Don’t Make Me Cry

I don’t cry.

Okay, I lied.

What I mean is: I don’t cry at work. I just don’t. It shows weakness and I am tough. I will not show people my weakness.

Well, maybe on Twitter.  Twitter people accept you, don’t care if you rant and give you support when you need it or give a smack upside the head as appropriate. And they are willing to order you pitchers of margaritas…or raise a glass in support. God, I love my Tweeps!

Do you ever have those weeks when it just overwhelms you and you try to get work done but the sheer size of the mountain is so big that you just can’t do anything?

That was this week.

And Friday I nearly cried.

I was on the phone with someone discussing work shit and I was getting so frustrated that I choked up and couldn’t talk. Worst, he is one of my superiors. Not really my boss, but still in that upper echelon of bossdom.

“Sassy, are you there? Did I drop you? Are you reading emails again and not paying attention?”

“No. I’m here. Just sitting here.” Trying not to let the tears drop out of my eyes, my throat closing off  sobs; so glad that I am not in the office.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Nothing. Go on. Finish what you need to say.” I know he can hear it in my voice. I just pray he doesn’t ask me again.

He continues. “Blah, blah, blah, blah…smile sometime today.”

Fuck you…Yeah okay.”

And even though the tears pooled and threaten, I did not let them fall. They slowly drained away only to leave me without the satisfaction only a good cry can give you. My eyes feel like they have cried and my body feels exhausted just from the effort to not LET THEM SEE ME CRY. Or in this case…hear me cry.

I am at a crossroads in my job.

I have two titles and two job descriptions that are at odds. It hasn’t been made official to the rest of the staff and I am encouraged to keep on foot steady on each end of the teeter-totter.

It’s getting harder to balance.

I am suffering from TMSOMFP syndrome (see tags)…and I just know that I am going to move my foot and go crashing down. Either I will fall hard on my ass to the point of breaking an ass bone or get flipped on the other end and go sailing through the air only to land on my face, breaking my expensive orthodontia perfected teeth in the process.

So I am going to smash that plate and scatter the shit until it gathers dust and doesn’t smell anymore.

I will delegate more.

I will go on radio silent and not feel the need to be there at all times, for everyone.

Because dammit! I need to!



Birthday Wishes

We were on our way to Dairy Queen the other night to make the Chocolate Covered Strawberry Wafflebowl my bitch for the night and JC pipes up from the backseat.

“I know what you can get me for my birthday!!!”

Waiting for the request for the new Poppy Coach purse….hey, she has taste! Expensive taste, but taste nonetheless.

“I want a conceal carry permit.”

MJ pipes in, “Me too!!”

Um, what?!?!?

Now, this really shouldn’t be too out there for my family. Rambo and I keep talking about doing it ourselves.


Because we can.

A warning, we are a family with guns, both kids have had gun safety and can shoot a gun. We have a respect for them and the power they wield. But you never know…doomsday may be around the corner and we may need to boogie on out of here with our go bags. I am a prepper.

Just fucking kidding!!!!!!!!!!!!

I heard you going all…..”Shit. Damn. What the hell? How can she be a prepper?”


Scared you there for a minute didn’t I? (Really though? My BIL is…he scares me!)

I admit, her request did take me by surprise until she said, “Then, you can buy me a pink gun.”

There it was.

She just really wanted a pink handgun. A small one that would fit in her Coach purse. And because it’s cute. Pink with pearl handles. She saw it on TV.

Then we told her that she can’t get a conceal carry permit until she turns 21.

“Well, that’s dumb.”

Conversation over.

But damn, what do we get her now?


p.s. I ate the whole thing!



Final Chapter~Saying Goodbye to Burning Yarn and Greyhound Buses

This will be the last installment. For the beginning you can start here:

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Saying Goodbye

I am a little sad to see the story coming to an end. I hope it touches you today.

The only thing I remember about the rest of the trip was more crocheting.

We got to the bus station and boarded the bus for home. Grandma showed me how to do a single stitch and a double stitch, making me practice all the way home. Thinking back, it probably was because she exhausted herself with everything we did during the day and the treatment side effects creeping up on her. The crocheting kept me quiet.

While there were many other, more quiet memories with my Grandma after this trip, the good times are the ones that I like to remember the most.

She always told the story of her conversation with the doctor when she was first diagnosed with breast cancer.

“Vera, even with treatment, the prognosis isn’t good. Maybe a year, two tops.” They told her.

She recalled that she looked the doctor in the eye and told him, “No fucking wet-nosed doctor is going to tell me when to  god damn die.”

She walked out that day and fought the fight for 20+ years

Until one day.

When her strength wasn’t enough.

Her self-sufficiency was gone.

Her resilience was worn down like an old rubber tire.

She didn’t need to brave anymore.

She passed away on a cold March day in 1982. I got the call to go to the office during Social Studies in 8th grade where I was told I needed to go home. Somehow, I knew what had happened.

The morning that she passed away she had an argument with my Grandpa. She overheard him telling the doctor that everything was to be done to save her.

She opened her eyes one last time, looked at him and told him “Fuck you. It’s not your choice. You didn’t care then, don’t start now.”

She closed her eyes and never said another word. She was finally at peace.

I like to think that I got her resilience, bravery and self-sufficiency from her. Her legacy to me, will be mine to my daughter.

I lift a glass to you, Grandma. I know you are watching over me and you come to my dreams when I most need encouragement.

My Grandma

For the beginning start here: