhausting story of how we got our latest member of the family.

After playtime.
Getting comfy.
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All it Takes is One

Mmm…this term… I haven’t cried this much over school since I took Applied Statistics. I already disliked my intermediate poetry workshop (PW2) teacher because I felt she was rude and dismissive. Now, I dislike her even more. She finally graded my four poetry submissions, and again, she was rude, mouthy, dismissive, and not at all helpful. She gave no helpful feedback and merely complained. I am very fond of my PW1 professor and revised my poems incorporating her feedback. I can take constructive criticism and I find it helpful and useful.

Poems tell a story; of course, there is a narrative.

These comments are not helpful or useful. My poem is “too long,” but as I just told Adam, Whitman’s Song of Myself is over 52 pages. A certain part is confusing to her (which I was rudely reprimanded for saying the same thing about two poems) and therefore not needed, and one poem is nothing more than a journal entry. She didn’t say anything at all about one poem. Oh, and she said I “should be” writing in free verse. Um, why? Last I checked, poets could write in whatever form they wished. Louisa May Alcott rhymed. Dr. Seuss rhymed. Whitman, Dickinson, Frost, Pound, Thomas…all wrote poems that rhymed. Every poem I submitted was free verse, btw.

So, I shall present to you my terrible poems. It’s unfortunate because I was actually proud of these. 

~*~Little One~*~

His eyes were clear, his smile was bright,
 
but he called me Little One. 

He spoke of the days of World War II, 

vivid stories punctuated by his laughter,
 
yet he called me Little One. 

My brother became his son — my father. 

My father’s latest mistake became my mom —

Oh, how that woman must have seethed! 

My grandmother stayed his wife,

or perhaps his combat nurse —

after 40 years together, it’s hard to tell.  

Still, I was Little One. 

On the surface, a sweet endearment —

a generic term to bypass recognition

and leave room for plausible deniability.  

He drove ‘round the yard from

dawn ‘til dusk, clinging to the last

vestiges of independence with each

calculated turn of the wheel. 

The last time ever I saw his face,

he was lying in a hospital bed,

poisoned blood coursing through his veins.

He looked so peaceful.

He looked so small.

And I realized — our roles had reversed.  

He had become the little one.  

He was never dismissing.

He was never forgetting.

I remained close to his heart.  

I was one worth protecting.  

With his life's tales told, his energy depleted,

his canvas was blankened once more —

the lines and years melting away 

with each increasingly shallow breath.  

In that moment, our worlds aligned,

for I was his Little One, and he was mine.


~*~Behind Windshields~*~

It was raining.  It was dark.  

At the end of the driveway, we waited.  

Once more, I was chasing after my father —

a man who never wanted to carry that label, 

who wore his defiance like a well-tailored suit.

He was my town — 

adorned with a shimmering crown 

made from razor blades and lies.  

The brake lights shone like nebulae 

frozen in a night sky — long forgotten, 

yet so desperate to remain seen.

She told me not to come.  

She banned me from his funeral.  

I shrunk from her emerald gaze,

turning a mirror in place of 

the other cheek for ten years.  

Never a word from my father.  

No calls —
No cards —
No contact — 

as it had been my entire life.  

He poisoned my thoughts and mind

like the cancer that invaded his body.  

Still, his pride stayed intact,

denying peace and closure for

his child who was still a child,

emotionally stunted and seeking 

love from one who refused to give it.  

I could not approach my dying father, 

but he would wave to me.  

Wave to his only daughter —

the one who relentlessly made excuses 

and defended him — out of love, 

out of fear that others would realize

she was undeserving of love.  

With tears dripping off my cheeks, I waved — 

each of us behind windshields.  

A final wave through distorted panes.

A silent goodbye to years of pain.

A silent hello to years more.


~*~Diminished~*~

I rush to tell you about my day; tripping over words as you look away.  

There’s so much I want to tell you; things I think of or that

Happened while you live your life in unconsciousness or another dimension, pointedly unaware.  

You crave my presence only to satisfy yourself and not much else.  

Your refusal of help tells me I mean little to you.  

You choose to exist and drag me down as well.  

Living in a way I swore I never would, 

Exhausting myself and receiving no help, only platitudes.  

Your words are written with chalk on

A rainy day, they mean less

Than nothing — placeholders and placaters, 

Until I give up.  

I fade away

Every day

Diminished.


~*~O Jester!  My Jester!~*~

O, Jester!  My Jester!  Your tortured life is done.  

The world has given you laughter; the love you sought is won.  

The curtains are drawn, you have moved on, your mourners left behind.  

Your pain was too great, you foresaw your fate of living with a diseased mind.  

But, O, heart!  Heart!  Heart!

  O, the tears of devastation we shed,

   Where on the stage my jester lies,

    Fallen silent and dead.

O, Jester!  My Jester!  Rise up and hear the cheers, 

Rise up — for you, in high esteem — for you, the audience appears, 

For you, accolades and honors — for you, the one so beguiling, 

For you, they call, the mirthsome masses, their eager faces smiling. 

Here, Jester!  Dear paragon!

  This lap beneath your head!

   It is some dream that on the stage,

    You've fallen silent and dead. 

My jester does not answer; his lips are blue and still.  

My paragon does not feel my hand; he has no pulse nor will.  

The screen has dimmed, the credits roll, the final cut is done.  

From a troubled life ladened with strife, the pain he knew is gone. 

Exult, O, world!  And sing, O, songs!

  But I with mournful stead,

   Stand on the stage where my jester lies,

    Fallen silent and dead.
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The (Frugal) Student Life

Before I share my latest mistake I am in the process of making, I wanted to share some college student “hacks.” I need to save money when I can because I am terrible at money management; probably because of ADHD and the fact that I lived with Mom until she died and I did not have to pay rent. I will gladly buy a TV for $400 (but really, $400 for a name-brand 65″ LED smart TV?!?), but I will search to the ends of the Internet to pay as little as possible for toiletries and life essentials. That’s just me. I’ve come to terms with it and am aware of it.

Speaking of, the place I shop for most of my items now has a price adjustment thing, which rocks so hard. For 30 days from purchase, you can request a price adjustment and get the difference back if the item went on sale after you bought it. Once, I bought a little desk fan for $15 and it went on sale for $7 after I bought it. I requested a price adjustment and received $8 back. How awesome is that?! More recently, I got $6 back for two surge protectors because they went on sale, so I paid $7 for each surge protector, compared to paying $20 or $30 on Amazon for the same ones.

I just requested a price adjustment on an order, which made me think of talking about it here, and received $5 because several items dropped in price. You can choose to get the refund as credit or back on your payment method, so no pressure on spending the refund at that place. The only other time I’ve seen that is when I bought my Bose headphones for work and they went on sale for Christmas after that. I just contacted customer support and received $60 back, which is super awesome of Bose.

That was not one of my college hacks, but it is still a money-saving option. I will not disclose the shopping place because they are being smeared at the moment and most of the “facts” are total lies.

Onto the college money-saving tips. Firstly, you will need proof that you are in college. For most places, it is as simple and straightforward as verifying enrollment with your school email address. Verify.Me and another similar place are used by some as well. Other places may require your school schedule or proof of enrollment, both of which are easy enough to obtain.

Spotify Premium and Hulu (with ads)

I’ve used Spotify Premium since starting college. Back in 2018, the bundle was Spotify Premium, Hulu with ads, and Showtime for $4.99/month. Super awesome deal. Now, it is Spotify Premium and Hulu with ads for $5.99/month, which is still a good deal. New users get one month free. Adam and I cannot listen to Spotify at the same time, but we rarely do, so I still find it worth it.

Apple Music

Since we have attempted to listen to music at the same time and Adam’s music is influencing my music recommendations, I re-joined Apple Music. For students, it is $5.99/month. I still use Spotify the most because not all of my music is available through Apple, which I don’t understand. Namely, Olivia Rodrigo. They recently included Apple TV+ in this, but I believe it said for a limited time.

Amazon Prime Student and Amazon Music Unlimited

Now, I am still mad at Amazon, so I do not get Prime or Music Unlimited from them anymore. However, students can get Amazon Music Unlimited for $5.99/month after one month free. For Amazon Prime Student, you can get six months free and then it is $6.49/month or $69/year, which is half off the regular price. That is a great deal. Sadly, when Mom was alive, a year of regular Prime was $79/year and it is over $120 a year now.

I left Prime when they decided to raise the price every other month (it seemed) and started adding ads for Prime Video, which is not cool. Plus, they are gearing up to make Alexa/Echo into a subscription-based service, and around the time that was brought to the table, Alexa started to mysteriously get worse and worse to the point that I am switching to Google Nest as soon as I am able. It is not my fault that everyone is using a home assistant as a home assistant instead of a shopping buddy.

DoorDash

We have DoorDash here and you can get DashPass for $4.99/month. I use the service enough that it is worth getting most months. I find it much cheaper than Instacart, but they do not offer the same amount of stores, although they are expanding beyond restaurants and convenience stores.

Zenni Optical

Zenni just rocks on principle. They have the cheapest quality glasses I have found. For normal prescriptions, you pay for the frames, optional coating, and shipping. Since they have frames for as little as $6.95, I have paid under $20 for several pairs of glasses since discovering this site. They are nice glasses, too. I usually get coating which is $4.95 (basic) or $14.95 (oil and fingerprint resistant) depending on what I want, and it is still loads cheaper than other places. Anyway, they offer a 10% student discount. With my last glasses, I had to get bifocals or progressives, so it was frames ($20), optional coating ($4.95), $52 for progressives, and shipping. With the student discount, my glasses were under $80. It was either $70 or $77.

There are more ways to save if you’re a college student, but those I mentioned are the ones I know and use. A quick Google search for student discounts brings great results. Instacart supposedly offers some kind of student discount but I cannot find it. They seem stingier than other places. Happy shopping!

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~*~AuDHD~*~

I learned a while back that people in other English-speaking countries pronounce Adidas much differently than people in America (the States). Here, it is pronounced Uh-dee-duss, while in other countries it is pronounced Oddy-doss. I found that interesting. Most of the time, when I see or hear Adidas, the only thing I think of is All Day I Dream About Sex 😂. Iykyk. Anywho, I am here with another poem 🙂. 

~*~AuDHD~*~

Divisible by 5
Is how it should be
The volume for my music
And the TV

It doesn’t stop there
I have to confess
The passage of time
Is part of this mess

At 1, it’s all good
And I feel alive
Then, utter chaos
‘Til it’s 1:05

2 units of insulin?
That won’t work for me
I’ll skip it altogether
Or add another 3

But that’s not all
That goes on in my brain
The mental gymnastics
Could drive one insane

My ADHD
Pops up to say “Hi!”
There are too many rules
And it wants to know why

Dinner needs washing
The laundry needs cooking
A treat for the puppy
When no one is looking

Now nothing is finished
And it’s time for bed
But I must get some work done
I’ll sleep when I’m dead

I’m still not happy with either of my instructors 😒. Poetry lady says I have “a lot of lyricists” on my reading list. Well, duh. I told her in the first week that I do not read much poetry. My last instructor was just fine with that. Lyrics are poetic; poetry can certainly be put to music if one so desires. Many, many folk songs were poems before songs were even born. But I held my tongue.

Then…I emailed my Shakespeare instructor to ask about thesis statements (she wasn’t happy with mine) and she replied that I need to address her by name in emails and to mind my tone 😡😡😤. Mind. My. Tone. I am autistic, I literally cannot “mind my tone.” What you see is what you get. I would understand if I was rude or pissy but I write how I speak and that is how it has always been. I honestly do not know how to be otherwise.

Forgiveable, perhaps, if I had not disclosed being AuDHD in my first post as I do with every class. I do not have an intentional tone and since Mom’s gone, I don’t have a filter because I would speak through her, and now I do not have that option, which would not be an option in school, really, unless I asked her to read stuff before I submitted it and she suggested changes. So, I sat there and cried for an hour or so and kept myself from replying, which was a very hard thing to do.

She also gave me a low grade on my discussion post because my answer was “vague.” I need specifics if you do not want me to be “vague” (according to you). My husband knows this, so if I am vague when I ask him something or answer a question, he lets me know or asks me questions so I can elaborate and/or explain myself. At the very least, she could have responded to my post so I had an opportunity to appease her. I am a straight-A student and a junior; I know that all my other instructors were not just handing out A’s willy-nilly and letting me coast. I am literal. I can seem obtuse or sarcastic when I am not being either of those things. I spoke to my advisor about it so at least he is aware. Work with me and I will work with you.

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The Failed Lab Experiment

What a complete and total flippin’ bust! Neville has made his choice, and it does not include me. He only wants to be with Adam except to check if I have food. He treats me like Dad’s wife treated me. I don’t get it, though. Adam and I have opposite sleeping schedules, so when I was awake, I had him, and when Adam was awake, he had him. Adam took him out to go to the bathroom but that’s just because he smokes outside so he goes out anyway. If he was sleeping, I took Nev out. If I make Neville stay in here, he sits in the doorway and whines and dings the bell until I become livid and march him to the other bedroom.

It wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t for the fact that:

  • I got him to be my service dog. I’ve always had reservations about Adam having a dog and I knew it wouldn’t be good for us as a couple and I’m often thisclose to sending both of them to his mom’s.
  • I treat Neville 1000x better than Adam does. Adam sounds like a textbook abusive father in volume and phrases, and I don’t like it at all. I can’t yell like him, so my yelling is hardly alarming.
  • I do all the non-abusive training and treats and praise him even when I’m not impressed (Look at you! You picked a piece of food up off the floor and ate it! Wow. Like you’re not starving every second of the day).

I’ve never been rejected by a damned animal before.

I’ve always stuck with cats regardless of how much I wanted a dog because I knew how Adam would be and that I would not tolerate it. He thinks yelling and repeating threatening phrases is training. Obedience should not be out of fear. Mom tried to tell him, “Don’t do that around [Cari],” and he should know better by now. I don’t like loud noises, and Dad used to yell. It actually took Dad a while to lose his temper, but then he would just let it all out at my brother or me.

Early in dating my ex-husband, he lost his temper with his job when we were in the vehicle and I started packing and was ready to leave as soon as we got home. My ex never once raised his voice toward me but it doesn’t have to be aimed at me. Some people never change, I guess. I think it is extremely disrespectful that I am the one always making sacrifices and being uncomfortable in my own home. To go with that, I think you get to a certain age where you’re just not going to put up with certain things anymore and you learn to advocate for yourself as much as you can 🤷‍♀️. This post took quite a turn.

So, that’s where we are, and it’s all great. Great, great, great, great.

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~*~Pervasive Thoughts~*~

Five poems this week! I had to write five poems for class this week alone 😫😫. I know, I know, it’s a poetry workshop class, but last workshop was two a week and certain forms each week. I don’t know how poets who write poems every day do it, honestly. I don’t know if it is because there is too much going on in my head or what, but I do much better with prompts or photos or contests. I find writing very cathartic, so I usually write about painful things so I can get them out, which is exhausting.

For class, I wrote about my father refusing to see me before he died and about my grandfather having dementia and referring to me as Little One because he couldn’t remember my name. Considering he died from sepsis, I’m assuming his dementia was caused by an untreated UTI. He had not been to the doctor in over 40 years, so it took them a while to figure out why he collapsed (he never woke up). Those two poems were very draining.

On top of the four poems for the milestone, we had to write another one for the discussion post, which is a forum mainly for attendance, participation, and accreditation. We had to choose a poem from our reading list and write a poem in their “voice,” which I found weird because I don’t even know what my voice is. I did it, nonetheless, and came up with the following:

~*~Pervasive Thoughts~*~

But don’t you see?  

Once it’s in your head,

it becomes a part of you —

it wraps around your brainstem

and creeps into your DNA.  

Walking the tightrope becomes

less daunting when it’s over 

a perverse safety net of pills,

razor blades, and ropes.  

The passivity of it all creates

a sense of mundanity that leads

you to believe everyone possesses

these thoughts and feelings — 

until you realize you’re the outlier and

most would exist in the extremist

of conditions and call it surviving.

I don’t know how that will go over in such a censored society (from how it used to be — not that we are as censored as other countries), but the professor was cool with including Wanting to Die by Anne Sexton in my reading list, so I am guessing the subject matter will not be a problem.

I doubt my PW2 professor will get back on my good side since I really liked my PW1 professor and PW2 laughed and said that PW1 was very wrong. I am not cool with people talking 💩 about people I like and/or respect. So, possibly a long eight weeks.

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Poetically Pissed Off

Well, I figured my intermediate workshop was going to be a challenge, but I did not know my opinions would be invalidated and my styles and voices questioned. Firstly, I had to stop centering my poetry (which is certainly a style – my preferred style at that). Then, I had to include punctuation, a formatting choice that I used sparingly, which incidentally I am being told to reverse in the new class. Now, I am not supposed to initial capitalize the first word of each new line. Who said I wanted to be a contemporary poet? Oh, and I can’t be inspired by “pop” poets like Rupi Kaur, who is the only contemporary poet I like.

Needless to say, my workshop professor and I are clashing. And I was admonished for stating the poems we read this week made no sense. If something does not make sense to me, I am going to make that clear. Just because some stuffy editors felt otherwise does not mean other people’s opinions should conform. The Emperor’s New Clothes, anybody? Suggesting I am not reading correctly and not that the poet wrote incoherently is insulting. Yellow Submarine is catchy; it is not a top-rate, meaningful song.

Raiding people’s private journals after they die and publishing them is certainly no way to set a precedent on what is the standard and now accepted. That has happened to at least two poets that I know of, Emily Dickinson being one. (She had only 10 poems published with her consent and her catalog is over 1,000.) It’s actually extremely violating and self-serving. I am here to learn, not conform or lie. This week’s reading list included the following:

coping skills lost in the flood
By CA Conrad

                   make you aching upwards of a
                             teenage broken phone
                           come to hear underwater
                                libraries up the side of
                                        the dinner plate a
                                        little too fast
                                          not ungrateful like
            some of  these bastards around here
can’t tap out a tune with you looking away
                      genies of not enough sleep
                               a happier location for
                                        the war not the
                       easiest thing you realize
                          beautiful architecture
                          refreshing beverages
       our signs read hello love us for
                                  the century of
                                  progress we
                                      gave you
                                        bombers
                                          arriving
                                    early here
                                  they are

From “Listen to the Golden Boomerang Return” 
 
          a potato
             born by
               shovel
               I am a
            bride of
          poetry in
         my orange
        and purple
       gown an
       unequaled
       extinction
        machine
         pushing
          strollers through
           ecosystems of
        concrete and plastic
we camel through the journey
  with our new playbook for
     where plunging hands go
                        don’t be weird
                     about this
                   you can be a
                 bride of
               poetry
              too

As you can see, neither poem above is left-aligned, another “rule” we were given for this week’s work. 

Third Poem for the Catastrophe
By Joyelle McSweeney

O
melting rainbow that embrace this roof
O
persistent covenant
hangs around
giving us nothing, leaves its muck in the water
expects us to be knocked out by its fine colors
weren’t you nothing too, weren’t you
sea bottom
crunched down into fuel
and when that eggshell roof busts through
mama’s gonna buy you
a rainbow ride for free
an illumination, an inflammation
hyperion flame headdress
dream pins in the fuel
balloons of Koolaid burst down to cool
the sticky baby’s head
plus a credit card a glock a new bible
a princess dress
a mermaid princess dress
so you’ll be twice submerged
or an erased Indian princess
pajama set now go to sleep

Bureau of

This is the body of,
waiting to turn on.

graced with a little tremor,
a little-known form, a fibrous hook,
a flimsy lever that makes the jar work

a lever and a clasp

:voila. The pathetic filofax
unfurls, the owl describes;
on air; makes an apse; lopes left

off the phonepole, woodenly.
we rise above the wind park,
commemorially.

our whorled fossil, pinned open.
our emergency kit
holds aspirin. digitalis. adrenalin-in-in.

So, yeah, I said they seemed drug-induced and made no sense. For one thing, the last poem starts a line with a colon 😒😒. Poetry is mainly for the poet, and I am all for that expression and them writing whatever they want, but I am certainly not required to like it or be encouraged to emulate it and “learn” from it. If I can say a movie makes no sense (and in a lot of instances, I am not the only one who feels that way), I can say a poem makes no sense, because, let’s face it; a lot of them do not. If they make sense to the one writing it, that is fine; great, even. Good for them. But do not belittle me or my intelligence and opinion solely because it does not align with yours. If this is “contemporary,” I will wholeheartedly pass.

Featured image: https://poemanalysis.com/poetry-explained/elements-of-poetry/

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Oh, Romeo — Nomeo!

I should be working, so of course another blog post! For school, dropping to half-time would halve my grant (money you don’t have to repay), so I am sticking to full-time 😒. That wouldn’t be so bad if I wasn’t required to take Shakespeare. Now, I get it; the guy (there is a debate whether Shakespeare was more than one person but we will go with the singular) was a genius and super talented and came up with the best stories and poems, but the old English just stumps me to the point that I need translation.

There are some choices for this class requirement but Shakespeare is actually the lesser of the evils offered, to me, anyway. I cannot remember what the others are, but I think one is Renaissance 😒. Plus, I was taking Shakespeare when my brother died and I could not deal at the time, so I have a UF (unfinished, I think is what that means), and retaking the class will improve my GPA.

My other class is an intermediate poetry workshop, so I am guessing it is a step up from the class I am finishing up on Sunday, and both classes are 300 level, which is for third years, so more writing and stricter grading. Adam has decided to go with fiction writing as his concentration, I believe, although he is pre-registered for a poetry workshop and a fiction workshop. I can never think of middles and ends for my stories and I have always written poetry, but not really any short stories. I’ve started “novels” that I eventually abandoned; that was mostly when I was obsessed with RL Stine.

My poetry workshop professor is giving me publishing resources and encouraging me to submit, but I am on the fence about that. Most don’t mention the royalty percentages, but one did and it was only 10%. Going my preferred route, I will get 70% or 75%. Of course, going through a publisher would give me more exposure, but it would also take away a lot of my freedom with formatting, editing, cover art, and who knows what else.

I’m also totally waffling with my site. I just can’t get the color scheme and image how I want it. I started out with the neon colors, which were cool, but when I decided to switch things up, I couldn’t decide what to go with. Should I use my book cover (willow tree)? Use Grandma’s painting print that I love (previous image)? Keep the image I have now? I seem to have entered a manic phase and that always involves lots of changes and me never feeling 100% satisfied. I was going to say I’m a total tweaker, but that doesn’t mean the same thing to other people as it does to me 🤣🤣. I can never leave things alone if I’m not totally “feeling” them.

Neville has started some scent training, and it is going surprisingly well. He is almost too smart for his own good. We’ve been using clove as the scent, and I take Nev into Mom’s room while Adam hides the hex bag. He then smells Adam’s hand and Adam says, “Go find it!” and he takes off and finds it. We’ve had to limit him to one room or he goes all over the house. When Adam re-hides the bag, Neville goes right to where he found it before 🤣. During potty breaks, Adam scents a stick and throws it in the yard and Neville has to find it. He has picked up the wrong stick a couple of times and knew they were the wrong ones, so put them down and grabbed the correct ones!

One day, I left my phone on the bed and came over to the computer, but I started worrying that Neville would get it and tear it up just to be a jerk (he tends to do that), so I turned my chair around, pointed to the phone on the bed, and said, “Pick it up!” and when he figured out what I was pointing to, he picked my phone up, jumped off the bed, and brought it to me without chewing on it or biting it 😊. I was so proud of him!

Once, when I was fiddling around in Mom’s bathroom, I handed him my phone so I could do something, and he sat there with it in his mouth until I asked/motioned for it back. He looked a bit confused as to why I was handing it to him but I wanted to see if he would take off with it or just hold it. I haven’t read up on teaching him to hold things yet. I know his parents have lots of ribbons and medals for retrieving, and part of that is holding what they retrieve without eating it or running away with it. I always see paintings of labs in duck hunting settings and I know they don’t get to eat the duck as a reward 🤣.

Lately, he has been ringing the potty bell in Mom’s room whenever he wants to play or leave the room. Adam comes in to talk after I wake up, and Nev will stand in the doorway and ring the bell and look up at him. I can’t help laughing when he does that, but he does it several times while we’re talking. He gets very jealous when Adam and I are in the same room.

I think I shared this before but that’s the bell. I can’t post the video because WP wants me to upgrade to do that.
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