Little Voices in My Head

Well, you know how I like to keep up with public demands?

Consider this my answer. I joined Twitter. I’m under the name Carissa Simmons. Yeah, pretty simple, right? As I haven’t gotten the link to me up yet, you’ll have to search. Sorry. Will get it asap.

Should help all of you keep up with the world of Leroy, Muffy, and Yenta.

Join me on the Dark Side. We have cookies.

Enjoy!

Today is Wednesday. For those of you who aren’t aware of my current schedule: Wednesday equals “Pammie Day”. That means I get responsibility of Pammie all day. Mondays she visits with Rocky, Tuesdays is Lenore, Wednesdays me, and Thursday and Friday she has a caregiver from a nursing company in the mornings, and is with my dad the rest of the day. This isn’t because we (the family) feel we have to foster the ‘burden’ of her to other people, but because no ONE person can take care of all her needs 24/7 without burning themselves to ash just from the emotional strain. And it keeps Pammie’s brain stimulated with new faces and places. Her routine at nights is kept consistant. That’s Mommy time. Pam no longer thinks of my mother as her sister-in-law. Since the day my parents adoped her, Pammie has called my mother Mom or MomJudy. Nowadays, it’s “Mommy”. She’s even started calling my father “Daddy” instead of by his name. This change does not startle me. She’s becoming more and more childlike with every day.

But today was a good day. Pammie went with me to run some errands, and the whole time we were driving, she pointed out things she ‘knew’. For instance, a sign on the FoodLion window said “Green Grapes: $.99″. She said “Look Sissy! Green Beans for ninety nine dollars!? That’s a lot of monies!” I simply replied with “Yeah baby, that WOULD be a lot of money”. Driving to the Magistrate’s Office, we stopped to get a soda, and as I was running into the store, she said she wanted to stay in the car. I told her that was fine, but I would lock the doors and leave the AC on for her. I asked her if she knew how to unlock the door for me when I got back, and she got so confused between the door button and the window button, she started to cry. So I stopped her tears with a tickly spot, and showed her which button to push. I trusted that she would remember it long enough for me to make some change. She did, but the rest of the day, I kept a close eye on what she remembered.

She knew every building we passed, what it used to be, who we knew there, etc. She can’t remember what she ate for breakfast, but she knew that the Magistrate/DMV building used to be a library. She doesn’t remember my middle name, but she knew that the Rite Aid used to be an empty lot. She knows things of the distant past. A year or more, but not the short-term past. It troubles me. I know she’s moved to Stage Two Alzheimer’s…but it troubles me that it’s moving so quickly.

But today was a good day. She held my hand the whole time we were walking anywhere, and giggled over little things. An Happy Meal toy with stickers made her day, and she chattered nonstop to it in the car. *sighs* On one hand, I’m glad she finds ‘friends’ in inanimate things, as she will never be lonely…but on the other…I’m sad that her best friends are her babydolls and stuffed animals.

But today was a good day. She didn’t display any disturbed behaviour such as irrational anger, or self harming. So that makes today a good day. And any good day, I’ll cherish.

Carissa the Greatful

I made a giant mistake today.

I watched “Wonder Woman”.

It woke up the Amazon. For those ignorant of the tale, a brief synopsys: Wonder Woman is Princess of the Amazons, sent to the world of man after a hundred year exile on a Utopian island to return a downed pilot and stop Ares (the God of war) from doing what gods of war do best. Havoc, Chaos, Death, Distruction…all the biggies. Naturally, she kicks serious Arian ass, and gets the guy. (voiced by Nathan Fillian. And can I just say? YUM!!) So watching this movie, albiet a cartoon, woke up MY inner Amazon. It didn’t help that not a scant ten minutes BEFORE watching said movie, I was talking to my BFF Shannon. Wait, that’s not accurate, Shannon is more than my BFF, she’s my person. If I grew a penis tomorrow, she’d be my wife.

Shannon had to give me a peptalk. I’ve been…rather upset and yet oddly detached from my ‘girl feelings’ as of late, and she had to hit me with a heavy dose of reality. *sighs* Seems I’m not going to get away with the “Gosh no, Everything is just fine” thing with her when she plays the “Best Friend” card. Damn her.

So here I go with the taking her advice thing…*another huge sigh* This means that I have to go make a phone call and talk about my feelings and ask hard questions and shit. Ew. Yet, in the ‘real world’ these things must be done in order to advance the growth of the Carissa.

Carissa the Pepped.

So, this has been a rather complex week hasn’t it?

Interesting sho ain’t the word I’d be usin here, girlie.

Hm. Good point. Complex? Involved? Discombobulated? Are those better?

How bout fucked the fuck up? That ass shouldn’t have said those things and make you question your sanity and some shit.

Leroy! My God! Must you swear so?

When the shoe fits, I say take a fuckin walk.

Leroy, Yenta, chill. I’ll tell them about what he said. Get some second and thrid opinions. And the only time I question my sanity is when I’m talking to all of YOU.

Hey, like, we’re not to blame ya know. You can stop…which would suck…but…

Yeah, Muff, I get it. Anyway…

I had a rather interesting email the other day from a very very very OLD flame. Flame is as close to what we were that I can manage. To put it bluntly, we were friends with benefits, or so I thought. Evidently he had other opinions on the matter. He informed me that not only was I the root of all evil to him in his relationship endeavors since then, but that I had a serious problem with men.

You mean other than that whole ‘not knowing when a guy wants more than an easy lay’ thing?

Yeah. Other than that…

You see, this…I guess Ex would be a good term, told me that my problem with men, and the reason that I couldn’t keep one after the “I love you too” part; is that I’m entirely too easy to fall in love with.

I do not understand. Is dat not good ting?

He also informed me that I’m entirely too easy to fall OUT of love with. Hince the problem.

Bullshit. OBVIOUSLY this guy still has a thing for you, and no fucking way you’re THAT good a lay. No one’s that good. Musta been something else.

I don’t know Leroy. His theory has credence. I have heard “I love you” from so many lips now it’s becoming nothing but another lying phrase to me. It’s too easy to walk away after uttering it to me for most men.

Bubbie, you don’t really believe dat do you?

Yes Yenta, I almost do. Granted, I know what I feel, and that is that I don’t love lightly or say that phrase easily. It takes major WORK for me to trust like that. And I never uttered it to THIS guy. I thought we were just FwB, not IN a relationship. Apparently I hurt him, and that I am sorry for…but I don’t give too much credence to his statements now. It just made me think. And we all know how dangerous me thinking is.

Oh fuck that Female. You know you’re using that as a fucking excuse to shove men in your little boxes again.

Leroy, we’re NOT going to discuss the boxes. Ever. Again.

Hey, you the one who’s fucking it up, Female, not me. And you KNOW all men don’t fit in you boxes. So suck it the fuck up, lick your wounds, and forget the asshole who said that shit.

You has got to give the angry black man some thought Bubbie, he make sense. And dose boxes, dey not very flexible. You not easy to fall out of love wit. We love you Bubbie.

Thank you Yenta, and Muffy, and Leroy, but I think this is one area where your opinion…not all that credible. So, I’ll think on it some more. Maybe get a few opinions that AREN’T coming from inside my own head.

Yeah, and maybe you’ll quit thinking about idiots who didn’t know enough to speak up when they had you, and are trying to punish you now.

Muffy?! Wow. For a bubbleheadedtwit, you’re pretty insightful at times.

I do my best.

Carissa the Perplexed.

A friend of mine called me last night. VERY late. She’s a bit troubled, and upset, and fucking pissed…and by the end of the convo, so was I.

Girl got done DIRTY, and I place the blame squarely on the shoulders of her ExHusband, which is EXACTLY where it belongs. Take my word for it folks, he is not only the cause, the effect, and the end result, he’s also a Filthy liar and an asshat, and a fucking asshole. So I get to hate him. Completely. Totally. Without reservation. I have pleanty of reason. Just no reservation.

Which leads me to a thought.

Men SUCK. Or maybe it’s just Husbands. Either way, right now, (for at least the next hour or so) you have a penis, don’t come near me. If I didn’t have wonderful examples of what a real man SHOULD be in the form of my Father, and my Prince, my Friends… I would write off the whole lot of you forever.

But then I’d be stuck with women…sighs. Great short term replacement, but…Women are insane. Insane yes, but at least we’re not low down dirty rats.

And I exterminate rats.

Screw me once, shame on you. Screw my BFF, Knife in your testicles.

–The Amazon.

I posted what follows many moons ago, but since then, I’ve decided to add a few…tweeks. For those of you who missed the origonal, it’s up on the “Dating Carissa” page.

June 25th, 2008 (Again, BARELY. It’s 0043, and I just HAD to get this out of my brain or Muffy wouldn’t SHUT UP)

Some tips and tricks for those interested in dating a woman like me. They’re not aimed at anyone in particular, but they are based on past and current experience. That’s the reason I’m using the words “I” and “you”. It’s just easier that way. I don’t like to speek for other women, but I’m pretty sure the grand majority of women, espically those who are similarly minded to me, are going to not only back me up on most of these points, but cheer me on! Granted, some of them, like my favorite flower, are pretty much “Carissa specific”. This idea came about when talking to some women out in the ‘pit’ at work, and one of them remarked ‘Why don’t we just post a list of what we want for our men? They’re so lost!’. So I had her tell me a few things she would put on it, and some other women chimed in, and I realized that it’s a damn good idea. Muffy’s been rolling it around her little corner of the brain since then, so here you go!

*I AM NOT PSYCHIC. You have something to tell me? Then just tell me. I’m a big girl now, and I’d appreciate some upfront honesty.

*I’m a sucker for dandelions. Pretty much any wildflower that you actually plucked from the earth with your own two hands just because you thought it would make me happy will do. Dandelions? Oh yeah, total heart-melter. You can actually FIX A FIGHT with a well-timed dandelion.

*It is going to take F-O-R-E-V-E-R to earn my trust. You break it, even once, and you’ll have to work even harder to get it again. If ever.

*I don’t say “I love you” lightly.

*It’s ok to tell me you think someone else is hot. It’s ok to stare. It’s even ok to say you’d like to sleep with them. But the next sentence outta your mouth had BETTER run along the lines of “But I’d rather come home to you, cuz I love you.” or “Even if I did fuck them, I’d want it to be an alternate reality because I love you.” See where I’m going with this?

*Just because I’m on a diet, doesn’t mean I can’t look at the menu too. Trust me, sometimes, I look. But guess who I’m really thinking about during ‘quiet happy pillow time’? You.

*I really am THAT clueless sometimes. I didn’t know that guy was flirting, I thought he was being polite.

*When you compliment me, I try really really hard to belive you the first time. I do. Honest. I try. But some part of me is busy having that knee-jerk reaction that wonders if you’re just trying to make sure you can still get in my pants. Doesn’t mean you should stop with the compliments, because maybe not the 3rd time is a charm, but the 50th.

*When I’m staring at you, and smiling. Sometimes, I’m thinking about jumping you. Sometimes, I’m just thinking about the way you look when you’re sleepy. Learn the difference in the smiles.

*When I say “nothing” in response to a “What’s wrong?”, and we’re fighting…back away slowly, to a safe distance, and ask again. Keep asking. You may have to drag it out of me, because I don’t do ’share time’ well, but once you do, we’ll both feel better.

*Yeah, I CAN do just about everything in my life all by myself, but I WANT you in it. Be grateful.

*Touching me good. Do it a lot. Even when you’re NOT gonna get laid that day. I cannot stress this enough. I really really like touching.

*I have friends. Lots of ‘em. They touch me too. It’s a different kind of touching. Deal with this.

*Lie to me, even if you think it’s a good idea at the time, and you had better be prepared for a fight. A big one. One we may not recover from.

*When you are hurting, expect to be babied. It’s just what I do.

*Using my ears as a fight-deterrent is an unfair advantage and I call foul!

*I will NEVER like your ex. Any of them. I may say I do, I may even hang out with them, share a drink , hug them, and swap brownie recipes. Because I love you, and if you two are cool, then she and I are cool. The MINUTE that bitch makes you the slightest bit hurt/angry/upset again, she’s toast.

*You are expected to be a LITTLE bit jealous/posessive of me. Hold my hand or kiss me if you think a guy is flirting when we’re out in public. That’s ok. Tell me you don’t like it when men ogle me. When I tell a guy “I have a BF”, and he doesn’t back off, FEEL FREE to let loose your inner Gladiator. Just don’t beat someone up in a bar because they said hello. That’s taking it too far.

*I will snatch her bald and scratch her blind if a woman you have told “I have a girlfriend” doesn’t back off you. That is my right. You will smile, nod, and even clap and compliment my right hook if the case applies.

*I will gladly listen to you when you talk about sports, geek trivia, your day at work, just about ANY subject under the sun, because I love you, and I like to hear your voice. Don’t get angry if I ask questions. I just want to understand.

*My past is my past. I’m not ashamed, I won’t sugar-coat it, and I won’t lie about it. I also won’t offer up the information freely. If you really want to know, you’re going to have to ask direct questions and be very very prepared for the answers. You opened that can of worms, you have to deal with the wriggling.

*I’m going to assume you DON’T want me around unless you tell me you do. I won’t take your time for granted, and I expect you not to take mine. I have a job, a family, and friends to take care of too. Tell me when you want me around.

*I exercise because it feels good to me. You can enjoy the flexiblity, enjoy the body, even watch me do it if you want, but don’t even dream of mentioning my exercise routine to me if you notice me NOT doing it. It’s too close to calling me fat. I know it’s a stupid girl logic, but trust me, it will hurt me. I may even cry.

*If I am crying, the shit has hit the fan. You have two choices in this scenario. Fix it, or run. Up to you. 

*I am ALWAYS in your corner. I don’t care what I hear from who about anything concerning you. I am always going to check with YOU first before making any judgement, belive any statement, or even having any emotional response to anything I hear from anyone other than YOU.  I expect the same courtesy from you concerning me.

*If you tell me you need me, I don’t care what mountain I have to move, if I CAN be there, I will be.

*I am sometimes a bit crazy, but let’s face it, I kinda have to be. I chose you, didn’t I?

January 14th, 2009

*I am not an Etch a Sketch. I like to cuddle, I LOVE to be touched, and yes, PDA is my friend, but I expect you to do such no matter WHO is going to see you do it. This includes your friends and coworkers (family is a COMPLETELY different story) You cannot just pick me up and shake me and pretend I don’t exist when the ‘embarassment’ factor is high. If you’re embarassed to be with me, then DON’T BE WITH ME. You don’t deserve me anyway.

* There are times when tongue is inappropriate…my mother’s presence is a BIG clue.

* I am completely incapable of making a ‘first move’. Maybe that’s a stuipd girl thing, or maybe it’s a “Carissa is justifiably wary” thing. You’re going to have to speak up. 99% of the time, I’m thinking and feeling the same things, I just don’t have it in me to express them first.

*I do not expect to be on your mind ALL DAMN DAY. If you have a random thought of me, wonderful! Tell me about it later, and we can both grin like goobers because I probably thought of you that day too. Espically if it’s funny.

* I still don’t take compliments well.

* This is me with the happy in my own skin self. You like my skin too, then you get the wrinkles, stretch marks, bruises, and freckles right along with it. (for the dense ones: I’m happy with who I am, flaws and all. You’d better love my flaws too, or just don’t date me, k? Save some heartache)

* I adore the fact that men are men, and I have a secret affinity for big, rough, strong hands. (And even giant feet and toes with dry skin and serious need of a pedicure.) Because you’re a GUY, and that’s cool with me.

* You tear it off me, you bought it. I don’t expect you to give me money, cuz that makes it whory, but yeah, replacing the panties that you ripped off, would be nice.

*I promise to replace the sweater I stole, and the TShirt I ripped off you. Cuz fair is fair.

* DO NOT expect me to understand you the first time. I am a certifiable genius. 158 IQ. Doesn’t mean I get the ‘real world’ stuff. I really don’t understand that guy shrug/mumble/careaboutyou crap.

* I have a serious body image issue. I think I’m really about 3 inches shorter than I really am…so… This sometimes leads to bumped elbows, bruised knees and fingernail marks down your butt instead of your back…but hey, I’m a CNA, I can make it all better!

*Most of my friends are men. In fact, even some of my GIRL friends are close to men…you’re going ot hear me talk about a lot of guy names, and most of that is going to have the sentence, “And he’s a great kisser” in it too…doesn’t mean I’ve fucked everything that walks with a third leg and it doesn’t mean I have anything other than friendly feelings for them .Learn to ask if you want to know the details.

* Marylin Monroe said it best: “I’m selfish, impulsive, and hard to control, but if you can’t handle me at my worst, you don’t deseve me at my best.”

*FYI: My best, is DAMN worth handling my worst.

I am the answer girl.
I have the solution to lots of problems.
“Why does it do that?”
“What causes this?”
“What should I do now?”
“How long can this last?”
“Where does this come from?”
“When can I?”
“Who does that?”

It’s just after midnight here on Christmas Day, and I find myself reflecting.

Reflecting? No Bubbie, you is dwelling. Tinking about a da things you cannot change. 

For once, Yenta, your radar is jammed.

I do not know dis “jam”. What you mean? What is “Jam”? 

Your intuative knowledge of how I feel and what’s going on in my brain is incorrect this time. I’m not dwelling, I’m reflecting. There is not emotional connotation to reflecting, just remembrance. Dwelling means I would be weepy, but I’m not.

Bout damn time you finished your crying, female.

Oh holy bejezzus! Where have you three BEEN? I finished my crying a long time ago. In fact, haven’t cried much at all this year. Normally Christmas season is a VERY weepy time for me. Notice any tears lately?

No…not many. 

There were enough to make me wanna shut your mouth the old fashioned way, but yeah, you been a little better this year. 

OMG.OMG.OMG. You are, like, totally different this year! I didn’t really pay attention before, but now that you mention it…

Exactly. This is me with the NOT dwelling, this is me with the happy. See?

Bubbie, I not want to make you unhappy, but what is different now? 

I don’t know Yenta. Maybe it’s just that this year, I’m able to remember the happy times a bit more. I have enough distance from the people and events of the past that…I don’t feel the pain as deeply.

Well fuck me sideways! You mean you’re done with all that bullshit finally and ready to boogie? 

I don’t know about BOOGIE, but yeah, I’m cutting out the bullshit. I can now be grateful that I had the chance to know Berne, who died on Christmas Eve 3 years ago. To be happy that I felt life grow inside of me, so I know what absolute love is like. To remember the love I felt from the men of my past, and remember the hurt.  I learned to appreciate the love more now, should it be in front of me again. Even Pammie, who last year I spent MOURNING when she is still HERE, is nothing but a source of joy now. I will loose her down the road, but I have her now, and I intend to spoil her rotten until the day comes that she…goes.

Dat cannot be all dat has changed Bubbie, dere must be someting else. You keep your tears back even from us here. Dat is new. 

Yeah, it is. But even you three aren’t privvy to  EVERY thought and feeling I have. I’ve had to learn to block you four out from some of my life. How else do you think I enjoy sex with men when Leroy is such a homophobe?

HEY! I am not. I just don’t like to see that shit. Ya know? I mean, I ain’t gay, but who the fuck cares if other people are? 

My mistake Leroy.

Ok, I get that you keep stuff from us, but like, how? 

Easy, I’ve been thinking more with the front of my brain, less with the back. Call it ‘following my impulses’. Instead of pushing the thoughts back to the subconscious, I’ve been processing them forebrain. You all live in the back, and the Amazon lives WAAAAAY back, so she’s been silent as well.

Yo! Amazon! You still livin’ woman? 

LEROY! That’s just not cool. Don’t wake her. I’m HAPPY. You three get that? I’m going to spend the day tomorrow watching Pammie open her gifts, and eating an early dinner with my family, and then working a few hours to make OTHER’S lives a bit more comfortable. It’s going to be a wonderful day, and for that I’m grateful.

Bubbie, I so proud of you. You make da good idea. Happy Christmas. Dat how you say it yes? 

Close enough Yenta.

Merry fucking Christmas female. And Yenta, you have a great haun…hank…chank…whatever. 

Pass the Eggnog and stand next to the mistletoe!

Merry Christmas everyone. Take my advice, find your slice of happy and run with it.

Carissa the Jolly

The following is a continuance of something from the past.  

I wrote a similar ‘essay’ years ago for an assignment. Tonight, I had the good fortune to be reminded of all the reasons behind it. I decided to share an updated version with all of you, because to understand ME, you must understand the influences behind me. And for me to understand my true self, I had to get this out.

     I don’t believe in miracles. I do believe that rational science, logic, even math, can not explain. However, the concept that something miraculous may happen to my life is just beyond my scope of belief. I do believe in the unexplained. For instance, there is no rational explanation for Pammie.
     Pammie is my sister. She is also my Aunt. She is also…unexplainable. Upon her birth, my Grandmother was told to give up on her. To put her into a home for the mentally disabled. Thankfully, my Grandmother did not listen, and took her home instead. Despite every doctor telling her that Pammie wouldn’t live to see 21, this year will mark her 57th birthday. Pammie has defied so many odds in her life, that longevity holds no mystery to her. 
     Simple everyday tasks now hold mystery to her.  Although she was born with Down’s Syndrome, a trisomy of one of her chromosomes that severely stunted her mental acuity, that is not  what has defined her. Her heart has. Pammie has an amazing capacity for love. No matter the circumstance, Pammie has always managed to love unquestioningly throughout her life.
     When I was a child, Pammie came to live with my family after the death of her mother. My parents adopted her, even though she was an adult, and made her my sister. I was 3 at the time. Throughout my life, Pammie has been a constant source of frustration, amusement, and unfailing love to me. As a grade schooler, my other sister, Gwen, tried to ‘teach’ Pammie to read. As children, Gwen and I did not grasp the concept of mental disability, and didn’t understand that no matter the effort, Pammie would never have that ability. So after my mother explained to us, at the ages of 5 and 6, we decided that it was our job to read to Pammie. To share all the wonderful stories we were learning in books. This habit continues today.
     In High School, after a particularly grueling day battling budding actors and stubborn equations, I would often come home so downtrodden that it showed in my every expression. No matter how hard I faked it, and even concealed it from the rest of my family, Pammie always knew the truth. She would pat the cushions of the couch next to her, and say, “Sissy, do you need a hug? Come here an’ hug me.”, and I would. Somehow just the simple act of sitting next to her calmed the day down. Due to Pammie’s remarkable physiology, she has shortened stature, a flattened face, mongoloid eye-folds, and the worlds pointiest chin! Since I have been five foot ten inches tall since I was 13, her little body only reaches my sternum. When sitting, she barely reaches my neck. So to sit with her, reading a book to her, or even just watching TV, she rests her pointy little chin on my shoulder. Yes, it can hurt, but it’s a pain I welcome because it makes her so happy to snuggle in.
     Now the ravages of time are wrecking havoc with Pammie’s mind. As she ages, her brain is now being stolen from her by Alzheimer’s Disease. Tonight, when reading to her a story full of her favorite things, unicorns, family, and a happy ending, she became so distracted by staring at her own hand that the story mattered not to her. She asked me why her hands were so little, and mine so large. I had no easy answer for her, so I told her that was simply the way God made her. Pammie does not grasp the concept of a divine being ruling the universe, but she has been taught that God loves her, and made her perfect as she is.
     I happen to agree with THAT statement. Miracles? No. But I’m going to spend every chance I have with her, and I’m really going to miss this one when she is gone.

For a few years now, I’ve been having a reoccurring nightmare. Almost every night. The few nights, at least lately, that I DON’T have this dream, have been when too exhausted to do more than fall flat in my face into bed and snore for a few hours. After many hours of debate, both internal and external, with the Voices, and “REAL” people…I’ve decided to let public opinion interpret this one for me. Because I’m just clueless as to what I can do about it.  There are some things you need to know BEFORE giving your opinion though. Yes, I can tell while IN the dream, that I am in fact dreaming. I know I am. Yet I still cannot control the dream. It continues. I’ve tried altering the dream by playing restful music, water fountains *just made me wanna pee all damn night* and positive imagery before bed. Aside from those tactics, I welcome your opinions and any tips and tricks you might have for a restful night. The dream is as follows:

A simple picnic is laid out in front of me on blue checkered blanket. I’m in a meadow about forty feet in diameter bordered on the left side by a swift moving creek. To the right of the meadow is peaceful woodland, birds chirping, small mammals skittering through the underbrush. In front of me rises a cliff face that is the foot of a mountain so high I dare not look up for fear of making myself dizzy. Behind me, and I know this without turning around, is a scary forest. Blackened forms that vaguely resemble redwoods, but the branches reach all the way to the ground. Boulders block almost every trail forcing the footpaths to double and triple back. Anything living in this devastation is as twisted and ugly as the predominant form of vegetation. Holly bushes. Thousands of them crowd the undergrowth. They’re not green though. They’re a dark, sharp burgundy. Almost the same colour as a very dark red wine.