On Thursday night, I left my very part-time job exhausted. Eva had asked me to come pick her up at her father’s so he wouldn’t have to leave home again. I made a wrong turn on the drive I’ve made 1,000 times– and almost got lost.
I wasn’t wearing my good glasses. I didn’t have my readers and the perscription was a couple years older than my current one, but they were the glasses that best matched my outfit and I didn’t expect to be driving outside of my normal routine.
And then I reached the hill at the intersection 13th, West Lafayette Street and Bushkill Drive.
I hit the curb at this intersection fairly often; I think a lot of people do. Knock on wood– it’s the only thing I usually hit.
I last hit the curb in September 2024, causing a bad flat. This was about two days after I drove by myself from Atlanta home in one day, 13 hours! Without incident.
I couldn’t have been going that fast because I’m fairly certain I had stopped at the light. But somehow I not only hit the curb, I think I drove over it.
The tire pretty much exploded.
I pulled onto the side of the road and texted my daughter to contact AAA. She and her father came and Eva attempted to change the tire herself, and she got all the nuts off. But she didn’t have a good enough jack for a car parked on ice on a hill. And she didn’t chock the wheels.
So after the car almost rolled over her arm, we waited for AAA.
Eva took the car to Mavis the next day and as we knew, the tire was shot. But we… no, I mean I… bent the wheel rim.
I called the Volkswagen dealership and they said it would take 4 days to get the part. And I thought to myself, I have a 2015 Jetta. There’s got to be a million of them in junkyards with perfectly good wheels.
That was my dad’s voice.
So Eva called the Hubcap store, and an hour later we found ourselves in West Easton in their industrial park facing a perimeter-guarding goose and an ominous gate.
If you look at the photo, there’s a small triangular roof behind the garages. That’s where we needed to go.
And the building had a sign up at the crown of the roof but not on the door.
And when we walked in, they had our Jetta wheel rim on the floor. It was $175. I had $100 cash in my wallet that I intended to take to the bank and put the other $75 on my Amex.
And then Eva went to Mavis and made an appointment to get the wheel mounted the next day.
And then we had a snowstorm. Which Eva handled like a champ with our crappy spare tire
Eva returned to Mavis the next day and two tires (another tire had a bubble) and $415 later we had all four tires again.
Now it’s almost midnight on Monday, on the day by dad died four years ago, and I find myself wanting to tell him so badly:
You didn’t even have to tell me and I found a wheel rim for my car.
I woke up feeling rather neutral on a dreary November day. I’m drowning in work– not uncommon for a small business owner– and keep receiving less-than-ideal news. The news is nothing worth complaining about, but certainly adds to my metaphorical plate.
I had promised a friend I would accompany him to the fish store today. The fish store turned out to be Elite Menagerie Habitats on Main Street in Pen Argyl, Pa., which is more or less my old stomping grounds, the Slate Belt.
The visit certainly improved my mood as I experienced awe and wonder at the variety of her tanks and the vibrancy and health of her fish. The care and passion she has for her stock is evident.
Now, my husband and I made some attempts at keeping fish many moons ago (and we named them all after Muppets) so I do know a bit about how much devotion and knowledge it takes to keep a healthy aquarium. Part of me would love to keep a tank again, for the relaxation and meditation angle of it, but I don’t have the time, patience, or resources to be a good aquarium caretaker.
For more information about Elite Menagerie Habitats, this is their website. And I am posting this is hopes that perhaps other people might wish to support her and her small business. Because small business is hard.
I went to the hospital yesterday for a specialty diagnostic ultrasound of the middle finger of my right hand. I’ve been having issues with it for six months. There were about four instances, about once a month where when I reached for something, it felt like the finger exploded and I screamed out. The pain only lasted 20-30 seconds, but the whole experience reminded me of when I had a mallet finger on the neighboring ring finger. And I keep expecting to see that finger drooping.
And every time I move the top of my finger independently of my other fingers, it clicks. Not painfully, but it’s noticeable. It’s just weird.
Today I had to go to St Lukes Bethlehem, which is the main urban campus of the hospital network because if the specialty nature of the ultrasound. I did not know that the parking deck was under construction. And for the first time in my life, I had to use valet parking. I technically had enough time to look for parking in the neighborhoods near the hospital but… I thought that stress would be higher than just using the valet service.
I checked in at the kiosk, and thinking about it now I never had the chance to check if my Able Pay was on my file because I will be paying for this test out of pocket. I have a high deductible medical plan and I have about $1,200 left of my $3,500 annual individual deductible. Able Pay gets me a discount on procedures and offers me interest-free payment plans.
Of course they asked if I might have had a fall and I had to tell them, “Of course I might have had a fall, but not one I can connect to this problem.”
The test itself involved the doctor and the radiologist– and the doctor could feel my clicking finger. BUT because of the nature of the click, remember it only happens if the finger is acting independently, he couldn’t get an image of it. The way he held my finger to get the image prevented the click. OR he couldn’t get the ultrasound into the proper place at the right time.
He found fluid around the joint, but he couldn’t say whether or not it caused or was related to the click. And he couldn’t see anything wrong.
He said he could “grill me” longer and keep trying weird things to take the image, but we both decided it wasn’t necessary. If he didn’t see anything structurally worrying AND I no longer have the pain– then I’m satisfied.
My neurologist asked if I wanted to see a hand specialist as a next step to examine the inflammation. I said no, unless the pain returns.
In the meantime, influenced by my experience at the Hindu temple and my recent overeating/ weight gain, I have done an impressive (in my opinion) job removing animal products and artificial sweeteners from my diet. I am working to reduce caffeine consumption but that has not been as successful.
So far this week, I have had no meat, milk only in my coffee, two servings of cheese, and I may have consumed eggs in baked goods that I did not make. But the main baked good in question is packaged gingerbread cookies that came from Grocery Outlet. They are GMO-free and I have eaten four small cookies (which comes out to one per day).
The scale is three pounds down, which might be because I moved the scale and this is an old house. I am also surprised that my protein levels have still been hitting 60-80 grams a day.
Eliminating animal products and artificial sweeteners is a great way to be mindful about eating. Sure, I want to promote preserving resources and eliminate animal suffering, but there is less food noise to contend with if you start with the vegan options and ask “will one of these work?” and the bonus is that I end up getting more fiber and meeting my fruit and vegetable goals because plant-based non-manufactured foods are often the most nutrient dense.
Today I visit the ENT to set up an old lady hearing test.
When I was in college at what is now Moravian University, we had to take several religion classes to fulfill our liberal arts requirements. We had to take one on the Bible, and I took Old Testament. For one of my world culture religious requirements, I took Religions of China and Japan, where I learned about Confucianism, Taosim and Zen Buddhism.
My daughter, now at Lafayette College, also a liberal arts institution, has taken several religion classes because it seems to be the only department with courses open when her class year registers. And unlike her parents– she has no interest in English classes. She also can’t take classes at lunch time because of her dog walk clients, and she would prefer not to take any more classes with labs.
This semester, she has two religion classes, an astronomy class (space math) and a class in her major department on psychiatric diagnoses. Her two religion classes are Religion in World Cultures and Anthropology of Religion. For her world cultures class, she has to visit a religious site/service and write a reflection paper.
Some members of her class are visiting the local mosque. Not us. During the summer, I had seen a video or some social media post about BAPS Swaminarayan Akshardham North America. I was pretty sure the TikTok algorithm suggested it. I showed it to Eva because I thought then it would make a fun road trip– simply because of the architecture.
We watched the orientation video that discussed the basics of their beliefs and the construction of the campus– which began around 2011 on 185 acres, took 12,500 volunteers and was more or less completed in 2023. The limestone was carved in India and shipped to the United States where it was reassembled “like a giant jigsaw puzzle.”
Even without reflecting on the spiritual spaces on the campus, their design includes so many statues, people, animals, and even hands and feet (as a sacred connection to the divine).
Our first stop was the mandir where we joined a prayer ceremony. Shoes off and divided into men and women, we sat on the heated marble floor in silence. The chants and prayers were familiar to the Hindus in the audience who joined in with strong voices and rhythmic claps as the leaders (monks? swamis?) in orange performed gestures before the (shrines?).
This was my first time experiencing anything Hindu, and I apologize for mixing up the words regarding the leaders, the representations of the Holy, and whatever instruments they used for the prayer ceremony we attended. I do understand and appreciate that touring the campus is an exercise in personal spirituality and a journey into the divine.
Swaminarayan refers to the type of Hindu faith and Akshardham means large temple.
And the architecture of the Akshardham in New Jersey follows the guidelines from Hindu scriptures, including an 80-foot spire that reminds those viewing it of the search for higher truth and the divine.
Let me repeat that I know nothing about Hinduism, but I did buy some books today: Hindu Vegetarianism, Hindu FAQs and Hindu Funeral Rites. So, hopefully this will spark a journey. I marveled at the expansive statues in the Akshardham and compared them to Christian stained glass window, as a way to share with the illiterate population the tenets of the faith. (And I loved the reminder that feet connect to the ground and the spiritual.)
The campus itself was beautifully landscaped and organized and moved people from place to place, maintaining order yet allowing everyone freedom to explore. Everything– from the statues to the levels of the water feature in the front of the grounds (symbolizing purity and the sacred rivers of India)– had symbolic meaning.
After we perused the grounds, the buildings, and even the construction timeline, we visited the food shop. And we bought a bunch of snacks to bring home (mango cookies, cashew fudge among them).
Then, we hit the food court. I wish we had a paper menu I could share with you. Eva had a saucy cheese street dish (Pav Bhaji) with toasted rolls, a mango lassi, a fruit drink AND a cup of hot masala chai. I had the cauliflower (Gobi Manchurian) and a odd little cookie coated with saffron (Kesar Vati).
We spent $20 in the gift shop, $20 in the snack shop and $40 on lunch.
The scents of incense, tastes of good vegetarian Indian street food, warm floors beneath our feet, exquisite art surrounding us, welcoming staff and volunteers, beautiful chants and prayers, and the deep spiritual vibe made the day an enlightening adventure.
We recently got an old, hand-me-down deep freezer.
And at the same time, the federal government shutdown and Pennsylvania state budget impasse have complicated SNAP benefits for families who have them.
I heard on the news that 1-in-8 Americans have SNAP (Supplemental Nutrition or “food stamps”). I heard one story this morning about an unemployed widow with a 15-year-old son whose soundbite suggested she sent him to school so he could eat breakfast and lunch.
I hope she’s sending him to school for an education, first and foremost.
I consider myself a fiscally-conservative Democrat who believes that education and healthcare should be attainable and fair. I would love to have a Ph.D., but I can’t afford to finish my masters and I refuse to go into debt for it. I also have a disability, and even when I am well-employed I often have to make choices about my medical care.
Right now, I have my own small business. I work a part-time job in the food service industry to provide some reliable income on a steady timeline. I am an adjunct instructor at my local community college, and if you break it down to an hourly rate, I probably make a similar wage at my fast food job (because of the fact that I did not have the money to finish my degrees). And I have freelance writing and editing jobs and a mini author’s assistant job.
And I’m always on the look out for more. Applied for another this morning.
I started my career in public relations, and ended up in print journalism, which led to a long career of lay-offs as newspapers died. I worked in non-profit communications and development, where I learned a massive amount of useful skills like grant writing but also experienced a ridiculous amount of toxic managerial behavior. Some people work in the non-profit sector because they want to make the world a better place, but at the same time, many of those people have either childhood trauma and/or personal insecurities that create some challenging environments in an already difficult field.
I mention all of this because I have experience with unemployment. I have experience with being the single mom with maybe enough resources to survive a month. I was a single mom raising a teenager who lost her job during the pandemic and did not find out if she qualified for unemployment until the weekend after she accepted a new job. I was unemployed for four months and had opened my home to one of my daughter’s friends who didn’t feel safe in her own home.
I applied for public assistance because I was volunteering at a non-profit that provides services for people exiting human trafficking situations and my “boss” suggested it. Because I had no income and I had an official dependent, I received more than $700/month in food stamps. And Medicaid. Which was a great help. Even though I only received food stamps for four months, I rationed them so they lasted almost a year.
I had accepted a job in the warehouse at Stitch Fix. I loved that job, and the company, but after three years they decided to close our warehouse. After three years at a wage where my take-home pay was the same as what I had made as the development manager for a small non-profit with a two-million-dollar annual budget (thanks to the fact that Stitch Fix offered their employees free medical benefits), I found myself laid off again.
And when my unemployment ran out, I once again applied for food stamps. I had gone on multiple interviews, built up my small business, but still struggled with the cost of my medical care– my estranged husband put me on his benefits but my medicine was $50-$100 a month and all my doctor’s appointments I had to pay out of pocket because of the high deductible. So I really hoped I would qualify for Medicaid again. And I did.
I also qualified for $525 in food stamps.
Around this same time, Trump got re-elected and the cheap refrigerator I bought started freezing the food in the refrigerator and not freezing the food in the freezer. But I couldn’t afford a new fridge– and I still can’t– so we started buying only what we could eat in a few days, or foods that could safely thaw and refreeze.
Lettuce is not one of them, if you were curious.
The point of all this is to ask: Regardless of how you feel about who uses food stamps or how the government distributes them or whether or not people try hard enough or work hard enough, why is no one asking why we have a system where 1-in-eight Americans qualifies for food stamps?
I have seen and heard so many things about the system, and I have known people who work in the branches of government that distribute these types of assistance and they are all people who want to help. I have met people afraid to work because they might lose assistance, and I have seen people who need the help lose it because they made too much money. (And, like me, it’s usually people who need medical care.)
I have about $2,300 left on my deductible this year, and I have spent almost an equal amount if you read my EOBs from the insurance company. I’m losing my hearing in one ear and I need a hearing test and a visit with the audiologist. The muscles in my one leg have been spasming 24-hours-a-day for almost a year now and I just blamed it on my cerebral palsy but my neurologist has concerns that previously noted damage to my spine (from all these years of walking crooked) may have caused nerve damage in my lower back. And my one finger has been doing crazy things for about a year.
That’s probably at least $6,000 worth of tests. Do I just try to schedule it all before the end of the year and finance the $2,000+ remaining of the deductible on a credit card? Or Able Pay? or do I wait until I am better off financially?
Back to the deep freezer. A friend of the family was hoping to get a decade-plus year old freezer out of his house. We took it. We took all the stuff from our cheap refrigerator that needed better freezer conditions and piled it in. And I thought– when Trump was elected an I was worried about the future of food stamps, I didn’t have a freezer to fill. I did however invest in every non-perishable food item I could tolerate.
My childhood traumas leave me to ruminate frequently about food scarcity, financial security and general stability. I will probably always behave as if every trip to the grocery store is the last one I can afford. And I have done my grocery shopping at the Dollar Tree and the Grocery Outlet because I only had $20 left to feed us for the week.
The Office of Vocational Rehab considers me the most severely tier of worker, whereas the federal government says I do not qualify for disability because I work so much and at so many jobs. But the federal government doesn’t take into consideration that I have to work that hard to make ends meet. And I don’t always succeed and I often hurt myself doing it. And I just work past it.
But how do you determine an equitable way to decide who deserves help? And I ask a third time: Why does 1-in-eight Americans receive food stamps? What is wrong with our society if 1-in-eight people cannot afford to feed themselves according to the criteria the government sets forth?
I will be telling parts of this story on my Substack newsletter that I plan to post tomorrow morning. I write about my publishing company, Parisian Phoenix Publishing; books, the ones we publish, books for writers and fun books to read; and writing. You can subscribe here.
I had booked a table at Books and Booze 2 at Madness Distillery in the Country Junction Plaza in Lehighton, Pa. (With a name like Madness Distillery, how could I stay away?)
I had packed the books earlier this week but left decisions about signs and other marketing materials until today, and despite sleeping decently last night, my brain would not kick in. So it took all my focus to get out the door on time.
And I had to drop Eva off at her dad’s so she could borrow his car for the afternoon.
About a mile from the house, a bee flew onto my windshield at a stoplight. I pointed him out to Eva. About four more blocks down the road, he was still sitting there. I said to Eva, “If we take him all the way to your dad’s, he’ll be more than a mile away from his hive. How will he find his way home? Will he have food? Will he be warm? How is he just sitting on that windshield?”
And then I added a final thought: “If we leave him at your dad’s, that’s like someone dropping you off in England and telling you to swim home.”
We stopped. I said my goodbyes. I waited for my daughter to cross the street. The bee had not gone. So I resumed my drive.
About 4 miles later, I got onto the highway. Little bee did not fare well as my speeds increased. He slid across the windshield (toward the top), putting one foot down and another up, trying to get his grip.
I had to speed up even more, and now we’re about 12 miles away from home. The bee is starting to curl into himself and press down into the glass. I wonder: Would it be kinder to turn on my windshield wipers and smoosh him?
I can’t stop watching him, but I have to, because I’m driving 70 miles an hour on the highway. I’m getting upset, and fighting tears as my nerves fray. I ponder exiting the road because of this bee. I call Eva. I tell her everything.
“Mom, it’s a bee.”
“He doesn’t deserve to suffer. Nothing deserves to suffer.”
“Mom, life is hard.”
I cackle. I hang up. I get one more mile, and the bee rolls into a tight marble and disappears. He was on my windshield for about 15 miles.
About this time, I realize my mother married my father 50 years ago today. My father died three years and eleven months ago. My wedding anniversary was Thursday. My husband and I married 26 years ago. We splint up six years ago. And my mother’s 71st birthday was also Thursday.
The GPS took me past the site of the dirt track where my father raced micro-stock when Eva was a toddler. Past the post office where my father got his mail. Past one road to his house. Past the diner where he ate most of his meals. Past the gas station where he bought his cigarettes. Past the other road to his house. Past the funeral home where we had his services.
My parents divorced when I was 15. But my mom always loved my dad. And I think he never got over her. So I texted her when I arrived at my destination– which was alongside the lake where my dad would drive his boat.
“You married Dad 50 years ago today. I miss him soooo much.”
I set up my table, met some of my fellow authors, and tried to shake off my nerves.
Photo by author Shannon Delaney, a family member of my dear friend Mitzi from Pocono Lehigh Romance Writers and Greater Lehigh Valley Writers Group
I counted about 20 people who attended the event– not including anyone with the other vendors at the event. I sold three books: two hardcover copies of Larry Sceurman‘s Bookworm’s Magical Journey and one advance copy of Geraldine Donaher‘s young adult Mouth Shut Head Down, which doesn’t officially launch until January.
The distillery had a sign in the window. It read “Adult Book Fair Today.” I think what they meant was “Book Fair for Adults today” or because it was a distillery, “Book Fair today. Adults only!”
But it immediately made me think I should have brought more erotica. The only erotica title I brought was Juicy Bits. Most of the authors for Booze and Books 2 were romance authors, and it looked like the most popular offerings were romances-with-shirtless-men-on-the-cover. It looked like most vendors sold 2-4 books, though I later learned that some vendors sold none. (To be fair, tables cost $10, so no one had huge expectations of kicking off a bestselling book tour at this event.)
The event is between coal country and the Poconos, so I thought my spicy horror novels would do well. I also brought our romances, Trapped: What if Skunks Were Matchmakers? and Any Landing You Walk Away From… (the author of the latter, Dawn O’Harra, is from the Poconos). I made a Halloween section on the other side of my novels, with Hugo Yelagin‘sLovecraftian Deadlightsand Eva Parry‘s tarot journal. Any Landing served as a transiton into non-fiction, and I brought Motorhome Gypsies and Coach of the Building (as the author of Coach teaches public school in the area) and then Larry Sceurman‘s fiction to appeal to any men accompanying wives and his children’s book because many romance readers are moms. And Geraldine’s book? Not even sure why I tossed that in.
Two hours into the event, my mother returned my text. “Hadn’t even given it a thought.”
When I left the event, I was hungry and pining for pizza. The GPS took me a different way home, perhaps recognizing my emotional distress from the previous route. It took me home the route I had anticipated on the way up– it took me through Palmerton, Pa., one of my favorite places. I celebrated my 49th birthday in Palmerton. Read about that here.
As I was driving away from the venue, I thought to myself: That looks like I’m heading toward Palmerton. Maybe I can find that awesome little pizza shop in Palmerton. I looked at the GPS. It told me my next turn was onto Delaware Avenue, which, if I remembered correctly, was the main street in Palmerton. And the pizza shop was on it.
Sure enough, I entered Palmerton. Pulled up right in front of the pizza shop. Went in, ordered two slices dine in, grabbed a boxed iced tea, and paid the employee $8.64 (which is roughly the price of one Grilled Club Chick-Fil-A sandwich).
15 minutes later I was back in the car.
That little detour changed my mood. Perhaps a gentle reminder that we find our own destinies and don’t have to conform to outside expectations.
I pride myself on being able to write just about anything at any time with no fear of writers block.
But lately, I haven’t been keeping this blog up-to-date. I think it’s because I’m doing so much that I don’t have enough stillness to think, reflect and write. I still have the thoughts, but I don’t have the time to germinate themes and record them and so I lose the moment.
Last night, I was a guest speaker at the Behind Our Eyes writing group for writers with disabilities. Nan has been a part of that group probably for most of its 19+ year existence, but I am a relative newcomer. I joined because I read Nan’s email and work so closely with her as a writer that I already knew most of the members in the creepy troll way.
Nan pointed out to the group that I was a gifted cook and bargain hunter, and that she hopes I commit more time to my disability memoir because I have some insights that the world needs to hear. And maybe they are things I also need to remember.
I overdid it last week. The last few weeks have been insane. I haven’t been eating right, or sleeping well, or giving myself any breathing room. I saw my cardiologist last week, and I mentioned to her that I don’t know if my blood pressure medications are the most efficient way to stabilize my heart rate.
The backstory
So, in March 2023, I had two bad falls down stairs in close proximity– 2 weeks apart. Neither were traditional mechanical falls of the type I am used to, those from lack of proper muscle control due to cerebral palsy. The first occurred as I was hurriedly leaving work to go to the chiropractor. I dove down the cement stairs and ended up severely spraining my pinky. Most dumb injury ever, and my pinky is still bent.
I didn’t know it at the time, but my eating habits had flooded my system with salt when I misbehaved, and then when I suddenly returned to my normal diet and drank the massive amounts of water I had always consumed, well, I washed all the sodium from my body, causing low blood pressure and dizziness (orthostatic hypotension).
With cerebral palsy impacting my gait, and allergies/congestion also challenging my balance, a sudden drop in blood pressure may have caused the fall. (I suggest this because I did almost pass out in the moments after the incident.)
Almost two weeks later, I was carrying a cup of tea upstairs when I had a nothing fall triggered by my head and not my legs. My daughter watched it happen. I plummeted out and down and into an air conditioner that was on the floor. I split open my chin directly under my lip. I definitely needed stitches so we headed to the emergency room.
I told the doctor that I knew mechanical falls and these weren’t from my legs, and he gave me some options:
He could stitch me up and send me home in a matter of minutes.
He could order every test and I’d be there all night.
I asked if there was an option in the middle, and he suggested starting with some bloodwork. But they also noticed my blood pressure hadn’t come down so they put me on a heart monitor and very quickly noticed that I was in Afib with OVR.
So it looked like I would be there all night anyway.
They eventually labeled the whole incident as idiopathic and put me on a low-dose beta blocker to make sure I stayed in rhythm. I invested in an AppleWatch to try and get information about what my heart was doing.
Fast forward to present-day
I have had no incidents of Afib since that initial one. But each fall, my blood pressure has risen in the autumn. Is it allergies causing stress on my body? Is it the stress of the end of the year and all the obligations of adulthood like taxes and paying for fuel oil? Is it just the looming presence of Christmas? Or is it the change in the seasons and the shorter days? Or a figment of my imagination?
In the autumn, I struggle more with anxiety. My primary care physician has talked with me several times about the impact of stress and anxiety on heart health. I have been in and out of psychotherapy for 15 years showing symptoms of depression and generalized anxiety disorder.
So I asked my primary care doctor, my cardiologist, and my psychologist if I might need an anti-anxiety med instead of the combination of other meds for high blood pressure. Because typically my diastolic pressure is typically good, and high in response to stress, but it’s not uncommon for my systolic pressure to stay high even when my heart is at rest, sometimes elevated for days even with a now higher dose of the beta blocker.
I take a muscle relaxer for spasticity several times a day and some anti-anxiety meds can also treat this, allowing me to reduce the amount of medications I am taking. A standard low-dose beta blocker and muscle relaxer for maintenance and on days that I am anxious, an anti-anxiety med instead. So now I’m on the hunt for a psychiatrist to get an evaluation.
Which brings me back to last week
Last week was brutal. I was booked every day from 8 a.m. to at least 10 p.m. And Saturday I attended Collingswood Book Festival as an author with Pennwriters Area 6. I met with clients everyday, taught my college class, went to WDIY to talk about advertising my business (and hopefully make some new friends)…
And I still worked part-time. I don’t talk much about the job I have in a local fast-food restaurant, a job I took last January because after a year of relying on Parisian Phoenix Publishing for my income, the realities of first quarter in the business world were making me nervous. And since royalties pay out three months after sales, I know how much money is coming and when.
And 90% of the time, the evening fast food job suits me perfectly and feeds me. The general manager was an English teacher until this year and understands my business and my frequent time off requests.
But last week I had two long shifts back to back where I was assigned jobs that were physically challenging for me. And I haven’t been in that much pain and discomfort in a long time.
And so even though I still have more work than time, and business can be as stressful as it is rewarding, I will try to go easier on myself. I only have two fast food shifts this week, and they are both on the longer side… but my days aren’t packed nearly as tight.
I realized yesterday, after working for at least four hours on a political profile for Armchair Lehigh Valley on the upcoming Easton (Pa.) City Council race, that I currently spend about ten hours a week on political journalism for that publication, about ten hours a week teaching college and another twenty hours working my evening fast food job.
That’s 40 hours a week, before we consider the 30-plus hours a week I devote to my book publishing business, Parisian Phoenix (parisianphoenix.com). I thought I had everything perfectly balanced– but toward the end of the week, my sleep was starting to suffer.
And last night I fell. Not once, but twice. And not at home. Or even on the street. But at my fast food job. Both of the falls were trips. Both were quickly forgotten.
But when I got home, and when I woke up this morning, my body was struggling. And when I caught my right foot “catching” on my left ankle and almost causing a fall on the way to the restroom, I went and got my cane out of the car.
(And because I often have a lot of 21-year-olds in my house– Eva, her romantic interest, and one of her friends from high school staying with us– they thought my snake head cane was badass. They also encouraged me to change my outfit to match it as I am currently in sweatpants.)
After finishing my lesson planning for my class at Northampton Community College this week, I started the new Superman movie as I am a Superman fan. Since the movie includes Krypto the Superdog as a significant character, I restarted the movie an hour in so I could watch it with Eva.
When Eva left for work, I cleaned the cupboards and collected all the open and stale food items that were more than a couple weeks old. I also admitted what items I would never eat and I took these out to the compost heap. A lot of crackers including a box of Triscuit thins I treated myself to and forgot about.
This is really hard for me. I have experienced food insecurity and have gone mildly hungry, so I have a tendency to not waste food to an excessive degree.
I used to garden when Eva was little, and our neighborhood has terrible clay soil so I keep a compost heap under my porch. And believe-it-or-not, the regular digging and turning of the heap provides a great deal of emotional relief for me. Resuming care of the compost heap has given me some renewed vibrancy. And a lot of mosquito bites.
And if you haven’t cared for your own soil, it’s amazing to see the soil change and grow richer.
In addition to the maintenance of the compost, I also cleaned my popcorn machine. I’m hoping maybe the 21-year-olds might want to have a movie night with popcorn sometime.
All those memories of pizza and popcorn from Target Café.
More than a month has passed again. Since I last blogged, I have taught three classes at Northampton Community College in their creative writing program. Well, it’s one class and I’ve taught for three weeks. I am the instructor for their publishing class, “Paths to Publication for the Aspiring Author.”
My falls have been minor. A little too frequent, but they typically classify as trips and I have managed not to significantly hurt myself when I go down. Though I hate that they are happening about every other week.
I had two of my four annual doctor visits– gynecologist yesterday and primary care provider today. I even got my pneumonia vaccine, since the recommendations have changed from age 65 to age 50. Shingles will be next.
I have officially lost ten pounds during the last year. It’s not as much progress as I would like to see, but it was enough to please my doctor. He says my efforts in weight, nutrition, rest and exercise will have a huge impact on my life in ten or twenty years.
Though I am still a big fall risk.
I did finally get some medication issues straightened out between CVS and my insurance company. The insurance company kept refusing to pay for my pills until my neurologist changed the dosage of the individual pills from 5 to 10 mg. If I need five, I need to cut them in half– but at least they are paid for!
It’s been a month this time– since my last entry and since my last fall. I wasn’t going to share this fall. I wanted to keep it to myself because it’s circumstances were mortifying enough. No need to share with the world.
But then a friend fell down the stairs. And I sent my regards, asked how she was feeling, and we had a conversation about the mental toll falls take.
I fall a lot.
Before my fall in July, I was thinking to myself, “It’s been about six months.” And I felt smug. And just now I went to my phone where my watch records hard falls and I manually enter the smaller one and I realized… for most of 2025, I have had a fall worthy of noting just about every month. And that “six months” I had in my mind– it was two months.
It felt like a lifetime.
Here’s the thing…
When something happens and a person falls, that person knows why it happened, brushes themselves off, and goes about their business. But when a scary fall happens… Well, maybe you just misjudged or your balance was off or your body didn’t do what you expected it to do… It’s not about injury. It’s about your body failing you.
It’s a special mind game when you can no longer trust your body.
Most people will experience this type of fall in their lifetime, and most of us will have more than one instance. Falls can often be the first sign that something is off.
It could be as simple as being tired, the kind that comes from not sleeping well or working too hard.
It could be blood pressure fluctuations or allergies impacting the sinuses.
It could be the failure of a certain muscle or neurological dysfunction.
And sometimes it could be a simple trip because your body couldn’t compensate as quickly as it needed to. (Or your eyesight failed and you didn’t see something you should have.)
These falls are terrifying. The mental anguish is more confusing and painful that the bruises or lacerations. The embarrassment, especially if you fall doing something simple, is so crushing.
My recent fall?
It barely left a mark on me. But, if I’m honest, it still reverberates through me even today, five days later.
Now, if you are reading this you probably know me or you’ve read some of my stuff before. I have a lot of eclectic interests so I’m not going to assume you’re here for or familiar with my disability content. But if you don’t know, I have diplegia spastic cerebral palsy, and I spend a good deal of my life as a fall risk.
I run a small publishing company putting out 10-12 books a year. I help freelance clients with their own book projects. I cover my county for a local political newsletter run by former staffers of our local daily newspaper. I write horror novels. And as of this fall, I am teaching a three-credit class at Northampton Community College.
But sometimes that’s not enough to pay the bills. So I have a part-time job in the evening.
And I fell at that job on Friday night.
In front of a LOT of people. But not one of my co-workers or supervisors saw, so that made me feel super vulnerable and invisible. On top of mortified.
And my daughter is livid, ranting about how I shouldn’t have been in a position alone where that could happen.
I’ve been under some stress, and my blood pressure has been all over the place with no logic. Allergies have been terrible. Some weeks I sleep decently, but last week I did not.
I walked about 3,000 steps in the 90 minutes before I fell, about 3.75 hours into a 4.5 hour shift. So I was certainly tired.
And even though I know and understand that I have falls, it still shakes me to the core when I have one. So, I can only imagine what it feels like when it’s not something that happens to you.
In other news, I may need to do a cat update soon. Our 14-year-old tripod cancer survivor is scheduled for euthasia Tuesday. This is the second cat I have lost in two months.
Angel Ackerman 