Introduction To A Nightmare

This semester is a bit of a mess. I’m trying to stay positive. My life is a bit of a mess. I’m trying to get enough sleep. My success level for both goals looks like a secretly angry Sandra with a fatigue headache.

The first assignment in my speech class was a two minute introduction. No points or grade came with the speech so most of my classmates prepared nothing and their speeches reflected their lack of prep. 

My speech took an hour to write and is pretty alright. I’m sharing it here with you because I can.

Hello, my name is Sandra in case you missed it last week or forgot. No big deal if you forgot, I’m not easily insulted or offended. You’d have to be racist, sexist, ageist, ableist, or a bigot to offend me.

Just for funzies and to kill two minutes because I couldn’t think of anything else to do, let’s do ten things you don’t know about me.

#1. I have ADHD. This is a bit of a hot button issue. I once spent half an hour debating whether or not ADHD was real with some random dude on Tinder. Some people don’t believe in science, and this may not be a popular opinion, but I think you can find more than a handful of those people on Tinder.

#2. My son has two cats. This is not actually a fact about me. This is just me taking the opportunity to tell the story about the time we went to pick up the second kitten and my son wanted to name the kitten John Henry Junior. John Henry is my son’s name. Basically, I did such an amazing job in naming another person that he can’t wait until he has actual human children of his own to bestow that amazing name upon. My son is nine so things could change his opinion before he actually has kids, plus if he has only girls then that’s life, you know.  I’m just letting you all know that I’m doing pretty good for myself all things considered.

#3. I don’t like to talk about myself. I overthink everything plus I do that socially inept thing where I either talk too much or not at all. I’d be a hermit if that was still a thing all the cool kids were doing.

#4. I love food. All food. All the food all the time. If you don’t like bacon or sushi then your opinions about food are meaningless to me. Same for cheesecake. I’m basically a bottomless pit where all the food goes but it’s still not enough because I’m always hungry or at the very least, I could eat.

#5. There is one exception to number four and it goes without saying but I’m saying it anyway because this is number 5. I don’t eat when I have the flu.

#6. I forgot to say what John Henry ended up naming the second cat. He named the cat EnderCat. My son plays Minecraft.

#7. I named the first cat. Her name is Hissy Rawr Kitten. Not to further brag, but I’m a little bit of all right at naming stuff.

#8. I worked at Mitsubishi for two years.

#9. I still haven’t put away my Christmas tree.

#10. I love taking naps. My favorite naps are the naps you take when you should be washing dishes or laundry or doing one of the things on your endless list of things to do before you’re allowed any amount of sleep.

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This I Believe

Last semester I wrote the following essay for a class assignment. It wasn’t an easy assignment for me. I want to share it with the people who inspired it but I can’t. Too shy. Fear of offending. Fear of disinterest. Sharing it here is as close as I can get for now. 

If you’ve never heard of the This I Believe essay series, do yourself a favor and google it. Get inspired.

This I Believe

The signs were everywhere. I started working part-time at Mitsubishi in the fall of 2013. I kept my full-time job for insurance, which meant I was working 70ish hours a week, six days a week. From the first week I was burnt out, exhausted, overwhelmed, and ready to give in/give up.

The signs were all over the plant. NEVER GIVE UP. Some were printed in bold on banners that hung from the walls and ceilings. Some were photocopied on paper, included with a crude rendering of a long beaked bird attempting to swallow an unwilling frog; the frog attempting to choke the bird while simultaneously being swallowed.

I saw those signs every Monday, Friday, and Saturday. I was tired and overworked. The job was hard. It was physically, mentally, and emotionally demanding. It was the hardest job I’d ever attempted and I only worked part-time. I couldn’t imagine how anyone could do the job five days a week when I could barely do it for three. I couldn’t imagine how anyone could do the job for decades when I hadn’t even been there a year.

The message on the signs repeated like a broken record in my brain. Never give up. NEVER GIVE UP. Never give up. People quit. Some stopped showing up. Some got other easier jobs for less work and less pay. Everyone knew how hard the job was. No one was ever surprised when a part-time worker quit.

After a year with the signs, I was hired on full-time; sixish days a week and 58ish hours a week. Some days after work I’d go straight to bed, too tired to take a shower, eat dinner, or move. Sometimes I’d cry on the line at work. Sometimes I’d cry as soon as I got in my car; crying all the way home and until I fell asleep.

At no point was giving up an option. Not in the hot summer with no air conditioning when I fantasized about walking out and quitting to distract myself from the unbearable heat. “You can’t quit now, Ward. If you were going to quit, you’d of already quit.” Not when my fifty year old co-worker, while training me on a complicated job he’d convinced me I might not be able to learn, strongly advised me to always wear a bra because gravity is kind to no one if I knew what he meant with his hands cupped and swinging low in a crude re-enactment. Not during all the countless times I got injured, keeping it to myself to avoid interactions with the company doctor everyone and my personal experience told me not to trust.

Those signs taught me that individual strength is an unknown, untested inner well with no visible bottom. All of my co-workers were strange and crazy to me. They were also strong in a quiet, inspiring, and unforgettable way. Years and years of seeing the same signs while working the same jobs over and over again had made the signs invisible to them. They had become living, breathing, walking signs. Never give up. NEVER GIVE UP.

Eye ❤️ Halloween

Dollar Dollar (Store) Eyeballs Ya’ll


Every single day I feel overwhelmed and over it. All I have time for is work, school, and everything John Henry. Trying to take care of all of that is unpossible. The stress of the last two weeks is an elephant weight I feel everywhere and always. 

I’ve been doing all the things I can think of to relieve the stress. Blah blah blah. I have unhealthy coping mechanisms and more issues than Playboy. It’s not that interesting.

Boring story short is that I went to my favorite dollar store, bought some dumb, useless, and cheap retail thearpy items that I turned into a fun Halloween craft. Which I will now share with you because I can and because I want the world to be as excited for Halloween 2016 as I am.

You should be able to get everything needed to make the eyeball jar from the dollar store. If you don’t count the cork lid I took from the candle, the entire craft cost about three dollars plus tax to make.  It takes more than 12 eyeballs (one package) to fill the jar and you will have leftovers if you only make one jar. I made two variations using other items found at the dollar store. I added battery operated purple lights to one jar and gold “eyeballs” letter stickers to the other. 

As long as the hole is big enough to squeeze an eyeball through, any jar you wanna throw a dollar at will work for this craft.

The same can be said about the sticker letters and battery operated lights. The eyeballs are also available in orange and purple, so the opportunities for individual creativity are endlessish.  

Pro tip, I used a metal stick (leftover piece of wire hanger from none of your business) to position the eyeballs after I dropped them into the jar. You want to see the eyeballs while trying to not think about how the eyeballs can also see you.

Safety warning, I don’t know how chill the lights and eyeballs will be hanging out together in a glass jar. Use caution and common sense. Never leave anything that could potentially burn your house down unattended. 

59 days, 3 hours, and six minutes left until Halloween 2016…

Confessions of a Hopeless Romantic

We had an adorableish meet cute. I’d never noticed him before he walked up to me one day at work and started talking to me. I thought he was a total weirdo. He talked to me for two minutes, not making eye contact for a single second. He told me that he found my blog on my Tinder profile. He said my blog was funny. I said “I know.” I spent a week worried that my blog was going to get me fired. He was a Supervisor. I was so paranoid that our meet cute was going to be the catalyst that would set off a chain of events that would lead to me getting fired at my job. I avoided my blog like a relative I owed money to for a really long time after that.

Our first date is my all-time favorite first date. To be fair, I don’t have a lot of first dates to choose from. To be totally fair, all of my other limited in number first dates were disasters. We went to a haunted house. All of his jokes were silly puns. Puns are my favorite. I always laugh at puns. Fine. Not always. Sometimes nothing is funny at all ever because I hate everything and don’t act like you don’t feel it too sometimes. It’s not all the time. Just sometimes. You can admit to that whole just sometimes shit. 

I fell in love early. I was all in. Every thing he said he hated about himself I fully loved. When we fucked, sweat would drop down off of his forehead and onto my body, which he inexplicably hated. It was intense. It made the sex more intimate. It made my orgasms all-consuming and complete. 

He told me that he loved me on Thanksgiving. He almost couldn’t say it. I’d spent the previous three weeks forcing myself to not say it first. His love was valuable gold that I hoarded and cherished. 

He cooked a turkey for my entire family on Thanksgiving. It was the best turkey I’d ever eaten in my entire life. No shit. That bird was soooo good, I still salivate when I remember it. 

It’s over. I still love him. If being with me isn’t what makes him happy, then I hope he finds whatever will. He deserves to be happy and I don’t want him to stay with me if being with me isn’t good for him. I want to be with someone who wants to be with me and is capable of showing it. I want to be with someone who has an open heart. I want to be with someone who still believes in love and isn’t afraid of getting hurt. 

I refuse to give up. I refuse to settle. If I’m 50 and I’m still single, it will only be a mark against me if I’ve gone bitter and stopped looking for someone to love. There’s just no guarantee in life. I’m not sorry that I love him. I’m not mad that it didn’t work out. I’m happy for the time I spent with him. I’m grateful for the memories. I’m hopeful for a future filled with love because as long as my heart beats, I intend to use and abuse it.

I Propose a Toast

It rained all day today. At work the rain turned my thirty minute iron curled hair amazingness into a frizzy kinky poufy nasty mess. 

Everything was delayed and I stayed an hour late at work thanks to the rain. It was gross. It was messy. It was boring. blah blah blah.

I will always love the rain. I will always enjoy getting to work in the rain. I am so grateful to have a job. 

It’s a great time to be alive. Every single day brings joy and pain together like an ice cream twist cone and I eat it sofastbrainfreeze style. Because fuck eating the days I have left any other way. I’m not letting any of it drip down my hand and onto the floor. Fuck wasting a single moment. Pain makes joy brighter. Joy makes pain sharper. I will wholeheartedly take both for as long as I can, until they kill me. 

I made that

I hate that I hate myself. I hate how every day I’m a walking wound thisclose to eyeball water spills when I broken record replay what I did. 

It sucks to break up with someone you love, want, crave. It sucks to slink away from someone you would run at romantic setting sun beach scene style. I suck. I suck so much.

I hate that it didn’t work out the way I wanted it to work out. I hate that I have to harden my heart and put all my love somewhere safe where it won’t harm me so that I will get out of bed, take a shower, face today, and the rest of my life. 

Maybe just get out of bed to move to the couch. Maybe wait until tomorrow to take a shower. Maybe just side eye today. Totally ignore the rest of my life.

No Take Backs All Regret

Friday night I couldn’t sleep. At all. I stayed up all night, fueled by the notion that my boyfriend secretly wanted me to break up with him. I’ve been here before in a relationship. I’m not shy about letting my partner know when something is bothering me; when an action or inaction is making me feel unloved/insecure.

My brain hurts. My heart hurts. It’s never easy to break up with someone you still want to bang. 

I texted him. I couldn’t call. Half the time I call, it goes to voicemail. Every time it goes to voicemail I can’t leave a message; the voicemail box is always full.

Everywhere I looked in that relationship, I saw rejection. Real or imagined, I had to walk away for my peace of mind. It’s the only truth I can trust. It’s the one thing I own that I created with my thoughts, actions, and words. It’s not that strong. It might never be.