I look around.

I look at my kids, my brothers, most of my friends.  They’re doing great!  My friends have dreams that they haved worked hard to realize.

I want to run away. Put my cat to sleep.  I want to go where I fit in.

What shall I do???



Blogging from the lower class.  I came hope having a great day.  I went to the lakes…got a sunburn…spent some time in a rowboat on the lake.  You know how fun it is to get out of town!

I get home…just settled in, when my neighbor down the hall rang my doorbell.  She told me a new company will be owning the building I live in and will be raising my rent $100.00.  That will put my rent over the amount Section 8 will cover.  They will be also making the people who have therapy pets pay a $300.00 dollar deposit the first month we get one.

I don’t know what to do.  I don’t make enough to pay my bills and eat.  I am feeling panicky.

Are anyone of you bloggers out there having housing issues?   I want to move to Minneapolis.  My future seems hopeless.

What the fuck am I supposed to do>   Have faith that God will help me be strong?

Is there anyone out there that can  show me a way  to survive all this?

A moment at the lake.

I was invited to go to the lake with my friend who is also my shrink.  She wanted me to stay until Wednesday, but after only a few hours with each other, I realized it was a mistake to go.

When I woke up Tuesday morning I told her that I would stay until 7:00 pm. She was relieved.

I don’t think it’s possible for people from 2 different income brackets to actually be friends.  That’s too bad, and maybe I am wrong.  I hope I am, but I think there is such a big gap on what the rich people care about at opposed to me.

I also don’t think a person’s psychiatrist should actually invite a patient to her lake cabin.  What do you all think?

Hello World

Since I can remember, people have told me two things:  That I should write a book, and that I should do stand-up comedy.

More recently, I was asked if I have been blogging lately.

I haven’t because I am lazy.   I have a whole litany of other excuses, but that’s the main reason.  So I blogged 3 things today.  I am bringing my computer with me when I go to the lakes this afternoon.

I’m living my life.  That’s another reason I don’t blog every day, as has been suggested by my a few important people in my life.

So  I don’t pretend to be a writer.  But I am doing one thing the Universe keeps whispering to me.  Write, write, write.

Sometimes I don’t want to stop.


Mom woke me up yesterday morning.  Very gently, but it was definitely her voice.  

I was having a bad dream.  the dream started out lovely.  I was watching a beautiful woman with an athletic build on a  diving board.  She was getting ready to dive nd I remember thinking how impressed I was with her beauty and perfect form as she was getting ready to dive.  She was doing a swan dive from the highest diving board, and she dove perfectly into nothing but cement.  I saw her lying on the cement; bloody…unrecognizable.

Just at that time, my mom (who died in October of 2014) said to me, “Jann, wake up.” in the most gentle voice.  Yesterday was Sunday and I quickly, almost automatically took a bath, and got ready for church.

Lately,  I have been isolating from family and friends more and more.  I have neglected to get in touch with God and have felt like I’m on a row boat on a turbulent ocean.  Fear.  That’s what it is.  And what a waste of time.

I spent 100% of my day Saturday watching movies and series after series of “Ray Donovan”. Among other things.  Movies I can’t recall a mere 2 days ago.  24  hours I’ll never get back.

Nobody is going to come over to my house and tell me to get off my ass and get to church, or a meeting, or a walk.  I lack motivation and structure and I blame it on the fact that I am alone.

So Mom… woke me up Sunday morning, and I went to my favorite Recovery Church.  I also went to a place to play games and socialize with my new AA family.

Sometimes I wish I belonged to a circle of friends outside of AA, but it I am afraid.  They say to me, “You have to “put yourself out there” but I don’t know how.  It used to be the bars and after-the-bar-closes parties where I used to go to make friends.  But that doesn’t work for me anymore.

Mom always said that church was the answer. I will find God in church, and I will make friends in church.  I just have to show up.  Just like AA.  I simply have to show up.

So I am grateful that Mom saw fit to urge me to get up, in my dream.  She would’ve been happier if I had chosen the traditional Lutheran church.  I belong to both.  One for the hymns, one for the relaxed and youth-oriented atmosphere.

Commitment issues?  Perhaps next time

Violent Night, Holey Night.

So….here we go again.  That’s the thought that scrolled through my mind as the sheriff reinterviewed me again; 4 years after my Aunt Linda– Mom’s youngest sister by 9 years–shot my whole family… well, all but 2 of us.
it was the beginning of August 1976, and I was only ten years old during that  nightmarish night.  My brothers, Andy, and Franklin had just had their 2nd  and 4th birthdays the week prior.  My oldest brother, Glen was 13,  and my 3-year-old  little sister Julie and my mother  were all violently shot and killed, our house a blood bath.  Aunt Linda couldn’t find me as I was hiding under my oldest brothers bed.   I guess she never thought I would hide under someone else’s bed.  or, perhaps Aunt Linda forgot about me altogether in the adrenalin pumped rampage she was in.
I wanted to think she knew I was there and was protecting me (you know how self-important 10-year-old kids can be)  but she hadn’t given me a thought. I later learned during her lengthy trial, that she had come to our quiet farm home that evening to tell the truth to our mom, and confront our daddy  (who’s life was also spared)  that she was pregnant with Daddy’s baby and wanted mom to back out of their marriage gracefully.  As I’ve told you before, I didn’t see how things escalated because once I heard their soft voices turn into hysterical screams, I hid under my sleeping brothers bed.  I did check on my little brothers and sister before I went and hid, but they seemed oblivious to the noise…fast asleep and it didn’t occur to me they wouldn’t be safe.  the guilt I’ve had to live with for not protecting my siblings often comes back to haunt me if I let it.

I told them everything I could from my view under the bed at 10 years old. I told them everything I knew about Aunt Linda, Mom and Dad.  But they kept treating me like an adult when questioning me at 10 years old.  They questioned me for hours after I finally emerged from under the bloody floor of my oldest brother’s bed.  Finally, after about what seemed like a month, my best friend’s mom, Cheri Sanders, came and rescued me from the scene of the “mass killings” as the press called it.

For years, I carried that night with me around like a coat of armor.  I allowed the fucked up nature of the so-called adults in my family define me to the point that when I  was around them, I felt intimidated by them, because they all knew I knew more than I told the police.  Aunt Linda got out in just 4 years after being charged with manslaughter.  I, myself, had to disappear.