New Novel

I began writing a new novel this week. I wrote over 5,000 words in 2 days. It's more autobiographical then anything.

Here is the first chapter:

Ice picks stab my hips and back. I open my eyes and see only the faint streetlights coming in through my window. I always have to have my shoulders and neck flat, but I rotate my lower hips and legs in the other direction, which gives me minor pain relief.I look for my phone by my head, but it's not there. I reach blindly on my desk next to my creaky twin-sized bed. It's there, and I click the button on the side to see what time it is. It's 12:30 am.Tiny blades feel like they are tearing my shoulders and neck from the inside.Staring up at the black ceiling, I hate this moment. The moment when pain keeps me awake, and I am stuck with my own thoughts and memories.My stomach churns.I am used to this.This is my life.My stomach is always hurting.My pain never goes away.It only lessens in degree.I feel sick.My memories always flow back to the mistakes that I have made in my life. I can't stand it. I need to get out of bed and occupy my mind with something, so my thoughts don't drift back to the past.I never want to go back there.Hauling myself out of bed, I make my way to the bathroom to take a piss. Turning on the bathroom light, I look at my reflection in the mirror. I notice my face is shiny, but when I look at myself, I don't see my flaws.I only see what I want to see.Gizmo is watching me from his self-made bed on my dirty clothes pile. He is always watching me. I find comfort in this. Knowing that another creature truly cares about me.There is no replacement for that feeling.The feeling of belonging.Even if it's with a dog.After relieving myself, I have no interest in lying back down. That sounds miserable.So I start getting ready for my day.At 1:00 am.Fuck it, why not.I get dressed in baggy jeans and a tight black tank top, then attach my tail and Labuboo Doll to my pants.Why do I have a Labuboo Doll attached to my pants?Cause I like it.The doll was a gift from my middle child's abusive grandparents.She didn't want it.So I ordered her the energy Labuboo doll that she wanted, and asked if she wanted to trade with me. This left me with the weird hair Labuboo that was from horrible people. At first I attached it to my trailer hitch. Quinn (my middle child) didn't appreciate this.So I gave it back to her.Then she gave it back to me again, under the condition that I don't attach it to my trailer hitch.So I've been wearing it on my front belt loop since.I pull on my Dr. Martens boots and take Gizmo for a walk in the cold October night.As we walk around the block, I stare up into the night sky and look for the Big Dipper. It's the only constellation I can safely recognize.Walking through our neighborhood, I always look at my neighbors' houses and yards. They are always in perfect condition. Not one house has an uncut yard. The only house with clutter on their porch is my house.As I step over the coat that Quinn had simply dropped on the steps to our house, I punch in the code to my front door. I haven't carried keys in years. Stepping into my dark house, I leave the lights off.I prefer the dark.Grabbing my purse, I put Gizmo in his kennel and head out to the garage.Stepping over discarded camping gear, I make my way to my car. I quickly throw away all the empty Yerba Madre cans and head out to start picking up riders.If I can't sleep, might as well make money. It wasn't good.My first ride was twenty minutes away.For a ten minute ride.The next one was also twenty minutes away.For a five minute ride.I was very disappointed.In my first hour I made $12.Things did pick up after that, thankfully, and after five hours of driving, I made my personal quota of $125. It was still a little early, so I decided to stop by my gym and use the jacuzzi and cold plunge. The cold plunge and a powerful jacuzzi are the reason I spend so much on my gym.I would do anything for pain relief.Plus I am trying to cut costs on my water bill, so showering at my gym will help.Many of the richest people in the world are also stingy as fuck.I don't have time to work out since I have a job interview at 9 a.m., so I head home and prepare for my interview.I get home about 8:30 a.m.My bright blue hair hasn't gone over so well in interviews so far, so I decided to buy a wig for interviews.I had everything set up.I was ready for this job interview as a behavioral analyst.But the link in the email had expired.I emailed the interviewer immediately.Her response was, 'We are no longer accepting interviews at this time. Good luck on your job search.'As if her "goodwill" makes up for the fact that she denied me a chance to prove my worth.An automatic denial.I hate the fact that people know my name.Know my car.Know my face.But they don't know me.I feel like curling up into a ball of self-pity.But my two youngest kids are home, and I don't want them to see me like that. So I pretend like it's fine and get my kids to clean the second level while I do the dishes.A physical task always makes me feel better.And if I'm cleaning, my kids also have to be cleaning or they don't get electronics.Period.I'm a hard-ass Mom.My kids don't get away with anything.If I'm out busting my ass for money, I expect them to contribute to the house.Without compensation.Why?Cause I'm out there working my tail off.The least they can do is clean up after themselves.By the time I finish running the dishwasher and doing some hand washes, my two youngest have finished cleaning the floors.Looking at the stove clock, I see that it's 10:10 a.m. Perfect timing because I have to go to Alex's (my youngest son) parent-teacher conference. I give them their tablets, switches and the tv adapter before I head out.Pulling into the school parking lot, I start heading inside.It's embarrassing being back in that school.A lot of the teachers and educators recognize me.I substituted in a lot of their classrooms.They also all know that I failed.Making my way to Ms. Leahy's room, I found her room immediately.Ms. Leahy is incredibly nice.She tells me all about how intelligent Alex is, and how he's always asking questions and making deep connections in class.We also discussed how he likes to go to the bathroom and scare people and make a big mess with the soap dispenser.This isn't the first time I am hearing about his bathroom escapades.A boy came up to me while we were at the park one time, and told me what Alex has been doing in the bathroom.He got in trouble for that.The conversation with his teacher now is more of a reflection on what to do about it.I think he's bored.He's too smart for first grade.Looking at Ms. Leahy's mini "library" that she has in her class, I notice that all of the books are picture books.There are no chapter books.Why would there be?It's first grade.Except Alex is at that level.I tell Ms. Leahy this and she immediately perks up and we discuss what kind of chapter books would be most beneficial. She suggests non-fiction, as this is school, and so I tell her those are the books we read before bed. He needs a story to escape into.So I suggest historical fiction and we both agree on this.The meeting is short, only about ten minutes.It's still only 10:30 a.m.I go home and heat up some chicken nuggets and fries for Alex and Quinn before heading to the gym.As I pack my gym bag, I take everything out and carefully make sure that everything that I need is in there.I always forget something.My mind is in a constant fog.It's hard to concentrate.After double-checking my bag, I take Gizmo for a short walk around the neighborhood before depositing him in his kennel.I'm glad he likes it.I will often find him sleeping in there.Before I leave, I take all the remaining meds I have from my ER visit on Sunday. A muscle relaxer, some Tylenol, Ibuprofen, and Gabapentin. Not much, but it helps.As I pull out of my garage, I turn on the second book from the Silo Saga by Hugh Howey. I am a big fan of the first book. The main character is a female badass mechanic who keeps a cool head under pressure.I love that.On my way to the gym, I hit up the dispensary and grab some cheap caramels. My medical card brings them down to $5/caramel.I get four of them.As soon as I get to my gym parking lot, I eat three of them and save the last one.It's 11:30 a.m. and I've been up for eleven hours already, but I don't let it show. I stroll confidently into my gym.I like how it always smells nice in there.I like how all the front staff say, "Welcome in Ashley." It feels warm and inviting walking in there.This is my second time in the gym today.It's awkward to have the same people greet me twice and look at me with quizzical expressions on their faces.Thankfully there was a shift change and there's new greeters.As I waltz into the locker room, I ignore the stares from other gym goers.Some of them like me.Some of them despise me.I have come to realize that everyone perceives me in a different way, and it's not my responsibility to change how they view me.Walking up to the same locker row, I try and pick the same locker as I always do.I enjoy doing things in a repetitious way.I also have very little memory capacity, and repetition is one of the ways that I have adapted to this.Having already done the jacuzzi and cold plunge earlier this morning, I change straight into my small, tight work out shorts and sports bra.Both black of course.Going over to the large row of sinks, vanity mirrors, and complimentary lotions, makeup remover cloths, razors, I fix my make up once more.I am getting better about applying make up.I have been using it for about 6 years now.My ex didn't like me wearing make up.After fixing my eyebrows, I put my make up bag away and pull out my cork yoga block, earbuds and phone.I forgot my water bottle.Going out to the front, I head to the elevators.The actual gym is on the third floor.Most everyone I see climbs the stairs.I take the elevator.Everytime.Not because I'm lazy, but because stairs hurt my knees badly.I blame softball.My workouts are intense, but they don't put unnecessary pressure on my knees.As I head up to the third floor, I put in my earbuds and start playing my wubby dubby, womp womp, Mushroom Cloud Mix on Spotify.The music cascades over my body, electrifying my senses.In a methodical trance, I set up my work out area.There's a person in my favorite spot, so I set up camp nearby.Laying the grey yoga mat horizontal, against the grain of everyone else, I place my phone, yoga block and Labuboo doll at the end, feeling a pang from not having my water bottle.I grab the orange, 3 foot, steel, stretching bar and rotate it over each hand. I keep my hand in near the center of the bar to balance it.I don't use my fingers to move the bar anymore, it feels more natural to rotate it over hands instead of in between my fingers.Letting the bar roll down my arm, I give it a little bounce and catch it with my right.This is my play.My fun.I justify it to others by saying I am increasing my hand eye coordination, which may be true, but really I just do it cause it's fun.Holding the bar with two hands, I arc it over my head, keeping my arms straight. I go all the way back and hit the bar against my butt.Then I start dancing with it.With one hand I bring one side of the bar up and over my body, stretching my entire side.All the while my hips are swinging wildly to the dubstep beats.Bringing my out stretched arm back down, I bring my other arm up and stretch the other side.Consistency is key.I play around with the bar a bit more before going over to the firm, stable, stretching bars. The ones that have adjustable steel bars hooked onto a steel ladder frame.This is the reason for my set up spot.My stretching routine is a bit different than most people's.It's all fluid.I don't remain still.Staying still hurts.So I swing my ass out and shake it around while bent over.Why?If you look at my feet placement while I'm swinging my ass around (which probably very few are), you'll see that my feet remain planted. The back and forth rotation stretches the sides of my calves.Standing tall, I swing my left leg up onto the bar that's about 4 1/2 feet high.I lay my body over my extended leg and grip my foot with both hands.Even now, I am still moving.Rocking back and forth into the stretch.I let go of my foot and let my body swing down towards my foot and let my arms dangle.Back and forth to the rhythm of the music.I swing my hips as much as I can in this stretched out state, and let my upper body ripple in response.A new song starts blasting in my ears.I haven't heard it before, but I love it.I love it so much that I stop stretching and start dancing.Fuck did I dance.Listening to new music fills my soul with joy that I express through dance, and this song makes me want to shake every cell in my body.After the song ends, I swing my right leg up, rest it on the bar and raise my right arm over my head, and stabilize myself with my left arm on my planted left leg.As soon as my right arm is fully outstretched, I lower my head, which usually gives me a few good pops in my neck.I get three normal pops.And then a crack.A really, really loud crack at the base of my skull.I loose control of my right leg, and begin to fall, but catch myself.My right leg and right arm are weak.This has happened many times before.But this time my leg, arm and the right side of my face are twitching.Spasming.It doesn't hurt though.I go over to my area and grab my phone, my Labuboo doll, and begin walking (well, hobbling) around the gym.Sometimes I just need to walk around and let the tears fall.Tears not from pain, but from frustration and sadness.I make a full circuit of the gym, avoiding the obnoxious sounds from the workout class going on in the corner.As soon as I stop walking, my leg starts convulsing again.I set up my yoga block, which is a cork yoga block with the dimensions of 9 x 6 x 3 inches. I stand it on its tall end, with the 6 x 3 portion on the ground.I place my solid left leg in the center of the block and propel myself up, not getting much help from my right leg.Balancing on top of the yoga block, I let my right arm and my right leg dangle to the side as I use my left arm for balance.I stay up as long as I can, but something is different.It's usually only my leg and arm that are weak.This time, though, my right hip is also weak, and it throws me off balance.Falling off the yoga block, I manage to quickly catch myself with my left foot.Standing up straight-ish, I hobble over to the drinking fountain, bothered once again about forgetting my water bottle.Drinking as much as I can, I head back over to my area, annoyed at my hobble.It's embarrassing.People stare at me.People laugh at me (sometimes, not all the time).It just looks weird, my shifting about.When I get back, I do some more stretching, more terrible balancing, and weird one-sided dancing (Yes, I still dance all crippled. I'll never stop.).But I don't go for more than half an hour longer.My heart isn't into it anymore.So I put all the gym equipment away and head back down the elevator and hobble towards the locker rooms.After getting to my locker, I pull all my stuff out onto the bench with one hand.It's easier to sort through like this.Putting my dancing shoes, yoga block and earbuds away in my gym bag, I begin to change.And realize that I had put on my extremely tight tank top this morning.I don't bother attempting to put it on.I just throw my cardigan over my sports bra.After pulling on my boots, not worrying about the laces, I make my way out of the locker room and keep my head down as I go for the exit. Barely mumbling a "you too" in response to the greeters wishing me a great day.When I get to my car, I sit down without bringing my legs in.I need to put it into cripple mode.Push the seat way back.Tilt the seat more upright.Grabbing my right leg with my left arm, I lift it into my car, followed closely by my left leg.My right arm is slightly curled into my body right now.Useless.I pull my right knee up, which brings my right foot closer to my chair and away from the pedals. As I let go, it kind of rests to the side.Then I buckle myself with my left hand, push on the brake pedal with my left foot, and start the car with my left.All with my left.Shifting into reverse, I back out and head towards home.I forgot the packet with Quinn's parent-teacher stuff.No surprise there.Looking at the time, I see it's 12:20 p.m.Plenty of time to stop home and grab the packet.And a shirt.As I pull into the small alley that's sandwiched between two long rows of townhouses, I try to carry on as normal as I can. I still back into my garage, even though my car is sharing the garage with my trailer, and it's not a double garage. It's just a really tight fit.I've only dinged the trailer once.As I go inside, I don't let Gizmo out of his kennel.No point since I'm leaving immediately.Pulling on a loose sweater, I grab Quinn's packet and head back out to my car.Driving with one hand and one foot is easy for me, even using the blinkers. The drive to their school is short, and as I pull into the parking spot, I heave a sigh.At this point, I am so exhausted.But I get out of the car and start hobbling over to the entrance, kicking myself for not bringing my cane.It's embarrassing, but it helps.I push the handicap buttons at the entrance.I use the elevator to get to the second floor.I am not looking forward to this meeting.Quinn's teacher and I have already had confrontations over emails.Nothing overly hostile, but the situation was big enough that I scheduled a meeting with the principal about it, but then I cancelled.I have the feeling that it would probably end up hurting Quinn in some way. Either by resentment from the teacher, or having to deal with the stress of switching classes. Either way, Quinn loses.Prior to my workout, I had been emotionally charged about this meeting, but now as my boot drags across the bright tiled floor, I just feel drained.The moment I walk into the room, I feel anxiety in the air.I can smell emotions if they're strong enough, and it is strong in this classroom.I don't think I am the only one that is emotionally charged for this meeting.She comes over and says, "I like your hair."To which I mumble thanks.Mrs. Sibelman begins by telling me about strategies to use at home.I don't understand why she starts with "helpful tips", but I just nod and say, "Uh-huh."She notices my leg and arm twitching, but doesn't say anything.I don't say much as she goes on.As my lack of response continues, Mrs. Sibelman begins to relax.I'm pretty sure she thought I was going to rail into her about the fuck up on her part, but this was clearly not the case.Mrs. Sibelman gets to the test scores portion and she is nearly off her seat now. "Quinn took the state testing and scored in the 97th percentile in reading and the 83rd in math. That's incredible!"To be honest, I am not surprised by the reading.Quinn always has their nose in a book.All three of my kids entered kindergarten knowing how to read.I am surprised at the math score.Only because Quinn goes on about how difficult math is, how they don't like it, etc.I'm tired.I want to go lie down.We wrap up the meeting and I shift my way awkwardly back down to my car.When I get home, I take Gizmo around the block to go potty. He shouldn't have to suffer because I do.After getting back, I refill his water bowl, and give him a small bowl of food.Then I head into my room and take some gabapentin, Tylenol and Ibuprofen, before lying down in bed.My sore muscles welcome the bed.My deformed bones do not.I miss the days when lying down gave me rest.Seems like so long ago.But I can't really remember.My past is obscured in fog.Dates and events are no longer linear.They are like the fog, appearing and disappearing, without much knowledge of when.