Uncomfortably numb

I've been trying really hard, as I do every few weeks, to be happy and pleasant. But the truth is I just feel numb. Maybe it's all the drugs the doctors have me on for my neurological problems, or maybe it's just that I don't give a shit anymore.

I have no life. I sit at this computer day-after-day sending out my resume. I go to interview after interview that amount to nothing. I just wonder why?

Why do I have to feel this way -- you know, like I'm a loser or something?

It's dragging me down in a way that I'd hoped it wouldn't. Sometimes you just have too much to deal with and it makes you a little sad.

So, I'm a little sad.

Rent

For the last few weeks I've literally been living unemployment check-to-unemployment check, which isn't saying much at all. I did get Food Stamps and Medicaid, which is a blessing, but it's not cash. I'm still paying on my medical bills from Delaware -- that's including a surgery -- and my electricity.  Again, this month, I can't seem to come up with the money I need to pay rent. I guess this is why I never fully unpacked my place. I was afraid of this. I'm not sure what I'll do. I guess I'll have to sell things that I never thought of selling, and I know I won't get much for. I've been working since I was 15, and this is literally the hardest I've ever had it. I'm just waiting for the tow truck to come and repossess my car at this point.

I'd hoped to find work by now, but I haven't had luck. My savings is gone and all I have are "things." So some of these "things" are going to have to be sold to survive. I just never thought in a million years I'd be in this spot at age 43.

But I have to remember that there are people out there in worse shape than me. They need greater help. I wish this country would truly take care of its own. I want to work more than anything. I'm sick of doing nothing, but looking for work. And I'd take anything.

Missing my family

It's hard to live alone and miss your family so much. I know that Caroline, Anthony and Hope aren't far away. I know that my tios aren't far away -- between Phoenix and Tucson. That's comforting.

It's my mother, my father and my grandmother I miss. It's my cousins Melinda and Steven, and my Aunt Mary (Pee Wee).

I had to deal with death at an early age. My great-grandmother who lived with us died when I was 5. My Grandmother Jackman died when I was 6. My sister, Susan died when I was 11. My mom when I was 30 and my father when I was 41. And I lost Grandma, Stephen and Melinda at 41, too.

Sometimes, it feels like I've lived my entire life in grief, but I do the best I can to make my ancestors proud.

Right now, I don't think they are so proud. I can't even get a job at one of the casinos.

It's pretty depressing.

Will I ever find a job?

My parents were very encouraging people when it came to my eduction. It was pretty much a given that I would be a writer in some form. Mama was a librarian and Daddy, an avid reader who met her in the library, always encouraged me in that direction.

My teachers throughout school said the same: You should be a writer. You have a way with words.

I tried my hand at journalism and it got me nowhere. Now I'm writing for myself. Continuing stories I'd started in my late teens based on me and my friends and our adventures. I think they'd make great juvenile books.

All I need is a little support -- emotionally and professionally. I can do it.

It's my dream job.

A haunting on Lee Street

I'm an educated woman who thinks, for the most part, rationally. At the same time, I've always believed in a higher being, in the power of spirituality, and in the thought that our ancestors surround us.

I was raised by strict Mexican Catholics drowning in superstitions. I admit to still hanging on to some -- sometimes they're hard to shake.

So I moved into my casita here on Lee Street a few weeks ago. After about a week I started hearing what sounded like knocking within the place, then doors would slam shut or open. And today I had the stereo off -- I know I turned off the power strip, and the cats can't get at it. I came into the living room today, got on my computer and the stereo came on with that Charlie Parker CD I'd been listening to.

When I was growing up I could "feel" things. By that, I mean I knew when something was about to happen. And I've always been sensitive to what I call a person's "presence."

There's a presence in this old place, and it's not negative. But I can feel it moving around the house.

I'm not a nut-job, but throw in a few superstitions: I'm up all night.

My tribute to Miss Tasha Okamoto, RIP

Americans love their pets, or "companion animals." And I'm among the group possessing "companion animals," who help get me through good and bad days.

I have two cats: a 14-year-old long-haired tuxedo and gigantic 7-year-old  tan tabby. I had a papillion, but she died at 16. So It's me and los gatos against the world. Priscilla's shy, so don't worry about her. But Diego, who weighs in at a whopping 20.9 lbs. (the vet said he isn't overweight) gets into everything.  I call him mi changuito (little monkey), and when he's really bad, I call him "demonio." Aiy, dios mio.

I don't know what I would have done without my cats the last couple of years. They've brought me so much comfort, even when Diego is running on top of the kitchen cabinets and eating all my plants.

And we, as humans, know that. It's unconditional love when there's a critter doing a little dance or jumping around when we get home from work or errands. We know there is a little guy who wants to spend time with us, cuddle with, bring us comfort.

But when you adopt an animal -- even if it's a baby -- you can't help thinking that one day in the not-so-distant-future, you're little guy will be gone;  they don't live that long. But we find happiness and love in the time we do have with them.

I recently received some very sad news from a friend in Delaware who told me she had to put her 12-year-old Mastiff down. This dog was so lovable. My friend would bring her to work and she'd just pretty much lay there until food was broken out. I once tried to walk her and it was like walking a horse! And I didn't care if she drooled on me. She gave my friend so much comfort when my friend lost her beloved Rottie while already dealing with so much. Tasha was a sweetheart, and she'll be missed terribly. May she rest in peace.

Chisme

I hate gossip. For most people, that may be a strange thing for a journalist to say.

But I really hate gossip. Especially when it has to do about me, of course. I thought I'd shed all that crap in high school, but apparently there are people in this world, who for whatever reason -- whether they think you've done them wrong or they are jealous -- will always gossip.

I have a couple of chismosos in my life right now who have said things about me to other friends that are beyond hurtful. People who I've loved all my life and who I've trusted. I'm not sure if they're bored with their own lives or maybe my situation scares them.

I do know for now, I'm trying to stay positive and healthy so I can find work. But these things bring me down and depress me. So, I've vowed not to associate myself with these people, which feels like a part of my heart is being torn out, but it has to be done so I can create the stability I need to move ahead. And I won't let anyone or anyone's lies tear down what I've rebuilt this far.

Man, I hate chisme.