This, more than anything, seems to explain my systematic health and emotional decline. There is no one here who is interested in living or creating an active second chapter of life.. Everyone else and I have been stacked up in here to die while others profit from it. I do not want to die, but I do not want to live like this either. I am stuck.
I live in the biggest box I've ever been in my life. It is the absolute worst thing I could have imagined and I am dying just being here. And I do not know how to get out!
I could go on, but as they say, one picture is worth a thousand words. I only have 10 pictures, but that's only the courtyard! There are so many
more!
Look out, here comes a big dump.
Not all prisons are full of impenetrable bars. My prison is a 1 bedroom apartment, on the 3rd floor of an assisted living facility, my crime...I am sick (a sick heart and at one point over-prescribed pain killers for a fractured spine that was never diagnosed). I did not do anything wrong, but I did do quite a few things other people thought was wrong and they were afraid I might accidentally harm myself. Without my consent or asking what I wanted to do, I was placed here in an assisted living facility that is more like a padded 1-bedroom jail. I miss my life, I miss my home and I miss Skip. I miss my friends and family, but they all have lives of their own. I cannot ask them to rearrange their wonderful busy lives for me when I can not reciprocate. Everything I had and have that brought me love and life has been replaced by this place...and I have come to hate it and the life I have in it. I have no choice about what to do with my life and I do not know how much longer I can do this. Well, I guess until my money runs out or I an dead. I hope 1 runs out before the other. I would rather spend the money I have now to play, create and be with family and friends. This is not the life I want.
I feel like a 15-year-old adolescent who has been restricted. The difference is that this is not a bedroom or a prison but an apartment. I have tried to be a part of this community to make everyone happy. But it isn't working Bingo, childish crafts, puzzles and Rumi cube do not make me happy. This is not the life I ever wanted. I am not living, I am just here.
I think Ralph must have been to my “adult living” complex before he decided to live in the woods. Both he and Henry T. Thoreau ran to the woods to escape from the people they had to see and deal with every day.
I get it, guys.
I would have run with you into the woods if I had any clue about how traumatic it would be to live in an overpriced "assisted living” apartment that pays more attention to the stockholders than the residents and building maintenance. I guarantee the stockholders are not dodging garbage cans in the middle of the hallway to catch the roof leaks( yes, that is plural, 3 of them).
I could go on and on, but I will leave this one. There are so many more stories, observations, and complaints to share, but I will end today's grousing now and figure out how to achieve Ralph's greatest accomplishment.
I can now clearly recognize the medicated ones because I
am one of them. I quite frankly do not think I need all of these pills, but
maybe a few of them. I could delve into the brain science behind it, but that would likely bore everyone. Besides, my family feels
like they can safely go out of town knowing I am well-medicated.
We are the ones that have to survive in this assisted
living facility looney tunes. It is a
full-time job keeping anyone happy here with all of the egregious things that
go on. So if we are all somewhat sedated the staff and owners of this huge stock
exchange corporation get away with a multitude of violations but they still collect
the astronomical rents! After all, there are stockholders to pay!
There is chronic terrible food. I had a chicken enchilada
last week, with no chicken in it, they listed rainbow sherbet as sorbet, and
yesterday’s 4th cookout made me so nauseous I threw up like I never
have before. The roof leaks are chronic and everywhere. Most of the medicine technicians, a fancy
word for pill pushers for whom I pay dearly to have, are grossly underpaid.
Most of them do not understand English and have no idea what pills they are
giving us. Administration has even devised
an almost foolproof way to simply the distribution but they still screw it
up.
I will give some of them credit! The fact that they can work in this looney
toon farm is a true tribute to their caring about us. There are some that I
have come to know and they do care but the administration does not back them
up.
Yep, for the most part I am well-behaved and medicated.
Lately, it has been popular to make them here in the states
out of molds, fiber glass or plastics mixed with sawdust. I am certain that they may sound as good, but
I think there is something spiritual about being hand-made in Africa with no painting
or decoration, just the natural wood grain. I spent the better part of an hour just
unlacing the old head while the goat skin head is soaking in the bottom of my
shower. I thought that was a great place
to soak it and keep it flat. Then I cleaned and oiled the outside. The heading
and lacing will begin as soon as I give my hands a moment to rest and have the arthritis
medicine to kick in.
I really was not thinking about my hands when I began
this project.
…..but I cannot wait to hear it when it is finished!
Signed up for my first-ever Tai Chi class. The ad said it was good for balance and flexibility. I will even get a certificate if I finish, provided I do not fall down and break something first. Today we had 30 minutes of tai chi description, 15 min. of filling out 7 pages of paperwork to participate in a free class! I had no idea this was sponsored and funded by the State and Federal Government until they pulled out the paperwork. I really was ignorant about how litigious the government was until I was served with the first 4 pages of liability releases, then there were 2 more pages that seemed to be some kind of verification that real people who could read and sign their names had actually shown up for the class. The last one was a doctor’s release with a list of symptoms that needed a doctor to sign off on. Several of mine were listed, but I have seen tai chi; it is not like I am signing up for an aerobics class.
I had to smother my laughter as the instructor, a nice
elder gentleman with a thick German accent was explaining a very Chinese concept.
German and Chinese, just does not seem right. With the last 15 minutes, I
learned how to breathe, gesture strength, unity, and respect (but forgot the 4th)
one).
From here on out, I will NOT be on the first row. I will copy
what the person in front of me is doing, desperately listen to understand the German-Chinese
movement directions while I frantically try to muffle my laugh.
So for the next few days I am going to post this on my
door. Maybe that will help them
understand!
For the best part of my last few years I have been constantly coached to be happy, to live in the now, do not look back, and I believed them. I have tried desperately to let go of the past and make the best of what I have now. It is impossible! What I do, where I lived, the ones I loved, the people I admired were gone.
I tried to appreciate what I have now. It may be what most people feel is a good life. It is a safe and comfortable place to live. But it’s beige life. The food, the facility and most of the people are a smudgy shade of beige. It was then I realized that creativity could not cancel out my grief with a beige life. It just does not work like that. Creativity does not cancel out loss. I had laid down most of my creativity to be a part of an assisted living community. I failed at it and became even more miserable than I thought possible..
A friend brought me some of my old unsold art and other funky tidbits from my long gone glorious happy studio. Now I am looking back, I am embracing my failures, my losses and my
successes they are what make me who I am.
I am looking back to recover my strength, my creativity and my ability
to be alone in my little studio space. I have to look back if I want to be me. I have got a long way to
go. But just figuring out this part is a huge first step!
So, here is the deal: nobody here wants me or my art. I guess I was spoiled at the art shows where there were many positive comments and purchases. I live in a place where conformity is celebrated. I so dearly miss having artists and creatives regularly in my life. They inspire, cheer and even egg on the different ideas.. They thrive on creativity and eccentricities. They applaud audacity. We will risk friendships, family and strangers that do not understand us but we will do it anyway.
Then, when no one is looking…
I think they wish they were more like us.
Since I have been here I have felt like such a nothing. Everything that defined me was left behind when our home and studio was stripped and sold. It seemed like the reasonable thing to do at the time. I was moved out to an assisted living apartment that I am still trying to adjust to. I have tried so hard to leave that hurt behind me and begin again, but I have been exceptionally bad at it. It was the most wonderful sheltered part of my life and my love.
A friend of mine dashed in the house months ago and rescued
the unsold prints and other studio tidbits some time ago and stored them. She
brought them back to me today. It has felt like a big chunk of my life is mine
again.
The djembe, rocks from the Zen water garden and my work
bibs (although I still managed to get paint on just about everything) were
among just a few of the things that were part of my everyday world when I was
still Cheryl. They are memories of my amazing happy past and they are more precious
to me than gold. I have no idea what I am going to do with all of the art right
now, but I will play my (needs to be tuned) djembe drum while think about it
and remember all of those amazing happy times.
Coming off 2 successful and unique sewing projects, I immediately jumped into the next one.
I was on an “I can do anything” high. Unfortunately, I ignored the “3 Strikes” rule.
The top was all cut out when I got anxious to see how awesome this design would look when I finished it. I laid all of the pieces out on my bed and
It looked like SHIT!
The best way for
me to survive is to keep to myself, stay in my room and make stuff and give
them the least amount of gossip material I can, but they always find some.
Most of my days
are spent “making” it does not matter what I am making just making something.
However, in all fairness are days that I destroy stuff too, but not on purpose.
I have even learned how to accept and even enjoy my failures. Especially some of the clothes I have made.
But those failures are great learning tools, too. The trick to assisted living
is don’t get your panties in a wad about anything.
Most of my life, including my art career, I depended on what people thought of me. If I was
well-behaved enough, I was a good little girl. As I grew older, I struggled to be
a popular teenager, a good wife and a successful mother. Even in my older years, I had to be a good artist so they would buy my work. Now, I have to follow facility
rules, see docs, have tests, take meds, and never complain. I never felt good enough when I was just me.
Following necessary rules is one thing, but years of mashing me into socially “normal” roles defined by others must end. Maybe
it is time I quit complaining or caring what other people think. It is time for me to just be me. The way I
think…the way I do things is going to have to be enough to be beautiful from
now on.
Today I am grateful for: friends that are helping me sell
my stuff, Luda, the housekeeper that takes care of my apartment, the good
med-techs I have (but there are many more incompetent, disagreeable ones)
I like trying new things; I like them even better when they work! Sewing is something I have always enjoyed. However, for every success, there seem to be quite a few failures. While emotionally, I am learning to embrace my failures, financially, failure is another issue. Sewing fabric, like art supplies, is not cheap and is getting harder to find. I am on a really tight budget…So, please do not tell anyone I swiped a tablecloth from the dining room for this art/sewing project.
I got my blue
circles appliqued on, but it is missing something, so I am trying some markers
out to see how the pigment holds up when washed. The thin line seems to hold up after washing
but the thick line is bleeding. Here’s
the fabulous surprise! The thick line bleeds out to a dk blue. Still waiting for it to dry to see what
happens before I mess up another table cloth!
Today I am
grateful for: great friends, a safe place to live and and a great “supply” of
fabric!
Oh yes this is better!
It is not bad enough that I live in Florida, home of the retired Trumpers. But living in an assisted living facility is a whole new level of political unawareness. They do not know what they do not know. This is a FOX network dreamland.
I cannot physically protest anymore, but I get
tickled when I ruffle some feathers around here. Perhaps get someone to think
for themselves just a little.
I posted this sign on my door and someone just stuck their
head in
I could be the only person to fail a medical test before I have it. I was
scheduled to have some cardiac tests by one doctor, but another doctor felt my
heart may not be strong enough for that(cardiac stress). They canceled
them….Wait…What? I am usually the one turning down repetitive tests
and exams that tell us the same thing over and over again. My
heart is broken; they cannot fix it. Why keep spending money and getting my
hopes up to find out “How broken is it now?”
I let my guard down and was excited about this earlier in the week. There was a possibility, they would show I could have new/different meds to increase my quality of life. Unfortunately, it feels like I missed that boat. I have been here before and for a really really long time…I know how this works. I should have known better. I get a little dose of hope and “this might help” thoughts and I am ready to go for it again. I should have known better.
(and just in case you missed it, I have not figured out how to
embed music on my posts, however, I have had 2 spectacular failures!)
I got lost in a technical time warp. I am not tooting my own horn, but I used to be quite proficient on my computer. I made web pages, wrote blogs (that is fairly obvious), created videos, downloaded music (most of it legitimate) and was just stubborn enough, with the aide Google and YouTube to figure how to do anything I needed or wanted to do. I will admit that it was not necessarily the best way but worked for me.
And then…my brain and my heart staged a bilateral coupe. No sense in going into
details but quite some time has passed and technology kept on moving fast while
my recovery went slow. If you look back on my blog post index you will see big
holes in the timeline…Now you know why I am way behind. Most of the
programs on my computer are still here and have been able to easily update
their software, but the software glitches in my head have not. My blog no longer supports prewritten html
players to embed on posts. WHAT!!! I love listening to music while
writing and I enjoy sharing with the blog post.
However, there are people out there on the internet that know how to do it, and
they have uploaded the info. Cross your fingers I am digging into a
little code writing and getting my music back!
So, it has been a long time since I
have blogged about my heart or anything else for that matter. I had so many ugly things going on in my life that my blog would be nothing more than a magnifying glass
focusing on all of my failures. But I am getting back in the habit…and
liking it!
I want to be as energetic as I can be,
while I can be. I want to squeeze out every bit of fun, functioning
laughing, creating and living. I
have seen people that have wasted
time and money trying to live longer. They end up here slumped over in a wheel
chair sitting for hours. I will not do that. Ed, my most favorite ever hospice nurse taught
me that.
Against everything I thought I believed
in, I have agreed with my cardiologist to do one more
set of tests to see how much and where the damage has progressed. There are now some crappy thigs happening that are screwing
up my ability to do what I want to do.
There are some new meds that might help
me if I am not too broken now. I have outlasted most of the forecasted
mortality statistics already. For
that reason I have agreed to the tests but not without first wagging my finger at
the cardiologist and sternly announcing meds are OK but I will not agree to any
more surgery. He laughed and said that I am such a lousy risk that surgery
would not even be considered. Such good news!!! I have had more than my share
of surgery and gross invasive tests I cannot do that anymore! I am so thrilled to have a real live cardiologist
that really understands palliative care.
Now, it would be way too easy to get all
the tests done in 3 or 4 days but NO it
is going to be 4 weeks to get them all scheduled and done. So stay tuned on
the next chapter of this saga due to arrive July 25th when all of
the results are in. Good thing I was not in a hurry, but when Medicare is
paying for everything….I can wait!
He is so smart and I am so very very lucky!
I know creating art should be about the process, but putting it out into the world is important to artists , also.
I have heard of wearable art. The first thing that pops into my head is T-shirts, you know the ones you can purchase everywhere at any event. Then I saw all of the jewelers out on the art festival circuit, and their beautiful works of art were truly art that could be worn. Next, I noticed some ladies at crafty events who were dyeing fabric and making beautiful scarves, tops, and dresses. I realized wearable art can be just about anything! Wearable art comes in all different mediums, so why not paint ON my clothes? I have been accidentally painting on my clothes my whole life. Why not paint on them intentionally? Creative, challenging, fun, inspirational, totally original me and wearable. It just does not get any better!
The first top I tried came out OK. I learned some things to do and not to do. After I finished it I ordered coordinating fabric and made a pair of pants to go with. It feels really incredible to paint, sew clothes and then wear them! How could it get any better?
The purple one is still underway, but I like where this is headed.
“Dearest
Fear:
Creativity and I are about to go on a road trip together. I understand you’ll be joining us, because you always do. I acknowledge that you believe you have an important job to do in my life, and that you take your job seriously. Apparently your job is to induce complete panic whenever I’m about to do anything interesting—and, may I say, you are superb at your job. So by all means, keep doing your job, if you feel you must. But I will also be doing my job on this road trip, which is to work hard and stay focused. And Creativity will be doing its job, which is to remain stimulating and inspiring. There’s plenty of room in this vehicle for all of us, so make yourself at home, but understand this: Creativity and I are the only ones who will be making any decisions along the way. I recognize and respect that you are part of this family, and so I will never exclude you from our activities, but still—your suggestions will never be followed. You’re allowed to have a seat, and you’re allowed to have a voice, but you are not allowed to have a vote. You’re not allowed to touch the road maps; you’re not allowed to suggest detours; you’re not allowed to fiddle with the temperature. Dude, you’re not even allowed to touch the radio. But above all else, my dear old familiar friend, you are absolutely forbidden to drive.”
I am learning and unlearning everything they say I can and cannot do. Living in this kind of place is an asylum-type experience. I have the most fun I can have breaking house rules and breaking some art rules here in my room. They seem to be fine with it as long as I do not burn up anything, and I have been told that painting on the walls is seriously frowned upon.
But honestly, I have really had a good time trying and learning new things that I never had time (or was healthy enough) to try. This week has been fun and perhaps unique. I painted my shirt, not canvas, using the wrong paint! It still needs hemming and buttons, but I am close enough to think it will be fun to wear.
I have even ordered fabric to make pants to match. I won't try painting those. I got up the nerve to paint on cotton, but I think I need to experiment more before trying other types of man-made fiber fabrics.
The staff, on the other hand, often crabs about me being in my room too much. There are some things here I absolutely cannot do, 3x a week bingo, monthly Debbie the butterfly lady visits, and other activities geared towards older retired people, I am technically one of them. I am just not ready for that kind of stuff. I do go down to the dining room once a day, but they say that is not enough. I have managed to still gain weight. That seems to be one of my unsung talents. This one I seriously need to "UNLEARN"!
