March 1, 2016
I spent Saturday in Dallas with my brother. We drove up there for a seminar on self development and although I didn’t let my brother know, I was more excited about the road trip than the actual seminar. It was a four hour drive from Houston. We picked up breakfast on the road and I slept for about two hours before waking up as we passed some vacant Texas town. We jammed a lot of our 90s favorites and chatted about relationships, politics and the universe.
I’ve been recovering from bronchitis which I caught a little over a month ago, so I still have sporadic coughing fits that leave me breathless and achy all around my chest and rib cage. When we finally arrived, I was hoping that I wouldn’t be coughing during the entire presentation and fortunately, I didn’t, but that’s because I popped three cough drops in the course of an hour.
After the seminar, we went to eat tacos at a colorful taco spot called Velvet Taco located near downtown Dallas. My brother said it was very hipstery and I chuckled at the thought that he was probably right. I don’t know when the use of “hipster” is appropriate, but in any case, I don’t want to be associated with it. It irks me if I’m ever called that. Oh yeah–TACOS! The tacos were de-fuckin’-li-cious! A mixture of Asian cuisine with the traditional Mexican tortillas (sounds pretty hipstery huh?). I ordered one with chickpeas doused in all sorts of Indian spices and another shrimp taco which was tasty as fuck!
As I reached for one of my tacos, I fell into a coughing spell. I hacked and hacked and heard a crack in my rib. Cough. Cough. Cough. CRACK. Damnit. I know that sound and feeling all too well. Yup, I fractured another rib. I say another because the year before last I fractured three when I slipped getting out of the shower. I think I fractured one last year but I’m not sure how. And I cannot recall how many ribs I’ve fractured in my lifetime.
A fractured rib from coughing is the kind of thing that is common when you have Osteogenesis Imperfecta (OI). I remember a discussion on one of the OI Facebook groups I frequently peruse and occasionally participate in. A guy asked, “what’s the weirdest fracture you’ve had”? One of the most memorable replies I read was a guy who said he fractured his skull while sneezing. I’ve had a hairline fracture on the frontal part of my skull, but at least I got that when I fell out of a car in a drunken stupor. Seems legit, right? Seems earned. But sneezing?! Damn. That beats fractured ribs any day (not that there’s a competition anywhere). Another lady from the group always posts things about her seven year old daughter who has OI. Her kid’s type of OI ranges between the severity of Type II and Type III–the type I have. Well, in one post she mentioned something that her kid had said. It was both adorable and sad. She said, “mommy I don’t get the hiccups. I get the breakups ’cause when I get the hiccups I break a rib.”
So I guess I don’t have bronchitis. I have breakitis. It’s part of the amazing package that is Ms. Mouse, a few broken bones here and there every couple of years or so. I don’t really count the ribs. Those happen all too often these days, for me at least.
What am I getting at? Well, it’s international Rare Disease Day and Osteogenesis Imperfecta aka Brittle Bone Disease aka Lobstein Syndrom is one of the rare “diseases”. I’d rather call it a condition–a rare bone condition.
I thought that this day would be celebrated every year, that it fell on the last day of February, but I just realized it falls exactly on February 29th meaning that it is only celebrated on leap years. I guess the gimmick is rare is only every so often? If you wanna know more you can visit the official website or check out the rare disease Facebook page.
February 14, 2014
Maybe I didn’t say that right.
Yeah, it didn’t come out right. I think I meant to say, “FUCK YEAH CUPID!”
So I’m sorry Cupid. Sorry.
I just…uugh… old habits die hard. You know? Listen. Listen, I never hated you, really. I just grew up bitter about the whole thing, you know? Being “in love” is really weird. It’s weird like I’m having an out of body experience, like I’m having one of those dereealization moments continually. Yeah, those who have postraumatic stress know derealization well enough.
See, I never liked Valentine’s Day and, well, today is that so-called day. BLEEEUUUUGH. AT LEAST in Colombia, my birthplace, we call this day El Día del Amor y la Amistad (Day of Love and Friendship) and we celebrate it sometime in September… I think. That’s more fitting to my taste and beliefs and whatnot.
Anyway, shit I don’t mean to get off course. See, I’m not sure if you had anything to do with it or not Sir Cupid, but either way, this “falling in love” thing is actually happening. It happened with Monkey Man, but that was chaotic–falling in and out and in and out all while wanting to blow my brains out.
I rejected it. THIS. BEING. “IN LOVE.” I rejected it so much and nearly sabotaged any possibility of giving “love” a chance when it came around the corner last August.
But… I was in therapy! I AM in therapy. And shit does that help.
Fuck Valentines! Happy Day of Love and Friendship everyone.
And HAPPY FULL MOON! I love you. So so high, so full and yellow and bright…
January 24, 2014
HOLY SHITBALLS! The last time I wrote a “Borderline Girl Song” series post was over a year ago… I had to search my own entries list HERE to figure out what number I left off at.
I’m coughing and hacking greenish gooey phloem still, and I’m crackin bones in the process, yet I’m high high high HIGH or hypo hypo hypo or both! Yes, both. Same shit, sort of. I’m high on life and speedy typing (NOT Speed). I was crying non stop last weekend. Been giggling and singing all morning. Emotional dysregulation any? Just a bit.
Anyway, I’m high. And content, relatively happy. Fuck. I’ll just say it: In this moment I am happy. (That’s lyrics from an Incubus song FYI)
I’m high on life… and cold medicine, antibiotics for the N1F1 flu that upperecutted me three weeks ago, and half a hydrocodone for my cracked rib (yes I broke a rib coughing, maybe two), and dare I say I’m also high on LOVE…
Pretty Little Demons: Love? Like “romantic love”?
I can’t even hear myself say or phantom the thought but, but, but (breathes), I may be falling in love with someone. This person “asked me out” back in August. (I hate the term dating by the way). That’s one of the reason I’ve gone MIA here on Bloggieland. Too busy with the boyfriend and work.
Falling in love… maybe. Falling in love may be. Falling in love, falling, falling in love. 🙂
I’m sitting here on my bed covered in icy-hot muscle rub, Vicks vapor rub and pillows; three socks, bandage on my right leg, an orange wool scarf, and a laptop on my legs writing to you. I’m writing to tell you that people with Borderline Personality Disorder (or whatever they call it these days) can remain stable for–well, I’ve been relatively stable for a good while now and I’m busy in my “real life”, so I haven’t been able to complete a single post I begin. Started a few, but then had to go do this or that or him. heee.
It was 30 degrees fahrenheit out this morning and it rained all day yesterday so we have sleet. Amber Alerts were sent and schools were closed. Truth is, the sleet melted by noon. We Houstonians can’t handle a little snow or ice. P Mouse is fine with that ’cause I get to work from home today and I ain’t going out in no cold while recovering from a cold in my wheelchair. 🙂 YAYUH.
Anyway, where was I? Oh da song. This week’s Borderline Girl Song post is Dido’s “Thank You”.
I thank him, the guy mentioned above, for having the courage to tell me he had feelings for me/a crush or whatnot. I’m thankful for giving him a chance. I’m thankful that I gave him a chance because therapy helped me help myself give him a chance. And. Here. I. Am. Thankful for being alive, even though shit still pisses me off and I have my low moments (don’t think recovery is like that, I don’t).
In my next post, I’ll tell you who this mystery man is. He’ll be introduced, I promise. I was writing his introduction on Monday actually–on Reverend Martin Luther King Day–but as I just said, I keep getting cut off to do this or that or him. In this case it was him. Too much info? 🙂 Then that evening, my dad and his friend interrupted… No, no, no I’m not explaining myself right. In other words:
On Monday, MLK day, I spent all day with HIM (mystery love) at his place, then that evening when I was back home, I logged on WP and started writing a post, which I will post tomorrow.
Well, here’s my song for this series. I dedicated this to him the other day.
July 28, 2013
Hello… hello …hellooooooooooooo.
I’m still here. Yessuh.
Is anyone still here?
I promise I haven’t been in a coma and I’m not dead yet (neither is Dotty FYI). Where have I been? What have I been doing?
Well, obviously I’m not blogging. It’s been so long since I’ve blogged that I forgot my password a few weeks ago! (Yes I still log in to read some of your blogs occasionally). Anyway, I PANICKED! When does P not panic you may ask… Well, fuck, I didn’t NOT panic the day I logged in and couldn’t remember my password–had to go through the cumbersome ordeal of resetting my password and all.
Fortunately enough, I have a bank account now and I used the bank account password as my new WP password.
Fuck, where was I going?
Oh yeah, it’s 3am and the weekend. I’ve spent a lot of my time working lately, not just AT WORK, but even at home. Call me busy bee, or busy P or whatnot.
So, on my time off, I’ve been drawing again instead of blogging. These last couple of weeks I’ve been slacking off on the daily sketches. I was lying here, trying to get myself to bed, just puffing up my pillows, when I decided to doodle Little Luna from memory.
Maybe I’ll post some of the sketches I did last month and the one before and the one before that. I’ve just got too much to say and not enough time. Some not-so-nice things and some very, very nice things.
I’ve got a new “art” blog going, though I haven’t been updating on that one either. And I’m working on my website. Still in therapy, still swimming (even though I had to stop for a month).
I guess you could say I’m fairing well, mostly.
December 23, 2012
I’ve been a terrible, lazy blogger as of late. I know. I haven’t even been reading from my favorite bloggies. Truth is, a lot is going on and I do want to share much of it, but I don’t know… Thankfully, I dont have a head full of PLDs (Pretty Little Demons) right now. I still feel better than I was several months ago, despite some terrible days these past two weeks.
I haven’t self-harmed in several weeks, almost two months I think–the last time being a burning incident triggered by booze and thoughts of Monkey Man. So anyway, that’s great that I haven’t! No major suicidal ideations either!
A lot is happening. And well, I want to blog some of it–MUCH of it– but for now, I’m rethinking this whole blog. (yeah, again). And thus, I’ll continue being lazy about it, at least until this White Baby Jesus thing is over with. So here is another one of my very first posts from last year. I was trying to develop my illustration style then (and still am). But here I actually sketched on the computer before it gave up on me in May. Anyway, I think this is a funny one and I hope you think so too.
Hope you all the best!
p.s. I just realized this isn’t the best post to re-blog considering the horror that happened at Sandy Hook Elementary. Being a kid is tough and I can’t even imagine… I got severely triggered by that–I’m talking trigger among triggers– it was bad. And I can only hope those kids who survived and their families/loved ones heal one day. It’s… ugh… I’ll shut up… Please don’t take offence. None was meant. This story is meant mostly to be lighthearted, albeit true and somewhat sad. It’s gotta be at least a little melancholic: I’m the MMM.
There’s always that one elementary school teacher you hear about somewhere, the one that murders her students and their wild but fragile imaginations by telling them Santa is a hoax; that his slaved sweatshop elves and reindeer are also a hoax, AND, that they should go home and shame their parents. I read about such story not too long ago. I can’t blame her. Sometimes the scrooge and Grinch in us comes out.
I’m reminded about the time I tried to tell my third-grade classmates about Santa’s non-existence. It didn’t go so well, obviously.
Firstly, I’m Colombian. And Colombians–at least when I was a kid in the late eighties–don’t celebrate Christmas with Santa Clause. People do put him on Christmas trees, little figurines are sold for decoration, you can hear his bells in shopping plazas, but he’s treated more as an uninvited guest, the bawdy drunken relative–distant relative–you let…
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November 28, 2012
I thought I’d missed the mark. I really did.
“Fuck’a’doodle doo P!” Mouse yelled in my head, “You fuckin’ forgot your Bloggers for Movember post!”
“I didn’t forget Mouse! Ugh. I just had a lot of shit going on. What with the immigration, the surgery, the–”
I had nothing to say, no comeback.
I thought I’d grown my Movember mustache for nothing (see my mustache here).
I was so happy I’d finally managed a decent ‘stache, one that could rival Jen’s wispy whiskers–my arch enemies. Then I nearly cried realizing all the fun and games of Movember are over. All of the contestants had gone home with their prizes.
Then, last night, something MAGICAL happened. Mr. Penis’n’Balls–who I’d never met before–came to me in the middle of the night and whispered in Mouse’s ear: “MsMousie! Wake up! Mousie! You can still blog for Movember. Balls and I would appreciate it so much. I mean, $1200 or more or something like that have been raised for prostate cancer awareness and care. Spread the word. You got TWO MORE DAYS!”
“Holy shitballs! I do have TWO WHOLE DAYS to blog for Movember Mr. Penis’n’Balls!”
So I woke up, did a bunch of stuff like swimming only I couldn’t ’cause the pool was closed so I lifted three pound weights instead and, I fell in the bathtub, thought I’d broken all my bones, thank heavens I didn’t. So no broken bones and I think, “Right! I still haven’t written for Movember like Penis’n’Balls asked”
That’s when I realized I’d have to rush a post. So all I’m gonna say is, I think all of you Movember bloggers are awesome, especially these guys: Bloggers for Movember – A Final Recap, For the Love of Your Healthy Prostate, and Rockin’ it for Movember.
What is Movember anyway?!
For those of you still unfamiliar with this, it “is a moustache growing charity event held during November each year that raises funds and awareness for prostate and testicular cancer.”
That’s about all I know, so don’t ask me more questions.
Look, women tend to get it in the breasts, men tend to get it down below. I know for sure my dad had to get tested after he started having trouble down there in his older years. He’s clear fortunately, but his grandpa and my grandpa as well as many men aren’t.
Prostate cancer grows in the prostate gland, just between the urethra, seminal vesicle, rectum and anus. It’s literally a PAIN IN THE ASS TO HAVE, and it is a pain that kills.
I would draw a mouse sketch of a prostate for you, but I’m late enough to the party as it is. So I gots nothing to bring except a Google search of pictures of prostates (no hairy balls this time, I promise).
So hats down to those Movember bloggers, particularly those I’ve mentioned. And LE CLOWN for being a champion of the cause!
For more info visit
There’s still time to donate and help out! At least I think there is. Is there?
TWO DAYS YALL!
If not, at least take a look at your balls to make sure they’re okay and enjoy the the Mouse. I worked VERY hard on those sketches (not really, kinda though).
ALL SKETCHES ARE CopyRighted by PAZ 2012
November 22, 2012
Edit 5:53pm 11.22.2011:
This is my introduction to the blogosphere.
There are a total of what, twenty billion blogs out there? Twenty eight trillion maybe, to be sure? And most of these are far from being hot, hardly lukewarm. And the world doesn’t need any more lukewarm bloggers popping out like malnourished crack babies. I’ve never really even enjoyed being lukewarm and though I’ve never been a malnourished, lukewarm crack baby, I imagine I wouldn’t enjoy that either. But to you, and often times to me, it doesn’t really matter what I do or don’t enjoy.
So I begin my blogging journey. I begin by wondering if I may as well continue writing like a madman—lost to the world in my nonsensical, ranting and raving–battering my poor, hapless notebooks.
A part of me rebels though. I get tired of that lonely rambling. I get tired of putting it aside as hogwash.
I want this to have a clear purpose, a focus. And I think what better focus than to share my whacked-out thoughts on the WORLD WIDE WEB!
THE WORLD NEEDS TO KNOW THESE WACKY THOUGHTS!
Plus, I can stick my timid, mutant turtle neck out just a little from under the shell of anonymity. It would be good for my crawling self-esteem.
But the true motivator here is the fear that I’m at a breaking point again. And maybe I have something of value to share? If not, then at least I’ll be writing again.
Now that I finally decided to open this account, my self talk went a little like this:
“Well, it’s done. You’re signed in now. What hell are you going to make this about? Yourself? Fuck no. There’s lots of shit in this world you wanna talk about. No? Well, what do you think to get out of it? What’s the point in it? To fuel your narcissism, yes? Come on, you know you want to. You know you do. No really though, I don’t. Yeah really though. Are you really that self-absorbed, you punk ass? Yes. Yes I am”
Most writers find an intimate experience in the process of laying words to rest–to rest in the world, the solitude, the page– all transmitting and transcending the inner being to the unknown, endless landscape that is this universe, the mind, the infinite particles of thought.
But the truth is, despite this intimacy, I suspect most people who write also have a deep need to speak and be heard; that somewhere deep down (even if they refuse to admit it) they want to drag people into their world. They too are narcissistic. In kinder words though, people who enjoy writing want to share that intimate experience with others.
“Maybe I’ll really enjoy it”, I thought. And since I’m in desperate need of an unchained creative outlet (seriously, this blog may become my only outlet for maintaining sanity) I figured, “Eh fuck it, I’ma do this shit! I’m gonna write to my heart’s content“.
The dilemma is, I’m a very private person. Any kind of personal exposure is terrifying for me, even with Facebook occasionally tempting me to whip out my dirty (I mean splattered with virally infectious verbal diarrhea dirty) drawers. And if I ever did secretly want to start a blog, which I’m pretty sure I did, I always ran from the idea in fear that it would become a spiraling vortex into my strange little world, into my swirling mind.
I would be giving others a ticket to enter my thoughts, to judge me from every angle until my longed-for-death. I’d end up having to wear an anti-mind-reading helmet made of aluminum foil and toothpaste.
So, I told myself: Write, but the personal is forbidden!
To make things worse, I’ve been encouraged to write about myself in the last few years. Two years ago, my brother’s co-worker told him to tell me that I should write a memoir. For all she knows, I could be illiterate. She’s never even met me!
I even had a complete stranger say this to me: “Hey you! Yeah YOU. YOU, you. You should write about YOU!”
Ugh, I’m guessing all this is because I’m somehow “special”. Trust me, I’m not that special, please don’t inflate my ears with such nonsense. I did find out I was in SPECIAL ED in tenth grade and it confirmed my suspicions that I am mentally retarded. But this is another kind of special.
Anyway, here I am writing about myself.
But I don’t want to take myself too seriously. I really don’t. Anyone who knows me well enough knows that I’m a joker. I enjoy kicking back my child-sized shoes and laughing at the absurdities of this world, and most of all, the absurdities of my creation.
I’m REALLY not THAT special. Subtract the special-ed part from school and I get pretty close to not being special at all.
One thing I do know is that I plan to enjoy myself and hopefully learn from this. If this dies here, however, it dies. If it lives as a serious, boring or humorous, self-deprecating facet of me, then it lives.
In any case, without further ado, I present to you my…
So, what the hell is this?! The paragraphs above were written in November of 2011.
This was my very first post, an introduction of sorts. I never even published it then, but it’s been saved here, an ENTIRE YEAR!
When I sat in front of the glaring blue light of the computer screen a year ago, I was covered in darkness. The only thing lighting me was the screen. The depression had hit again and I was falling deep into my little mouse hole. I was reading an awesome illustration blog then called My Medicated Cartoon Life. It’s written (or was written) by an animator of children’s T.V. programming. He dealt with deep depression for many years, most of his life actually. I could relate to so much of what he wrote.
That blog inspired me to open up my own blog here on WordPress. I didn’t do anything with it for days. It just sat here all lonely–an abandoned dumpster baby. It became a malnourished little baby, the very thing I didn’t want.
BUT, here I am a year later. My baby has grown. Over ten-thousand views! I can’t believe I’ve written for this long. I hardly ever stick to something for this long. One thing I didn’t mention in the original post was that at the time, I had recently finished reading Marjane Satrapi’s graphic/illustrated memoir, Percepolis which, along with Allie Brosh’s hilarious blog, had also given me inspiration for my blog.
Here’s to writing, blogging, sharing and loving!
More than “lukewarm” blogs, I found a ton of really talented, amazing writers, photographers, illustrators, artists, humorists and like-minded mental-brainiacs. I’ve made some really wonderful friends I didn’t expect to gain! I also got the chance to write as a Canvas author and be part of their wonderful mental health community.
And of course, I appreciate everyone who’s passed through this little year-old blog.
Melancholically Manic Mouse, born November 22, 2011. HAPPY BIRTHDAY LITTLE GUY! I’m thankful that you came to life here.
Maaan, that was saccharin! I don’t like tears… I better go stuff myself with more stuffing.
And to review my year in blogging, here is a list of the blog’s categories. CLICK DAMN YOU: