An update on the ex thing

When I got home the other day (how long has it been now? Five days?) I decided to go ahead and answer my ex’s mother about the graduation pictures she’s been waiting for, and my ex’s girlfriend about the Christmas present. I had mixed results.

I sent my ex-mother-in-law a zip file of a bunch of photos I had. I’m not sure whether or not she opened the zip file – she never answered me back. Payback maybe? Whatever.

As for the ex’s girlfriend, I wrote back and told her that my son has been asking for a Nintendo 3DS for ages, and “it would be great if you could get him that – thanks!” She replied that she talked to my son on the weekend, and he said he wanted clothes and books. Not to be outdone, I replied, “Great! You can get him the 3DS for his birthday (in two weeks) then! šŸ˜€ ” She sent back a note to say she thought he already had a DS. I said he does, but they don’t make games for it anymore. She never answered me back.

My only regret is that I’ve already bought him a laptop. The 3DS will be less than half the price. Then again, I’m not holding my breath that they’ll buy it for him.

After all that, I texted my ex and asked him for an apology. The answer I got back was, “Sorry!”

Was that, I’m so sorry I feel like I need to put an exclamation on it? Or was that, I’m sorry! Now shut up and leave me alone!? Probably the latter. You’ve just gotta laugh.

Time

I went to an interesting writer’s workshop today, during which the presenter asked us whether or not we give ourselves permission to make time to write. Because one thing that is true for almost every writer, writing isn’t all we do, and other things often take precedence over our writing. She said that if our writing is meaningful to us, we must take the time. It’s important.

I wanted to say something about our families and that THEY don’t always allow us the time to write but, ironically, we ran out of time. Now I wish I’d said something.

Skip to the present.

My ex has two of our kids right now. I’m having a weekend off. I just got a text from him to say that because I didn’t answer messages from his mother about graduation pictures, and his girlfriend about what our youngest son wants for Christmas (yes, she’s already thinking about Christmas) that he has no faith in me. I answered, “I’m still waiting for graduation pictures (care to pay for them?) and I have no idea what he wants for Xmas. Why don’t you ask him? And what do you mean you have no faith in me? Who the fuck looks after them 90% of the time? I’m sorry I forgot to reply. I was busy looking after YOUR kids. All three of them.”

To which he replied, “You were busy doing nothing but you think you were doing something. Wake up and smell the fucking life.”

I have soooo had it with him. I’m trying to get a career going, between writing and taking editing courses, but from the outside it looks like a time-wasting hobby. I know that. I already feel as guilty as fuck that I’m not doing more. But what can I do when I’m looking after two disabled kids, alone, one of which is home 24/7 since he graduated? I have no support other than a babysitter and my eldest son. I can’t go out and work. I have a hard time making decisions for my kids who can’t. And where is my ex? He moved and bought a house 3 hours’ drive away from us and he’s taken the kids this weekend for the first time in 5 weeks. Normally, when he does have them, he stays home and I have to move out of my own fucking house! Spend money on hotels and meals just so I can get a break… and he has no faith in me? In me?

I’m fucking livid.

Advocacy

I had so many great blogging intentions yesterday. I was all set and ready to post my first Thursday Doors post when I got a call from my youngest kid’s teacher – the school advocates were going to visit the school. So I rushed over to get their help.

Their first question (and probably yours at this point too) was what’s the problem? My son is fed by g-tube, I told them, and is being forced to go to the infirmary every day to be fed. He’s alone over there with the nurses (particularly Nurse Nancy) when he’d rather be in the cafeteria, socializing with his friends. I added that we (myself, the principal and my son’s teacher) had tried to talk to Nancy about the set-up but she refused to even meet with us. They agreed that wanting to eat with his friends was a reasonable thing to wish for, and so we all (me and four advocates) walked over to the infirmary together. It’s a five-minute walk, outside. We’re in Canada, so that means it takes longer in the winter with getting dressed for the snow and then trudging through it.

First the advocates talked to my son, who said yes, he really really wanted to be fed in the cafeteria. So they approached the nurse. She was livid, as I expected her to be. She insisted she had never heard of a meeting, let alone refused one. She said my son spends enough time in the school already and doesn’t need to be there for lunch, to which the advocate replied he’s already disabled (he’s Deaf) and so, excluded from society. Having to be excluded further by taking him away from the precious time he has to socialize with his peers is potentially damaging to his psyche.

Nancy said it would take too long to feed him at the school, and that the other kids wouldn’t wait for him to go out for recess. But that, the advocate said, would still be time he doesn’t otherwise get to socialize. Then she said he could come to the infirmary earlier to get back for more recess time – so why couldn’t he start feeding earlier at the school and be finished at the same time as the other kids? It would also cut down on the traveling time.

Then she said it’s just the way it’s done – all the other Deaf schools in the province feed the kids with g-tubes in their infirmaries, to which the advocate said it’s not so. He’s seen kids in other schools feed in the cafeterias with his own eyes. Take that, bitch!

She said his feeding pump doesn’t work properly – I told her I have a new one on order and it will arrive next week. Ha! Take that times two, bitch!!

She said his behaviour when he’s at the infirmary is bad, so it wouldn’t be appropriate for him to eat in the cafeteria. The advocate said that’s not relevant. And besides, he’s a kid!!

Her final argument is that there isn’t the nursing staff to send over to the cafeteria. So the principal’s boss is going to talk to Nancy’s boss and see what can be done. As the advocate said to me, he has a right to eat with the other kids. He shouldn’t be punished for having an extra disability.

In all the years I’ve known Nurse Nancy, I’ve never got along with her. It’s like she’s desperate not to let go of my son. With the lack of any better excuses she blamed my son, (his behaviour) and me (the pump). It was wonderful to have someone on my side who didn’t back down. She’s a real nasty piece of work – I don’t think I’m the only one who’s a bit scared of her.

So they’re going above her head. I just hope she doesn’t make my son pay the price in the meantime.

A novel idea

Okay, so there’s this woman I’ve been “friends” with on social media for about eleven years now. She’s single, close to thirty years old, still living with her parents and hating it, looking for a job, and basically spending her life living off her art and playing video games. She’s a character and a half and I soooo want to write her.

But I’m not sure I can. You see, she has a particular ailment that she’s extremely sensitive about, that is so much a part of who she is that I can’t write it out of her. So if I write a novel and use her, even though it’s fiction, I’m sure she’ll see it to be herself. The novel, even though she is the protagonist, will not be very flattering as she herself has a rather distasteful personality. What to do…

I know! Isabella Morgan may just become an author.

What would you do?

It’s My First Blogaversary!

Isabella Morgan has officially been alive for one year. Funny, I don’t feel a day less than 25.

I think about updating this blog every so often, but strangely I can never think of a thing to say when I get here. I intend to hang on to it though. Never know when I’m going to want to lash out over something that I can’t express, using my real name.

Anyhoo, I’m not saying anything here either, other than that I’m amazed it’s been a year. Maybe I should make a resolution to come back here every so often and post what I’m really thinking. Which is usually along the lines of, WHAT THE FUCK?

Happy Blogaversary to me!

“How can I get to know you better babe?”

The title of this post is a comment I got on my Facebook author page tonight from a strange man. I’m reminding myself that this is why I have the safeguards in place. No address, no contact info that isn’t general, no listing in the phone book… It’s also why I have this blog, so I can talk about these things openly without it showing up on my author page.

So why am I still kinda freaking out?

It’s All About the Grammer

Yesterday I joined the politest Facebook group ever. It’s a genre-specific book-lover’s group; in an older post, one of the members was complaining about the growing number of mistakes she’s been finding of late in e-books. To quote:

The amount of spelling and grammer errors lately are really bugging me. It’s like they don’t even have editors to correct their spelling and grammer or something.

Now I’m not one to make fun of people but it was difficult to stay away from this completely – no one in the group pointed out her glaring irony. Maybe there is hope for humanity after all – or maybe I just fucked that up.

This is part of One-Liner Wednesday (sort of). You can join in too by clicking the link. http://lindaghill.com/2015/09/30/one-liner-wednesday-tastes-like-steve/

Next!

You know how you sometimes read something really fast and you read what’s not really there? Hehe.

Two emails in my inbox, the top one reads “I just went for a job interview”
And the second email reads…. wait for it… “I justĀ got some hand me downs.”

What I read: “I just went for a hand job interview.”

I’m thinking that unless the meetings are scheduled at least half an hour apart, the second interviewee stands to come out rather tired…

…and that’s how the literary world ended.

The unimaginable has happened.

Close on the heels of finding out that E.L. James, author of Fifty Shades of Grey, has begun writing a “How To” book on writing (which makes me throw up in my mouth a little every time I think of it) came the suggestion from Kobo that I pre-order her next novel. It may or may not be entitled Grey – it was hard to tell through the blur of tears as I read theĀ devastating news email. What I did get was that the book is, get this,Ā Fifty Shades of Grey AGAIN but through the eyes of Christian Grey instead of Anastasia (aka Mrs.) Grey.

I’ve mourned the loss of the money IĀ threw away spent when I bought the trilogy enough, I think, to know better than to buy the same thing AGAIN. But fans of the first three books surely will.

Will millions of readers die of boredom? Or worse, will they live to take advice from Ms. James on how to write a novel?

Stay tuned. And don’t worry, I’ll be there to hold your hand when the literary world gets whipped right out of existence.

 

V is for Vulva

My A-Z Challenge this year contains postsĀ about writing adult content in fiction ā€“ you will not find any adult fiction within the parameters of the challenge, except for illustration purposes.

While it’s sometimes hard to decide whether to use the proper names for body parts or the slang, (as discussed here “J is for Junk”) it’s possible to go too far when being specific, especially for a writer who doesn’t research or understand the function of said body parts.

The example I’ve come across most often is during sex scenes where his penis reaches her womb. Seriously? How long is that sucker? Does it tickle the back of her throat while it’s up there?

Vulva, as described at http://www.innerbody.com/image_repfov/repo13-new.html (where, incidentally, you won’t be treated to a series of pictures, unlike Wikipedia):

The vulva is the collective name for the external female genitalia in the pubic region, including the labia, clitoris, and urethral and vaginal openings. These organs work together to support urination and sexual reproduction.

How many times have you seen it used as though it’s a specific bit of the vagina? I can’t count.

But my absolute favourite of all time comes from 50 Shades of Grey wherein Ana presumably dies and comes back to life.

Finally, my medulla oblongata recalls its purpose.

From google search page:

This section of the brain helps transfer messages to the spinal cord and the thalamus in the brain from the body and controls breathing, heart function, blood vessel function, digestion, sneezing, and swallowing. Sensory and motor neurons from the forebrain and midbrain travel through the medulla.

That one deserves applause, don’t you think?