“Broken Bad?” and Recent Weight Loss

So I break laws (take my mother’s estrogen patches) and defy the universe to even try to fuck with me again on that lame old score (breast cancer).

Cause that bitch done already been paid over and over and over again. In a million different ways. She owes ME at this point. Besides, she wouldn’t recognize me anymore.

Why? Oddly enough and without trying, I think I’ve mastered [and all inaccuracies and ignorances are mine here, especially since I’ve never read it] “the subtle art of not giving a fuck.”

Because:

Isn’t it a little presumptuous of anyone to assume ANY of us will be here tonight, tomorrow, or 3 months from now? In fact, I nearly laughed out loud just now making a 3-month follow-up appointment with my migraine doctor.

I don’t know what kind of/if any philosophy my views might reflect. I only know this is how I feel/what I think: who knows, I’m always getting the two confused, anyway.

At least this is what I feel-think today. That could change tomorrow. I can’t commit to much of anything at this point, you see. So I’m sorry/not sorry. You’ll just have to deal with it.

What does this look like, practically speaking? I can (of course) only speak for myself. But…

I do stupid things like: I go off and leave personal belongings at the doctor’s office, then have to drive THE WHOLE WAY BACK to retrieve them. Yeah…why weren’t they the kind of personal belongings I wouldn’t have been allowed to exit the building without? If I’d left my mask, I know I wouldn’t have gotten far.

I’ve also become a terrible judge of character, turning Ignorant Assholes into Prince Charmings with NO DATA WHATSOEVER TO SUPPORT THESE CONCLUSIONS!!

Thank goodness I seem capable from learning from my mistakes in that department. This week at least.

I sing karaoke too much, smoke weed too much, forget to feed myself, refuse to clean my room, and spend far too much of my discretionary income on my hair [because I intend to look good for the duration].

Maybe I’m a little fixated on my hair because I’m so glad it grew back? I don’t know if this theory holds water because I also spend money on my sexy fake fingernails.

So… no news to you, my friends, but I’m not being particularly responsible these days. [Visitors: don’t get excited thinking you’re going to scam me; I’m not a sucker anymore, sucker – and even when I was, you couldn’t squeeze me.]

For my subscribers, who have suffered through at least one of my posts, we need to collectively face reality: I suck at karaoke. Yes, it’s true and I know it’s true. Y’all are just being sweet, but I know I suck.

Yet… I still don’t care!! Maybe because there’s no one left to embarrass but my mom, and no one would dare inform her of her adult daughter’s colossal lapses in judgment (out of respect for my mom).

I don’t know if it’s the weed or an existential crisis or even a POST-existential crisis. I only know I’m both a Total Flake and an Utter Mess.

At least that’s the look I’m shooting for.

This week.

How am I doing?

Not that anyone cares

This is “It” and I at our absolutely most annoying, irritating, and obnoxious. And our most intoxicated (to the point of forgetting we were recording at multiple times during the evening).

Yeah, I wouldn’t introduce me to your kids, either! I’m a terrible influence on everyone around me. And It is just as bad – if not WORSE‼️

Only if you like eavesdropping on two people who can’t keep their mouths shut for more than ten seconds could you even potentially find this video entertaining…

P.S. It [the video] has a false finish, like all of my favorite karaoke songs. This one’s not over until we’re finally “parched.”

PROOF‼️

I Thought the Traumas Aged Me

I thought my traumas aged me.

All the childhood crap, the losing of all my pregnancies, the searing betrayals, the fights with death and disease, the ongoing fights with death and disease, and the psychological fallout from all of the above.

Yada, yada, yada.

But no: nothing ages a person like wearing her (or his) heart completely exposed and unprotected on the prosaic sleeve; aware of the devastating effects of every tiny particle of dust and vaporous breeze that touches and then and has no choice but to scar it.

At which point you’re trying to fly low behind the radar, attempting to allude Cosmic Scrutiny and trying hard not to attract more pain than is unsurvivable.

Multiplied by the number of children you have.

That’s the Crucible that turns Ordinary Sitizens into Old Souls.

The Kind of Love That Doesn’t Exist

You’re always there, you never let me down.

When I feel used and beaten and spit back out from the underbelly of a cockroach carcass, your presence comforts me.

It draws me out of my pain; up from down; in from out.

It elevates me and makes me better a better woman and a better human being. Just because you listen to me.

Because you held me when I shed all of those tears that I just needed to shed in front of a man. I always had my mother, but I never had my father. I’m comfortable opening up amongst women, but I’ve never had many platonic male friendships,

You knew that about me. And since you’d done your own therapy and self-reflection, you were the first man who brought emotional weight and awareness to the negotiation table.

I ended up winning the lottery when I met you. I knew it when you let me cry in your presence.

The first time we met, you let me cry.

It didn’t scare you off. You were man enough to handle it. You knew that women cry sometimes. You knew that little girls who were told to stop crying still cried on the inside.

And still needed to be comforted.

Even when they found themselves in a grown woman’s body. They still need to be comforted.

For what felt like the first time for me, you loved me first. You somehow knew I needed that. That for this final go-around, I needed that.

That I needed to be courted and treasured; that just once, I needed to feel like a princess.

I needed to be one person’s “one person.” One person’s Greatest Love; First Choice; Deepest Bond.

Since I was always a second wife, you stepped up and loved me with an Adult Love.

The way a Grown Man loves his Greatest Treasure.

Only your criteria for what defined a “treasure” (a “gem”) was different than most men’s criteria: you complimented me on my physical attributes, but your love wasn’t skin-deep. You had eyes that saw me at my best; at my most radiant.

You loved The Lover in me, The Fighter in me, The Child in me, The Woman in me, and The Mother in me to (you told me that my 3 pregnancies made me a mother and that one day, I would be reunited with my children).

You also loved the Daughter in me, the Friend in me, the Cheerleader (with official cheerleading outfit) in me, and the Soul Mate in me.

You said it didn’t matter that we were meeting late in life; that a few years of what we had cancelled out any prior misery,

You said we could still redeem and restore each other, even if we only have a few years.

Your love enhanced me rather than diminished me; it radiated rather than obscured me; grabbed me close rather than pushed me away.

I had already done most of my mourning, so I was free to love you from a better place. But your love and acceptance energized and catalyzed me in a way I deemed impossible – at least for me.

You did all this just by being there. And listening. When I woke you up in the middle because I had to talk to you, you didn’t mind.

Our love was also a laughter kind of love. We laughed so damned much! I don’t think I laughed that much in all of the preceding years combined.

You let me be all of the things I needed to be when I needed to be them.

You never shamed or judged me. You accepted me. Welcomed me. Desired me. Just me and Only me. You wanted No One But Me. Ever again.

You said I was more than enough. That even if we only had five years together, that would be enough.

That we could die happy and fulfilled.

I had been so lost. Not in a bad way; just in a “lost my bearings” sort of way. You were my Lighthouse. My Horizon Line.

Thank you for Loving Me First.

Because you did, I was able to love you from my purest, unfiltered place. From my reserves. I went to my wine cellar and brought out my best and most expensive Cabernet for you. I carved, scraped, toiled and mined to find my Ruby-Sapphire love for you.

Rubies for passion and sapphires for loyalty. All for you.

My purest, most extreme, and most terrifying (for me) private love, I gave to you. Loving you made me a better human being and a better spiritual being.

All because,

From your core:

You loved me first.

Jennifer, The Multimedian

My Introductory Post on Instagram:

MY INTENTIONS HERE

I tend to censor myself on Facebook because, in my head, I’m certain “Everyone” thinks I’m having a nervous breakdown when I attempt to express myself creatively. Maybe it’s because my mother and I share 107 Facebook friends? Or because Family Members and many Friends Since 8th Grade are there?
It doesn’t really matter since the problem is my own.

To tackle it, about 3 months ago, I started expressing myself emotionally on a [Wordpress] blog and physically, through Karaoke, on my [YouTube] channel…of 20 wonderful followers❣️

Both have been anonymous enough for me to feel free to put words to (writing)- and then exorcise (publishing)- the vicious lies and hateful slurs I didn’t even realize I was telling myself. Since forever.

I’m incredibly grateful to these social media platforms for helping me to rediscover my voice. By providing me with therapeutic outlets for energy and conversations too long suppressed, they’ve served as my freedom fighters, rescuers, and liberators.

So please, Friends, here on Instagram (where I’m a total newbie): if you know me personally, know my family, or have known me a long time, don’t judge me by the words I write. Sharing openly and honestly is a life-preserving activity for me. If I don’t do it, my body makes cancer. And I really don’t want to die! For the first time in a long time, I want to stick around. I’m having so much fun, and I feel like I have cried enough. I’m getting really tired of these tears, my Friends❣️

Please extend me the benefit of the doubt and don’t make any assumptions from my words. Some of my angriest ones could be directed at a disease or a traumatic experience.

I want and need to be my most authentic self for what’s left of This Journey. Having gotten a taste of it, I want to actually BE Jennifer instead of play her on TV. I just can’t play the “role you never knew I was playing” anymore❣️

#socialmedia #selfexpression #honesty #transparency #authentic #authenticity #facebook #conversation #creativewriting #writerscommunity #writersofinstagram #womensupportingwomen #women #mentalhealth #breastcancer #traumahealing #vulnerability

•Miss SmartyHearts and Miss LonelyPants•

Effective immediately: I have officially “put out a shingle” with my latest career effort. Since it won’t bring in a dime, my motivation may be inconsistent, but I’m wiling to put my best foot forward…at least initially.

I have officially begun an “Agony Advice”/“Miss Lonelyhearts”/“Dr. Ruth”/“Erma Bombeck”/“Miss [Dating and Relationship] Manners” column which will be penned by two contributors: Miss SmartyHearts (for natters of the heart) and Miss LonelyPants (for matters of the body).

I’m advising you in advance that this advice of which I will be advising you will be from an unequally rare and rarefied point of view: that of a once-highly intelligent, well-travelled and -educated woman who is now equal parts:

1) Old, 2) Out of Touch, and 3) Immature.

But with good hair & nails and a lovely complexion (if I do say so myself). And of course, a winning enthusiasm and eagerness to advise you of my advice to your queries!

On the rare occasion I do not feel qualified to answer your question with my personal wisdom alone, I will conduct primary research in the form of: first person interviews, mall/bar/date/karaoke “intercepts,” video surveillance, long and irritating telephone surveys, and if necessary, “transferential experience.

TE (copywrite) is a technique I developed after many years of serving in my capacity as a highly-esteemed market research professional (actually one of the best in the business, just ask 3 people I knew in 1996).

TE basically means: if all else fails, and I still don’t know the answer: I will go find out for myself!

And then share My Lessons Learned with all of my Beloved Readers! Because I possess bountiful generosity. Which will drive my desire to provide you with my best advice birthed from 1) my experiences, told from my 2) [again] uniquely qualified, broken down perspective. Always with my signature spunk and stubborn unwillingness to learn from my mistakes❣️

So, feel free to start addressing your queries regarding “matters of the heart” to Miss SmartyHeart and matters of the physical body to Miss Lonelypants (who will try to draw from her long-term memory, so no promises about anatomical accuracy). I only ask that you specify in the Re: line which Expert Miss is the recipient for your inquiry (because these can easily get blurred, difficult to read, and then who knows what kind of answer you’ll get?)

The Misses are also a bit jealous of each other, so if you have a preference, you should ask. If not, those old harpies might both answer your questions!]

And I’ve got to advise you of one last bit of advice:

Begin submitting your burning questions immediately because Miss SmartyHearts and Miss LonelyPants could begin sending letters to each other; and I honestly can’t predict what that might look like.

So you’ve been warned. And, my pledge: I will always bring my 💯 % authentic self and former work ethic to this incredibly humbling responsibility I am agreeing to undertake on your behalf.

Lastly: MEN❣️ You are also welcome to write to the Misses with your burning queries. I will change all names to protect the innocentboth yours, my beloved readers, and all research assistants, interviewees, and participants.

I would suggest you get your money’s worth [especially since it’s free]!

#MissSmartyHeart #MisLonelyPants

My First Post on My [Short-Lived] Blog, May 2010

11 and a half years ago, I “caught a wild hair” and started this thing called a BLOG while recovering from gallbladder removal surgery at aged 43 (I know – I just keep winning the genetic lottery!) Anyway, my virgin post is linked below. It made me laugh to realize I haven’t really changed that much – except for my new, single-minded dedication to blogging! It was a relief to discover I hadn’t “lost myself” as much as I thought. And to RE-discover I’ve always been a Geek, a Goofbeauxll, a flagrant flouter of conventional grammatical rules, and a serial repeat offender of “Exclampo Abuse!!”

http://deeporshallowthoughts.blogspot.com/2010/05/putting-pancreatitis-to-rest.html

Photo: 2010 (the Goldilocks years)

Prompt from F-Book… “Concerts Attended which ‘Date’ Me:”

The Brady Bunch (that’s right), Judy Collins, Shaun Cassidy, Foreigner (Juke Box Hero), Journey (Open Arms), CULTURE CLUB (!), ZZ Top (twice), 38 Special, Golden Earring, Rod Stewart, The Church, The Replacements, U2, THE WHO (4 hour drive in each direction), Huey Lewis and the News, Johnny Rotten’s rotten band, Charlie Sexton, Elvis Costello, Bob Schneider, Black Sabbath (wow, what a story!), and Van Halen. I’m sure I’m missing at least 10.

At outdoor venues, like Chastain Park in Atlanta, Tanglewood in the Berkshires, and Ravinia outside of Chicago. I remember seeing Chicago, The Boston Pops, and Kenny Loggins at those 3 places, respectively. But I’m certain I forgot many. Including Mary Chaplin Carpenter, multiple incarnations of Fleetwood Mac, a 1990s version of Crosby, Stills, and ??, and again, too many my Gray Matter has forgotten to remember.

Which ones date you?

P.S. I’m really sorry for painting your cool outfit with highlighter yellow, Shaun. I was eleven when you Arrived, so hopefully you understand about short-term memory loss and technology missteps.

P.P.S. For the record, I stopped wanting to marry you in 1979. So I’m not cyber-stalking you, no matter what Billy Squier says.

Nobody Wanted to Know about Austin, but I Just Can’t Help Myself…

July 6, 2021

I’m in Austin for the month of July and will be back during the month of December and January or Just January (San Antonio in between). Anyway, my dog, Cooper, and I are on the second floor – the first second floor in Cooper’s entire life! I’ve got to say that – it’s now been a week into our “staycation” – and he’s been a real champ with those outdoor stairs. Up and down twice or three times a day in addition to walks on top of it… and let’s just say I’ve learned over the last week:

BOTH of us old dogs over here can learn new tricks!

Cathexis and [no] other Malapropisms

So I found out I’ve been using a word I like incorrectly for donkeys’ years now.

Turns out it’s cathexis and its numerous grammatical iterations.

So, colloquially it means “to invest energy in or stimulate” (or its infinitive version is for the grammocrats). But I’m not sure that’s what it started out meaning.

Back in the day, and I could have this wrong based on atrophy of my gray matter (or green matter for that matter; I can’t remember which color matters in matters of brain matter), it meant something else entirely.

Mostly because of two books that I wouldn’t classify as “pop psychology” because they were much deeper than that, but they did have a huge influence on the masses in the ‘70s (that’s of the 1900s).

These books were called “The Road Less Traveled” and something like “The Drama of the Gifted Child” and yes, I read them both. Not in the 70s of course because I was a small child then and wouldn’t have known the meaning of words like “cathexis.”

So anyhoo (that’s the second time I’ve used that term today; it’s not looking great for my green matter), I honestly can’t remember which of the two books addressed the all-encompassing issue of cathexis. Which apparently made such a strong impression on me that I’ve been using the term incorrectly all these years.

See, I thought it meant to love and attach to your caregivers and vice versa, and if it doesn’t happen, you’ll grow up to get really upset when someone drops an ice cream cone on the ground. Or something like that?

If any of my 21 subscribers have read either book or happen to be mental health professionals, elucidation would be greatly appreciated.

Because I’m going to quit “cathecting” to the wrong right things, and I’m going to start cathecting with the right wrong things. Or quit eating ice cream altogether.

The Exquisite Flame

Beauty was awareness and clarity
Insecurity, Trepidation, and Innocence.
It was wide-open spaces, full of promise
Daydreams and night dreams of That To Come
It was humanity and anxiety and blissful unawareness of the deeply-buried consciousness of Now
It was sleep from the touch of head-to-pillow to the alarm clock’s pre-dawn shriek
It was yesterday; and it was golden, and it was pure

And I didn’t even know.
I didn’t even know.

How I long for the fears of youth
And simple problems easily solved
I ache with the final passing of Thoughts-Future
That once roused me when I fell and propelled me forward,
Despite my child’s timidity that sought to hold me back
Time alone wasn’t the enemy, Nor the immersion in grief

Instead it was the consequence of a poor choice, seemingly therapeutic at the time

to bury,
to extinguish
that exquisite flame
which took me to the Sun
and dropped me back again.

Autum, 2016