Singing Those Small Town Blues.

So, I seem to be on a bit of ¬†a lyric kick this week…[ in case you haven’t noticed from recent posts ūüôā ]



Today’s lyric pick is one¬†from the one-and-only, incredibly musically-inclined, (and so damn¬†gorgeous, to boot) emerging artist otherwise known as¬†SAM HUNT. I just love everything about his songs. The lyrics of which are absolute perfection. I can’t tell you how disappointed I was to have missed his performance at the CMAFest last month. But lesson learned : buy festival tickets early in advance next time. Anyhow, the¬†particular song that happens to be my muse for today’s post is called “Breakup In A Small Town”. With everything that’s been going on with the Bestie and her significant other these past couple of weeks–and my own not-so-pleasant past experiences–it seems fitting to share this track.



My favorite part of the song–the chorus :



I guess that’s just how it goes
When you break up in a small town
I see our friends and they put on a show
Like they don’t want me to know
So they give me the go-around

But there’s only so many streets, so many lights
I swear it’s like I can’t even leave my house
I should’ve known all along
You gotta move or move on
When you break up in a small town


As with every small town, there are both advantages and disadvantages to living in one. In spite of all the time growing up that I spent resenting my boring, ¬†Upstate New York little hometown, I’m grateful and glad that I grew up in a small town. There’s just something about the dynamic of a small town that will outshine and rival that of a city any day, in my book. The pace is slower, people are nicer and more aware of their fellow citizens/neighbors. And as hard as it is to believe, there’s actually a perk or two about everyone knowing everyone and everything. People look out for one another more…people care. And when push comes to shove–most of the time–they’ll have your back. It’s a comforting thing…knowing you’re not alone…having that figurative safety net.

But what goes up, must come down…and there’s two sides to everything. Small-town folks are fickle people. They’ll just as soon stab you in the back and turn on you as they will¬†come to your defense. ¬†It’s a double-sided sword…this whole “everyone knows¬†everyone” deal. When it’s good, it’s great. But when it’s not–well…then you best run and take cover–that’s all I’m saying. Breaking up in a small town can be just as ugly as one might probably imagine…and that’s putting it nicely. ¬†It sucks to¬†indefinite proportions. And it’s not fair–but that’s just how it goes. That’s life in a small town.

Distance is what typically heals a breakup. And let’s face it–in a small town–there’s no such thing. A breakup is difficult enough on its own, without having to run into or see him/her all the time, every day. Of course, the small-town gossip mill doesn’t help the situation any. People–oh how they love to talk and make up stories and spread rumors–usually with complete disregard for how their words might¬†effect the other person. Simply put, people don’t care. Not one bit. If it’s interesting and newsworthy, they’ll run with it–despite only having half the facts–if any–about it. Nobody thinks about or cares that their lies–big or small–can ruin a person’s life. Or destroy a person’s reputation, damaging it permanently. No one cares about the consequences of their actions, or the level of hurt and pain their words can bring. People are bullies…tearing down others in order to build themselves up, and to make themselves feel good about their miserable excuse for an existence. People don’t consider the person behind the lies and the rumors–or that he/she has the same feelings as anyone else.

I hate it, but I’ve seen it first-hand. I’ve seen how cruel people can be. How resentful and vindictive and destructive some can be. But I’ve seen it happen; I’ve felt it. I’ve been there. I know what it’s like to be afraid to leave your house or go out with friends for fear of who you might run into or see out. I know what’s it like to not want to feed into the rumors and the bullshit, even though it’s killing you to remain silent and you want so badly to stand up and defend yourself–but can’t because doing so will only make it worse. I know what it’s like to drive past a place that holds so many painful, lost memories to the extent that even the few good memories are overshadowed by the bad. All those places…the bar where it all began, the beautiful, grassy knoll where many a secret rendezvous took place, the alley where it all finally ended…all those places, permanently marred by all the pain.

I know what’s it like to be alone in a town full of people, to feel the betrayal of those you once considered a friend. I know what it’s like to carry the burden of guilt and shame everywhere you go. To hear the whispers, see the looks, and know there’s not a damn thing you can say to get them to listen to you, to hear your side of it–to hear the truth. I know how bad it feels and to be so desperate that you’d pretty much do anything to make it stop…to make them stop. I know what it’s like to be accused and found guilty of something you’re completely innocent of.

Most importantly,¬†I know what it’s like to be¬†driven and¬†run out of the place and town you once called home. To feel like you have no other choice but to go because there’s nothing left for you, and because you know you’ll never be happy there…you’ll never belong. I know what it’s like to want to turn back the clock, to make things right. But you can’t because what’s done is done and you can’t fix¬†damage that’s irreversible, no matter how hard you might try, and no matter how badly you might want to.

I know what it’s like to feel trapped. But on the upside, I also now know what it’s like to be free from it all–from everything and everyone that had a role–minor or otherwise–in¬†all¬†your misery. I’m not proud of the fact that I let certain people get the best of me, so much so that–at least in part–they ended up driving me 900 miles away. But I’m not sorry, either. It might have started out¬†with me running away from certain people and situations…but somewhere along the way these past 7 months…I changed direction. I no longer see my moving here to Nashville as me running away from something…but rather, I see it as me running towards something. My dreams, my goals, my future…and my own life that’s good. It may not seem like much–this freedom–but it’s enough. For now.



Some Friend-ly Advice.

So the Bestie called me earlier, on the verge of a little breakdown. Apparently she and the boyfriend got into an argument and he’d packed his bags and left. She filled me in on what went down and the argument and how, naturally, she was upset. She needed to vent, which is fine because that’s what friends are for. It always strikes me as funny though how something will happen with the guy in her life and she’ll call me up to get my opinion and to ask for my advice. It’s funny because, well…I don’t exactly have the best track record when it comes to relationships. I mean, there’s kind of a reason why my friend, Alan (who’s literally only known me now for just over six months by the way) is always telling me that he wants to write a screen play of my love life. I’m not kidding when I say that he doesn’t even know the half of it. And I know he’s just being funny and not at all trying to hurt or offend me…or anything¬†like that. In fact–to be perfectly honest–he’s kind of right. Some of the relationships and experiences I’ve had…they are pretty crazy and entertaining, I’ll admit. Granted, they kind of sucked at the time–boy, did they suck–but now I can look back and laugh and shake my head in comical disbelief right along with him. My love life…much like most other aspects of my life…has seen some pretty messy, crazy, and chaotic times. But in a way, I guess each of those experiences taught¬†me something.



In a weird way–and I’m not quite sure yet whether it’s a good thing or not–I’ve sort of become an expert on what NOT to do when it comes to relationships. So when the Bestie calls and asks for my advice…it’s pretty ironic. I mean, I’m more than happy to sit just there and listen to her vent and work through all the emotions and feelings she’s having. And don’t get me wrong, I’m really glad that she feels comfortable enough to pour her heart out to me…and maybe even a little flattered that she trusts my judgement and advice in these kind of situations…but still, it’s weird. I’ve pointed out to her dozens of times¬†over the years that I’m probably the last person she should be getting advice from in so far as it relates to love lives and guys…but she insists that I give great advice…and that I always somehow know exactly what to say. It’s one of those “agree to disagree” kind of things. Honestly, I think she gives me way too much credit. All I do really is just tell her how it is, or how I see particular things. It’s not really advice per se that I’m giving…more like observations. I think we all need someone like that in our lives…a¬†person that isn’t afraid to tell you how it is…someone who doesn’t sugarcoat the truth, even if hearing that truth stings or hurts. When it comes down to it, I think that’s ¬†exactly why she calls me–and not one of her other friends that she could probably just as easily vent about these things to–because (even if its just subconsciously) she knows I’m not going to sugarcoat anything or make her feel better by telling her what she wants to hear. I don’t do that. Rather, I practice what I preach…and I’ve always¬†resented those¬†people who skirt the truth by placating you because they don’t want to hurt you. Doing that doesn’t make you noble, at least not in my book. And in the long run, it doesn’t do anyone any good. I’m not saying that fudging the truth a little to make someone feel better makes you a horrible person or a bad friend…it doesn’t. It’s just my own personal preference. I’d rather that people (my friends especially) were upfront and honest with me. Even if it’s not what I want to hear. Even if it hurts.



I’ve always tried to follow that¬†whole “do unto others as you would have done to you” mantra. And so when the Bestie calls me up crying and asking for my advice, I try to be as understanding and as sympathetic as I can be. I mean, it’s not like I enjoy hearing or knowing that she’s hurting. It sucks. And I’m sure¬†it would be easier to just tell her what she wants to hear. I’m not going to lie–I’ve been tempted at times to tell her that one little white lie that I know would make her feel better than how she was feeling in that particular moment…and sometimes I have done that. But for the most part, I try my best to not to do that. Just as¬†relationships depend on and are built around¬†honesty and trust, the same goes for friendships. I think that’s one of the main reasons why the Bestie and I have managed to sustain this friendship all these years. I mean, we’ve been through some crazy sh** over the years. We’ve had our disagreements…times when we’ve hated one another and didn’t talk for days, sometimes even weeks…and some pretty intense fights that–for most people–would have been the breaking point that severed the friendship. I can’t tell you how many times over the years or how many people have commented and said that¬†they couldn’t believe how we were still friends after all the crazy things we did and the horrible things we have¬†said or done to each other. I even find it hard to believe at times, myself. But for whatever reason, the friendship has kept. The whole “honesty” thing might have something to do with it. Rather, I’m sure it does. To some degree, at least. And clearly, it works for us. And as they always say, you shouldn’t mess with a good thing. It’s true, you really shouldn’t.



So when she calls and asks my opinion, I give it to her. And it’s not always pretty or nice. I mean, I love the girl to death and she is one of my best friends–hell, she’s practically like a sister to me–but she’s not perfect. And she’s not always right, much to her dismay, I’m sure. But it is what it is. I’m not afraid to tell her when she’s wrong. Or that she was being ridiculous¬†and childish or–more often than not the case tends to be–that she’s overreacting and/or reading too much into things. She does that a lot. She’s got a temper and a stubborn streak a mile long–not so much unlike myself–and tends to get jealous/angry at even the most innocent and littlest of things, especially in where it relates to her relationships. I’ve lost track of the number of times over the years that she’s called me up crying/angry/upset because she happened to “find” what she considered a¬†“suspicious” text or picture on her boyfriend/the guy she happened to be seeing at the time’s phone¬†from some other girl and in the length of the time it took her to dial my number and for me to answer, had convinced herself that she was being cheated on or that “something” was going on behind her back. It’s so horrible, but I’ve always found those phone calls to be entertaining. For starters, there was the fact that it was her “snooping” that got her into the¬†particular dilemma/drama she was calling me about. I swear I’ve told the girl half a million times that if she doesn’t want to find out things she doesn’t want to know about, then she needs to stop going through people’s phones without their permission. It never fails with her. She snoops through the phone, finds something that is most likely (and usually turns out to be) innocent, and automatically jumps to the worst conclusion, taking things completely out of context. And for as long as I’ve known her, rarely…VERY rarely…has¬†that ever worked out well or ended well for her. She’s a little crazy–we all are where love is concerned though, in some way or another–and she doesn’t always think things through before she does or says them. But that’s just her.



Anyhow… (sorry, I got a little sidetracked there…) she was pretty upset when she called earlier. I couldn’t help but feel bad/sad for her…even a little¬†guilty. I mean, she’s got a lot going on right now and things between her and the boyfriend haven’t been the greatest lately, or so¬†I’ve gathered from what she’s said. I don’t know the whole story of what went down and I’m sure there’s a lot more to it than what she did share with me, but whatever it was, it was the final straw, so to speak. She doesn’t know what to do–if she should stay at the apartment or find something else…or if this whole fight between her and the boyfriend will blow over like all the others before this one have…or if it’s really over and he’s really not coming back. She’s a little broken¬†up about it–which is completely understandable. I mean they’ve been together almost three years now and–even though personally I think the guy’s a total douche and that she both deserves and could do better–she loves him. And I get that. I really do. But I also know how much it sucks to be the girl that will stand there and watch him go, and stand right there until he comes back–and he’ll always come back because he¬†knows you’ll never turn him away–while¬†secretly harboring the hope that it’ll be different this time…that he’ll stop treating you like you’re dispensable and worthless and instead, start treating and loving like you like he should…like you deserve. I’ve been there. I’ve been that girl. I’ve waited. Too long, I waited in the name of love. And it was all for nothing. It’s not the same as what the Bestie is going through right now, but the principle is the same. I just wish I could do more than just listen to her voice all her frustrations over the phone, but it’s really all I can do because I’m here and she’s there. In the past, whenever one of us had some kind of boy problem like this, we’d usually take off and go driving down some back roads somewhere with some sad Celine Dion songs blasting from the speakers that we’d be singing¬†off-key to, until we found a spot somewhere to pull over and we’d literally talk for hours. Way, way back in the day, we would have gone out to a bar or something¬†and drink until we forgot all about the boy problems…and even our names, sometimes. Distractions…we were so great at that. But things are different now. We live 900 miles away from one another. I did tell her she was more than welcome to come down here and get away from things for however long she needed to, but I’m pretty sure that’s never going to happen. As much good as probably would do her to get away from New York for a bit and that whole boyfriend situation…I don’t think she’d actually do it. Even if she could afford it, chances are her and the boyfriend will have made up by the time she got the time off from work…and she won’t leave him. I wish she’d see how unhealthy their relationship is…at least that’s how it looks to an outsider. I want so badly to tell her that. To tell her she doesn’t need him to be happy…and that she can love him and STILL chase her dreams. She’s always wanted to travel, to do things…and from what she’s told me, he doesn’t sound at all supportive of her dreams…just his own. And the fucked up part is that she knows it…but she still wants to be with him. And I’m literally between a rock and a hard place¬†because she’s my friend and I want her to be happy, but it’s not my place to tell her she needs to just end it with that self-serving douchebag. Even though I’ve been there…and I know his type all too well…and I have this feeling its not going to end well for her. Even though I know ALL of that, I can’t say anything because I know she has to come to that realization on her own, at her own pace. Just like I did. And its going to suck. Like really, really suck. And I hate that. But its inevitable and unavoidable. Maybe they’ll break up, maybe they won’t. For her sake, I just hope things work out the way she hopes they will. She could use¬†a little happiness in her life. Hell, we all could.



Speaking of break-ups, I was actually moving more of my stuff in earlier tonight, which included all my journals–all 14 of them–and coincidentally, while I¬†was flipping through the entries¬†of the one from a few years ago. One of the entries had this funny little list that I’d put together one night. I guess I was feeling a little wistful when I wrote it, or something. Anyhow, it was a little list describing what I penned “The 5 Stages of A Break-Up.” It’s stupid and ridiculous and clearly the product of my lame amusement one night, but I thought I’d share anyhow. Here it is…


The 5 Stages of A Break-Up…According to Messie.

5 stages of a breakup by messie


STAGE 1: The “CRY ME A RIVER” stage.

-This is the onset stage that pretty much immediately follows a break-up. Similar to¬†the denial stage when you’re grieving…because well, technically you have lost someone. Someone that maybe you liked or loved…or at the very least, someone you thought had the potential to be some kind of permanent fixture in your life. But, as it turns out, that potential was never real. It was just a figment of your imagination. Just part of some fantastical happily-ever-after you had been envisioning since you were 5 years old when¬†some guy named Walt Disney subliminally¬†brainwashed you into thinking that you were one day going to be a¬†princess in a really pretty dress that would¬†ride off into the sunset on the back of a beautiful white horse with some perfect guy named Prince Charming. This stage usually involves a lot of tears, several pints of double fudge chocolate ice cream, and a good number of boxes of Kleenex…hopefully the soft,¬†lightly-scented, lotion-infused kind. In this stage you can expect to spend a good majority of your waking hours lying in a bed of blankets, listening to sappy, sad songs with lyrics that somehow relate so perfectly to you, and feeling as though your life will never again be the same…and that you’ll never be happy again…that you’re going to be alone forever… This stage is basically a three or four-month long pity party with only person in attendance: YOU.




-This stage involves a lot of anger and resentment and cursing…lots and lots of cursing. Oh, and screaming. That’s right, screaming. It doesn’t always have to be the loud, wake up your neighbors and end up having the cops break¬†down your door because they think someone’s being murdered or something kind of screaming, necessarily. Believe it or not, there IS such a thing as silent screaming. You just open your mouth, twist your face into this grisly kind of expression that almost looks painful, and scream…silently. Granted, it’s not as effective as the first kind of screaming, and it’s not nearly quite as personally fulfilling…but it does the job. In this stage, some individuals may even choose to print out a picture of the aforementioned individual that fucked them over and engage in a cheap, cost-effective but not so security-deposit friendly, game of darts. But use caution and fair¬†judgement while engaging in this kind of activity for, as with many activities of this nature, it can be quite addictive.



Stage 3: The “FAKE IT ‘TIL YOU MAKE IT” stage.

-This is the stage where you lie. Pretty much. Basically, you pretend to be fine in conversation and/or the presence of family, friends, and perfect strangers just to make them feel better about the fact that your life is in shambles and to avoid those all-too-curious, fix-it types that like to pop up everywhere, and in the most inopportune of times. People are gullible. Remember that. Use it. Own it. And I can’t press this enough…lie. And if you’re not so good at lying, well, try this. Stand in front of a mirror for like 10 minutes or so every morning and repeat to yourself, “I’m fine. He’s a jerk and a loser and old as fuck and she can have him. I’m better off without him.” Remember that old mantra: practice makes perfect. The more you do this, the more routine it will become. Soon you’ll be saying the words in your sleep. Well, maybe not in your sleep, but yeah. Eventually you’ll start to believe it. And in time, you’ll realize it’s no longer even¬†a lie. That he is old as fuck. And that you are better off without him. Everyone knows there’s always a little truth behind every lie. Finding a happy medium between¬†the two–well, that’s a skill set that takes patience and time. So chin up, girl! You’ll get there. I promise.



Stage 4: The “It Takes A Village” stage.

-This is the stage where you crawl out from beneath¬†your fort of blankets, leave that curtains-drawn-misery-laden apartment you’ve been holed up in for months, stop feeling sorry for yourself…and actually–FINALLY–start living again. Invite your girlfriends over and veg out all night long with some nice red–or white, if you prefer–wine. Laugh along with them when they tell you all about how they saw him out with her and how ugly and fat he’s gotten. I mean really, really laugh…’til you’ve ¬†got tears running down your face and you’re spitting wine out of your nose…and you want to stop, but you can’t. And every time you get close to actually pulling it together, one of your friends makes some goofy face and the giggles start anew. And they can’t be contained and you realize that they’re all just a bunch of crazy fools–but¬†so are you because you wouldn’t trade them for anything in the world because they’re the best people you know and because they know just what to say to make you feel better. And when all the wine is gone and your ribs are aching because you laughed far too much and too hard and you’re just about to pass out because you’re drunk as hell…you smile. You smile because even though you know you’re going to feel like death and have the hangover from hell when morning comes, you don’t care. You don’t care because for one whole night, you finally felt like YOU again. And you feel good and happy and relaxed–and not just because your blood alcohol content is through the roof–but because you realize that you’re the luckiest girl in the world because you have friends like yours in your life.



Stage 5: The “Move The Fuck On” stage.

-This stage is pretty self-explanatory. Unfortunately, there’s no set time for when you’ll reach this stage. It’s different for everyone. So stop staring at the calendar and/or reading those damn self-help books with their supposed “healing” timelines. When the time¬†comes–and it will come!–trust me…you’ll know. You’ll know because weeks and months will have passed¬†by before you even realize that you hadn’t¬†once thought about him in all¬†of that time. You’ll actually forget the last time when you did. And you’ll hear his name and associate it with someone else you know with the same name. You’ll know because someone will bring¬†him up in casual conversation and you won’t even have¬†to pretend disinterest like you typically¬†would have had to in the past…because you really and truly AREN’T the least bit interested where he’s concerned. This is the stage where you box up the past and store all those memories of him in the teeny-tinny-ist,¬†most isolated corner of your memory¬†with all the other regrets and mistakes you’ve made in your life and never want to think about again. This is the stage where you forgive yourself for being so naive¬†and foolish and thank your lucky stars that it all worked out the way that¬†it was meant to…and you feel grateful beyond words that you’ll never have to see his face again. This is when you try again…when you pick yourself up, brush yourself off, and take that flying leap of faith…and you move the fuck on. This–yeah, this¬†is where the fun really starts… ¬† ūüôā





Ridiculous, right? I know. I out-amuse myself sometimes, I really, really do. ūüôā



Concussed, she is.

I can’t win. Seriously. Ever. It’s like the hits just keep on coming…and coming. Yeah. Today was NOT a good day. I’ve barely slept the past three days, thanks to the headache from HELL that I’ve had since the accident Monday night. As frustrating as it’s been, I’ve been trying to just be patient and just wait for it to go away on its own. I figured it was just a tension headache or something from the stress of all this accident aftermath. Annoying, but temporary. Until today. I woke up at like 6 am and my head was literally pounding. I got out of bed to get a water from the fridge to take a pain pill with…and didn’t make it two steps before everything started spinning and I was running into the bathroom to throw up. As if that wasn’t¬†bad enough, afterwards I was standing at the sink brushing my teeth and out of nowhere, blood just started gushing from my nose. Trust me, it wasn’t a pretty sight. After I’d finally gotten the blood stopped, I went back to bed to lay down again for a while. I woke up a few hours later and was sitting at the computer working on some photo edits for the film when I got another nosebleed. Naturally, I thought it seemed a bit strange–two nosebleeds within an hour–especially considering I only remember ever having maybe two or three nosebleeds in my entire life. Even so, I didn’t pay much mind to it…until I had a third one no more than an hour later, if that. That’s when I really started to worry and realized that something wasn’t right.


I was about to head out and drive back to the ER when the lawyer called. She asked me some questions about the accident and the insurance dealings I’ve had the past two days, and my injuries. She sounded like she might take on the case, which is a good thing. When I told her about the headaches and the nosebleeds, she cut me right off and told me to get right to ER…and call her back in the morning to discuss the next steps in this whole process.


So that’s what I did. I hung up with her and drove right to the hospital in Symrna–about 12 or so miles from here–that, according to reviews on the internet, had a really good Emergency Room. It’s associated with the hospital I went to in Nashville after the accident, so I didn’t think it mattered if I went to the one that was closer. Yeah…big mistake. I think I’d have been better off driving the additional 20 miles to the other hospital. It was that bad. I got there around 5 pm or so, I think, and waited about 30 mins to be triaged. Then about 20 minutes after that, a nurse came out and brought me back to have a CT scan. After the test, I went back out to the lobby to wait for a room to open up. That was at about 6 pm or so. Yeah. I literally didn’t back to a room until almost 9:30 pm. THREE¬†freaking hours I had to wait there, my head pounding and eyes hurting from the¬†hospital-fluorescent lighting. It was ridiculous. The staff claimed they were super busy and that they were just waiting for rooms to open up…and that’s why it was taking so long. Yeah…total bullshit. There were people that got there AFTER I did that weren’t at all emergent-patients (there was this one guy that had the flu and another was some teen¬†girl that sprained her finger in a car door and others…) that were brought back to rooms, treated, and discharged–like 2 hours before I even got called back. It was bullshit. And the reception/triage staff were being so rude and telling people to basically just suck it up and sit there and wait…that they’d get to them when they got to them…that they were busy and were treating people on an acuity basis. It probably wasn’t mature of me, but as I was leaving, I called out the male intake nurse on his bullshit lie that they were treating on an acuity basis…pointing out for his future reference that–while I’m not a medical professional–I’m pretty sure a concussion trumps a damn sprained pinky finger. Yep, I was pissed. And rightly so.


Post-Concussive Syndrome…that’s the official diagnosis, according to the doctor that finally came in to see me. I didn’t like him. From the second he walked in, he rubbed me the wrong way. He could tell that I was pissed off and annoyed to have had to wait for 4 hours out there just to be seen…and his attitude just added fuel to the fire. Especially when he started asking me about the nosebleeds and went off on this whole “well, you know people watch a lot of TV and movies and think that nosebleeds are associated with concussions…but technically aren’t” cocky spiel, which pissed me off. So I clarified for him that I never said the nosebleeds had anything to do with a concussion or the accident…just that I’d had three and that I NEVER had nosebleeds until now. Then he proceeded to give me this ridiculous demonstration on what you’re supposed to do when you get a nosebleed and the proper way to tilt your head and well…all that bullshit. Finally I was fed up and just came right out and asked him what the CT showed and what was causing the headaches, and what I had to do to make them go away. That’s when he started talking concussion. Apparently I hit my head pretty darn good in the accident. Lucky me. Anyhow, he wanted to give me some shot, but I opted for the pain pills because with the shot, I wouldn’t have been able to drive back to my apartment and I wasn’t going to ask my friends to come all the way out from Nashville to bring me home and I certainly wasn’t leaving my truck there and taking a taxi. So, I took the scripts.


When I got back home, I started reading up on this whole post-concussive syndrome thing and found that its defined as :

Postconcussion syndrome, also known as postconcussive syndrome or PCS, is a set of symptoms that may continue for weeks, months, or a year or more after a concussion ‚Äď a minor form of traumatic brain injury (TBI).


Wonderful. Fucking-A-Wonderful. Just what I need. Ugh, I swear, if there was a way for me to find that bastard who thought it would be cool to stop in the middle of the fucking interstate and cause a three-car-wreck and the drive off…I’d give him more than just some minor traumatic brain injury…believe me. Damn him. As if my life weren’t complicated enough…now I gotta deal with this? It’s messed up. And so not fair. I didn’t do anything to deserve this. I was just driving home…minding my business…not bothering no one. And now…I’ve got a concussed brain and an undefined time-frame of dealing with these headaches and whatever other symptoms that may decide to show up.


Just my luck.



Too Much Information.

Okay, so I know I’ve said it before, but this whole “being an adult” thing…yeah, it really REALLY sucks. You know, sometimes I wonder what it all was¬†that our parents and teachers and other adult figures were teaching us while we were growing up because from where I’m standing, I don’t feel like I was prepared for any of this. Hell, I actually looked forward to growing up, becoming an adult…having all this power and responsibility and being the one in control of my life–I couldn’t wait…and now–now I’d give anything to just turn back the clock and be a kid again. It was all so much easier then. It’s not the greatest metaphor, but this whole idea of “adulthood” is like when you’re a little kid and you still believe in Santa Claus and everything is shiny and magical. Until someone bursts your bubble and you find out it’s not true, and all of a sudden you feel like everything in your life has been a lie. And little by little, the world starts to lose little pieces of its shine and its magic. It’s a letdown to the highest degree. And it sucks. God, does it suck…


This whole car accident situation is just ridiculous…and seriously preying on my nerves. Today was insane. I lost count of how many people from the insurance company I spoke with, and then the appraiser guy came by to do the estimate on the damages…the result of which weren’t that great. Apparently the insurance company has a policy where if the damages exceed 75 percent of the total market price of the vehicle, it’s cheaper for them just to call it a total loss. That’s what they’ve done. Apparently there was more damage than I could tell when I looked at it. The back is mostly just cosmetic, which isn’t a big deal for me. In the front though, I guess the collision pushed the bumper back and some metal rod thing in there, which shifted the radiator or A/C condensor…or something (yeah, I have no clue when it comes to cars…literally none), which is gonna cost a pretty penny in parts and labor to repair, so it jacked up the damages cost. Anyhow, the report he sent me was like reading gibberish. I didn’t have a clue what any of it meant, so I just forwarded it to my mother and told her to decide what she wanted to do…seeing how technically the car’s in her name and its her insurance policy (because the guy that hit me, turns out–didn’t have insurance…yep), and she knows more about these things than I do.


Then there’s this whole personal injury claim. There’s two other people dealing with that part and were calling me nonstop today for information and whatnot. Honestly, I didn’t even/still don’t want to deal with it. I just wasn’t in the mood. My knee hurts like hell and I still have the headache from when I was in the ER the other night after the accident. I figured it was just from crying or stress or something and that it’d go away…but no. Not¬†even the high-dose Ibruprofen and Vicodin I’m taking for my knee has helped with it. It sucks. So, it looks like I’ll be heading back to the ER tomorrow or Thursday. Wonderful. Just what I need. Anyhow, the one guy handling the claim wanted to make a settlement offer right today…which I was smart enough to hold off on. Honestly, I told him to just call my mother and ask her what she wanted/thought I should do…but he wouldn’t. Apparently, even though the car’s in her name and she’s the policy holder on the insurance, I was the one driving and the one injured so they have to deal with me about it, so far as the personal injury portion goes. So I had to answer the questions and send all the forms and whatnot. I talked to my mother and father and even my sister and everyone pretty much ordered me to get in touch with a lawyer before I consider any kind of settlement offer…so to please them I called a firm up in New York and they’re supposed to be getting back in touch with me tomorrow with some answers to the questions I asked. Honestly, it’s all so annoying. I know it’s something I have to deal with, but I really don’t want to at the moment.


So yeah, that was my day. And I get the feeling it’s only getting started…and not in a good way… lucky me.



No Time For These Frustrations.

Today was one of those “frustrating as hell” kind of days. This whole move/apartment search thing with my friend Ryan has been nothing but headache upon headache. I’ve been looking for days, but finding a place has been absolutely impossible–especially from here. It doesn’t help that he has two dogs and doesn’t have a job lined up and is adamant against a full lease. We were supposed to meet and figure things out earlier in the week–which we did–but we got absolutely nowhere. Before I left he basically told me that he was going to leave the apartment search completely up to me because I “know the area better”…which isn’t exactly fair. I mean, yeah I know the area, but I don’t think it should just be up to me to do the hard part by finding a place. He’s going to be living in the place, too. Still, I tried. I called at least a dozen different places and¬†browsed nearly every site I could find for an apartment…and nothing. Today I just said to hell with it. I don’t need the frustration and that’s all this search is. And to be honest, I don’t have the time nor the patience to deal with it all right now. Time especially. I mean, I’m leaving in the morning. I have to be down in Nashville by Sunday for the film’s promotional shoot, whether we find a place or not. I can’t be wasting time waiting for something to figure out or stick around here until it does. I’m under contract, so I don’t have the luxury of time to wait for something to come up. And he’s just pissing off with his “whatever, we’ll find something” attitude. He seems to think it’s so easy to find a place and expects to get a job right away when he gets down there…which is jumping the gun a bit, if you ask me. He doesn’t know if that’ll happen. He just doesn’t.


Having said that, I discussed it with my family and the Bestie and ultimately came to the realization that it’s just not going to work–him and I getting a place. At least not right now. Everyone I talked to agreed that I need to stop worrying about him and just focus on me. And I can’t help but agree with them. I mean, they’re right. Right now, I can’t afford to screw around. I have school, work…commitments. So…that’s what I’m doing. I found a sublet¬†just outside of Nashville that works great for me and called the guy. He’s moving back to Florida, so I’m going to be taking over the rest of his lease. I’m getting the keys and can move in Monday. I haven’t told Ryan yet about it…I know he’s not going to be happy about it. Especially when¬†I backed out back in January when we’d planned on originally moving down. But in my defense, this time is different. It’s not about me backing out or changing my mind. I do want him to come down…it’s just all these issues in the way that are making it impossible right now.


Maybe it’s selfish, but this is my life…my career and my reputation on the line. I can’t screw that up. I love Ryan to death and all, but I’ve worked too hard to get this far just to throw it all away by twisting things to fit his needs and wants. I don’t need the stress, for that matter. I’ve got more than I can handle on my plate already. Hopefully when I break the news tomorrow he’ll understand that. Hopefully…

So yeah…time for some shuteye. Got a 14 hour drive ahead of me…


i believe.

We all have those moments when we feel hopeless…that everything that could go wrong, has…that there’s no hope in the darkness, no end in sight to the misery. We’ve felt the pain of a broken heart, rejection from that one unrequited love you wanted so badly to believe in, while¬†knowing somehow that it wasn’t meant to be–never would be–for it was doomed from the start. We’ve all felt the ecstasy that comes with falling…have seen how quickly it fades and turns instead to pain and heartache. We’ve all been betrayed, disappointed, and let down by the last person we expected would ever hurt us. We’ve all faced the struggle between right and wrong, the pull of temptation. We’ve all made mistakes–ones that have changed the course of our lives in ways that we never could have imagined. We’ve all faced evil, felt the callous sting of tragedy, lost someone we’ve loved. We have all faked a smile and spoken¬†that little white lie of “I’m fine”…though¬†we’re dying inside. We’ve picked ourselves up, brushed ourselves off, gathered just enough nerve and strength we needed to get through. We don’t have everything we want, but we make do. We persevere. We laugh, we cry, we love, we hate…we survive.


We’re human. We’re flawed and imperfect and vulnerable. We all have marks and scars. And all those mistakes we made–we have a ¬†choice. We don’t have to let them change us. We don’t have to let them define us. We just have to have faith that it’ll all make sense one day…that we’ll be okay…someday. We can have it all…if we just believe. We can have everything. If we believe…




**You can thank this little ditty for this brief, reflective post… song is called “I Believe” by Christina Perri**


I believe if I knew where I was going, I’d lose my way
I believe that the words that he told you are not your grave
I know that we are not the weight of all our memories
I believe in the things that I am afraid to say
Hold on, hold on


I believe in the lost possibilities you can see
And I believe that the darkness reminds us where light can be
I know that your heart is still beating, beating darling
I believe that you fell so you can land next to me


‚ÄėCause I have been where you are before
And I have felt the pain of losing who you are
And I have died so many times, but I am still alive


I believe that tomorrow is stronger than yesterday
And I believe that your head is the only thing in your way
I wish that you could see your scars are linked of beauty
I believe that today it’s okay to be not okay
Hold on, hold on

‚ÄėCause I have been where you are before
And I have felt the pain of losing who you are
And I have died so many times, but I am still alive

This is not the end of me, this is the beginning
(Hold on, hold on)
This is not the end of me, this is the beginning
Hold on, I am still alive
This is not the end of me, this is the beginning
This is not the end of me, this is the beginning

Happy New Year!

Happy New Year Y’all!! ¬†(Thought I’d get in the Nashie spirit, as I’ll be there in oh t-minus 8 days!! :)) ) Had a relatively normal, quiet New Year’s Eve in with my Avie J after visiting Emmie in the hospital. Poor thing had to have a PICC line put in today, which has already had to be retracted twice and she’s scheduled to go back in and have it re-done in the morning. Found out today that it IS pneumonia. They’re thinking she aspirated into her lungs and the bacteria caused the infection that caused the pneumonia. They gave my grams the option of keeping her in-hospital for the next 3-4 weeks or putting in a PICC line so she can go home and have the antibiotics administered there twice a day by my grams or my sister. They went with the latter option because it’ll allow Emma to get back to normal with school and everything…and she’s hating the hospital. She was so exhausted from the PICC procedure that she barely opened her eyes when I went there earlier to see her. Poor baby. I hate seeing her like that. She’s been through so much. I just wish she could catch a break.

Her mother showed up finally at the hospital…and stayed for not even two hours before she left to proceed with her New Year’s Eve plans. She’s such a heartless, selfish BITCH. I got so fed up that I ranted about the situation and HER specifically on my Facebook page in a very brash, very PUBLIC way. I don’t even care about the fallout. I really don’t. I’m so sick and tired of her fooling the rest of the world into thinking she’s this great mother who lives for her children when she’s a piece of sh** excuse for a parent. I mean, come on, her 9-year-old daughter is in the hospital with pneumonia so bad that she had to have a PICC line inserted in her body and her mother can’t even break her plans for the night to stay with her? It’s pathetic and sickening. And just plain wrong. And the world needs to know that. I have her blocked on my Facebook so I couldn’t tag her, but it’ll get back to her, one way or another…and then let’s see how she likes having her dirty little secret exposed. It’s past time someone called her out on it. I don’t care that it had to be me. After all, what’s she going to do to me? Bitch to my grams? My grams was warned ahead of time and she was all for it. And she can bitch and moan all she wants…but I’m leaving for Tennessee in 8 days…which means I won’t be around to have to hear it. Not that I’d give a damn if I were. She’s useless and she’s ridiculous. People like her disgust me, they really do. She doesn’t deserve to be a mother. At all.

Emmie in Golisano hospital with pneumonia 12.31.14


This was Emma when I visited her earlier. I don’t get it. I mean, how does anyone–a mother especially–leave her sick child like this in the hospital and go out clubbing and celebrating? How do they live with themselves? I’ll never understand it. Never. It isn’t right. Emma is a beautiful, amazing little girl and she deserves better. It’s unconscionable¬†and unforgivable.

I really don’t get it. I mean, I’m not their mother, but I’d still move heaven and earth or walk on fire for these kids. And they’re not even mine. I don’t understand people like her…people who bring innocent children in the world when it’s so obvious that holding the title of “parent” is a role¬†they clearly don’t want. If you don’t want the responsibility, then why have a child at all? There’s a reason for why I did what I did and chose not to be a parent…and it’s because I’m terrified. I really am. I’m deathly afraid that I might be like my mother and Emma’s mother and realize after the fact that I’m not mother material. I mean, I love kids. I love my nieces and nephews more than anything, but in a way, I think it’s easier to love them¬†because they aren’t actually mine. I know that I’d love my child…but it’s not that. It’s my fear that I’ll somehow screw up that child…and I don’t think I could ever live with myself if I did that. So, at least for now, I’m going to stick with what’s safe…for now. As for the future…well, we’ll see…

Anyhow, enough of the negativity…here’s to a brand new year, starting off fresh in Tennessee. Hopefully it’ll be a great one!

And here’s Avie J herself with a little shout-out that she recorded before passing out at 11. ūüôā

Happy New Year Everyone and Here’s To A (Hopefully) Great 2015!!!


A Little Pick-Me-Up


Ehhh, it’s just been one of those weeks. Things are just…how do I put it…absolutely-freaking-crazy. Classes have started and the work seems impossible. My family is at war with one another. I’m taking care of two sweet, but extremely needy small humans. My mother isn’t doing well with her chemo treatment at all…and she’s got surgery coming up in a month. I feel so out of touch with everything…life, my friends…literally everything. I haven’t seen the bestie in over a year…and I talked to her the other day, the first time in weeks. We say all the time that we should get together–and that we will–but like I said, it’s been over a year since we’ve actually hung out in person, so who knows with that. I feel like a horrible friend because I haven’t really put forth the effort to get together. It’s not that I don’t want to–it’s just that everything else keeps getting in the way and schedules keep conflicting and I don’t know, it’s all so complicated. I hate complicated. Like HATE it! With a passion. I just wish everything was simpler. That life was simpler. I wish I could go back to being 18. When the Bestie and I would drive around the back roads listening to our silly punk rock songs and singing off-key and bitching about guys and love and just life in general. God, it was so much easier back then. Way more than now.

I feel like I don’t have enough time…and at the same time, I feel like there’s too much of it. I know, it makes no sense. Welcome to my world!

I know it’s all going to go by so quickly. Before I know it, December will be here and I’ll be leaving for Nashville. I’m trying to stay positive about it all. To tell myself that this is a good thing–that it’ll be a good thing for me. I’m trying not to feel guilty for leaving…for wanting to…for feeling like I need to. But it’s hard. It’s really hard.

I’m afraid. I’m afraid my mom’s going to get sicker and I won’t be here to help. I’m afraid something is going to go wrong with one of the kids or my grams. I’m afraid everything’s going to go to hell in a hand basket, so to speak. I’m just…I’m terrified.

Yeah…not having the best of days. So…I thought I’d turn to music for a little pick-me-up. Here’s one of my fave bands–country of course!–the amazing Lady Antebellum, with “One Day You Will.” If only it were this easy…to believe that everything will be okay. But I guess it can’t hurt to try.



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