Destiny is Calling Me…


I don’t quite know where to begin, and my mind is racing in seven different directions, in seven different languages. ūüôā

I am not fond of speaking of my past, in terms of the darker days. I feel a chill in the air, my mood plummets to the pits of hell-but God took me through those fires for a reason, and I know that my story is your story-you, the addict. And by addiction I don’t mean to chocolate: I’m talking drinking to the point of blackouts; stealing medications from clients; multiple “accidents” and that feeling in the pit of your gut-your guilt, coupled with the pain you are self medicating.

Nasty. Putrid. Bleak.


“How could I possibly clean myself up? What would I do with all of my raw, searing pain? How could I cope?”

Beloveds, listen to the wise old hoot owl-learn from my mistakes. I spent years running from a traumatic childhood, turned to booze and men, then pills and cocaine. I married the man of my dreams (ok, he is seriously on my nerves today-but we made vows and stuff) and when I had life by the balls? I washed it down the kitchen drain; hook, line and sinker. Ten years of my life are missing, literally. Yet, I was just another sinner, clawing my way out of the rat race; running at warp speed to what I had no idea at the time.


I ran into the boys from Teen Challenge, an amazing program of hope and sobriety for men of all ages and backgrounds, who have failed in all previous attempts to get sober. Every holiday we see them at our local grocery store. I listened to their stories, we laughed-and cried together. I have an innate connection to the broken-I always will. Even without their stand and wares? I could have picked out those men in a heartbeat.

Addicts have a tell, and it takes one to know one. It’s all in the eyes-which speak to me in various ways. Today it was the look of the haunted. I knew immediately that they were just beginning their journey; the look of sheer panic, yes. But something about them stood out, as if they were old souls or friends I hadn’t seen in some time.

“I just got out of prison, was there for two years. Lost my family, home and job. I tried every program out there, and I relapsed every time-it is an absolute miracle that God found me when He did. It’s Jesus that makes all of the difference! I have my family back, ma’am. And you know who the glory goes to, now, don’t ya?”

Do not be afraid or discouraged, for the Lord will personally go ahead of you. He will be with you; he will neither fail you nor abandon you. -Deuteronomy 31:8

Every day you don’t take a drink is a miracle.

Be miraculous~

When I Move, You Move


I chose this tune not just because I love it, but because of the title.¬† By the end of this blog, you’ll understand why.

Not one week ago, I wrote a blog entitled ‘Curvy Girls’.¬† I went on about how I love my curves and men love curves and even puppies, YES puppies love curves!¬† I had just smoked my medicine, and feeling light hearted and sexy-I waxed poetic.¬† Actually, most days?¬† I am okay with my body and that has been an ongoing, life long battle!¬† But every single month, around that special time in a women’s reproductive cycle, when she curses like a sailor and eats like a rabid wolverine-know that she is also driven to near lunacy by the twenty pounds of water weight, hapless rage and downright debauchery. ¬†

I don’t know how or why it happens, but I forget the reason for the additional weight every stinking month.¬† On cue, I will notice that my golden retriever is tilting his head at me, or sulking because mommy is cursing-loudly and with great ferocity.¬† I think poor Jesse is as stunned as I am when my clothes don’t fit, big belly buldges come from nowhere-or the jeans I wore last week won’t slide up my ass with the previous ease.¬† This is the mind of the anorexic, yes.¬† But I’m going out on a limb, here.¬† I think all women struggle with self esteem, for one daunting (in their minds) reason or another.

This thought formation works itself into a tizzy, and before I know it?  I am cutting out dessert (my all time favorite meal) or watching my portion sizes.  No ice cream for this piglet.  I try eliciting a compliment from my man, but as all husbands of anorexics know-anything they say can and will be used against them.

“I have the love handle blues…,” I say, as he makes his way approximately one foot in the door.¬† (SMH)¬† Poor dude.

Ah.  Who am I to lecture anyone about their weight?

Translated in my demented mind:

About time you fat fuck!  

Pretty much a lose-lose proposition.

So, you know how when you have your period and it’s not bad enough that you feel as big as a house but you manage to bump into¬†every fucking thing in your house.¬† Kind of adds to the despair, you know?

For some reason, this song came to mind today~

Hunger Strike


Here I sit, fresh off of 8chan, and my mind is blown:¬† not that I didn’t know that Chris Cornell didn’t kill himself, I knew alright.¬† And here’s the shocker:¬† Chris knew, and maybe he knew too much.¬† Pay attention to the words:¬† I am a lyric junkie, yet in my wildest nightmares, I had no idea.¬† I had no idea that the Illuminati ate children.¬† Never even heard a rumor to that affect.¬† They say that only those with “eyes to see” can understand the severity and depravity of these facts.

Chris was telling us that he wasn’t about to join the diabolical crowd.¬† Is that why they murdered him?¬† I simply do not know.


The Illuminati has infiltrated governments across this planet.¬† Latin for ‘enlightened ones’, the Illuminati was founded in the southern German state of Bavaria on May 1, 1776, by a religious law professor named Adam Weishaupt.¬† The 20 year old believed that through enlightenment, society would have to become more orderly and efficient.¬† He incorporated mysticism, to add intrigue and make the group a mysterious enigma, wrapped in cloaks and daggers.

This system was based on the Freemasons’ structure of orders and ranks.¬† His first group contained five members, all given aliases to provide a modicum of anonymity.¬† Weisthaupt¬† chose the name Spartacus.

Professor Weishaupt, as it turned out, was a huge control freak.  The initiation rites prospective members endured included bizarre costumes and chilling ceremonies.  By 1779, there were only 54 members.  Everything changed when Baron Adolph Freiherr von Knigge.:  a renowned diplomat and Master Mason occultist with connections to numerous secret societies.  Von Knigge was very successful in his recruitment of new members, including royalty, powerful politicians and leading Freemasons.

The Illuminati Hierarchy

Weishaupt’s model for a New World Order involved three basic classes:

Class 1-he called this the “nursery,” consisting of Noviciate, Minerval and Illuminatus Minor.

Class II-the “blue lodge” (Masonic) categories of Apprentice, Companion and Master-separated from the higher “Scottish” grades of Scottish Novice and Scottish Knight.

Class III-the Mysteries: Priest and Prince, followed by the more enigmatic Mage and King.

So, in essence, when Jim Carrey appeared on Jimmy Kimmel to discuss the “Illuminutti” conspiracy freaks, his agenda was clear-to disparage and discount the very organization that donned him a High Priest of Satanism.

Don’t let anyone call you a conspiracy theorist if you mention Secret Societies.

They ain’t so¬†Secret any more.



Instant Karma

I don’t know about you, but I am sick to death of gloom and doom, evil that cuts you off at your knees, leaves you shaken, breathless.¬† The enemy¬†is losing, in leaps and bounds, but the news, the mainstream?¬† They want you frightened and feeling vulnerable, to be honest, at times I don’t know what to believe, but I¬†do believe in QAnon, and let’s just say the concentration seems to be about the blood lines, the Illuminati and their puppets-satanic symbolism and transference runs RAMPANT in every mode of entertainment to be had, the news is enough to make me cry, and never, ever stop.¬† But I need to stop investigating and start¬†living.¬† I know more than I should, and by that I mean I wish I knew nothing at all-but then I wouldn’t be me, and I have felt spiritually led through the entire process.

I had a good week, socially.¬† Lunch with a friend two days in a row! ¬† I actually made my commitments over the last few days, and it feels so, so good.¬† I also, after 40 years, began eating a small meal at lunch.¬† I had a hard time pulling it off as of late, I was having dizzy spells and acid gut.¬† Please………….I deserve it.

This cracked me up this morning. Enough so that I actually posted on social media! ūüôā

Speaking of deserving……how in the harry do these people sleep at night?¬† Do they hang upside down from trees, waiting for some unsuspecting dope to come along?¬† Do they NOT KNOW where they are going at the end of the day? ¬† Seriously, what is their thought pattern?¬† They are blatantly throwing it up in our faces, but know this: they are running scared.¬† President Trump, with the aid of the United States military, has put a few of their Cabal buddies in GITMO.¬† Do they not see a common thread?¬† What did they THINK would happen when Trump began to wage a war, drain the swamp, look at evil so bleak that a group of NYC policemen vomited and wept when looking at evidence.¬† I hear they are all still receiving therapy.

So, karma is real, man.¬† I wouldn’t want to be a thug/pedophile/Satanist right now, because the tables are turning.¬† I am heartbroken and angry, but life is for the living and I have a heavenly father who wants me to thrive, to be genuinely content and at times, euphoric.¬† I try to have a sense of humor about these happenings, and I find great fun to be had looking into the Q Memes.


The only, yet most important thing we can do right now is pray.¬† Pray like your lives depend upon it, He is listening, this I know.¬† Instant Karma’s gonna get you Bitches, it’s going to knock you right. in. the. face.

I’ll Give You Fish…

A few blogs back, I promised you a story about the day, fifteen years ago, when I caught my husband “cheating” on me.¬† We were taking care of my father, who was extremely ill; we moved him to a house out in the country, where he lived for a year-on his terms-no nursing homes, praise God.¬† I loved my dad more than I have ever loved another soul, or perhaps the love I have for my husband is equal-but completely different types of love.

Dad was my best friend and, quite honestly, the only person besides my husband who really got me.  We were extremely close.  We laughed at the same things, had the same interests, and thought hiking was the greatest thing next to grilled cheese sandwiches.  I take after daddy, in almost every way.  Mom was the writer in the family, and she was very talented.  It is no small wonder that my brother and I are the artsy, fartsy, poetic side of the family.  I think it rather neat that my brother is a musician who writes amazing songs-not unlike myself-who writes about music-daddy was the musician.  I can still hear him singing the Midnight Special, banjo in tow, at three a.m. after an argument with my mother.  Good times.  Good times.

I would do anything to have those times back.

So, between working evenings as a waitress in a busy diner (one of the biggest tourist spots in Lancaster County) and taking care of my family-well, I guess you could say I was just a tad stressed out.  If you saw me in passing, you would think me a demented Flakka head, on the verge of going off the deep end; at any given moment in time.  You would also be correct.  About the losing my shit, not the Flakka.  When my husband complains about the two cigarettes I smoke each day with my coffee?  I always say:

It could be worse.¬† You’re lucky I’m not on Flakka.¬† Or crack. ¬†

Jiminy Cricket, I was wound so tightly, I actually pitied the fool who got in my way.  Back then?  I was anger personified.  I seethed with an all consuming rage that basically enveloped me-my mother abused me emotionally, and my memories were a big reason I drank to begin with.  I wanted to take care of dad, believe me, but the sad truth?  I was scared senseless.  My alcoholism had progressed, then eased after he died.  Eventually I came to a place of rewriting my story, and forgiving mother.  Years of my life, consumed with bitter ire-and a tragic notion that I needed to be punished, put in place-as mom had made it perfectly clear that I was undeserving.  Forgiveness is incredibly freeing, and you should do it often-not for them, but for you.

Finally, to the point of the story.¬† I was in the aforementioned condition while driving my Jeep Wrangler up Route 501 on a Friday afternoon, headed in the direction of the pharmacy in Myerstown-to get my father’s refills.¬† My hair is fried, not tended to; I can’t remember if I brushed my teeth.¬† I am breaking out-not only in zits but pimples as well-my first outbreak of acne, ever.¬† Stress pimples and blackheads.

I head North and see my husband’s baby blue Chevy pick up headed in my direction.¬† I believe I went into a fugue state the moment I saw the blonde.¬† I was a jealous madwoman back then-it wasn’t my husband I didn’t trust, let’s just say that.

“OMG, who the FAZUCK was in Dwain’s truck?¬† How long has this been going on?¬† I’m taking care of my invalid father and the bastard is cheating on me?¬† What the FUCK?”

I ran into the pharmacy, almost hyperventilating when I see the long line.  This is the most impatient moment of my life.  I fantasize about killing the man behind the counter.  I want to slap the woman who forgot her insurance card, and truth be told?  My thought cloud was rated RRR.  If not ZZZ.

I raced to the jeep and drove like a stunt car driver all the way to Dwain’s work.¬† I see him in the park, akin to his business.¬† I aim for him as I drive, he jumps out of the way.

“Oh my GOD honey, what is wrong with you?”¬† He looks more than mildly alarmed, but he knows on many levels what this is all about.¬† I jump from the vehicle, not thinking to put the jeep in “park.”¬† Dwain jumps into said car and saves it, saves it from going directly into the pond behind us.

I scream and holler.  He tells me he took her to drop off her car, to have it inspected.  I eyeball him from toe to head.  Calmer, yet not quite assured that all is well; I head for my car.  He gives  me a hug, chuckles and says these exact words:

“Honey, why do you have spaghetti sauce all over your face?”

Stay By Your Fireside Bride


Awhile ago, maybe six or so months-I prayed to God for an expansion of my awareness, a ripping of the veil, if you will.  My experience two years ago, culminating in a devastating loss, was nothing short of having a sixth sense.   I took pictures of angels in my back yard, on a dreary, foggy day.  As I sat at my pc, writing, the Holy Spirit urged me to stop what I was doing, grab my zoom lens, and snap a picture-directly into a heavy mist.

I didn’t question it.¬† I took the camera, lifted it to my eye, and promptly had a near heart attack.¬† White Crosses.¬† A dozen of them.¬† I took the camera away, saw nothing. ¬† The magic happened when I saw the footage-angels, in my estimation.¬† God was signaling to me that although I was in the New Age, getting Reiki treatments, and burning sage while uttering a prayer so evil I could only find part of the Latin translation on the internet-He was protecting and loving me right then and there.¬† I had no idea at the time that the origins of angel and tarot cards, angel readings, crystals, totems, mediations, yoga, sage burning and the third eye?¬† It comes from the occult, and it’s easier than you may think to allow demons into your life, home and relationships. Turns out, after my stalking experience, I ran to my Reiki friend, who very lovingly prayed it over me in my hysteria.

It was so beautiful in Latin, and I asked for its meaning, but Lila didn’t know.¬† She learned it from a fellow Master.

It took me months to forget this mantra, so I won’t go looking for it.¬† I searched the internet for days, finding nothing but the (I kid you not) score from Damien.¬† Another story for some other time, back to my blog.

Around the time of the angel sightings, I began experiencing a thinning veil, an eye for another realm so to speak.¬† Synchronicities, premonitions, impossibilities.¬† A knowing that I simply can’t put into words.


All of these things were happening as my relationship with my sister began to spontaneously combust.¬† Reeling from that alone, I was later blindsided by her systematic destruction of my relationship with my niece, Godchild and nephew.¬† And when that wasn’t enough?¬† She took my brother as well.¬† Gut-wrenching melodrama was the theme of that Summer.¬† I relapsed.

I am sitting at my perch, at the end of our couch-a few moments ago.  Did you get that text from Craig (my brother) today?  I think that one of your aunts died.

Stunned, I said:¬† “I only have one aunt.”

My Aunt Irene is now in Heaven, with her beloved husband who passed just months ago.  They say it was her heart, which was shattered by the death of my Uncle Bill, I am certain.

The tears didn’t come at first, which didn’t surprise me-I had only met the woman a handful of times.¬† Same with my cousins, same with Uncle Bill.¬† You see, my dad and his brother were estranged-Bill was a born again Baptist, dad was an alcoholic agnostic.¬† I remember every year at Christmas, Bill would send my dad Baptist Digest.¬† It always stung a bit, when the magazine hit the bottom of the trash can.¬† I didn’t, no, couldn’t understand why my dad didn’t spend more time with his family, even if they lived in upstate New York.

You see, it takes an orphan to see what family truly means.¬† And from where I stand?¬† Family is everything.¬† It is my opinion that we become who raises us, whether we fight it or not-the cycle of abuse is the hardest one to break.¬† I don’t judge my sister, and I have forgiven her-she did not choose her childhood, and I think she bore the weight of the dysfunction.¬† I know that she loves me, and I know that she hates me.¬† I also know that I am not yet strong enough to reach out, but pray each and every day that God provides a way for us to coexist-without it costing my mental and physical health.¬† I learned that lesson with the loss of what is hopefully the¬†last toxic relationship with the worst narcissist I have ever had the displeasure of knowing.

In the name of Jesus I break the Spirit of Jezebel that erodes familial love.  The slithery, dangerous one shall not prosper here.  Drink the blood of Jesus, Jezebel.

My heart reaches out to all of you who know this pain.¬† We are not an exclusive group, the victims of Narcissistic Abuse.¬† The crowd is growing, and we have so many excellent resources to choose from.¬† Below is one of my favorite videos about family relationships. ¬† Angie Atkinson is wonderful, accessible on YouTube and she maintains multiple support groups.¬† The point is:¬† don’t try to do this alone, remember that even when your family hates you there will always be a bond through God and blood.¬† They love you, but in their own way.¬† It’s up to you to decide who you can and cannot live without.¬† God works miracles in our lives, each and every day.¬† Don’t give up hope-not a good place to be.¬† I take things one day at a time, and reflecting on how incredible my life has become since my rebirth?¬† I know that the Alpha and the Omega, who created Heaven and flat earth, ūüôā¬† He has my back, always.

The best we can do is put it in our Abba’s sturdy hands-and know that he answers each and every one of your prayers; in a way that will enrich and embolden you.¬† He will prosper you in all of your ways, just go to Him.¬† He’s within you, beside you, and best of all?¬† For you.


I live out in the country, way out: but that doesn’t mean I have no neighbors. I think Jesus made it perfectly clear, but I am not the one to judge. I have issues, too. Just recently? I was doing a bit of ruminating about my sin, and I came to the horrifying conclusion that all of my friends are “beautiful” people. I am actually a bit surprised at my prejudice, as I assumed that I had a big heart, for all people. I do, however it seems to me it’s a whole lot easier to love attractive people. I am deeply shamed by this, and will work on it ASAP.

About five years ago, I found myself embedded in a screaming match with my neighbor, Jeanne. I stopped walking my dog around our neighborhood after this incident, and I have her to thank. Jeanne and her family had recently moved to our tiny burb, and I never would have known if not for her dog, Cujo; who promptly scared the life force out of my golden retriever. After calling for immediate restraint, I heard this:

“Oh, for crying out loud, it’s just a German Shepherd,” came her response, loud and clear. You don’t know me, or how I get when people get in my face. I am a Gemini, through and through. I am simultaneously the nicest and meanest person you will ever meet-just depends on what you’re dishing out on that particular day.

Years later, I am standing with Jeanne.¬† Who, indeed, proved to be a horse’s ass.¬† But this particular day, back in February, she caught me while hunting sheds, in the field below her farm.¬† We took up talking and I told her I was going through a bout of Lyme.¬† She, in turn, told me to come up to the house, to hear about Essential Oils!!!¬† I must have been gravely ill, because I actually went,¬†thinking that she was trying to help me.¬† What. On. Earth. Was I thinking?

Anyway, the neighbor who lives¬†in between myself and Jeanne, is a 90 year old, Pennsylvania Dutch, busy body extraordinaire.¬† She knows all of the gossip in the neighborhood.¬† We don’t get involved, ever.¬† So, I haven’t been close to Ruth in years, as I knew she wasn’t fond of me.¬† How did I know this?¬† I have it on good authority, it came from the horse’s mouth. Apparently, Ruth said this to my in laws:

“You can say a lot of things about Michele, but she sure does take good care of her animals.”

So, there’s that.¬† And a whole bunch of other stuff I have already flushed down the commode.

Here’s the thang:¬† we cannot wrap ourselves up in others’ perceptions of us.¬† Ninety percent of the time?¬† They are going on gossip, unearned reputations-not the Holy Spirit or the love of Jesus in their hearts.

So, I would like to wrap this up by saying this to anyone and everyone who delights in being in my bizness:

You people are the human version of menstrual cramps.