Just Gimme My Sweatpants

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I remember a time in my life that New Year’s Eve meant hitting the town hard, searching for a great place to party…now it means hitting the couch hard in my elastic pants, sweatshirt (and lil cubes of cheese) watching the Twilight Zone marathon.  And I love it!  Anyway, I just wanted to wish everyone a wonderful, happy, safe and prosperous 2013.  I thank everyone who visited my blog this year, I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I have enjoyed writing; it has been a fun journey so far & I appreciate you allowing me to share a lil bit of my life with you.  See ya next year!

Kat 🙂


May You Sleep Tonight….

*I wrote this last week…I am still trying to catch up with all my dreams… 🙂


It’s now 11:59 p.m. In one minute today will be finished. A new day will begin. I stare at the little body in the bed. After many tosses and turns, the lil one is finally still, yet I can feel the restlessness that is inside. I look at the clock. 12:03. This is going to be a long freakin day.

I haven’t slept yet. I look down at the clock on my phone. I have officially been up for 32 hours. Matt, the nurse, comes in to check the still one who is snoring softly. Pulse is good. Temperature is normal. You should try to get some sleep.
Thank you, I will try.

3:30a.m…that’s when they bring out the doughnuts…but you can’t buy em yet…I got my eye on that nice glazed one in the right corner

3:45a.m…walking the hallways until doughnut release time. its quiet, except for the heavy footsteps of the security guards and the occasional sound of opening elevator doors. Its kinda spooky, almost like a scene in a scary movie. I should be scared because I’m black and everyone knows that the black person is always the first to go in a scary movie. Hmmm, let me go back and check on that doughnut . Just in case.

My little glazed fellow is still chillin in the corner when I get back to the cafeteria. I pick him up and gently place him in a white parchment paper cocoon . Inhaling deeply, I can smell his sweet sugary goodness. The weird thing is that I don’t usually eat donuts because they aren’t worth me getting sick, but it looks nice in my hand. I take a bite. Soft. I take another bite. It aint no Krispy Kreme but not too shabby. I want to take another bite but I don’t. I need to be there for the lil one. I toss my half eaten fellow in the trash and head back to the room.

It’s quiet when I get back except for the clicking of the medical machines.

Up for 37 hours. Wow. I feel energized. I feel like I could run a mile or two. I am so tired, my eyes burn and feel heavy but the thoughts in my head keep my body up.

I curl up into a ball and wrap myself in the thin blanket that the nurse gave me. I want to sleep, I really do, but the steady sounds of the IV pump remind me of the heart beat that the hallucinating man heard in Edgar Poe’s poem, “The Tell-Tale Heart.” All I can hear is ticking and clicking. It fills my head. It’s all I hear. I wonder if Edgar wrote because he could not sleep. Maybe he couldn’t separate his dreams from his reality. I wonder.

Time passes. The sun breaks through the sky. Shifts end. New bright and alert faces exchange places with those with sleepy eyes who want to go home. Vitals are taken as new introductions are made. Time passes as we watch cartoons. A knock on the door. A tray of food arrives. Clear broth for the lil one. Nothing for me, the remnants of my doughnut still in my throat. My contacts are dry. I blink to refresh them. A knock on the door. The Doctor comes in to see their little patient. I heard you have been up for a while, hopefully you will be able to sleep tonight? She smiles sympathetically already knowing the answer. I nod confidently. I’m sure I will…

but I already know…until lil one is okay.

I won’t.

Who Moved the Cheese?

I have been going to Chucky Cheese since I was a kid.  There has always been something very freaky yet very intriguing about Mr. Chucky Cheese.  I often think about the person inside the costume, as I watch swarms of sticky cotton candied faced children descend on him viciously like ants on a sugar cube.  Do they have kids?  Do they even like kids?  Are they a kid themselves?  Do they tell people what they do?  Does it smell like feet in there?  When I was 17, one of my dreams was to work at the local amusement park as one of the dancing characters.  It seemed like such a prestigious job at the time, walking around the park, taking pictures with all the people…funny, not one time did I ever consider how hot it would have been in that costume, especially in summers’ 90 degree weather.  It didn’t cross my mind because working there would have just been a fun part-time gig, something just for the a summer, certainly not my career.   Fast forward…to yesterday. Chucky came out…happy, dancing…patting children softly on the head.  I looked at him intensely, analyzing his every move, hoping for something that would show who the person was inside, searching for the one clue that would give him away.  I realized that I wanted to know…because in my heart, I wanted to believe that he really truly loved his job, that making kids happy was joyous to him…not because working at Chucky Cheese was the only work he could find and that he silently cursed under his breath while standing there in a musty furry costume.  It was in that moment, that I felt humbled, suddenly, understanding the Chuckies of the world; the ones that do what they have to do to survive, to feed their families, to pay their rent…whether its twirling signs on the sidewalk or bringing smiles to children in a ten-year old animal costume.  Yesterday, I changed my opinion of Mr. Chucky Cheese.  I’m not completely sure why, maybe it’s because now that I’m an adult, I realize how hard it can be to pay for food, rent, clothes, a car note and still want to try to scrape up enough to take a trip to Walt Disney World.  Even though I think of myself as fortunate and blessed, I understand that at any moment, it could be me, donning a musty furry costume to make ends meet for my own family.  Humbled by the thought, I sang and clapped a little more louder…you know, just in case Chucky was looking, to let him know, that he wasn’t just a big furry musty mouse…but a big furry musty mouse…I happen to admire.

The Invisible Catch-22 Dilemma

When I got my iron infusion this week…I was told I looked too “good” to be sick…now this is a dilemma that many of us who have invisible chronic illnesses face…all the time…and for me…it always depends on who says it…whether you get the pissy smile…or…the sweet smile. In this particular instance…it was an older lady, who was also getting her iron as well…so I sweetly smiled…not because she was older, although I do respect my elders…it was because she was a “one-timer, non repeater”…I would probably not see her again, because her one infusion would probably be the only one she needed…and she wouldn’t be back…so no reason to go into details…just smile and sit back in the chair. I understand that visual evidence is needed by some people…I mean…who really believes that you took off work because you have the “flu” if you aren’t throwing up and looking like death? Who hasn’t gotten flustered at our children when they are laughing in the pediatric’s office…because now the doctor won’t believe that lil Petey DID indeed have a 103.8 temperature an hour ago…when we called in a panic and just had to be seen…today! It’s sad, but true…but a lot of times we don’t believe people are sick UNLESS they LOOK sick. I call this the Invisible Catch-22…I try to leave the house looking as good as I can for that day…even if I feel like doggy doo….because mentally it makes me feel better…yet…it can rub me the wrong way at times…when a person has an unfair perspective of what I go through…I was told once by a girlfriend…that I was so lucky…because now that I had no stomach…I would stay skinny…I looked at her, like…”Are you freakin kidding me?”…so she got a pissy smile and nothing more…because I refused to waste my breath on telling her that me being skinny was the last thing on my mind…because she simply wouldn’t have gotten it…idiot. Tell a friend that you can only eat Lay’s potato chips…see what they say…”Are you kidding, I would LOVE to just eat potato chips, Gawd I hate you”…wow, really?…again the pissy smile…and another idiot. I want to appear as well and healthy as I can…and stylish…frankly, because that’s how I have always been…but also…looking too sick…can sometimes make people feel uncomfortable…but I don’t want my “fashion sense” to make people to think that things are easy for me either. I want my doctors, family and friends to believe that I am not just stressed out, depressed…or trying to get attention just because I am having a particular hard day or week….but looking pretty decent. Slowly… I am learning to accept that what I am dealing with isn’t like a common cold…it’s not a 24 hour bug…and it won’t be cured with chicken noodle soup….it’s just another part of me…just like the part of me that loves to watch the Golden Girls, drink pickle juice, wear red lipstick & high heels…AND I don’t have to put on A “Frumpy Clothes No Makeup So You Can See How Pale & Sick I Look” Show to know what I am coping with in my life….Thankfully, how I deal with My Catch-22 Dilemma is getting easier everyday…regardless of how I look on that particular day or feel…I simply educate those that may not understand…I always end by saying, See…you really can’t “Judge a book by it’s cover.”…and of course I say this…sweetly…smiling.

I got too many damn Jeans. Period.


As I was cleaning out my closet today…harsh realizations came to light. #1…I am too damn messy…I don’t like to clean….Period…for the majority of my life, I have done something called the “illusion of clean” routine…which means…clean just enough that if I were to die in the next few moments and people had to come to the house to “claim” my body…they wouldn’t think I was a complete disgusting pig. #2…You can actually have too many shoes (of course I wouldn’t be saying that IF I had a bigger closet) #3…Why do I have this many jeans…I don’t go ANYWHERE…I am a 39 year old…stay at home mom that only goes to Walmart… which led to #4…I am giving my self a makeover…Body, Mind and Spirit.

As I looked at all my jeans…I have over 40 pairs…WTH!… It dawned on me that they represent different phases in my life…The tight jeans…because I was young and fun, had no cares or worries…Oh, and I looked really super cute in them…The really tight jeans…cuz I was too fat after my kids but I still kept them…and tried to squeeze into them…even though I had a muffin top…and I ain’t talking about blueberry…The pocketed jeans…because I went through a (“I hate Purses Phase)…so my pockets had to hold EVERYTHING!…(judging by all the purses I have now…I am out of that phase…Thank God)…The NO pocket jeans…because I read an article that said your booty looks better pocket-less…Ask J-Lo. The light blue jean…because the 90’s was in….the dark blue jean…because light blue is for Losers…and you must suck if you wear them…and how many black jeans can you have? They are all black and hey all blacks look the same…I can say that shit, because I am black…but you can’t! Anyway…I realize that I wear pretty much only 2 pair of jeans out of all the freakin jeans I have…they are comfortable…maybe too comfortable…Damn, I am in rut! I put on the same pair to go to the store…go to the grocery store…to the PTA…out to dinner…I need to evolve…make a change…
and that’s what I am going to do…
I am going get back my Life…take chances…read more…smile more…make a difference in SOMEONE’s life…paint my toes weird freaky colors and be happy…
Even donate those old ass LEE jeans (sorry if I offend any Lee wearers…oops) to the mission…
Because I am back…ready to grow….feel better…and it starts today!

Dear Mr. Willy Wonka

Dear Mr. Willy Wonka,

I have loved your candy…always…from your tangy Nerds to your sweet Laffy Taffy…and of course…the Wonka Bar…with its melty chocolate-ly goodness…AND yeah, I really wanted a Golden Ticket
And an Oompa Loompa…with his lil bad ass self to rub MY feet…
I digress…
I was wondering…since you make so many cool things…
Is it possibly to make a “GET HAPPY” CANDY?
That’s not too much to ask, right?
Oh…but wait-
I have to say…
I loved that they did a movie about you…
The Original Willy Wonka, the one featuring Gene Wilder
The second was pretty okay…I mean it DID have Mr. Johnny Depp in it…
Um…Hello 21 Jump Street…sexy, sexy-
The whole freaky boat ride scene…scared the crap out of me!
Who scares kids like that?
Someone must be smokin a lil somethin somethin
Back your wonderful Candy…
YOU have made a lake of chocolate…
GUM that taste like a 3 course meal…
MADE someone transport through a television set…
So, why can’t you…
Make an everlasting gob stopper whopper to make ALL your dreams come TRUE?
Each layer revealing…another happy moment.
A caramel chew that would release a burst of self confidence…and assertiveness
Just in time for the big job interview.
A fruit flavored tattoo…that would deliver a *poof* of positive attitude
That would be really sweet…BUT…
I know it’s a pipe dream to ask…
Because I know that a piece of candy or gum won’t make things magically happen…
It’s Me…who has to take charge of my life and live it to the fullest-
I realize…I can do anything…
Because I am strong
Because…I am my own GOLDEN ticket