August 31st


I’m sitting here as usual, my spot on the sofa looking out the window thinking two things. This cloud I’ve chased has different variations of colors. It’s big. From the left corner of the window to the right it went from a soft looking fluff to a stretched out one shade blue/grey.

My second though is I should have NEVER went downstairs for a clean shirt, leaving my mother alone with my incompetent father six years ago. I should have called EMS when I woke up that morning at 5AM, not her doctor for more pain medication.  I should have been more involved during her week long anguish and less worried about work and walking the 2 miles home in the dark. Should have paid more interest in her surgery, that was a simple lacroscopic procedure and voiced my concerns more loudly- instead of the normal brushoff I use to get. I should have informed myself more. I shouldn’t have- I should have – It’s long gone and done and there is nothing I can do to fix this one.

When do you stop mourning a loved one?

When does it scab over to where if you pick at it, it wont bleed?

When will I stop feeling so guilty about my actions that led up to, the time of and after her death?

I’m not the full out howling cry where air is hard to come by. My cheeks are burning and I keep clamping down on my jaw – making my molars click. My vision swims and tears hang off my eyelashes. My nose is stuffy. I don’t recall how I spent the past anniversaries’. I have a screenshot of last year’s cell phone set up but what did I do that day? What did I do all the other years?

Did I ask this same question? Have this same narrative?


I can remember everything of the day she died, no detail has faded. EMT workers didn’t have names, nurses didn’t have names, doctors that walked to and fro don’t have names but I remember their faces. The African American EMT that tried to get information from my father, her hair was plaited on both sides, large chest, she was wearing Guyana gold. (Its what I call gold that is extremely yellow and bright.) I had to talk for him, he knew nothing. The obese white EMT, male, balding, pallid complexion, he was working on her, did something to her leg in hopes to get her heart started again. I called them and We waited 15 minutes for them to show. She died 10 minutes before they got there in my arms. The weather was beautiful. The sky was so brightly blue, there were no clouds. The temperature was moderate, yet I was wearing my dirty yellow fleece, loose grey sleep pants and a plain blue shirt – the kind you buy at art stores.

That attire, I wore similarly and strait for three years.

A cheap sky blue shirt of dry material and baggy grey ‘yoga’ pants from Old Navy.

Which day do I mourn?

They admitted her again to the hospital the 31st, but my father gave up hope on the 1st. Her blood pressure kept dropping, the doctors couldn’t do anything he told me. I wasn’t there. That night, the 31st, they moved her in Intensive Care – she was in the Trauma room for 6 hours? A singular room. Her doctor, the surgeon took so long to get a hold of. The intensive Care room, had many. A man with bandaged hands and was strapped to his bed, malnourished, African American,  a doctor, Latino, and nurse, Caucasian, sitting in the room behind a work station that seemed more like barricaded shield. I don’t remember the other inhabitants – just my family, when I finally called the closer of my two aunts. A group of family members of both sides, going in and out, a parade, trying to coax her eyelids to flutter, a response here or there but it was all involuntary responses. Blinking. When I think back logically if she survived the first night, there would have been massive brain damage.

All this over a gallbladder removal.

I remember conversations of other doctors, the tall blond RN who kept pacing the hall and his wireless frames. I remember a elderly couple from the ER room speaking about her niece, hoping her husband’s hip would be OK.  The nurses who tried to say everything is OK, cause I wouldn’t stop crying. My father’s excuses for why this happened, ‘They pumped her up with too much gas’, ‘They didn’t keep her long enough’, ‘The gas should have left! She wasn’t this bloated before the surgery!’

‘Look she is responding to your name Jackie’.

‘You need to get another job and be strong for me.’

I hate my name being shortened dear auntie.

You’re the parent! Shouldn’t you get a job and be a adult?! This wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t go out drinking – leaving her alone when I WAS WORKING.

I’m exhausted- this entry took three hours to write. Its not finessed, it doesn’t say everything I need to say and that’s it.

Its no surprise I have a hard time remembering what I did in the past six years. I’m burnt and overwhelmed by all the things I remember from that one day but I can say the weather is always nice on this day of Labor day.

No matter how old I get I will always mourn for mom.

-Bad touch Bear



Primer before paint


After creating this blog and making the first two posts I was up a considerable amount of time just thinking about things.

  • What is the appropriate amount of posts allowed in one day?

My thoughts are so hodge-podge and unorganized! I’ve come to realize when I’m exposed to grief (a daily thing with me); one of my coping mechanism is to beat around the bush. In *Therapy I recall this happening many times; I would be asked a simple question and when I was done talking 3 out of 5 times I would have spoken about the topic in a couple sentences but the majority of what was said was a story pertaining to or of similar instance, in the end of this dialogue I would end up confused and unfulfilled. I know I have trust issues and compare instances – but –

  • When I talk about a subject, what is too much/too little?

I read a couple of other blogs after someone liked something I wrote. Being a site devoted to text firstly, yet lacking the full ability to code, I shouldn’t be compartmentalizing and compressing things as I do to where paragraphs aren’t fluid. I read one blog entry which felt as if it spanned forever; there was no use of format so I found myself skimming ahead. Obviously since this is my blog and for recreational use; I should use it accordingly and write as much or as little as I wish. Heh.

The internet is a scary tool!

   Let me ask you this – Have you ever Googled ‘your name’? How about a popular screen name you go by? I Googled myself, first my whole name which got a couple hits; Myspace, Deviant art, a photography site, Facebook and then something scary. My phone number, my previous address, things I purchased off of Amazon and then incorrect information relaying I’m older than I am and have had a baby. That explained why I kept getting coupons for diapers from Huggies/Nestle. Then I googled a SN I’ve used since I got rid of AOL; I had over 6 pages of information piled up. This is because I continuously use this name. Like a given name on a birth certificate – this/ or should I say, that was, my legacy? A personal brand? Definitely not a house hold brand or famous corporation name but summed up that one name was greater than my given birth name, which is fine since the SN I used is my Hebrew name.

Back to explaining how the internet is scary. When I signed up for this site – I opted out of third party tracking information yet this does not exclude my mobile phone. Think of a puppy with ticks, Oh Google! Your sneaky ADs popping up from sites I had previously visited! Someone obviously is stalking me and saying ‘ Hey spend your money, look at this tea cup, these sneakers, thisthisthisandTHIS! We have a sale~! ‘  (I imagine the last part of that sentence said in a slight gayish crescendo.) It doesn’t stop on the internet either, the junk mail I’ve kept a handle on physical junk mail. Yet the spam in my inbox! I understand signing up on a site gets those inside discount deals but the amount of sales that occur! When I got my first smart phone (Samsung galaxy 3 when it first came out), I suddenly stopped using my computer because I could use my phone almost anywhere.

I’m not exactly on the top of my game, I’ve yet to master live tiles and HATE my laptop because it screams MICROSOFT PROGRAMS ARE ELITE, LOG ON WILL BE YOUR HOTMAIL ACCOUNT SO REMEMBER THAT PASSWORD OR YOU’RE SOL! I’ve yet to encounter malware on my mobile but those third party trackers love to hop a ride. I wish I knew how to de-louse without having to go from site A to B, C, and Z. That’s not the worst though, I don’t MIND the strange trackingticks that hopped a ride on my mobile devices; what really gets my goose is the human part of this equation. The people you know, or sort of know, the acquaintance or WORSE a family member/in-law. This brings me back to WHY I went to *Therapy, WHY I don’t feel comfortable using my grandfathered SN, WHY I’ve avoided taking photos of children, people, advertising my trade that would have definitely earned me some revenue and the use of connecting to social media creating a full circle.

I’ve been abused by a parent, not understood by either of my parents and family – I refused to be social because of this lack of understanding and the violence in my childhood. I DID have good moments but those were greatly due to the availability of television. By now a person who has not experienced similar Trauma as mine would say, ‘This is an excuse you’ve created to stop yourself from living. ‘ or simply ‘Get over yourself, everyone has problems.’ Which is a very valid point, and sadly the only thing I can say is – ‘When you carry a lifetime of fear, the inability to trust – lack a supportive circle of PHYSICAL people to comfort you and understand – grouped along with the unforeseen death of Mother and later estranged Father; PLEASE come back and tell me how to move forward. I am seriously asking, ‘How can I work thru this – NOT around this’.

My mother died Labor day weekend, it will be SIX years since she has passed on, I’ll light a Yahrzeit candle and think of how this could have been avoided. I’ll think about when comes Yom Kippur and how my Grandmother lights more than TEN candles for all her deceased loved ones – Will I live to be that old and be able to mourn without being the shut in I am now?

Now that I’ve made myself properly depressed – I’ll drop a link to a light novel I’ve been keeping tabs on. I personally wished once in my life I could write a fantasy novel- if so, it would run along a similar line to No Game No Life

A light novel series written and illustrated by Kamiya Yuu

No Game No Life


And now to empty my bladder; Thanks for reading,

– Bad touch Bear



I live in memories


Occasionally I kick myself.

When I had to clean out my childhood home, preparing it to sell, I threw out A LOT of useful things. Like my mother’s sewing box; granted it was covered in cats piss along with childhood movies, Barbies, a useful end table. Ultimately those things could have been salvaged- ‘cept I was caught up in the moment and it felt good to purge…Not to mention I had no more room in my storage unit (which I sadly still am paying monthly for.)

I guess when a big change happens, like selling a house – its common to throw out things without full consideration.

This was two years ago?

Or was it three?

Regardless –  right now I feel stagnant; there’s a really nice breeze blowing in Brooklyn, actually its a strong breeze that managed to blow a cantaloupe off the window sill!

Good thing Grandma bought two. (One to eat and one that will sit in the fridge and grow mold. I wish I took a picture, the other day I threw out a can of beets from 2009!)

So I’m sitting here grateful for Youtube and watching ‘The tale of the Great bunny picnic’ Where the hell did the word Picnic originate from? Such an annoying word to spell. Like Awkward. I am a very Awkward person. Awkward walk, Awkward noises-warkwarwark- Anteater.

I didn’t know I actually watched Jim Henson works when I was little! Well besides the Muppets…and Sesame Street. Who would of thought Sesame Street would be bought by China? Don’t they also have Disney and DC comics? StarWars franchise? Or was it Marvel? I feel like this is Monopoly.

(I could play some Monopoly…Now to imagine up some other people to play it with.)

Hmm.. Standard Chinese (Mandarin) is the second most spoken language – A Snapple cap told me this; I thought it would have been Spanish. They control a lot of our imports – though I guess Id have to say I prefer Indonesian products.  (-A- ;;)…Dammit I was going somewhere with this post! Now all I can think about is this cute orange knit from Indonesia that I haven’t worn in about four years because its so delicate and peanuts. Pachyderms? Tagalong? And now Girl Scouts – I wouldn’t mind playing word Associations with anyone right now either. I bet they would end up stumped over my Come and Go brain processes and slightly off attention span.

HUZZAH none of you fools know me so its all cool if I seem strange. Should have named this Blog ‘Strange brain says’ …Hmm..Mneh. I haven’t plugged into Facebook and refuse to. I don’t own a Flickr, twitter, twimblytwombly, intagarbage swaparoo- any of those other sites except a Deviant art account. I won’t share the link sadly since I’m enjoying typing whatever I want and here I can speak freely about people I don’t like; although Blogs I doubt should turn into a bitter and vengeful Dear Diary – You don’t care do you?

I don’t think anyone is reading this anyway but for the sake of being proper I will obviously give them Awkward names.

Links below are for the movie I mentioned about – before I began rambling.