This cat was made for a coworker. She always gave me something every year. A little something. It was t much. I tried to paid this to look like one of her cats. I cannot remember if she loved it or not. she passed away this year.
But Timehop reminded me that three people who I made gifts for made me feel bad for it. One told me that she didn’t celebrate Christmas because of her religion. I told her then just think of it as a gift from one friend to another. But she also pointed out its flaws. It wasn’t even Christmas themed.
I also made a clever little sculpture with a spool of thread and a tape measure. It was for a lady who sewed. She made fun of it because it was lopsided.
There were three people who made me feel terrible because of the things I made. I can’t remembering the third was the cat lady or not. But I remember how it made me feel. And I stopped making things for people for a while afterward.
What I’ve done in this life or previous to piss off whatever god or demigod or evil spirit whom has decided to punish me in such a manner as to cause my roof to leak through my attic floor into my bedroom right where my head rests at night.
I’m not sure why I let myself start to think that perhaps things were beginning to look up. That things were going to get better.
I am completely and profoundly sure that there isn’t much more I can take. There isn’t much more that will not send me completely over the edge.
Running away to the middle of no where to hide under a rock is starting to feel like a good idea.
For context about this post please visit this link.
My tube of toothpaste is almost empty.
Why am I repeating my title in the body in the body of my post? Because I’m still in shock. I use a different kind of toothpaste than my husband and child. I always have. I have sensitive teeth.
And over the years I’ve had to buy new toothpaste for various reasons. Needed a different kind, lost the tube while traveling, it got old.
It got old because I didn’t brush properly. Yes, I’m revealing something about myself that I’m embarrassed by. But there’s a reason.
Enough backstory. The point is I never finished a tube of toothpaste. Not even travel sizes.
Why is it almost empty now, when it’s never been before? Because since the post I linked above, and the chipped tooth, I’ve made a point to brush my teeth every night. Because of my bad teeth and because I didn’t want my child to have bad teeth.
You see, after the chipped tooth, I finally got in to see a dentist. they fixed that tooth and one beside it (he refused to pull it). I also went back for my first cleaning in decades, and then back again. TWICE. To fix bad teeth.
I still have a few that need some love but nothing is causing me pain. Well, that’s another post, but no pain pre-dental work. And I have an appointment for my next cleaning in January.
My teeth have also started, slowly, looking whiter. They’re not perfect, I could use some braces, but they aren’t quite as stained as they used to be. And my kiddo has even gotten to where she doesn’t want my help to brush.
I might have skipped one night in three or four months. I’m so proud of myself that I am sharing my history of poor dental hygiene with strangers. Besides. It’s the little things. And right now I need all the happiness little things can bring me.
Do not tell me NOT to tell you when we don’t have what you’re looking for. THATS CALLED LYING. And it helps neither of us.
If I look busy but you need something DON’T JUST STARE AT ME IN SILENCE. It’s creepy.
You didn’t just buy it here. We don’t carry it we never have. I THINK I WOULD KNOW.
If that’s your indoor voice I probably need you to use your outdoor voice to understand what you need. SPEAK UP.
I apologize for not being able to understand your heavy foreign accent. I can barely understand some locals. CALM DOWN.
Your small children and babies can talk. It’s not a library. Just don’t expect me to babysit. And for bob’s sake DON’T LET THEM REPAINT THE STORE WITH GREEN NAIL POLISH. (But if you ignore your free range child and they get lost I will offer my assistance).
Yes. I will shout “bless you” from two isles over if I hear you sneeze. But I am hoping you covered your mouth and didn’t sneeze all over the merchandise.
Just because it’s on my work cart doesn’t mean it’s on a sale of some sort. DON’T PAW THROUGH MY STUFF. I have it how I like it.
Nope. You can’t have 25% off that. I told you it was damaged and you agreed to buy it anyway. STOP ASKING.
Yes. That $7 item is locked up. People steal. EVERYTHING.
When I was 15 years old, I took a tiny bit of positive feedback about my mediocre poetry writing capabilities and RAN WITH IT.
I entered a poem “This Is Me” into a poetry contest on Poetry.com. I did not win. Nor did I even make top 100. But I did get my poem published in their annual compilation.
Which you had to buy.
When I received my copy (which is kinda crusty and dirty. Sue me) of the book, I quickly found my submission way back on page 58. Twenty-two-ish years later I had to look in the index. And I had to remind myself that my last name was different then too 🤦♀️.
Anyway, I don’t remember if I legitimately read through each individual poem or if I happened to stumble upon the subject of this post. But here it is:
Now, I read the poem, thinking, “wow. That’s a lovely poem.” But then it sounded familiar.
Why was it familiar?
One of my most prized and oldest possessions is a book given to me by my grandmother.
“One Thousand Beautiful Things” also a compilation of poems and other works. This book was made pre-copyright dates. Googling from years ago told me it was from 1947. Making it now 74 years old. My copy is legit falling apart.
Now, fifteen year old me thought I’d stumbled on to some kind of conspiracy. This dude entered a VERY OLD poem by a fairly well known author into a poetry contest where there was a MONETARY PRIZE.
Thirty-seven year old me (who may or may not have attempted to Google this guy) now thinks it is a mildly hilarious bit of plagiarism. Oh and for good measure here is the dude’s about me from the back of the book.
Now, according to research I’ve done as of late has led me to the conclusion that it means absolutely hogwash.
Hogwash you say?
Hogwash, I do indeed say. The company that owned Poetry.com—“International Library of Poetry” basically went bankrupt and shut down in 2009 (my poem was submitted and book was printed in 1999). The website Poetry.com was then sold to Lulu.com, a self-publishing site (ironically one I’ve used before). After that it was sold and resold a few times (I guess).
Another issue is that most of the anthologies by companies like the International Library of Poetry are not formally accepted, approved, or published by the Library of Congress. So these books are not found or stored by the library. The legit one not thr failed business one.
Also, and I promise I’m almost done, the International Library of Poetry (or ILP) had numerous complaints even back in 1999 with the BBB of Maryland, and that they qualified them as a “vanity publisher” with absolutely no rules or consideration for submissions.
Long Story Long
Even if this guy’s poem had been more than just a semi-finalist (there were thousands, they said I was) and had made it further, it didn’t matter because honestly did anyone ever read them?
The thing that reminded me of all this, after 20-something years? Mary Shelly’s birthday. You know? The author of Frankenstein? She was married the Percy Bysshe Shelley. But THAT’S a wild story for another time.