About hibernationnow.wordpress.com

Hibernationnow belongs to a woman who loves adopting dogs from shelters, pizza with grape jelly and her family. She has Fibromyalgia and Hashimoto's Thyroditis and she writes about that as well as writing about Food, Pop Cop, (Celebrities,) Feelings, and every day Life. She is warm, honest and laughs at her own jokes. She is very honest and sometimes too much so, which still at her ripe old age, gets her in trouble with her mom. She worries too much, but hey, it's genetic. She loves Life, hates cold winters, dreams about living near the ocean, sand and seashells. A perfect life.

Haiku Horizons. Play

 

Recoil hot fetus

time to play later, you’re ill

close tiny slits, sleep.

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Play life’s chances, free
ask questions, be bold, stunning
Roar, grin, like tiger.

 

Take Your Hands Off MY Cadbury Chocolate Now !

Stand back. Really. I want my Cadbury chocolate imported from England, the original kind, with milk as the first ingredient not some knock off American kind where the first ingredient listed is sugar.

Maybe it was just a dream. A nightmare that I conjured up during a sweaty night’s sleep because that would be okay, in fact, I would prefer that.  Because I thought I heard people talking about Hershey’s chocolate company,  NOT ALLOWING CADBURY chocolate, from England to cross the waters and enter the United States as it has done for many years. Tell me you are kidding me, Please.

Cadbury's Mini Eggs

Why would you do that. That’s not very good for international relations and I believe we need all the help we can get now. Please consider this because Cadbury in my family and many other families I know, reigns supreme and Easter is approaching quickly. Do you not hear the urgency in my voice when I say “Cadbury Eggs?”

Cadbury Creme Egg

Or those little bite size crunchy kernels of sugar-coated little nuggets which I buy for my children (okay and for myself) every single year?

Hey Hershey’s, what’s up? Are you trying to alienate the world? I, personally will boycott Hershey’s Chocolate if i have to give up on Cadbury chocolate which, I’m sorry, is a superior brand. Face it, it is.

Luckily, my son has friends in the right places, so he will help me collect Cadbury bars and see if we can have at least a tiny supply to ward off our anxiety and sweeten our already disappointed dispositions.

Do NOT toy with our emotional feelings about CHOCOLATE, don’t even think about it.

Let’s see, on one hand you see the colorful, lively representation of Cadbury chocolate, rich, smooth, appealing, milky sweetness. Next, compare it to the American version, whose first ingredient is sugar, not milk, wrapped in a dark, brown wrapper. You choose…
I dare say, President Obama, that during your last days as  Office of the President of the United States, please do something meaningful for our people. Do not deny them the wonderful, silky flavor of a chocolate made from a different country. We need all the help we can get. It’s called diplomacy.
“We the people…beg…to have Cadbury chocolate…without interruption… in our lives, mouths, stomachs….before this Easter. May God Bless.”
Thank you so much for listening. A letter, reassuring me, would be greatly appreciated. A few coupons would be delightful too. God Bless Our Nation, Their Nation too.

 

The Death Of A Living Corpse

Sharp, twisted, gnarled fingers pointing up from their grave like skeletons

 

buried alive. They point from empty sockets glaringly without eye balls, clang and make a hollow. rattling noise. As if they were not here in the cemetery but above from the crumbling yellow ceiling.

They want to attack me, anything of me, worming their way into my brain and every patch of skin. This is how you make me feel, you get to me like no one else. You always had that capacity you just covered it up with charm. But not from me, fire ants slip under my skin, itching, burning, scattering.

The throngs of white rodents biting wire, wood, any material to get free, gnawing every which way to go even deeper under the once soft layers of my skin.

All of a sudden you have turned on me, licking your lips. I am the one who is hateful, crazy, contradictory? You are telling ME that? My fingers and toes are burning with fire, a fire that has gotten out of hand. It has spread to every limb, every DNA molecule.

I see from afar my hair is in red-orange flames. No, I didn’t put myself on fire playing with matches, this is arson; a talent you have always had without a shadow of a doubt. You play with fire often, I used to blow out the evidence for you but not anymore.Never again.

I am no longer the one who will protect you when you are lit up like a Christmas tree,

English: A Christmas Tree at Home

lights wrapped around your head. At those times you were so kind to me, warm, streaking through the streets, waiting for your get-away car. But, only then.

I will not help you anymore,  I took care of you all my life, I had no teenage years, went straight from childhood to adulthood without even a whisper of gratitude, just attitude.

Leave me alone now. Don’t talk to me in your premeditated voice that has struck other people  before. Of course I am not innocent either, but mine is not planned like yours, wrong yes, but not premeditated. You are a poisonous snake that has struck again; one of your dear friends spent years in therapy because of you. I was loyal to you, defended you.You tossed her out of your life like she was the rotting garbage in the smelly city streets that had not just collected after a long brutal summer weekend.

You don’t think about anyone’s feelings, you blurt things out because the only feelings that matter to you are your own. Let others clean up your messes.You have no filter, no filter, no filter.

I will be polite, in front of others but I will not allow you to talk like that to me again. .You have gone too far. For years I have wanted to get you out of my life, why live with such abuse and negativity and drama? But, you, persevered and I let you. Stupid me, I wanted peace.

You may be charming to others, outsiders. but you are not loveable. You have no interest in old friends? What are you hiding? People have asked me what was behind that and I gave no explanation but it is odd. Sectioning off people like little girls with their sweet smiling sections of hair.

This fire cannot be put out, you went too far. I will hurt nobody on purpose but again, that was on your agenda, not mine. I don’t care why, I care that I no longer stay in this imitation of a relationship with you.

Of course, I can play the game too, but not for you. Never for you. For the only person that matters.  I gave and gave to you and what did I get back? Nothing, nothing that wasn’t engineered for you. You were never my friend, but I never expected that. Friendships share trust.

I have nothing else to give you, you have built yourself a trap, it’s only time that will keep you from drowning in it. I will no longer rescue you from it.  It’s only a matter of time, I’m the keeper of secrets. I won’t say a single word.

Singing background vocals, every single time? But, then again, I expected nothing more. You were always mean-spirited, a dark shadow, why would I ever think you would be fair?

 

Haiku Horizons: Play

Bloody mud piles, play

dig your mean gut, soul, under

Won’t cry over you.

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Playful pup, mint grass
Going home with family
Kisses with trust, joy.

 ADOPT A SHELTER DOG IF YOU CAN, SO MANY WONDERFUL DOGS AVAILABLE
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 The play begins, hush
song notes are dancing like brides
tiptoe in white gowns.

 

Happy Yellow Friday, Roses

YellowRoses

Beautiful, Happy, Yellow Roses. At one time they brought me utter delight, at another they brought me despair and heartbreak. A different day, a different situation. Total miscommunication.

I choose just to look at the happiness of the stunning flowers. I accept, though it is hard, that some things just can’t be worked out or understood. No matter how much you want to be heard, some people will not hear you. That’s Life. You tried, move on. It’s complicated.

 

It’s Okay To Be Queer At The Academy

 

My name is Matthew, I’m standing in the Director’s office in the Academy waiting for my release papers. I always imagined that the sky from this room would be a baby blue but what little I can gleam through the shuttered blinds is not blue but a mixture of gray and white. Nothing is as you imagine it to be.

I’m 22 and there are things that should make sense to me now but they don’t. My parents, well, my dad, insisted I go to this Academy to “toughen me up”,  I don’t even know what that means but to him it means  “becoming straight.” As if. I am who I am, who I have always been but he won’t accept that, he thinks a therapist or a school could change me. I AM me.

My militant father refuses to accept all gay people, as if we have a choice. We were born this way! Hey, it’s a lot easier to be straight with prejudiced people like him than it is being gay.

Once, when I was younger, I challenged him about his narrow-minded views. He looked at me for one second and then pummeled me so badly I was black and blue for a week.  I looked so bad my mom called the school and said I was in a car accident. She tried to stand up for me but I said it was okay, I didn’t want him to hit her too.

My mother accepts me being gay and loves me for who I am. I have confided in her and while she worries that it is a hard life (and it is) she has accepted my choice and she loves me and supports me. My father is a mean bastard, when I first told him, he threw chairs around the room and would not let me even say the words out loud, ever. I tried to tell him that I was still his son but he viciously replied “I have no son, I have a faggot. You are not part of this family anymore.” How could he do that? I haven’t seen him since.

I love men, not women, is that such a crime? I wanted to go to college and be free but my dad forbid it. He sent me to this stupid Academy “to make a man out of me.”  I guess he thought the Academy would make me straight and I would start liking girls. I had the last laugh though, all the other guys were there for the same reason.Their parents sent them there to “toughen up” too. My father had no idea that most guys in the school were gay. I guess the joke was on him.

We call each other “queer” here in the Academy, it’s used as a term of endearment, I don’t understand how a parent can just stop loving a child, I really don’t but a lot of the guys here have had the same experience. I envy the men and women whose family love and support them no matter who they choose to love.

My mom has tried to talk to my dad many times about accepting me but he won’t budge. Fuck it, I guess I’m better off without him. I don’t need his lectures, his abuse and his screaming. All i ever wanted was his love. But, I knew, I always knew that I would never get that, ever. Yet, deep down, in a child-like way, I still hope that one day he will change and he will accept and love me for who I am. Yeah, I know, keep dreaming.

Dedicated to the LGBT community who do not feel loved by their families.

No photos due to Zemanta broken.

Haiku Horizons, Show

*

Scared, fetal show, curl

no support, worried, nerve wounds

The blame is off me.

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(How could I learn to jump if everyone told me I could not fly?)

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Show-off, smirk, liar

evil, petty, star, money

No heart, cold as ice.

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(What is the meaning of success to you?)

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Trying to leave you

Show me how, pink butterfly

So weak from drama.

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Life is not easy, both parties need to try, weakened by drama. Help each other out.

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* Zemanta photos are not in use this week

 

Loving Luka

F/NF words

What do I have to say here, that hasn’t been said before? It’s an ongoing battle, repetition begets boredom, boredom, depression. I’m weary from all our conversations that end up the same way, one of us hanging up on one another. I can’t do that anymore, I won’t.

I’m sitting in a coffee shop, near your apartment, trying to drink a cup of black coffee in a white mug, my hands shake, while the rain continues to flood the streets. I just think about trying to jump over the massive puddles but I don’t have any more energy in me to even try. When I was younger that was my favorite thing to do. Not now.

I feel paralyzed from pain, the pain you inflicted on me. Once, I used to be carefree, like a child, happy and silly and stomp in the puddles.  I am so ANGRY at you. In the past I cared too much and where did that get me? No where. So, instead of being disappointed like I have been in the past, I am turning into myself, safe guarding my heart and not showing it anymore, at least not to you.

Found this digging through the archives. Blurr...

I don’t WANT to care anymore, I’m past that point. I’m not lying, I have cared too much in the past, believe me, you know, I wasn’t always like this. People who have known me for years will reassure you that yes, I have changed but I have chosen that change. Why? Self protection. I’m tired of being bullied and pulled apart like a hungry street dog lunging at a piece of a steak.

You know who you are. You blame me but you never look inside yourself. You need ME? That’s not good enough. You don’t treat me well enough to be on your side. You accuse me of everything you do to me, did that ever occur to you?  I just handle it better. I don’t

need to whine and carry on the way you do, I’m an adult now.  Yes, I went through hell to get here but I survived, barely, but I survived and I am strong.

Don’t you see how your view is warped? I don’t live in the past, I do acknowledge it but deep inside YOU are the one who hasn’t moved past it. Why is it that your true emotions only come out when you were bare to the bones, out of your mind? You loved me then, you needed me then. Not since then with all your false bravado. Because if you did love me why would you be so mean to me all the time?

It’s not a big dark secret, it’s an illness. Like diabetes or cancer, get over yourself. I know you think the world revolves around you, you make it that way, you make it that way. Not everybody else does that.

I know you put yourself first, well, who doesn’t know that? You admit it with pride. ‘A great quality of yours, I’m sure you think.’ Me? You don’t care about me as much as you think. Because if you did you wouldn’t be a bully like you always have been and you still carry on the same way, even after all these years we’ve been together. You could work on a compromise instead of saying “Well, I  just can’t do it, I won’t do it. ” Maybe you can but you have never tried.

I was happy in the past to mediate to reach a solution we can both live by, I will not be influenced by your outbursts anymore. I will stay away. I don’t trust you since you have broken the rules of our relationship time and again and you know you have.  Deep inside you are a very troubled child. I can’t see our relationship continue on the way it has, not at my expense.

I need to put myself first, to care about me now. I hope one day you will be happy without making others unhappy.

 

Happy Yellow Friday # 12

 

Pure Beauty in Yellow. Princess Diana.

 

*A Blob In A Bed

As lightning strikes and cackles, silver pain against a mournful deep black sky, rockets flare rapidly from my brain to my chin.  Immediately, I recognize and rationalize the signs; I sigh wearily breathe slowly and finally admit that TMJ has come back to stay for the next few days or  a week. At least I love my two options for dinner, peanut butter and jelly or an American cheese sandwich and tomato soup:

 

 

I had a tiny, mild spasm when we had dinner but I was eating the mushiest of foods. A veggie burger that I had to scoop up with a spoon and I didn’t eat the top half of the bun. After that, a small portion of ice cream that I put in the microwave, I was sure I had paid the price for the pain already. Yeah, right. As if fairness counts in this world. I shake my head from side to side.

 

I didn’t “say AHHH” as if I was giving in to a strep test, my mouth was as wide as it could go comfortably (yes, dentists/doctors from all over say I have a child size mouth and face and hands and ring size.) I do remember the tip-toe beginning signs of TMJ and paid heed to them, with further occurrences, I forgot about it and went to sleep and slept well. When I woke up (or did it wake me up?) the first flash of agonizing pain ripped through my brain to my ear and down past my teeth into my wobbly neck.

There is no rhyme or reason for when this happens so I just resign myself to it happening every once in a while and search (I know, I know) for the mouth guard that I should have worn all along. My bad.

 

 

I can’t feel too sorry for myself because I’m the one to blame. I remember yesterday, even before the first pang, opening up the case and finding it empty. I did find it later on, of course, I’ll need to search for it again ( Fibromyalgia Fog) since I forgot where it I found it. I don’t lose things, I just misplace them ( repeatedly.) I look outside at the cold, crystallized window and I find a little comfort in the fact that I can nurse myself back to health today without (a lot of ) help from anyone. (PS I found it and have been wearing it.)

 

I slip back into bed with my five layers of blankets and heating pad, it is the second day and I am still in so much pain that I can’t even go down a flight of stairs to make my cherished mug of coffee. I hate asking for help but this morning I knock on my daughter’s door and ask her to help me. In a second, she goes downstairs to make me coffee and warms my heart. I am so grateful for her.

English: steaming hot mug of coffee

The coffee barely cheers me up which is unusual. I try to gulp it down quickly but the pain interrupts me. I’m doomed. I’m not allowed to use most pain medication because of my kidneys so I reach for one Tylenol, two.  I automatically click the heating pad that lives beside me on the beige carpet. Please help me soon….

 

I don’t know how other people can get motivated to get dressed and race out of the door when it is below freezing outside. I truly wonder. I don’t believe I was like this when I was young, but then again, I didn’t have Fibromyalgia or Hashimoto’s Thyroiditis.  Maybe I did have it all along but never knew?

 

My mother calls and she hears “the slight off pitch” of my voice.I can never fool her, my mother and my son are the only ones I can’t fool. She zeros in for the kill. “What’s the matter?” she inquires directly bypassing all courtesy. I answer truthfully yet less urgently “I just have a little TMJ thing going on, that’s all.” She sighs, she feels helpless, I totally understand. My 22-year-old son had the flu last week and I certainly felt the same way, “what can I do, do you want something to eat, tomato soup with mashed up crackers? no? NO?!)

Mothers love to mother and when we can’t or when our kids grow up, at first we don’t know what to do. Mothering is our job, one we always will love. Without it, we just feel a little lost. Many people, including myself, ask themselves the question “Who am I now” when our youngest child is in college.

I know the feeling. After my daughter’s two wisdom teeth were extracted during a summer holiday and the medication wore off, she got up and gently woke me up at 3 AM. She scowled and said through muddled cotton mouth “it hurts.” For me, as bad as I felt for her, I felt happy I could help her, I could mother her and make her feel better. I didn’t want her to have pain, I wanted to make any type of pain go away.

My daughter and son have left to go out, my husband will be home shortly. I will go down and make my own soft American cheese sandwich and drink some Yoo Hoo, I don’t want to bother my husband who has worked all day. I understand pain, I’ve lived with so many different forms (too numerous to list), I don’t need people near me, I have all of you.

Thanks, Facebook Friends for always being there for me.

*DON’T WORRY ABOUT ME, PLEASE.