Go Away, Albatros

Well, guys, it’s official. My condo will be on the market starting on January 11th. The realtor that I chose came over yesterday morning and he was really great. He spent almost 90 minutes with me. He answered all of my questions, he was well-organized and extremely professional.

I decided to go for it without any hesitation, which is an ultra-rare thing for me to do. I mean, I usually question every little damn thing that flutters through my mind, which is so annoying. I’m constantly ticking my own self off. Oy.

But this decision felt right.

After he left, I felt like an albatross had been lifted from my shoulders.

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Well, I didn’t like being on your fucking shoulders anyway.

Now my daughter and I have some major work ahead of us. I ordered a lightweight vacuum on Amazon which should be delivered today so I can do the floors with more ease since my regular vacuum is like pushing a boulder around. Keeping my house as clean as a whistle isn’t an easy task whilst suffering from fibromyalgia, so this purchase was rather necessary.

We need to tidy up and declutter for the open houses that’ll be planned for every Saturday morning between 10 am and 12 pm. I like this plan because I can just put my dogs in the car and get the hell out of the house for two hours easily enough.

While the condo begins its journey to a new owner, I’ll begin to start looking for a new place to live. The realtor, I must say, seems to know his stuff. He said that not even taking the mental health and emotional issues into consideration, the layout of the condo just doesn’t work for me anymore.

He nailed the pin on the donkey or whatever that saying is.

I have 3 “must-haves” for my next abode.

  1. No Stairs.
  2. Preferably a fenced-in backyard (or how about even just a backyard?) where my dogs can have some freedom and maybe some fucking exercise.
  3. No Condos!

I don’t think it’s too much to ask for.


I had an emotional chat about putting the condo up for sale with my mom yesterday and although I realize that she’s deceased (I haven’t lost my crackers yet, I swear), I feel as though she was listening.

From what I’ve read on the afterlife, the spirits of our dearly departed no longer hold grudges or experience anger once they’ve passed away. Whatever fears that plagued my sweet mama are now replaced with nothing but love. I do believe this with all of my heart. I keep trying to picture her up in heaven rooting for me no matter what I do in my life.

I asked her to stay close by, to help guide me in the right direction.

I’m thankful for finally feeling really good about something for a change. It’s been far too long since that’s happened and it’s about fucking time.

Grief Sundae

Grab a bag of confetti you guys, for tomorrow is the first appointment with my new therapist!!

Um, yeah. Which I’ve been waiting for since fucking July when I decided gee whiz, maybe I should go talk to someone because my mom just died rather traumatically, my ex-husband keeps poisoning me from afar, not to mention that I already have an ass load of mental health problems to take into consideration.

So let’s make her wait ON HER OWN for a few months and you know, I can always go to the ER in case of an emergency.

So they can lock me away in the funny-farm and I can weave baskets for everyone this Christmas!!

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Wishing you a happy holiday season from Nutberry Farm!

Since I now compare every mental state that I’m in with how I was back in the spring/summer of 2015, at least I am ME.

(Anyone who suffers from mental health issues will understand what I mean.)

I am (mostly) one with reality, although it’s touch and go sometimes when my anxiety is high.

I don’t wish for death constantly, I just sometimes wish that I wasn’t here to begin with.

I don’t dream that monsters are trying to kill me and I don’t spend hours obsessing about one thing or another.

However, I am always tired, I want to sleep a lot, I procrastinate like crazy and I MISS MY MOM.

I keep saying that to myself…like a mantra.

So is that like an obsession or a compulsion?


I haven’t really gotten angry yet about what happened to my mom. I keep waiting for that to boil over. Fun stuff.

It’s just the truth and I don’t wanna. (Tantrum time.)

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I don’t wanna celebrate the holidays without my mom. No music, no Santa, no trees, no gifts. Just screw it all this year.

My daughter is graduating from college December 15th and my mom should be there!

FUCKING DAMN IT.

I promised to keep living my life and to fight the good fight. But there are days when I just want to stay in my safe, cozy bed and become one with that empty hole in my heart.


I am struggling with everything that I need to do right now. The pain in my legs and lower back is constant and I hate the bitter coldness of Ohio in wintertime. Fibro continues to be my foe and I wish it would GO THE FUCK AWAY.

Oh yeah, I am putting my condo up for sale. (More on that later and the thing that made me finally decide to do it.)

That might be adding to my stressed out, grief sundae right now, but knowing how I LOVE to put shit off, I need to follow through or else I will pitch the entire endeavor in the trashcan and then throw a Molotov cocktail in behind it.

No, it needs to be done. As difficult as it might be, it’s an integral part of ending the asshat era and moving on.

White Flag

My daughter and I decided to start our own jewelry business back at the end of August. She saw a package that I had ordered from Etsy and asked me if she could open it. Keep in mind that she’d had no interest before that day in my little hobby whatsoever.

I said sure, go ahead.

I’d gotten a mix of charms and as she looked through them, she found an S…L…and an ornate O.

Sandra Lee O’Leary. My mom’s initials.

She kept those for herself and asked me if I’d make her a car dangle thingy for her mirror. I obliged. It seemed like some sort of sign (gift?) from her dear grandmother.

That’s how it all started. We began to make stuff…bracelets, necklaces, shiny car dangles, key-chains and my daughter’s specialty, earrings.

It was just the two of us, usually late into the night. I taught her what I knew from watching videos. We laughed, talked and bonded, spending valuable time together.

I saw a craft show that needed vendors at a local VFW hall. The cost to rent the spot was $35 and it came with a table and two chairs. We decided to give it a try, because why not? Maybe we’d make a profit. (We didn’t.) But what’s more important than money was the time that we both shared as a mother and a daughter, becoming closer and grieving together over our beloved person.

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My daughter and our amateur display of twinkly stuff.

We were supported by family. My best friend Cheryl made an appearance. A good friend of mine even printed out business cards and other things with a logo that she created especially for us. Bless her beautiful heart.

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My mom used to call me her sugar plum. The dreams part was added by my boyfriend. 

Speaking of him, my boyfriend helped me set up the night before, as I was having a major panic attack and had made myself physically ill due to the thought of failure. Thank God for that man. There’s nothing greater than having your arms folded across your chest and then being wrapped up in a giant, gentle hug.

It was more of a marketing event than a craft show. We would have had better luck selling Tupperware. In fact, only 3 or 4 other tables were selling handmade items. The rest were direct marketing sales. We were extremely disappointed, but still happy that we did something so out of our comfort zones together.

Yet the entire experience has exhausted me. I can never outdo fibromyalgia (you’d think that I’d have figured this out by now!) and thus I have put up my white flag. I need to stop running around pretending that I’m some kind of healthy person.

Working an 8 hour shift kicked my ass mentally and physically, although I spent most of it sitting down. There’s a real reason why I’m unable to work and on disability, yo.

My sister-in-law is going to try to help me set up some sort of online store to try and sell our jewelry, but I am no business woman. I mean, I couldn’t sell an igloo to an Eskimo. There’s an indoor flea market that runs once a month until March and we might look into that, but it means plunking down more money for a spot and table rental. My daughter and I are going to think about it.

The last two and a half years has finally caught up with me. I’ve lost so much. My sham of a marriage and my beautiful mother. But I’ve also gained many things as well, such as my dignity, self-respect, a better relationship with my kid and a loving, devoted boyfriend.

But I sure do miss my mommy. The holidays are going to suck major monkey balls.