The People Under the Stairs

In my home I have some really fantastic storage underneath my stairs. One day I decided to use this space as storage for all of my holiday decorations. So I added 'repurpose space under stairs' to my list of projects around the house. When all was said and done, I have to admit, the artificial tree fits perfectly, along with our 97 thousand boxes of Halloween, Easter, and other Christmas decorations, that I know the space was meant to house my holiday goods.

On a typical day, I am working on 3 or 4 'projects' around my house. My ADHD gives me the patience of a gnat, so I tend to drift off into other things before finishing what I started. The end result of that is overflowing other areas of my house, wreaking havoc in it's disruptive path, and a whole bunch of cool shit for the cats to play with, pee on, and break, all at 4 am of course. To top it off, I seem to enjoy inviting people over smack dab in the middle of all the chaos. So I often find myself needing to shuffle the aforementioned detritus where ever I find space. The project 'put crap under the stairs' round went something like this:

Sonja decides to completely empty the two downstairs rooms by taking everything out and dumping it into the family room. End result: crowding out any possible space for life to exist. Sonja also decides that it's a perfect time to invite a ton of people over for a celebration! Half my house is covered in bullshit, nonsense, trinkets, boxes, cobwebs, crazed cats with new found toys, and various other weird stuff, why not have a party? Shit.

The beautiful storage under the stairs was the easiest solution to my mess problem. Dammit. Whatever I couldn't shuffle back into the appropriate spot was surreptitiously and precariously stacked, making one hell of a booby trap for the sucker that opens the door next. I'm fairly certain no cats were boxed up and put under the stairs.

Considering there haven't been any holidays between the onset of project 'something about the stairs' and Halloween, no suckers have opened that door. Knowing what lurks behind that door made my argument for not decorating for Halloween that much easier.

Unfortunately, my daughter LOVES Halloween, so doing nothing wasn't an option either. We settled on purchasing one decoration from the dollar store. A plastic skeleton. We could hang it on our front door, and be done with it. Simple, fast, and no risk of attack from zombie cats trapped under the stairs.

When we got home and took the skeleton out of the package, we realized we were far from being done with decorating. Two things were abundantly clear when we laid eyes on our fully extended, $1 skeleton:  1. It was a boy, and 2. He is fabulously gay. I know. I sound like a lunatic. But I kid you not, this skeleton is both of those things. Take a look:

As my daughter and I agreed on both of those things, we wanted to embrace his fabulousness, and help him scream it to the world "I'm gay and I'm proud!"  So we did what any good friends would do... we gave him our support, told him we loved him for who he is, and dressed him to the nines! But what to do? It was at this moment my darling husband chimed in. All he said while passing by was "He needs an ascot." That was all the motivation I needed.

For the next hour and a half, my daughter and I set out to properly outfit Al, aka Dead Gay Al, since it was Halloween and all. He was given rosy cheeks, a mani/pedi, fake eyelashes, a gold tooth, a pink polka-dot ascot, and a fabulous blue and purple vest. Al's makeover was complete! See what you think:

With something so fabulous decorating my door, I really couldn't be too upset about 'not decorating' for Halloween this year. All it took was looking at things from a slightly different perspective, and one little comment to create this masterpiece. Dead Gay Al is a part of the family now. He will be outfitted for the upcoming holidays, and on display for all to see. Some people hang wreaths, some hang lights, we'll hang Dead Gay Al dressed to impress. Hey, if Santa and Mrs. Claus can deck their halls like Christmas, and hand out candy canes on Halloween, why not adorn our home with a festive skeleton? Seriously, Santa and Mrs. Claus handed out candy canes on Halloween! See for yourself (I blurred the kids faces, don't worry, they have heads in real life)

I'll be sure to update once Al has made the switch. Though, come to think of it, maybe we should call him Jack Skellington instead...

* Please know that my family and I are huge supporters of the LGBT community, and do not wish to offend anyone with this post. If I have, please message me, and accept my sincere apologies.

What font do I use for drug addict?

I'm a drug addict. I'm going to put it on my resume too. Once I settle on a font that is. I'm actually excited about this! What a cool thing to be! I'm like Jessie from Breaking Bad. Or Mark Renton from Trainspotting. Except a woman. Oh cool! So I'm Gia Carnagi! Damn, I'm hot. Though, I am alive. Nope, not her. I'm Sonja. Just Sonja. Oh, and I'm not that kind of drug addict anyway. If I were, I would've embellished and started with something more like this:

The seeping concrete walls surrounding me are closing in... the floor beneath me is miles away... Floating? I'm floating? What the fuck. I'm wedged in this dank corner clutching my knees, trying with all my might to rock as violently as I can. But my sallow, slick skin, ice cold to the touch, odd though as my temperature is, no doubt, somewhere near hells fury, or surface of the sun, won't allow me to break free into motion. So I just violently jerk... convulse... occasionally smashing my already battered skull against that dank and sticky wall behind me, reopening old wounds over, and over again. My hair matted in blood, bits of skull and brain matter, yet I crave more.

The grime beneath my hideous yellow nails has taken on an indescribable odor. The constant picking, scratching, clawing, at the walls, trying to escape my self made prison, has turned my manicured digits into 10 deadly saw blades. I don't dare peek at my toes.

There are no lights anywhere... wait... from beneath the mats of hair I see... is that? Really? Oh come on... A bare bulb dangling from some frayed wires? How cliche. If there's only going to be one bare hanging bulb, might as well cue the- drip.... drip... drip.... spoke too soon.

How long have I been here? What day is it? Where on earth did I buy this ridiculous Exorcist flavored nightgown? I suppose if I'm going to be stuck in a dark, dank, poorly lit, concrete whatever this is, floating no less, why not sport a dingy grey nighty from the 70's? God, I hope that bulb doesn't swing into whatever is dripping. Speaking of drips... I could really go for some tea right now.

Tea. Oh the healing powers of that poorly drawn Panda on the side of the box. Sort of reminds me of the gigantic handicapped people on the Arc trucks. I seriously doubt they're meant to scare me, but have you seen those gigantic eyeballs? Stop judging me! You're different alright. Leave me the fuck alone. Could be the drugs talking. Mmmmmm drugs.... what were we talking about?

Someone needs to turn on the fucking lights in here. Open some curtains. Good lord. What the hell am I wearing? Is it hot in here? Good Lord I'm cold. Can someone please explain why it rained INSIDE, and who parked the creepy ass ARC van in the damn driveway! I'm hungry. I'm hungry. I'm. need. food. now. am.

Yeah, embellished drug addict Sonja is just not working for me. Plus, my dogs keep barking so I can let them in out again.  I can't keep it going. I'm also too busy wondering how many people I lost after using the word fuck the first, second, third.... times. Fuck 'em?

Back to it. Right. Now, what I am is a run of the mill, regular ole', class A (which is what exactly), prescription drug addict, and I was told I was going to be one before I ever took my first pill. If I could cue the spooky music, and pop a picture of Tangina up to scare everyone just then, it would've been awesome, but no, no fortune telling tricks here. I am finally in the general population of predicted outcomes, and I couldn't be happier to be an addict! Man that sounds fucked up. (How many am I up to?) I'm happy I'm going through withdrawal right now. I promise to tell you why that makes me happy, but I wouldn't be me if I didn't take us all for a ride while spinning my yarns now would I?

Back to food. You're supposed to make me well. Let's see. I shall have a bowl filled with sharp razors, shards of glass, barbed wire, and dynamite. Oh, and a little sumpthin' sumpthin' with an internal acid cleansing feature if you please. As a drug addict in withdrawal, this is now all the food groups. Burning acids. Flaming things. Razors. Barbed things. Glass shards. and Dynamite. They also all exit in exactly the same manner, exorcist style. I am lifted off my porcelain throne about 4 feet, screaming and writhing in pain, while my lower half rotates 360 degrees spewing evil. It's really quite a fantastic sight.

I watched the Gia Carnagi movie the other day. I've seen Trainspotting. I've seen other movies that also have unmemorable titles and unmemorable actors going through withdrawal. Now, granted, those are all about heroin, or meth, or other kinds of drugs. Not vitamin D withdrawal. Or, Advil withdrawal. Though that would be pretty damn funny in my opinion. Fish Oil supplement withdrawal. Neosporin withdrawal. Flintstone gummy vitamin withdrawal. HA! Wild, maniacal toddlers screeching "GIVE ME MY DINO!!" in Satan's voice! Ok, I'll quit while I'm ahead.

OxyContin withdrawal. That's what I have. Between having been born with iron clad genes susceptible to only the highest doses of pain meds, and having a constitution that is, without fail, the exception to every rule, I've made my rounds with the medicines, learning what they do for me, or to me, tattooed the ones that kill me on my person, only to end my OxyContin journey in my own version of the Exorcist.

When being a Sonja, one has to do things a particular way. This typically consists of 1. The Hard Way. 2. The Roundabout Way 3. The Long Way 4. The Road Less Traveled, and my most favorite, and ironic 5. The Way that No Other Doctor has Ever Seen Before Ever, aka, The Exception to Every Rule Way. I am the 1%. I am the exception to the rule. So when my doctor and I decided that taking OxyContin for a few years was long enough, and time to stop, I thought it was funny when I was handed an informational packet roughly titled: "What to Expect While You're Drug Addicted Body Goes Bat Shit Crazy Trying to Convince You That You've Made the Worst Decision of Your Life and Get You Back On the Drugs"

Day one: Olympic bathroom racing trials begin! I've never wished for a full fledged adult diaper any harder in my life. Maybe I should ask for those for my birthday. I've already shit 14 pounds of Sonja out already, who knows how much more could go by then! I could write a weight loss book maybe? I gotta remember to put paper and pencils in the bathroom. If I ever get to leave this place to go grab some that is. 

Day two: Ok Sonja. I'll make me a bargain. You withdrawal nicely, and I'll feed you.

Day three: Had the funny idea that if I left the bathroom I might actually be able to exist in the rest of the house. Boy was that a good joke. Forgot legs lost feeling days ago. Swear stomach laughed at me while I crumpled in slow mo to the ground.

Day four: Had bed installed around throne in bathroom. Husband asked me if I was hungry. Had not realized I could breathe fire and cry simultaneously. Must remember to replace burnt bathroom door.

Day five: I can't believe it took me this long to think of counting the tiles! 98. Ok, that was lame.

Day six: Still in the bathroom. Reasoning with myself now. Here is an excerpt of my conversation with me: Taking drugs for me is like playing Russian Roulette. There is absolutely no way of knowing if I'll be allergic to the shit, until I've already shot myself. The really hilarious part is, when you, my body, randomly decide when you've had enough and put itchy spots on me, wake me up elsewhere, make my heart exercise with me having to do any pesky work, that kind of junk. Oh, and death. That's a fun one too. The longer I take this, the more likely I am of shooting myself. Oxy bitch- you gotta go. Drank a glass of water. My body retaliated for the self talk and turned it into battery acid.

Day seven: Half expected angelic sunbeams and sparkles to shine down on my bed throne, lift me up (unlike the demonic lifting and spinning I've already been experiencing) and sprinkle (so tempted to say angel dust here) magic over me while harps, french horns, and choirs sing my praises for a job well done. Instead, my ass gave a rousing fffffrrrrumph with more toxic liquids spurting in time to the music in my head.

The good thing that's been coming from my time as a recovering drug addict is the weight loss of course. 14 pounds in a week. Exorcist style- and not out of my mouth. If I were a bigger person, I'd say I wouldn't wish this kind of pain on anyone. But, who am I kidding? I'm 14 pounds smaller, so I'm no longer a bigger person. Loopholes. I love them.

But, I did promise to tell you why I am happy to have withdrawal. I'm happy because I'm always the exception to the rule. For once in my life, I'm the rule. I am right there, along with everyone else. I'm the same. It leaves me with a glimmer of hope that there are other long sticks I'll draw as opposed to always pulling the short stick.

Be well everyone. Next time you see me, I'll be drug free, back pain free, out of the bathroom, and showing off my 'normal'.

The Broken Mother

The Eve of Mother's Day... Such a variety of mothers exist out there... Today I am only thinking of one type of mother. The broken mother.

I know the immense joy when seeing baby for the first time. And the joy that flows through as baby rides safely in their car seat on the way to their home for the very first time. All mother's share in that sacred bond, the joy of creating life.

And today, I know a mother who takes watch over her child and makes every effort to ensure that tonight is not the night that her child takes their own life. She thinks 'If baby makes it through the night then I have the gift of tomorrow with my child."

We never seem to remember the names of the victims do we- the children in the elementary school in Connecticut, the theater shootings in Denver, the small boy taken off the bus and held hostage underground for days... what were their names again? I am thinking of their mother's tonight.

The elementary shooter had a mother. The Denver theater shooter has a mother. The man in the underground bunker has a mother. I imagine the horror their mother's felt, that joy that had once coursed through their being now shattered. I am thinking of them tonight.

I am honored, and privileged to be a mother myself. I wouldn't say I'm lucky that my child is not suicidal, that my child hasn't killed another human being, or taken a child away from their home. That's not anything that typically crosses my mind. But, tonight it does. The pain and anguish that Mother's Day must bring to the broken mother: broken hearted, broken spirited, broken soul...

Tomorrow, while celebrations are had, meals are enjoyed, gifts are opened, remember the broken mothers. Remember that we are all connected in that bond. The broken mother tomorrow will suffer from pain in the death of their child, betrayal of their child, grief for days lost and questions unanswered, and so many other things I can't even fathom.

Give the mothers of the lost, and the mothers of those who took those lives a second of your time, and remember them, for it might be the only time that they can experience a moment of joy on a day that brings such sadness. And think of the mothers trying to keep their child alive for just one more day, for that gift of tomorrow.

I believe if we put goodness out, we will have goodness in return. I know that at times we just don't have it in us to put anything positive out there. So it is my hope that for those mothers, that have nothing left to give, that they can receive some of the warmth and love that is generated by my request. Thank you all for your unselfishness, for the gift you're giving to others in need, and for opening your hearts and minds. You truly are amazing.

These are the names of the victim's in the events I mentioned. I will not taint their deaths with the names of their killers:

Charlotte Bacon, 6
Daniel Barden, 7
Rachel D’Avino, 29
Olivia Engel, 6
Josephine Gay, 7
Ana Marquez-Greene, 6
Dylan Hockley, 6
Dawn Hochsprung, 47
Madeleine Hsu, 6
Catherine Hubbard, 6
Chase Kowalski, 7
Jesse Lewis, 6
James Mattioli, 6
Grace McDonnell, 7
Anne Marie Murphy, 52
Emilie Parker, 6
Jack Pinto, 6
Noah Pozner, 6
Caroline Previdi, 6
Jessica Rekos, 6
Avielle Richman, 6
Lauren Rousseau, 30
Mary Sherlach, 56
Victoria Soto, 27
Benjamin Wheeler, 6
Allison Wyatt, 6
 Jonathan Blunk, age 26
Alexander J. Boik, age 18
Jesse Childress, age 29
Gordon Cowden, age 51
Jessica Ghawi, age 24
John Larimer, age 27
Matt McQuinn, age 27
Micayla Medek, age 23
Veronica Moser-Sullivan, age 6
Alex Sullivan, age 27
Alexander C. Teves, age 24
Rebecca Wingo, age 31
Ethan- age 5 survivor

Buzz, Buzz, doodle-dang

One day I was sitting around doing whatever it is I do while I'm sitting around, when I hear the familiar "buzz, buzz, doodle-dang" on my phone announcing that I've just received an email.  Typically, I don't pay much attention to much of anything that my phone does, and today was no different. Since I've been signed up for every single possible companies email I get approximately 573 billion emails a day. So one doodle is no different from another ones dang. 

Like always, I continued doing whatever it is I do, sometimes that's working, sometimes it's making things, sometimes it's swearing so much it makes a sailor look prude. Yet I always hear 'Good things come to those who wait.' Lately I've been at the point where I say 'suck it' to that. I did every single thing I was supposed to do. Everything. So how can I possibly be a role model to my kiddo and encourage her on 'what to do' when I did that, and I have a steaming pile of shit to show for it. 

Let me spell this out a bit more. To get a good paying job, we are taught to go to college after high school. I went to college. Then I went to grad school. So I did more. We are told to be innovative, to stand out, to create, design, make our mark- I did just that, I designed curriculum that is used district wide to this day because of my innovative, positive ideas had made such a significant difference; those were going to be brought up to the governor even! Impressive right? Meh. 

Every school I worked at I found fatal flaws at. Every time I brought those up I was put in a position in which I needed to find another job. Administrators, I found, don't like it when they learn that very bad things are happening at their schools. My students loved me, I made a huge difference, I made people aware of things that were being covered up, and sure enough, I was always looking for another job at the end of each year. I am ok with that because I know that I did exactly what was needed for those kids. In 2 separate schools alone I was told by my administration not to file abuse charges on children which clearly had physical marks on their bodies of being hit.  When the MS joined me, it got rather difficult to make good on work, and allow myself the time and rest that I needed in order to heal and give me the strength I need to go to work everyday. I told no one about this infestation on my sheath, as it is not required, and continued to do my job with much praise from parents and students. And at the end of every year I was out of a job because I stuck to my training, and did what was right. 

The loss my job, and income, came with a massive price. It was more frightening than waking up with a gaggle of hungry zombies staring down at me while I slept.  I would suddenly wake up and realize that the shit has definitely hit the fan. Again.  

This is not what I had in mind when I went to college and grad school. That's what we are supposed to do right? We are supposed to go to college so we can get good paying jobs, live in houses with the rooms upstairs, a fireplace and family room downstairs, a garage, landscaping, yearly vacations, 2.3 kids and a dog named spot. I did what I was told. I have that dream of that house in my head, I have things I want to do, I have goals, I have a future. I thought. My reality is that I am scared beyond belief that none of it will never happen for me because I am actually closer to being homeless than living the dream I worked so hard for, and and in permanent debt for. Don't feel sorry. Feel angry. And donate to the charities of your choice so scientists can do research and help keep people like me from homelessness.I don't care which- cancer, MS, Alzheimer's, whatever. Any amount you donate helps someone like me stay from becoming homeless and getting well. 

Dan is the smartest person I know. He reads Nietzsche for fun for crying out loud. But, he isn't over educated like me. So when I lost my job, we lost 2/3rd of our income. And we have lived like that ever since. Let me just say that it sucks. Do we pay utilities this month and not gas so that we can get food? Or, do we skip food so that we can have heat? How much food can we grow so that we wont have to buy it? But wait, that just made the utilities go up. Shit, the dog completely tore his ACL and needs surgery. Guess what we can't pay for because we declared bankruptcy due to all the damn medical bills. 

I never see my husband. He is always working. Early morning until late at night. He's been at the same place for over a decade. He got less than 10 cents for a raise last year. Geez, that's helpful. Dan has Chrohn's disease, so he has his own demons do battle. Did I mention how hard he works? And for what? We don't live outside of our means, just in a constant state of stress.

I tell you, for doing exactly what I was supposed to do, why on earth would I encourage my kid to follow this same path? Look where it got me. Yeah! Go to college kiddo! Then you can be so stressed out for the rest of your life because you won't know how the hell you'll pay for the next months bills/food/ or rent. Why the hell would I tell her to go to college? To make things worse, there are plenty of people that just don't understand my situation. They're the 'know-it-alls', you know, the ones with all the advice, tell me exactly what I need to do with my life, let me know I don't want it badly enough, then talk so poorly behind your back it doesn't matter what I said in the first place. These are the people that have never once asked me a single question, or walked 10 feet in my shoes let alone a mile. But always the first to judge and accuse.

My car broke down a year ago. I paid for that car with an inheritance I received when my grandfather passed away. I thought it was a wise investment. And it was. Until I threw a rod. There is no coming back from that, so I had a huge pile of metal and plastic shit sitting in my driveway. Having learned how to be frugal I found my dream car- $42K Volvo XC-90- oh man this thing was beautiful! Alas, I cannot afford $42K to save my life. So I kept looking. I found one, for $9K. Those of you who wonder how on earth I can afford such an expensive car (I'm not driving a porche for crying out loud) it's because I do loads of research. And my husband and I shared one car for years until we finally bit the bullet and bought another. Man, did I got a lot of shit for buying such a fancy car.... All I could do was laugh. People are quite judgemental with zero basis.  

I live in a neighborhood where every single house looks exactly the same. My street looks like a slightly glorified trailer park. I have the best neighbors in the world, and I have done all the work on my house myself. I have made a loving, comfortable space that once you've been, you never want to leave. But, I am faced with losing my home every single month because I cannot work. 

Some of you reading this won't give a rat's ass, and will actually hope for that to happen, and I really hope that all the weirdness that you harbor doesn't give you a heart attack which leaves you dead. Perhaps just the heart attack part and a new outlook on life. I've know some pretty rotten people in my life and it would take something like a heart attack to pull that hatred out of their ass and figure out that life is more about helping others, than hurting. 

So yep, life is constantly desperate for me, I am not at a place in my life to be able to accept higher messages from various guru's when I am worried about my basic safety needs being met. I do appreciate being thought of tho. And since things have been so desperate for so long, and I refuse to live like this, and I am in no shape to do much, I applied for social security disability, and I won. It's still a waiting game at this point, and I have no clue what my benefits will be, when they will start, nothing. But, I won. The lawyer and judge both told me that they've never had a person with a superior IQ come in an not be employed. I didn't know whether to take that as a compliment, or a diss.

So that's what I've been doing since my neurologist suddenly halted my CCSVI surgery with the promise of more, and better treatment, and I was asked to give the doctor a chance? Yeah, I remember that too. Let me give you a lists of treatment and tests that I've had since he abruptly stopped my surgery. I want it to be crystal clear how seriously this was taken on my doctors behalf:


___________________________________________________________

Pretty impressive list right? Yes, I've left my neurologist and taken matters into my own hands. Before I get into that, why not chat about the other things that have been going on in my life...

As you all know, my family took a much needed vacation to Hawaii. Absolutely nothing could dampen our excitement :) It was exactly what we needed to do at that time, and it was perfect. We stayed in a condo right on the ocean in S. Kihei, Maui, HI. The Kamaole Sands. It was FABULOUS. We had everything we needed and more. Our mornings were spent on the lanai surrounded by all sorts of wild birds, the refreshing breezes of the ocean floating in the air, and the delightful Hawaiian sun. Followed by a stroll along the beach, a swim in the ocean, and making friends with local sea creatures. 

I took thousands of photo's and shared our journey with my friends and family on FaceBook and Instagram. Hopefully everyone was able to take a peek at our adventures. The photos are still available for viewing in case anyone missed them. 

To summarize our trip into one word I would have to say rejuvenating. Hearing that home was experiencing record snowfall amounts while we were basking in the sun, exploring lush jungles and waterfalls, spotting whales and sea turtles, and deciding if we needed to change out of our bathing suits, or just throw on shorts and flip flops, made our time spent in Hawaii that much more enjoyable. 

Rejuvenating in the Hawaiian tropics really bolstered my strength to face the challenges that I knew were awaiting me at home. I hit the ground running with my primary care physician by discussing whatever tests, scans, blood work, and so forth, that I should consider and make that wheel squeak until I had those things done, in order to finally be able to get my 'roto-rooter' surgery that I've had put off time and time again.  Well folks, one surgery, 974 pints of blood, 13 billion x-rays, and an MRI or two later, one back surgery, ambition that doesn't quit, and a fire that refuses to burn it, I read that doodle dang email, I am happy to report that it's finally happening!!! I am getting my CCSVI surgery. Talk about a long dramatic pause between start and finish. 

Tomorrow morning I will be getting this long overdue surgery. My goal was to raise $10,000K and I didn't quite get there. I am about $3K short. I've already declared bankruptcy for medical bills, so all that will happen is I'll get sent to collections for the remaining portion that I cannot pay. And perhaps have a need to declare bankruptcy again.

I had a lot of promises from people about various things that they would do to help me raise the rest of the funds. What I learned is that there are a lot of people that would really like to help, but find out how difficult it really is to make it happen. I adore each and every one of you. Even the nasty bitches with not a kind bone in their bodies. Without all of you, this wouldn't have happened. I needed the kindness to keep going, I needed the nasty bitches to give me a good laugh, I need the trip to Hawaii to rejuvenate my soul, and I needed to fire my neurologist and take matters into my own hands. So I might be an over educated, intellectual pauper, but I've found my job... It's me. I am my advocate. And I am getting my surgery tomorrow. Wish me luck and I'll see you on the other side my lovelies! 

I'd ask for more donations, but at this point, it's not worth it. Personally, I'm sick of asking for help, and I'm sure everyone is tired of seeing requests for donations time and time again. I am honored by the $7K I raised, for the patience, prayers, and love from all of my friends and family, and the enemies I've made. They help too! I look forward to sharing with everyone the impact my surgery had :)  Thank you all again! 

Much love, 
Sonja