I was all kinds of proud of me and my declaration of independence and freedom for the Brand New Year numbered 2018.

I even made plans to (gasp) leave the house and go out.

On a Saturday night.

With my favorite person in the world.

I was giddy with anticipation and delighted at the idea of spending time with my Not-Daughter. We were going to some really cool coffee house type place to talk and do girl stuff aka I have Christmas gifts that arrived late which is really just an excuse for me to spend time with my Not-Daughter.

Then came the Great Collision of 2018, The Bombogenisis named Grayson and a nasty cold on the verge of turning into bronchitis. Because I can’t have nice things.

After the latest storm dumped a whole lotta snow and dragged the temperatures down so low that single digits felt warm compared to the wind chill factor, I, of course, started getting sick. Anyone with fibromyalgia knows what that means, it means a simple head cold can turn into bronchitis, pneumonia, you name it, the possibilities are endless.

Unfortunately, it also means I had a choice to make, should I stay or should I go?

I spent half the day pro and con-ing in between going through boxes of tissues at an alarming rate and attempting to sleep my sickness away.

It didn’t work.

I had to cancel.

And cancelling plans with my Not-Daughter damn near broke my heart. She’s a sweetheart and understood but I still feel awful having to cancel our attempt at getting together. Because I worry and worry and worry due to years of cancelled plans and the reactions of whoever I’ve had to cancel plans with. That’s probably not even close to being grammatically correct but I can’t care about grammar right now. I’ve been writing this for 2 days because I’ve spent more time sleeping than I have being awake. Saturday I slept from 7:30pm until 7:30am Sunday morning, when I woke up feeling worse. I drank a few cups of tea and went back to sleep around noon and woke up a little after 5pm, still sick. One bowl of chicken soup, one cup of tea and a small handful of vitamins later and I was back in bed, asleep before 8pm.

And now, here I am. Still sick, still feeling awful about cancelled plans and still wishing I was a time traveler.

Did I forget to mention I wish I was a time traveler? Is my fevered brain making nonsense out of nonsense? Will all these cups of tea and bowls of chicken soup finally make me feel better? Will I ever get rid of this flu-like thing that does nothing but make me want to sleep? Will I ever get to spend quality time with my Not-Daughter? Will I ever stop babbling guiltily and end this nonsensical post?

I love you Not-Daughter, I hope some day I can grow up and be just like you. And also, I hope I can sleep more and wake up feeling all better.

Until then, due to circumstances beyond my control, in the almost-words of Not-Helen Reddy, I am woman, hear me snore.






{January 3, 2018}   2018 : The Year Of Me


“For a new year to bring you something new, make a move, like a butterfly tearing its cocoon! Make a move!”
― Mehmet Murat ildan


I hereby declare 2018 to be The Year Of Me.

If you either know me or “know” me, you understand this is a big deal.

I do not put myself first.

I do not put myself second.

It’s actually a miracle if I make my own list at all so to attempt to devote an entire year to me and my own selfish whims way of doing things, you know, thinking of myself for a change, well that is a huge deal.

Huge enough that I’ve been writing this since January 1st but have been intimidated, by myself no less, because it’s not very polite to make it all about me.

Well, after a lifetime of devoting myself to those around me I finally realized you kinda get treated in a way somewhat similar to the way you treat yourself.

Yeah, fuck that anymore. Oh, and any and all grammar Nazis can piss off too. Mangling words is one of the few pleasures of life so, uh, there. Now back to me.

I, as is common knowledge, am a trifecta of guilt. Middle and only girl child? Check. Catholic School education? Check. Born under the sign of Cancer? Check. Don’t get all picky, it’s a trifecta, take my word for it. I’m also Irish, believe me, there’s guilt in there somewhere as well.

I’m not going to re-live all the stuff that kept me running in place getting nowhere, suffice it to say I was a caretaker for various Family members, blood or otherwise, for a good 10 years. The odd thing about it all is I was born to take care of others and I actually enjoy it. Making others feel good, helping others out in times of trouble, doing any little thing to makes someone else’s life even a little bit easier, these are things that make me feel good. The problem is I’m an all-in kinda gal. Once I dip a toe in, before I know it I’m in over my head while everyone else is just floating.

I wanna float for awhile too.

I should have been a nurse. Or a teacher. Or a Mother to human babies instead of only fur babies. Sometimes I just want to hug the world and everyone in it. But it would be nice, I imagine, if somebody wanted to return the favor once in awhile.

Shake it off Suzy, this ain’t no pity party. Grow a spine and deal with it. That was me giving myself a pep talk. I tend to open my mouth and my Mother’s words come out of it lately. That, well, that is a good thing.

Back on topic, 2018 will be is the year of Me with a capital “M”.

I resolve to start thinking about myself for a change. To stop leaving myself out of the loop and start living. Socializing. Getting out of the damn house and doing stuff. Write. Write some more. Keep writing. But, also, most importantly, live. And if living includes doing things for other people, even better, I just have to remind myself daily that I count too.

I have a plan. Sorta.

Of course I’ve picked the worst time of the year to become all about me because it’s damn near freezing outside and we’re due for another snowstorm but I can’t let that be an excuse stop me from reaching my goals. Sure, I can strap on my Fitbit and walk around in circles but that’s not the same as walking outside and getting in a few miles a day. So instead of beating myself up as per usual, I’ve decided to accept the fact that I won’t be getting anywhere near 7 miles a day until Springtime and that’s okay.

I resolve to go with the flow yet make sure that flow includes me at the top, or whatever the correct terminology is when referring to a flow.

I resolve to remove myself from the floor and stop allowing people to walk all over me.

I resolve to laugh more and cry less, although a good hard cry now and then is a good thing.

I resolve to do things that may be expected of me, as long as I do things my way.

I resolve to finish writing this stupid blog-type thing I’m writing which, by my own admission, is kinda boring but guess what? It’s my blog and I get to write whatever I want.

It is also my life. It’s time for me to take it back and live it.




“I used to have this toy, a magic slate. You wrote or drew on it and then, just by pulling up the plastic cover, everything you did disappeared and you could start new. Maybe everyone feels that on New Year’s Eve: They can pull up the magic sheet and rewrite their lives.”

― V.C. Andrews

magic slate







{December 8, 2017}   Breaking The Ice

breaking ice1

Is it possible to forget how to write?

It’s 3:42am EST as I type these words, I woke up half an hour ago and found myself unable to go back to sleep. You know how your mind switches on and no matter what you do, you can’t stop those thoughts from swirling and cluttering? It’s usually your worst fears or insecurities that seem to pop up most around those hours, I heard that 3am is the Devil’s hour, it was in some article talking about a weird phenomena where a whole bunch of people around the world wake up during the 3am hour, like the Devil has an alarm clock somewhere and it wakes up those who are susceptible.

The major flaw I find in that theory is time zones. Does everyone wake up at the same time, or does everyone wake up at 3am local time? Either Hell is full of alarm clocks all set for the same time or my mind is scrambling for something to write about.

Because it’s been a long time.

I hate to play the death card again but those of you who have followed my blog previously,you all know I had that Trifecta of Death, the domino effect that began with a hurricane acting all “I’ll huff and puff and blow your house down”, followed by the year of rebuilding, then the Trifecta of Death which was actually more like Double Digits of Death because almost my entire Family got wiped out one by one leaving me with one older brother who has no use I mean love I mean, well, he doesn’t really know me nor does he want to, one Aunt I love who lives far away and a handful of cousins, most of who live across the country, and no more Family home I worked so hard to save, which I did with the help of many, but since the sale after my Parents died, I’ve yet to drive by the house, I’m afraid I’ll break down and bawl like a baby.

I just wanted to get that out of the way, for those of you at home playing along for the first time.

So much has changed, I seem to find myself lost and aimless, the only person able to understand me is a 19 year old daughter of friends of mine. She’s me when I was 19 and the daughter I never had, only way cooler than me.

I’m doing that thing I do, ramble, babble, talk too much.

I hear that accusation a lot these days which is pretty ironic seeing as I talk to no one except my husband and his sister, we all still live in the same house, they go to work and I have no job which is all good when I’m writing but I haven’t been writing so I’ve been feeling pretty useless/worthless/all-the-less-words.

Maybe I have Stockholm Syndrome.

Hey, that’s a thing you know!

I talk to myself, my cats, an occasional few minutes on the phone with my bestie who’s life is pretty much the same as mine so our contact is more textual than vocal. I’m the girl who would talk to her Mother 5 times a day, even my Dad and deceased Brother would call me all they time but they were more like 16 times a day.

So when you’re backed against the wall you might as well give in and hope your Muse wakes up and smacks you awake. Because I’ve been sleepwalking through life and it’s time to WAKE UP!!!

Silence isn’t always golden, sometimes silence sucks.


breaking ice


{February 26, 2014}   Dear Diary 2/26/14

Dear Diary,
I’ve been a bad, bad, very bad girl.
In more ways than one but for now lets just concentrate on one thing at a time, ok?
Me plus endless snow and constant company (aka zero privacy) equals me losing my mind.
(1 + ::: + OOOOO [0] = o_O)
Now it may not seem like a big deal to the normal person but, well, I am far from the normal person as anyone who knows me can attest. Actually, now that I think about it, even if you don’t really know me, it’s not too hard to pick up on the crazy that lives inside me nearly every moment of every day.
Hey, it’s not easy being me you know.
Ok, maybe it could be easier being me if it wasn’t smack dab in the middle of the worst winter we’ve had here in New Jersey in I don’t know how long. They say that every 20 years or so we have some kind of really horrible very bad blizzard/snowstorm/opening up of the Heavens/Mother Nature’s Fury, whatever you want to call it.
Frankly, I call it bullshit.
Because enough is enough.
The other day I realized my life has been basically one fuck-off after another for the last two years. And yeah I said fuck-off.
Actually, it’s probably longer than two years but we’ll stick with that number because it’s slightly less pathetic.
Wait. I said that wrong, it’s really been one long-non-stop-run-on-sentence-fuck-off.
And it all boils down to one thing: a stupid fucking hurricane.
Seriously, that’s the root of it all. Hurricane Irene.
Remember her?
Don’t worry, nobody else does either because Hurricane Sandy came along the following year and made Irene look like one lit match compared to a Towering Inferno.
Irene didn’t cause anywhere close to the damage Sandy did on the surface, but we were one of the unlucky ones when our house collapsed and it was all my fault.
The day Irene hit I had to open my big mouth and say something about how we always hear about people losing everything in natural disasters but thank God we never knew anyone personally who had to live through something like that.
We all know how that turned out, one collapsed house and a lifetime of memories gone in a snap.
Sorry dear diary of mine, I seem to have veered off topic, but lets face it, veering off topic is pretty much a given where I’m concerned. So in keeping with tradition, I’m about to veer.
Guess what diary? I’m going to Cape May!
I was afraid I’d never be able to go there again since it’s been my Mother/Daughter tradition forever.
How can I do it without her?
I’ll tell you how; me and my bestest friend Shawn are leaving it all behind and taking a mini-break, Thelma and Louise style, only without flying cars.
I just booked the room, coincidently the room my Mom and I usually stayed in, and even though it’s only for two nights, I figure it’s like getting my toes wet.
Another coincidence? We are going exactly one year to the day my Mom and I spent our last Cape May trip together.
I’m thinking dear diary, that perhaps this will give me some sort of closure. I’ll be bringing a bit of my Mom with me, to fulfill a promise I made to her once upon a time.
Legal or not, I will be spreading some of her ashes where she asked me to, in the Atlantic Ocean near Sunset Beach.
She said she’d haunt me forever if I don’t follow her wishes.
And since every time I’ve been to Cape May I’ve had some sort of ghostly experience, I’m not taking any chances.
It wouldn’t surprise me if I do see my Mom, or at the very least, feel her presence. In fact I hope for it.
After all, somebody pulled some strings up there to enable me to be in Cape May a year to the day since Mom and I spent our last week together. (Shut up, if I wanna believe it then I will, so there non-believers! And cut me some slack, I’m still all kinds of delicate and emotional and stuff.)
Knowing my feisty red-headed Irish Mom, she’s the string-puller; so thank you my dear Mother, you will be with me always in my heart, but it’s nice to know you’ll be coming with me one more time to our favorite place in the world.
Leaving a piece of you there in our own personal Heaven on Earth will be a comfort to me, knowing that you will be there always, just like you wanted. Oh and no worries, I’ll be joining you some day but in the meantime, don’t be a stranger.
Ok diary, signing off for now, I really should be writing other stuff. And Muse o’mine? Don’t be so hard on me, I promise I’ll make it up to you.
There’s a burst of inspiration on my horizon. Cape May always has that affect on me, and today I booked my favorite room at my favorite place in the world, The Victorian, just a stone’s throw from the beach. Truth is, it feels like home there, the owners make you feel like Family, it has the best view you could wish for, and, well, it’s magical.
I may have been MIA for awhile my dearest diary, but baby, I am (almost) back.
For the first time in a long time, I feel something I thought was gone forever; hope.
cape may sunrise


et cetera