Leaving On A Jet Plane…

Don’t know when I’ll be back again…

I fucking wish…

Seriously, if I could just change my name, change my hair, my style, hop on a plane to anywhere and leave to parts unknown to start life over right now, I most certainly would. I’m sure most of us have had those days, but I’ve been feeling like this for years. And the past month or so the feeling is so fucking overwhelming that I’m tempted to do just that… Just sell all my shit, change my name, my look and buy a one way ticket to the first place I see on the board at the airport. With my luck, it would be somewhere like Outer Mongolia… Okay, let’s tweak that idea and buy a one way ticket to the first place on the board where I can actually speak the fucking language, at least a little. That leaves me with limited places, folks, but I just can’t end up in a place where I have to pee really bad and can’t ask the locals where the fucking bathroom is… Honestly, that’s the first phrase you should learn in any language, “Where is the bathroom?” because you know you’re going to need it an use the hell out of it…

I’m currently cursing myself at the moment… I now have “Leaving On A Jet Plane” running through my head and it won’t get the fuck out of there. Ah well… It’ll go away eventually I suppose.

I’ve just been thinking a lot about the “What if…?” questions I’ve had over the years… I’m old, now, too old to worry myself with such questions for things I can’t change anyway. Unless I was Dr. Strange and had the time Infinity Stone… Then these questions would be relevant and worth worrying about, wouldn’t they?

I’ve just been thinking a lot about all the shit that’s gone on as of late with my mother and the sponge… It’s not that I don’t process things that are said or done right away and react, mind you. But the longer I think on them, the more I have time to analyze them. I know, I probably shouldn’t do that. I tend to over-analyze things. But sometimes that’s good, actually. I may flip shit over something and, after thinking it over, come to the realization that I shouldn’t have once I consider all points of view. Or maybe I don’t really react strongly because, hey, I’m just used to this shit, but when I think it over, I realize that this is a pattern of dysfunction that has been going on a long time and, perhaps, the reason it has been is because I’ve allowed it to.

That’s what’s been going on with me the past month or so, the last few weeks in particular. I’ve been thinking on all the things that have been happening, things that have been said… And I’ve spent a lot of time falling apart, I’m sorry to say. It’s as if suddenly everything I’ve been repressing has been spilling over and dribbling out.

I think my mother and the sponge need these labels…

What I’ve come to realize is that it’s not just the sponge who is toxic (although he definitely is). My mother is toxic, too…

I’ve been venting to a friend about all the things I’ve come to realize lately and ended up spewing out something I never expected to hear myself say. “How could she do this to me…?! I had hopes, dreams, aspirations… I wanted to be someone. It was my life! And she was so selfish that she denied me that chance so I could help her keep hold of the sponge?!” That was kind of a harsh epiphany to hear coming out of my own mouth…

I’ve actually tried speaking to my sister about my resentment over not being able to go to college and my feelings as to why I wasn’t able to go. She just casually tells me I need to learn to let go of these things. That’s easy for her to say… She didn’t experience the abuse from the sponge or my mother like I did. She was allowed to get the fuck out of that hell hole, that prison of dysfunction, go to college and go on to have one hell of a lucrative career and do something meaningful with her life. It doesn’t make her a good person; it just means her life has been fulfilling whereas mine was not.

And then there’s this complete lack of concern for me. It’s as if, now that she knows she no longer needs me to help care for her, she’s going to toss me to the side like trash. I stressed myself to the point that I had to go see my fucking cardiologist and she didn’t even ask how my appointment went. I had to bring it up to her. And the entire time she kept trying to change the subject, like she didn’t give a fuck… She rarely texts me or calls, now. In fact, the only time she texts me is to tell me how her doctor appointments went as if I’m supposed to give a shit when she doesn’t care about mine when they’re just as important. Just a few days ago, I had to call her to let her know something I thought she’d like to know and we were having a fairly decent conversation. But as soon as the sponge came upstairs from his man cave, she told me he had just come upstairs and she had to go… What in the happy ass fuck is going on with that?!

This was another thing I vented about to that friend… There’s something really wrong, here… I’m not an idiot; I know that’s how abusive, controlling relationships are. They isolate the person from their friends and loved ones and only allow them contact with those they deem acceptable (like that bull-dyke friend of hers who looked me up and down, silently judging me). And they do it because they know which people are the ones who will see what’s going on and potentially tell the person, “Hey, this isn’t how a relationship should be, it’s dangerous, you should run like hell.” Which is, again, probably why he’s always hated me. I may have been only 12, but I’ve always been very perceptive. I had his number pegged from the start.

Did you know there’s a national letter writing day?! Apparently…

And then I did something really fucking stupid…

My uncle (who is 30 years my senior, so yes, he’s up there) and I write letters to each other since he can no longer make such a long drive through so many states to visit (and I get lost in a paper bag and don’t do highways). It’s actually really nice… Letter writing is a lost art that we keep going on a regular basis. And it’s nice to go to the mailbox and find something besides bills and junk mail. I highly recommend it, actually.

But this last time… I was feeling all sorts of pent up shit and was in a foul mood and well… I might have said things I shouldn’t have. Like I might have said that everyone thinks the sponge is a nice man because that’s the persona he sends out, “Hey look at me, I’m a great fucking guy!” but he isn’t… And I might have then proceeded to tell him everything that has been going on, things that were said and done, things I found out… using language I know he doesn’t care for… After I wrote the letter, I wondered if I should have said all that. Not because I’m afraid he’ll tell my mother. I doubt he will as he’s told me some dirt on her that I didn’t know. What we discuss is between us. My uncle is a good man, the only example of a good one I’ve had in my life.

Despite there being no worries that he’ll tell my mother the things I said, I still wonder if I should have said them…

My uncle is a very wise man… Someone that intelligent and perceptive doesn’t get to reach the age of 78 and not pick up at least some wisdom along the way, am I right, dear readers? And I’m fearful the words of wisdom he’ll give me will be the same as the ones my sister gave me which is that I have to learn to let that shit go…

I’m not an idiot (at least I like to think I’m not)… I know that letting that shit go is what’s best for my mental health and overall health. But there are some issues with that. One issue is that I have no idea how the fuck to get rid of this much repressed rage, pain and trauma. It’s not just as easy as saying, “Okay, I’m just gonna forget about it, poof, done.” Jesus Christ, if it were that easy, I’d have done it a long time ago and would have been a much happier person all these years… But there’s another issue… It’s easy to tell me to let that shit go, but the one thing no one, not even therapists, have done for me over the years is tell me that it’s okay to have these feelings. How can I let this shit go unless someone really sees and understands what I’ve gone through and says, “Yes, I can understand why you feel this way and you’re justified in feeling this way.” I don’t know why but I need someone to validate my feelings and I’m fearful my uncle won’t.

This is the problem… It’s like if that validation doesn’t come from a source outside of myself, then my feelings aren’t valid, plain and simple.

I think at this point what I really need and deserve is an apology from my mother. Not just the admittance that she wasn’t always the best mother and made mistakes… No, I want the “I fucked up; I took your life, Jackie, the one you wanted to have more than anything in the world, the one you’ve wanted since you were 6 years old all because of my own selfish desires. And I’m so sorry I did that to you.” Not that it would help, but I’d like to hear it. And we all know that I won’t, so what’s the point of dwelling on it in the end?

Well…

I think today I’ll do the hippie-dippy thing… I need to meditate, relax, hopefully see things more clearly and maybe learn to let some of this shit go. It’s going to be hard, that’s for sure. But I need to do something. It’s not just my mental state that’s being effected anymore. It’s starting to effect my physical health as well and that’s something I just can’t have…

To cut ties with your entire family… Is that a good idea? Sometimes I wonder… It’s good to let go of toxic people, but your entire immediate family? I just don’t know… Thoughts on this, dear readers? I’d love to hear some…

Life, Learning And Love

Yesterday I was feeling very stressed and anxious about a lot of things, especially things that have been going badly lately. So I decided I was going to message my brother… Technically he’s not my brother or even my stepbrother as my mother never married the sponge, but we grew up together so we may as well be. Most of the time we didn’t get along, but now that we’re adults and he’s literally written off his father completely, we’re truly like brother and sister.

I told him what’s been happening lately… He was very sorry to hear what happened to my mother and when I told him how his father was behaving and treating both of us, his response was, “Mr. ___ is something else.” That’s when you know you have real disfunction. I at least call my father by his first name and I hate the asshat. But to use Mr.? That’s some disfunction… I don’t blame him; I saw how he was treated, watched him get beat up (literally) but was too young to do anything and had no clue what could be done.

Anyway, so I was just venting everything going on and he sent me this beautiful snippet of verse. Isn’t it beautiful? I feel lucky he’s my brother, not just because he also hates the sponge but because he’s there for me and knows how to pick me up.

And then there’s my bestie…

I know I’ve written about her before but I forget what name I used… Fuck it, let’s call her Laura. Anyway, she lives “across the pond” (and expression I’ve heard when talking about someone across the ocean) so she’s far away from me physically, but not in heart. I messaged her yesterday and asked if she had time for a call, so we talked for quite some time. She listened as I told her all the shit that went on, what’s still going on… She’d interject when there was the perfect opportunity to crack wise (like sponge getting fatter since going to the gym, “How the hell do you get fatter going to the gym?! It’s not supposed to work that way!”) and we’d laugh our asses off. I told her about my flipping out on the self checkout at CVS and it turns out she had a similar experience with a self checkout and buying a Red Bull. Apparently you need to be a certain age, which she’s definitely old enough, but the checkout didn’t think so. She got so pissed, she slammed the can down and it exploded, sending Red Bull flying everywhere as she was cursing at the machine! Turns out the employee that helped her approached her the same way the one approached me, like they were wondering if they should call the cops or the looney bin, hahahaa! We were both just having bad days those particular days, that’s all. We’re very much alike, Laura and I. And I don’t just mean because we flip out on self checkouts, hahahaa!

One thing Laura and I discussed yesterday was the fact that only one person every asked me how I was doing through all this. She had a similar issue when her mother fell ill and was dying. All anyone ever thinks to ask is how the ill person is, never how the family is holding up. But I remember I would always ask her, “How’s mom?” which she would tell me. My next question was, “How are you and dad doing?” which was usually followed by me advising them to go have a drink or a real dinner for once. They needed a break from the hospital setting.

I just think it’s odd… Friends that are supposed to be my best friends since I was 16, Anakin who’s been my friend since I was 6… none of them really asked much about how my mother was doing and didn’t ask about how I was holding up at all. My friend’s mother and my own mother were the only ones who asked how I was doing. Apparently mother’s worry about their kids no matter what’s going on with them, even though I told my mother to stop worrying about me. And the people who actually gave a shit enough to care were my brother (who asked me if I felt better at the end of our chat) and my friend Laura. I always feel better talking to them both. Especially Laura. We understand each other, make each other laugh and can always cheer each other up when we’re down or calm each other’s anxieties. My blood family won’t do that. So I know who my real family is.

But the shit show keeps on going…

Two days ago, I went to buy some mums at a small roadside flower place (I got a gorgeous one) and, since I was near my mother’s house, I asked if I could stop in after to borrow a sewing needle since I needed to fix one of Baxter’s favorite toys and I keep losing my needles… Anyway, a few yards before the turn off for her road, I suddenly became very dizzy, which freaked me out because, you know, I was driving. I did make it to her house, but I was still feeling off, so I came home and got something to eat. It didn’t feel like my normal “you skipped a meal and your blood sugar is low, idiot” type of dizziness, but I ate anyway. It didn’t help and I got worse. Plus I’d had two different episodes where I was woken from a nap because my heart was racing and the last time it was so fast I swear I was tachycardic. So I called my GP and got right in because she wanted to check my blood pressure. I asked her to check it lying down and sitting up. This had happened once before where I ran backward and it was higher when I was laying down and dropped when I was up and about. Well, the same shit happened. It was low to begin with, but it got lower when I sat up (slowly) and my heart rate was high and all over the place. So she did and EKG ad said there was a change from last time, something about a slight decrease in blood flow. She wanted me to follow up with my cardiologist (considering what just happened to my mother) and go for fasting blood work, which I’m doing Saturday. I’m sorry, I get up at 4:30 during the week and I can’t wait until 7. I get up later Saturday, so it’s easier to fast and wait when I get up later… I had them make the appointment because she wanted me in soon and I know those places. Had I called, it wouldn’t have been a week or two. It would have been months until I could get in. If my GP thought it was so important, I figured they better make the appointment. Personally, I didn’t think it was that imperative, but she did, so…

I saw the cardiologist yesterday who seemed highly annoyed with me, like I was wasting his time with anxiety attacks or something because I couldn’t tell him if the racing heart came on slow or quick. All I know is it woke me up from a dead sleep twice. And he was a little snippy when I kind of groaned at what his solutions were. “I’m just giving you the options, young lady…” Yeah, see, that’s just it, doc… I’m not that old! I shouldn’t have this much bullshit yet! However, going through early menopause could be a major contributing factor… In a few weeks it’ll be 15 years since my last visit from Aunt Flo. It’s like I’m young in my mind, my age (sort of) and spirit, but body wise I’m like a much older woman from that shit. I’m angry about that and don’t know who to be angry with. My sister has had no real issues, her life has been great. I’ve gotten dealt all the shit cards… Worse, I read in his notes that he made reference to my being bipolar and having anxiety and he’s unsure as to whether or not that may be the issue, here. Nice, doc, thanks… Now I sound like a hypochondriac, you asshole…

So the plan is, I have to wear an extended holter monitor (I guess like the one I wore last time) for 2-3 weeks! I hope they figure out a way for me to shower because I couldn’t shower with the 24 hour one… If that doesn’t work, then they’ll put something under my skin to monitor my heart. That’s why I was not thrilled with the options. He didn’t need to be a dick about it… But he actually was. What fucking ever.

“Create your own sunshine”, sounded pretty apropos…

After I was done there, I had to go get another bottle of shampoo. As I was walking into the store, I saw this guy with the waist of his pants literally hanging right under his ass, which gave me and the woman going in the store at the same time the chance to poke fun at his dumb ass. I needed that giggle so badly… Anyway, I bought this candle I spotted while I was in there. Not that I need more candles, god knows I don’t, but I found the saying cheerful, so I bought it anyway.

Surprisingly, my sister texted me last night to see how things went at the cardiologist’s office. I’m glad she gave a shit, sort of… I think she’s just worried that if I have an issue, maybe she should get checked as well. She should, she’s 53… But I hate texting her about shit like this. I’ll give her all the info I have, I even took screen shots of the notes in my online chart to show her, took a picture of my after visit summary so she’d know the plan and what my vitals were and all that. And then she won’t text back, like it’s not necessary. She got what she wanted, no need to tell me something I need to hear, right? Ugh… So I had to text her and ask her what all this meant, one thing in particular, which was what the fuck does incomplete right bundle branch block pattern mean?! She told me it doesn’t mean much. Yeah, that tells me a lot… So I told her he had said last year that I had a slight electrical issue, it sometimes takes the signal a bit longer to get from the top to the bottom of my heart. She said that was what that meant. Well then fucking tell me that! Jesus Christ… What a conversation…

My brother is right… I am carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders right now. But I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t…

There’s just been so much drama, so many stressful things going on in my life, so many things that were and are traumatic and some revelations that keep popping up lately… I just can’t seem to escape.

Last week, while talking with my mother, I brought up the me not being able to go to college thing and I said I felt I wasn’t allowed to go because I had to stay home and help her and the sponge pay bills. When she said “yeah”, that was like an admission to me. You’d think I’d feel better, having her finally admit that was why my sister got the chance at a life and I got fucked because of her own selfishness. But it felt really hollow, to be honest. It doesn’t change what happened, it doesn’t ease my resentment (which she knows I do resent them for that). I’m not sure it helped at all. I think it made things worse. Now I know that it was all due to the sponge and her selfish desire to keep his useless ass around. And I had to pay for it…

So I think I’m going to take this little bit of hippie dippy advice, here. I’m going to try and let go of the things that I know don’t matter to see if I can figure out the things that do. So far I’m off to a good start… I realized that family are the ones who support and love you, even if you’re not blood related. And blood relation doesn’t make you family. So I think I’ll spend time just pondering things in my life for a bit…

Free To Be Me!

Latest self portrait of a lopsided artist…

You know, for some reason I really hated my last self portrait and I don’t know why. There was just something off about it, I suppose… I had started a new one that I thought was looking promising (although the hair was making me go blind) but I got caught up on what the fuck I wanted to do with the sleeves exactly and what colors I wanted to use. Normally I would have never used blue because, aside from navy, I don’t wear blue because I hate that color. Still, it looks nice with orange (they’re opposites on the color wheel so they’re complimentary, so they say). I also went a little nuts with the jewelry and drew most of what I actually wear in greater detail. I think I really needed the art therapy after last week. So I put on my headphones, blasted out my eardrums and finished more than half of this in the span of two mornings. And when I say mornings, I mean I sat on my ass for at least 6 hours straight both days. I’m pleased with the results. I hope you are, too, dear readers!

I bought this on the day I finally cracked last week. Isn’t it pretty? Currently it’s hanging from the sway lamp in my dining room just to have it up. That may change… It was so pretty and really matched my decor (though I want to paint the walls) and it just called to me. It was pricey, but I deserved the pick me up.

So all weekend I was stressed, like to the point that all I did was literally work on my drawing and lay on the sofa like a lump and binge watch my Kagaku Ninja Tai Gatchaman DVDs. Okay, I do that other times, too, but when I’m super stressed, I tend to binge watch. I’ve been a fan since I saw the Americanized Battle of the Planets when I was 6, so it’s a comfort thing. Plus the subtitles are so messed up sometimes they’re good for a giggle. It helped to a degree, but I was still so stressed that my heart would suddenly start racing. That was scary and so not good… I also spent the weekend with no appetite and hardly ate for three days and, when I did, I felt like I was going to puke. It was bad…

I texted my niece over the weekend (she went to my mother’s yesterday) and asked if she would be able to help at all this week. I’m run down, my allergies are so bad I felt like I was getting really sick and have an uninspected car that I don’t have time to get done. She said she might, so I called my mother last night to find out when she needed me this week and she told me she didn’t… I thought that odd since my niece is going to college and she works so I know she doesn’t have that much time. Turns out that wasn’t it. My mother said she’s doing well. She can shower and care for herself now and anything she can’t do can wait until the sponge comes back from the gym. He was actually helping her this weekend (shocking). My sister said she’d be fine and my mother wants me to stay out of all the allergens.

Which is a good thing… Aside from me not needing to expose myself to allergens right now and feeling more like shit than I already do, now I’ll have time to get my car inspected. I’ve been taking the back roads to my mothers to avoid cops and getting busted with no inspection which, unfortunately, is where all the fucking goldenrod grows, on deserted backroads. I can also make some doctor appointments I’ve been putting off, like going to the podiatrist to get those three toenails he removed taken off again because they grew back (good god..) Not that I want to go through that shit again, but they grew back worse and they were bad enough in the first place that I had them removed. And I need to see the dermatologist because I think it’s important to get moles checked regularly, you know?

But the best part of all is I get to curl up with this guy and sleep!

This is Uut-Uut… Weird name, I know. A friend told me this story about how their sibling couldn’t say “elephant” when they were little and called them “uut-uuts”, so that’s how he got his name. Anyway, I bought Uut at the hospital gift shop the day before my mother’s surgery to help with my anxiety. He’s really soft and squishy and just cute as all fuck. He helped me through a lot of anxious moments through all this giant shit show, let me tell you… It may seem childish at my advanced age, but whatever helps ease my anxiety is a good thing. And there’s still a lot… I was enjoying spending time with my mother, helping her. The sponge, however, was a huge trigger. Then all the nurses and PTs and all the things I had to recall was like information overload. And my mother made out the living will I’d asked her to. I know she needed it so it’s her wishes that are met. But her having it upset me and I ended up sitting on the floor crying that night when I got home.

Please excuse the horrible state of what little I’m letting you see of my house in this picture… I haven’t exactly felt like cleaning much since ragweed season started as I’m also allergic to dust (joy) and then when all this started with my mother, I just didn’t have the energy or desire for it…

Anyway… I’m wanting to fill my house will everything cheerful and happy, damn it!

Sunflowers were never something I was very fond of until recent years for some reason. Lilacs have always been my favorite flower since I was really little… They’re my favorite color (purple) and I just love the smell of them. Plus they’re so pretty! Daisies are my runner up flower. Not the yellow ones, the white Shasta daisies. They smell like ass, but they’re such a happy, cheerful looking flower, aren’t they?

In recent years, I’ve found that sunflowers are also very cheerful looking flowers. They just seem rather happy and carefree. Not as much as daisies, but close. And with fall coming, it’s not exactly easy to find daisies unless you go to a florist and even then you may be shit out of luck. And lilacs… My bush out in the backyard blooms only once, for a week or two, usually in the beginning of May and that’s it. That’s why I cut as many as I can while I can and fill my while house. It smells wonderful in here, but my sinuses disagree… Fuck my sinuses… Sometimes I just need cheerful, pretty things to brighten up the gloom. Last time it was Day Lilies. They seem to grow wild, here, so I can just stop on the side of the road and pick as many as I like. Sometimes I’ll even pick honeysuckle. There was some near our house when I was growing up and I loved having my window open at night and the sweet smell drifting in on the night air… So yes, flowers are a big pick me up.

My baby, all shined up and pretty again!

During this whole shit show last week, I did take time to do something I’ve been desperate to do for a while… And since the place where I was going for my guitar lessons is literally two minutes down the road from my mother’s house, I decided to do it.

I finally got Constantine some new strings!

Look how pretty! Seriously, look! He’s all shined up, looking all beautiful like the day I first got him… You have no idea how satisfying that was to see him looking so perfect! I was actually afraid to touch him, hahahaa! I’m not kidding, I really was! I was afraid to touch him when I first got him, too. He was so pristine and expensive… But, over time and when I began taking lessons. I became more comfortable with him. Then they dolled him up and I got that feeling again of, “Oh my god, he’s too perfect to touch!” But after that first strum, I was in my glory. He sounded so lovely!

Which is a damn sight better than he had been sounding… I had the same strings on (cheap ass that I am) for about 9 months! The thickest string was starting to sound like I was twanging a rubber band, some of them refused to stay in tune even after I just finished tuning them (that was extremely annoying) and the others sounded as if they were made from a rusty tin can. So I gave in and got him restrung. Funny… I had my options of the higher quality ones or the less costly Martin strings. I looked at the guy in horror… Like I’d put Martin strings on a D’Angelico!

I actually worked for Martin Guitar years ago… It was neat helping make guitars, but boring work you didn’t need a brain for (which was good because we didn’t wear respirators and certain chemicals could cause brain damage, go figure). And there’s a funny tale with this… The one day I was visiting my mother in the hospital, a woman got in the elevator with me and she was carrying a Martin guitar. I made mention of it and she proudly said it was the only kind she’d have. She didn’t seem too proud anymore when I told her I had a D’Angelico, hahahaa! Turns out her husband works there, which is why she has a Martin. Employees get discounts… I could have bought one myself, but I didn’t actually care for them. I’m glad I waited. Now I have Constantine and I can be proud of him.

And so, dear readers… I guess it’s time to wrap things up.

“Do what makes your soul happy”… Yes, I think that’s good advice for me to follow today, advice I’m going to take. Although I’m not quite sure what it is I’m going to do or what will make my soul happy today. I’m one of those people who just like to wing it and make it up as I go along.

My drawing is done, so I don’t have that to occupy me… I did score two commissions for some minor things, but after working so hard on my last drawing, my poor eyeballs need a rest.

Maybe I’ll paint a landscape or work on one of the stories I’m writing. Maybe I’ll get a mask out in a desperate attempt to keep out the dust and clean my house today. Maybe I’ll play my piano or my guitar. Maybe I’ll lay here like a lump and binge watch more episodes of Gatchaman. Who knows what my day will bring? But you know what? It doesn’t matter… because my days are mine again and that makes me happy. No more sponge triggering me to the point where I feel like pushing his fat ass down the basement steps! I’m free!

And now maybe I can stop being this anxious, stressed out, crazy, whiny bitch I’ve been in my last few entries and go back to being Jackie Blue again. I was really missing the whole hippie-dippy vibe I had going, there. I need to get it back. And I will, dear readers. Just give me a little time and I promise I’ll be me again in no time!

Let’s Take A Trip, You And I…

Things have not been going very well for me…

My mother came home from the hospital Sunday and I’ve been running over there every day this week. My allergies are a hot mess (I pass goldenrod every day, a lot of it), I feel like I’m getting sick and I can’t tell if it’s just the usual ragweed season sinus infection I get every year, possibly COVID or just the metric fuck ton of stress I’ve been under. Maybe it’s all of the above…

All I know is that today I took the day off… I had laid down the law with my mother about sponge. I was absolutely not putting up with his mental, verbal and emotional abuse anymore. I’ve put up with that shit since I was 12 (I’m 48 and still putting up with it) and I couldn’t help her if he was going to be that way. Apparently she ripped him a new asshole because he was okay for the most part, which was good. I’ve been helping my mother do her chores, self care, been bombarded by all the info the visiting nurse and physical therapist have been spewing out, was there when the social worker came to help her fill out a living will… I’ve been so mentally, emotionally and physically exhausted that I come home, sit on the floor and cry. So when he flipped the fuck out on her and bit my head off because he wasn’t happy about how his doctor appointment went, I was ready to walk out right then. I’m just done… So today I’m taking time for me.

Sometimes the road seems so fucking long…

My life would be so much easier if I actually had some help taking care of her, too, but… Yeah, that’s not going to happen. And then the next thing you know, you’re flipping shit on the self checkout at CVS because it refuses to register that you put the item in the bag so you start repeatedly and rapidly slamming the item into the bag, yelling at the machine, “Can you fucking register it now?!” And then a nice employee comes to help you before you punch the screen because you’re obviously overly stressed the fuck out and have clearly lost your fucking mind…

So today is a me day, to do whatever I wish…

The thought has crossed my mind to get stoned off my ass, to be honest. And if my throat and lungs felt better, I probably would. But I don’t know that even smoking a bowl would help right now, it’s that bad…

Back in the day, when I was young and surprisingly not dumb, I took up smoking pot for a while. I knew what was wrong with me, but mental illness wasn’t something that people had (“Not my family member…”) because of the stigma surrounding it. So those of us suffering did what we had to do. I smoked dope and did whippets. Like a lot of whippets… Actually, I really enjoyed those… One of my crew, we called him Chicken, and I always heard and saw the same things while stoned. One night while doing whippets, I heard those weird helicopter sounds like you hear in the Pink Floyd song “On The Run” from the Dark Side Of The Moon album (that was fucked up) and when I mentioned it, he heard them as well. We also saw the same weird wavy lines on a TV while watching the movie Dark Side Of The Moon… I always found it amusing that Chicken and I always heard and saw the same weird shit when we were stoned… Shared psychosis!

Speaking of shared psychosis…

I was anxiously awaiting the release of the series Nine Perfect Strangers on Hulu (because the commercials looked really good) and I’ve been binge watching since. I even ordered the book after the second episode. So if you’ve been wanting to see it and haven’t yet, this is your spoiler warning.

On the surface, it seems like a basic and boring plot. Nine people go to an overpriced wellness retreat to better themselves and hopefully cure whatever mentally and physically ails them. But that’s just on the surface… Go in deeper and you find this isn’t exactly your “normal” wellness retreat. I actually didn’t think anything was too odd until the guests had to dig their own graves, were told to lie down in them and think about their lives, what they’d done with them, who would miss them, as the staff threw dirt on top of them. Yeah… see, I don’t get where that’s helpful to people who are feeling bad about themselves, which is when I started thinking that there’s something seriously wrong with this place and, if I were a guest there, I’d leave and ask for a refund because no one told me I’d be traumatized at the prospect of possibly being buried alive.

Inevitably, however, whatever it is that is being done for the guests seems to start helping as their backstories begin to start coming out at you in little dribbles. They all seem to be feeling better, but at a certain point, one of the guests realizes they’re acting out of character and asks if they’re being drugged to which she’s told they are.

What they’re doing at this retreat is called micro-dosing and it’s “perfectly safe”. Several times a day the guests are served smoothies with a small amount of psilocybin, the ingredient in magic mushrooms. As owner Masha claims, it can help with a wide variety of mental illnesses and can help you “eat better, sleep better, fuck better”… Okay, then.

Anyway, I found an interesting article you can read here that explains what the book and show got right and wrong about wellness retreats that offer psychedelics as a treatment. It was rather interesting… Actually, I had heard and read things before that had discussed the use of psychedelics when other treatments had failed for those suffering certain mental illnesses. In fact, there’s a YouTube video a gentleman made when he went into the jungles of South America to a tribe, I believe it was, that treated people with psychedelics and what he had said was that they essentially rebooted your brain like you would reboot a computer. He genuinely seemed to feel better after the experience, though I don’t think I’d go in the middle of the jungle to get it. However, if you’re looking to get said treatment in a more controlled environment, you’re out of luck if you live in the US. Such retreats aren’t legal here (the article does, however, tell you where they are legal) so you’ll be having to make a trip to another country if you’d like to try the benefits of illegal psychedelics in a controlled setting. Bummer, I know…

However, if given the chance, I think I’d try it. What have I got to lose at this point anyway, right? Not a whole helluva lot…

I have no idea what the fuck is going on here…

I’m just so fucking tired…

I think my best course of action right now is to curl up, put on a movie and pass the fuck out. I’m just completely exhausted.

The thing is, you never know what will effect you and in what what way it will effect you until it happens. Well, I found out the hard way that this is all a bit much for me.

It’s quite possible that I need one of those wellness retreats myself before I punch out self checkouts…

Anyone want to come along….?

How Are You Feeling, Friends?

I’m taking a note from my shrink… It sounds nice when I address you that way, doesn’t it?

It’s feels good when someone asks how you’re doing… I wouldn’t know. The only people I’ve spoken to lately have asked me the same questions: How’s your mom doing? Not that I’m not glad that they’re asking, mind you. I’m a little irked that a lot of these people, my so called “friends”, haven’t bothered with me at all until she had her surgery before texting me to ask how she was doing. Most of them I just gave technical answers to and left it at that.

The only person who was different was my “friend’s” mom, the one I kind of adopted back in high school. She’s such a sweet woman… She asked how my mom was doing then asked how I was doing, was I feeling better, holding it together better. That’s the thing. Everyone wants to know how my mom is, but no one asks, “Hey Jackie, how are you feeling? I know this has been really stressful on you and you’ve been anxious. Are you alright? Do you need to talk it out? Want to go out for coffee or lunch?” Nope… I’ve literally been fucking deserted by everyone. But it’s okay. I’m used to being on my own with whatever crisis I happen to be facing.

So, for any of you wondering… my mother’s surgery went well. They managed to do a triple bypass and the other vessel that’s blocked was too small to repair and they couldn’t bypass the blood flow, so they’ll manage that with medicine. She looks good, just tired and weak and a bit cranky.

I almost didn’t get to see her. Just as I had left and was barely down the street, I got a text asking where I was, they were taking her early. It was a crazy drive to get there in time and I had just missed her. The nice nurse on her floor (who tired to stall them) took me down to the surgical floor and I asked if I could see her, explaining why. Luckily I did get to spend time with hr before they took her back. I made some jokes so she’d know I was okay. Hey, if I didn’t fuck with her, she’d know I was all anxious and upset and that would do her no good… I was holding up good, even after they took her back for the surgery, but on the inside, I was like this picture, here. I went to get coffee (because I had a raging tension headache and needed coffee) and went out to the car for a smoke and texted my sister. She suggested I come spend the afternoon with her. She lives only 10 minutes from the hospital and she was getting text message updates from them during surgery. This is new… I didn’t know they did that. So I grabbed something to eat, more coffee and went over. It was nice for both of us. She was home alone and I think she was a bit anxious herself. Plus the constant updates, no matter how small (procedure continuing, patient doing well) were definitely something I needed to hear.

The OR nurse called about 2:30 to say she was fine, the surgeon was stitching her up and it would be another hour. I was standing next to my sister, anxiously awaiting the news… I’ll never forget the look on her face when she turned to me and smiled and gave me the thumbs up. I could breathe again! The surgeon called about an hour later and told us we could see her maybe around 4 o’clock. Well… until they got her settled, it was more like after 4:30… Seeing her in the ICU was hard and I know my sister thought maybe I shouldn’t, but my anxiety was still making my stomach churn. I had to see with my own eyes that she was fine. Time to suck it the fuck up, buttercup… It’s funny… My mother was really worried about how I was, my sister was worried about how I would be seeing her in the ICU and I was fine. When it came down to it, my brain just said, “fucking deal with it, you have to” and it did.

Maybe I’m a lot stronger than I look and feel…

Her asshole boyfriend didn’t come see her at all that day, not even before they took her in for surgery when she was still in her room. He doesn’t like hospitals and blames it on Vietnam (of which I heard he wasn’t actually there). Still, if you really love her, you fucking sponge, you suck it the fuck up and you deal with it. I spent a week and a half feeling like I was going to puke from anxiety, dealing with family drama shit and generally losing my shit every moment of every day. But guess what… I promised I would see her before she went in and would be there when she woke up and I was… Even my sister didn’t see her until afterwards. But I was there for her, even planning on camping out in the hospital the whole day. You know what the sponge did? He said he was going to go work out at the gym and then mow grass… Seriously?!? You’re supposed to love her and your fucking pussy ass goes to the gym and mows grass instead of at least going to see her before they took her down to the operating holding room?! What the actual fuck?!

So I went for a short visit yesterday (she’s still very tired) and sponge was there… He gave me this look that was pure attitude as soon as I walked in and several times had gotten snippy when he spoke to me. It was really irking my nerves… but I couldn’t say anything. I don’t know what the fuck he’s had against me since I was 12, but I’m not dealing with this mental, verbal and emotional abuse anymore. My mother told me yesterday she may be going home Monday… Aside from the fact that I think it’s too soon, sponge didn’t like when I was taking about getting printouts from the PT so I know what exercises she should do at what weeks in recovery and we’d do them together. He got really pissy with me. Um… excuse me, but I still have that text from my mother (I took a screenshot) that says you have no rights and you know it. She’s my mother and I’ll take care of her as I see fit. I was a nurse’s aid for years. I know what I’m doing. You’re a fucking useless piece of shit. I’ve been the one responsible for her even when I was too young to have to be responsible for taking care of her, getting her out of trouble he didn’t even know about. He steps on my toes and he and I are going to go rounds…

I’ve just had enough… His reign of tyranny has to end and it’s going to end right fucking now. I’m one of her daughters. It’s me and my sister who call the shots. He has nothing to say and I’m not going to let him bully me into shit…

And so I’m back to the anxious “I feel like I’m going to puke every second of every day” shit again. Thanks, sponge…

Did you ever feel like you just want to completely lose you fucking shit and orchestrate some mass destruction…? Yeah, that’s kind of how I feel right now… The destruction, of course, is going to be the sponge and the nice cushy lifestyle he’s been having all these 30+ years.

Dear readers, you may want to seriously start a Go Fund Me for my bail because I’m going to punch him in the fucking throat if he pisses me off…

Christ, all I want to do is what I’m supposed to do… Even after all the shit she’s put me through over the years, she’s still my mother. She needs me… I want to do the right thing; I want to help her recover and be like she was before (or close enough to it). But I can’t do that if people don’t let me do what I need to do! And, in a way, I feel sorry for her. I’ve always known he didn’t really love her, not like he should if at all. And if she doesn’t get better, he’s going to be to blame for it all. God help him if something bad happens to her because he wouldn’t let me take care of her and he didn’t do it because no one else will…

I know I certainly won’t… And he has no one else left that will either…

I Think I Need Supervision…

Such an old self portrait, but still a favorite…

Quite a few entries ago (the one I simply titled What…?), I had touch upon the idea of having different parts of your personality without having multiple personalities per se. Also that I just name those parts of my personality to make it easier to let people know how I’m feeling.

I’ve been in Kiki mode…

If you haven’t read that entry, Kiki was my nickname in high school, back when I was dark, depressed and filled with this barely controlled rage. Sometimes I missed her… She got things done because she didn’t give a flying figgin’ ass fuck what she said or did. Oh, I’d see her now and again, not as raging as she once was, but she would pop up when she needed to.

Unfortunately, since I had my bar session at the hippie dippy store, which was the day my mother finally gave in and said she would go the the emergency room (always a good idea when you highly suspect you had a heart attack four days prior), it’s like I’ve been stuck in Kiki mode ever since. Literally! I’m raging out pretty much constantly and I’m not sure that I should be speaking to anyone without some sort of supervision, to be honest. Things are a lot more dangerous now than they were when I was in high school, so raging out might have bad consequences. Plus the other parts of my personality aren’t exactly happy that I’m stuck in Kiki mode at the moment. They know the horrible things she says and does… They don’t like it.

I just had to crop out my favorite muse from my “Modern Day Muses” drawing… Melpomene seemed to be everyone’s favorite out of them all and, right now, I’m sure yo can see why… Poor thing is a neurotic mess…

I actually contacted my shrink last week because my rage, stress and anxiety were just so out of control. It was a Friday and, unfortunately, he’s not in on Fridays. I think it’s his wife that answered… She was very sweet to me. But she kept asking if I thought I needed to go to the hospital. Um… no. Been there, done that, never again. Listen, if I’m going in there because my anxiety, stress and depression are just all over the place and I’m looking to go back on meds, don’t treat me like a toddler in prison. I’m pretty sure it’s safe for me to use a plastic fucking pen to do crosswords. All we were allowed were those little golf pencils (yeah, because I couldn’t take out someone’s jugular with that, right?). No stuffed animals, not even ones that were just store bought, which I was really pissed about, because they once had bed bugs (not my problem) and no music players, although one girl refused to come out of her room until she got hers. Yeah, that’s fair to the rest of us… And we had our own Nurse Ratchet. No, I don’t want to go into the hospital… I told her what was going on, it was just situational. So she was going to call the doctor to page me.

I love my doctor… He’s Indian (from India, not Native American) and when I answered the phone, he said, “Hello, my friend!” He says this when I go see him, too. “What’s going on, friend?” “How are you feeling, friend?” Not that he doesn’t know my name because he does. But I think he does it to sound friendly, which makes me feel super good most of the time. Or maybe it’s because he used to work with my sister (I found out after I started seeing him) and that’s why he says it. I’m not sure.

Anyway, he did sound genuinely concerned as to what was going on because I was crying at the time, so I told him what was going on with my mother. Thankfully he didn’t suggest going to the hospital (I think we discussed me never wanting to go in there again in one appointment) but he didn’t seem to want to give me any kind of extra meds just to get me through the roughest part of this. I suppose I can’t blame him. I was actually getting a lot better until several months ago when I was having trouble sleeping again and was having more anxiety. He asked if I had a therapist and I told him I had, but I couldn’t go during COVID and when things were opening back up, I called and he never got back to me, so I think he’s not seeing me anymore. His suggestion was to call a therapist… I can’t blame him for not getting more in-depth. He called me from his dentist appointment…

But a therapist… First of all, I couldn’t get into one fast enough, Second… I’ve been seeing therapists since I was 17. So, what, 31 years off and on? I’ve seen some for short periods because I just didn’t mesh with them (especially the guy who just kept asking me questions, “Why do you think you feel that way?” when if I fucking knew, I wouldn’t be there having to pay his dumb ass) and some I saw for years but I reached the point where I felt they helped me all they could. Still… over 30 years of therapy and no one has been able to get to the root of my issues. Why am I still paying these idiots?! Honestly, I’m just fucking done with therapy. I’m not saying it didn’t help when I was younger because it did, to a point. And it helped me through a lot of shit. Yet I still never got to the root of a lot of things. I think there are things in there that I’ve got buried so deep that nothing is going to bring it the fuck out. The bar sessions seem to help more. Plus they’re cheaper. Sadly, insurance doesn’t cover hippie-dippy therapy…

However, there is one good thing that’s going to come of this raging out shit…

For the last several months, I’ve noticed my bank app will suddenly say that $200 was taken from my account. So I call the bank, they say they don’t see anything like that on their end and, when it comes to other questionable withdrawals, they tell me they can see it but can’t see who took it out. Um… you’re the fucking bank!!! You can so see that shit! That’s been irking me for some time, but now it’s war… Where I should have several hundred dollars left, it says I only have a dollar and change?! I know what I spent in those two days… Not only that, but now the bank has a new policy that they’re not giving you full access to checks you deposit right away because “some checks haven’t been clearing”. What the actual fuck?! I was also given counterfeit $100 bills once (luckily I knew someone high up at Target and didn’t get arrested), immediately went to the bank, told them what was going on, showed them how the paper literally crumbled in my hand and they swore their machine said they were fine. My ass… So today I get to go lose my shit… I’m in Kiki mode and this is when she shines brightest. And, if need be, I’ll flat out accuse the fuckers of embezzling money and I’ll call the Department of Justice from right there inside the god damn bank! I’m so sick of this shit…

I know… it’s a weird drawing. It’s like an anti-Valentine drawing. I was never keen on the holiday even if I did have a someone special…

Anyway… Tomorrow is my mom’s surgery. I suppose that’s why I chose this drawing. I actually went online to pull up one of those charts that you see in the doctor’s office that shows the drawings of the heart, the inner workings, all that fun shit, just to draw an anatomically correct heart. If I had balls, this drawing would have been a pain in them… I mean, I loved the results, but I cursed myself, wondering what I was thinking as I put in all the work.

I’m worried about tomorrow… You know, in all my years, I remember my mom having all of 3 surgeries, all minor. I’ve had 8 since I was 16 (if you count my wisdom teeth removal which was pretty bad, they were all bone impacted) and 6 of them were within the last 15 years. My mom has been pretty lucky with her health, honestly, Luckier than me! Hell, I had an ovary rupture… What are the odds? Literally, they are a million to one I was told… But this is a heart. The only thing scarier is if they were going into her brain… So right now I’m not feeling very good and I’m very unforgiving. So yeah, my trip to the bank today will be fun. You may want to start a Go Fund Me for my bail…

Honestly, I just can’t wait for this shit show to be over…

I feel like I’m losing my marbles, here, and I feel like I’m going through all this alone. I text my friends, they ignore me. One didn’t get back to me until last night, apologizing for not getting back to me sooner. Dude, it was a week… Two other friends still haven’t responded and it’s been over a week. I know, I’m like everyone’s rock. You’re falling apart, you need a friend to lean on for support, I’m your girl. I become the level-headed, take charge person. But, now that I need support and a level head to take charge, I feel like everyone has deserted me. I’m going through this all alone and it’s no fucking fun… I guess they all think the rock doesn’t need a rock on rare occasions. Or they simply don’t care. I don’t know…

You’ll notice I’ve used my art today… really old art. Honestly, I miss Manga Studios and Paint Tool SAI, but the latter isn’t compatible with Mac and Manga Studios isn’t what it used to be and I can’t install it on my Mac because Apple is stupid and doesn’t put in CD-ROM drives for their laptops. Heaven forbid! You wouldn’t be able to make that extra money by selling it separately!

Yeah, I don’t know… I’m just feeling very much the bitch… I’m just going to finish my coffee, get dressed, go lose my shit at the bank then go see my mom…

I’ll See You On The Dark Side Of The Moon…

“For long you live and high you fly, The smiles you give and tears you cry, And all you touch and all you see is all your life will ever be…”

How depressing!

Yeah, Pink Floyd’s Dark Side Of The Moon album doesn’t have the most cheerful lyrics, does it? “Speak To Me/Breathe” quite possibly has the worst… But, for some odd reason, this has been my go-to “chill the fuck out” album for decades. Probably because it’s very mellow sounding in general. Well… “Money” sounds more upbeat. But my personal favorite is “Us And Them“… I’ll put that song on repeat and just listen to it until I chill the fuck out and feel like a normal human being again. I’m not sure why. There’s just something about that discordant plunk, that odd key change that’s just there, just right there during the verses, that really chills my ass out. And so when I was feeling stressed, I would put the album on, headphones over my ears, lay down, close my eyes and just be… I haven’t done that in a very long time, but I’m happy to report that it still works.

I’ve been listening to this album for about a week now… I’ve been so fucking stressed out that I feel like I’m losing it. I’m either literally weeping uncontrollably or I’m blowing like Krakatoa over the smallest thing. It’s like there’s no in-between. I’ve also found that the filter between my brain and mouth hasn’t just malfunctioned; it’s literally gone missing. The other day I was saying horrible things about people in the grocery store and had no clue why and wouldn’t realize until minutes later…

I just need to remember to breathe… That’s not exactly easy to do right now…

My life has turned into the seventh circle of Hell, quite literally. On one hand I’ve got my sister who is really pissing my mother off, sitting there and silently judging her for making the stupid choice of not going to the hospital right away when she had the heart attack symptoms (“denial”; it’s more than just a river in Egypt) which my mother then takes those frustrations out on me. Then there’s the sponge boyfriend who was using me as his verbal punching bag in texts messages the day she went for her cardiac cath, telling me when I can come see my own mother. You’re not married; I don’t see a ring on her finger… She didn’t push you out her vajay-jay (though he acts like it sometimes). It just seems like everyone is making my life more and more difficult, then I’m the one being told by everyone to take it easy on the others. What the actual fuck?! So… no one needs to take it easy on Jackie, the one who is actually mentally ill, right?! Worse, I was so pissed at myself the other day… When my mother asked me to go grocery shopping for the sponge and cut up fruit that was already cut (the chunks were too big), wash a bag of cherries for him and do a load of wash because he’s apparently that fucking inept… I actually did the shit for the son-of-a-bitch! I’m still pissed at myself for that! However, I was condescending… I was writing step by step instructions as I was doing the laundry then tacked them to the front of the washer with magnets. Any fucking idiot could follow them, including him. He just needs to get off his fat lazy ass and do this shit!

You know you’re losing it when someone who cares about you sends you some happy flowers with a note telling you to feel better soon because you’re stressing so bad you’re making yourself physically sick…

And so it begins already… My sister shows no interest in helping out with my mom if it doesn’t relate to her showing off her medical expertise, so it’s all coming to rest on my shoulders. And I’m not just caring for her. Nope, I have to care for the sponge because she’s waited on him hand and foot so many years (since I was 12) and he’s just so used to it. Joy… And it’s not like I can say no. I know my mother… There have been other times she was supposed to not do things because of her health and she did them anyway because the sponge wouldn’t do them. So I had to babysit her ass and do these things myself. I’m sure it will be no different now. She’ll get home and he’ll expect her to jump right back into routine even though she at least needs a triple, possibly a quadruple, bypass.

And she’s getting as bad. Today I just wanted to chill. But I get a text asking if I’m coming down. She needs to bathe and may need help. Doesn’t the hospital have nurse’s aids for that?! I realize I was one once, but that was over 20 years ago! I can’t move like I used to… And they pay people to do this shit! So it’s like I’ll be working and not getting paid… And I’m just getting too old to do these things anymore. Especially by myself…

But… she’s my mother so you know I’ll do them anyway, regardless as to whether they benefit the sponge or not.

Although there have been some good aspects to this. I have been texting her about some of the things that upset me and she flat out said the hospital said the sponge has no say in any of her medical matters (which I’m sure pissed him off, but why did you need the hospital to tell you that?) and that my sister and I get to make all the decisions. You know I took a screen shot of that, right? Next time he tries to take over, I’m not saying a work, I’m just showing him that screenshot…

The downside to my pompous sister having a say in things (besides the fact that the sponge and I are in agreement that neither of us like it) is that it’s just suspicious. She doesn’t bother with my mother, could give a shit less, unless she needs something or wants to show off her medical knowledge. Now… I did speak to my mother about making a will, choosing a power of attorney, all that, which the hospital is helping with. My sister is going to be pissed… There were only a few things I said I didn’t want her to have, 2 of which my mother already gave me. Wait until she finds out my mother is leaving me everything, to dole out as I see fit. Considering that my sister took everything when my grandmother and great aunt passed and threw out the old pump organ my grandmother left me without asking me, literally threw it out for trash, she’s getting nothing! Spiteful? Yes… And I don’t really give a fuck. She deserves it…

Amazon, I love your selection of items that are so apropos…

Anyway…

So my mother goes in for open heart surgery on Wednesday, just a few days from now. And I’m freaking the fuck out…

I know, they do them all the time, the death rate is only 1-2%, chance of complications like bleeding or infection is 25%, but still… Think about this! They’re going to take veins from my mother’s legs, cut into her heart, which is, you know, kind of important to have, put in the leg veins and create Frankenheart… It’s no wonder so many surgeons suffer from megalomania! They really do think they’re gods because they play god every fucking day! I don’t care what the odds of things are and I don’t want to hear percentages. What I want is for the surgeon to not be a pompous douche canoe and not treat my mother like she’s a statistic. She’s my mother… Treat her like a person or I will punch you in the dick and make you cry like the little bitch you are…

See, this is how stressed I’ve been. Shit like that has literally been just flying out of my mouth at inappropriate times to the wrong people or in front of the wrong people or just in general… I called my shrink yesterday, hoping for a little extra meds to get me through this. He wants me to call a therapist. Are you shitting me?! I’ve been going to therapy since I was 17 and it hasn’t done a fucking thing yet for me! No wonder my mother keeps asking me how I’m feeling. She’s probably worried I’ll end up getting arrested…

What I’m attempting, metaphorically, at the moment…

“For long you live and high you fly, But only if you ride the tide, And balance on the biggest wave and race towards and early grave…”

I think Pink Floyd best describes what I’m feeling right now… And that’s it.

Stress… it’s a killer. Literally…

M	T	W	T	F	S	S
		1	2	3	4	5
6	7	8	9	10	11	12
13	14	15	16	17	18	19
20	21	22	23	24	25	26
27	28	29	30