So, I called my sister to see how she was handling the news about Mama. I call my sister when my subconscious is feeling masochistic. This is something I am working on; I'm going from rarely making contact to a polite smile during family gatherings only. It really sucks to have a sister you know does not really give a damn about you, and if it would benefit her in any way at all, she'd drive a 12 inch dagger strategically between your shoulder blades.
Do not take this as a would-be crisis cycle currently stuck on anger. No, that really is an accurate description of my sister. She expressed some initial serious concern, but she is a nursing student so research and professionals at her fingertips are helping her cope. Her only concern for me was the little bit of information she could get to twist and judge and make herself feel a little better than me.
I am "nice" for my mom's sake, otherwise I wouldn't bother at all.
I use to feel really bad for having the family that I do. My mother, stepfather, and grandfather are all I count, and they are very dear to me. But I don't feel bad about the rest anymore, because I wouldn't trade the family I have made for either of my sisters, or any of my cousins, aunts, uncles, or my father to be better for me. My little people are a given in that family I have made.
There is D, who lives almost 300 miles from me, but we remain as close in heart as ever. We have so many wild stories, so many heartbreaking moments, so many times we laughed so hard we cried, so many times we have sat for hours having entire conversations with little or no words at all. We have fought battles for each other and next to each other. And our friendship withstood the ultimate tests.
There is Ravyn. Like D, Ravyn is genuinely happy for me, or genuinely sad for me, depending on the time. She accepts my quirks and even my neurosis, and somehow, in some way that never fails to amaze me, she just understands things. She understands me, and for someone like me, that is really all there is. That is my deepest need. I spend more time with her than anyone else close to me outside my little people. She really has no idea how much she means to me.
There is B. I have never been loved by anyone as I have been loved by B. When I found out about my mom, there was nothing I could do. We are still in a waiting period, and she also lives 300 miles away. Circumstances right now have me cemented to the ground at home. So there was nothing anyone could do for me. But B heard me crying. And that's all it took. He dropped what he was doing 363 miles away and came home to hold me through the night. He ever so lightly rubbed my ears (he's fascinated with my small ears) and neck and back until I fell asleep. But that's just B. There is a phrase people throw around about others having "a heart of gold." B has one. The irony is that he is clueless as to why I am so much in love with him it is ridiculous. In our early days, B joked, "You are so going to fall in love with me." And that is most often what I say, "I love him because he told me to." But I love him because he is so good to me it tears at my heart. Isn't that strange? Then there are all those other great things, such as he makes me laugh, he makes me feel strong, he makes me feel beautiful, and he makes me feel as if I really can do whatever I set out to do. He is so supportive, and I have never had that. B is genuine in a world of counterfeit. What we have is so precious to me that sometimes it is overwhelming. And he doesn't even know the half of it. But he certainly returns it.
There are my regular commenters. Most of you, I don't know and probably will never meet outside this little box. But you mean a lot to me. More than I can say. But I get the feeling that, even those of you who feel a little silly about it, understand.
I have many "Hi-and-bye" friends; those associates, we often call them. They are good for small talk, jokes, and just existence. I appreciate them too, but I am a very discreet person outside this box, so none of them know much more about me than they have to. Don't get wrong, while I do meet a great number of people I just cannot like, I am not antisocial. I just keep most people at arms length because I like people better from a distance. It's also much more interesting to pass yourself in the rumor mill when you have given very little personal information for the people to go on. In school, I have heard I am a "genius" and a "brainiac" because my professors thought it cool to publicly celebrate my grades. I am neither; I just actually read the textbooks and pay attention. I have heard I am a "pothead" because I voiced my support for legalizing marijuana, which I don't smoke at all. I have heard I am an "Atheist" because I said "sermons belong in churches."
Whatever. I am just me. And I cherish the people who accept me as just me more than they will ever know.
3.31.2005
I Just Need to Write
Label Me:
Me Things
0
Spoke On It
Yep. I Am Awake.
I thank everyone for their comments and well wishes left on my previous post. You were all perfect, and since you are probably more than six years old you know that sometimes people say the damnedest things when they just don't know what to say, or worse -- otherwise.
I guess that probably didn't sound appropriate, but I think most of you will understand. And if you don't, then just understand I am in a very strange state of mind (even for me).
B made an unscheduled trip home to be with me, and I was so content and comfortable sleeping in his magic arms until something spooked my son. I promised him I would stay awake until he fell back to sleep. If he isn't asleep yet, he very soon will be, but now I am up.
And of course, I am thinking about my mom.
I feel very guilty because I am not thinking things like, "She'll be okay," or "Things will go fine." I know all about positive thoughts and their importance. After the initial phone call, I have shown concern for how she is feeling but mostly carried on with her our usual conversations about everything and the greatest of nothings. But inside, I am freaking the fuck out. I'm really scared.
Label Me:
Me Things
0
Spoke On It
3.29.2005
Roller Coaster Derailed
I don't recall what day it was when they found the lump in my mother's breast, but she had her biopsy last week and she was to get the results today. Two nights ago, I dreamed she called me to tell me she had breast cancer. In waking hours, I was on medication and obviously worried about her anyway, so I chalked that up to a bad dream.
This morning went very well. Last year, when my apartment burned down, B replaced most of what could be replaced of what my little people and I lost. I did not know it at the time, but he used money he had saved up for some badly needed dental work. Since then, he pretended it didn't bother him, but I know he has been in pain off and on. I finally got all my tax stuff together and filed today. The great news is that I will get enough back to take care of a few things I need to take care of, AND to cover his entire dental procedure. I was so, so happy because his trip to the dentist was going to be the priority for my tax check; my birthday gift for him -- if it would be enough.
Afterward, I called my mother to find out about her results. When I couldn't get in touch with her, that dream played over and over and over again in my head like a VHS movie permanently stuck on the "repeat" option.
Finally, she called. "I want you to promise me you will stay calm until I tell you everything."
"Okay," I said as I immediately dropped to my knees and quietly fucking lost it.
Yes, my mother has breast cancer. She and her doctor are optimistic because they think they caught it before it spread, but she will be going back soon to find out for sure. Likely she will go through radiation treatment 5 days a week for 6 weeks, but if that doesn't work it is on to chemotherapy.
I told her I knew she did not need me falling apart on her, that I would try to be strong for her.
Be strong for her.
What I wanted was to be on her lap -- even as a grown woman I have been there -- with her arms around me, rocking me and telling me everything will be okay, or saying nothing at all but just letting me cry it out as she has done every single time I was scared or hurt and within her reach.
"Everything will be okay." That's what she said to me today.
But that is my Mama. We could be standing in the path of a tornado and she would stand there like an immovable force, but be no more than a mother refusing to show her own babies weakness, refusing to scare them or teach them to react with fear or run and hide. More than that, refusing to let something like a spineless tornado hurt her babies.
Grace and courage. Strength. That is Mama; a beautiful soul.
I think I might have bruised some ribs, I have cried. I have raged inside, and probably unfairly toward medical science, over the billions and billions of dollars gone into cancer research so now we know HOW TO CREATE IT!!!!!**
As per usual, I am unapologetically angry, sad, scared, confused, numb, and some other things I just cannot find the words for. I just don't know what to write. I don't even know what to feel.
Label Me:
Fuct Up,
Me Things,
Think About It
0
Spoke On It
3.27.2005
3.20.2005
My Secret
I'm ready to tell. . . Come close so I may whisper:
"I see stupid people. They're everywhere. They don't know they're stupid."
Apparently, this is caused by something like a virus which cuts across social, economic, racial, and all other lines, including special.
Label Me:
El-Oh-El,
My 4-Legged Ones
0
Spoke On It
3.19.2005
One night, a 9 year old girl disappears right out of her own bedroom. Nearly a month later, a registered sex offender confesses and the body of somebody's baby is found in the woods. This is exactly why I support the death penalty and believe the process is far more complicated than it needs to be, particularly in cases where there is no question of guilt. But then, I live in a society which affords more rights to sick bastards than the children they prey upon.
Label Me:
Fuct Up
0
Spoke On It
3.17.2005
Just A Blogger Blogging
I got a movie I knew would in no way be appropriate for the little people to watch, so I waited for a night when I wouldn't be too tired to watch it after they fell asleep. That came tonight. The dryer still had about 12 minutes on it when the rest of the house fell silent, so I turned on my computer. I would wait out the 12 minutes so I wouldn't have to get up again once the movie started. I hate to do that; interrupt a movie. When the dryer stopped, I grabbed the clothes and tossed them on the couch. I would start another load of laundry before I folded the previous because any time I save myself 5 or 10 minutes, I become my very own hero. Another load started; towels I could throw in the dryer after the movie, and towels don't have to be folded immediately, so they could sit in the dryer until I returned from the outer world accomplishments of the next day. I decided I would fold and then put away the load on the couch, so I wouldn't have to move at all during my movie. As I folded, I thought about my childhood dreams. I am still working on some, while others have been checked "been there, did it." I never imagined it like this though.
One of the things I thought I would find among the best of adulthood was coming and going as I pleased. There would be no one to set a curfew, no one to explain it to when I just didn't feel like coming home at a certain time.
I have never lived that way. Well, actually I did, but I wasn't old enough to drive or roam without the threat of police and much bigger, scarier people. I started wondering if I regret it -- not experiencing freedom. I am a natural wonderer. There was a time when my little people would visit their dad every other weekend, and I would find myself wherever I ended up, usually in some strange city or small town observing its character or wandering into unique stores and places. Still, my little people were always on the back of my mind if not the forefront, and still, I would eventually have to go home. I was definitely cut out to be the kind who could make a home, even if temporarily, anywhere, and I am definitely the kind to stay or leave on a whim.
But regret. . . After I put away the laundry, I went into my bedroom and put on a pair of pajama pants and one of B's T-shirts. I had been having a missing-B-bad kind of day; some are easier than others. I got everything ready for me to watch my movie and go to bed after, and then, instead of sitting in the chair to watch the movie, I sat in the chair in front of my computer. I started writing. I don't regret. I have somewhere I belong, somewhere with some people. While I still need a change of scenery now and then, I am not looking for something unnamable anymore, not that I ever realized I was. Not until now, now that I have found it.
Label Me:
Me Things,
My 2- Legged Ones
0
Spoke On It
3.15.2005
Random Things
I turn down alcohol when it is offered to me, and people often say "Oh, I'm sorry," or something else just as obvious of their assumption that I am a recovering alcoholic. Um, no.
Just because I am all for the legalization of marijuana, people assume I am a pothead, or at the very least, that I do partake in a little nature-lovin' smoke from time to time. Nope. Not at all.
If I wrote that I am sitting here with a middle finger up and sing-songing "Neener neener neener," there is one woman out there that would laugh hard because she would be the one who would know exactly why I would do it. Well, damn.
I have a pond, a stream, and a creek that connect along nearly the full length of two sides of my yard. That open water, fed by a natural spring, brings all sorts of creatures into view. Including snakes.
Snakes don't freak me out though, unless they are poisonous or sneak up on me.
Label Me:
Me Things
0
Spoke On It
3.12.2005
Excuse Me. . . What Life Is This, Again?
My little people are actually quite normal in that they can look at me and say, "Wow, Mom, you look like you are about to fall over and die! . . Could you bring us snacks before you go?"
Little heathen creatures.
Oh, yes. I was trying to study for my final Thursday and felt unusually tired, so I took a nap. I woke up feeling like I had been hit by a six-hundred pound virus. And I had. While my classmates were taking said exam, I was at home in my bathroom on my knees understanding quite clearly that my body was trying to turn itself inside out through my mouth. Now that is an interesting experience, especially since it leads to others which leave you with no dignity whatsoever. There was no pride to be had or with which to resist when B made me some soup and spoon-fed me. I could hear all the little bastard particles which made up the broth screaming as they disappeared into my mouth, "Go ahead and eat us, you bitch! We'll be back!" And they were. But I promptly flushed them into the sewer. Die.
I am only up now because I am tired of being too sick to move. Between the fever and the meds, I am feeling just loopy enough to convince myself that I am in a well enough state of mind to construct an entry that will not leave my forehead smacked into the palm of my hand come the time it all wears off. Doh! I actually do know better. But, . . Whatever.
Label Me:
Me Things,
My 2- Legged Ones
0
Spoke On It
3.09.2005
Fuck Off
Heh.
I am up because I heard Bug moaning in her sleep. FEVER! Offline, it is all about them - those three little people. Right here, it is like this: Final Exam Friday, and I have yet to make it to school this week for the drive-by flu around here. Mother Fucker. You all get that phrase now?
One more person tells me, "Everything happens for a reason," (like there's some plan NONE of us are being let in on) I am going to punch them in the eye and say, "And there's your gawddamn blueprint."
Bastards.
Label Me:
Me Things
0
Spoke On It
3.07.2005
How to Tell
Some sure signs that you are broke. Financially, that is.
You have never once read your manual, but you know exactly how far you can travel from the time your gas light comes on until you actually run out.
Everything comes down to cost. Example? Sure thing. Even a trip to a free event has you calculating how much gas you will use to get there and back, and what bill you could possibly put off to cover the inevitable shortage it will cause before your next paycheck.
You know, to the minute, how long it takes for deposits and checks to clear the bank, and you have taken advantage of that knowledge more than once.
A late fee of any kind throws you into a recovery period.
You have called the electric company to tell them that your bill is, in fact, extortion.
You would whoop a would-be-thief's ass for that dollar in your purse. And then, as he/she sits tied up awaiting the arrival of the police, you would suffer them through a speech about how hard you work every day for every gawd damn dollar you have. Then you might take his/her wallet and run like hell.
You have swallowed your pride more times than you will ever admit.
You have reused everything you can possibly reuse more times than was likely possible, and then reused it all again.
Every time you think of a way to save a few extra dollars, you grow an inch taller and guard it like a state secret for fear "the man" will come along and take it from you.
You know dish soap cleans floors and bathrooms better than anything.
You have figured out that every cleaner works at half the amount the container suggests to use.
You notice when the person in front of you in line at the store has paid out more money than they had to. ("Could've got that cheaper next door.") You feel smarter.
You threaten to, or actually do, ration the toilet paper.
You entertain yourself with the clever, and perfectly legal ways to abuse anyone who wants money from you - particularly door-to-door salespeople.
You see more clearly all the skillful ways this consumer based society has found to jack your wallet. And you hate them.
The only thing that stops you from sitting on top of a fancy restaurant throwing rocks at wealthy people is you know you cannot afford the gas to get there.
Label Me:
El-Oh-El
2
Spoke On It
Justice.
