How Nice, She Included A Map

I’m officially clinically depressed.

I don’t know who was the first to diagnose me. It doesn’t really matter. You would be depressed too if you had worked your way through 54 doctors and none of them could tell you what was causing your severe physical issues, a good number of them misdiagnosed you, somewhere around 10 said it was psychosomatic, and around 49 of them told you to go away and don’t come back.

I’ve got anxiety too.

I can’t talk about a lot of the CSF stuff without becoming emotional. I also don’t sleep the night before appointments. Who wouldn’t under these circumstances?

At some point, whether it was my counselor or one of my medical doctors or the actual medical insurance, someone determined that I should get help from a county organization that offers comprehensive help with mental health. Fine. I’m doing meditation, and I’m trying to be social while also trying not to wear my body out, and I’m trying to watch videos of babies and cats and dogs to keep my spirits up, but fine, if this is a resource that I can benefit from, then sign me up. But I told them that I still need a hospital bed so I can try to avoid bedsores, and I still need a neurologist and a neurosurgeon that won’t turn me away and who will listen to me.

So this past Monday the 19th I had my initial intake appointment, and two women from this organization come to my apartment to discuss the program and sign forms with me. I signed a release form for them to talk to my counselor, with whom they are very familiar, and they also went through various questions, one of which was, “Do you have a religious preference or religious beliefs?” I emphatically said, “No, thank you!” They smiled and nodded, and we didn’t go into more detail, but it was clear that I have zero interest in religion.

So imagine my surprise when I pull this anonymous letter out of my mailbox this afternoon:
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At first, I thought one of my friends (or even a frienemy) was having a laugh at me, especially since religion has been a hot topic in light of the stabbings and shooting this last Saturday. I wracked my brain; I thought there was a possibility it was the crazy German woman who was always telling me she was better than me and in addition, she was a good Christian; I fleetingly wondered if it was a relative of the ex or maybe a recent new acquaintance who contacted a friend for my address to send me this information about this can’t-miss fire and brimstone. The envelope wasn’t much help because it didn’t have a name on the return address, but I looked up the numerical portion anyway…

Bingo.

It’s from one of the two people who sat on my couch on Monday morning. They both heard me firmly say “No, thank you,” and both smiled and nodded. When I talked to them about my medical history and both were absolutely dismayed at the number of surgeries I had, my inability to still get a diagnosis, the swiftness with which I am sent away, the sheer number of doctors I have seen, my accuracy in my communication to my doctors and their refusal to “hear” me…let me say that last part again: THEIR REFUSAL TO HEAR ME. They said that they would collaborate with my counselor and also have an RN visit my apartment so that my physical and emotional needs could be addressed, and they would also review my medical records so that they would be worded more accurately for my disability case.

They saw me become emotional when I said that doctors were ignoring me when I told them exactly what was wrong with me and it would prolong my agony and pain, sometimes for years, when they ignored me; I was never wrong. They said again, “Your biggest challenge is that doctors don’t hear you.” Yes!

So why didn’t they HEAR me when I said “No, thank you” to religion?

There is a certain arrogance that comes with religion; if you practice religion, why is it assumed you are better or your life is better than if you don’t? If one person is religious and the other person isn’t and there is some debate about whether or not a ritual like going to church is practiced, why is the assumption that the ritual is the obvious choice and that the religious person should be made happy? Why can’t it be the other way around? Pray on your own time. God is everywhere, right? Why do you have to go to church to put money in the pastor’s wallet?

I got this letter after business hours so I have been left to my own imagination to compose letters, and most of them ended with an emphatic “Fuck you.” Most importantly, this organization is a county organization, and no where does it state that I must follow a certain religion in order to receive services. That was one of the first things I looked for, because if I would have known that that was a requirement to be in the program, I would have told them not to bother before making the appointment.

So now, just three days into the program, I have to file a complaint with the Clinical Director.

If I do compose a letter, it’s going to include the fact that I have traveled around the U.S. and have moved across the U.S. four times, and have used up two passports, and since I’m a 42-year-old woman who has lived a fairly adventurous life, I know what options are available to me as far as belief systems go. “Have you considered science?” I think I’ll end my letter with that.

Anything But That

Late last night I was watching Netflix or catching up on Post Secret or something or nothing…I forget. It doesn’t matter. A lot of people are talking about what happened in the city near where I lived for five years in the middle of Minnesota.
Stabbing in St. Cloud

The off-duty officer featured in this news story is from the neighboring town where my mom has had her business for the past 21 years, its population is 1,000 on a good day if you include dogs on that count. I dreaded reading the news as it was unfolding. I was saying to myself, “Please don’t let the attacker be a Muslim Somalian, please let it be some dumb redneck asshole.” After moving back to Minnesota I had heard some dumb redneck assholes complaining about how the Somalians were making trouble in St. Cloud. I had even unfriended some former classmates on Facebook because that person was posting faux “articles” about how gangs of Somalian teenage boys/men were running around and attacking women and beating up men and planning on blowing up “good, hardworking farmers” in the area, but that the newspapers weren’t telling anyone – all very inflammatory and untrue.

I hate that the young man who carried out this violent act was a Muslim and a Somalian and his family relocated to Minnesota as part of a refugee program, because it’s exactly what every paranoid and prejudiced person in the area needed to see in order to get worked up into a frenzy. My heart sank as the details became public knowledge. Already I’m seeing these posts saying “Fuck Muslims, they all want to kill us, so we have to kill them first” and “That’s why we all need to carry guns” and “They need to go back home” and “See???? They’re no good!” One person suddenly represents a billion – at least, that’s true according to one former classmate who first said she had never seen any violence from any other religion, then said she never saw violence like that from any present-day religion, then said she didn’t see it from any present-day religion in the United States, then said she didn’t see it in any present-day religion in Minnesota after I kept challenging her with examples every time she changed her answer. Finally she deleted the post altogether; I imagine I’ll be booted from her friend list soon since this is not the first time I’ve called her out on her prejudices.

One of my high school classmates is now a school administrator in that city; she posted on Facebook that she is concerned for her students, because of course she has Somalian children in her school. Her concern is two-fold. First, the children will feel pressure from the other children, because the other children will be influenced by their parents. But then the Somalian children will also have prejudice directed at them specifically by adults who are completely shameless.

My thoughts on this situation: It has to be incredibly difficult to move halfway across the world to a small, isolated city where work is sparse, and you are pretty much universally hated. There isn’t much for a young man to do and if he is approached to join something that gives him purpose and he is promised eternal glory, well, that sounds fantastic, doesn’t it? He’s an easy target for recruiting. It’s complicated. I’m not surprised, but I’m incredibly disappointed and worried that this event will send that region into pre-civil rights era discrimination.

Balance In A Jar

As much as I would like to do some Irish step dancing or Zulu (and I verified that that was the region I learned in high school before I specified it here in this post), I have got some things working against me: my medical conditions make me dog tired, including Hashimoto’s thyroiditis, fibromyalgia, and this yet unnamed rare disease where the CSF is pooling and crushing my brain stem when I’m upright. My medications are also making me tired. I’m seriously lacking pep. I’m the ideal candidate for this little jar called Equilibrium Energy Superfood by Honey Colony. I have been given this product as part of a product review through the Chronic Illness Bloggers network. Although the product was a gift, all opinions in this review remain my own and I was in no way influenced by the company.
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I always take supplements, and in this case a “superfood,” with a grain of salt when there is a claim that there will be an improvement in my energy level. After all, any one of my listed obstacles would be daunting. I’ve had fibromyalgia for 18 years. I’ve come to know my body well and can tell when the wall is approaching, when I will completely lose it and have to stop what I’m doing and immediately go to bed or I will embarrass myself in public and start crying. The relatively new (6 years old) issues with the CSF are bonkers. If I’m up for more than 20-30 minutes, it’s like I’m drunk. I’m talking head rolling, word slurring, I-love-you-man drunk. I’m on a lot of non-opioid pain medications right now because bed rest plus torn tendons in my shoulder plus an allergy to the shunt running from my brain to my abdomen are wreaking havoc on me.

So what does this little jar have to offer? Let’s open it up and see:

So if you were expecting honey because the product is made by the Honey Colony, you’d only be partially correct. This is a superfood; they step the raw honey up with 11 other ingredients specifically targeted to giving your energy a boost. You can just pop a teaspoon of this in your mouth a day (that’s an entire serving for a day), but the taste will likely be overwhelming if you aren’t used to certain flavors like blue algae and medicinal mushrooms with your honey. I’m a huge fan of iced tea and easily incorporated this into that:

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This was my chamomile tea and it was quite complimentary; just be aware that because the Equilibrium is a “superfood” that there are going to be solid particles that are going to settle at the bottom of the mug/glass, so stir and drink quickly to avoid that issue. The company’s suggestion is to consume the product on an empty stomach, but if you can’t tolerate the taste on its own, it can be included in your morning smoothie.

I have to say that even though I reserved judgment, every time I consumed Equilibrium, I felt a difference in my energy level for the better, and it lasted for a minimum of four hours. Every time I tried it I never consumed it later than noon so it would not interfere with my sleep that night in case it worked too well. Usually I only do one chore a day, but every time I had my teaspoon of Equilibrium, I managed to get 2-3 chores done and would make myself stop so I wouldn’t overdo it. I would officially consider this a success.

Overall, I’m impressed with their dedication to quality and integrity. They package the ingredients in dark glass so light doesn’t cause the ingredients to break down, which is very important – they certainly don’t want to add preservatives, which would be counter-intuitive to their core values.

Link to Honey Colony Equilibrium

Here’s Some Words And Some More Words

Well, even though I have tried to stay off of OKCupid, the fresh meat flag is still flying and the messages keep rolling in.

There are a few issues that I see repeating. One is that if I don’t reply within a few hours, the guys will block me. It’s either because they think I’m a robot (which always makes me laugh because robots always post pics that look like porn stars, not me) or that they want an answer NOW and if I don’t answer NOW then they aren’t going to WASTE THEIR TIME ON A BITCH LIKE ME. Another problem is that there’s always the guys who go into copy and paste mode and send the same message to everyone. I honestly don’t know if women respond; I mean, they must at some point, because men keep doing it, but I got this gem today that really didn’t make a whole lot of sense.

First, some background: This guy is a 72% match to me and 31% enemy, and at the end he said under the phrase on his profile “You should message me if”: “You are open minded and want to have fun.. You should also be 100% Active.. Keep it Spontaneous..”

So before I give you his correspondence, just know that the line “you want to have fun” rubs me the wrong way. Duh, dude – we all like to have fun. But that’s incredibly subjective. I happen to think going to an animal shelter and petting all of the cats and dogs that I’m allergic to is fun because it could kill me but I miss being around them, but that might not be everyone’s cup of tea. And the random capitalization of words and incorrect usage of ellipses is making my eyes burn. Now, on with the show.

“The truth will set us free so here goes.. Many people are uptight about race and gender the truth of the matter is they wouldn’t know a real man if he were standing right in front of them, many people are just foolish especially about something they have no knowledge about so before you jump to conclusions I want you to meet a man who has experience and knowledge➡Many relationships fall apart not only because of lack of communication but lack of understanding what true love really is.➡Love is feeling truly happy with another person, blissfully happy, as if time has stopped and you two are the only ones still moving, when you feel truly comfortable with them, when you know that you can spend the rest of your life with that one person, because there is no one you would rather be with… You cannot necessarily define love, but you will know it when you feel it because it will feel so amazing😉 that’s love.. ”

Let’s break this down.
1) Why is he talking about race and gender in relation to what a “real man” is?
2) What is this so-called elusive “experience and knowledge”?
3) If this guy is so certain he has experienced the holy grail of love and knows what it feels like, why is he on a dating website still looking for it?
4) He said there was no way to define love, but that was after he defined love.
5) He’s just talking at me (or anyone he sends this to). Since he’s not actually asking anything and there’s no indication that he’s read my profile, I’m pretty sure that lets me off the hook for replying to him.
6) What’s his fucking point?

Dancing With The Stars 1980

On OKCupid, I got a guy with a screen name similar to the title of this blog hitting me up, talking at me with his job resume, telling me he makes “pretty good money.” That’s his icebreaker. He waited about 8 hours to tell me that we needed to meet up. That’s after I didn’t respond to his initial messages, and I haven’t been on the site at all.

Out of curiosity, I logged on to see what in the world made him so sure he should make this demand of me without even talking to me first. His profile says we’re a 43% match and he’s really good at “giving messages.” Besides that, it’s the usual “ask me and I’ll tell you” laziness in the rest of the profile.

I think I’m going to let this guy keep cha-cha-cha-ing on into the sunset by himself.

Can I Offer You A Hot Towel And Some Crumbs?

Thursday was a gorgeous day by Minnesota standards in September. It was bright and sunny, no clouds or humidity, warm enough still to wear sandals and short sleeves. I caught some pictures of flowers and bees and captioned them #winteriscoming (because I’m not fooled – this is, after all, Minnesota, and if you can’t tell, the second one contains a bee):


I had just settled back in my bed after the short bus had shuttled me to my errands when my cell phone rang. The ID said it was the U of MN clinic. I thought at first that it was a reminder for my appointment on Monday, but usually I get those on my home phone, so I quickly dismissed that thought and picked up. It was my orthopedic doctor – not his nurse, but the actual doctor who has been dealing with my left shoulder. I couldn’t help but immediately be on guard. He said my MRI results were in and that I indeed had a significant tear in one of my tendons and also in a labrum as well as tendinosis, and that I had choices: I could go on anti-inflammatory meds, I could get steroid injections, I could continue with PT, I could get a surgical consult. I asked him if he could do an injection on Monday when I saw him. He asked me if I would be okay until then.
WHAT????

I’ve been breaking my teeth for months now and begging for help and begging for an MRI, and he’s suddenly worried about me being okay for a few days now that he’s discovered that I have some significant tears?

Someone get this man a medal.

I asked him if he wanted to delay my appointment past Monday for some reason. He said no. I told him that I had been in pretty terrible pain up to that point, so what did a few more days matter? I’m not sure what he was offering besides that because he didn’t say, “Hey, I can make room for you during the day tomorrow,” and he didn’t say, “I can call in a prescription for you to try to make you more comfortable.” He just said, “Okay, if you don’t have any questions, then I’ll see you Monday.”

I have no idea why he called unless he was just trying to shave some minutes off of our appointment time on Monday so he could have the needle ready. Maybe he was trying to make himself feel better.

Without histrionics, I will say to him, “I told you so.” I will have a question for him on Monday, and that will be this: Do women not get tears in our tendons in our shoulders? The answer of course is of course not – obviously women do get tears in our tendons. We just have to do a lot more to be believed, like dragging our limbs behind us in a wheelbarrow.

Okay, OKAY, Cupid – Sheesh.

I received a message from one of my stalkers whose messages go directly to my spam folder on my phone. I somehow managed to open it in my sleep and it startled me wide awake when I saw it: “I left Minnesota.” Did I believe it? No. Because when I scrolled back further in the spam folder, I saw various messages from him desperately trying numerous tactics to get my attention. “Oh, hey, the sky is blue, so I thought of you.” Yeah, buddy, nice try.

I haven’t logged onto OKCupid since March, so it took me a few tries to get the right username/password combo. I finally got in and found this jackass’s profile, made sure he was still blocked, then tried to figure out if he truly left the state, but everything looked the same. So I really can’t tell. That means I’m going to be looking over my shoulder for a while still. His “I won’t take no for an answer” attitude has gone on for almost a full year now.

While I was on, I decided to block the profile of the most recent ex, since he also has stalking tendencies – he admitted that he was still trying to “get” a friend to love him after five years of friendship and one failed date and that she was “the woman of his dreams.” The birthday gift to me was what he had told me he was going to give to her, which was a box he had picked out from a thrift store and write out qualities he liked about her on index cards he placed inside the box like a treasure chest. On one hand it was touching, but on the other hand it hurt – it made me realize there wasn’t anything special about me as far as he was concerned, but rather I was just fulfilling some romanticized role he had created in a fantasy. It also explained why he referred to me in the third person when we talked to each other. I was an object. I could barely get him to stop using a fake accent he had concocted when we were being intimate and not silly. I can only imagine the lies he is telling everyone about why I chose to end the relationship, but now I have to worry about him showing up at my sister’s workplace across the street, or hovering around my apartment’s entrance door and slipping in and then trying to SHOW ME how even though he tried to conceal a big part of his life from me and lie about the rest of it, he was going to swoop in on his white horse and save me.

I was logged on for all of seven minutes at about 3:32 a.m., and I guess that was enough to ring the fresh meat dinner bell. Immediately I got a few messages, including the usual with no punctuation: “Hi”, “Hi how are you” “Hi” “hi” “hi how you” and then one saying, “Wow! You are gorgeous! Do you want my phone number?”

I can’t handle the bullshit yet. The littlest nope:
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Please, Sir, May I Have Some More?

My parents’ generation were the product of parents who lived through the Great Depression. My grandparents had to be creative with their resources; the flour companies started making pretty prints on their flour sacks once they figured out that mothers across America were using the sacks to make dresses. Re-purposing so that nothing went to waste, our grandparents were also guilty of turning their yards and barns into trash heaps. They were fearful of throwing anything away in case it would be needed in the future.

My parents’ generation, the baby boomer generation, turned around and said to their kids, “I’m going to give you everything I didn’t have,” which really meant that they wanted their kids to have new stuff. This started a trend of some of my classmates actually having cars being purchased for them, or having college tuition being paid for them, and by middle class – not wealthy – parents. Credit cards also started circulating heavily and regulations became non-existent, making it incredibly easy to rack up debt.

Now my peers are struggling to make ends meet and are in debt up to their ears while still providing cars and tuition and pocket-sized computers to their children as if they are staples, not privileges.

There’s a lot of talk about going back to basics and scaling back, while also teaching our children about how to manage money and understanding the consequences of debt.

I’m in a different kind of quandary, however. I need to figure out how to be poor. I mean really, really poor, in the current system – not what it was, and not what we wish it would be.

Back in 1995 when I took the road trip around the U.S. to pick a new place to live and ran out of money and said, “Okay, Albuquerque!”, I was poor. I landed with $100 and slept on someone’s futon for a month. But I was also able-bodied and picked up two jobs and moved into an apartment within a few weeks. I still had times where I lived off of $10 a week for groceries, but this is a little different. This is finite.

I sat down with the financial planner at my bank and figured out the rest of my bills for this year. However, I’m really stressing about my bed. It’s sagging and I can feel the springs poking through even with a thick foam topper – really bad for my fibromyalgia – and it’s only a year and a half old, and I’ve worn through it because I’m in bed for about 20-22 hours every day. Sleep Number is running a sale right now through September 11th and I could replace this bed for about $1100 including their least expensive base, and that would take care of the springs issue and would probably last 6-10 years. Do I buy it? Or does buying it now put me that much closer to eviction next year? If I’m evicted, what am I going to do with the bed? If I get housing at some point down the line, I’m going to need it again, uncontaminated by mold/dust/dander because of my mast cell disease.

I’ve had alopecia since the age of 3, and I lost my hair completely 14 years ago. There is a 30% off sale going on right now, which would give me a considerable discount on the wig I usually wear. Should I get that instead of a bed (it’s much less expensive)? Should I just give up on wigs now anyway because if I’m evicted next year for non-payment I won’t be able to afford them anyway and I don’t deserve to be so vain?

I have enough in my account to get me through to November of 2017. I’m a worrier by nature. All I can think about is, what am I going to do if I get turned down for disability? I mean, I hope the disability hearing happens by November 2017, because I filed for it in February 2016, and they are running 18-22 months behind (but just in case I have my senator flagging this case as “congressional interest”). Priority housing is given to people who are verified as disabled or who have children; if I am not verified as disabled (because I don’t have a diagnosis) and I don’t have children, I won’t have enough “points” to qualify for housing. All of my friends and family have pets and I’m deathly allergic, so moving in with them is not an option.

I’m concerned about both my mom’s health and my mom and step-dad’s financial stability, and my step-mom’s husband’s health and their financial stability. I’m concerned about my sister’s health and her family’s financial well-being. I’m concerned about my brother’s brand new baby who is due in the next few weeks and his little family’s financial stability. I recognize that they all have grave concerns of their own while they try to shield me from them and simultaneously try to take care of me. Certainly none of them can afford to pay for another adult’s living expenses.

I receive notices from friends telling me that I should support certain causes. I’ve said repeatedly that I don’t have any income and I won’t for at least another year, if at all, but they take “income” to mean working income. They just assume that I receive disability, even though I’ve said repeatedly and clearly that I’ve been turned down for disability numerous times. It wears me out to worry about being homeless, and I’m pretty overwhelmed by all the stuff I have to do to further my own cause since all of the offers of help were not really followed up on except by a select few, and it’s humiliating that I have to repeat myself to be heard.

This weekend I had a former fuck buddy hit me up out of the blue after years of silence to try to give me shit about moving back to my home state, mocking me about my claim that I was done with snow and cold when I moved to Arizona in 2003. I told him that I was pretty fucking sick and had stumped 54 doctors so far and could no longer live without assistance; he said he was working on three hangovers and he was sorry I was sick. He loves to talk about how he’s tired of welfare assholes, and I’m sure he thinks I’m one now too. We can’t even really have a conversation with each other anymore because in his eyes as well as in the view of the government, I have no value.

So where is the class that teaches me to navigate being homeless on the streets in a snow state? Do I get a free map to all of the soup kitchens? Where’s the best place to stash my cart outside while I warm up and surf the net in the library? How do I make a shank?

Pay The Toll To The Troll. The Price? Your Soul.

I don’t have any idea how often this happens, or who determines it, but supposedly, Mercury was in retrograde as of Thursday this week. Why don’t frogs just rain down from the skies and we can all just be done with it? No, the psychic attack is much more stealthy, I think. The back of my neck aches. My gums and mouth burns and everything tastes metallic. I fervently wish that Facebook incorporated a disgusted eye roll emoji in their current six options, up from the original singular thumbs-up option. My inner dialog changes: Get out of my way. Stop kicking my goddamn cane. Your perfume smells like cat piss. I’m not waiting 45 minutes this time before calling in to see if they forgot me again, I’m only waiting 30. I am going to scrub my fucking toilet until it fucking sparkles.

Even before Thursday hit I could feel the earth boiling, and my mood was cooking right along with it. I encountered my first troll on Tuesday night. A friend created a private Facebook group so that (mostly) she and the rest of us could say things that couldn’t be said unfiltered in front of a wider Facebook audience. The creator also uses the page to talk about her new grandchild, so obviously it’s not as restrictive as she originally intended. Anyway, a mutual friend was going through a rough patch with her boyfriend and had already talked about it at a coffee shop reunion the week prior, so when she posted in the group, she was just looking for further confirmation that she wasn’t being too harsh in her judgment; after all, when you are the one in the situation, it’s difficult to be objective. This jackass dude pipes in and starts criticizing her and tells her that she’s probably not communicating correctly or enough with the guy she’s in the relationship with – not at all helpful.

Knowing what I know of my friend, and knowing what I know of the guy she’s dating, I don’t hold back on the troll. First I tell him that she DOES and HAS communicated clearly what her boundaries are and that they have been violated repeatedly. Every point the poster or I bring up, the troll says we’re wrong. Then the troll starts talking about how this always happens to him, that he’s always attacked for having a “different viewpoint from most everyone else.” I told him then that it’s because he’s condescending and he has contradicted everything that the original poster and I have said. He said “No, I haven’t. Tell me where I have. I genuinely want to know.” So instead of turning the post into everything about him, I tell him to go back and read. His reaction is to laugh. Obviously there isn’t anything “genuine” about this jackass. The final straw is when the troll claims that we shouldn’t be “defensive, that he is only being inquisitive.” My response was, “You’re not inquisitive, you’re correcting both ___ and I, so that does not constitute a “different” perspective as if it somehow elevates you, it just makes you repulsive.

But then the owner of the group starts posting paragraphs about how we’re supposed to play nice. Then there’s more posts about how disappointed she is about our behavior and how she wants to shut the group down…but she doesn’t, because other people chime in that despite the fact that I’m a bad apple, the group is a “good idea” and some people claim it’s so great that she should “go global” with it – as if talking behind backs is a new concept. If that’s the case, I’ve got some oceanfront property in Arizona to sell to them. Lots of sand.

Troll #2 happens the next day, when I talk about this conversation. He listens for a few minutes, then bursts in with, “I HATE MEN!” As if I, Chelsea, hate men. I don’t. I do, however, hate men who: Lie, cheat, steal, are alcoholics/addicts, are abusive, are lazy, are filthy, are racist, are bigots, pollute, smoke, chew, are narcissists, and hate animals. I’m sure there’s more to the list, but that covers it for now. By the way, Troll #2 fits into quite a few of these categories. Hey, does someone smell butt hurt?

Troll #3 is on Thursday, the big retrograde day. I am pulled into a discussion about racism and white privilege. The person who tagged me is Native American, and the other person is white (and just happens to be an editor for Bloomberg and fancies himself to be an expert on the world and all experiences, like all white guys). The Native American wanted the privileged white dude to know that every other white person didn’t share his smugness. What it boils down to is that the white guy claims that no matter what, all people suffer, so racism, sexism and bigotry don’t actually exist, and we should just get over it. The examples I gave him – white men kick my cane when I’m in public, but women and just generally people of color don’t kick my cane; or white men shoulder check me – probably doesn’t happen, or if they do, they happen because people are just being shitty to me and it doesn’t have anything to do with privilege. He told me I needed to be friendlier (as in, “You are a woman, so you owe it to me, a privileged white male, to smile at me”), so I told him he needed to stop being a dick.

I’m not sure what the cure is. I don’t know how long this shit storm Mercury started lasts. Mercury is an asshole.

Oooooo, That Smell!

For those of you who don’t know me in real life, I am a Taurus (for what it’s worth – not that I base my life on astrology), and we’re known for liking the finer things in life, including the best tastes, the softest fabrics, and the most enticing smells. I couldn’t wait to try this product out because it is both aesthetically appealing and I knew it would throw wonderful flavors into the air, making my Taurus heart sing. (Please note that I have been given this product as part of a product review through the Chronic Illness Bloggers network. Although the product was a gift, all opinions remain my own and I was in no way influenced by the company.)

I was provided the “Raindrop” version of the essential oil diffuser by Organic Aromas; the base is available in a light wood color (pictured) or black.

2016-08-27 17.17.30

2016-08-27 17.16.00

At first when I opened the box and glanced through the directions, I wondered if this might be something complicated. After all, there’s a lot of parts – the base, the receptacle, the top, the power cord…and here are the instructions including how to put everything together, and how to care for the piece:

But I think what it comes down to is that the company put a lot of thought into how to make a product that is both beautiful and durable. This isn’t something that you want to have break on you within six months or get so full of gunk that you have to invest in another one. Part of our responsibility in our commitment in striving to use items that are recycled and/or organic and/or generally good for us and our world is that the goal is to not add to the waste exponentially in our landfills and our oceans by not caring for what we build and use. So if you decide to purchase this Aromatherapy Diffuser – and I can smell so much yummy-ness as I write this because I’m running it right now – please take care of your unit so you can enjoy it for a long time to come.

My space in my efficiency apartment/flat (read: my living room is my bedroom) is at a premium, so generally speaking, I don’t have much room to spare for knick knacks. I decided the place that would best serve my needs would be the “window” between my kitchen area and living room/bedroom – mostly because it’s also where one of my two electrical outlets in the entire apartment is located. No joke. I’m almost afraid to run my microwave and my TV at the same time.

I plugged this in and turned the knob on, and immediately it started glowing. What happens is the scented oil circulates within the glass globe, and there is a small opening at the top of the second piece that is seated on the larger piece that you remove when you are adding your oil, so the scent travels out of that small opening but is not overwhelming. Because the oil churns in the larger glass portion it sometimes looks like a fountain inside and is quite calming to watch, like looking out a window on a rainy day. The super, duper cool part of this diffuser is that there is a part that lights up in the center and changes color from green to orange to red to blue and then back to green again. You can see in these pictures what I’m talking about. (Excuse the pose-able figurines, they’re just waiting for their next assignment.)


Something else that’s great is that there is zero noise with these units. The changing colors and no noise factors could make them great for a meditation room or a baby’s nursery or child’s room – just make sure they are kept far enough away from little hands so they can’t be pulled down.

Organic Aromas thoughtfully provided a bottle of their own blend of essential oils so that out of the box, the diffuser could be used right away. However, I always run into this problem: I am deathly allergic to lavender. Even typing that word made me itch. I opened the bottle and took a whiff and it smelled nice enough, but I knew I couldn’t take 2 hours daily of an induced asthma attack. I keep my own organic essential oils on hand to make room and fabric sprays, so I placed peppermint and tangerine oils in my diffuser. Man, my place smells so good! Gone are the stink of my one neighbor’s day-old Dinty Moore stew in the garbage, or my other neighbor’s 20-year-old cat who hasn’t made it to the litter box in at least 5 years.

There is an automatic safety feature on this unit in that it will turn itself off after two hours of continuous running.

I think I found my new little happy place, and it is about 5″ wide by 9″ high and smells like heaven.
Raindrop Diffuser Organic Aromas