She just took her benzo, and she’ll be taking her Seroquel in five minutes. She actually wants to go to bed at 9 p.m. She’s tired. She’s also RETIRED, which is something that folks don’t seem to understand. She’s retired from the corporate world, she’s retired from trying to fit in with people, and she’s retired from the love game. No one will be getting any parts of her ever again. No body, no heart, and no soul. She’ll grow cobwebs in her caboodle before she ever lets a man touch it again.

They still try though. In fact, telling them no just makes them trying harder because it’s a challenge for them. They always want what they can’t have, and then when they get it, they don’t want it. The purest form of love could stare them right in the face, and they don’t see it, appreciate it, or want it. She’s tired, and she has been officially retired from love as of November of 2013.

Honestly, she never thought she could fall in love again after the hell she went through with Mr. C. Mr. C broke her heart because they were friends for so long that she expected so much better from him as a husband. When she caught him doing the typical sneaky married man things…she thought she was done then.

Something happened a few years after they separated that she never thought would ever happen in a million years. She genuinely fell in love again. Well guess what? That person was just like Mr. C and all the rest of the have-your-cake-and-eat-it-too dudes. He broke her heart, too. She felt like the dumbest wench in the world.

So, alrighty then. She went on her un-merry way and quietly suffered in a deep depression for months and months. No one cared, and no one even noticed she was gone, as she was that insignificant. She finally got back on her feet and took her meds regularly. She got herself some help. She got herself a prettier place with more rooms than she needed just to make part of her dreams come true. She learned to be okay with herself.

She’s fine now, and no one is going to mess with her heart again because she no longer knows where it is. You know how she has short-term memory loss from time to time? Well, she forgot where she put her heart and her caboodle. Therefore, she can’t assist any males with anything. Aw, darn. So sorry.

Mr. C offered to send her something for her birthday. She told him to send her some divorce papers. That’s the best gift that he can give her. Free her from this false marriage, and then go officially marry the fake wife or some such. That’s all she would like from him, and then she would like for the rest of the species leave her alone. The heart and caboodle shops are permanently closed. Knocking on the door of a closed establishment is useless.

Befuddled at 4 a.m.

The patient took a whole benzo (.5 mg) last night because she realized she was on the manic side. She had stayed up until 6 a.m. the previous morning working on her book, and then she woke back up at 8 a.m. Textbook manic symptoms. The next day, she talked to Mr. C for two or three hours on the phone, which meant she was extra chatty. She talked to her mom for a good hour too, lol. She’ll talk to whomever is on the other end of the line (except for folks who are on the NC list) when she’s manic, ha-ha! The conversations usually last for hours and hours.

At any rate, she started watching a movie at 8 p.m. All of sudden, she noticed that she was a little too relaxed. Next thing you know, she opened her eyes, and it was 4 a.m. Sunday morning. Alrighty then. Yep, benzos definitely work.

Her son had snuck into her bedroom at some point, and he fell asleep on the floor. Aw.

Today she’ll try to earn some pay. She’s glad that her third Midlife Crisis book is done, but the fun is over for now. She has to be a responsible adult for at least two straight weeks now. She sold two new books so far. Her one customer said she loved V3, and that she hated one of the characters. Good! The patient feels successful when she can cause people to have feelings about her characters. That particular character was a slime bucket, but the patient wasn’t sure if the readers would notice that.

Her feelings about her communication with Mr. C have not changed, and she’s not getting into anything with him. If he truly “loved” her and “dreamed of only her” during all their years of separation, then he wouldn’t have shacked up with someone else right away instead of trying to work on his marriage. He would have given his wife a helping hand during any one of her numerous struggles instead of paying someone else’s bills.

She’s not saying that she was perfect. She eventually got sucked into a long-term alternative situation, and she fell in love with someone else (a liar/player) after they had been physically and emotionally separated for two years. He, however, shacked up with someone else immediately, and he hasn’t acted like any kind of husband to her since the day they parted ways.

One thing the patient has learned from the slimy male characters over the years is that words don’t mean crap; actions do. Even if words did mean something, it’s a little too late for Mr. C to be professing emotions and such now. And how dare he be jealous of her “alternative situation” that ended a year ago and caused her a great deal of pain, as well? Um, he’s still shacked up with someone else. Lol.

She’s no longer the low self-esteem girl who will take some guy’s worthless crumbs or extremely late Shakespearisms. Words no longer move her. She just falls asleep at such lazy mind-screw attempts. Yawn. Nice try though, buddy. She’ll send the papers in the mail.

Friends since: 2002 Married: February 4, 2009. Separated: April somesuch 2010 Divorced: ASAP

Time for work. She’ll rock and roll till about 2 p.m.

What’s the Angle?

So the husband and the wife talked for several hours on the phone. While it was comforting for the wife to chat with her former long-term best friend (9 years), she still couldn’t help but wonder…what the hell does Mr. C want? What’s his angle? Every guy has an angle, and every guy wants something. Did he need money? Did he need shelter? Did he need an ego stroke? Some other kind of stroke? They always want something, but none of them ever gives her much of anything.

The real wife couldn’t help but wonder if he contacted her because things went sour with his fake/play wife.

It had been a very long time since they last spoke. The last conversation involved claims of bigamy (Not actually true, btw. They were just playing house. Oops), some mutual cussing, and vows never to speak to each other again. Today, he wanted to talk about feelings? Today, he wondered about future possibilities?


Seemed shady to her, and quite frankly, she’s been just fine living her life without being emotionally invested in any man. No investment=no chance of additional heartache. No sex=no chance of anyone using her for it. Perfecto!

While it was nice to chuckle, reminisce and so forth, the reality is that it has been too long. A whole lot of life has happened over the past 4.5 years. Their last encounter (talking in a car) was awkward and impersonal. They both had a long-term “alternative situation” going on at some point during the 4.5-year separation. Those alternative situations involved deep feelings. She’s no longer involved in her situation because it turns out she was being bullshat (like that word?) the whole time.

She doesn’t believe that he’s not still involved in his alternative situation, however.

She doesn’t remember one time that he helped her over the years either. Not when they first separated. Not when she first moved to Florida. Not when her house burned down. Not to this day.

She probably still adores the “idea” and the “ideal” of marriage, but realistically, their marriage has not been functional/active for a very long time.

Neither spouse has had the balls to initiate paperwork, but that doesn’t mean it still shouldn’t be done.

He might be able to charm his best friend back one day, but the wife is now retired.


All I can say right now is that I’m never doing that again. I’m finished writing and editing Midlife Crisis Volume 3. I released it, and it will take about 12 hours to show up on I knew it would be at least 5 a.m. before I finished. I’m not happy with my cover at all, but I have no more energy to do artsy things anymore. I think I used up all my pizzazz before I started on the cover design.

I will redesign the buttcover when I get some of my strength back. The cool thing about digital work is that one can always update it and re-release it for a customer who finds a mistake or doesn’t like something such as the cover. I am always available via e-mail for comments, suggestions, etc.

Whew. Did I mention that I hate editing?

I was editing and re-writing page nine when I suddenly received a social media message from Mr. Camburn. Whaaaaaa?! LOL! I thought we would never speak again. We weren’t on very good terms the last time we had a conversation. It was pretty bad.

Well, today he apologized to me, and he “forgave” me for whatever I did.

Yeah, okay. I guess it does take two people to ruin a marriage. I can’t say I was very forgiving at the time. I kinda just told him to GTFO the first time an issue arose, lol. I had been through quite a bit from men thanks to narcos 1 and 2, so I had zero tolerance and patience by the time I married Mr. Camburn. Additionally, I was manic as the Dickens, which turned my zero tolerance into -100 tolerance and the flames of a dragon.

Had an interesting series of text volleys. All is fine with my life. I’m not angry at anyone anymore for anything. Everything that happened in the past is in the past. It’s all good.

Now, I need sleep. Lots of sleep. Long long long hours of sleep.

Here Comes the Fun Part

I am finished with the third story from Midlife Crisis, or so I think. Now comes the fun part: editing/re-writing. I gather it will take me all night, but I have to get it done tonight. My house is in shambles, and I need to return to doing work that is not so fun but much more payable right now. I did sell a book today. Woo-hoo! A few folks are trickling in. That always gives me inspiration. I figure I’ll just keep writing these stories/books. Then I’ll write some different books. Eventually, I will have a wide variety of materials in different genres. Why the heck not?

I think about all those unaccredited articles I crafted for those mills, and it upsets me sometimes. Everything that I write is a piece of art to me, and I work hard on it. I work so hard that I get migraines sometimes. I am just some no-name number to those companies, however. Therefore, I like doing my own projects and signing my own name on them in various designer fonts.

Well, I’m about to drink some water and start editing. I’m trying to convince myself that editing is fun, but I just…can’t, lol. I’m sure I will spend three hours tinkering with designs afterward. So yah, this stuff is tough, but I will keep doing it. Good night (for you maybe). I won’t be back until I am done.

Thanks for the Crack?

The patient had an interesting day so far. First, she went to see the P-doc. The place was packed beyond seat availability as usual. When she finally got a seat, she starting talking to an “eccentric” woman who was happy to be on her way to the “funny farm.” Lol, it’s funny how eccentric people recognize each other, and they know when they can have open conversation with each other. The patient was curious about such “specialized facilities.” She had never been in one before. It wasn’t because she couldn’t have used the help during her past long-term depressive or manic periods. She had always avoided them and stayed quiet about her suffering for fear of losing her children.

You see, the patient was the only person that her children had, and she didn’t want to risk seeking temporary help and having the narcs or some other inappropriate party get hold of her babies. Therefore, she just suffered through the excruciating 18-month long depressions and whatnot. Anyway, the eccentric woman told her all about the facility she went to and how the food was great, and it was nice there. She said that they only keep a person for a few days or until they get that person on the right meds. The patient is already on the right meds, so there’s no need for that. She was just curious.

The patient did not get the same doctor this time. She got a mysterious jolly man who asked her if she was suicidal four consecutive times. Her response: um, no. Lol, there’s two kinds of P-docs in the world. The one kind realizes that certain types of eccentric people are highly intelligent and highly aware of their symptoms and so forth. The other type of P-doc doesn’t pay attention to the eccentrics, and he or she just does whatever the textbooks say to do. The patient didn’t think the doctor was bad; he just didn’t know anything about her.

He insisted that he needed to add an antidepressant to her cocktail. For what? The patient clearly stated that she has NOT been depressed as long as she has been taking her Seroquel regularly. Now if she doesn’t take it regularly, that’s an entirely different story. However, her current dosage is working as an antidepressant for her. It’s not an antidepressant, but it is working as an antidepressant. “But you’re not on an antidepressant,” the doctor said.

So? If the Seroquel works to squash her depression, then why add an antidepressant? He added an SSRI at that. WTF?! He might as well have given her some crack and told her to smoke up. SSRIs make her manic IMMEDIATELY! Even with the other meds in her system, the SSRI would still mostly likely cause a supercharge to occur. The last time she took an SSRI, she felt good as gold for one day. It DID alleviate her depression. The next day she quit her job and decided that she’d rather paint the moon than go to work. She stayed up for 72 hours, as well. Granted, she did take the SSRI by itself that time, but still.

He gave her 20mg of the SSRI. Um, she got manic off of 5mg before.

She didn’t feel there was a need for an SSRI. If the depression problem is not occurring, then why mess with the cocktail? She felt he should be concentrating on the mania rather than the depression. Mania still happens. There is no depression. She’s not depressed. She’s not suicidal. Seroquel works for that whether the books say it’s supposed to or not.

Basically, the P-doc did his own thing instead of listening to what the patient was telling him about how she felt and how she was responding to her meds, lol. She just grinned/agreed and was shaking her head on the inside, ha-ha!

She stopped off and watched “No Good Deed” on the way back. GREAT movie. There were two narcissists in the story, not just one. She noticed that right off the bat. Whoever wrote the movie does seem to know a lot about the narcos. The way they lie, the way they manipulate, the way they seduce, the way they charm their ways into people lives—all such things carried over into the movie. Oh, and let’s not forget the way they’ll try to kill folks in a heartbeat if they inflict any type of narcissistic injury on them.

The patient liked Idris Elba a little bit (nice bod), and Taraji P. Henson is now her new hero. Feisty little thing. Survivor. Right on.

She stopped by the smoothie shop in the mall and ordered a spinach and banana smoothie. She will never pay for another smoothie again. Honestly, her smoothies taste better than the smoothies that come from the little smoothie huts and so forth. Seriously, they do, and she never likes her own stuff but…wow. She’d start a smoothie business if she got a little office space and a large business loan, lol.

Now it’s time for the patient to tend to her vehicle. Her car needs an oil change. She really wants to finish her book by tonight, too!

Explanation of Artistic Brain Zaps

The patient went on a creative tangent yesterday. She made her first barely green smoothie as a frugal eating strategy. It came out tasty, but it didn’t have enough color for her slightly supercharged artistic brain. She drank the entire smoothie, but her discontent for its lack of color remained. Her friend gave her suggestions for making the smoothie colorful, and she suggested almond milk as a replacement for cow’s milk. Suddenly, the patient became preoccupied with “making colors.” She needed ingredients; she needed to create colors; she needed to make art.

The patient ended up throwing a multitude of food items in a shopping cart so she could go home and “make purple.” She grabbed bananas, blueberries, purple grapes, raspberries, strawberries, artisan lettuce, pink marshmallows, and a variety of additional ingredients. The plan: Make purple. Make pretty. Take pictures. She bought a purple and white straw, a special glass, and pink plates for the “design.”

Her kitchen was a disaster by the time she got finished with her artwork, but she did achieve the color she was trying to create. She took a picture of her smoothie with her crappy cell phone camera, and then she added the Vignette feature and signed it using the iPiccy program.

She sipped the smoothie twice, but she didn’t drink it. She hates blueberries. The project was an artistic urge that manifested in her brain; she had no desire to ingest blueberry flavored nourishment. The smoothie would have been good for someone who liked blueberries, raspberries and grapes. For her, it was just a work of art.

Today she is going to spend some time writing for herself  and her customers rather than squeezing her brain to write for businesses. She became annoyed by a threat that she received when a particular company “promoted” her back up to a writing level that was still beneath where she was before. It took all of her strength not to respond to the woman’s email with choice profanity. She chose the silent high road instead. The way the company jerked her by promoting her all the way up to “professional writer” and then demoting her twice for no apparent reason never sat well with her. Now she should be grateful for a threat-laced and half-assed “promotion”?  She’ll only write for them if she has a desperate situation or she receives a direct order with a high rate. Otherwise, that company can stick it where the sun doesn’t shine.

She’s annoyed with trying to write for people who run content generation businesses. The pay simply isn’t enough for the aggravation that she sometimes endures. The businesses are greedy and condescending. She knows she has to do things she doesn’t want to do sometimes to survive, but today she’ll be vacationing.

It’s Midlife Crisis all the way! She accidentally posted part of the first chapter of book three to her online journal yesterday! Crappers! That’s why her friend wrote to her about “cliff hanging” and whatnot. She was so mad when she finally found out what she had done. She meant to send the chapter to her personal email address so that she had a spare document if her computer died. She hates people seeing her work before she finishes it. She did get a few compliments out of it, however. A female friend said that she was “hooked” on the series. A male friend said that the MC series was her best work yet as far as books go. He said he thought it was good. She was still embarrassed. Unedited freestyle scribbling looks like ass. Additionally, she didn’t want anyone to know what happened at the end of book two until she finished writing book three! Ug.

At any rate, she’ll be her own writer and condescending editor for a few days. The books may not pay her anything more than a few cents now, but she can learn quite a bit from them. She can perfect her writing skills and her editing skills; she can learn to develop patience during the editing process. She can learn about proper marketing and promotional strategies so that she can reach more people. Additionally, she can practice fiction. She seems to do better with fiction than she does with whiny, angry non-fiction. Therefore, that’s what she’ll be doing today. She may not “hit big” with the vampire series, but maybe it will lead her somewhere else. She’ll keep trying. She finds it remarkable that she does have a handful of customers who genuinely look forward to the stories. Some of them she does not know from a can of paint, so they aren’t “just trying to be nice.” She sometimes still battles with accepting compliments.

Is she manic? Perhaps, but mania can sometimes go a long way. Look at some of the successful bipolar writers, actors and musicians. Their mania made them household names. She’s not suggesting that she will become a household name; she’s saying that riding the wave isn’t always bad. Mania appears with or without medication. When it’s time to create, it’s time to create.