BeachBlondeChic

Heading for two pre-trial hearings and two preliminaries in two days. Potentially, four pre-trials, depending upon how the pleas pan out. Guess I'll soon see what kinda stance The People's Prosecutor takes. My silent bets are on continuances. A minor atmospheric river storm's already blown in. Timing's everything. I'm not-so-secretly kinda liking being stuck here, for the time being.

Christmas tree is sparkling. It's as much decorating as I typically do. Can't stand tinsel. Last of my Christmas-related orders placed, today. Favored non big corporates, this year. Opted for recycled newsprint wrapping paper/ribbons and salvaged, sentimental tree ornaments. Such subdued simplicity is surprisingly refreshing. I'm still pondering purchasing shoes. I also have flights and hotel reservations to book for some scheduled, non-holiday related travel in early January. Bright lights, big city. My indifferent, highly spoiled, little critters will be needing themselves a sitter. A novel experiment in courtesy and co-operation for all involved.

Meanwhile, mentally, I'm wiped out. Most of my day engaged in telephone tag, putting out various escalating fires. I had to get insistent,at one point. Rarely rude. Pesistence pays off, though. So I'm reliably informed.

Yesterday was complete and utter garbage. Turning a page, rather than ripping one out, again. Critters need cleaning out. Although, I've already gotten filthy looks from them during our belated brunch for my even suggesting doing same. Overdue is overdue. Stench does not tend to mature well with age. Any age, for that matter. Stink brings bugs. I don't countenance bugs. On windshields, or otherwise.

Ditto for my fridge. Same goes. Part of my issue is that I'm indifferent towards and disinterested in a lot of food. I'm like a magpie with ADHD when it comes to my affinity for pretty grocery packaging, and my “Oh, look -shiny!” mentality. In no way whatsover means that I should acquire anything, because most often, the contents definitely do not match up to whatever's being promised.

I'm certainly no cook. I baked, once upon a time. I learned from watching my maternal grandmother working in her kitchen. My Christmas desserts were sold in a restaurant, at one time. During another very distant and different life. Will I bake, this year?. I dunno. Solo is such a dull gig. All work and no play. Not wrong. Nor do two wrongs make anything right. Still. Life.

Rain, I give almost nearly no special attention to. Whereas, cold wind, I do. Wanna start an informed and enlightened conversation on intermittent, inclement coastal breezes?. I gave serious consideration to relocating across the world to Chicago, once. Until, a hardened city native hit me with two words: “Winter” simultaneously with “Wind”. Yet, I knew even back then, and sI still know, from intensely intimate, lived experience, what can be considered to be seriously windy outdoor conditions. No question. I was raised on a small, exposed land mass in the midst of the South Pacific Ocean, where wind weather patterns also frequently intersected and interacted with the Southern Ocean. Closely followed by Antarctic-inspired cold temperatures, that will definitively, instantly drain the life out of any even remotely warm-blooded being, immediately, and on contact.

Anyway, somewhere in the back of what now passes for my mind, I'd tentatively planned to do a work-out while being partially outdoors, today. I'm way, way, past overdue on keeping up with my stretching, and my core strengthening, as well as with my reconditioning. As I'd mentioned in an earlier post, my routine has gotten turned upside down (yet again), with still further contacts with local law enforcement. That has an inevitable tendency to collide head-on with everyday life – in ways and means that are impossible to rationalize unless you've been in it as deep up to your neck and while still occupying an over-thinking brain as someone like me has been. My morning daytime routine starts with me checking my VINElink notifications, because if any new smack has gone down while I've been dozing, it's still all on me to keep ahead of it, as far as is humanly possible. Just like the Prosecutor bluntly, flatly explained to me from minute one of my first interview, it's now firmly on me to limit my becoming collateral damage, not on them. VINElink's database is designed to update and refresh itself every 15 minutes, but it varies both by state and by agency. Not really an optimal way to live, long-term. But, you know, here we are. I'm just going about my business, on the daily.

Yet, one, rapid, random glance outside of my solitary exit door told me all of the information that I needed to decide. Crispy, crackling corpses of late Fall leaves swirled right on in, and made themselves very much unwelcomed underneath my cozy bare feet, while a stiff breeze immediately squeezed the air out of my sleepy lungs. Also, I deliberately tend to wear the most dishevelled, ugly, tattered work out clothes, which aren't always climate-friendly, nor street savvy. So, as a working compromise, I kept myself-to-myself, indoors, and did my 90 minutes under artificial lighting, instead. It was after that, I had the realization that I'm falling behind, and not in a comforting way.

As a quirky re-hydrating 'treat' I ordered Hi-C from McD's. One, for immediate consumption, with ice. A second as a chilly chaser. It'll keep. As will I.

Which squirrelly rabbit hole did I manage to successfully skate down, today?. Yesterday?. I try to keep myself mildly interested (if not actively engaged) in life beyond my own literal and metaphorical four walls, by also simultaneously listening to my personalized music playlist, and local law enforcement/emergency services radio scanner traffic. A somewhat odd combination, at different times. For me, it mercifully serves to dull the otherwise deafening and overwhelming, pervasive silence that's gradually eroding away at my particular brand of sanity. Sand filtering itself through my ears, of sorts. Grit almost invariably included. Aside from my latest saga of unanticipated legal pre-trial phases, with me as an ongoing complaining and testifying witness in multiple cases), some semblance of routine has now slowly begun to seep back into the more mundane aspects of my everyday existence. Two weeks ago, I was driven into a city, stopping at a prescribed, bland big-box store. My very first, public 'outing' since, let's see – late July?. Minus my sunglasses. I found myself feeling somewhat bored and fairly disinterested pretty quickly, though. All of those once fleeting fantasies and material fancies failed to materialize. After a short, impatient, restless browse that proved itself to be anything but a brief respite, I was suddenly craving being back in the intense security of my sheltered space, as fast as was possible. My driver, perfectly straighforward, unobtrusive and obliging, in his own way, quite quickly recognized that this certainly wasn't the most opportune time for an upbeat casual conversational exchange, and wordlessly transported me 'back', while also thoughtfully carrying my distracted purchases upstairs for me. I shed more than my fair share of sheer relief tears, that day. Stupid, isn't it, what havoc that hiding out renders upon a vulnerable human being. Upon reflection, one thing that did momentarily capture my attention, was how expensive basic consumables have become since it is that I can last remember. Unfortunately, since my re-entry 'trip', I've had an additional realization that I'll need to buy myself some new shoes quite emergently. For court appearance purposes, for one. My present, only pair are now letting in more air, cold and rain, than shoe. Shoes aren't something that I'll simply, randomly blind buy myself, either. Still, there are (and will likely continue to be) considerably bigger, pinker, and much more boisterous elephants continuing to be stumbling around the proverbial room, chilling amongst themselves. This might well be proving to be my second chance. Yet, it still does not bode well, nor promise a third. Nothing is promised. No thing. To no-one.

December 4, 2021.

December?!. Already?. F-k!. Back, again. All smiles. Not. For a brief while, I reverted right backwards into a deep, dark hole, and old-fashioned, maudlin, faded pen and ink. Vampire-style. Took all that I already didn't have left to wrench myself together sufficiently to put myself back towards the daylight. Fall finally showed up, feeling feisty, defiant and determined to be late, like an obnoxious, drunk uncle stumbling in to an extended family gathering. As for festive celebrations, Thanksgiving most definitely wasn't on my immediate radar. I prefer my turkey a la basic bitch, “Lean Cuisine” style, anytime that I choose. Need not be November for gooey gravy. Anyways, let's rapid recap/rewind my sketchy narrative for a bit, shall we?. So, somewhere in the midst of consulting my achingly expensive attorney back at the end of October, he firmly counseled my re-calling a DA's office. Hang up the damned extortionist rates, expensive call with him, and file those reports/documentation already. That's what he said. Lady who cautiously answered my tired ass voice, directed me back towards my immediately contacting law enforcement. Long sigh. Not loving this long-time. Nope. New rollercoaster, with no rainbow shimmering on the horizon. Nor, diamond encrusted fairytale endings. My newly-found life in the daylight now immediately found itself being temporarily suspended. Here we go, again. You'd think, if you didn't know me any differently (which, you don't) that I somehow like the way that this hurts. It'd been nearly a hot minute since I'd had law enforcement standing staunchly in my kitchen. Or, so I'd thought. Oddly, that was most recently back in July. Yet, here's a Sheriff's Deputy in my modest apartment, within 10 minutes or less of my initial call. Not sure how that all really happened. Or, if I'm meant to have particular sentiments during those unreal moments. A technicolor brand of tachycardia, mixed with a particular variant of PTSD. Utterly charming and captivating. For my part, somewhere within the depths of my fight or flight self-awareness, I was instantly leaving, and my hand probably should have alread been firmly clenched on the door handle, in anticipation of a hasty exit, on my part. Instead, I reverted to facts and not fuckery mode, referencing my earlier experiences, as I presented my most immediate situation as cogently as I possibly could to the somewhat impatient, overworked and underpaid Deputy. It's not like that I needed this in my life. Yet, as I mentioned before, here I still was, being a sleuth. Still. Same Deputy woke me out of a hazy, dishevelled doze early the following morning to advise of an impending arrest warrant service attempt about to go down in a neighboring city. Good Morning. Have a Nice Day. You're welcome, M'am.

Decided to 'yeet' my day, yesterday. Simply needed to take (a)nother day for myself. Because. Slightly weird, as every day is essentially solitary. Shutting off and silencing my technology was an excellent and timely start. Can't do the 'law nerd' material, at the moment, either. Too wild for me. If that work also includes a lawyer, well that's $500 for 12 minutes of their professional time (not mine), which sort of eats fairly fiercely into my noodles allowance.

(Edited to Add): Ah, yes, where was I?. I've had moments all throughout these past few days, where I've decided to act, rather than 'just' sitting around and pondering different ideas.

Energy. Static, at this moment. Scented soy candles flickering gently on the stronger gusts of a brewing mid-Summer's thunderstorm breeze. Blinds purposefully slid shut. Rare for me, “Zoom” call, today. Slightly claustrophobic, if you ask me. Works perfectly well in one-on-one discussions, but for “groupthink”, that format's a bit much. Adopted a new tactic for addressing my 06:39 waking up panic attacks. Five second countdown before my feet absolutely have to hit my bedroom floor, and I get myself and my mind, moving. No contest. Followed by a full-on, 90 minute workout, inasmuch as every fiber of my being screams otherwise. All being re-balanced, I typically will then fast until early afternoon. Water, hot tea, or ORS, if needed.

Afterwards, if I'm feeling sufficiently self-motivated, I'll cue one of my daily music playlists. So it goes. Today: “Danger Zone”: Kenny Loggins from the movie soundtrack for “Top Gun” which was pretty pertinent to me, years ago, because at that time in my young, impressionable life, I lived adjacent to an Air Force Base, and my best friend happened to be the then Base Commander's daughter. Back then, I was also preparing to sign myself up for early entry into the military. No Tom Cruise look-a-like pilots parading themselves around on that base's flight-line (unfortunately).

A daily update, on my daily update. My new style/brand of living is proving itself to be quite the interesting adjustment. A revolution, as much as an evolution, out of disaster and brokeness. Into a lighter frame of being. Halted my medical team stopping by here, for the time being. Desperately craving more than several hours to myself to mull, plan, and act upon intentions. Working on progressing something. Maintaining life on a minimum, too.

I'm getting re-acquainted with R. R's supposedly an advanced data programming platform. I'm not a huge fan of numbers, but I am of quantative interfaces and applications that make the making sense out of numbers, easier, more intuitive, and smarter. Particularly in QI scenarios. In tiny bites, because I still become entirely exhausted.

Way past time to sleep. Yeah, that.

12 hours of miraculous, pure, innocent sleep. Lame ass excuse. No, not from me. Yet, my severely cutting back my screen time was actually a clinical imperative. Self imposed pause because I'm still strongly contemplating any potentially dangerous folly to my communicating various minutae about my fragile daily life, here. Absolutely no adventure in feeling nor being hunted down. Well-slept or not, I still awoke to a deep sense of creeping dread, anguish, apprehension, worry, and deepening self-doubt. My eternal optimist is cold, dead and buried. In 12 minutes or less, I've my daily shower planned. Clean's not an unreasonable expectation for a day's beginning. My shower soundtrack: Infinity: Guru Josh Project (2008).

But, before I shower, I'll definitely be taking all of my personalized security precautions. That's an imperative.

Not impressing anyone but for yours truly. I am necessarily lonely. My passionate persona aches. Not beset by overwhelming, crippling grief, per se. For now, my regular, increasingly challenging physical workouts act as a warm injection to numb my emotional pain. As tempting as it might be for even subtly, sweetly reinventing myself again from my skin outwards, I'm now far too wise to be willingly participating in those sorts of games, anymore.

Whilst I found my half awake self feeding my hungry critters, this sleepy Friday a.m. I froze mid-task. My toes touched down tentatively on about an inch of water, saturating my dining room floor. Helpful. Not rocket science to recognize that whenever you encounter water exactly where you're not anticipating there to be water, it's usually not a comforting sign. As an added bonus, that same water smelled like the type of nasty, putrified liquefaction that's been lurking around for quite sometime during a steamy Summer's season. Sweet, decomposition. W-T-Actual-F?. My critters stared back at me blankly, now blissfully busying themselves with a rapid-onset breakfast feeding frenzy. Also, unhelpful. Upon closer inspection, I discovered that the double cupboard that's intended to house my washer/dryer combo, was indeed bubbling with water. Which was a slightly curious revealation to me because I don't presently have a washer/dryer set even hooked up in there at the moment (my washer's scheduled to be delivered next week). Yet, the tray that the washer would typically sit in, was filled to the brim. In addition, there was a copious amount of related seepage oozing deliberately into the surrounding cupboard space. Snap.

Now, my shaken-brain-inflicted self had already previously decided that this cupboard could act as an extremely convenient but very temporary storage space real estate for the ridiculous and extensive “pile” of cardboard and packaging leftover from my heavy indulgence with flat-pack furniture. All of that decaying debris was now on the verge of fermenting itself into a soup fit to rival a Halloween cauldron.

Fortunately for me, I suppose, and something that 'some' people fail to understand about me, is that I don't think that I was was born with an “-ick” gene. A cussing words one, well, yes, now how could you possibly tell that?. Yet, my handling all types of bodily fluids and contents, human detritus, observing surgical procedures, and working on the frontlines of healthcare, I find to be entirely and absolutely fascinating and extraordinarily rewarding. If I wasn't currently so far outside of my typical performance baseline, and also slumped downwards in my executive functioning, that's where I'd be now. Except, well, here we are. Slopping it, with the cardboard zombies.

My landlord received a txt from me that might have been akin to sustaining a king-hit directly in the sunkissed face on such a beautiful day. Water leak. Unknown origin. Send site manager. Now. Please. Although, neither of them have shown up here since, by the way. They may well have momentarily paused and simply thought, “No, she can handle it. She's well accustomed to putting out proverbial fires. “Even” and especially on a Friday.” Or, I was being too cool, calm, and collected, and didn't employ enough eyebrow-raisng expletives.

Cupboard gradually got remediated. An all day time sucker. If there's something that working in healthcare ingrains in you: it's the how's, why's and where's of santization and disinfection. That cupboard will not be the same again.

Meanwhile, who hijacked my playlist?.