Author: Eleanor Crowley

Writer, gamer, mother. I write to find peace in an often chaotic mind. I write to cope with the world around me.

Through the Eyes of Jackie Spade

Hello again my faithful followers! You may have noticed my sudden disappearance again. There is a very good reason for that! A few, actually.

One: Lack of inspiration.

Two: Summer time at a hotel.

Three: Low swing.

I’ve kept the third one vague since that is the topic of today’s post. Wouldn’t make sense to spoil the ending before I’ve even started. Little teasing before we actually begin. 😉

First of all, what is up with the rude people that come out of the bottom of the barrel when it is summer time? I know it’s hot, but come on! Rudeness costs, people. Being polite will get you quite far, and pays better benefits. I want to badly to yell back at people when they act like assholes to me, but I’m paid to be nice. So I can’t. But yell at me when I’m off the clock and I will hurt you.

Nah, not really, but in my brain I’ve already killed you off in my next book. Painfully.

Now that I’ve gotten that out of the way, I can move on to the actual purpose of this blog. I want to talk about Bipolar Disorder.

What does is Bipolar Disorder? I’m glad you asked! The National Institute of Mental Health gives us this as a definition:

Bipolar disorder, also known as manic-depressive illness, is a brain disorder that causes unusual shifts in mood, energy, activity levels, and the ability to carry out day-to-day tasks. Symptoms of bipolar disorder are severe. They are different from the normal ups and downs that everyone goes through from time to time. Bipolar disorder symptoms can result in damaged relationships, poor job or school performance, and even suicide. But bipolar disorder can be treated, and people with this illness can lead full and productive lives.

So is it a disorder, or an illness? Is it the same as manic depressive, or is it different? The definition changes from here to there as to what exactly it is, but anyone who has it understands all too well.

But Jackie, you ask, we already know what the definition is. What does it mean to BE bipolar?
Well okay, since you twisted my arm.

I realize I’m joking a bit throughout this blog, but the fact is, bipolar “disorder” is very serious. I’ve put a lot of thought into how I wanted to write this, and even now I question it. It’s hard to put into words, and explain to others, what you live through on a daily basis. Even worse is trying to explain it to others in a way they can understand and not think you’re over-exaggerating.

Being bipolar is not an easy task to handle. There are days when I wake up, and I’m in the best mood I’ve been in in days. The sun is shining, the grass is green, the air is clear and wonderful. My daughter is well behaved, my friends and I have deep conversations, and everything is all around perfect. Then there are days where everything goes to absolute hell, and I’m still manic.

You know sometimes you see people laughing at funerals? That’s what it’s like. When a bipolar person hits their high, manic state, it doesn’t matter what is going on around us, we simply cannot react the way a “normal” person should. Well, let me rephrase. I can only speak for myself, so I can’t react in ways a “normal” person is expected to. Everything can be crashing and burning around me, and I’m still giggling over a fart joke. It really is like turning into a five year old again. Everything’s funny, and I just want to prank people and so on. Everything feels like it’s moving so fast.

Then comes the crash. The crash is an interesting one. For me, it’s located some point after my everything-is-funny-haha-dead-people stage. The low swing hits, usually about as severely as a car crash, and suddenly…. It doesn’t matter how good everything is. I’m upset. I start crying for no reason. The jokes that my friends and I were making the day before suddenly hurt my feelings and make me want to cry. I feel like I’m trapped in a prison inside my own mind, and I want nothing more than to crawl out of my own skin and get as far away from myself as possible. I feel like an exposed nerve, and I’m frightened. I’m scared, and I’m alone. That’s what it feels like. I feel totally, and completely, alone no matter who I surround myself with. I want so badly to reach out to someone, and just be held. I want someone to say something to comfort me, but no one can find the right words. “What are the right words, Jackie?” Honestly, I don’t know. I don’t know what the right words are until I hear them. Frustrating? Trying being in my head. Because just as suddenly as it comes on, it goes away. Now, this could take some time for it to go away, weeks or months even, but when it does go, it goes pretty quick.

My swings are typically unpredictable, so it’ll go one of two ways. One will be anger. Everything is personal, everything is out to get me. Everything is trying to hurt me, and damn it I’ll hurt it first. I hate everyone, and everything, and I just want it all to explode around me in a fiery blaze. I want to see destruction, I want to tear at the fabric of reality if it means I can rip this anger and hatred from my chest. All the while I feel as though I am drowning, in a lake of fire, and nothing I can do can stop it.

If I don’t go to anger, then I go to apathy. This is where I simply cannot feel anything. Now, those who know me know I can at times be very detached from my own emotions, sometimes without meaning to, so it shouldn’t come as a surprise that I have an entire moodswing dedicated to just that. When I am in this state, I just don’t care. I can’t even begin to understand why someone would care about it in the first place. Nothing makes sense to me, I don’t understand why people are happy, or sad. I don’t understand these little things that bring joy to people’s lives. I’m cruel, the things I would normally put a filter on (i.e. “Oh you got a hair cut? It looks…..nice….”), I let out in a cruel and harsh fashion (i.e. “Did you get in a fight with a lawnmower? That hairstyle is horrible. And while we’re at it, you’re not as pretty as you think you are.”)

When all of this is happening, I feel like a different person has taken control of my body. Someone will make a joke during one of the swings and I’m fine with it. Make the same joke during a different swing, and I’ll react differently. My points of view change, depending on my mood. Everything.

The other aspect that no one tells you is what happens during the swings that also cannot be predicted. According to the NIMH:

  • Talking very fast, jumping from one idea to another, having racing thoughts

  • Being easily distracted

  • Increasing activities, such as taking on new projects

  • Being overly restless

  • Sleeping little or not being tired

  • Having an unrealistic belief in one’s abilities

  • Behaving impulsively and engaging in pleasurable, high-risk behaviors

Just to name a few for you. The worst one for me is having unrealistic beliefs in my own abilities. I hold myself to a higher standard than everyone else around me. If someone else makes a mistake, it’s okay. But if I mess up, it’s the end of my own little world. Everyone is going to hate me or laugh at me, everyone’s going to mock me. How could I be so stupid for not doing this correctly, or how the hell did I not see that the first time? I hate making mistakes. “Normal” people brush off mistakes in a few hours, maybe a few days. I hold on to, and remember them, for years. They cripple me with fear sometimes to the point that I will just freeze. Everything freezes and shuts down. All because I made a mistake. Sometimes when I make mistakes, I want to just sit down and sob. Or I get angry. Or…you get the point.

Jackie, that sounds awful, you might say. Why don’t you go get medicated for it?
That’s a good question. One I debated answering for quite some time.

When I was younger I was on medication. And jeeeeeez I hated it. Remember that apathetic stage I was just telling you about? Mix in some paranoia and you have me on medication. I felt like a zombie, floating from one place to the next. I cut so I could feel something. Sometimes it was comforting. The more apathetic I got, the worse the cuts became. Soon I was cutting entire pieces of skin off with scissors. I knew if I kept going, I was going to die. So I tried to kill myself.
Then, suddenly, I was off the medication… and I felt better. I realized I never wanted to go back to that place, ever again. I never wanted my emotions to be dictated by some “magic pill”. I wanted to do this on my own. Yes, it is hard. It is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do in my life. But I do it.

How do you function in society, though? Warn everyone about your disorder?

No, I’ve perfected multiple persona’s. Does that mean you’re lying? No, not at all. Well, sort of I guess. It’s like putting on new clothes every day for me. I’ve got my “Professional Skin” (think business suit), my “Hey-I’m-The-Life-Of-The-Party!” skin, my “I’m here to comfort you” skin. And many others.

Why?

The honest answer is I want to give people what they want to see, rather than what is happening under the surface. My problems are frustrating and complex, and most of the time I cannot put them into words to make myself understand, let alone include anyone else on the ride. The other answer is… I don’t want to be crippled by my problems.

Why?

I don’t see being bipolar as a disorder. Being bipolar has opened my eyes, and made me see the world differently than “normal” people. Yes, there are many days that I absolutely hate it. Would I change myself? No. No, I really wouldn’t.

What I would change is the way society sees people like me. Thanks to the media spreading fear and lies (surprise, surprise), and people lying to get out of severe punishments, society is afraid of people with mental illnesses. We often fear what we don’t understand, and the fact is the definitions for most mental problems are constantly changing and evolving. It’s taboo to speak of. Getting mental help is difficult, and often expensive, and unless deemed “necessary”, most insurance companies won’t cover certain things. Being bipolar has made me a little afraid to talk about my “disorder” to others, because I don’t want any of them to think I’m going to go off the deep end and hurt my daughter, or shoot up a school, or yada yada.

No, listen here people. When I get into the absolute worst of the worst lows, where I am picking up razorblades or picking up pills, and wondering how much time I have to kill myself before I get caught, the only person I am trying to hurt/kill is ME. Let me repeat that. ME. Not my child, not my parents, not my friends, etc. ME. If a person does commit some horrible act, they might be bipolar, but there is something else mixed in with that. That’s right, people, these problems can be mix and match too!

The simple fact is we as a society need to stop being so afraid of it, and maybe, just maybe, encourage people to seek help.

I am not saying people shouldn’t take medication. I’m not saying you should. I can only speak for myself in these circumstances, or what my circle have friends have told me. These “disorders” are different for each and every one of us. That’s how it’s always been, and always will be.

As I stated earlier, it is incredibly difficult for me to truly put into words what it is I experience every day. But I hope this helps shed even just a little bit of insight into what it is like inside my brain.

 

Live and Let Live

Hello my lovely and loyal readers! 

I set myself a goal of posting a blog once a week. So far, I am failing miserably at it. But! In my defense… I have a terrible memory. And I’ve had a lot going on recently. Never fear, however! I’ve been composing this particular piece of writing for quite some time now. 

The good news about my job is I am allowed quite a bit of free time. Some of that is spent reading, other times I’m on the phone with my other late night friends, but most of the time I’m sat in front of my computer. It’s not that I’m neglecting any of my duties… it’s just….there aren’t many. Once my certain list has been completed, or the hotel has booked up, I have naught to do. 

That being said, I’m left with a lot of time to think. This can be a good thing, or it can be a very bad thing. This week I’ve discovered something new about myself. Well, more accurately, I’ve finally accepted something about myself. I am what the world would call a “Silent Judgmental” person. What this means is simply…I may not say I’m against it, but if I am, I’m judging. 

I don’t know why. I don’t do it all the time. I don’t go around pointing to random people going “Judging you. Yup, you two. Thought you could hide? Judging you, too. And you. Judge you and your mother.” No. I don’t even know why I judge the things I do. It’s none of my business, really, and it doesn’t harm me in the least. So why care? 

Why, indeed. 

What actually started this train of thought was one night I was watching Forensic Files (or, better known around my house, the Sleep Aid (It should be noted here that my family and I adore Forensic Files, but the narrator just has one of those soothing voices)), and they were doing crash reconstruction to verify the speed at which a vehicle was traveling at the time of an accident. They were using physics that were beyond my comprehension, and all I could think was “I bet those scientists got called nerds in school, and were picked on.” 

Which then led to another thought. That’s how my brain works. Think dominoes. Or train wrecks. Just don’t use physics. 

Why do people feel the need to judge another person based on their outward appearance, their likes/dislikes, religion, sexual orientation, etc if they differ from our own views/appearance? Why is it an automatic reaction as well? 

People are judged for being smart, and they are called nerds. Yet, those “nerds” are who we rely on when our loved ones are in crashes, and we need someone to prove the cause. 

Women are judged for the simple fact of being female, yet who do most men want to sleep with, or start a family with? Who takes care of them most of time? (clearly there are exceptions to the rules here)

Men are judged for the simple fact of being male, yet who do most females want to sleep with, start a family with? Who takes care of them most of the time? (See what I did there? I’m so clever.) 

The fact is, we as a society are pressed to pass judgement on everyone around us, UNTIL the perceived “flaws” in someone else can benefit us in some way. Why is this so? Why are we programmed like this? Is this a system we’ve been brainwashed with, or is it an evolutionary thing? 

I don’t understand the need to try and force other people to change, and when they refuse, bullying them because of it. I don’t understand why everyone has to confirm to this ideal of perfect. I embrace my flaws! I love my weirdness! I’m pride myself on being strange. I pride myself on my beliefs, my orientation, and my gender (until my period comes along and then I start begging for a penis), so forth. 

Are we trying to bring people to our level because it is a way to rise above them? Are we simply threatened by other people’s differences because we are not brave enough to wear our own on our sleeves? Is it envy and jealousy? I understand being annoyed by things. My friends like things I will never like, ever, no matter how hard you try you can’t make me nee ner nee ner *inhale* and they tend to keep talking about them. Meanwhile I start judging. Why? They like something I don’t, that doesn’t make anyone inferior or superior. My likes vs. Their likes, it’s not a damn competition. 

Same thing with sexual orientation. Where I choose to put my privates is no one’s business but my own. 

Religion: What god/gods/goddesses/nada I choose to worship, is MY business, and is between me and my deity/nothing.

It goes on and on. The fact is… Instead of encouraging hatred, or trying to make everyone conform to some impossibly high standard, why don’t we try something new? Clearly hatred, bigotry, and being judgmental aren’t getting us anywhere, so let’s try something more peaceful. 

Live. And Let. Live. 

Live your own life, enjoy your day, and do not dwell on the workings of others. If they are not hurting you physically, or invading your home and hurting your family, then you have no business meddling in anyone’s life but your own. 

Live and let live.

Let that lesbian couple hold hands in public. It isn’t going to hurt anyone. 

Let that black and white couple kiss and hug their child. Does that hurt you in any way? No. 

Live and let live. 

We cannot fix the world as a whole, because no one person, group, etc is correct or perfect. Perfection is an idea, not reality. Perfection is an ideal we try to hold ourselves to, and feel defeated when we can’t stick to it. We are not meant to be perfect creations, we are meant to live life to the fullest and embrace friends or family, love them entirely despite their differences. 

We can only fix the world one person at a time, and it starts within our own hearts, and our own minds. If your soul is black, how can you judge the colorful soul of another? Worry about your own problems before you start trying to “fix” others. 

Innocence of a Child

Hello, everyone!! Look at me go, two blog posts in one month. I’m getting better at this already! At least I think it’s been in one month… Close enough for government work, anyway. Since converting to nightshift, my days are so thrown off it’s a little unbelievable. I couldn’t remember what day it was yesterday, and was genuinely panicked for a few minutes. Was it Tuesday, or Friday? Maybe it was Saturday? This was triggered by the fact that someone forgot to turn Sonic’s lights out (on the weekends they stay open until 11, weekdays at 10).

But, you didn’t come here to read about that did you oh loyal readers of mine. So we’ll move on to talk about my daughter. Now, in the past I’ve talked about her a little, but I’m not sure that I’ve gone into great detail about her. My daughter is absolutely brilliant. Brilliant, and a bit of a smarty pants. Every day is a new adventure, and now that I’m working I’ve learned how to take advantage of what time we do have together, rather than take it for granted like I did before. Which brings me to today.

For her birthday, my daughter got a sandbox. She absolutely loves it, because it combines her three favorite things: Being outside, playing pretend, and getting filthy beyond all imagination. She asked if I wanted to play with her, and I did just that. We made sandcastles and moats, walls and bridges. I taught her how to make a wall to protect the kings and queens inside the castle. She looked up from her castle and said “Yeah, we have to protect the queens in the castle!” “Queens?” “Yeah! Two queens live in that castle, mama, and they’re married!” A bit later she finished another castle, and informed me that two kings lived in that castle, and they were also married. They also wore yellow dresses to match the flag on top of the castle.

While all of this was incredibly cute, and very sweet, I felt a strange sense of sadness and confusion. I’ll start with the confusion. My daughter is way too young to understand that what she just said is considered taboo and “wrong” to so many people in society. She doesn’t understand what she’s doing, or why she’s marrying two queens and two kings together. She doesn’t understand the bible, or know who Jesus is. Yet here she is with two queens and two kings in drag (I guess this would make them drag queen kings) (Badum tsh). How, if homosexuality is a choice, can a four year old girl pair them together without so much as a hesitation?

The sadness is a bit more obvious. As I looked on at my daughter’s innocent game of pretend, I realized that I needed to cherish this as much as I possibly could. One day, someone is going to try and beat that out of her, and shove religion down her throat. One day someone is going to try and tell her that marriage between two women, and two men, is wrong. One day, she’s going to understand bullying, and hatred, and bigotry. I’m going to try my best to make sure she’s on the right side of that line, but at the end of the day, she’ll make her own decisions and walk her own paths. That hurts more than anything else. As a parent, I want to protect her from the world, and shield her from the hatred and the negativity that awaits her. I want to hold on to that childish innocence, and paint a picture of a perfect world for her. I never want to lose the way her eyes light up over something small to us, but is magical to her. Inevitably, however, it will happen. My daughter’s heart will become hardened to the world around her, and she’ll be expected to conform to the status quo, or face a life of being picked on.

I remember being a kid, and there was a woman wrestler on television. She was absolutely gorgeous. They were showing nude pictures of her on the screen, but her breasts and genitals were covered by a black stripe. I stated “Why don’t they just uncover her?” My mother immediately dragged me to my room to ask me why I’d said that. I remember panicking, because I didn’t want to get in trouble. I remember thinking that I wanted to see her beauty in its entirety (except way more simple because I was a kid), but that clearly wasn’t the answer she was looking for. So, instead, I said “Mom, I’m not gay.” Growing up, any time a reference to me being a lesbian came up, my mother would respond “Please, don’t.” or something such as.

So, of course, when I start finding women attractive, I began to hate myself. I remember experimenting with a female friend of mine, and feeling so disgusting and ashamed of myself afterwards. I hated myself more and more each day, because I was becoming the one thing my mother practically begged me never to become, what society had told me was wrong. I was becoming what kids had been bullied or killed over, what major debates were being fought over… It got to the point where I cut, because I wanted my outside to look as ugly as I felt on the inside. How could I disappoint everyone around me so much?

Then I woke up and realized… Fuck them. Fuck society. What has society ever done for me except cause me pain, and cause me to hate myself? How does that make me a better person when I am filled with just as much hatred as they are? How does this benefit me? It doesn’t. Instead, my pain gave society a different way to laugh, to mock, and to kick me while I was down. I wasn’t a child in pain, I was an attention seeker. I wasn’t taking off from school because I was sick, I was taking off from school because I was gothic and it happened to be the anniversary of Columbine, so clearly I was planning something. My suicidal thoughts weren’t real, they were a way to get everyone to look at me and pay attention to me. All of the above is shit that was actually said to me at one point or another, by various people.

So it makes sense that I would want to protect my daughter from this world, but I know that isn’t fair. Because it doesn’t matter what the world thinks of you, or what society tells you is right or wrong. It doesn’t matter how many times my mother, or the world, begged me, I still grew up to embrace my bisexuality. No matter how many times I went to a Baptist church, I still converted to Paganism.

The only thing I regret is losing my child like innocence. What I mean by that is sometimes I envy my daughter for how she looks at the world around her. It’s all simple, beautiful, and magical. I wish I could see the world like that again. I wish I hadn’t been tainted by hatred and evilness.

I sort of went off on an entirely different tangent there, and I’m sorry for that. The message, I suppose, I’m trying to deliver to you now is be careful what you say, how you say it, and who you say it in front of. The phrase “Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me” is untrue. Words have power. Words have more strength than anything else. Wounds will heal, but words will forever haunt you, and cut you with each time you remember them.

I know I’m going to make my own fair share of mistakes, and I know that I will create scenarios that will haunt my daughter just as mine haunt me. All I can really hope is, in the end, I will do right by her.

That’s it for today, folks. Sorry that went in a different direction that I thought it was, but apparently it needed to be said.

Things I’ve learned working in a hotel

I’m back!! I know it’s been a while since I’ve posted. Life has a way of stepping in and ruining all the fun.

The worst part is, I have had so many things I’ve wanted to talk about. But what I have in terms of inspiration is constantly being thwarted by my lack of desire to actually type it all up for others to read. Perhaps another time I will type up the blog that includes everything I’ve wanted to type about.

However, we are not here for what I may do, we are here to discuss the hotel business. Yes, I am proud to announce that I have finally managed to land myself a job, and I’m nearly finished with my third week. It is quite exciting, and challenging. As an introvert, I face a few struggles that an extroverted person wouldn’t. In my journey, I have picked up quite a bit of useful knowledge that I shall now share with you. I am typing this on my phone so forgive me any mistakes I may make.

1). Customer service is everything: When a person walks into a hotel, they are looking for a nice, professional person to hand all of their information to. You have to look the part, and act the part, even if you really don’t want to. This is, obviously, the same in every business from food to cars.

2). Multitasking is a bitch!: I’ve always been a pretty good multitasker, but I had to really step up my game. Often times I’ll have phones ringing, and people trying to get a room. You’re typing in credit card numbers in the machines, and giving quotes to the next person in line. I am horribly number dyslexic, so I struggle a bit with it. But I’m getting better.

3). Assholes exist here too: I’d been working for all of six days, and a self entitled asshole gentleman walks in. He starts spouting off all these questions that I don’t have the answers to, and gets angry with me when I explained I was new and didn’t know how to help. He slammed his hands on the counter and walked out, calling me an ignorant ass as he went. I also get people who get angry at me for the price. If it were up to me, I’d lower of. Which brings me to my next lesson…

4). Sympathy has no place here: I think this was the hardest lesson I had to learn (other than keeping up with math). During horrible weather, or so late st night they are falling asleep at the wheel, drivers are often shoved off the interstate and forced to get a room. The first few days I was here, I felt awful and would charge the lowest rate we offered. And that was a no no. After I sewed up the new asshole I’d been given by my bosses, I realized I was going to have to harden my heart. What is even worse than that is when you get people who are here for really sad reasons. I had a woman who hadn’t slept in days because her daughter was in the hospital having her fourth open heart surgery. She’d been forced to leave but didn’t want to go home, and chose my hotel instead. I hated. Hated. Charging her full price. But. This is a business, and businesses are here to make money. Sympathy, unfortunately, doesn’t make money.

5). You will become emotionally invested: I see a lot of truckers, a lot of travlers, and because I sit and chat with them, I tend to learn about where they are heading and where they came from. The incredibly nice ones I often find myself wondering if they made it to their destination safely. It’s a sad thought to realize that some of the people I see won’t make it. This leads into my next point.

6). Your sense of responsibility triples: Along with becoming emotionally invested, you take on a sense of responsibility for them, and their belongings. We have security cameras covering every inch of this place, and it is my job to keep an eye on the screens to make sure nothing gets stolen.

7). Your job doesn’t stop at the front desk: If you’re working in a small hotel in a small town, there may not be enough staff on hand to do all the jobs that need to be done at any given moment. When I first started working, I simply worked the front desk. On my second day, I was doing laundry. Fourth day I was fixing a computer. Fifth day I was typing up documents for my boss. Tenth day I was stripping down rooms, and delivering things up to people. When people ask what I do, I usually tell them I’m a personal front desk maintenance maid assistant.

8). Being a female in the hotel business sucks sometimes: I’ve only had this happen once, thankfully, but a guy took my niceness as flirting, and then started trying to have sex with me. Since I work in a hotel, it must also mean I can um…assist them in other ways.

9). You quickly learn your surroundings: Before working here, I knew the bare minimum of my town, and neighboring towns. Now I know every restaurant, gas station, etc in town, how far it is to the next towns, which towns would provide the better rates, and so forth.

10). Entertaining yourself is a must: On Mondays and Fridays, I’m always busy. During thr rest of the week, later into my shift, it gets very boring and very quiet. I was bored to tears during my first week, to the point that I started cleaning just so I had something to do. The lobby has a great shine to it now, though. This doesn’t stop at the slow days. You have to find a way to make this fun for yourself. I like to learn about people. So I make this fun by talking to them.

11). It’s like a family: I can’t speak for all hotel chains, only for the own I’m in at the moment. My boss told me they treat everyone like family, especially their employees. At first, I didn’t believe her. But it’s true! Her husband told me if I have problems with a person, tell him and they will kick them out, because “my life is more valuable than their money”. I’m sorry, I just don’t know a lot of businesses that would say that, and mean it. I don’t get mad and bitch about not wanting to come to work. Instead, I show up hoping to make them proud. I have value here, and I’m shown that often.

I feel very blessed. This job fell into my lap unexpectedly, and I love it.

Put Santa back into Christmas

I know, I am a terrible blogger. I go for months at a time updating everyone on everything happening in my life, and the proceed to fall off the earth for a bit. Such is the way of life, I suppose. It’s the curse of the Time Lords.

However, sometimes I stumble across things, and I allow them to brew so heavily within my mind that I cannot concentrate on anything else. That’s when blog posts appear.

Today I’m going to discuss Christmas, and why I think people suck.

As a child, I remember being so excited for the idea of Santa coming to my house and delivering so many wonderful gifts. Each year, it never failed, that Santa would slip a surprise gift under the tree (or outside) that I had not been expecting. It was a magical, thrilling experience. I would go to see family (which we only did twice a year), and I would exclaim with joy and pride how good I must have been to get such amazing gifts, including some extras!

Then the inevitable happened.

I’d lost a tooth, and gone into my room to put it under my pillow. I’d been sure to turn off the light before leaving, because I did not want to meet the wrath of mom. Just before my parents went to bed, I peeked down the hall, and my light had mysteriously turned itself on. Curious, I thought, and went to investigate under the pillow. Sure enough, there was money. My mother was in the bathroom, and I walked in to confront her (I was an awkward child, and now I am an even more awkward adult). In the span of a few moments, all the mysteries of life began to unravel. Santa wasn’t real, nor the Tooth Fairy, nor the Easter Bunny. In many ways, this revelation helped me learn to appreciate the efforts my mother and father went through, but I also knew that everything had changed.

The magic of Christmas, of Easter, etc, was gone. Since that time, I’ve struggled every year to find something that makes Christmas worth it. And each year I am met with disappointment. But why? Why am I met with such disappointment? Why is it so much harder to get into the spirit of Christmas, especially the older I become?

Because people suck.

Allow me to explain. In the day of mass media and social networking, we are constantly being smacked around with controversy. “Put Christ back into Christmas” “Take the Christmas tree down! It’s a Holiday tree!” “How dare you not say ‘Merry Christmas’!” “HOW DARE YOU TELL ME MERRY CHRISTMAS?!” and the argument from both sides: “YOU’RE STOMPING ON MY PERSONAL FREEDOM!”

GUYS.

SHUT UP. SHUT. THE. FUCK. UP.

We’re not in Braveheart. We’re not all walking around with blue pant and kilts. (Just take a minute and enjoy that mental image. You’re welcome).

First of all, I’ll briefly state that Christmas began as a pagan festival of Yuletide to celebrate the winter solstice. Second of all, does it even matter?

There are certain words in the English language (I can only say for the English language because I do not know others, but feel free to correct me if I’m wrong) that have, over time, lost their original meaning. They’re just words. We don’t question their origins, we don’t stop to think about the definition, we’ve just heard it in certain contexts for so long that we just automatically know what it means. Take the word “Whore”, for example.

Christmas has sort of become the same thing. No matter the origins, what it has boiled down to is a celebration of family, of friends, of bringing joy and happiness to one another by means of gifts, or food, or cards, or simply a phone call saying “I love you”. People have gotten to the point where they are just too easily excitable, they just want to bitch, moan, or fight about something.

If someone says Merry Christmas to me, a pagan, do you know what I say to them?

Merry Christmas to you too!

If someone wishes me Happy Kwanzaa?

Same to you, buddy!

Hanukkah?

Happy Hanukkah to you too!

Happy Holidays?

Happy Holidays to you, too!

It doesn’t matter what is being said, it doesn’t matter how you greet me. The fact is, you thought of me. And you tried to spread your warmth, your joy, to me in what ever greeting you choose.

Getting angry at someone for trying to be nice to you is the most selfish, childish thing you can do. And trying to force others to greet you in the fashion you deem appropriate is as stupid as going into a foreign country and expecting everyone to speak English to you. All this controversy does is ruin Christmas for those of us who just want to be happy. I’m SO sick of seeing this debate!

Perhaps it all began with teaching children about Santa Claus. Christmas was never overly religious for me when I was growing up. That has changed, a lot, and I just ignore it all for the most part. But each year, people get so angry at each other over a word. Over a holiday that is about being joyous and happy.

It’s getting to the point now where I do not want to spend time with family, and I dread Christmas each year, because of the shitstorm that becomes of it. But! I do it all regardless, because I do have a child.

Having a child has brought some of the joy back into my life regarding Christmas. Instead of receiving from Santa, I *AM* Santa! I get to be creative, I get to hide things, I get to sneak them out of their hiding spot, all the while hoping to the powers that be that I do not drop EVERYTHING in the process.

As a kid, all I understood about Christmas was it was about waking up early, getting wicked cool presents, and because both my parents were off for Christmas, I got to spend some rare quality time with them. Then I got to visit the rest of my family that I don’t get to see often, and eat amazing food. THAT is what Christmas became.

The point to all of this is… If a bunch of soldiers can set aside their difference during WWI and celebrate Christmas together, then we should be able to do the same. Instead of arguing over who is right, and who is wrong, why not embrace the spirit of Christmas and say whatever greeting you’d like. If someone says Happy Holidays, respond with Merry Christmas. If that is not your religion, just accept the fact that someone cared enough about you to greet you in such a way. Don’t shove your beliefs down everyone’s throat, I don’t care what religion (or lack thereof) you follow.

Live and let live.

If we could all just stop arguing, and stop hating each other for one. Day. We could bring the magic back, put the magic back into Christmas for everyone. Being an adult doesn’t HAVE to mean that Christmas sucks.

And remember. Santa is watching. Or Satan if you’re dyslexic.

Merry Christmas, Blessed Yuletide, Happy Kwanzaa, Hanukkah, Happy Holidays, etc etc etc etc.

The Job Interview from Hell

For those of you who know me in my personal life, you know that I had a job interview yesterday (Friday). What was difficult for me to explain at the time was how much of a cluster fuck it was from the very beginning. Instead of telling everyone individually, I’ve decided to blog about it instead.

I wake up at 6:50 in the morning after only getting about four and a half hours of sleep. That part was my fault, and I accept full responsibility for it. After fighting with my child, I finally manage to get the two of us ready and out to my friend Arwen. Which, by the way, a HUGE thank you goes to Arwen for A). Agreeing to watch her at the last minute and B). Waking up super early to watch her.

I leave Arwen’s, drive in the opposite direction to the interview which, as I learned, was about 20 minutes away from where I live. Not a terrible drive, and it is a distance I am used to driving.

I was told to meet a woman at 9 AM, and I arrived at the store at 8:45. I walked in, she wasn’t there yet. No problem, I was early. They’d just opened a diner across the street, so she was probably caught up over there. Not a problem in the least. I walked back outside and waited. And waited. And waited. 9:20 rolls around, and a woman pokes her head out of the door. “Were you here for an interview?” “Yes, ma’am, I am.” “What time were you told to be here?” “I was told to be here by 9.” “Oh. Okay.” She turns and walks back inside. Well….alriiight. I look back across the street and a few moments later I see a pregnant woman get into a car, and drive across the street and park beside me. “Are you Rebekah?” “Yes ma’am.” “Good, follow me, please.” Okay, this must be the woman I’m looking for. Awesome.

I follow her from the front of the store, all the way to the back of the store where she hands me off to the woman who’d poked her head out of the door in the first place. So…why was I left standing outside? Alright, no problem. The conversation between us goes as follows:

“Is there any shift you absolutely cannot work?”
“I would prefer evenings, but if I have to, I can work mornings.””Can you work graveyard?”
“I don’t want to, but if that is absolutely the only shift available, then I can.”
“We have a store on Goodwill Road that needs a person on graveyard.”
“I don’t know the area that well, so I’m not sure where that is.”
“Oh, don’t worry. It isn’t very far.”

I was then led inside and handed an application. After filling out everything, I then was required to do math (with no calculator. Flashbacks to high school started in my head), but I was proud of myself. I only got one problem wrong and I was only off by a dollar. (Hey, they didn’t say I couldn’t check my math with a calculator).

She sits down to talk to me a few moments later, asking me the usual questions. “Tell me about yourself. What are you strengths? What are you biggest issues with coworkers?” etc. I handle it all with ease and grace I didn’t know I possessed. I even made her laugh!

She tells me that she’s made her decision, but she wants another opinion. The opinion happened to come from her sister. While we wait for her sister to come over, she begins explaining to me about the other store. Which, as you may recall, she explained was not far. “It’s completely crazy over there. I don’t really go over there much anymore, and they have no managers for graveyard.” You’re really going to send someone who hasn’t worked since 2007 to a store with no structure? Really?

A few moments later, her sister wanders over. She’s the obvious shy type, and I mean EXTREME shy. Can’t look me in the eye, twitches a bit, etc.

“You’re really willing to travel from your home to Goodwill Road?”
“Well, as I was explaining to her -points to interviewer- I’m not familiar with the area, so I don’t really know where that is.”
“That’s Exit 31.”
“….Excuse me…?”
Basically, add on an extra 20 miles from where I live. Comes to a grand total of about 40 minutes. Working graveyard where I won’t get off work until 6 AM. Uhhh no. So I told her I wasn’t interested in that.
“Oh, I’m not going to hire you over there. That isn’t practical at all. -She turns to look at her sister- Don’t we still need someone here?”
“Yeah, at the store across the street.”
Why didn’t you tell me that to begin with instead of trying to send me 20 miles in the opposite direction?
“Well, I’ll have to talk to them and see if they need anyone over there, then get you set up. Thank you for coming, we’ll be in touch.”
So…I’m being dismissed….So much for “Guaranteed job”….So I stand, give them my best smile and thank them for their time. Finally I ask them “Do you know how long it will be before I know something?”
“You’ll know by Monday.”

O_O Okay…

So I leave. I drive back to my house to get something to drink. At this point I am rather angry. I was lied to, passed to a new person, lied to again, passed to another person, and then dismissed. Kay. So I drive back to my friend Arwen’s house, and decide to sit and chat with her. In the time it took me to get to Arwen’s, they’d called again. No voicemail though, so I assumed it was them. My phone goes off again a little bit later but I wasn’t able to get it. So when it goes off a third time, I grab the phone and rush out. The conversation goes as follows:

“Hello, is this Rebekah?”
“This is she.”
“Hi, this is -interviewer-. I was wondering if you could start Sunday?”
“What time on Sunday?”
“We’ll need you here at 6 AM for three days of training.”
“Can I be guaranteed evening shifts?”
-She gets a horrible attitude.- “Well not for training. Those girls on evening shift don’t know what they are doing and they aren’t qualified for training you. One has been here for a week, the other has been here for three weeks. There are things you need to know that can only be taught on morning.”
“Ma’am, that isn’t what I meant. I meant after training was done, will I be guaranteed evenings?”
“I don’t know what you’ll work but you’ll probably have to work graveyards. I don’t know when, you might only work it a few days out of the week but yeah you’ll work graveyards.”
“Can I call you back so I have time to think about my options and discuss this with someone?”
“-exasperated sigh- Look, I don’t have all day. In fact, I’m not even going to be here in the next hour. When were you thinking about calling me back?”
“Probably this afternoon, but I was under the impression that I would have until Monday.”
“Well I need to know now. If you don’t want this, then tell me right now so I can move on to other people who want the job.”

Quick run down so far: Lied to, passed to a different person, lied to again, passed to a different person, dismissed, had someone pop an unnecessary attitude with me, and now she’s essentially saying “Make up your mind or you don’t get another chance.” So not having any options at that point, I told her I could guarantee sunday but I wasn’t sure about any other day.

“Fine, just let me know and we’ll reschedule if we have to. See you Sunday.” -click-

I realize that I am not in the position to make demands. I am not in the position to even really be picky. But if these people can’t even get the hiring process right, and they are already acting like complete bitches to me, how the hell am I supposed to work with and for them? How am I supposed to trust anything they say?

It is rather sad when an applicant is more professional than the people interviewing them. The interviewer kept texting while interviewing me, and the other manager couldn’t even look me in the eyes. How the hell did they get to be managers? UGH.

I deserve a bit of respect. I need money, yes, but I don’t need it badly enough to be treated like shit before I’ve even gotten the job and been officially hired. This is just ridiculous bullshit.

So that’s the story of the worst job interview in history.

Dare to Hope

I feel as though I may have cheated my readers a little bit this morning by giving you such a short post. No worries, I hope that I can more than make up for that with this one. When I woke up today I actually had no intention of writing another blog post, but circumstances are always changing, and I felt inspired. What inspired me, you might ask? A man named Nick Vujicic.

Nick Vujicic, for those of you who do not know, is an Australian-Serbian man born with a condition known as tetra-amelia syndrome or, to put it in terms we can all understand: He was born with no arms and no legs. He travels around the world giving motivational speeches, and I have to say, it brings me to tears. My mother actually showed me a video of his years ago, but what he was saying didn’t really make sense even though it was entirely relevant to what was happening in my life; I simply wasn’t ready to listen. I am now, however, and I have found myself in a completely different state of mind than what I originally was.

What makes Nick Vujicic’s speeches so profound is the fact that he starts by making jokes at his own expense, but then grows completely serious. He looks into the crowd and tells everyone “I love you. I don’t care what you’ve done, or who you are. I don’t care what you look like, because that doesn’t matter. I love you.” And though he is religious, and he says he found his strength in God, he encourages everyone to find strength in whatever they need–be it religion or otherwise.

I think that is the problem with the world. We are too busy judging those around us. Whether they are gay, straight, black, white, Latino, European, etc. We judge based on the religion they choose to practice, the choices they’ve made in life, because we want everyone to be perfect. I’m here to tell you there is no such thing as perfect. Beauty is literally in the eye of the beholder. The outside shows nothing of what is on the inside, and if we would look past our judgements, we may actually find we like some of the people we’re tossing down. This point is validated when Nick states

When I first stepped onto this stage, a lot of you felt sorry for me. A lot of you pitied me. You don’t anymore, do you? No, of course not, because you know me. You know what I’ve been through, you can see what I overcame. You’d want to be my friend now, wouldn’t you? Of course you would! But as you can see, I still have no arms and no legs. At this point you’d say, ” So what? Who cares?”

I’ve mentally written this blog a handful of times already, and each time I reach this point, I’m never sure where to begin.

I’m not perfect. I do not want to be perfect, as there is too much stress. I know what it’s like to feel as though no one likes you, or no one wants you around. I know what it feels like to think you’re not good enough, or pretty enough. I’ve been beaten down, I was pushed to the end of my rope on many occasions; one of them nearly slid me to the end. But I came back. I’ve popped up, and I’ve kept going. It’s true, we all worry a little about what people around us think, even if we are too proud to admit it. We’re always trying to please someone. But my question is why? Why are we so worried about browbeating others into thinking like us, and why do we care so much about what others think? The world around us is full of bullies, whether it is in the form of a kid in school, or a corporate business owner. People are constantly pushing and shoving others down–the only thing that changes is the motivation behind it.

I, too, have been told “You’re not good enough”.

What Nick Vujicic has taught me today is to have hope. I wish I’d listened then, perhaps I would have been a lot better off. But the beautiful thing about hope, is it isn’t too late to change. I’ll never be a supermodel, I’ll never be Einstein. I’ll never have a voice like some of the singers in history, I’ll never have a writing talent like Anne Rice. But I am me, damn it, and there is only one me.

You are more precious than diamonds. All the diamonds in the world.

And that is true. There is only one me, just as there is only one you. There will only ever be one you. Never again will there be another you.

My life has made a drastic change over the course of these past three years. I was annulled, married again, became a mother. I divorced again, I lost friends, I reformed some old connections.

There have been days where I just sat, and I cried. I remember the first night when my now ex-husband walked out, and I cried. I sobbed. I panicked. I mourned what the relationship had become, and celebrated what it had once been. I allowed myself to panic, feeling I deserved at least one night. But when the sun rose the next day, my daughter was going to need me, and I needed to pull myself together. So I did. I sat there and I had my arguments with my now ex in my mind. I made him sit and listen to me, and I told him everything he needed to hear, things he didn’t listen to before. At first, I thought that was enough. Until a few months later I realized I still had anger and hatred in my heart for him.

Then I realized that I’d never really be at peace with anything, or anyone, if I held that hatred. Which then led to the realization of just how much hatred I have in my heart towards a lot of things. Hatred is a poison, and it slowly kills us each day. Perhaps you cannot physically die by hating someone or something, but you lose a piece of yourself each day that you left fear, anxiety, and hatred control you. So this time, I had my arguments. I made him listen, but this time…. I let him speak, and I listened. This is all in my head, of course, so I’m sure I was a lot crueler to myself than he would have actually been.

The next day when he came to drop our daughter off, I took him outside and I forgave him. But then I turned around, and I said I was sorry. I don’t know if he knew precisely what I was apologizing for, as he’d not been present for the mental arguments–which is probably a good thing.

I used to feel so much hatred and feelings of betrayal from my friends because I felt as though they’d left me and they’d abandoned me. I hated them because I felt they weren’t showing me what I deserved. And sometimes that may be true, and I will always be hurt by certain things, I am better than that. So instead of hating them, instead of hurting them, I’m going to simply show them why *I* think I deserve better, by being a better person to them.

I felt so much hatred towards my mother, and towards my father, for a lot of things that happened growing up. I held onto that hatred for so very long, and I used to worry that it meant I’d lost valuable time with them. I’ve struggled, I’ve had my arguments, and though I am still hurt by a lot of things, I even managed to forgive them both. I cannot change the past, but I can change the future.

One step at a time: That’s the other thing Nick Vijucic stresses. You cannot take two steps at once, it has to be one step at a time. I have a long way to go before I find my own inner peace, before I am free of this hatred, but I will get there. One day at a time.

I am lonely, and I am afraid, but I have hope that with one step forward each day, I will become the person I want to be. I need to cast my fears aside, and I need to run headlong into life. I am better than that. I am better than the person I was yesterday, and tomorrow I’ll be a better person than I was today.

Instead of worrying about what everyone is wearing, or thinking, or how they look, or act…Instead of trying to make everyone fit to your ideas of perfection, or trying to fit into another person’s ideas, just be yourself. Be happy with yourself, with how you look, who you are.

No I’ll never be any of those things I mentioned above. But they will never be me either.

Do you dare to hope?

I never really knew what my purpose in life is. Hell, I still don’t really know. But maybe, just maybe, this is meant to reach someone. Maybe, just maybe, this will save someone. That being said….

You are beautiful. I don’t care who you are, what religion you practice, the color of your skin. I don’t care what grades you made in school, or what you can or cannot do. I do not care about what you’ve done in your past, because it is just that: The past. I love you.

Dare to hope. Dare to dream. Do not settle for those who cannot love you for who you are. Be you. Love yourself.

For those of you who may be interested in hearing more about Nick Vujicic: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=snDQe3tWwRQ

Thank you for reading.

 

Insane in the membrane

I distinctly remember being a kid, being told to go to bed, but instead of doing so I would stay up for hours and read. I love books, I always have. I enjoy reading them, losing myself in them, so forth.

Now I find myself experiencing a bit of that youthful rebellion, but more it isn’t simply because of my love for reading, but a lack of wanting to do anything else. I have no desire to eat, and I especially have no desire to sleep. I hate what my dreams bring, and I despise what waking life makes me feel.

A constant longing for something I cannot have, a need that will never be mine. An ache burns within me, craving to be filled. To sum it up: I’m lonely.

By reading, I can experience love a thousand different times, a thousand different ways. I cannot be lonely, because I need only to reread the books to visit my loves again. If only life were like a book. Sigh. Unfortunately, I suppose, it is time for this lonely reader to head off to bed.

I slip now to a place,
Where troubles cannot go,
Deep within my mind,
A place only I know.

And though it’s often a frightening,
Dark and twisted place,
I find myself strangely welcoming,
This cold and dark embrace.

Sometimes I try to run,
Sometimes I try to hide,
Truth be told, I know I’ll never,
Shake these shadows from my mind.

Embrace it I shall, and stitch together,
What remains of my sanity.
I can only hope the darkness within,
Can spare some mercy for me.

Fare thee well, until the next post.

My Review of Affliction *SPOILERS*

I literally just finished reading the newest book from Laurell K. Hamilton named Affliction. It is the 22nd book in her long running Anita Blake Vampire Hunter series.

Before I begin let me just say that I am a huge LKH fan, and have always been so. She’s disappointed me–what author, artist, or musician hasn’t in some form or fashion?–a few times before and honestly there are quite a few books that I would have just left out entirely, but I stick by her because I like her writing style and sense of humor.

Needless to say when Affliction came out, marking the 20th year since Anita first hit the market, I was ecstatic! What better way to celebrate than by buying the newest book from the series? So I did, and immediately began reading.

Here is where it gets a bit spoiler happy, but I will try to avoid the major ones. If I can’t, they’ll be marked with a huge red SPOILER!!!

You have been warned. Turn back now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The book begins with Anita sitting in her office, explaining to the reader how uncomfortable she is with her guns strapped to her body. She’s also giving us a bit of background as far as where she’s working and who she is. It’s a nice little game of catch up to those who might be coming along later in the game.

Her secretary bursts through the door and explains she has a call on her phone and it’s a woman who is incredibly upset. After some confusion, they realize it’s Micah’s mother, and she answers the phone in a panic.

The next few chapters are spent with her on the phone with Micah, then Jean-Claude, then Nathaniel, then Jean-Claude again, then Micah again. Alright, no big deal, she’s getting things in order and she’s stuck at her office. Makes sense to me.

And while all the talking on the phone is fine, one thing did irk me about the entire set up. You see, authors will do this nifty trick when they’re trying to help A). New readers who picked up late in the game and B). Old readers who may just need a quick reminder, by often times having the character reflect, or explain briefly in narration what a particular word means, or who a person is. Anita does this quite frequently throughout the books (which was a bit much at times), but there were moments when she was doing this in casual conversation. For example, she and Jean-Claude were on the phone, and he began explaining to her some of the politics behind her visit–even if it was just a standard visit to see Micah’s father in the hospital. In this conversation, he says something about Nimar-Ra and Nimar-Raj, and then begins explaining it to her as though she’s somehow forgotten what these words mean. Instead of saying “Oh Jean-Claude, shut up I know this already.” She carries on the conversation and proceeds to do the same to him. This is why I don’t like when authors explain things in dialogue like this, because it makes the characters sound stupid, or it’s just bad form. Keep the reflections and explanations out of the dialogue.

Then there is some turmoil at the airport. Jean-Claude does not accompany her, as it’s just a standard visit to see Micah’s father. Nathaniel tags along for emotional support because he is their partner.

Upon reaching the hospital, the cops start giving her hell because they think she’s going to move in on their case. After telling them over and over that she’s just visiting Micah’s family, they finally cut her a bit of slack and let her through. She goes up to the room where the doctor tells her his father has a disease from being bitten by a zombie, and it’s making him rot from the outside in.

But wait. Zombie bites aren’t contagious like that. Whaaaaat?

And just like that, Anita decides she’s going to take the case over after all.

It was fun, and exciting, a new disease that no one had heard about–not even Anita. It was nice to finally see her so clueless.

But most of the book was wordy, circle arguments and conversations as she tries to find herself and find answers.

Micah’s character changed quite a bit in this book, which I could sort of understand considering his father is in the hospital dying from a disease they don’t know how to cure. But some of it just seems very…..odd.

He’s throwing his relationship with Anita and Nathaniel in his family’s face, for example. This is not the attitude you have when you’ve been estranged from your family for ten years now. It’s just not.

SPOILER!!
~~~~~~~~~
He’s, apparently, been lying to Anita for quite some time, and she’s not happy about it. But her more grown up self eases through it to keep a major fight from breaking out.
~~~~~~~~~~~
END SPOILER

We get to see a lot of old characters coming back round, some that she’d only seen or spoken to on the phone before. An old nemesis that didn’t get a lot of airtime comes back to play as well, so that was nice.

A very tragic event happens, and though Anita mourns him, she’s a bit inconsistent with it all. It’s hard to explain what I mean without revealing the spoiler, so I’ll just leave that for you to read and see for yourselves.

Edward pops back into the picture, and they team up again. Which was pretty awesome!

While I was reading, I was so excited. There was the fear, the anxiety, the wonder. I did not want to put the book down! I stayed up until 7 AM reading as much as I could because I just had to know what happened next.

And then the ending happened.

And I hate myself a little.

The beginning, as stated, was slow starting. Which was fine, with the exception of a few things here or there, it was completely understandable and believable.

The middle was drawn out a bit, but it only added to the thrill and excitement of getting to the end. It was like the biggest hype-man you can imagine.

I was getting ready to sign on to Amazon, without even finishing the book, and toss down a five star review because I was so excited! I’m glad I didn’t.

In the space of one chapter. One. Chapter. The book concludes. And it was a relatively small chapter at that. I might even say in the course of two paragraphs, it concludes.

The last chapter is wrapping up the loose ends that LKH forgot to cover in the book itself, and voila, the books is over.

So again. Slow beginning, GREAT MIDDLE, dropped off a cliff into the conclusion.

Is Laurell K. Hamilton just growing tired of writing Anita? I used to think that wasn’t possible but now that I stare at this book I’m starting to wonder.

There is a HUGE revelation in the book, though, but it does point to things rapidly coming to an end. Normally I would be disappointed, but honestly at this point I think it might be the best thing that could happen. I will still be sad to see it go.

What could have fixed this? It seems to me like LKH’s brain was just a little too scattered, and if she’d managed to keep notes in order and made conversations a bit more realistic, that would have been nice too.

There was minimal sex, so that was nice. But one of the sex scenes made me a bit uncomfortable.
SPOILER!!!!!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As we all know, Nathaniel is a submissive but every once in a while he likes playing dominant. Anita plays bottom in this with Nathaniel and Nicky. It threads the line between what is acceptable, and what is not. It just seemed way too dangerous, and was a bad use of BDSM. I’m sure there are going to be quite a few people in the BDSM community that are going to be even more upset about this than I am. Other than that particular scene, the rest of the book is business as usual.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
END SPOILER

If Laurell K. Hamilton had just spread out the ending and made it a bit more involved, THAT would have been amazing too. This book had so much. SO MUCH potential!! If the ending matched the middle, I would have immediately posted a five star review, or tried for higher, because this would have been the greatest book in the series in my opinion. But because of the quick ending, I bumped it down to a four. I almost feel gracious doing that too, actually, which is a feeling I do not like.

Let’s just state here and now that old Anita is dead. She died the moment she took Jean-Claude to her…well….bathtub.

That being said, however, the series didn’t really start to suffer (in my opinion) until about book 10. I keep reading, keep reading, hoping that I can regain some faith in this series. I wasn’t a huge fan of Kiss the Dead (or whatever it’s called), as it began quickly, built up to the end, and then just suddenly dropped us off the cliff into a conclusion. Sound familiar?

So to wrap it all up, pros:

Very thrilling, very engaging.
Minimal sex
A blast from the past in a lot of ways.
Did I mention minimal sex?
Big revelations that a lot of people have been waiting for, I think.
Lots of “air time” for a few older characters.
Brand new disease that no one has heard of.

Cons:
Things seem a tad bit chaotic, like LKH didn’t quite have her notes on straight.
One of the sex scenes was a bit too on the dangerous side, and seemed badly executed (ha ha).
The ending was way too quick, as though LKH had grown bored of her own writing and needed a quick fix.
There is a lot of bad light cast down on a lot of the male characters, and that gets to be a bit much at times.
A lot of things weren’t very realistic.
Did I mention a quick ending?
I recommend the book, but I have to warn you to prepare yourself for the ending. Otherwise it is a good book.

I will probably continue to read and see this series through to the end. Laurell K. Hamilton is a great writer, and the Anita Blake Vampire Hunter books are a great idea. I will continue to support this author, even if I don’t actually agree with a lot of what she has written, and I will watch this series end.

Insom-nom–nomnia

Another sleepless night. I toss, I turn, I try to make my mind sit still long enough to sleep just a bit, but it seems to have run off and left me.

I wish I knew what was causing my sudden restlessness. I’m not more stressed than usual. I’m eating the same. Point is, nothing has really changed in the day to day life. So why is it that I am suddenly so awake and alert, despite having hardly slept over the course of a week and a half?

Is something coming? Is my subconscious trying to prepare me? Is there something I’m not seeing? What eats at my brain so? I just want to rest and relax. I want my mind at ease without taking drastic measures. Sigh.