My Ideal Date: The Key to My Heart

Booking a private karaoke room so I can sing about 6 hours’ worth of songs in my shitty voice to ONE OTHER LIVING PERSON. And not freaking out if I cry in some of them. I’m talking about the kind of tears that come with some snot.

I know it will be hard to recover from the snot part, but should he find himself able:

It really bothers me that I can’t see the stars at night anymore. I used to see them every night when I parked my car in the driveway when I was a teenager in Atlanta, Georgia.

I just want to go see the stars in the sky again. That’s the key.

P.S. The Karaoke comes with lots of dancing. So there’s always that.

Let me introduce you to my ghost: her name is Desiree

Desiree was the most lovely soul you could ever meet! Her name was Desiree Dalton Cedillo, and she was from San Antonio, TX. She was incredibly beautiful on the outside, but she was beyond breathtaking on the inside. She radiated life and love and family (she was a much-beloved wife and wonderful mom to 3 young boys). She was a devoted Christian and she had an especially strong bond with her father. He absolutely adored her: you could tell from the Facebook photos he posted of the family in pink “Team Desiree” tee-shirts. His name is Brad Dalton.

I had the serendipitous cosmic luck to meet Desiree through my volunteering efforts with other breast cancer survivors. Of course, I was probably 15 years older than she was and was divorced with no kids, but her spirit was infectious. We were spreading awareness about early detection at a local community college in 2015 (I think). She was so genuine and authentic. We both told our stories that day, me after her. She came up to me and said, since I was a two-timer: “Wow, I thought I had been through a lot, but I had no idea.” Can you see why I loved her instantly? I was going through my second divorce at the time. I was about to become a Nobody to Nobody. She became my Facebook friend after photos of that day were posted and tagged. *File this detail away for now*

I kept up with her through some of these groups, but I was going through some challengers of a different kind for a period and lost touch with her.

The last time I checked on Desiree on Facebook, I found out she was dead. She was in her early 30s, how and when did this happen? How could this happen? How could GOD allow this to happen? I still don’t understand why Desiree and Sarah JP (a fellow 29-year-old volunteer, newly graduated nurse who I last knew had metastatic brain cancer) were now Dead? They are both in the photo from that day in 2015.

Every day, I look at my surroundings and I say to myself: would Desiree’s house look like this? No way! She was so organized!

Next I say: would Desiree be wallowing in pity like this? No way! She was a True Believer until the end.

Throughout the day, I say: would Desiree be lying in bed because she’s in pain? No way, she was much stronger than that! And she’d be running after her three little boys and preparing dinner for her husband and selling those vitamins she sold on Facebook. And doing things with her Dad and family who loved her so much.

If anyone knows Desiree’s dad, could you tell him I’m SO SORRY!! I wasn’t even trying to survive, I didn’t even care and I still don’t. I would trade my life for hers in an instant if it would bring her back to you. She was so wonderful❣️ Please, please, please forgive me for still being here when she’s not. It makes no sense to me, either.

Desperately Seeking Sensitive Nigerians; Love Letter to a Scammer

I don’t want to sound paranoid or racist, and I most certainly don’t want to insult sensitive Nigerians in ANY way. But can someone out there explain the recent explosion in my Nigerian “audience?” I can assure you I am seeking illumination only. I’m actually BEGGING YOU to school me on my ignorance of how my admittedly-externally-privileged upbringing between two Southern United States between the late 1960s and mid 1980s, experience with chemotherapy and similar exhilarating adventures, and feeling abandoned by my husbands after choosing personal relationships over my career actually RESONATES WITH YOU??

I’M. ON. MY. KNEES. LITERALLY. BEGGING. YOU.

To tell me how my experiences with those experiences resonate with YOUR experiences of your experiences over in Nigeria.

Because I want us to collaborate on a book. Apparently we are kindred spirits, true soul mates, in spite of the fact we have absolutely nothing in common. I mean, you could pretend to be someone you’re not, but why would you want to do that? No, if my words RESONATE WITH YOU, YOU MUST BE TRUSTWORTHY.

So don’t be afraid to step forward, Sensitive Nigerians❣️ I want to provide a safe place to “connect“: a virtual community for those processing traumas from childhood, breast cancer, and divorce. And other VULNERABLE, Middle-Aged Women. Divorcees and the like.

All of us sharing freely and openly. Right here. Just waiting.

With knives.

Self-pity or The Green-Eyed Monster?

I don’t have time to write much today.  I just wanted to ‘fess up that, after my lofty musings of last Friday, I’m now back in the thick of all-too-human emotions.  I found out last night that a friend of mine, who totaled his new and fully loaded SUV while driving drunk, has just bought himself a brand new one.  Meanwhile, my car is sicker than I am.  And she looks more beat up than I do.  I haven’t exactly provided her with regular facials (I don’t wash her very often, and she sits under a sap tree), her sides have some wrinkles from a few years ago (when I opted to keep the insurance money rather than get her the Botox she rightly deserved), and lastly, her face is broken due to a little fender bender I got us into last week.  To add to her and my worries, she’s VERY old (1999; practically a “classic” in today’s world).  But she’s “Old Money” – an Infiniti gal – and her parts are extremely expensive relative to her Blue Blood (Blue Book value).  

But enough about HER. My question is this: Am I wallowing in self-pity or have I been bitten by the green-eyed monster? Am I actually jealous of someone’s new car just 36 hours before I have a scheduled double mastectomy? If so, I need the surgeons to perform an “Attitude Adjustment” while they cut, prod, and do what it is surgeons do. At a minimum, I need to write up a gratitude list of all I’m thankful for…a list which most definitely includes my trusty, dusty, and rusty car. Even if she IS thirsty all the time, and refuses to drink water!

Monday, September 10, 2012 at 12:21pm CST from my original blog

P.S. I have green eyes, so I’m pretty sure both Self-Pity AND the Green-Eyed Monster have regular rooms in my hotel (2021).

We Live With a Homicidal Maniac

We Live With a Homicidal Maniac who desperately wants to kill all of the Jennifers under My Care. I’m a total crap parent, but I know how to play dirty. You don’t think I could plumb the depths of survivor guilt and child murder with a free-loving Inner Critic, do you?

I have seen the faces of Evil, Violence, Hatred, and Unspeakable Acts. They look like Me, and Their Voice criticizes Me all day, every day. The Voice and I are well-acquainted; fellow Ancients, “Old Souls”.

But We are both tiring of these millennia of dragon-slaying. I know I speak for both of Us when I say We’d really like to go on Vacation. Isn’t there ONE responsible Adult out there who’s willing to watch the Jennifers for a week or so? Hell, we’d be happy with a long weekend off at the Holiday Inn down the road!

Please check your calendars and get back to Us. If Nobody steps up, We’re going to send Our Inner Critic to terrorize Him. If Anybody offers, I promise You full immunity from Future Prosecution (it’ll look better on you than Botox, I swear!)

P.S. We know the above post was Juvenile, but we had an adrenalized day by noon-thirty, so we had to bleed. Our Inner Critic is momentarily appeased.

Jenniferine

Lupine (wolf-like)
Canine (dog-like)
Feline (cat-like)
Porcine (pig-like)
Ovine (sheep-like)
Taurine (bull-like)
Limacine (slug-like)
Piscine
Elephantine
Equine
Muscine, Murine (mouse-like)
Serpentine
Aquiline (of or like an eagle)
Bovine (cow-like)
Vulpine (foxlike)
Leporine (rabbit- or hare-like)
Cervine (deer-like; moose, elk)
Avine (birdlike, but rare; Avian)
Squalene (like a shark; big fish)
Tigrine (tiger)
Delphine (dolphin-like)
Cameline
Ursine (bear-like)

July 19, 2017; Bolding added 2021

When the Heart-Soul Breaks

When the soul breaks, it tells us we’ve lost our missing puzzle piece – it’s human manifestation represents a unique shape – the ONLY shape which can return us to wholeness. We will reject people who don’t conform to the missing negative-electron-pull of that void into our Adult lives. This wound-activated expulsion of others doesn’t result in the relief we seek because it does so by what our brains are able to understand at the times when our heart was broken; at the young age we made those decisions. Puzzle Pattern Recognition at young ages doesn’t allow us to consider alternate shapes, other options all together. Since we’re closed off to these other mental paths and self-protective limitations, we stay trapped and enprisoned, jerked around by the terrifying cries from our inner Little Child – and trust me: she lives in you whether you believe it or not!

After a lifetime of consciously or subconsciously forcing other individuals to conform or leave, we die, lonely and alone.

If you want to avoid this fate, MY fate, you have to go back to the original wound, even if it isn’t a single traumatic experience. Expecting children to remember the specific events behind the heartbreaking emotions is unnecessary in my opinion. You know what first broke your heart. First and foremost, let me tell you I’m so very, very sorry that you suffered that way as a child. It wasn’t your fault, and it was wrong. I wish I could’ve comforted you then, and I know there are many decent adults out there who wish they could’ve as well. I’m sure if they heard your story, they would want to rush in and scoop you up, dry your tears, and listen as you told why you were sad or afraid. Afterwards, we’d try our very best to keep you safe from harm. If you were failed before, let’s try to heal it here and now.

You are loved, you are treasured, you are infinitely beautiful and huge-hearted. You are whole and perfect just as you are. You have individual worth and value. You are precious. You are a pearl beyond all price.

Surely you can understand we are not feeding an entitlement mentality if any human adult has never heard these words from another living soul. So you will have to be your own Another Living Soul.

In this role, you will be the Adult who then must unapologetically love, nurture, and re-parent Your Little Child to achieve the emotional stability you desire, require, and truly need to grow into the kind of Adult you want to be.

It may sound circular or ‘fluffy’, but it’s what is working for me. As long as you are seeking external solutions to this now-very concerning internal source of distress, you’ll never be free from the haunting of Your Little Child. You can INVITE the Guide, the Helper, the Guru, or even the Consultant to help, but you will always be the General Contractor for the job. No: make that the Owner Footing the Bill.

So spend your money well, do your research, document it, celebrate it, and don’t let Anyone or Anything deter your commitment, other than basic self-care. Remember: place the oxygen mask on Your Adult Self before you place it on Your Little Child.

The Biggest Loser

First and foremost, I’m not looking to marry you, so PLEASE get over yourself.  
All I want is one last torrid, passionate love affair before I die - or at least while I can still enjoy it.

Should we meet, I won’t be auditioning for a role; I will be interviewing you for one.

I don’t really care if you think I’m beautiful. I’ve fought in many wars and have the scars to prove it. I happen to find them beautiful and unique (p.s. why aren’t we talking about your body here?).

I don’t need your help. C’mon, Dude, I’m a two-time breast cancer survivor. Do You honestly think I need your help??

I don’t need your money, I’m fine in that department, thank you very much.

I don’t need a supervisor, but I would enjoy spending time with (one or more) fellow travelers and/or adventurers.

I don’t need your advice, though I know you love to give it. I’m actually far more resourceful than you apparently think.

I’m not looking for Someone To Take Care of Me, thank you very much. I’ve pretty much done that my entire life. Do you honestly think I abandoned my sensibilities when I met you?

I never asked you to tell me I’m “an amazing woman” while breaking up with me by text. I only asked you to tell me over the phone. Was that really such an unreasonable request?

I never asked you to fix me. I only asked you to accept me as I am.
(Oh, and I almost completely forgot about this part and had to add it later)…
We are both broken people: if we haven’t made some horrible choices by this age, then we haven’t lived at all.

I never asked you to love me. I only asked for a temporary oasis; an emotionally safe place where Little Jennifer could occasionally come out and play. Loving her is all that matters to me, because she’s been hurt enough.

Last and most importantly, I NEVER asked you to pity me! I refuse to allow another human being to turn me into a victim again. So you go right ahead and pretend like WE never happened. I’m fulfilled by being alive enough to have made such a bad impression in the first place!

Let’s Change Topics Now and Take a Little Inventory of What I DO Have to Offer:

•I’ve got my own car and my own money.
•I’ve got a bucket list of sexual fantasies I’ve yet to fulfill.
•I’ve got an entire wardrobe of fluffy, frilly, and sexy lingerie.
•I’ve got a scary high IQ
•I have no small children, adolescent children, adult children, or grandchildren.
•I’ve got a dirty mind and
•Too much time on my hands.

So in the End,
Who was the Biggest Loser?

Nursery Rhymes & Fairy Tales

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall
And all the kings horses and all the kings men
Couldn’t put Humpty Dumpty together again.

We whisper these horrible words into the ears of small children. How hopeless Humpty Dumpty must have felt!

Next project: a brand new set of fairy tales about ordinary people doing extraordinary things. Let’s get poor victimized Cinderella some therapy and a new place to live. Let’s give Rapunzel a key to that wretched tower, a good haircut, and a new job where she’s appreciated. I guarantee one day she’ll know her own strength.

While we’re at it, Prince Charming needs a vacation and some hobbies. He’d probably cry tears of relief just to learn he doesn’t have to be charming all the time (I know I certainly would). And talk about a high-stress job?!?! Not only does he slay dragons all day, he’s on call all night should any of his damsels find themselves in distress. Or need rescuing. Or have a flat tire.

I know that I don’t want to lose our one and only Prince Charming to Adrenal Failure.

Your thoughts?

[Karaoke] Konnects Me to My ❤️‍🔥 (updated links)

My YouTube channel, Karaoke Konnection:

https://youtube.com/user/AgainsttheGrain1000

1. I Will Survive; (Like a…Cockroach)

https://youtu.be/XBGNNsk3nyA

2. I’ve Never Met Another Living Soul (other than myself) Who Possesses Such an ARSENAL of Gestures, Facial Expressions, and Whole-Body Movement to Communicate Both Inspiration and Seriousness (examples of the latter to follow, including The Partial Telling of My Story, below)

https://youtu.be/VYzJYEUhju8


3. The Two-Fisted Microphone Dance That’s Currently Sweeping the Country
(I either spared you an earache or deprived you of a belly laugh when I edited out 85% of the song).

https://youtube.com/shorts/bHYENlt_E44?feature=share


4. They’re All Dirty

https://youtu.be/ybsvkMkVaUw


5. Having a bit of a Diva moment, I confess… fortunately it passes quickly.

https://youtube.com/shorts/0HCbq6nWRI4?feature=share

6. Not Karaoke, but another video: The Partial Telling of My Story:

https://youtu.be/2zUHBaxT8f0

This Battle…Again?? 2012

“Women who are diagnosed with breast cancer at its earliest stages have a 93 percent rate of surviving for at least five years, according to the American Cancer Society. The survival rate drops to 81 percent once the disease has progressed to Stage II. If the breast cancer was at Stage III when it was discovered, the survival rate drops to 67 percent. Women with Stage IV breast cancer have a 15 percent survival rate. The American Cancer Society notes that every woman’s situation is different and that new treatments are continuing to improve survival rates among women with breast cancer.”

Thank you, Jesus, for bringing that little pea-sized pellet to my attention so early. I’m ready to war against this disease again, and I hope I learn something this time that will prove useful to others heading down the same path. I thank you also for the brilliant team of doctors you have assembled for me – even as I must depend on government assistance for their services. These men (the last time, in Dallas, you provided me with a gifted team of women) are truly a “dream team.” Knowing 3 members of this team will be diligently working on me for 6-7 hours next Wednesday confirms Your Presence in all things. I thank You that I am truly in the palm of Your hand – the safest, calmest, and most protected place I could hope to be. Thank You for giving me a spirit of power, love, and a sound mind. Anxious fear never comes from You, and though it tries to infect me with a vigorous and continual onslaught, I have only to praise You to obtain a blessed and calming reprieve. I know that you inhabit the praises of Your people, and I am proud to count myself as one of Yours. Please give me the guidance and supernatural strength to glorify You throughout this process…. let my words be Your words, and my steps those You have chosen in building a path for me. Lastly, Lord, I ask You to fill in for me where I fall short on this journey. For, even though my goals are high and spiritual, I am still bound by an earthly body of flesh and bone. And even though I want to resist the desires of my flesh, I am sad to be losing some very important (to me!) parts of that flesh. You alone can turn my mourning into dancing; You can bring addition from what is taken away; joy from loss and grief. After all, I’m just a girl – and a flawed one at that – but You see me as so much more. You’ve adopted me, justified me, cleansed me, and turned me into a much-beloved Royal Daughter. You gave up SO much more on the cross than what I am reluctantly parting with – and You did so willingly and absolutely! Thank you for turning me into a Princess the moment I chose You, despite what You know about me. For you have known me from my mother’s womb, even before the foundations of the earth. Still my fast-beating heart, Lord, and help me keep my focus on You. Amen and amen.

You’ll notice I don’t write about Jesus very much anymore. We’re not on the outs, we’re just taking a breather. 9/2021

Textpectations & Blocking

I’ve noticed there’s a certain type of divorced, middle-aged man who will block you as soon as you start asking bitchy and extreme questions like:

“Why are you breaking up with me by text?”

“Is something wrong?”

“Why aren’t you replying anymore?”

Are you okay?, and the ever-fatal

“Can you call me so we can discuss it?”

I’m proud to report I’ve been officially “blocked twice.”

Do I Know You?

Unlike other people on Facebook, I cannot share photos of my children and their children.

Because I could not have children.

I can only share my heart.

I write these words for the ONE PERSON who has felt my pain.

I want that ONE PERSON to know he or she is not alone.

I don’t care who I offend: my passion is for that ONE PERSON only.

That in the recognition of their pain in my expression of mine, our burdens are momentarily reduced. ❤️‍🔥

The Shape of Pain

No
Ow!
Stop
Hurts
Stop!!!
Please❣️
Why? ???
Please stop!
You’re hurting me.
YOU’RE HURTING ME‼️
WHY are you doing this?
What did I ever do to you?
I’ll do anything; please stop.
FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, JUST STOP!
Okay, I guess I must deserve it
I was never very good at all
I probably deserve this 🥲
Could you just kill me?
I’m already dead.
Please bury me.
Tell my Mom.
Tell God?
Corpse
Stop
Bye
No
0

Thank you for Loving Me Not

Thank you dear Steven for loving me Not.
For if you had, I might not have met Scott.
You never did meet My Most Precious Self.
To keep her secure, she remained on the shelf.
I made the decision to follow my feelings
And found the conclusions to be quite revealing:
To start you must find a fully grown male,
Who’s brave enough to be Willing To Fail.
Someone who knows just fast Time is fading,
Someone who’s sick of damned Internet Dating!
Without any conflict, I hadn’t a clue
Whatever I did that so “unfulfilled” you.
My only regret’s that I wasted my time
On someone who‘s neither “Christian” nor kind.
So let’s end on Goodbye, but you MUST listen well:
Do take good care but then
GO FUCK YOURSELF!

Spring 2021, Edited October

For the Decision-Makers:Why I Believe Marijuana Should Be Legal in the State of Texas (from a first-person perspective)

1. Smoking pot makes me want to turn each song on my Spotify favorites list into a Karaoke song I can actually visualize myself singing.
2. Smoking pot means I have Spotify in the first place. I didn’t listen to music for 20 years.
3. Smoking pot helps me to at least know what I’m crying about.
4. Smoking pot helps me to live in the moment, not in the thought bubbles analyzing what’s going on down below.
5. Smoking pot means that I laugh 25% as often as I cry (that’s an increase from 0%).
6. Smoking pot means I can feel pain in a tolerable way rather than numb it - and God knows we vilify “addicts” who need pain relief in this country. We treat them more like slugs than people.
7. Smoking pot brings the suppressed version of myself out to play and connect with other human beings again; before, I withdrew to shield myself from Life’s blows.
8. Smoking pot helps me to stop second-guessing myself every second of every day; it stops the onslaught of voices telling me to WATCH OUT!! To STAY SAFE or I’ll get hurt!! Again. Other people - even “loved ones” are dangerous. So is Fate, the Universe and God Himself. Smoking pot turns off that damned robot looping through my traumatized brain screaming DANGER, JENNIFER!! I don’t think most people have a clue how EXHAUSTING it is to live with PTSD.
9. And no, I don’t get a lot done, but it’s not by choice. Accumulated trauma and chronic pain had already leeched my vitality from me. At least now I see some meaning and purpose in what’s LEFT of my life. That’s good enough for me because I HAVE SUFFERED ENOUGH.
10. I don’t need your pity or pseudo-compassion, served up cold with an order of Judgment on the side. What I NEED is to not be arrested for engaging in acts of self-preservation.
11. I am willing to testify before the Texas legislature to put my story on official record, just like I did for the Medicaid for Breast and Cervical Cancer program and The Fertility Preservation Bill (which I really hope has become a law by now).

P.S. A special note for my fellow Christians: I love you and I am not “lost” or “deceived.” I haven’t lost my faith, but I did lose my hope and my self-compassion. So I’m still a “Christian,” just not a ‘Good Christian.”

Saving One’s Own Life

Pulling oneself up and out of the downward trajectory of death requires Enjoyment, Endurance, and Effort, all of which demand copious amounts of fuel.  Sometimes this fuel is mined from deeply-buried Anger or Rebellion.  Sometimes it’s sourced from unshed tears, forsaken dreams, and hopes  long-abandoned. Sometimes it looks irrational or immature.  Sometimes it involves rash decisions later cried over.  

A person actively involved in saving her own life might engage in “risky” behaviors like falling too quickly and deeply for the most inappropriate person, only to have him reject her exactly as she always knew he would, then she goes out and dances into the wee hours, starting the whole cycle all over again the following week. Her family might begin to pray for her in earnest or worry she’s having a mental breakdown. But she knows how important the Enjoyment component of the equation is, so she must persevere (Endurance) and FORCE herself to have fun. Does she remember what it feels like to laugh? From the belly? I’m sorry to inform her, but she’s going to have to invoke her Muscle Memory Rights and practice laughing and dancing again. If she has to have someone along for the ride, she could ask family or friends, but if she can’t, she needs to make some fucking new ones! Those negative influences are partially responsible for the reason her soul is now dying! She can’t afford to be too picky - she just needs someone along for the next adventure. She doesn’t have to get into a relationship with the person and should try to keep thing as lite as possible. Oh, she didn’t? Well, so what!? It’s HER life and HER choice. I just hope she’s kind to herself when she makes these “mistakes”. For the first time in decades, little shoots of green are sprouting up on the ancient and bent branches of her very old tree, and it’s a spectacular anomaly to behold; like the once-in-300-years neon flight of a Comet set into motion during Light Years Past.


The only forces powerful enough to bring back the downward trajectory at this point are of the everyday but lethal variety. They’re the murder weapons from a nearby toolbox: overthinking, over analyzing, shame, self-loathing, embarrassment, self-second-guessing, and unhealthy regret. Notice the emphasis on “over” and “self”: she must literally get OVER herself!! As in CLIMBING over herself to get away from the words Herself is telling Her.


Here is the advice I would share with Her:

“Never forget the beautiful, trusting, innocent 7-year-old child who still lives inside you. Would you say the same corrosive, damaging, and soul-crushing things to HER that you say to yourself? Would you deliberately clip her little-girl wings, binding/blinding/ confining/ paring down/and condemning her to a Life Lived In Miniature?
Of course you wouldn’t! Instead, you’d whisper into her ear over and over and over again that she is worthy, deserving, and capable of Love, Loving, and All Things Beautiful.

	

I Felt Alight

I felt alight,
I felt aglow,
When I began to learn and know

The inner You
You chose to share;
I held it with the utmost care.

You opened up
And shared your pain
Underneath the falling rain.

You didn’t lie;
You didn’t hide
The truest You that lives inside.

It proved you brave:
It proved you strong.
And made me feel like I belonged

Inside your space.
Inside that world,
You made me feel all shades of girl.

We told the truth.
We told our tales.
And unlike Bill, we both inhaled.

My stomach growled -
You made me food.
It took a while but it was good!

We played some tunes,
We watched some flicks.
You opened up ‘bout other chicks.

Spilling all
Required real guts.
It helped explain your “ifs” and “buts”:

The things that hurt,
That cause you grief,
The things that make you seek relief.

Sometimes I think
You might shut down
And burn this thing straight to the ground.

I hope I’m wrong,
I hope you see
We have a special chem-i-stry.

I’d like to try
My very best
To learn what burns beneath your chest.

It’s worth a chance
Be free and dance
To give no mind
And leave behind
The awful shame
From years of blame.

I’d toil and sweat and run the race.
I’d even risk my comfort space
To free my truth, long stuck in place
And lie beside you face to face.

May, 2021