"Is it Illegal to take the Cat's Valium?
Its one of those days"
~ Day One ~
Written by: Stacey L. Bolin
Copyright 5/5/2016
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aking, the same as every morning before, I’m strikingly gorgeous
shrouded in pure sexiness with my hair in place, my skin caressed with the scent
of Liz Claiborne perfume, make-up still virgin and a smile that could cast a
glow - that in its presence could end all world hate - NOT! I grimace at the thought of the truth.
As soon as I
scripted the statement above, I know I heard the theme song to L.A. Law engulf my
senses. I could envision myself bequeathing
a statement in a court room with a million eyes scrutinizing me as I reply to
the Judges question. "Yes, Judge I would like to renounce my previous statement.
This is how it really happened when I woke up.”
At 4:19 AM,
I woke with excruciating pain of my bladder ready to saturate my sheets and my
husband lying next to me. I'm instantly angered as this happens every morning
and I feel cheated out of the last 39 minutes of MUST HAVE beauty sleep. I
arise like a Zombie cast member of the Living Dead, dragging my legs to the
bathroom that is only ten steps away, but I still manage to stub my toe on the
metal bed frame that used to have a foot board that prevented this from
happening. The sock I taped on the end of the frame was an illusion that gave
my brain the false hope that next time I hit it, I would not be jolted into an
episode of foot throbbing madness that would soon be accompanied with the pain
of my shoulder after I run into the door jamb of our bedroom because... (If I
were writing a screen play this is where that strange sound would come in, like
shaggy from Scooby Doo saying – ZOINKS! Then the Judge would be interrupting my babbling would
ask the question, with a sound of his bullshit detector in his voice, "Ms.
Bolin, are you sure this is how it all happened?)
I feel a strong sense of sarcasm coming on....
YES! and it's no bullshit! It happens
like this every morning because I don't have the ability to hop on one foot
half asleep while having to lobster claw lock my legs together to keep from
covering the floor with an crotch toxic odor cause by the fluids of what feels
like 100 ounces of everything I drank for a week.
Yes, I do ponder about
those sporting a penis – does it work to put a serious grip on it so you don’t
have an accident if you bladder was pissed at you? NO PUN INTENDED. Smiling.
Now years
ago I had the ability to hold it, but at 48 and the gravitational pull that
seems to be getting stronger as I get older - my "Hold It" record is
covered in dust that has been collecting for the past 25 years since my last horrific uncontrolled urination blunder - but that's another story I wrote
about. Maybe you've read it - "Though the Barracks Window: A Time of
Waves. Check out the Chapter entitled D-Day.
When you gotta go, you gotta go.
Getting back to my story - Hobbling my way
through the last two steps to our bathroom I finally slump down on the toilet.
I do my best to abstain from moaning in an almost orgasmic way, as the flood
gates surge open, drowning out the pains in the other places on my body. After
finally reaching the end of the 100 ounce marathon, I'm completely exhausted
and go back to bed at 4:36 AM - Please note: This is not what the doctor
ordered but I go for it anyways knowing perfectly well that my second awaking
would be worse than the first. I can't tell you what the science dynamics are that
form when I actually fall asleep for the second time, but I truly
believe those last 24 minutes is clearly my power sleep mode in full force. How
do I know this? I've never fallen asleep over a long period of time and wake to
my face and hair stuck to my pillow with the sticky drool that forms. I have
dreams that my teeth are falling out and in my mouth are my teeth that are pieces of
CHICKLETS gum – let’s hope they’re not yellow. And for whatever the reason - I
am afflicted with another bout of "Hey this is your bladder I need to go
again!" pain.
This is just
my waking morning routine…that is aggravating as hell. However on this day, I feel
instantly melancholy when the realism of what is about to take place dawns on
me as I sit on the end of the bed in the home I’ve lived in for 22 years. My
days, my world, my life is all about to change in less than 40 days because on
this day, Wednesday May 4th, two days before our 24th
wedding anniversary, my husband and I signed a series of documents that will
change our lives forever.
No, not divorce papers…yes I know there are
some out there that pray for that to happen with every day we stay together.
Sorry folks, there is no parole options for my honey and I – move on.
At 7:30 AM,
we signed the official contact to sell our home to a very nice couple. This
decision to move has been talked about almost daily for 22 years, but being
less than forty days away is the most terrifying experience that I honestly
thought would never happen. I’m happy, sad, scared, worried, and my anxiety is
working on over time that I think I’d qualify for the 2016 Summer Olympics –
all events - if I could bottle how I’m
feeling and use it as a form of crazy adrenaline to fuel me to win any of the
competition categories.
What makes
this wonderful change in our lives horrifying is the fact – there is no plan.
No home to go to, no jobs that have been confirmed, No place to dream of
decorating to make a house a home. No mantel to arrange my holiday decorations,
No place to dream about and the life after it. No place to lay my head down next
to my husband - in a place that is our very own like we created here in Maryland. We
are literally pulling up our roots again and starting over. We are packing up
22 years of memories and purchases to turn our focus to the one and only thing we do know...we are taking the road that goes west. I can help but think of a video I had seen years ago on MTV, this situation reminds
of the music video called “We’re on a Road to Knowhere” by the Talking Heads.
It makes no sense, but at the same time you’re excited for the adventure to
discover what’s on the road to nowhere.
I’ve always have been a person that loves to have something to
look forward too. Yet it appears to me, what I keep envisioning is that all I
have at this very moment is how I’m going to load the moving trucks - after
that it’s anyone’s mystery. So I used my uncertainty to give me both the strength
to overcome my fears and the ability to write about this crazy journey like I
have done so many times in the past. For example; my husband being attacked by a
prehistoric gummy bear or the black hair donut nun chucks. Something about our
trips west always generated so many unbelievable, but true tales to tell. Granted
we were just going west for a vacation, we were not about to jump into a move
half way across the USA with both feet without a plan. Don’t get me wrong…I’ll go anywhere as long
as it doesn’t destroy my relationship with my sons and my marriage.
Now, I keep forgetting a key element in all of this…Cleopatra
our cat. She and I have had long discussions about this endless topic. You see
she is getting up in years too, and we older women like our routines, schedules
and have learned to stick together. We’ve been to our Doctors and Vet and I’m
jealous that my cat is being prescribed Valium to weather moving day. Which has
me thinking – what would happen to me if I took my cat’s valium? Would I grow
whiskers on my own private place – and if so would that mean I could feel my
way around in the dark? Did she really just say that? Ha ha.
Yep! Made you smile or wince. I know, I just
veered off into gutter lane, but like I said, I need to find humor in all of
this.
It was this
type of thinking, during a lunch date with a friend - I’m going to miss to the
moon and back, and a phone call with my mother that very same day – that spawned
the idea, rather than stress and worry about what the future holds in the next
few weeks and beyond; why not share this experience with my readers. I know I’ll
vent, I know I’ll laugh and find the humor, and I’m know without a doubt I will
break several times into extremes of tears and anger, but what I also know is
that if I can survive cancer, a sexual assault, and the negative nellies of
this world – this is just another step in my own “Wizard of Oz” adventure and I
will stand strong and tall. I’m hoping I can be my own Dorothy, click my red
shoe heals three times and we’ll find our – No place like home – home.
But until
then, your support of just reading my writings help me in ways that words could
never express and just knowing someone somewhere out there has given me just a
bit of their time - empowers me with an indestructible “CAN-DO” spirit.
Welcome to
my journey.
So until
tomorrow – Blog ya later.
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