The Saga of Baxter

For those of you keeping score at home, Baxter has now cost $4,400 in the last seven months. Thankfully, I've had many people donate money to his cause and help with $625 worth of his bills.

In case you missed what's been happening, in April (end of) he'd started having nose bleeds. He had an xray, rhinoscopy, and blood work. A few months after that he started puking, and puking, and then began bleeding from him bum. I called out of work and rushed him to the emergency vet clinic where he stayed overnight on an IV drip (they say it was something viral).

Most recently, he had this on his leg:

We referred to it as his sausage. The vet took one look at it and said, "Yea, that's going to need to come off." She didn't touch it or anything. He was brought in for surgery the following morning and has since looked like this:

He rams things straight on, hard enough we have to put his cone of shame on a few times a day, but he's recovering well, which is nice.

Just before Thanksgiving, I'd like to say that I'm thankful to have Baxter with me, still. 2013 was rough on both of us, but things are always looking up :)

T is for Time Out

Sometimes, he can just sit next to me

So there we were, walking without a leash because MOST of the time Baxter is good enough. It's night time, there are barely any cars out (which is why I'm okay with him not being on a leash). Suddenly, he darts to the left, into the yard of the local veterinary clinic.

"Baxter, get over here!" I yell.

He responds by wagging his tail, taking several steps away from me and peeing on a tree.

I continue to yell, to whistle, to no avail. My dumb dog will not come back. It's usually at this point I start to worry; what if he runs back and gets hit by a car, what if a mountain lion comes and eats him, what if he sees a raccoon and chases it....

On a mission, I march to Baxter, grab him by the collar where his eyes go wide. It's clear he knows he's done something wrong. I walk-drag him a few steps until he fights me holding him.

"Fine, but you better stay with me!"

And he does. He takes a step, turns his head and looks at me, almost like he's saying, "Look, look I'm right here!"

We get home, I open the door and yell, "Go lay down, right now!" It is not a pretty voice.

He's all "Please just love me!"

My boyfriend locks eyes with me. "What'd he do?"

"Ran off and wouldn't listen, so now he's in time out."

How time out works:
1) Baxter acts up. Typically it's him running off and not listening to me. It can be for a vast majority of reasons: other pets, something cool he wants to smell, etc.
2) Baxter DOESN'T come back.
3) We get home, I tell him to go lay down
4) He's not allowed to come near us until I deem him okay to be out of time out. Typically, I yell, "Bax, it's okay to come out now," or "Bax it's okay to come to bed now" and he RUNS.
5) For the next few days he listens a little better

Sloppy Sunday

There are marquee boards in Hell. They're engulfed in flames, centered in unbearable sunlight, and the letters will never stick to the pole.

I don't like sunlight.

A portion of my job ensures that this is my weekly nightmare. Because I haven't had money for a new set of contacts, I've been saving my vision for snowboarding and regularly wearing my glasses. Which means that because the marquee board is put in such a way the sunlight goes straight into my unprotected eyeballs, I have a tendency to leave my glasses in my car and swap em for sunglasses. Sure, I can't see while I change the sales, but I don't feel completely blinded.

On Sloppy Sunday, I did this, as I usually do. After dropping a million letters (because they don't in fact stick to the demonic pole), I went in to the store, took care of the letters, and pole, and ventured out to my car to exchange my sun blockers for my vision enhancers.

I grabbed the handle, and the door didn't open.

I did it again. Then I realized that my car has a safety feature....that locks the doors without having to touch anything.

Through hazy eyes, I squinted in to the car. My glasses were sitting on the driver's seat...along with my car keys. The door was, in fact, locked. The windows were closed. The truck was locked.

Getting my glasses back kind of felt like this.

After a rather lengthy panic attack, and calling my sister who informed me it'll cost about $75 to unlock my car through a locksmith, through the advice of a friend I contacted my insurance company. Lo and behold, I HAVE ROADSIDE ASSISTANCE!

Within the hour my car was unlocked, the day was saved and I hugged the kind old man who made me sign a waiver that released him from smashing out my window, and thus begins another week in the life of Lynne.

Happy Monday.

The Fear of What If?

I just love books so much

I read a lot of books. It kind of comes with the writing territory. Some books are amazing (like If I Stay, Looking for Alaska, etc), and some are just okay.

But when I finish one of those great books; the ones where the characters haunt me, or the plot annoys me, or I wish I were friends with their friends, I struggle with The Fear of What If.

What if I can't ever write something this good? What if my story doesn't flow as well, if the characters never fully come to life, or if my ending doesn't conclude the way it should? What if...

my writing sucks?

Sometimes I recover quickly from these episodes. Sometimes, I hide my pen and computer for a few days saying, "Well, you should just quit while you're ahead and continue with your dead end job."

I may have a small book addiction...

But some days, I look at the books in my room. I sit among great authors like Alice Hoffman, and Kerry Cohen, and Jodi Picoult. I sit among the books I've loved, and thrown, and not cared about. Their presence brings me a sense of hope. When in doubt, I read an acknowledgement page. When I'm really, really, in doubt, ready to curl in the fetal position and cry, I look at the pictures of authors I've met.

They were like me once. They had blogs. They have tweets. They had hopes, and dreams, and they kept going. They already wrote their books. The great books that I'm jealous of are already out there. I need to write my book, with my words.

So, I open up my computer and stare at the cursor as it blinks back at me.

It's all part of the writing game. (You should keep going, too.)

What's That On The Fan?

Welcome to the Dungeon

Well, as I called it on Friday, the poo has hit the fan, my friends. After my roommate/landlord texted, freaking out about my friend (now boyfriend, eek! Commitment issues everywhere) spending the night, he came over to let me watch Harry Potter. Within the first fifteen minutes, landlord's son (he's 30+ years old) comes downstairs and calls out, "It's time for company to leave."

"Thanks, but we're watching a movie."

"No, I think it's time for him to go, didn't you get my mom's text?"

"I did, and we're watching a movie. Night." (I'm so passive aggressive.)

Well, he goes back upstairs, and Damien and I continue watching the movie. And he falls asleep. Rather than waking him up and kicking him out, I let him sleep.

In the morning my alarm beeps, and I climb the stairs. Baxter, who opens the door with his face, smashed into the closed door. It didn't open. I patted him, pushed him to the side, and twisted the knob.

Terrifying, isn't it?
Worst part, when I moved in and saw it, I had a mini panic attack.
I should trust those instincts more often.

It still didn't open. They'd locked us in the basement. So I start yelling until the landlord's son opens the door, where another fight ensues. I let Baxter out, and managed to lose my car keys so Damien gave me a ride to my eye appointment. When we came back, the landlord's son blocked the entrance and was all, "You can leave now." (He is NOT a small man by any means. His entire body took up the door, so there was no way to get through.)

Now, a few days later, I'm still livid about the entire situation. If a fire had started, the three of us would be dead. The 'second' entrance is currently barricaded with the landlord's crap for 'winter'. There would have been no quick way out. Secondly, I pay to live there. Which means if I want to have friends over, who aren't doing anything, I get to have friends over. I'm not a sister/cousin/relative. It is NOT okay to EVER, EVER, EVER lock someone in the basement. (Unless you're seven and they cheat at tag. Then it's okay.) Thirdly, her little niece that got screamed at by her little boyfriend is a pot head, and yet it's okay for them to come whenever they want, without giving me notice so when they come creeping in at midnight I think I'm going to get murdered.

The so called "emergency" exit

So once again, I'm back to the apartment/house hunt grind. Wish me luck.

To end this on an uplifting note here's a song lyric that keeps me going in these situations:

"All I need is the air I breathe, and a place to rest my head" ~One Republic

The Truth About Craigslist

Guess what, guys? We have our first real complain about 2013! Aside from Bax being sick. Just when you thought it was safe to forget about all of the quarrels of 2012, one comes creeping back. Kind of like a court case that just doesn't go away...

Wait, that's exactly what it is.

If you missed any of the drama of the Roommate Saga, you may want to freshen up here. Once upon a time, I lived in a super sketchy place because when I moved to Maine I had no place to call home. So I went on Craigslist, and found this place. The landlord said, "Oh, the house keeper is kind of strange, but he's harmless, I swear."

Can we just forget I lived here?
Please?

Turns out, not so harmless. So the other day at work, the arresting officer (in civilian clothing) came up to me as I restocked the liquor aisle. "Remember me?" he asked.

My face lit up. "Of course, how are you?"

"Good, and um, sorry to be the bearer of bad news," he said, handing me a piece of paper.

I opened it, and wham-bam, it's a subpoena. I am now to appear in court any time between January 9th-31st.

I'm trying to tell myself it's just research for a future novel, but really, I just want that whole ordeal to be over. I'd be a happy girl if I never had to see him again. So the truth about Craigslist, is that you may want to fully research your place before you move in. This is the second time things have blown up in my face (the first being that incident with bedbugs).

Any of you have any legal issues? Or, better yet, what's your worst (best) roommate story?

Actual Outcomes

So dressed for success

The thing people fail to warn you about when it comes to your memoir is how much you'll cry. The first draft, I didn't do much until I finished. Then I spent a few hours drinking beer and sobbing. Then the second and third drafts ripped open wounds I was unaware I still had. I even edited a section about happy things and couldn't stop crying. It got to the point I couldn't open my word document without cringing.

And then I started reading sections out loud; to my sister, to my friends, to my mother. I read certain sections so much my eyes felt like they'd bleed. Then, I read a chapter where I was bullied to the point I attempted suicide, to a classroom.

Then, I prepared the first chapter to present in front of a room full of adults. And this, is how my presentation on December 6th, started.

I read the first chapter, and near the second page...I felt the lump in my throat. My hands took on a tremor. When I looked up (like you should during all public speaking engagements), every single eye in the room was on me.

It was hard to breathe. The small voice in the back of my head kept saying, You're just reading a book, you're just reading...But I wasn't. It was my life and it felt like I was eight years old watching my sister get beat by my father.

I sat next to the president of the
organization. Intense, no?

I didn't fully cry, but I got choked up and recovered by saying, "As you can tell, I'm still a little sensitive about all of this," and continued talking. I told the group about the presentations I did where young girls reached out and told me about the horrors they're currently living through. About the fact that they hurt themselves. I talked about the drop-out rate and how we as a society need to step in and try to guide the kids who are growing up in broken homes.

When I finished, I was surrounded by adults who hugged me, called me brave, and strong, and further confirmed that I am doing the right thing. I met a man who is involved with a high school program, and they may be able to bring me to a new district. A lot of it is in the air, but I can breathe a little easier. When I finally got in my car, I was still shaking.

There is a huge difference presenting in front of adults verses teens. I felt like I had significantly less room for error and rambling. But at the same time, hopefully it is these adults that will help spread the message that life can get better. Even if you live in a crappy household where all you're told is that you'll never amount to anything, it can get better. People will tell you your whole life that THIS (failure) is your projected outcome. It's not true. My sisters and I grew up with awful parents. We all graduated high school. We all got college degrees. We're not alcoholics,  homeless, drug addicts. We are functioning members of society.

But even with all of that, when the presentation wrapped up, I was presented with an award in my name. Suddenly, everything that I've been doing became real. Because I grew up in that environment. I'm doing what I love to do. For the first time in a million years, I'm happy.

And this is the moment everything became real

Moral of this post and of my presentation is this: No matter your circumstances, you can amount to something. You can be anything you want to be. And once you're there, you can help other people amount to whatever they want to be, too.

Happy Monday.

Tips for Public Speaking

Don't let the fact that I've gone to a middle school FOUR times to do presentations fool you, I HATE public speaking. If I drink coffee beforehand, my hands shake like they're on speed. My heart pounds so hard, I seriously think I'll pass out. My vision clouds. But I know these things will happen before I even step in front of the crowd. If you expect these things, you can stop them.

Because of all this, and the Communications, and Forensics classes I took in high school, here are some fool proof tips on public speaking:

1) Take your hands out of your pockets.
Yea, it's cool for James Dean to lean against stuff, maybe smoke a cigarette, and keep his hands in his pockets because he just looks so calm and collected. It is not cool for you to do it. So take your hands out of your pockets.

Some very famous authors, who can you spot?
Notice, they're open to the audience
and each other

2) Stop fidgeting.
Don't fiddle with things. Try not to toss your hair. Don't pick at your arm. Try to talk to the crowd like they're your best friend. (It helps if you know someone in the crowd. Glance at them from time to time, it'll keep you on task.)

3) Stand up straight.
See James Dean mention. Slouching suggests that you're nervous. If you want to own a room, own your presentation, you need to look like you walked into the room prepared, confident. Slouching will make people lose interest.

4) Look up.
If you're reading from a piece of paper, remember to look up. I have a tendency to write LOOK UP! on the margins of my papers in neon colors, because my eyes will see that, and I'll take a second. It takes practice. Use a mirror. Not only is it good for the audience to see your face, it's good for you to see the audience's faces. You can tell when they're enthralled, or losing interest. If your head is down, you're not interested in them, they won't be interested in you.

5) Um, Like, Um.....
Be prepared. Filler words like, "Um," or, "Like," make it sound like you're not ready to give this presentation. I say like WAY too much, and I'm still prone to um's, but if you take your time, and cognitively try to eliminate them, your speech will come out much smoother. When in doubt, just try to slow down. Most people talk too quickly because they want it to be over. You say "um" to fill the space that should be taken up by what you should have said. Don't say um. Slow down.

Read the body language here...
Clearly, I am not impressed by what my sister is saying

6) Remember to breathe.
It might sound like this should be obvious, but really, sometimes, it's not. This can go hand in hand with talking too quickly, or even just having an anxiety attack. Remember to take a deep breath in, deep breath out. Your presentation will go much more smoothly if you're still breathing

7) Don't cross your arms.
You don't want to come off aggressive or insecure. Crossing your arms in front of yourself suggests the possibility of either. When possible, leave your arms at your side, or if you're using a podium, you can rest them there. If you're a person who uses their hands when talking, go ahead, but when you're giving time for feedback, remain open. Crossing your arms closes you off.

I know it looks tempting
But like drugs:
Just Say No

8) No coffee first.
I'm not kidding. If you have an early morning presentation, bite the bullet and come in sober. I'm really caffeine intolerant so even a small cup gives me jitters and induces an anxiety attack. But the mission is to be calm, awake, open. Not the coked out version of whatever you have to say. If you're rocking coffee, I'd vote for decafe, at least until the presentation's over. You can always invite the audience across the street to Starbucks when you're finished.

9) Leave time for questions.
Even the president gets bombarded with questions, chances are you will, too. Even if it's random. At the end of my bullying presentation, I had a few girls come up and say, "You're so strong!" At writing conferences I always harass the panelists, even if it's to tell them what a great panel it was, or to shake their hand, or have a follow up question. Leave room to talk, leave room for questions. You may also want to offer hugs, depending on the topic.

Don't go in looking like this...

10) Fake it.
If all of these tips and tricks fail, and you're still jittery, and you're still panicking because this is your first time speaking, FAKE IT. Fake like you're calm. Smile. Remember the people in the audience are there to hear you. If you showered first, put on a nice outfit, and brushed your hair, you're already ahead of the game.


But really, the best piece of advice is once you're finished, do it again, and again, and again, until you really can stand in front of a room full of strangers in your undies and own it.

Harness your inner bad ass and rock your talk. (And wish me luck for tomorrow, please!)

I'm Ashamed Of My Job

Kind of makes me feel like this:
Sadface

It's true. I really am ashamed of the place I work. Today, I saw a boy who looked faintly familiar, and so I blurted out, "Hey, did you go to UNE?" and he said, "I thought you looked familiar, too."

From there, I cashed him out and we chatted superficially. He wore nice slacks, khaki colored, what appeared to be a tailored green shirt, and a tie. Meanwhile, I wore a dirty pair of khakis  I hadn't showered, and the same shirt I usually wear to work.

I discovered he's a middle school science teacher, and I'm well...I'm a retail associate, ahem, a shift supervisor/retail associate. Even still, the pay sucks, the hours are variable, and I feel like I'm going nowhere. My managers claim to be "joking" but most of the time, I just leave and feel angry and frustrated. I'm not happy there, and I'm really only doing it to make ends meet. Each day, I feel like my soul is dying a bit more.

This is so much of a better place to work...

I'm surprised to find that I'm more proud to be a snowboarding instructor, than to be a cashier. I liked the way people's eyes popped open last year when they said, "What are you up to now?" and I answered, "I'm a snowboarding instructor." It felt like an accomplishment. Like acing a test I'd been unaware of taking.

I think part of it has to do with talent and effort. ANYONE can do retail. But to be able to teach people about their boards, their bindings, how to go down mountains without breaking their necks, knees, or wrists. That takes time. That takes effort. That truly takes skill. Plus, it's fun. You can throw snowballs. You can make snow angels. You can go off jumps and rails.

The pay was substantially lower, but it didn't matter. I was happy being broke. I was happy being late on my rent payments, because if I didn't have work that day, I got to go out and play. And if there was work, well, I still got to play then, too.

In retail, you greet customers, answer the phones, get bitched at when your knee starts throbbing and you need to sit down for five minutes when everyone else gets cigarette breaks whenever they want.

I'm glad that the mountain is opening, and hopefully I'll be able to instruct again, even if it's only on a part time basis. The mountain keeps me centered and sane. Things can go wrong there, and I'm more able to deal with them. In my "full time" retail position, I'm less able, and more quick to anger.

Moral of this post, is if something is eating your soul, chances are that's not the path you're meant to take. If you have to do it to make ends meet, do it, but then pick up, move on. Find happiness again.

It's only a matter a time before I'm there again.

School Bullying

On Wednesday November 7, 2012, I was invited to Ms. Varner's ASP class. I prepared for about two weeks, doing minor interviews with friends, doing research on my own life, and assembling a power point presentation. (Somehow, without being in college anymore, I forgot how much I love power point!)

Ms. Varner in her classroom

While the groundwork for the presentation had been laid, I still wasn't exactly sure what I was going to say to the class, how to really offer them that, Wow, this may have been life changing, moment. Finally, when my time came, I stood in front of the class and said, "My name is Lynne. Was anyone here for my last presentation?" A few hands shot into the air, and I smiled. I was suddenly among friends. "Well, that one focused a bit more on my home life. Today, I'm here to do a presentation on bullying."

Osteo-Biflex, Eeyore, and a chapter
from my memoir. The things
that helped me present :)

I talked a little bit about who I am now; how I take Osteo-Biflex, and how since I was like 13 years old, I've had my Eeyore in my bed, or at least in my room, every night.

From there, I told stories, about boys who'd been bullied and turned into bullies. I talked about my sister being called Buckie-the-beaver before she got braces.

I discussed with the girls what they consider bullying, whether or not they think it differs from the way males do it verses females. One girl raised her hand, and told the class about getting calls on the weekends from girls saying, "We're having so much fun at this sleepover, why aren't you here? Oh, that's right, because we didn't invite you!" She finished with, "I don't understand why they were so mean, I never did anything to them." Most of the class agreed that girls are more calculated when they bully, that they truly intend to hurt people, where-as they feel boys are more physical (shoving, pushing, tripping).

Then, I talked about who I was at their age. How my house was disgusting, how my mother was never home. I asked them if they would have been friends with me, because while I looked clean that day, I was probably a mess at their age.

Closer to the end, I read an except from my memoir, A Walk to the Ocean which had to be slightly censored and more PG appropriate (I will cover my feelings on censorship hopefully Wednesday). The segment was about being bullied in college by my roommates and co-workers, to the point I tried to kill myself. The line I finished on said, "When I got home, my roommates continued to ridicule me that night, and for the remainder of the summer," then I paused to allow them to digest what I'd read. "When you say mean and hurtful things to people, you never know what's going on in their home lives. Take a look around the room," (I had them sitting in a half arc so they could see me and each other), "you don't know what's going on, whether or not people are getting along with their parents, fighting with their siblings. You don't know if they're being hurt at home, or even if their parents are home. I grew up in a flea infested house, where maggots were growing in the back room, and my mother wasn't ever home." I paused again as the girls looked around at each other. Some heads bowed, some faces turned red. "I came to school because it was clean, because it was safe. You don't know what will push someone over the edge."

From there, I wrapped the presentation up, challenging the girls. I told them that this is middle school. I know they're not going to get along with everyone, or even like everyone. But, maybe, they can just say hi to someone they usually wouldn't. Maybe if they see someone sitting alone during lunch, they can sit with them.

After that, I went to go see my manager from UNE, and we chatted politics, and results from the election. When I returned to Claire's she had dinner waiting:

This looks like something out of a restaurant ad, no?

I was still smiling from the presentation. She asked for some follow up questions, and told me some that she would ask the following week.

A day or so later, I got a Facebook message from one of the girls in class. We've had a few exchanges since, but she was one of the girls who attended my last presentation. She thanked me for coming in, and also said, "My response to a question you asked is: I can honestly say I would be friends with you if we were the same age."

And for a time, I'm reminded, that this is what it's all about.

Happy Monday.

Unhealthy Relationships

"You're being a fucking cunt."

Yep. You read that right. (Sorry I'm not adhering to my PG-13 status right now). But that quote is what I woke up to at 8:00am. I heard it through my ceiling in the basement. I also heard a million f-bombs, and screaming. Lots of screaming. Though I heard her voice a few times, it was mostly his, yelling f-bombs, calling her the b or c word, and it was just awful. All around.

I ventured upstairs since sleep was no longer an option, got a bowl from the cabinet  and poured some Lucky Charms cereal (because I'm five like that). Then the dude (now standing in the kitchen, too) screamed, "I'm not the one being f@#$ing inconsiderate!"

And because I'm me, I couldn't help it. As I poured the milk in the bowl, I said (not in an angry voice), "Actually, you are being inconsiderate. There were still people sleeping."

He proceeded to redirect his anger at me, and tell me to shut my f#$ing mouth. Then my older roommate (the girl's aunt) also told me to shut my f#$^ing mouth, and that I don't think of anyone else. Um. Right. Then about fifteen minutes later, she asked me for dishsoap...which I got, pissily. 

Moral of this story is, yet again, I cannot cohabitate with people and it brings us to another list.

Signs that You May Be in an Unhealthy Relationship

5) They don't support your dreams.

If you want to be an astronaut, and they buy you a cowboy hat for Christmas, things may be in the fritz. 

On my 16th birthday, the boy (who you'll read about in #1) I was dating made me breakfast in bed, and then gave me presents. There was a large pack of pretty metallic colored gel pens. 

"I saw you were running low," he said, like he wasn't sure I'd love them.

I was speechless. He knew me. He got me. He supported my journaling, my writing. Me.

He also wrote, but he was terrified to speak or read in public. By the end of our relationship, I was in attendance when he decided to read at an open-mic night. Even though he barely spoke loud enough to be heard through the microphone, I'd never been so proud in all my life.

 

Recently, I was talking to a boy (who'd been asking me out), and I mentioned being in the newspaper. I told him, "You should be impressed, I'm a pretty big deal."

And he laughed. It didn't feel like he was laughing with me.

If you think you're a pretty big deal, your SO should think you're a pretty big deal, too. Because you are :)

If this was in real time,
it woulda hurt

4) You are genuinely afraid they'll hurt you

Safety is a huge thing in a relationship. Maybe you want to reproduce with this person. Maybe you want to adopt. Maybe you want to know that when you come home there won't be knife marks in the couch and your tires won't be slashed in the driveway. If you start to feel afraid of your partner, chances are you should trust your gut instinct and bail out. 

3) Dominance

People like to say, "We can see who wears the pants in that relationship," like it's a bad thing. And it can be, if the same person is always wearing the pants. The pants should be traded back and forth. There should be an equal amount of give and take. If one makes the dinner, maybe the other does the dishes. If one does the laundry, maybe the other gets to pick the movie. If one wants to go to a club, and the other HATES clubs, maybe make a trade. Next time you'll do something you don't like because they like it. 

You don't own someone in a relationship. It's not meant to be my way or the highway. Talk things out, build a life with each other. Come to an even playing field.

2) They don't realize they've hurt you

"Hey, hey, look!" From the driver's seat, I reached behind me, and pulled out a pink covered book. My Friend Leonard, by James Frey. I'd been gushing about it for weeks, and I'd finally gotten it back in the mail. That day!

My boyfriend, in the passenger seat looked at the cover, put the book back in the backseat, and said, "Cool."

He didn't open the cover to see the signature, and the kind words James had written. He didn't act excited that I'd been checking my mailbox religiously to see if the book had come. I was crushed. I almost started crying at the steering wheel. I'd told him about that book and what it meant to me a million times. It's okay if he didn't remember why the book was so important to me, but it wasn't okay that he didn't ask why I was so excited. 

He didn't even notice I was upset.

If people love you, they'll want to know why you're happy, know why you're sad. They want to celebrate with you, they want to help pull you out of the gutter. So if they're not asking why you're beaming and throwing a book in their lap, you may want to look into why they aren't.

1) Fights.

"Maybe if you hadn't been born your father wouldn't have left."

Yep. I said that. In high school. To the boy I was head over heels in love with. And after the words fell out of my mouth, I stood there, hand over lips, with a look of shock on my face.

Sometimes fighting is fun.
Sometimes it's not.

I couldn't believe I'd just said that. It was the most hurtful thing I'd ever said....to anyone. And I said it to the boy I loved! I knew I'd hurt him (and I'd like to think I apologized, but I'm not 100% sure I did....because it was high school and it was my way or the highway).

There are constructive ways to fight, and non constructive ways to fight. If you're feeling belittled or attacked, chances are it's not constructive fighting. Once the name calling barrier is broken, the relationship is usually gone. If you're sitting there crying (like my neighbor used to do when her boyfriend insulted her and called her worthless/an idiot/etc), chances are, it's not good fighting.

Remember, if you love someone, you still want to protect them. Calling them names does NOT help put the fight into remission. Making someone cry harder doesn't help, either. Neither is helping reach the goal of the end of the fight. It's escalating it. 

Also how often are you fighting? What are you fighting about? Fighting is a normal part of a relationship, but if it's happening every day, chances are there is a serious problem that's not being addressed. If you're just trying to hurt each other, that's not a good thing.

Moral of this post is if you're being treated poorly, please remember that you deserve better. You should never tolerate being called names, being yelled at until you cry, or people saying you'll never reach your dreams. 

Keep your head up. Happy Monday.

The New Place

There's no trace of me...

The thing that people don't tell you about your early 20s is that you become an expert at being a ghost. You move into an apartment or dorm, put down a security deposit, and then a few months later, you remove every trace of you. Hair is taken out of the bathtub, that spot on the floor is buffered out, the piles of clothes get packed away in your car. Everything you brought in here, is taken out.

By the time you take the pictures of where you'd just inhabited (just in case your sketchy landlord tries to take you to court), your essence has already been Cloroxed out. You no longer exist here. But if walls have memories, your ghost will haunt this dwelling place. I hope my ghost haunts the places I've been, because for a time I've fallen in love with each place I inhabited.

I've mentioned I'm messy, right?
This is my 'living room'

I told you guys awhile back that I moved away from the crazy neighbors, but I haven't showed you the new place, or told you much about it.

Probably because I'm still going through an adjustment period. Probably, also, because I no longer have wifi at this new place so I sit in the Young Adult section of the local library, hoping that the voices of the kick-ass authors around me will help muse me. (So far it's been working, I think.) This means the blogs you read are usually posted a week in advance now (trying to utilize my time, you know).

Well, Baxter and I live in Poland, Maine now. We live with an older woman, her son, his wife/finance/girlfriend (I'm not sure which so fill in your own blanks), and their son. (That's right, three generations in one house, and me and Baxter.)

Because I'm neurotic and freaked out when they started eating my food, they gave me a mini-fridge to put downstairs (it's the black box on the floor in the picture below). I'm now like a vampire; dwelling in the basement, getting no sunlight. I'm awake at night, mornings are still awful, and I'm still a horrible roommate. To be proactive, I'm trying to keep my head low and just hang out downstairs or go running. If I'm not around you can't fight with me, right?

Look, over there on the left. There's a bed.
Not an air mattress! 

The drive is significantly less to work, so that's nice. They also let Baxter out to pee while I work long shifts, so that's a huge help, too. But my anxiety level has increased substantially. It turns out, I don't like to talk as much as I think I do. Sure, I've been calling my sister for hours every day to chat but it's not talking. I don't like the superficial, "How's your day? How was work/school/etc?" I don't like answering the same thing countless times, "Oh, you know, I hate my job."

It taxes my energy level, and I retreat to the basement to be antisocial. Tell me about important things; politics, the fact the Shell broke the ice in the Arctic and is now helping destroy the world, religion, changing the world...Don't ask me about my day, when it's the same as yesterday.

I know at some point I'll be moving again. I don't know where (especially since I didn't get into TFA), and I don't know when. But at some point, I would like to live on my own again. In the meantime, it's nice to know that while a million things keep changing...

...Some things stay the same

**Note**
If you're a Twitter follower, I said that I was blogging today about Harry Potter. Sadly, the library I'm at doesn't seem to have any of the books, and I like to have pictures on the blog, AND my sister had some issues with getting her picture to me. Stay tuned, the blog post will happen. Sorry if that's what you were expecting today.

High School Graduation

Can you tell how awkward I was?

Six years ago (oh man, I can't believe it's been six years already! I'm old!!), I sat in a very different seat. I wore a bright yellow gown, a hideous cap that made my large face look even bigger, and an orange ribbon for my best friend Kellie. Though I was nervous and excited, there was a hint of sadness...my best friend wouldn't be able to make it.

I sat through several graduations before my own. Usually they were my sisters', and sadly, they usually had a moment of silence, because the kids at Shepherd High School couldn't seem to make it out alive. Laura's graduation was especially gut wrenching as they showed four pictures behind the podium, and asked for a moment of silence for the graduates who weren't in attendance. Kellie, my best friend's picture was up there. Kara, Laura's best friend was up there. Two other graduates, guys I was less familiar with, were up there. In the silence, there was a collective cry through the auditorium because these were fresh wounds.

These were the types of graduations I was used to, the gut wrenching ones that played a slide show of happier times with Kenny Chesney singing, "Young," or Vitamin C, "Friends Forever (Graduation)". They got me, every time.

This winter, I had the honor of coaching what I'd dubbed my all star team. We met on Sundays for four weeks. There was a brilliant girl who was the valedictorian of her high school, and also established a dive team, pretty much single-handedly. There were other people, cheerleaders who placed in competitions, racers...etc. Overall, I was always impressed to hear about their accomplishments each week. On the last Sunday, the group asked if they could friend me on Facebook, and I said yes. One of them took me up on the offer. Her name was Emily.

My all star team and me (in red)

Since the winter, we've been chatting pretty regularly and keeping each other updated on our lives. She's an aspiring veterinarian, and overall awesome human being who started her own foundation. IN HIGH SCHOOL. She talked about her graduation speech, and knowing that I'm a writer asked if I could look it over and offer suggestions. Okay, so you guys thing querying is nerve wracking? This about leveled me. I didn't want to say something wrong, or impose too much because this was her address! Like, this was huge! So I offered what I could, making smart-ass remarks here and there, and in the end, she thanked me, and let me run through it one more time.

It was around then, that I asked if I could attend her graduation. I felt like an invasive species, moving in where I didn't belong, but dangit, I taught her over the winter, and we're friends. I wanted to be there for her because #1, the people at her school sucked (bullies) and #2, I remember how awesome it felt when not only my family showed up at my graduation, but my friends.

Her, walking in with Cherio, a service dog in training :)

She eagerly gave me the date, and I scheduled the day off from work. I drove the hour and ten minutes to her high school (a place I'd never been before) and parked my car with Baxter in the backseat. I walked in, following the mass of parents and siblings, not knowing anyone, or if I was even walking the right way, and found her mother in the through way of the building. I had a lip ring, two eyebrow rings, and an anxiety attack waiting to hit at any moment. But, I pretended to be outgoing (something I've been working on since I uprooted me and Bax and moved to Maine). I sat between Emily's sister and father, and in front of her mother and grandfather. We told stories, I offered memories of teaching her on the mountain, and some of the conversations we've had, and started the slow practice of relaxing.

When the band started playing Pomp and Circumstance, the people in attendance rose and greeted the graduates. Truth be told, I'm only used to seeing Emily in a helmet, goggles, and a pink jacket. I was terrified that I wouldn't recognize her. I sort of told her family this, and then laughed saying, "I'm really just looking for the fluffy hair," because that's what I remembered from the day I didn't have lunch money and she "tipped" me five bucks so I could eat. (Thanks again, Em).

I ended up sitting through the graduation with the chair digging into my back, listening to her speech (which rocked, by the way!) and cheering louder than I had on the mountains. It was also kind of cool because since I've redirected my life to focus more fully on writing, I hadn't attended a graduation since college, so this adventure doubled as research (as My Sister's Memories, and Character Defects have a graduation piece, and After Elizabeth may, too).

I am so proud of her!

After the ceremony, her family invited me over, fed me, and offered me beverages, which I accepted readily. When I left, I sort of anxiously looked down her driveway (it was long, I have a habit of hitting things with my car), and said "I should be able to back out of this." Two seconds later, I looked up, and Emily and her sister were waving their arms. Sure enough, I looked in my rear view mirror and was about to back into a tree. "Want me to back your car out?" she offered, and I stepped out of the way. It turns out, not only can she get stellar grades, but she can also drive pretty well, too :)

Long story short, Emily is one of many of my friends graduating this year. So here's to you; Eli, Annika, Emily, D.J., Matty, and anyone else who makes up the class of 2012 (even if some of you graduated college, not high school :) ). You're all amazing and thanks for being an awesome part of my life :)

(If I missed anyone, lemme know, and I'll add you to the list, too :) )

Your Work, Out Loud II

Ever since last summer's PNWA conference, I've been itching to find people to read my work out loud to me. Well, last Wednesday, it happened.

Baxter liked her couch...

Claire (you'll remember her from this blog, this blog, and this blog) had me over to her house after my last day at the school. After a round of shopping so I can now feed myself for MONTHS (Thanks again, Claire), and inheriting a dying plant, we drove back to her place....and I managed to get lost, of course :)


She'd printed some pages off so I could mail them out, and I (as always) was insecure about them. While she shuffled around her house (unloading dishes, cleaning, taking care of dinner, etc), I read the first two chapters out loud to her. This is good for me because I always need practice reading out loud, plus, maybe someday I'll get to read at a conference, or book tour, or...a middle school. (Wait, I've done one of those now!!)

When she finished her chores, she sat on her couch, I sat in other one, and she took over reading.

This was from Week 2
Crazy thunderstorm hit, it was safest to stay

Together, we read 34 of the 50 pages. The amazing part? I didn't cringe. At all! There were a few type-os (but instead of put, when instead of then), small things like that, but overall, I was comfortable with the sentences, the repetition here, the pauses there. I loved when she would pause mid-sentence and say, "What a b*tch!" about the horrible aunt, or when she'd ask, "Wait, where did the money come from for the cabs?" or "Why does it seem like Sarah is in love with Mike?". Most of the time, the questions were answered soon, or later. Or, I was at least evoking a feeling in my reader that I was aiming for.

When you have someone read your work out loud, you truly hear how someone other than yourself reads those words. The type-os are easier to find, and you can truly hear if your narrator is coming through the way you want them to.

I still recommend this exercise if you can find someone to read for you. It's a new kind of terrifying.

Things I Learned From Middle School

And you thought I was kidding.
I have knee and hip issues, at the age of 24 :)

The last three Wednesdays have changed my life. For those of you who don't know, I'd been invited to a Middle School to speak about the trails in my life, and talk about the fact that I'm still standing. I'm not on drugs (instead, I'm on Osteo-Biflex and Vitamin C), I'm not contracting STDs, a whore, and for the most part, I like myself...most of the time.

While I was there, I met some incredible young ladies. Week 2, I proposed a Board of Inspiration because it is one of the things that goes with me EVERYWHERE. My sister, years ago, laid the groundwork, moved and left the board behind with quotes that said, "We inherited a broken future, so we're building a better one," and "Change is Good," and "You can't lose." I took it over, and started adding my own pictures where hers had been.

Nearly every day I find something I'd like to put on it (and actually today I posted some new things I found during the move into the new place).

I told the students to put things that make them happy; quotes, pictures, etc. Things that when they're sad, they can look at and know they're loved, and the life is worth living. That was it. From there, the teacher and I let them get their papers, tape, and scissors. I walked around the room a bit and saw quotes, and TWLOHA, and many other things. My heart lifted.

Week 3 was this last week, and they did presentations. I was blown away by each girl, not only just because they were volunteers (I hate public speaking and getting in front of crowds, it makes me anxious).

With that said, here are some things I learned from or because of these young, amazing, women:

1) YOLO (You Only Live Once)-I'd never heard this saying before. The first week, several of the girls were throwing it around. The second week, many were putting it on their boards. Most were still saying it. They told me it stands for You Only Live Once, and I kind of like it. (Now, I hear myself saying it in my head, which means it's only a matter of time before I say it out loud...ugh. :) )

2) Wise Beyond Years-There were some girls who were putting (what I considered) questionable things on their boards. I wanted to ask why they were putting these pictures, pictures that broke my heart, on their boards, but left it alone and waited for the presentation. One of the girls talked about one such picture, and fully explained why it was there. I literally teared up while she spoke. She is in 8th grade, and wise beyond her years. I am glad that I didn't suggest not having it there, because she was right, and I was wrong.

My more-so updated board
There is a blank spot on the lower
left for a picture of the students.
The letter near the bottom is from one :)

3) Strength-After the first week, I sat with many of the girls who broke down and told me horrifying stories of their lives at home. Lives that are too close to what I've been through. Yet, they're still in school. They're still pushing. I was humbled by the girls who felt safe enough to cry in front of me. All of them had a story, whether they wanted to be an author, or they just wanted someone to love them.

4) Life Has Changed Since My Day-When I was in Middle School or High School, we passed notes. They chat on Facebook or gmail now. I can feel the generational gap already.

5) Bravery-During one of the presentations, a girl looked at the audience after explaining a picture and said, "I'm not sure any of you know this...but you do now." When I was younger, it was incredibly difficult for me to talk to peers about what I was going through. These girls started to own what they've been through, started being brave and talking about it. It's part of life. They shouldn't be ashamed.

6) I Can Make Teacher Approved Handouts!- The first week, I talked a lot about suicide, depression, and cutting. When I was done, the girls asked me how I continue to keep going, and I gave a short answer, 'Set goals, give yourself something to look forward to...' etc. I had two weeks after to consider what I'd said, and made my first ever hand out. It consisted of 10 coping mechanisms (happy mechanisms?) that I employ on a daily basis. I hope it will actually help some of them.

7) I Can Make Permission Slips!-I made permission slips to make a video on YouTube for TWLOHA. At the school there are a lot of legal rules with using the girls' images, videos, etc. I had to get my slips approved by the principal. I felt like such a big kid. (Video is not made yet, will have it up when it is).

8) Love, Hope, and Inspiration-When I left the second week, there was a swarm of kids in the hallway. One of the girls took me by the arm, screamed, "Get out of the way, Lynne's coming through!" and it was probably better than walking down a red carpet. When I returned Wednesday, one of the girls came up to me in the hall and asked, "Can I have a hug?" (I didn't know if I was allowed to hug students, weird sexual harassment cases and all.) When I checked my e-mail later that night, I had e-mails from some of the girls telling me that I was an inspiration to them.

9) Never Stop Pushing-I cannot stress this enough. There is always a choice; keep going or give up. My choice because of meeting these girls has been taken away. There is no giving up, I want to show these girls that they can do anything they want to, no matter the circumstances they've been through.

10) Each Story Is Important. No explanation needed.

Set An Example

"You Can't Kill Yourself....You Have Twitter Followers Now"
~Claire

I haven't blogged in a week because I've been digesting what's happened. Last Wednesday, I was invited to a Middle School to talk to students about my life and offer hope that they can overcome child abuse, eating disorders, depression...etc. I talked with a lot of students, had my heart broken, and I walked away thinking that I'd done some good.

My stuff, in a somewhat neat stack

I returned to the basement that night, after being so excited about the difference I was making, and found that several of the girls had already friended me on Facebook, followed me on Twitter, e-mailed me...I returned the e-mails, pitched my author page on Facebook to them, and went to sleep happy. I was making a difference.

Thursday, I woke up, in the basement. I was cold, cranky, and not wanting to move. The happiness faded. I looked around the area and my stuff was surrounding me like a prison cell. I got off the couch, and my back and leg hurt because of the way Baxter was sleeping on me. I did an interview with one of the girls as an author, things I've learned, advice to give to aspiring young authors (still the whole Don't Give Up! business)...But something started eating at me. I went to the post office, ran other errands, and got gas. At the pump, someone from the Advertiser Democrat interviewed me, so I'm in the paper today for an opinion column.

But the more I evaluated my life, the more I started feeling like a hypocrite.

Friday, I went to work. My knees hurt, I got frustrated with small things, and thought, Who am I kidding? Who am I to be talking to girls about having hope? I live in a f#$ing basement! I get paid a little above minimum wage, with a college degree. I have bills that I can barely pay...

Then the thought hit me; I have a college degree. I can do anything I want. 


Bone crushing fear took hold of my heart, I can't fail. 

It is no longer an option for me.

If I'm depressed, if something bad happens, I cannot kill myself now. Why? Because I met these incredible girls who look(ed) up to me. If I relapse, all this hope that I've been spewing will be complete bullshit to them. Keeping myself alive, keeping me going now is the only choice I have. (That whole Practice What You Preach Business.)

More of my crap. I need to downsize.

I can't mess up, can't turn to drugs, or liquor, and homelessness. All of those things are failures. Now, because I said I'd come speak to a middle school, I have to do something with my life.

This is a lot to live up to.

Last week, I received rejection letters, I didn't get the job at the vet clinic I'd applied to. I am still broke, frustrated with life, living in my friend's basement, and constantly on the cusp of giving up.

But, I don't, and I haven't, because now, I can't.

Since these epiphanies, my sister has mentioned Teach for America, as well as supporting me no matter what. I'm considering applying, but I don't know what will happen between then and now. After speaking with these girls, I do know that I want to do something that can actually affect people and start creating change and hope. (Yes, writing novels can do that, but I'm not published yet, so until I am, I need a back up plan!)

Yesterday, I went back to the school and had the girls start their own Boards of Inspiration. The idea is that this board will have happy things, things that when they're sad, will help them get through the hard times; uplifting or funny quotes, pictures, inspiring words. I walked around the room, and saw several of them were putting TWLOHA pictures on their boards, and my heart flew (I wore their shirt to speak on the first day. Yesterday, I wore a Boycott BP shirt :) ).

A lot of the girls seemed really happy to see me, and I felt blessed to be back.

When I left, I went to Claire's, dropped off some food, and then went to my UNE manager's house. It was his 18th wedding anniversary, and they fed me lobster. His wife asked why I was asked to speak at the school, and I told her about my hospitalization, my eating disorder, my depression. She looked at me point blank and said, 'You had an eating disorder?' and I answered,  'Yes. Your husband was one of the people to help pull me out of it.'

When I left, they told me that they were proud of me, and if I need any help getting a place to live financially, they'd help me, no questions asked.

So here's what I've come to conclude. I'm not full of bullshit. I struggle with depression, anxiety, and an eating disorder every day of my life. Each night that I fall asleep without hurting myself is a victory. Each morning I wake up, is another day to influence people, to be a role model. I have scars on my leg, and wrist, but I try every day to push through. I won't tell them that life will be easy, because I, and most people know that THAT is a lie. Instead, I'll tell them that they can get through anything, because they can, and I am living proof of that.

Yay for being happy!

Thus, I've decided that I'm sick of living life the way I've been, it's time to start making changes. I moved to Maine to find happiness, and at Sunday River, I found it. Now, it's time to start making a difference. It's time to start being someone that truly deserves to be looked up to. I told Claire last night that while these girls may think I made a difference in their lives, they've completely changed mine.

First things first, find a place to live.

Influencing The Youth

"Whenever You Knock Me Down, I Will Not Stay On The Ground"
~Justin Bieber (Yea, that's right, totally quoted him)

The Middle School

I was invited to a middle school yesterday to speak on the trials I've been through in my life, and it went in directions I was completely unprepared for. My friend, Claire invited me weeks ago, and two nights ago I finally had some time to more fully prepare for what I was going to say. Claire asked me point blank, "What's the number one thing you hope they remember after you see them?" I responded, "That they can survive anything."

So, I sat there thinking, what are things that keep me going? And I went to work; I removed some pictures from my Board of Inspiration, and added some things I've been meaning to add for awhile. I laid out my clothes the night before (jeans and a TWLOHA shirt after some people gave me suggestions on Twitter), packed my bag full of books I've been published in, and other things that inspire me (like my James Frey book), and went to sleep, giddy, excited, and partially terrified.

In the morning, I woke up, showered (amazingly), attempted to straighten my hair which was immediately destroyed once I walked out in the humidity, loaded up Baxter and drove an hour to Fryeburg. I called both of my sisters on the drive, and they both pushed me, told me that I'd be great, that my (our) message is something worthwhile.

I parked my car, arrived a little early, and looked at the school. It was huge, I didn't know anyone but Claire there. Then Patrick called me from Germany to wish me luck, and tell me I'd do great. The lyric from Vanessa Carlton starting going through my head, "I try to live up to the moment, and hope that I don't blow it," and headed into the school.

Board of Inspiration (It's much more
complete after the presentation)

I found the office, and checked in. There were kids talking about getting sent home for, "smoking dope, but I didn't do it," and for a brief second, I thought maybe, just maybe I am meant to be here. I talked to those kids about my eyebrow rings, my lip ring, and then went up to Claire's room.

We ate lunch (which is awesome, she's such a good cook!), and I wrote a phrase on the white board that I'd heard my entire life growing up, "You'll never amount to anything."

The kids started filtering in, buzzing with excitement which was infectious and terrifying. I was shaking from the moment I'd walked into the school, and now there were several girls sitting in front of me, hoping I'd say something worth while. Suddenly all those moments of overcoming anxiety, and volunteering to read Bingo cards, and practicing were coming into play. This was real life, I was about to talk to real people, who were here to listen to...me.

Claire introduced me as Lynne though she knows me as Stephanie, and I started talking, about my dad, the drunken night he'd lost custody. I talked about what my sisters and I have accomplished. I told them about cutting, my eating disorder, depression, my mother. I read them three pages from Character Defects, that I wrote based on a fight with my mother, and why I wrote it.

And then I told them about having hope, and being positive. I told them about my Board of Inspiration, to set goals, to give themselves something to look forward to. As I spoke, I tried to watch the audience, and there were girls tearing up or silently crying as I talked about what my parents did to me. When it was over, I was asked to go into the hall and speak with some girls in small groups.

Me and Claire (respectively)
Doin' our thing, trying to give
hope

I heard things in those groups that made me want to excuse myself and cry in the bathroom, with them, for them. People talk about censorship a lot in novels because they're afraid of what it'll do to the children. These young women in front of me went and are going through more than I, or you, can possibly imagine. I wanted to find their parents and violently shake them in the hopes that it'd knock some sense into them. I just can't understand how these girls could possibly be unloved, abused, or hurt. All I wanted to do was hug them, tell them that it'll be okay, and that I'm so, so sorry.

They were all so amazing, so honest, and so afraid of what they're going through. All I could do was tell them that it'll get better, that they can get through anything because by breathing, by being at school today, they're proving it.

When it was all said and done, they gave me hugs, thanked me, and asked to take pictures of me like I was someone or something worthwhile. One of the girls even wrote me a letter thanking me for helping her, and I started tearing up (it will end up on my Board soon).

I didn't do much, I just told them about me, and listened to them.

Some time later, I was at Claire's and checked my e-mail and there were already e-mails from some of the girls I didn't get to speak with, and their stories reaffirmed that I'm doing something right by sharing my life with them. I spent close to an hour composing a response to one, and then an hour chatting with one today who is an aspiring author.

The bottom line, is that some people ban books and censor things because they think it's terrible language, or too intense for their young minds to understand. The truth I witnessed yesterday was that these terrible intense things are daily life for a lot of our youth. It needs to change. Their voices need to be heard and understood.

To end this on a bit of a happy note; Claire sent me home some brownies and a lot of food. So I ate brownies for breakfast this morning, yay!

Also, we're planning do to a follow up with the girls soon, any suggestions what I should come back with?