It Ended with Silence

The funny thing is, nothing about me has changed since the day I cut him out of my life. I am no less the self I was then, only now I have a little more experience under my belt, and hopefully I’m a little wiser. I hold no animosity, though I have plenty of reason to in our case.

Still he tries to have the last word. It’s been nearly two years, and he’s still trying.

Today he tried to contact me on Instagram, under a new account with a new alias. Nothing threatening, just the usual petty remarks about how I look or what a bitch he thinks I am. I deleted the nasty comment after taking a screen shot and saving it to a folder of potential harassment case material. I blocked him. Again. Probably the 3rd time now.

But today was different…

Today I wasn’t thrown into chaos by fear. Today I wasn’t worried about running into him in the street. Today I wasn’t afraid of seeing him. Today I wasn’t afraid of the next attempt to harass me. Today I recognized what all of this was…a show. A show he’s putting on for himself in hopes others will watch and be amazed, only to be disappointed when I refuse to retaliate. Because without my response, he isn’t a show at all. He’s just a man child crying out for attention and making a spectacle of himself. Or worse. He’s nothing if no one notices.

Retaliation means something to play at. Silence means there is nothing but the sounds of angry wails on deaf ears.

Some would say ending my friendship with him with silence was cruel. In his case, it was the only way. You cannot win with Narcissists. They will find ways of blaming you in their own mind and twisting it so they truly believe they are never to blame. So to be silent is the only way to keep him from having reason to retaliate, so if he does harass me, it is entirely of his own choosing.

I keep choosing silence every time he tries to contact me, because with silence I have chosen absolute rejection. When I choose not to retaliate, I ultimately reject his thoughts, his negativity, his bad energy, and his feelings…none of which I am obligated to take responsibility for since ending the friendship. I refuse to acknowledge them. I refuse to be a victim to them.

Still, I wish he would just move on. The only “crime” I committed was out growing him. That’s not a crime at all. As long as this continues I intend to retaliate with silence.

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I am a Maker

Like my Creator I too have been given the blessing of being able to create. I have been given hands that can hold my instruments, and a mind that can see things that are not yet there. I have seen beauty beget beauty and deep searing pain beget beauty. I have seen that which seems impossible and made it so. I make words work together. I make small beautiful things to adorn people and places.

I work on my artistry and craft for the same reason I write here…for therapy. Every piece has held, helped, and healed a moment in my life that was joyful or painful. Each piece I have crafted is a monument to my desire to make beautiful things as I have been made into a beautiful thing. To remind others that though they adorn their homes and themselves with my work, they have been adorned with a souls, crafted by the greatest hands of an Almighty Craftsman.

I work to remind the world, that if you want beautiful things you must…absolutely must….stop starving the artists.

Below is a collection of some of my small adornments. They are a combination of metals and natural materials. If you’d like to see more you’re welcome to visit my business Facebook page.

A Confession: Failing

I was supposed to be a friend’s plus one at a wedding this evening. “Supposed to be” being the key term. Tonight, during a bought of freezing rain, my car slid a little and threw me into a panic attack induced by a car accident I had a few months ago, where my husband and I hydroplaned into a cement divider on the interstate going 70 mph. I was driving at the time and totaled the car.

The panic attack I had this evening forced me to pull into a parking lot to calm down, and when I did, I had to call my friend and tell her I was struggling to make it the 45 min drive to her place, and told her I had to flake out on her. She understood and told me to go home and stay safe.

I was really disappointed when I got home. Disappointed at how much the anxiety from my car accident made me fearful and prevented me from living my life. Before the accident I didn’t have issues with minor things like sliding. I knew how to control slide. I was able to push through them. I wasn’t paralyzed by them. But since the accident, I’m afraid to even drive in rain during the summers.

So I flake out on my friends and fail myself and them. I wish I knew how to get over it. How to not be afraid.

Diabetes Awareness Month…is a joke.

So November has been diabetes awareness month, and I have to say I haven’t done much posting about it. Why? Because I fucking hate it.

I don’t want to be a diabetic. I hate this disease. I hate being obsessed with food and with counting carbs and needles and all the complications of everyday diabetic life.

I don’t want to make people aware of my disease…I want my disease gone. I want it eradicated like polio and small pox. I want it destroyed.

The problem is, I don’t think there will be a cure in my lifetime. Why? Because insulin is the sixth most expensive liquid in the world. The fifth most expensive is Chanel perfume. If that doesn’t tell you the priorities of common man, then I don’t know what does. Big Pharma makes money off my plight, and I for one am sick and tired of being sick and tired.

There. That’s the awareness I’m spreading. That diabetes awareness only educates people more on how to care for diabetics…care for….not cure. While I appreciate people being aware that I have a disease that causes me to need special attention…what I really would appreciate is a cure and making people aware of how much that probably isn’t going to happen.

Still I hope for it in my lifetime. Not for my sake, but the sake of so many others like me.

End rant.

Giving Tuesday

It’s giving Tuesday! That means I’m sharing some of my favorite charities and non-profits with you!

Here we go:

Hamilton Wood Type and Printing Museum

I’ve been involved with these guys for 3 years now, and besides memberships and donations they have an online store where you can get some sweet merchandise and help keep the history of letterpress printing alive!

LINK

Helping to liberate people from oppression is the most rewarding thing you can do! Liberty In North Korea helps find refugees (known as “defective” to the North Korean government) and relocate them to safe zones. They also have an online shop where you can purchase merchandise to help the cause, or you can become a freedom fighter to help the cause if you are unable to donate.

My Rescue Dogs

This one is a personal friend of mine who creates beautiful art and merchandise to help pets find forever homes. All 100% of the proceeds go to helping out shelter animals.

What are some of your favorite charities? Put them in the comments and share! 👇👇👇👇👇👇

Panic

As I sat in the waiting room, I suddenly realized that I was the youngest person in the whole room, between the usual patients, some of whom I recognized from the same waitingroom several months prior. We must all be on similar schedule routines.

The scent of musk perfume was overwhelming as more patients entered the small room, which I suspected was once some kind of hospital room now converted. Probably the kind that had 2 patient beds and a curtain between them. The room felt smaller as walkers and wheelchairs piled in with their owners. An elderly gentleman and his wife sat near me, and while they were friendly and made small talk with me, I began to feel a slight sense of panic. The room was filling up, and I began to be uncomfortable in my own skin, suddenly realizing how many of the people there were probably on their last legs with the same disease I had.

I pushed it down. I had no reason to panic. There was plenty of space to walk and move. I wasn’t going to die from diabetic complications. That’s why I was here. To do everything I could to prevent that issue. Besides, people, especially the elderly, are nothing to be afraid of. This social anxiety thing had to stop. I swallowed hard and sighed. Breathing my way through it all.

Thankfully, moments later a nurse came in, and realizing how many people were in the room moved me into another room where I could comfortably take off my insulin pump and fill out paperwork. “This should do just fine until I can get you an exam room.” I looked around. The room I was in now had a table with chairs around it and an examination table in the corner, and I wondered why this room was never utilized as a typical exam room since it was already set for it.

I was glad for the moment to gather my head before seeing the doctor.

The doctor was positive about my progress. My organs were behaving normally. My A1C was high, 9.4, but was positively lower than my last one. I was exercising every day at least a half hour to an hour and while I had gained weight, she seemed positive about me losing it once I got my A1C down and ate more low carb.

For once in my life, I left the doctor feeling like I could actually make even more progress. My goal was to get my A1C down to a 7 in 6 months. I could do that. I knew I could do that. I just had to eat lower carb meals and exercise like I was. All manageable.

I’m going to do it.

Broken Heaters & Bathroom Remodels

On Monday morning, in the very early and dark hours, I awoke with a very cold nose touching mine. When I came to, I saw both my cats laying on me, and realized that my nose, was also very cold. Going to the thermostat I saw we had the heat set to 70 degrees Fahrenheit. The thermostat indicated the actual temperature was just below 60, and sinking.

My heart sank with it.

My husband had the day off and dealt with it, and the repair man came over, fixed the unit, and left us with a $115 invoice to change a fuse. The next morning at 2:45am, I awoke to the house at nearly 40 degrees Fahrenheit. Snow on the ground and a high of 10 degrees Fahrenheit for the day.

This time I stayed home for a couple hours so my husband could go to work. The repair men replaced the entire control panel, slapped me with a $490 invoice, told me how my particular unit was “known for killing people,” and then left reminding me time and time again that my heater needed to be replaced, and really they only put a bandaid on the problem.

To be realistic, any heater can kill people either with Carbon Monoxide poisoning or by fire if old and broken enough, so that didn’t bother me as much as the anxiety of how we were going to pay for a new one as well as the repairs. I canceled plans with friends in anticipation. I stayed at home all week so I wasn’t tempted to buy anything I didn’t need. Between that and a bathroom remodel that we currently had going simultaneously, we were running out of money very quickly. Of course with property tax season just around the corner.

When the repairmen left I went to work, but between my own exhaustion from being up so early, the many projects, a mouse running around my office, and some coworkers who were having rough days and taking it out on others, it was too much for such a short time period. I came home that night to a warm home, and poured myself a cocktail to drive out the thoughts that reminded me how much heating a home really cost.

The bathroom remodel at least was going slowly but smoothly. We had a new toilet, a new floor, and the walls painted. The sink, cabinets (my father is making us), and the trim were the last items on the list, and they were stained and drying in my parents garage. We were going on week 4 of the project, but as long as I had a toilet and shower, I was happy. The kitchen sink was used for brushing teeth, and washing hands could happen in the bathtub or the kitchen. So nothing felt like it couldn’t be handled.

Just the stress was getting to me, having to live with things in a state of transition or disrepair. That and the money it was costing to complete both projects.

At the end of all the stress, I have to be thankful. Thankful I have heat. Thankful that the bathroom has a light at the end of the tunnel. Thankful that I at least have the money for what I need right now even if it I don’t have it for wants or Christmas gifts. Thankful for flexible work hours and my husband being willing to take care of things. Thankful for warm blankets during the struggle of staying warm. Thankful for repair men with 24 hour service. Thankful I have a house at all.

I Voted

“My husband told me he doesn’t want me to get a job because we’ll lose our state health insurance.”

She poured out the sorrowful story I had once known all too well. People having to work a broken system to stay alive. In her case it was behavioral medications she and her family needed, with several members on the spectrum, and herself with severe mood disorders. All of them with suicidal tendencies, and the youngest of them 9 years-old.

It’s days like that that I feel so deeply we should have socialized healthcare, being chronically ill myself and knowing so many others who also are in situations like his, where woman can’t contribute to her own home an society by remaining unemployed to keep their public healthcare. It just breaks my heart.

I wouldn’t mind helping others stay alive and healthy given the opportunity. I pay for sidewalks I’ve never walked on, and parks I’ve never visited with my tax dollars, how much more important is the person who HAS walked on those sidewalks and visited those parks, clearly we give enough to help them enjoy those perks of our tax dollars, so why not help keep them alive and healthy?

It’s all I could think of when I voted yesterday.

While some have reason why they’d rather not have socialized healthcare, my heart only broke as I recalled listening to my friend talk on her situation. I too know that fear. I too hated the idea of having to abuse a system to stay medicated and alive with insulin costs only on the rise. I too was tired of paying high copays and deductibles, having more than half my paycheck going to keep me alive and very little else. I recall giving up food, internet, showers, and heat at different points in my life as I lived alone, just to make sure I could get my insulin. How much better would it have been if I could get more help and have reasonable payments on insulin? That would be nice.

Alas, while only time will tell, there is so much resistance to fight.

Wayzgoose

For those of you who are unfamiliar with the term, Wikipedia defines Wayzgoose as

A wayzgoose (or wayz-goose, waygoose or wayzegoose) was at one time an entertainment given by a master printer to his workmen each year on or about St Bartholomew’s Day (24 August). It marked the traditional end of summer and the start of the season of working by candlelight.

For those of us in modern terms, it’s a time of year that many letterpress printers, paper manufacturers, wood cut carvers, wood/metal engravers, font and typography designers, and lovers of printed ephemera come together for a weekend of workshops, creativity, and art/equipment swapping/selling. In the spirit of the tradition, the Hamilton Wood Type and Printing Museum puts on the event the first weekend of every November, and I have been fortunate enough to volunteer each year for the last three years of the event, as well as offer my time there every Saturday I can during the year.

This year had a couple of firsts for me.

It was the first Time I could attend a full-day Friday, which is usually workshop day. I was fortunate enough to assist with the workshop Rick VonHoldt of Foolproof Press and Bill Allan of Gaslight-Daze Printery using the Silver Buckle Press collection now housed at the Hamilton Wood Type and Printing Museum. I learned so much during that session and assisted in helping so many talented artists create beautiful and meaningful pieces using this rare collection of type, ornaments, and illustrations.

My other first this year was going to the pre sales for Virgin Wood Type and moors Wood Type, which involved huddling in a crowded hotel room, drinking, purchasing newly crafted wood blocks for letterpress printing, and publicly shaming Brad Vetter for hogging all the good stuff (all in good fun of course).

But the first I enjoyed the most? Finally attending the annual bowling outing and bowling with Jim Sherraden and Celene Aubry of Hatch Showprint who was also our volunteer coordinator. I was out until 2:30 AM sipping gin and tonics, belting out songs that were playing on the juke box, and bowling…badly.

While I had many firsts, some things never change. Friends I see yearly were back, and we were able to reconnect for our annual catching up. Work was swapped, business cards passed, and nearly everyone was in tears when it came time to call the weekend quits. Even though I was tired, I found myself misty eyed as I drove back to my home to rest, knowing it would be another 365 days before I’d see any of them again.

Anticipation Wayzgoose

Every year around this time the letterpress community comes together to spend time with one another at the convention known as Wayzgoose. The first weekend of November, the Hamilton Wood Type and Printing Museum hosts the event, and every year since 2016, I have volunteered my time for this long weekend of creativity, fun, and chaos.

I’m expected at the museum at 7am, and as I lay here, frightfully aware of what little I have prepared for my swap table on Sunday, I’m terribly excited to see people I only see once a year.

During the chaos of Wayzgoose I will be thankful for a thing I often take for granted: toilets. During my time at Wayzgoose this weekend, my bathroom is getting remodeled and I will be without a toilet from Friday night to Sunday afternoon. Besides that fact, I will also be thankful for the respite that public restrooms can provide for a little introverted girl looking for a moment to get away from the crowds of people swarming around her. Not that the crowds are unfriendly, but they are thick with familiar faces, stimulating conversations, and an overall drain on my psyche and body. I love Wayzgoose, I love seeing friends yearly and catching up. It just drains me to my core in the days following.

Then, there is the anxiety. You get around all these famous designers who are Somebodies with massive talent and bank accounts, only to feel like the smallest of the small. It’s intimidating being around so many big name artists and graphic designers, that one cannot help but feel self conscious in just about every way. Not only that, but I only recently got myself a tiny showcard press for myself, and while I put forth efforts to utilize my press and develop in many ways, my work is limited and falls short compared to other designers around me.

All around, it’s an exciting event. I love listening to designers tell their stories, and I love being part of a community of creatives that are intentional about spending time together and sharing ideas. I love taking in the sights, the sounds, and the smells. Not to mention how great the food is each year.

I’m really excited, I can’t wait to wake up tomorrow.