Simply Spendid Life

Living Life While I Am Here To Live It

Better safe than sorry… 😣

So this past week I have been experiencing chest pains. The pain comes and goes. It is a sharp pain that, most often, radiates from the lower left rib and spreads up and across, sometimes even causing back pain.  With it being so inconsistent, I had not seriously thought of it being heart-related.

But this morning I woke up at 5am with nasty chest pain. I got up, went to the bathroom and felt a little better. I laid back in bed, waiting for the alarm to go off and deeply breathing through each episode of stabbing pain and compression-like feeling.  

I was scheduled to substitute teach today and did not want to have to cancel on the school. Yet, as I was getting ready to go, the pain was getting worse and coming more often. Of course, my anxiety about my “inevitable heart attack” (if you have anxiety, you understand the ‘inevitable’ part of that statement) was not helping, but I have felt the burning sensation of panic attacks many times before and was doing my best to stay above the panic.

I finally couldn’t take it anymore and woke my husband up. It was 7:15ish and I was freaking out! I kept pushing to get ready to go sub and he kept insisting I go get myself checked “to be on the safe side.”

I finally gave in. I called the school at 7:45 and left a message, apologizing profusely for leaving them in the  while I went to the ER to have this ungodly pain checked.

After all the prediagnostic questions, the typical demographic questions, the what’s-going-on-questions, an X-ray, bloodwork, an EKG and heart monitoring, I was sent home with the prognosis that my heart was okay in the “emergency sense” and that the most likely possibility is Costochondritis. I was prescribed Naprosyn for the next week and told to follow-up with my PCP if things were not improving.

Of course, while being on the heart monitor, the pain did not occur. As soon as I got in the car and started home, it was there again. When thinking of the diagnosis, it occurred to me that one difference seemed to be that I was wearing my bra again.  I did not have it on during monitoring and as soon as I tossed it across my bedroom at home, the pain eased again. Although, it does continue to persist.

So… I’m hoping and praying that the diagnosis was spot on. I am taking this anti-inflammatory and breathing through the sharp pains. Occasionally, I start to get anxious, again. I try to ignore my crazy thoughts, keep breathing and focus on staying calm. 

The information I read on Costochondritis says it is often just a spontaneous occurrence, short-term and can go as quickly as it came. Sometimes it can be brought on by lifting, working out or repeative movements not typically done (I haven’t been working out like I should and I have been moving furniture and refinishing my floors…) Also stated was that it can take 6-8 weeks, (sometimes a year!), to completely heal. Lord, be with me that I can keep calm that long or know when it might be something more…


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Comic Book Drawing

I came across another old book of mine. This one holds several sketches from my high school days. Makes me itch to draw more. 

Here is one of Evil Ernie done in pen (from the Evil Ernie comic book series).

Down and 😒

Some days even simple, non-important things get to be too overwhelming. On those days there are two choices: pull myself up and out of the funk mood or wallow in it. 

You would think that I would be encouraging and say that I chose to pull myself out of it, but not today. 

Although I’ve been productive for most of this day, and am currently waiting for stain to dry (literally), the funk mood caught me anyway. With the lull in productivity, I found myself lost in my head. Looking over my mental to-do list and being too harsh on myself for what I have and haven’t gotten done or worked on.

To add even more funk to my thoughts, earlier today I noticed things that I had already accomplished in the past year, needing fixed. (I.e. Chipping paint on windowsills and trim work…) things that I had spent time on already and need to go back and re-do so soon. *sigh* I’m thinking this time, I’ll put a coat of polyurethane over the paint. Maybe that will help deter the scratches and chipping longer. 

But, even though I have noticed little things like this before, for whatever reason when I noticed it this time, I nearly burst into tears. It’s a never ending two-steps forward, one-step back scenario. 

And so explains why I’m just going to sit here and wallow in this funk mood while waiting for the stain to dry…

(It doesn’t help that only half the room has one coat of stain on it… *sigh*) 😒 

Here’s to a brighter mood tomorrow.


Magic and Mystery

When life gets so redundant, and time slips through your fingers as fast as tiny grains of sand, when you think you know everything there is about this life… that’s when you need to remember all you knew as a child. 

Children have that innocence that allows them to see things in a way that, once they are adults, they typically lose. But you don’t have to lose that enlightenment that brings so much meaning to all the small things in the every day.

When the world is heavy on your shoulders, your back is aching, your heart is hurting, your feet are sore, your eyes are lacking their sparkle and all you want to do is rest… then give yourself that rest.

Sit somewhere where you can see nature. Then really open your mind, really open your eyes and look at all that is around. All the things that we take for granted or rush by in our busy lives. Ground yourself in the magic that is in this world. The mystery that at any age is always able to be seen. Don’t take that from yourself. Don’t lose that inner peace; that inner child. Just breathe in the beauty and magic and mystery that is all around you.

Once you calm that inner turmoil and open your eyes to the small things that zip by each day, you’ll feel so much peace and the spark, your inner fire and desire,  can come back to your life; your spirit; your soul. You don’t need to rush through this life! You can enjoy it in all it’s amazing, blessed, peaceful, awe-inspiring, crazy beauty!

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To Know the Facts…

I typically steer clear of politics or government talk in everything that I write or post. I feel like I have an opinion, but I don’t always feel it’s necessary for me to state my opinion. Often I withhold stating my opinion because I am uncertain of the information that I have. Is that accurate? Was it from a reliable source? If it’s not, then I have no grounds to defend my opinion and I may possibly have swayed someone else’s opinion with an accurate information. That last statement might seem trivial, but it really isn’t. I would feel a level of responsibility for making an inaccurate statement that could affect another persons stance an issue; concern: subject.

Several times I will see posts on Facebook  giving information that the person has gotten from some source. Now, typically in the comments, someone will say that the information stated was inaccurate. Or someone will make a comment to poster to know the truth and facts before stating it on Facebook, swaying others opinions with postentially inaccurate information. I have noticed from that point, all hell breaks loose and the comments can become very mean, from either side.

My issue, and in my opinion what most people probably have a concern with, is that a lot of the information that we receive are not true facts. (when I say “we”I mean the American people, our nation). We all want to have accurate information given to us so that we can make true statements and opinions of our own. So that if we see a true need or an absolute change that we feel is needed, we can make a stand on that issue. If the information we are receiving is not accurate, not true, how are we supposed to make a change that is going to be effective? And how much time and energy did we waste on something falsely represented?

Searching for truly accurate facts is hard because most of the information being given to us is from a biased source. Whether it is a physical (newspaper, magazine) or electronic source (online).

My question is: are there any reputable, unbiased, accurate fact giving sources? My dear reader, if you are aware of any good information-providing sources, please state them in a comment below. I would love for everyone to have the ability to go to an unbiased and accurate source so they can make truly knowledgeable opinions.

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Scars and All

I have never minded having scars on my body.  I always considered them a sign that I was living life, non-superficial and just being me.  They were some of my stories, my history.  Some scars I can tell you exactly how or why I had them; bitter or sweet. Other scars were just plain mysteries that I have no clue how they came to be part of me.  

But when it came to scars on my face, that was a whole different mindset.  I hated any scars that were on my face.  After all the things that could, did and still do occur on my face, having a scar was just too traumatic.  With my family genetics and my own OCD, I caused more chaos on my poor face then I could have ever imagined.  Anyone who knew me back in high school can vouch that my senior year, I broke out with a horrible case of acne.  There were other facial issues I was prone to and the combination just helped to deplete what confidence I had.  

A little background.  Yes, my OCD was the root of this terrible breakout and the antagonist to some of my current day breakouts (that and hormones).  I was so concerned about how oily my skin was and I knew very little in the ways of the necessity of oil in the skin.  So I would wash my face, then use astringent, then rubbing alcohol in attempt to dry the oil off the skin on my face.  Plus, I never used facial lotion.  I thought it would compound the oily skin issue.  This, of course, caused my skin to go into hyper drive and produce twice as much oil, trying to replace what it lost.  In my early 20s, a dermatologist told me that the aggressive cleaning ritual I had been doing basically stripped the top protective layer of skin from my face.  This is why the breakout was so all over the place and so red; aggitated.

I explain all this, to explain how my mindset of not having facial scars and wishing for beautiful skin was so different from the way I thought of the skin on the rest of my body.  But, I have one of my children to thank for opening my eyes to this unrealistic thinking.

As my daughter grew older, she began playing various Xbox and computer games.  On these games, she could create her characters to look how she wanted.  She was always adding scars and other imperfections to her characters faces.  I had asked her once why she did that.  Her response was that the scars and imperfections were beautiful.  I was floored.  As time went by, I started to realize that she was right.

I had always loved the scars on the rest of my body.  Why would I not love the scars on my face?  They were just more stories; more adventures; more of living and loving life.  They were part of me, who I am now  and how I became me.  As that mind set changed, I also began working on loving my imperfections.  Now that’s a  feat in itself, too! I have some imperfections; mentally and physically! 😂

No matter what scars, imperfections, blemishs or differences I have, there is no reason I should feel ashamed.  They are stories of my battles; of my living; of my humanness; of my pushing through and forward.  I will put a smile on this scarred face and keep loving life!

Love yourself, scars and all.



Written at a time when I was fighting myself as to what I knew in my heart I should do and what I knew was comfortable; not risky.  I knew I had to make a choice because I could feel myself dying inside.  But it is always hard to give up the way you had been living for nearly 20 years and step onto a new path.  Courage does not always come easy when you have so many responsibilities in your life.  With these thoughts rolling around in my head, as I was driving the same road I was always going, heading one way or the other one, this poem was born: (as is typical of my writings, this in rough form)

“The thought hit me on the endless blacktop… it was all a dream.                      A silly childish dream.                                 My heart broke; tears streamed for that little dream.                                                   What was my life now?                         Without my dream to reach for?

Driving to and from, a tiresome repetitive  existance.                                                             I knew I had one of two choices.                   I was nearing the bridge.                         How many times have I thought about yanking the wheel, crashing through the barrier, plummeting down – choice one.

Oh, but that would be the absolute end of my dream…                                                          I did not want to give up on the dream; on myself!

Or choice two – stop the monotony!  Make a change!                                     Resurrect that fire! Fulfill it!                  Cross the line into the unknown.         Take the chance and breathe life back into my soul!

It all comes down to this bridge.                  I see it… closer and closer.                             I have to make this decision now; today.  It cannot wait any longer.                               I cannot wait any longer!                                                     Cross to new beginnings?                                   Plummet to the end?

3, 2, 1… onto the bridge now.                         I see the other side of the bridge,                 I see the tiny treetops below…                       I only have to cross.”

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I Was Seen

Still searching through my recently found notebook and came across another entry that shows insight into the younger days of me. Journaled on 11/12/13, but occurred so many years before that. (I did not change anything from its original form)

“An insight to how terribly pathetic I am: when I was sixteen and began driving, I thought it was totally amazing that other drivers on the road had to see me.

 Like, somebody was at a stop sign and I had the right-of-way, they had to wait for ME to get passed them in order for them to continue on their way! Or if I was driving and a car was behind me, thy couldn’t go any faster then me. I was setting the pace. I was in their way. They had to see me. They had to work around me, with me. I was somewhat of the important person at that moment. 

I guess most of my life, I’ve always felt I’m seen as unimportant. Like, I don’t have an imporatance in other people’s lives. Yet, when I started driving, that made me feel so uninvisible. I was seen – even if it was only by rule and safety reasons. I was seen and what I was doing/not doing was affecting someone else. It was mind boggling. 

Longing to be seen, even in such a way, is so desperate. Even just having to share the road with other people, and knowing that my life was entwining with others for whatever reason, in whatever way; that’s really sad. That is really pathetic. That’s what you call a dad, pathetic, invisible, non-self esteem-baring shell of an individual.”

Since writing this, I have come to realize that it is not so much a pathetic, sad situation. Rather, a self-esteem issue. A need to feel important in even the smallest of ways and attached to the life all around me.


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Lost and Broken

I’m finding a lot of things I wrote during the year of 2015. Most of them sound so tortured with confusion and brokenness. I wrote this poem on 3/6/15:

“Lost and Broken

My love, I feel an ocean has swollen between us.

You are only inches away from me, yet it feels like we are worlds apart.

Are you distancing yourself? Or is it my doing that is our undoing?

Are you through with me? Or is it my own scars that have pushed at you?

I feel so overcome with heartache; heartbreak.

I feel so torn with sadness and anger.

I want to hold you and scream at the same time!

I do not understand why this is happening… loss of love? stress? daily life?

Or is it age? time? resentment… WHAT?!

Am I no longer your everything? Was I ever? I am plagued with questions!

Is this fixable? Are we strong enough to reverse, pursue and persevere?

Oh love, my love… am I losing you? Have I lost you? Or have I lost myself…?”


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