tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-101337872024-03-19T04:24:37.568-05:00Boobs, Injuries and Dr PepperCrystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08450912516874228817noreply@blogger.comBlogger27125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10133787.post-15413982550966809542017-06-29T07:40:00.001-05:002017-06-29T07:40:23.484-05:00Or!....start off posting every three weeks, that's not unreasonable. Set realistic goals. Do daily affirmations.<br />
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Oh, who the hell am I kidding? Neurosis is my go-juice and if I were predictable or consistent, my life probably would have turned out much differently. Just think...in some alternate universe, there is a version of "me" that arrives on time and come prepared with all daily necessities and shit. <br />
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Ugh. Kill that "me". It will be fine, I'm sure she has phenomenal life insurance.<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://www.text-link-ads.com/xml_blogger.php?inventory_key=3ZUG1HW0YKSPOCV844FA&feed=1&r=2</div>Crystal McKnobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13021971751501474765noreply@blogger.com44tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10133787.post-3536117833417604242017-06-07T02:31:00.000-05:002017-06-08T03:11:49.867-05:00....or Get Off the PotI make up excuses without even knowing I'm doing any such thing. <i>My laptop is a piece of shit. I have to work in the morning. I'm too stressed. God, the technology has changed so much, wait, what the fuck, is that html?. Is that even a thing now?? My memory of everything is fuzzy in places and I can't do the ordeal any justice. I think I have to poop. God, that can't be normal, I should google whether or not that's normal.</i> I've been doing this for months and the thought of what I should be doing, that I need to be writing and not just thinking about writing, is like a chipped tooth in the back of my mouth. I keep running my tongue over it, obsessively, wearing it down and I can't leave the fucking thing alone because it needs to be dealt with. I will never find any kind of peace until I do this. Everything is just a distraction and after my attention wanders back to where I know I'm supposed to focus it, I realize that a month has gone by. I resolve to commit to this and then I find something else that doesn't cause me anxiety and shame and rinse and repeat, three months have gone by. <br />
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My thoughts have been so dark and scary the past few weeks and I wake up every day asking myself the same, dipshit question: Why am I so incredibly depressed and unhappy? I know why. Everyone who cares about me knows why and we volley back and forth with me spewing all sorts of bullshit about how I think my estrogen is failing or maybe I need to try this herb, and, oh, shit! I need magnesium, fucking EVERYONE is low on magnesium according to WebMD and how we haven't all leapt to our deaths from an overpass or office window is mind boggling so that has to be it. That, and vitamin D. And the ones who care wearily listen to my latest theory on why everything tastes so gray and then they remind me: You're unhappy because you're not writing. I solemnly agree and go back to reading about the benefits of rubbing yak phlegm on your ear lobes. <br />
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The truth is, I'm terrified of this. I'm so afraid to show anyone the ugliness that resides in me. It's dormant, now, because I don't feed it veritable fuck tons of opiates any longer, but when it was in control, it was horrifying. Years ago, when I started this blog, I never once considered the consequences of what I was sharing. I didn't think about name searches for employment or potential lawsuits (still think you're a douche schooner, Brad Paisley!) or rabid haters affecting my life, my REAL life and my income. I didn't consider that this is basically a diary that anyone can read and for all eternity and no one is every really anonymous any longer. I've hurt so many people who didn't deserve to be hurt and I just don't want to carry that shit any longer. And then when Devon and V gave their blessing, I still hesitated. I was blown away when Chris encouraged this, as well, because if anyone has a right to despise me for eternity it's him. All lights are green and I guess the person I'm afraid of hurting now is me. I've done everything a person can do to demolish themselves, both spiritually and physically, and my God, I'm trying something new, trying to be kind to myself and do I really want to rip all of these band aids off and open myself up to the viciousness of anonymity, again? Can I withstand feeling like I've failed, again?<br />
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I don't want to. I want to find out that I have a huge trust fund and I can buy a monkey and an obscure island and frolic naked for the rest of my days. Ya know, with the monkey. I want to feel proud of who I am and look back and not wince at the absolute waste of potential. Unfortunately, I can't do the latter without walking straight through this. I've tried going around it, tried killing it, covering it up, Bedazzling the motherfucker to make it prettier, handing it off to someone else and and I'm absolutely certain of one thing and one thing only: the easy way and I are strangers and always will be and this is no different. If I died tomorrow, my greatest regret will be that I never finished this because I want my family to know why and how. I want them to know without a doubt that it was never a choice between them and my demons, that there was nothing they could have done differently and the failures were mine and mine alone. <br />
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I'll write and I'm holding myself accountable to do so at least once a week. I have no idea what might come out, if any of it will follow a pattern or if I'll be disjointed and rambling but I think that if I just stop procrastinating and write something, anything, it will take shape. I can hope for that and considering how little hope I've had lately, it's a start. <div class="blogger-post-footer">http://www.text-link-ads.com/xml_blogger.php?inventory_key=3ZUG1HW0YKSPOCV844FA&feed=1&r=2</div>Crystal McKnobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13021971751501474765noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10133787.post-50507886797187248352017-01-13T03:44:00.000-06:002017-01-13T03:44:21.203-06:00Filling in the Blank Spots<i> Get up off your knees, girl</i><br />
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<i> stand face to face with your God</i></div>
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<i> and find out what you are - </i></div>
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"My Name Is Human" - Highly Suspect<br />
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It's 2 a.m., I'm running on fumes and I'm up in 4 hours to do it all again. Good enough reason to say, "fuck it, I'll start writing it all tomorrow night", and keep bullshitting for another week, month, year. I played the song quoted on loop today and even though I've listened to it at least a hundred times, the meaning changed for me this morning. In my mind it's self-explanatory as it relates to telling this tale, but deduce what you will.</div>
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Caveat, to my family... I don't know that anyone other than Devon - and possibly V - will be reading this in the near future. BUT...shit happens, details emerge and one day my sister might pop in looking for Finley and instead, here's this veritable shit storm of brutal honesty about what really happened in the life of her junkie sister, no omissions, no candy coating, and then the phone calls start coming from Mom wanting to know why in the name of the baby JESUS I would tell the entire free fucking world that I tried heroin, HEROIN, did I really try heroin? and things get awkward and very embarrassing for the people I love. I have been at war with myself about committing all of the ugliness to the internet where it will reside until there's nothing left but cockroaches and Twizzlers (seriously. Both of those things will survive nuclear wars and global warming and asteroid impacts) because, while putting myself on display for all the lookie-loos is one thing, they might not want any part of it. So, here's the deal. I wouldn't have even considered the idea of baring my soul again had it not been for the urging of family. I was stunned that the most vocal supporter was Devon. He's conservative, private and never hesitates to tell me to get my shit together, grow up, own my mistakes, <insert pithy and fucking annoying-as-hell-because-he's-only-24-and-right-goddammit advice here> and he's the last person I imagined cheering me on to pen this particular Gold medal winner in the Trainwreck Olympics. So, I thought, "well, he just meant write more crap about embarrassing the kids in public and how often I fall". Then a text came through after my last post: "I'm really glad you're writing, again." He wants me to tell this story and although I don't fully understand why, I'm grateful for his and Virginia's blessing. They're both ready to weather whatever comes because they know how much writing was a part of me and how I disappeared a little more every day that I tried to pretend it was a passing phase. I just hope they truly comprehend where this leads: there will be bone exposed. I will not do this if I feel like I have to lie about any of it because deluding myself is how I started unraveling in the first place and pain is what gets my undivided fucking attention. It has to hurt, memorably. With that said, note: These are the things I've done; they are not who I am. The distinction is crucial. </div>
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For those of you who sent me friend requests on Facebook solely to have gossip fodder to spread three and four fucking YEARS later on hate sites, grab a few changes of underwear because I'm about to give you the motherload, tickets to the SuperBowl of Oversharing, the bona fide what-the-hell-I-can't-believe-she's-telling-anyone-this secret decoder ring to share with your other sniveling buddies.<br />
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For those of you who matter, who've prayed for my family and I, sent me thoughts of kindness and compassion, the people who perpetuate beauty and joy, the ones who remind me that there is purpose in this? I'm so glad you'll be with me for the journey. You give me strength. </div>
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Away we go... </div>
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<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://www.text-link-ads.com/xml_blogger.php?inventory_key=3ZUG1HW0YKSPOCV844FA&feed=1&r=2</div>Crystal McKnobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13021971751501474765noreply@blogger.com33tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10133787.post-17211040407717074692016-12-02T14:12:00.002-06:002016-12-02T14:12:47.937-06:00Every year I say, "This year HAS to be better."....For 2017, I'm changing that to, "I will make this year better." One way for me to do that is to go back to doing what I loved so much and to stop allowing the opinions of deeply unhappy people to change who I am and what I choose to do. So much has happened over the past few years and I'm going to share EVERY. FUCKING. GORY. DETAIL and hope that it helps to heal me and maybe someone else might experience collateral clarity out of the wreckage I walked out of. I'm going back to what it used to be...I won't censor comments (unless they're directed in a hurtful way to the people I love) and I won't censor myself. The fundamental difference here is the most profound lesson I've learned in the past few years: what you think of me is none of my business. Is my skin a little thicker? No. I can still be hurt by vicious and thoughtless remarks, I still have insecurities and tics and fears and I still worry about how I'm perceived in certain roles. My skin is the same. But my spirit is vastly different. My outlook has transformed. The world and the people in it haven't changed....I've simply adjusted my perspective in a way that has saved my life and my sanity. I'm growing every day and thanks to the efforts and wisdom and compassion of some amazing people, it's a foundation that is solid this time. I've spent the past few years making sure of that before I chose to lay myself bare, again. I am fully aware of the risks of doing so, this time. And I'm armored and content. I won't allow anyone, ever again, to have so much power over me that they drive me into hiding. I won't let another's opinion of me override my own and those of the people who truly know and fiercely love me. I'm not any more than them and I'm sure as hell not any less.<br />
<br />
I am Crystal McKnob. And I'm so glad to be back. <div class="blogger-post-footer">http://www.text-link-ads.com/xml_blogger.php?inventory_key=3ZUG1HW0YKSPOCV844FA&feed=1&r=2</div>Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08450912516874228817noreply@blogger.com46tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10133787.post-66621561682774615412013-08-16T16:48:00.001-05:002016-12-02T13:49:23.076-06:00No Place Like Home<br />
<br />
If you look over to the left column, you'll see a link for archives (and I'm far from finished. There will be a lot more coming)<br />
<br />
Thanks to my best friend, Jamie, (and the urging of my friend, Amber), who sent me the posts in HTML, I'm able to put them up in groups. And I thought all of these were gone, forever. Aaaand I'm sure there are some people who really hoped they would be gone, forever.<br />
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Na na nee boo boo. <br />
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I'm coming back to my spot, here. It's where I started, it's where I belong. In the meantime, you can peruse the archives if you have time to kill.<br />
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(For those who signed up for the mailing list, I'll still be using it...I'll just be sending out New Post notifications and there won't be passwords) <br />
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Here's to the future!<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://www.text-link-ads.com/xml_blogger.php?inventory_key=3ZUG1HW0YKSPOCV844FA&feed=1&r=2</div>Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08450912516874228817noreply@blogger.com38tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10133787.post-88547385727310209602013-01-30T09:57:00.002-06:002013-01-30T09:57:54.952-06:00Here I Am, Panhandling AgainThat title is in jest about a comment I got one time that I was no better than a panhandler. I'm pretty sure panhandlers don't donate the money they get, but I could be crazy.<br />
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Anyway, I know I bombed the hell out of my email contacts and I don't usually do this...I buy and support the cookie drives and the wrapping paper and all of that, but I don't ask for people to buy just because it makes me uncomfortable.<br />
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This, however, is an awesome cause and Harmony is so excited to be able to help.<br />
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http://jumpgsa.kintera.org/harmonymckee<br /><br />
When I asked her what her goal was, she said, "Five dollars, Mommy. That will help of one those kids get a new heart, right?" She has such a good soul and I love her to pieces and don't ever want her to lose that drive to help, even in small ways. <br />
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She didn't think she'd would raise more than five dollars because, well, Mommy never has friends or anything come over but I told her that I do have friends....they just don't live near me. <br />
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Anyway, the donation is $5 if you're interested. And thank you. I'll try to get some pics of up the Jump Rope day.<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://www.text-link-ads.com/xml_blogger.php?inventory_key=3ZUG1HW0YKSPOCV844FA&feed=1&r=2</div>Crystal McKnobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13021971751501474765noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10133787.post-16824567530588456922013-01-28T20:02:00.001-06:002013-01-28T20:02:44.451-06:00SignsAgain, I'm keeping this site public and the other private. <br />
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I didn't turn anyone away but gmail routed a bunch to spam and after hitting 600 emails, a lot slipped through the cracks and I'm so sorry. Please email me and I'll give you the info. <br />
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crystaldawnmckee@gmail.com<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://www.text-link-ads.com/xml_blogger.php?inventory_key=3ZUG1HW0YKSPOCV844FA&feed=1&r=2</div>Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08450912516874228817noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10133787.post-22847509233379006322013-01-26T18:19:00.001-06:002013-01-26T18:19:43.351-06:00New placeI've moved. I'm keeping this site for public posts and the other for private. <br />
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If you didn't get the email with the link and the password, please email me at crystaldawnmckee@gmail.com<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://www.text-link-ads.com/xml_blogger.php?inventory_key=3ZUG1HW0YKSPOCV844FA&feed=1&r=2</div>Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08450912516874228817noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10133787.post-8875972121462431652013-01-23T21:24:00.001-06:002013-01-23T21:24:19.567-06:00Coming SoonI've been without a phone the last week and had no way to post. <br />
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Michael never responded about hosting the site so I'll figure it out by the weekend and email all of you the info ...<br />
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Thanks for your patience <div class="blogger-post-footer">http://www.text-link-ads.com/xml_blogger.php?inventory_key=3ZUG1HW0YKSPOCV844FA&feed=1&r=2</div>Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08450912516874228817noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10133787.post-58702968074411366712013-01-13T13:35:00.001-06:002013-01-13T13:35:10.913-06:00Strange RationaleOk, there's a hiccup. Poor Kat worked all this time and found out that Blogger only allows 100 private viewers in case you're doing something illegal or preying on kids.. We're way, way past that in email addresses.<br />
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Kat had some good ideas, anyone else?<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://www.text-link-ads.com/xml_blogger.php?inventory_key=3ZUG1HW0YKSPOCV844FA&feed=1&r=2</div>Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08450912516874228817noreply@blogger.com36tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10133787.post-77115624677329627202013-01-12T16:55:00.001-06:002013-01-12T16:55:52.072-06:00KatA wonderful, sweet reader offered to set up the emails and privacy settings for me and she's using her own time to do so as I write. Kat, thank you so much. It would have taken me weeks to do the work you've done. <br />
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I didn't deny any requests (you're all invited who emailed and commented) so when it goes private, if you can't get in, please email me at crystaldawnmckee@ gmail... There are going to be misspellings and accidental omissions with the number of emails she's working through so please don't feel you've been left out - you haven't. Just let me know and I'll get you in the list. <br />
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I will probably go private Sunday. <br />
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Thank you for all of your inspirational emails and comments. I'm glad to have you all back. <div class="blogger-post-footer">http://www.text-link-ads.com/xml_blogger.php?inventory_key=3ZUG1HW0YKSPOCV844FA&feed=1&r=2</div>Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08450912516874228817noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10133787.post-54720884012870833462013-01-07T17:46:00.001-06:002013-01-07T17:46:14.220-06:00Knocked DownIf this plays out like I think it will...and I'm hoping for the best but expecting the worst...I don't think I have the strength to fight my way up, again.<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://www.text-link-ads.com/xml_blogger.php?inventory_key=3ZUG1HW0YKSPOCV844FA&feed=1&r=2</div>Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08450912516874228817noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10133787.post-62430093196221880502013-01-02T12:52:00.000-06:002013-01-02T12:52:40.643-06:002013The popular sentiment is that today is a day to start over. It’s a day to start walking the path to a new and better you or to forgive yourself for the past years mistakes or not make the same ones or some such shit. <br />
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New Years has never really held any significance to me. What am I going to resolve to do today that I didn’t do with the last 365 opportunities I had? Absolutely nothing. When I’m backed into a corner or weary of where I’m at, I make the choice to change my life and it doesn’t matter if it’s a Monday or middle of the summer. I just do it…usually.<br />
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This past year has been different, though. It’s been tragic and terrifying and very, very lonely, and the obstacles that have landed in my life over the past month have really made me think long and hard about where I’m going. I cannot tell you how many times I’ve looked around during various years in my life and wondered, “How the hell did this happen?” I’m at that point, again, only this time, it’s with the absolute certainty that it wasn’t <em>all </em>my doing. My situation (and I mean generally and more recently. Some of it is 95% poor choices and 5% bad luck and some just 100% stupid decisions. I’m speaking in averages) is about 25 percent poor choices, 25 percent being too open, trusting and forgiving (which I guess would fall under ‘choices’) and about 50 percent ridiculously bad luck. My sister asked my Mom a couple of weeks ago if I have a black cloud that just follows me around from place to place and sometimes, I wonder, too. If I’m being tested, I’d like a potty break, please. <br />
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I know that in order to write freely and openly, I have to do it privately, but it still irks me. I’ve never been one to hide from the ugly truth about myself and I’m not about to start now. However, I owe it to Chris and my kids to not be so candid about everything that’s happened so I really feel I have no choice. So, why not just write a diary to myself? Well, I used to harp about how this blog was for me and blah blah blah and honestly, that’s bullshit. It is for me, but it’s for others, too. It’s for those who are in the same or similar situations who can read and not feel like they’re facing their demons alone. Nothing has given me more of a sense of purpose than A., being a mom and B., finding out that the things I write could actually help someone, even if it’s infrequent. So, I write and I don’t hide my warts or try to make anyone think I’m something I’m not. I have darkness in me, the capability to really hurt people that love me and trust me and to do so very callously and with disregard. I’m ashamed of that, but it’s true. I didn’t think I could do the things I’ve done, never would have imagined those traits to be hiding in me anywhere, but they were…and I use past tense because I know that I will never behave that way, again. <br />
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In order for me to let go or forgive and move on, I have to relive all of it and I guess I’ve chosen to do it here. When I’m writing it’s almost as if another part of me takes over and I can process thoughts and make observations in a way that I’m never able to do otherwise. It helps me to answer the questions about myself and dissect all that’s happened and the behavior that I’m afraid to face in any other setting.<br />
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Since I’ve decided to make this private, I do have one condition: I got a lot of really lovely emails from a lot of people about wanting to read my blog and I thank you. I read everything I get. I’m afraid that some of the illusions you have about me will be shattered, because I’m not holding anything back, and the admiration or respect or whatever you call it will turn to disgust. Please, please, just stop reading. No matter how much you want to, please don’t write me or comment about what a horrible person I am. I’m choosing to allow you in and that’s all I ask. I don’t have a thick skin and I never will. Some of the emails and comments I got after the last debacle devastated me, and I can still recite them, word for word. I have punished myself far more than anyone else ever could and I do so daily. Karma or God has also intervened and I have (and still am) paying dearly for the things I did and the people I hurt, so, please. No venom. I’ve never claimed to be pious or perfect, I’m far from it and I know this. I only share these things in the hopes that I can heal, maybe forgive myself and possibly help someone who might be facing the same painful situations, from either side of the table. Everyone copes differently and this is my coping mechanism. On a positive note, however, I don’t really drink anymore and I’m not on any mind altering medication so there won’t be any midnight posts that where I confess a bunch of crap that ends up being a drug-addled, patchwork delusion, thereby vilifying and effectively ostracizing myself from the blog advertising community. I found out that Chris had been going through my emails and deleting hateful ones and I don’t have the privilege of having someone look out for me, anymore, so please just accept that I’m a great, big pussy and your meanie emails will make me cry and tear my hair out so leave it at that.<br />
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With that said, I have an enormous list of email addresses to add to the reader list and no internet or computer at home so I’ll compile the list and privatize this as quickly as possible. And then I’ll take you into my life, again, and in doing so, expose myself to the very bone and the darkest places in my soul. Not much of it will be humorous, I’m afraid, and some of it will have to be guarded because … well, to put it simply, it could affect the legal outcome of an upcoming trial (and, no, I did not go to jail or set kittens on fire or kill a nun or anything like that. I wish it were so black and white). <br />
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After my Dad died, I tried several times to write and be light-hearted and it was forced and terrible. I simply wasn’t ready. For the first time in a very long time, I feel like I am and I hope that, if nothing else, it serves some purpose for me or for someone.<br />
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I haven’t written anything (except some 2 page essays for my English class) so my writing has suffered but I think it will come back to me. I hope the ride is worth it…and I hope you wear your seatbelt. It’s really rough terrain. <br />
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Thank you for asking to come with me. I’m honored to have you along for the journey. And if you have to pee, go now, because I’m not stopping every five minutes.<br />
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<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://www.text-link-ads.com/xml_blogger.php?inventory_key=3ZUG1HW0YKSPOCV844FA&feed=1&r=2</div>Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08450912516874228817noreply@blogger.com67tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10133787.post-54176859126574706272012-12-26T10:54:00.001-06:002012-12-26T10:54:35.385-06:00Still Here.It's going to take me some time to set this up because I got about 5 times the response I ever anticipated. I'm simply astounded that so many of you were still watching out for me. It really means a lot. <br />
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I hope you all had a wonderful holiday. <br />
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Harmony stayed up until midnight on Christmas Eve (well, technically Christmas morning) and the last thing she shared with me before finally falling into a coma was about the visual beauty of Reindeer poop. "Purple balls, mommy. They glitter." <br />
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No clue, here, either. <div class="blogger-post-footer">http://www.text-link-ads.com/xml_blogger.php?inventory_key=3ZUG1HW0YKSPOCV844FA&feed=1&r=2</div>Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08450912516874228817noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10133787.post-56025046325895351712012-12-14T02:09:00.001-06:002012-12-14T02:12:06.721-06:00Wow.I checked my inbox earlier and all I can say is, holy shit. I literally had no clue there were so many of you still out there caring about me and my family. <br />
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Thank you. <br />
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If you left a comment, please make sure I have your email address because that's how I have to give you permission to view.<br />
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Like I said, I don't have a computer or Internet, however, I'll do my best to post at least once a week... For me, this time. I need to let go of this stuff. Writing has always helped, but knowing there are people out there who genuinely care and worry... That's incredible medicine.<br />
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It will take me a bit to add everyone and then we'll begin, I guess.<br />
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Take a deep breath with me and I hope some of it still makes you laugh. Never, ever a dull moment in my world.<br />
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<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://www.text-link-ads.com/xml_blogger.php?inventory_key=3ZUG1HW0YKSPOCV844FA&feed=1&r=2</div>Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08450912516874228817noreply@blogger.com30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10133787.post-63804523841134077902012-12-13T11:39:00.001-06:002012-12-13T11:40:01.339-06:00Secret HandshakeI still don't have a computer or internet, but after Christmas break, I'll be using the library at school and I am going to be writing about the events of the past year. I need to. Keeping this inside is too poisonous. <br />
<br />
In the interest of protecting my family and my heart from the venom-filled haters, I will be making the posts private. <br />
<br />
Blogger doesn't allow you to do this with certain posts; you can only make the entire blog private. So, if you're interested, please leave a comment with your email address or email me at <a href="mailto:crystaldawnmckee@gmail.com">crystaldawnmckee@gmail.com</a> and <strong>tell me about yourself and why you want in</strong>. I'm sorry to be so picky but I just don't want to give access to anyone who could potentially use it to hurt me or my family...<br />
<br />
thanks.<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://www.text-link-ads.com/xml_blogger.php?inventory_key=3ZUG1HW0YKSPOCV844FA&feed=1&r=2</div>Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08450912516874228817noreply@blogger.com95tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10133787.post-16780540900391251992012-10-21T18:18:00.004-05:002012-10-21T18:18:48.523-05:00My Own Worst EnemyOk, so I have access to crappy internet for a few minutes.
Before it crashes on me, again, I'll touch the highlights:
* made a huge mistake and got a divorce.
* car died.
* got fired.
* lost everything.
* living with a man who will, I'm fairly certain, end up killing me in my sleep.
* kids are ok.
* I am not.
* but I will be. Dammit.
* finally went back to school like I promised my Dad I would.
* got my first tattoo.
* haven't broken any bones in almost two years.
* am trying to write, again.
* trying to live, again.
* trying to laugh, again.
<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://www.text-link-ads.com/xml_blogger.php?inventory_key=3ZUG1HW0YKSPOCV844FA&feed=1&r=2</div>Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08450912516874228817noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10133787.post-89767920811038648882012-05-24T11:06:00.001-05:002012-05-24T11:06:23.540-05:00New Family MemberI found a baby bird in my driveway last night. <br />
<br />
I took him inside, put him in a box with warmed towels and Harmony and Virginia stood watch over him. <br />
<br />
A few minutes later, Harmony came running down the hallway and gleefully exclaimed, "Momma! He's pecking the side of the box!"<br />
<br />
"Mmm hmm, he is?"<br />
<br />
"Yes! I'm going to name him Pecker!"<br />
<br />
Pecker McKnob. Does it get any better?<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://www.text-link-ads.com/xml_blogger.php?inventory_key=3ZUG1HW0YKSPOCV844FA&feed=1&r=2</div>Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08450912516874228817noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10133787.post-77620247986168938932012-05-15T12:25:00.001-05:002012-05-15T12:25:04.396-05:00Lunch PortionI have no Internet or computer at home, so my only option is to write from my phone on my lunch breaks. <br />
<br />
Chris sent me a picture message the other day. A local license plate that simply read "Finley". <br />
<br />
I was the victim of a violent bug suicide...it chose to go out by flying directly into my forehead, stinger first, while I was on the back of a motorcycle. A week later when my eyes were still swelling shut, I went to see a local doctor for the first time. His name? Dr. Finley. <br />
<br />
Yesterday in the course of my breathtaking day as an insurance drone, I ended up having a long conversation with a woman who is married to a fairly well-known and successful author. "Send me your information and I'll have my husband pass it on to his agent."<br />
<br />
I have a hard time lately believing in fate or divine intervention of any kind and I'm probably experiencing things that are just coincidence, but, whatever. I need some hope. <br />
<br />
And I'll start by hoping that fucking bug is dead as dog shit. <div class="blogger-post-footer">http://www.text-link-ads.com/xml_blogger.php?inventory_key=3ZUG1HW0YKSPOCV844FA&feed=1&r=2</div>Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08450912516874228817noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10133787.post-79571109564919182132012-04-11T12:09:00.006-05:002012-04-11T13:07:51.089-05:00When She Stops Believing It Will Break My HeartHarmony is certain that I have a direct line to Santa, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy and every other mythical creature that permeates our holidays.<br /><br />Chris and I are still adapting to the kid sharing thing (neither of us can quite get used to not seeing her every day) and Sunday, she spent Easter with his family in Arkansas. Since I didn't get to see her, I planned a small Easter egg hunt for her on Tuesday morning before I took her to school. I stuffed eggs, put her to bed, realized she was still awake so I crawled out the window into the backyard like a lunatic and carefully placed brightly colored eggs and glitter nail polish and travel size bubble baths all over the yard. <br /><br />There's only so much shit you can stuff into those tiny eggs, so I improvise.<br /><br />Tuesday morning when she noticed the first egg through the window she squealed in delight and then that maddening but impressive logic of hers took hold. "Mommy, I already got stuff from the Easter bunny. Why did he come again?" <br /><br />I wasn't sure what to say. "He had extra stuff. There was a drawing, you won."<br /><br />"But shouldn't he give it to kids who didn't get anything?"<br /><br />"He has a quota to fill."<br /><br />"What's a quota? And why would he come on a Tuesday?"<br /><br />"He had time off, his Union required it, health conscious parents are asking him to deliver tofu and bean sprouts so you get junk food. Just enjoy it, baby."<br /><br />Still confused, but excited by the prospect of another egg hunt, she finally relented and went in search of goodies. She always misses one or two and I had to get her to school, so I stood by the ones she overlooked and urged her to keep hunting. One egg was simply impossible for her to find and she finally threw her hands up in frustration. "Momma, just call the Easter bunny and ask him how many eggs he put out so I make sure I don't miss any."<br /><br />"The Easter bunny doesn't have a cell phone, honey."<br /><br />"Everyone has a cell phone, Mommy. Santa has one. You call him every year when I'm bad."<br /><br />"Right, but that's Santa. The Easter bunny is old school." <br /><br />"Then how did you know he was coming today?"<br /><br />"Um. He ... sent me a letter."<br /><br />"I wanna see!"<br /><br />"You know what, I just remembered he does have a cell phone. Calling now."<br /><br />Ever tried to make a fake phone call to the Easter bunny while a very savvy 5 year old stands by your side, scrutinizing every word? Hoping that no incoming calls shattered the deception, I finally completed the fake call and told her to look for one more. After a few more minutes, and me all but standing on the damned thing, she was frustrated again. "Mommy, call him back and ask him for a map of where he put everything."<br /><br />"Honey, he can't text a map."<br /><br />"Sure he can. Have him take a picture of it and send it in a message."<br /><br />I sighed and pointed. "There Harmony. There's the egg."<br /><br />Techonology is ruining the magic.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7600f7vudSYcPgplYfJTWePAqM1j61QkUaIUh7lDUI66lpvyI_4Dhf1mZd0X_tjMPrUZbz02WJvQwN1m4bNnfk2DHN_5UJPxxIX4afnlfgMoFVkcKCgexMNz7VXg2YAxltq19hw/s1600/harmony1.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 266px; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5730205366878879394" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7600f7vudSYcPgplYfJTWePAqM1j61QkUaIUh7lDUI66lpvyI_4Dhf1mZd0X_tjMPrUZbz02WJvQwN1m4bNnfk2DHN_5UJPxxIX4afnlfgMoFVkcKCgexMNz7VXg2YAxltq19hw/s400/harmony1.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><p></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">http://www.text-link-ads.com/xml_blogger.php?inventory_key=3ZUG1HW0YKSPOCV844FA&feed=1&r=2</div>Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08450912516874228817noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10133787.post-11302413219853627052012-04-09T16:49:00.002-05:002012-04-09T16:59:46.012-05:00Full CircleHere I am again. Back at my old job, the one I had when I started this blog, single mother, again and more confused than ever. <br /><br />I think I've left this blog sitting here, unattended, because I don't laugh as much anymore. I don't find the humor in the most mundane shit like I used to. Then I started thinking, maybe it's because I'm not looking or noticing. <br /><br />I don't know but I do know this: writing got me through a lot of things when nothing else seemed to help. I don't care who listens or hates me anymore, I have too much going on in my real life to be mired down in that crap any longer.<br /><br />Maybe I need this again. Maybe I need handfuls of pills and therapy and a monkey to talk to. This is cheaper.<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://www.text-link-ads.com/xml_blogger.php?inventory_key=3ZUG1HW0YKSPOCV844FA&feed=1&r=2</div>Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08450912516874228817noreply@blogger.com56tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10133787.post-25481892622571736372011-08-23T19:02:00.002-05:002011-08-23T19:09:32.551-05:00What Day Is It?I've been working long, long hours and with the start of the school year, helping Devon move into his dorm (dorm schmorm. A dorm should be bare, ugly floors, funny smells, it's either too hot or too cold, you can hear your next door neighbor fart and unidentifiable rodents. His is a hotel room, literally) I haven't even checked my email in a month.
<br />
<br />Yesterday morning, I was trying to get Harmony to hurry up so I could get out the door. "Put these feathers in my hair, first!" she squealed.
<br />
<br />She had picked up some crafting feathers from a friend of hers. I was not pleased. "Which one?"
<br />
<br />"All of them."
<br />
<br />"There are five...six...seven feathers, Harmony. You don't want all of them."
<br />
<br />"Yes, I do."
<br />
<br />"Honey, no you-"
<br />
<br />"Yes, I do! I do! I do! I want all of them! All!"
<br />
<br />Rather than argue with her for twenty minutes, I braided each feather into her hair and then shooed her into the bathroom. "Go take a look and hurry."
<br />
<br />She came back around the corner with a disgusted look on her face. She looked like a porcupine. "I don't like it."
<br />
<br />"Right on, now get in the car, we're going to school."
<br />
<br />Oddly enough, she didn't even mention the feathers this morning.
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">http://www.text-link-ads.com/xml_blogger.php?inventory_key=3ZUG1HW0YKSPOCV844FA&feed=1&r=2</div>Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08450912516874228817noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10133787.post-32312349011599225922011-07-23T20:29:00.003-05:002011-07-23T20:38:17.077-05:00We'll Get You Covered. Even Though I'm Sure You'll Sue Us.Last week a local new station did a piece on a company that has been taking peoples insurance checks (ostensibly to replace their roof) doled out after the recent rash of storms and then disappearing with the money. Hundreds of people got scammed, a good portion of them elderly.<br /><br />I met one such gentleman last week and this got me thinking: What can we do to help out? I now work for an installation company so I approached my boss and told him what I had in mind. He is a terrific guy with a great, big heart and he gave me the go ahead.<br /><br />I called the news director for the channel that had done the piece and pitched it to him: Basically, we donate labor and materials and do one free roof a month for the next five months to victims of this scam. Those winners would be determined by a drawing or whatever is fair. The news directors response to me? "So, let me get this straight. All of these people, all these victims who have damaged roofs and no money to fix them and you want to do one a month? For, what, five months?"<br /><br />I was speechless. "Um, yes sir. Each job averages about ten thousand dollars so you're looking at us giving away fifty grand. We just need a vehicle for the promotion of it and that's where you come in. I'll be happy to do a mock up, write the press release and all of that so you don't incur any cost except the ad spot."<br /><br />"<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Meh</span>. Shoot it over to me and I'll take a look at it but I'm not promising anything."<br /><br />When did giving an inch become expecting a mile? JUST FIVE ROOFS, YOU CADS?! HOW DARE YOU GIVE ONLY FIVE ROOFS AWAY!<br /><br />I need a hug and a time machine. I don't understand this world I'm in.<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://www.text-link-ads.com/xml_blogger.php?inventory_key=3ZUG1HW0YKSPOCV844FA&feed=1&r=2</div>Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08450912516874228817noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10133787.post-44350227860209050852011-07-10T21:24:00.005-05:002011-07-10T21:42:56.979-05:00Caylee Anthony LawOk, so the widget is way to big for the sidebar and I don't give a shit. I want that sucker as visible as possible.<br /><br />Go sign this petition, please. It isn't about what this woman did or didn't do to her daughter, only God knows and will be the judge of that. But to not report your child missing is...heinous. My four year old wouldn't be missing for more than five minutes without me screaming down the police, national guard, ninjas, bloodhounds and that guy that lives in remote areas and eats bugs and shit to live. He seems like he could find anything.<br /><br />What astounds me is that there are people AGAINST THIS. How can you be against a law that would basically put you in jail if you don't report your child missing? Am I crazy or does that seem like it would be something childless people would rally for? (and I'm not pointing fingers at people who have no children, there are millions who are just as appalled and hurt by what happened to this little girl). But I just can't imagine a parent not agreeing with the petition to change this. It never should have happened this way and it's not fair to Caylee to just let this go as if it were an oversight or a one time mistake. Bullshit. It wasn't a mistake, it was negligence. Plain and simple.<br /><br />If you have a child, it's your responsibility to protect them and nurture them. If you can't do that, give them to someone who can and will. You had the baby and the fucking stork didn't bring it so kiss my ass with the whole "Can't take it anymore, must rid myself of my children" crap. I'm so tired of people killing their kids (and I'm not saying she did) because they can't handle it anymore. DROP THEM OFF AT A POLICE STATION OR A HOSPITAL. No child should be murdered, but my God, no child's last moments should be the image of the person they trust and love most in the world ending their life prematurely for no other reason than you're cramping their style or ruining their dating life.<br /><br />I can't tell you how many times I've thought about getting in my car and driving away. But I don't do it. I understand that this is the most difficult and frustrating job in the world, but they didn't ask to be here. I get angry, upset and yes, sometimes I wonder, just for a moment, what my life would be like if I hadn't had children. And then Harmony comes in the room for no other reason then to tell me she loves me before going back to play and I feel like crap. But everyone has thoughts. Never once have I ever envisioned hurting my children. And if you do, that's okay AS LONG AS YOU SEEK HELP BEFORE YOU ACT UPON IT. Otherwise, you're a coward. And your children got the shit end of the stick for ending up with you.<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://www.text-link-ads.com/xml_blogger.php?inventory_key=3ZUG1HW0YKSPOCV844FA&feed=1&r=2</div>Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08450912516874228817noreply@blogger.com34tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10133787.post-24091879770848494762011-07-10T01:23:00.000-05:002011-07-10T01:24:03.794-05:00And Then I Changed My Mind.<div class="blogger-post-footer">http://www.text-link-ads.com/xml_blogger.php?inventory_key=3ZUG1HW0YKSPOCV844FA&feed=1&r=2</div>Crystalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08450912516874228817noreply@blogger.com47