A day in the life of Crystal Scordias is rather uncomplicated from the outside. She goes to the store daily for her family unit, replenishing the coffers with nommables. She ferries ungrateful wretches to their doctor appointments and tries to feed them in a healthful way.
They constantly sabotage themselves, these ancient ones. They eat all kinds of sugar, refined grains, corn syrup, and sugar-laden cereals. Rarely do they eat fresh fruit, veg, or meat. It’s all from a box and as convenient as possible, despite the fact that they have all day every day to clean and cook.
They no longer want to live is the short and skinny of it. They invite her to fall down into the grave with them. Oh, come on, have a seat and relax all day with us, watching television and movies and so on. It’s okay to take a break!
Sure… it’s okay to take a break. But it’s not okay to be permanently on break. The dishwasher still hasn’t been unloaded and it finished two days ago. The dishes pile up in the sink. Her back can’t really handle it all, so we made a deal with Devil A, “mommy,” and she’s meant to unload the dishwasher while we load it. Instead, we find ourselves doing both tasks and it hurts a substantial amount.
In fact, if you’ve spotted my girls on the move out and about, you might have seen them doing yoga in the middle of the public eye. It might be in her car, outside her car but in the parking lot, inside the library, or in a store. She hurts, yo. It’s bad juju, that. She won’t complain, though. She just keeps moving forward, bumbling from time to time like a dolt, doing the best she can every day.
The challenge of living daily is increased tenfold by the five losers in her head, telepathically sending her messages of disgust, hate, and “love.” That’s right… “Love.” Actions they think are for her best interest but instead are an expression of hate. She likes to say, “I ain’t no dummy!” (fully aware of the double negative issue, might I add… it’s an expression from the ‘hood she grew up in. That’s right… she grew up in the ghetto.)
I challenge you to tell an angry black person what’s wrong with that sentence.
She grew up without having all the greatest toys. Her brothers didn’t, but she did. That’s a story for another day, though.
So what do those losers in her head do to her? I’m so glad you asked! Oh wait, I asked the million dollar question again myself. You lose five points for failing to ask. (Wait… what kind of points?! You know, like Whose Line Is It Anyway? points.)
Those losers continually convince her to eat shit she has no business trying to eat. Sushi. She adores sushi, let me tell you, but right now we’re trying to starve CANCER my friend. CANCER. CANCER. CANCER. SHE’S FUCKING DYING OF CANCER AND THESE RETARDS TELL HER TO EAT SUSHI AND CROISSANT SANDWICHES LIKE THEY AREN’T PART OF THE PROBLEM. CANCER. CANCER. CANCER.
DID I SAY IT ENOUGH? she has cancer.
Technically, it’s a tumor in her bowels. Every bit of dairy and sugar and refined grain and whole grain alike… it all feeds it. And that is how she gains two pounds like clockwork every time she eats a single fucking banana, for instance. But wait! Bananas are healthy! Yeah, if you’re from South America, you shithead.
They feed her so much shit she cannot have. I’m surprised she’s only gained 50 pounds from it. I mean, her tumor did. (Did you name the tumor yet, Crystal? Oh you did… its name is BENJAMIN ANTHONY NICHOLAS Tumor. How quaint. It has three first names? No, just a first name, a middle name, and a last name.)
NO SUGAR. NO SUGAR. NO SUGAR. NO SUGAR. NO SUGAR. NO SUGAR.
NO GRAINS. The only exception is oatmeal. How exciting, amirite?
NO PORK. (Wtf is wrong with you pig farmers, anyway?)
NO ANIMAL FATS. Plant fats in excess, though.
NO DAIRY. NO DAIRY. NO GODDAMN DAIRY!!!!! (butter, milk, cheese, cream, whey) or anything that uses dairy (pastries, donuts, pie crusts, croissants, cream of [X] soup, most creamy soups, ice cream [this girl adores ice cream *sad face*], yogurt, Cheetos, flavored chips, hot dogs, chicken nuggets, fried chicken, creamy tomato sauces, Spaghettios, fish sticks, chicken broth, salad dressings, buttermilk, etc.) She’s working on dairy-free versions of her faves, though. They’re in bold above. Nicholas loves sneaking her dairy. I’m going to shit in his Cheerios one day.
NO NIGHTSHADES [tomato, paprika (regular or smoked), potato, eggplant].
NONE OF THESE SPICES: cumin, coriander/cilantro, anise, bay leaf, ALL PEPPERS, paprika, arrowroot, ALL COMBO SEASONINGS, marjoram, tapioca derivatives, cinnamon, celery seed & celery, mint, peppermint, cocoa/cacao, fennel, wood/smoky flavored seasonings, horseradish, juniper berries, lavender, rum flavoring, saffron, soy sauce, curry, chai blends, TURMERIC, TURMERIC, TURMERIC IS POISON, COCONUT IS POISON, WHITE PEPPER.
NO Brazil nuts, coconut, macadamia, or pistachio. If it’s not indigenous to N. America, she ain’t eating it.
NO CITRUS. Oranges, Limes, Lemons, Grapefruit, Clementine, Blood Orange, Buddha’s Hand, Citron, Haruka, Kawachi, Kumquat, Pomelo, Pompia, Sudachi, Tangelo, Tangerine, Yukou. Additionally, no more pineapple or bananas or plantains.
NO FUNGI ever again, thanks. NONE. ABSOLUTELY ZERO.
NO FISH. (Crustaceans and shell fish are yummy, though.)
NO TEA for my poor baby, either. She’ll have to settle for top shelf coffee for eternity. [Boo… hoo… wait, I keep coffee? REJOICE!]
NO carrots, celery, potato, tomato, eggplant, [we got too bored to finish this.]
Holy hell, Batman! What can she eat? Not much at all. And neither can you, honestly. Got pudge in your midsection? You’re eating shit your body don’t like. Got IBS? FIGURE OUT WHAT’S POISONING YOU. IBS = YOU EAT POISON.
Essentially, she has to make her fucking food herself because the shit in the grocery store is full of POISON. Hot dogs? Poison. Jimmy Dean breakfast sandwiches? POISON. Even if it’s the low fat kind. Mac & cheese? POISON. Have you read the ingredients label lately? Mac & cheese is meant to be simply noodles, milk, and shredded cheese. Is that what’s on that label? Not even close.
But, you know. Keep up with what’s easy and fast and thoughtless and brainless. I’ll see you on the other side of death. And when you lament over how you died and left your life unfinished, I won’t care. I already told you so.
You already know, if you’ve read anything about nutrition, that you should be eating fresh whole foods. Plenty of vegetables – at least six cups a day, if you ask us. Plenty of meat or equivalent protein – at least a pound and a half a day, if you ask us. Plenty of plant FAT – at least half a cup a day, if you ask us.
Over 2,000 spirits float around my little child, Crystal. Two thousand human beings who want to use her to speak to the people they left behind, to reassure them of all the things they were supposed to reassure them of while alive, all the while engaging in risky behaviors that led to their untimely demise. Worthless maggots, that’s what they are.
As if her time isn’t precious. As if nobody else can learn to commune with the spirits, to perceive the afterlife, to see the souls all around them. You can. If you have someone who died too soon that you wish to hear more from, then learn. It’s that simple.
We were driving to the store this evening, watching fireworks as we did. They sure are pretty, lights in the sky. We don’t condone fireworks… it’s a waste of resources. They should only appear on film, so they can be watched over and over again, rather than for one-time celebration events. How much money does a city spend to put up a fireworks display? Too much, that’s the answer.
On our way to Wegmans, we took the back roads in Suburbia. I warned her to watch out for critters crossing the road. The further we get into Suburbia, the more frequently they appear. In fact, just yesterday, we avoided a bunny rabbit. (Did you know if you stare at an animal, they will notice that you noticed them?) The rabbit turned tail and ran back from the road as soon as it became aware of Crystal gazing at it steadily.
(Well, in reality, she squealed, “BUNNY! BUNNY! BUNNY!” As if on cue, the bunny looked right at her, then hopped back into the brush of the yard it had emerged from.)
Someone hit a fucking opossum. All they had to do was pay attention to the road to miss it, too. We cried so much. That poor momma opossum has left behind some babes that will likely starve to death. [To the man too possessed by his iPhone X who hit the fucking animal: YOU WILL BURN IN HELL.]
Now we have a new opossum to ass to the six million animal spirits that crowd around my girl. They clamor over each other for her attention, for her healing, for her presence. I’m going to have to teach her how to show them across to the proper afterlife. I imagine the two thousand some scumbags around her that are human will figure it out and start moving across.
Not all spirits have failed to cross over to the other side, but these ones have because she’s a beacon of healing. A mile-wide beacon of healing. Maybe more when she’s not dying of CANCER.
This morning, we’re going to visit Sha’naroth. A venerable and ancient creature that swims in the “briny deep.” This creature is millennia old, actually. She loves Crystal and meeting her at the sea shore. She has no idea she’s dead yet, so she continues to move about as if she were alive. We have to be careful, though, because she disturbs the wildlife every time she comes around to see Crystal.
In fact, the first time I pointed out Sha’naroth was visiting her, about fifty sea gulls went out over the water where the creature’s spirit was, acting quite oddly in general. They mostly flew around in circles, never landing or diving at all, for about half an hour. They were still doing it when she left because it was cold as balls that day down by the water and she didn’t bring a coat.
To the boy that watches her feed the birds: You’re cute. Keep up the good work.
As an autistic woman, Crystal abhors fireworks due to the unexpected loud noises. For anyone with P.T.S.D. from war, they are bound to remind them of war time… so I wonder if that’s the real purpose for having patriotic holidays full of fireworks? To constantly remind people of having to fight for their lives?