Trash Only. No Recycling.


There is a realization for myself that I have been avoiding, yet expressed for years all at the same time.

Music is vital for my sanity. It is well known that I never, ever, go anywhere without my high quality headphones. Music fuels my emotions, and brings perspective to my surroundings. It translates my pain, my hopes, and my dreams into something that does require a shared language.

And precisely because of that… communicating my language is so hard. You feel isolated. I try sharing my music.

This means something to me.

                “But, I cannot understand what they are saying.”

                “I can’t really sing along to this.”

When I share music – I am sharing myself. Offering a deep emotion that I feel I cannot express in words otherwise. It has been a running joke for quite some time on,”Lara Language”. Since, communication is such a trial for me. My vocabulary is vast, and I have to constantly adjust in the moment, so others can understand the terminology and context I use. I learned to communicate in a short hand due to this. Either via gesticulations, music, or images in hopes that by removing the challenge of my words – one can understand my meanings universally.

Yet, this never seems to happen.

One of the worst feelings in the world is the that of oppressed silence. An empty room where the vibrations bounce off the walls to echo for an audience of none.

Listen to me.

I have something to say.

Will you please listen?

                My composition professor today, after class, sympathized saying it must be difficult being the smartest person in the class.  It is, and it is not limited to the classroom. With which an astounding intellect that seems to be inversely proportional to the rich social interactions that are possible. Add in a (very misunderstood and difficult) personality disorder… It is difficult. You spend a lot of your time feeling lonely, and yet there is a dichotomy of preferring the solitude over the lackluster interactions you would have to face otherwise.

I am a very articulate and intelligent person. So, why is it that I am so often misunderstood?

Or is it no one wants to understand.

Check, please.


What Pisses Me Off


Or, more accurately: what makes me feel robbed.

Robbed of a childhood filled with actual affection, and praise. It is only now, when I am in college of my own doing, with high grades and no longer in the steep depression that were years before.

Ever worse – they are using my niece to base off whether or not I am “boastable”. My niece is fifteen. They just found out she has been hiding a currently 18 year old boyfriend for the past two years. She is failing every one of her classes. Getting detentions, referrals and skipping school.

Now, my brother-in-law says I am not a mooch in comparison to his daughter. When I would have probably been the same way if it was not for my personality disorder, since this is all entirely due to my sister’s raising of her. My niece needs guidance, and care – not shipping her off to military school. Which they cannot even afford. Admit that you are shit parents, and let me talk to her.

My mother has come to love this show that Steve Harvey hosts called, “Little Big Shot”. Children of various ages achieve grand feats of musical talent, intellect, or skill. And she coos, and boasts about them as if they were her own. However, when I was a child, and even to this day, nothing I did merited praise. Straight a’s? Eh. Learning college algebra at age four? Eh. “I was a mathematician, no big deal.” A painting of mine is featured in the school’s select art show? Who cares.


Nothing I did was ever good enough, and still is not good enough five minutes ago.

Maybe, this is why I crave assurance and praise so much, since I was robbed of it as a child.

When it echoes


96% of the time, it is just me in my room with my rabbit Lola.

Conversations that occur are just between Lola and myself. Well. Just myself speaking to her.

Otherwise, my voice just echoes in the empty room.

It echoes across the walls and returns with empty whispers.

The feeling is almost akin solitary confinement. I have no one. Not a “support group” or listening ear that I feel can return with an echo of their own that can help.

“I’m sorry you feel that way.”

“Oh, you’ll be okay.”

“I don’t know how to help you.”

Trust me. I get it. Meager message received. I shall retreat now.


Kim, from Verizon


Here’s the low down. For the past few days, possibly four days, I have been getting phone calls, voicemails, text messages and strange app verification codes.

Want to know why? Because a rep at Verizon gave another woman my number. She promised the other party would be able to keep her old number which was 4100 as opposed to my 1400. And she then gave her my number somehow. At first the other party didn’t think too much of it from what she told me because it was such a small difference until I started answering those calls meant for her.

So, there is now another person with my phone number.

Those of you may know I am on a prepaid phone. We do not have a customer service available.

There have been countless phone calls back and forth between what I assume is the other party husband’s phone number since you know,  can’t call the same number. This woman has been very polite and it honestly is not her fault.

However, Kim ****** at Verizon. I am looking at you.

The first day this all came to light, the other party informed that the associate who made this blunder would possibly want to call me, just in case.

After I hung up the phone I went to go explain what was going on to my parents and to Mike so they would be prepared in case they tried calling me and instead got ahold of the other party. In that ten minutes (text to Mike, and a quick discussion with my parents), I had received yet another unknown (to me) local phone call.

So, I promptly called them back and was greeted with, “Hi! This is Kim ******.”

“Hi, yes, my name is Lara. I believe you may have been trying to reach me?”

She quickly denied that and hung up the phone.



On the 27th, I received another call but I believe that was it and since I was taking a nap it went straight to voicemail. I do not call these numbers back.

But since then, the calls and texts had stopped so I figured the issue had been resolved.

As you all may also know, I have been severely ill the last couple weeks. Constant and severe nausea and vomiting especially in the last cpuple days.

I go to lie down for hopefully a nap shortly before 1400, just as I was relaxing and the spinning was stopping I receive another phone call.

It was Kim from Verizon.

To inform me that unless I call customer service (which I do not have!) I would be forced to give up my number.

Because of her blunder.

Sorry,  no.

I have been extremely, EXTREMELY,  polite and understanding with the other woman and her effected family as they have reflected the same for me as they are just as inconvenienced.

After expressing that no, I do not have access to customer service and that I would not be giving up my number that all of my medical, family and their medical contacts that I have had for over a year; she hung up after saying she was going to try figuring something else out.

I then called the AT&T store in Mt Dora, whom didn’t even identity themselves when they answered – great training there, of course had never heard of a scenario before and could only suggest I call 611 the “Go Phone Mall”.

I thanked him for his time and hung up to call and rant to my mother – as you do.

Well Kim. It has been almost an hour. As in less than ten minutes since you hung up.


Kim called me! At almost exactly an hour.

Where she said she was going to send the other party a new phone, shut off her number and give her and new number and credit her for her inconvenience, BUT I still have a risk of losing my number as well.

“That is truly lovely. And I and I am glad you are doing that for her. But what of my inconvenience? I am the one receiving the numerous phone calls, texts, and app verification codes. Plus my number!”

“Oh you are not with Verizon. There isn’t anything I cannot do.”

“Nonsense. Something will be done about this. This is beyond unprofessional.”

“There is nothing I can do!”

“Right, what is your location. I want to speak to see your supervisor.”

“I gotta go. I gotta go. I gotta go!”

And she hung up on me.

Yeah, she hung up on me

So called my mom, once again – as as you do.

Then I called an AT&T store, locally for advice, to which she said call Verizon, which I then tried but realized I wouldn’t be able to access an agent as I am not a Verizon customer.

I then figured, why not try calling one of of the of the two numbers Kim had used to call me. Maybe one was for a store?

“Hi this is Kim!”

*internally* Fuck.

“Hi, Kim, this is Lara. I want to speak to your supervisor.”

“I don’t have a supervisor.”

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t have a supervisor.”

“How is that possible. No. I want to speak to your supervisor, now. This is beyond out of control and you have been unbelievably unprofessional. This is bad. This is BAD.”

And with increasing volume she said, “Lara.  Lara. Lara!”

“Hold on just and minute!”

And once again; “I gotta go. I gotta go!”

And And she hung up on me. AGAIN.

So, I then called a local Verizon retailer and and told the story again, and all he could suggest was calling Verizon customer service and told me how I could dial in and by pass and and be directly connected to to an agent.

It took a couple tries but it worked and the agent was very attentive as I told the story again and like everyone else had no idea how this was possible.

Jared, we will call you, thank you for being a proper and professional agent of your company. I really appreciated it.

In the end I gave him the two phone numbers she used to call me, as well as her name. He then went to I I believe it is called “Port control”? That handles number assignment. They said the number on their side was already canceled and I should be fine already it never fully transferred over to them anyways.

He also said that he would file what was called a “360 report” that would reach her supervisor.

I mean come on. The woman isn’t CEO of Verizon. She has a freaking supervisor.

I am going to be fuming at this this for a long time. And guess what?

P.s. I bet there are errors and typos but I have been writing this over two and a half hours so I don’t really care at this point.


I’ve never wanted someone fired before.

I want her fired.

This was beyond unprofessional and a demonstration of horrific ethics in my opinion! 

This post was drafted and published using the WordPress App for Android on my Galaxy S4. There are more than likely spelling or grammatical errors I may have missed before posting. Please forgive them, this is just a personal blog.

Stitches and Hallucinations


So, this happened yesterday. (I have to upgrade to upload videos. So please click the link. It is an Instagram video.)

Around the new year I slowly start picking up a sewing project again. It started out as a quilting project in December for my boyfriend that would feature the Hyrule crest.

At first I was staying up through the night and I simply waited for my dad to go to work early in the morning before moving in my rotary mats, basket of fabric and other supplies to simply trace the templates I made and get that part started while I watched TV and movies in his room on the floor.

Quickly though, it became apparent that I could only spend five minutes at the most hunched over before I had to lay back for another five to ten minutes while my back, neck, shoulders and wrists quieted down. As you can imagine I did not get very far in the scant hours I had to work on it.

At first I was using very old muslin fabric my mother had brought from my grandparents for since this was my first quilt and it is a rather involved project and was only going to be a “rough draft” the first go around.

But when I decided all that work shouldn’t go to waste and I was going to use extra fabric that fit the color scheme of my choice and make a quilt for me so I could practice and still use what I made.

Then I discovered my fabric was off grain. And no matter what my mom or I did, even with her fifty years (since she was ten) of working with fabric could we get it back on grain.

So I was frustrated.  In pain. And upset. I hadn’t even begun the piecing of the quilt top and here was quite the obstacle.

I distracted myself by mildly organizing (says the person diagnosed with OCD) and thoroughly cleaning my sewing room. That also involved organizing the absolute mess that was my patterns collection.

I still wanted to sew but I knew I honestly couldn’t handle the physical pain that was accompaning my trying to work on the quilt. I was funny to try deluding myself that it was limited to quilting at the moment. Rheumatoid Arthritis does not work that way.

Anyways. I have quite the hoarding of “silky types” from JoAnn sales that I never used because I was afraid of making a dress and then becoming so frustrated with one tiny issue (like the neckline gaping) and taking it apart and abandoning it.

But they aren’t high quality fabrics. Pretty but not fancy. And with me, if I don’t actually enjoy the fabric, and I don’t see myself wearing it because of that – I won’t do it at all.

So I went to a pattern I had already made previously, Simplicity 1687, a Project Runway pattern.




This time I would be making it in a cream and soft jewle toned fabic that was quite shifty and sheer.


                     Fashion Fabric

I spent the first day working on tracing the pattern (I always trace) and double checking to make sure I didn’t need to lengthen the bodice as well as address fitting issues I had encountered in the previous version. There was of course, a gaping neckline, gapping at the back above the zipper in the detail and the armscye is tight in the under arm. But gaped underneath. So, to clarify too high and tight on my armpit, but actually gaped away from my body.

These are fit issues with every “Big 4″ pattern that I am starting to learn how to address before the fact.

This time around I used an old cotton I had in the stash, my mother just refers to it as nightgown material, to make the upper bodice where the fit issues were.

I wish I had photos I could post, but I took them in my bra to true the fit and well, that isn’t going on the internet. That was for to reference going forward, only.

On the muslin, I pinch two long, thing darts angling softly down and to the sides at the neckline and moved in the side seam 3/8”. My first instinct was to go a full 5/8″ from the initial seam for the closest (comfortable) fit as I prefer my dresses fitted to shape. But, I wanted to factor in wearable ease and lining so I only shaved off 2/8″ from the fabric itself and will fit the seamline from there to what is most comfortable.
I however, forgot to adress the back bodice issue, so I may revisit that in a moment as I have plenty of fabric to recut the two small pieces.

Moving on.

I started tracing and cutting the fashion fabric by weighing it down with various object and taping the pattern pieces to the fabric itself with masking tape to eliminate and possible chances of it moving on me whatsoever. Keep that in mind. I was also tracing and cutting on the single layer.

But… something weird happened.

When I would after finishing tracing and transfering markings, I would remove the pattern pieces and then actually replace them best as I could to confirm I didn’t mess up.

But the tracing was entirely different from the pattern piece.

So I retraced.

And traced again.

And again.

Eventually I just gave in and cut everything out. Slowly. And quite painfully. I have a pair of I believe 7″ or 8″ knife edge left handed Gingher shears that I have worshipped for nearly a year if not more and they are heavy. Supremely heavy. And in need of sharpening and possibly an oil in the pivot points. Screws. However you prefer to refer to it. Anyhow, I was once again in pain. Cutting one piece at a time and wrapping my hand and wrist in a warm towel and resting between.

JoAnns had sent out coupons for a 15% off your total purchase through a text. I suggest if you frequent JoAnns, you sign up. The coupons are good and work with or without internet access. There was also a 5 for $5 pattern sale. I had a litrle bit of money so I figured why not check it out while there was a car available for a few hours?

First off, I wanted to check out the patterns. I only buy when they are 5/$5 and I knew the Early Spring catalog was out.

….it sucked. I spent twenty minutes going over that and even the winter catalog and I only picked out four patterns.  And I had to talk myself into getting all but one.




View A/B


View C/D

I checked out the notions. I got a seam gauge, some thread (my first spool of Gütermann!) an invisible zipper and I was going to look, just look at lining fabrics as my original choice feels like plastic-y to me.

So I was browsing and walking around and of course landed in the “silk types” aisle.

I was just feeling and touching the bolts as I passed them. If they were white they usually got a closer look as I couldn’t find any colors that really matched the fabric I was going to use.

Most of them had that same plastic-y feeling I was trying to avoid until one caught my eye. My finger? Touch? Attention. 


I am trying to make a better practice of actually identifying the fabrics I purchase and use so I have made a habit of snapping a quick picture of the end caps on the bolts of fabrics I like.

I tried calling my mother to ask her opinion but she didn’t pick up the phone.

From what that says, I really hope this is peachskin that I have read about. It was a mental boost I really needed. Some girls buy shoes, I buy fabric.

Before during and after waiting in line to get the fabric cut, I was using a calculator to check, double check and  triple check that I was going to have enough money. This is something I always do when shopping.

While waiting in line I was right next the scissor and rotary cutter display.

I had been researching rotary cutters for the quilt for a couple weeks before I called a hiatus but I was planning on using them for quilting exclusively as I was worried as to my dexterity with using it around curves. And I knew that they weren’t available online exceot for a mark up on Amazon. The one’s I wanted at least. I wanted something with weight to it that would help sink into the fabrics thus requiring less effort from my joints.

And of course something geared towards southpaws. I don’t need left handed utensils but it sure is a lot easier and I have to actually think about what side I am cutting on which turns my dyslexia around and frustrates me.

The 45 mm left handed Gingher Rotary Cutter was disappearing and fast. Even on the wall at JoAnns it was on clearance. For nearly, if not slightly above half price.

I once again did the math, just the sure.

Tried calling my mom again.

Texted Mike and he called me.

He said if I had issues afterwards he would help me out. Not that I would let him but it was comforting to know he was willing to offer.

Anyways. I go home. Smiling and happy and excited.

Back to the tracing issue. Like I said, no matter how many times I traced, how much I weighed the fabric down or pinned, it never matched the pattern piece when the vellum paper was placed on top.


             What is this madness?

However, when I placed the fabric on top of the pattern piece it magically lined up.

I took to Instagram and Twitter for assistance and no one knew what was going on.

So I just moved on.

Using the rotary cutter was like a dream. I still had back pain but no more having to wrap my wrist and hand up.

I have yet to cut out the lining fabric as I am unsure as to whether or not it is best to line or underline (ha, get it?) the dress.

Underlining would had more structure to the bodice but I want the skirt of the fashion fabric to be breezy and a lined skirt underneath for proprietary,  separately.

But now that I think about it… maybe it would be best to just treat the two as one. I dunno. Suggestions?


And last night, when I was going to wind the bobbin with my new thread that matched the fashion fabric, it did it’s spazz out.

I called and spoke with the Viking Sewing Center in Sanford where I bought the machine a year and a half ago and she said bring it in, they will take a look but it sounds like it more than likely needs to be serviced.

Super bummer. Super duper bummer.

One thing about me, especially if you have been reading about my trials with mental illness, is when I become extremely upset or emotional – I go into a psychotic episode. I will start hallucinating and I did. After I had calmed down a bit and I was talking to Sassy, I tried going back and asking her about some of the things she mentioned but it was never brought up at all.

I was driving to get food and on the way home I could have sworn I saw a woman with two small chidren walking a Rottweiler down the middle of the highway. I pull up to the stoplight and they were no where to be found.

In my memory, I have never hallucinated actual people before. Animals, voices, monsters anything but people. It was definitely frightening.

I was so upset because I was really hoping to have this dress done by Sunday when Mike gets here. And now it is definitely looking unlikely. When I get an idea, and I let myself believe it is possible… I put everything into it  I count on it. I depend on it. It is now part of me, my schedule my future and when things don’t go the way I plan? It sends me reeling.

It sounds off but it is just one of my “issues. Just like my hallucinations. I cannot help it.

Anyways. That is where I am at today.

This was originally a sewing blog and now it is a whatever is on my mind blog.  This was entirely for me and my outlet and if you are willing to hop along for the ride, awesome. Nice to have you with me.


Drafted and posted using my Samsung Galaxy SIII. Please do forgive any typographical errors.

I have been wondering…


Where does the line for mental health lay? Where someone is excusable for their actions while under the influence of a mental disorder or illness and when does that allowance end?

Generally you forgive someone for sneezing on you possibly while they have a cold. It’s gross, it is nasty and an all around “Do Not Do”. But it happens if you are sick. You can only control it so much.

So episodes in relation to Bipolar Disorder, Anxiety or even hallucinogenic episodes from Bipolar Disorder or Schizophrenia to give a few as they personally effect me. Where do you give the person leeway for what happens and where they are expected to simply not.

I guess that is a big debate with say the Sandy Hook shooting and Aurora, Colorado shootings. Obviously both perpetrators were very mentally ill but there is zero sympathy. Please don’t be confused, I am one that feels their mental health is no excuse but nor do I entirely believe that their disorders were the main reason behind their actions.

I know none of this really makes sense but mental health and its interactions with societal concepts fascinate me. This has really been on my mind.

Last night I made the mistake of reading about the Nanking Massacre and Unit 731. While I do not believe these atrocious acts should not be hidden, I really wish I hadn’t read about them.


The content of the articles linked is extremely graphic in nature with plenty of photographic evidence for even the skeptics. Decide if you want to read them at your own risk. I’m not joking.

I have this bad habit. I know I am essentially a light weight when it comes scary things. It does not take much to terrify me. Well, I guess when you walk around seeing demons and monsters every where you that “it isn’t real, they can’t hurt you” factor that is counted on to not traumatize you is sort of null and void. Anyways. Scary movies. Books. I know I cannot have anything to do with these things. And I usually don’t. I don’t watch the movies. I don’t read the books.

…but I do go on Wiki and read the hell out of the pages.

I have a compulsion where any and all questions have to answered and of course the more questions I get lead to more answers which leads to a never ending cycle of questions. And I absolutely have to know. Sometimes fighting this urge is worse than just giving in.

It was like a train wreck reading about the massacre. I spent the next ten hours hallucinating about what I read. And whenever I closed my eyes instead of seeing the events, I would feel them. Smell the decay of the bodies. Taste the blood in the air. Feel the terror in my pores.

Most people believe hallucinations are only what they see. That it is like dreaming, you are only seeing and not really experiencing. I can assure you. You can experience hallucinations more immersive than the latest virtual technology equipped with a scent chamber and even a little air gun for your first person shooter games.

If I dwell too much, I am sent straight back into what I read.

Thar lead to me thinking what makes it okay for people to believe they can treat another thing like this. I’m quite soft hearted so if I didn’t like bacon as much and have such weak willpower I would be a vegetarian. But to do this to another animal or human being?

Babies were ripped from their mother’s womb as they were being raped and the fetuses were stabbed with bayonets and tossed aside. Children were literally cut open to be raped. People were buried alive. The numbers depending if you are talking with Japan or China vary anywhere from between I think either 20,000/40,000 to 300,000 people were killed in the Nanking Massacre.

Some of the people behind the initialization of this war crime were tried and executed but the main perp was granted full imunity and had entire deniability due to his relationship in the imperial family. I mean, John Rabe, a member of the Nazi party (I only skimmed his page regrettably. I can’t remember if he was relatively high ranking within the party or not) was credited to possibly saving more than 250,000 lives with his actions. If I am wrong on the number forgive me. This is a last effort to flush the information from my mind after doing my best to forget and repress for the past 18 hours. I mean, if the Nazis are saying what you are doing is wrong to non-aryans…?

Unit 731 conducted medical experiments even worse than Mengele’s in my opinion. The Nazi experiments seemsled to have been simply much more documented and almost proud (the scientists themselves) of their discoveries and work. Japan was much more protective of their findings as from what I read I believe the Nazis were looking for ways to treat their own soldiers in a majority of their published experiments while the Japanese were seeking to just fuck with the human body. Neither used anesthesia. Japan removed the stomach of a person to connect their esophagus and intestines to see what would happen. Just. Why? How does that help their efforts? Other than the doctors own curiosity and the best way to torture and destory a person and population.


They created a bleeping flea bomb filled with bubonic plague carrying fleas to drop in China.

In the end unlike with the Doctor’s Trial, the people behind Unit 731 were granted full imunity as the USA wanted to utilize what was discovered and keep it out of Soviet hands (according to wiki so bear with me).

While in actuality, I wanted any and all information they had procured destoryed, I still wanted them all to pay. You can’t do that. It is horrendous and just…

I’m going to be having nightmares for a long time about this.

What are your thoughts on the responsibility of those with mental illness?

I was not taught this in school beyond a brief mentioning of Mengele. My school was more focused on FCAT scores so we worked almost entirely out of workbooks that did not hold much.

Drafted and posted using my Samsung Galaxy SIII. Please do forgive any typographical errors. Especially towards the end here. My right hand was going numb for holding the phone for the last hour asn I typed. Whoops.

I Am Really Not Good At Keeping My Mouth Shut


Herr are the bullet points of what has happened since last time I spoke to y’all.

+ called in every shift.
+ still not on medical leave
+ was nearly hit by a car
+ dyed my hair red again!
+ discovered I hate the song “All About That Bass”. Or at least the way my friend interprets it.

We go from bottom to top.

So recently I have been spending more time with some friends of mine. Same friends for all but the top two on the list.
A married couple I may have spoke. Of before. Without getting into too much detail they are both tall and slightly overweight. The wife’s hips are 53″ in circumference. So, she is… Big to say the least.

Which fine. She is still beautiful and I only know her exact measurements from when she has asked me to make some clothes for her.

However… Recently she has gotten obsessed with a song on the radio called “All About That Bass”. It sings of how she isn’t a size two, bringing booty back, and how a man likes more to hold at night.

I feel this article explains my point of view best. Women who aren’t really fat have to feel better and anyone who isn’t them is actually less worthy or beautiful than they are. We all are beautiful. Doesn’t matter your damn size.

Straight up? I’m skinny. I look good for me in my body for my size.

This song to me is what ” Pumped Up Kicks” is to many others. It sounds happy and upbeat but is actually about school shootings.

Ever since she and her husband have listened to this “positive, happy” song they have been insulting me left and right.

I’m not a real woman.

I don’t have breasts.

My ass is small and thus I don’t have one.

I was anorexic. At my lowest I weighed 87 lbs. I am very, very aware of my body, how I view it and how others see it. I don’t need you telling me this simply because I personally believe you are jealous I have can shop at Victoria’s Secret. I am a size four. I have legs, a nice ass and nicely sized breasts. Thank you very much.

I don’t take kindly to being insulted especially by people I believe to be my friends and it is rare I consider people such.

I wish this was a one time thing but over the last week and a half it has been commented on multiple times!

Now, I am very good at standing up for others as I always say but I am horrible for standing up for myself. I really hope I won’t have to but the next time I see them if it happens again I will have to say something.

Maybe I should just leave it there.

I dyed my hair yesterday. These same friends reccomended a friend of theirs who was also a hair stylist and charged her own prices. Her name is Brenda and she offered to do an all over dye job for $65 dollars. When compared to the price of $85 for a dye job and $29 dollars for a cut it was an amazing deal.

Brenda ended up cutting, styling, dying and blow drying my hair for the original agreed price.

And I loved the way it came out! She seemed to actually care about how I felt and how my hair came out. I went with my usual “I will trust you,” and I was right to. She would have fixed my bangs but they ate still pretty short from the hack job that last hair stylist gave me. Whom apparently also destroyed my layers.

Also, the day before on Sunday I was almost hit by a car in a parking lot when it was raining right after getting a fresh manicure and pedicure. Yeah. They got ruined. The car didn’t even stop. Just kept going.

So I now have a jammed toe, and a torn up leg. I walked around with six band aids of the largest variety for the last three days when I am not letting the wounds breathe. I haf to buy flip flops at Target since all I had were my knock off Converses and wounds all over the top of my foot.

But in fourteen days my best friend gets here! And in twenty days Mike gets back.

I can’t wait for Sassy to get here.

For the next week starting Thursday I’ll be house sitting for my previously mentioned friends at their house while they are away. So I will be away from my house for a week. It will be nice.

I see my psychiatrist on Thursday and will be addressing many issues before I go to my friend’s house.

Well. Time to go put fresh band aids on. Excuse me while I go limp away.

Posted from WordPress for Android. As much as I try to proof read, typos and grammatical errors will more than likely occur and I hope you can graciously forgive them and me.