“We’re unable to approve your loan right now but we appreciate the opportunity.”

I mumble a thank you and hang up. I sit on my bed and stare out the window at the gray sky.

The guaranteed approval promise is bullshit and I should’ve figured that they’d say no. I have no FICO and no active credit accounts. My debt is under $1,200, mostly medical bills. And my disability income is pitiful.

When you spend almost a decade being treated like and then believing that you’re a waste of a human being, you lose not only your sense of identity but also your creditworthiness.

I go downstairs and tell my daughter, who is busy cleaning out the closet under the stairs, the bad news.

“I’m sorry, mom.”

I shrug and fake my famous I don’t give a fuck smile. I hate her to see me when I get upset, especially when it’s about money.


“Once we get moved into the new house, I’m going to have to find a part-time job. I’m really getting sick of being so broke.”

She stops what she’s doing and stares at me with a worried look on her face.


So simple, just one word.

How can I work when some days I can’t wake up or think straight?

How can I work when I can’t be on my feet for long without needing to sit down to rest?

How can I work when I have a debilitating disease such as fibromyalgia?

“I don’t know. But I have to try.”

She sighs and goes back to what she was doing. I sit on my chair and silently watch her.

Her doctor thinks that she might also have fibromyalgia but B doesn’t want to find out for sure.

Not yet.

Never take your good health for granted.

Just Sprinkle Me Into Lake Erie

I’ve found a few interesting things that I apparently still own while going through my crap, like this little retro gem, my high school ID card, from my senior year.


She’s only 17…

What the hell was up with my bangs? And don’t even get me started on those glasses…

Packing 10 years’ worth of accumulated stuff is hard work. I have more trash than I anticipated and all of it is going onto the tree lawn tomorrow evening for bulk pick-up. We got a couple of strong guys to help us out. The one kid from B’s work said that he wouldn’t take any money from us, which is awfully darn sweet of him.

We’ll have about $400 dollars left when all is said and done. As much as I was hoping for more, what’s really important is that we were able to find a decent place that we both love and somehow, we’ll figure out the finances. My 23-year old daughter has better credit than me, so if we need to use her credit card to pay the movers, then that’s what we’ll have to do. I’ve tried everything, all in vain. I cannot get a loan or a credit card because of what they call a “thin file.”

Once I get settled, I’ll look into obtaining a secured credit card and attempt to start all over again.

I’m rather adept at that, figuring that I’ve had to do it so many times that I’ve lost count.

So, it’s been utter chaos around here. My poor dogs are freaking. I keep telling them that it’ll all be okay and soon, God willing and hopefully, they’ll finally have their own yard to poo and piddle in.

I just wish that they could understand.

Back when I was still working, I tried one of the only 3 medications approved to treat fibro, a medicine called Lyrica. Since I had to wake up at the ass crack of dawn (4:30 am) I had to quit taking it because it was difficult to get myself up so early. (Lyrica has some hang time.)

But my pain has been ridiculous lately, so bad that I’ve considered buying a saw so I could cut off my legs.


Fat Max to the rescue!

So last week, I asked my doc if I could try this med again but at the lowest dose.

You guys…my pain levels have decreased by at least 40%. I am overjoyed, thrilled, shocked…you name it. The way B and I busted ass yesterday packing, I’d normally be a waste of space today and at a level 8 on that stupid, useless pain scale but instead, I’m hovering around a 4!

No nasty side effects either. It’s a freaking miracle. I just hope that it keeps working. It’s no cure but shit, I’ll take it.

Cutting off my legs could get pretty fucking messy, eh?

I was sitting in the car last Saturday morning waiting for my realtor so he could show my brother the new house. We had gotten there early and the realtor dude was running behind, so my bro and I got to talking. It’s rare that we have one on one time.

I mentioned that I wanted to write a will and he agreed that it was a good idea.

Me: I’m leaving all of my earthly possessions to the kid. Also, I don’t want a funeral, I want one of those celebrations of life things. Play a few songs, eat, get drunk, you know, share stories about how awesome I was.

Brother: Ah, okay. Cheaper, for sure.

Me: Yes. Also, I want to be cremated and my ashes spread at Lakewood Park, I got lots of good childhood memories there.

Brother: That’s illegal.

Me: So? People do it all of the time, just keep it on the down-low.

Brother: Where do you want your ashes spread? In the sandbox?

Me: Oh shit, can you imagine? Some little kid comes and says mommy, I found a piece of bone in the sand!


Mommy, Timmy found a femur!

Brother: Ha! Traumatize the kid for life.

Me: Eh, just sprinkle me into Lake Erie or behind some bushes.

Brother: Okay, you got it.

We both laughed. He has the same twisted sense of humor as I do, which makes me happy.

I failed to mention to him the songs that I want to be played at my celebration of life thingy.

The other two are Amazing Grace and Bridge Over Troubled Water.

A little bit rock and roll, a little bit religious and a little bit sad.

That She Is Now Me

I have a few goals for the year 2020 (which I am saddened isn’t anything like The Jetson’s as I had imagined it would be as a kid. )


No robot maids or tiny spaceships replacing cars. I have a dog named Maya, not Astro. But that’s okay, perhaps 2040 will see all of that come to fruition and if God is willing, then I’ll be 65 and taking my used space-mobile to the doctors instead of my used Toyota.

I like things simple anyway.

Oh yes, my goals.

  1. I’m going to try to write (honestly again) more often simply because I miss it and it’s good for my mental health.
  2. I’m going to be a bit more selfish but in the nicest way possible because that’s just the way I roll.
  3. I am going to finally live my own life and do what I want to do. (Nude beach here I come!) Kidding!
  4. I am putting my condo on the market and moving, no matter what others think or say. I need to wipe the slate clean and start over somewhere new. A place that doesn’t hold any memories of asshat and where the condo association can’t bully me anymore.
  5. I’m going to take therapy as seriously as a gout attack. I have some major healing to do, yo.

As an aside with the condo and putting it up for sale:

Once the lien was removed back in March (after a long ass 5-year payment plan to get caught up from when I first got sick and couldn’t work) I was all pumped because that meant that nothing could stop me anymore from getting the hell outta here.

Well, unless you count an extremely ill mother who wasn’t so nice to me when I told her about my plans.

It’s taken me months of anguish and questioning myself to make my final decision, although the condo association sort of made the process easier for me by threatening to take away my beloved Maya back in November.


Look at the love in her eyes.

Um, no. She isn’t vicious, you fucking assholes. She barks. Also, she is not a Pit Bull as the letter said, she’s an American Bulldog. She is my baby girl and it’ll be over my dead body that they’ll remove her from me.

So now I have her on a choke chain and a thick, expensive leash. Since I’m both of my pup’s main caretakers (the kid is rarely home) you can imagine how difficult this is for my chronic pain.

In and out. Stand there, watch them sniff the ground. It’s cold outside, hurry up. This happens every 2-3 hours and IT BLOWS.

I dream of having a fenced-in yard where they can run free and take a poo far away from my nostrils. I will happily cry when that day comes if God is willing.

My mom’s last say on the idea was that I’d be stupid to sell the condo and move. I had it made in the shade here.

Ouch. That really hurt but I was totally used to it, especially the last couple of years of her life.

Well, I suppose now I’m willing and not as scared to risk being a total dumbass. I don’t see why I should stay stuck in a place that feels constricting and where I’m not comfortable.

This isn’t my home. It was my prison for years and I loathe being here. I’m not being dramatic. It doesn’t even matter if I had the money to spruce the place up and bring it into the 21st century, fix my furnace and having a new central air unit installed.

Nor will any amount of sage or paint do the trick.


I’m sorry mom. I love and miss you terribly but I need to do this for my own well-being. If the whole enchilada blows up in my face, then so be it.

I own the condo, the deed is solely in my name. The ex-hubby signed off on it years ago after he got into a car accident, in which he ended up being sued for $20,000.00. Even so, he had no interest in fighting me for his cut at the divorce hearing. All he wanted was Maya and boy did that piss off the female judge.

Well, that and bringing his fiance with him, but that just shows his lack of class and morals.

She’s my dog, you pansy-ass bitch of a sad excuse for a man.

Anyway, I’m tired of listening to the voice in my head that whispers, no Mer, you can’t do that.

Everybody else can, but you’re the exception to the rule.

I’ve been practicing so hard, telling that low murmur to stifle itself.

I can start over, I can have a redo. I will never get better in the house where I got sick. Why should I have to continue to feel imprisoned and left with the residue of an abusive marriage when I have the opportunity for something brand new?

Because it’s the safest thing to do, that was my ma’s angle. She was always trying to protect me and often went overboard with it. I feel as though she viewed me as quite delicate and not able to make logical, adult decisions.

But I don’t want to play it safe anymore, at least not when it comes to this. Like the Dixie Chicks sang:

She needs wide open spaces
Room to make her big mistakes
She needs new faces
She knows the high stakes

That she is now me.