Massive turkey-filled update!

As everyone can see, I've yet again done some major revamping of the blog.  I'm still not all that satisfied with the look; the red background with black accents is classy-looking (and as it's a combination of my two favorite colors, it's aesthetically appealing to me, personally), but... I sort of miss the "tight" look of the old black background with the cityscape header.  I really, really dislike the header now, but I don't really have much time to create a new one.  Once I manage to get some more time (yeah, right), I may fuss with it again.

In the meantime, you'll have to take what you get.  :p  At least it looks somewhat festive for the holidays.  I guess that's what I was trying to get at, but I think red and green as a combination blows chunks, myself.

I'm feeling better now that Thanksgiving is over and done with.  I had Greg and my mother over; she actually behaved herself for a rare switch.  My mother likes Greg (well, as much as she can like any man, I suppose); this has proven to be an extremely rare thing.  She's never liked anyone I've dated, and unfortunately that dislike has seeped into my relationships in one form or another.  I'm still convinced that she's angry and bitter over my father's betrayal all those years ago - which isn't my fault, but somehow I and my brother paid the price for that anyway.  But, anyway.... the feast was a success, at least in my view it was; so that can't be a bad thing.  Since Greg has to work a whole lot right now (the curse of the holidays, sigh), I'm spending my weekend just catching up on things; basic chores, putting up decorations (I know, since when did I decorate for the holidays???), listening to music, doing schoolwork, etc.

School is going fine, I guess.  I'm not all that convinced that the instructor teaching the public policy course actually knows anything of what he's doing, though.  But I have to try and get through it, as it's of course a required class.  The film course is as I'd expected, a lot of fun, and I've been seeing some really good black-and-whites as of late.  "Strangers on a Train" was the last one - Hitchcock, of course - man, was that Robert Walker character a creepy one or what?  Left impressions on me that'll last for weeks.

The job front is as always; nerve-plucking, irritating, lazy-assed coworkers that can't get shit right.  In other words, as usual.  But I did apply for a project specialist job with the same agency, and I made the referral list twice - which means two upcoming interviews.  God, I'm nervous.  I haven't had to do one of these in over 4 years, and I've never been good with interviewing; but, shit, I did the drug lab interview at the height of my depression and I managed to get that, so I suppose that I shouldn't worry so much.  In any case, I'm waiting on a call from the selecting officials, so we'll see what happens.  As always, more shall follow.

I'm making (as of now) fluid plans to maybe buy a new car; Greg promised to teach me how to drive and get this bullshit with the MVA sorted out.  I really think they fucked up down there; okay, I'm half-blind, but I know damn well I can see well enough to drive, so I'm going to try yet again and not go through the Medical Advisory Board, not yet.  I hope I won't need to, but we'll see.  I'll probably do this in March or so, if I do it.  Still pondering things.  Despite my woeful financial state, my credit is actually excellent (over 700) - now I just have to keep it this way.

Contemplating cancelling therapy for good.  I find that I need it less and less, and when I do go down there, I find that I just don't have that much to talk about anymore.  I just want to make sure that I don't need it because I'm healthy enough to go on without it, not because Greg's here and seems to be my salvation in everything.  That's exactly what I don't want to happen - Greg is a beautiful addition to my life.  But not "my life"; as I've said before.  Right now, things are going well.  We've celebrated six months together as of yesterday, and while it's not the wild limerance of the early days, it's comfortable and happy and we're establishing routines, getting to know one another well, spending time together.  It's proving to last beyond the initial excitement; and isn't that what everyone wants out of a relationship?

I've had a great deal to be thankful for this past Thanksgiving, and I'm incredibly grateful for all I do have.  I'm not very religious, admittedly, but I do think that blessings have finally come my way.  I'm determined to enjoy them, to not feel guilty for enjoying them, and to make the most of what I have and what I'll continue to receive.

Hey.... I think I've finally grown up.  :)

Anyhow, I've rambled on long enough, so I'll conclude here.  I don't get a lot of chances to write anymore, and even when I do, I find that I have little to really say that's different.  Perhaps I'll start doing the old "memes" again, or find something to expound upon that'll be interesting.  I'm really glad that it's not a bunch of complaining anymore.  I'm glad I'm not that person anymore.

I'm healthy, happy, loved, and fulfilled.  What more can one ask from life?

Ciao for now.  :p

Sinking into the abyss.

I should be doing my biology classwork tonight, but the truth of the matter is that I just don’t feel like dealing with it, or much of anything. It’s been a very rough couple of days for me, where my emotions have been up, down, back, forth, and Christ knows what else. Just another depressive episode, only it’s colored by the fact that I’ve discovered a few unpleasant things about myself – again.

I was abused as a child. This has been pretty much known to me for a while, but:

1. I did not know or realize the extent of the damage, which I have discovered via therapy is MASSIVE;

2. I am suffering from severe emotional abuse more than anything, which shocks me because I wasn’t aware that there was such a thing. Physical, sexual, mental, sure. But emotional abuse? Yet, that’s exactly what I suffer from, and it’s the worst of all of the four;

3. Just like all abusers, I myself have become emotionally abusive toward people that I’ve supposedly loved. This particular fact is the most difficult thing to grasp for me – I’ve turned into my parents, and it’s shocking and hurtful.

Now you know why I will never have children. Because the cycle of abuse would continue. And I would love my children enough to spare them that pain.

My therapist has recommended a book for me called “Born to Win”, which I’ve ordered, along with another book that I discovered on my own called “Healing Your Emotional Self” by Beverly Engel. It’s sort of a workbook, I guess. I read snippets of it on Amazon and immediately started crying, because that woman was describing ME.

I find that I’ve been crying a lot when I recognize my pain in other sources. It’s impossible to listen to either Pink Floyd’s “The Wall”, or “Wish You Were Here”, because they’re talking about me.

From “Us And Them”:

Black and blue
And who knows which is which and who is who.
Up and down.
But in the end it's only round and round.

And that’s how I feel. It’s all the same no matter what happens. I’m hurting and confused and scared. The more I do this therapy, the more afraid I feel. I seriously feel like I’m just too emotionally broken to heal. There is so much anger at so many people that I’ve suppressed, stuffed down, swallowed – how can I get it out? How can I safely get it out without alienating what precious little I have left?

That’s what truly frightens me. It’s the anger. It’s the incredible, all-consuming, furious anger that I feel at my parents, at myself, at my family, the people I know, once knew, might meet later that will inevitably hurt me. Just thinking about it makes my throat hurt because I’m trying to swallow down the tears that just come up, almost automatically.

What am I going to do? What is going to become of me?

Next to this, a biology assignment seems inconsequential.

Learning and how to be a child again.

I was bad and took the day off of work today because of doctor's appointments. It's been a rather lazy kind of day, and I've been resting, recharging my 'batteries' if you will. Had a good therapy session today - although I didn't feel like I got a lot out, it went all right with little drama. Afterwards, I went outside and for some reason... I got the "wild" idea to take my shoes off and walk barefoot through the grass. It was such a nice day outside and I thought... "You know, I haven't done this since I was a little girl... just walked through the grass barefoot like this." It felt weird... but at the same time, good. The grass was wet from the recent rains we had, so it was cold and ticklish on my toes. Couldn't help but giggle a little.

Now, this might seem sad to you all, that I'd devote an entire paragraph to my 'discovery' of walking through a patch of grass barefoot. But it struck me afterwards... that it's a simple pleasure, one that I haven't experienced in a long, long time. I was always too afraid of stepping on a bee or into an anthill or something similar. But I decided, just for once, to put the fear aside and do it. It didn't last long, and it hasn't changed my life any... but the effects are long-lasting. I feel good about myself tonight. I feel like a child again, where the world is open and anything is a possibility. Just even saying that tends to bring tears to my eyes, because I've lived for so long under a black, angry cloud... where I've felt nothing. Now I'm starting to feel everything. It's frightening, to be sure... but somehow exhilarating at the same time.

I did have a bad moment earlier when I hauled out the sewing machine. I am determined to attempt to learn how to sew - it's a hobby that I've always wanted to do and just never had a chance to learn or have anyone teach me. My problem with learning anything new is that if I tend not to pick it up right away, I get very frustrated - and frustration is one of my hot buttons, it leads to anger and sometimes even violence if I get angry enough. But I eventually calmed down... and tried again. I think that I'm at least beginning to learn the basics - and I even managed to practice on a piece of paper. My seams are surprisingly straight. This is an accomplishment.

I guess I'm so afraid of failure. I've been told that I'm a failure all my life, so naturally when I don't do well at something the first time, it just echoes in my head. It's hard to ignore those preprogrammed messages - but Goddamn if I'm not trying.

Ah, well, that's about all for today. I'm just going to enjoy this weekend, probably being as lazy as I want, but hopefully I'll be able to get some things accomplished. We'll see.

Cheers.

The ubiquitous birthday post.

Okay - before anyone starts jumping up and screaming 'happy birthday', please read what I'm about to say here.

My birthday is not today, March 24th. But it does fall between now and April 1st. Why am I being 'mysterious' about it, one might ask... well, I'll tell you why that is. It's because I don't acknowledge my birthday, and I don't want you to, either.

I know, I'm a 'Scrooge' type. An instant curmudgeon. "Why, everyone likes to celebrate their birthday! Think about it, a cake, presents, praise and fame, yadda yadda!"

Uh, no.

I have really good reasons as to why my birthday is not a special occasion, or even a good day, for me. Let's read on, boys and girls, and you'll learn something.

a.) My birthday isn't even my own 'special day'.

As most of you know, I have... we'll say 'a problem' with my brother and the way that I've been treated all of my life, a good deal of it because of him. Well, my brother happens to be born the day before I was - isn't that great?

What this means is that whenever parties or celebrations were held, it was on his birthday. Or that his name came first on the cake or the invitations. I was always "the afterthought" - the one that just 'happened' to be born the next day, so let's tag her along for the ride. It was never about me, not even on the day that I was born.

Yes, goddamnit, I'm bitter.

b.) I don't feel particularly happy to celebrate another year on this stinking planet.

Really, what have I accomplished other than the fact that I've lived another year to consume the world's resources? Seriously? Oh, sure, I'm going back to school and trying to get mentally healthy, those are fine things. But you see, depressed people... especially this depressed person, don't necessarily feel happy to be alive or that they're anything but a drag on other people. That's my particular issue, I know, but it still remains the truth.

So... for those of you that still think it's a good idea to say "Happy birthday!" to me this year... just don't, okay? As far as I'm concerned, I'll be happy for it to quietly pass by unnoticed. For the few of you that do know when it is, you can just say to me, "I'm glad you're here another year" - because that's really all I need to hear, you know? I don't need gifts or fancy dinners or any of that shit - just be happy that I'm alive to see another year and to keep fighting for my mental health and stability. That's the best gift you all could give me - really.

Thanks. :)

On the upswing.

I'm feeling a little better today, oddly. I say 'oddly' because today is Tuesday and I had possibly the worst day at work, volume-wise, that I've ever had in my seven months there. I jokingly say that I think I see every drug addict in D.C. on Tuesdays, but today I think it really happened. :o

Good progress on the medicine front. The absence of the Paxil doesn't seem to be affecting me too much, which is definitely very good news. Before I got on the Wellbutrin, even missing one day's worth caused me to free-fall into an attack! I've definitely felt more energetic, and the weight's dropping like you wouldn't believe. This is about as close as I've felt to 'normal' in over 3 years! However.. I'm not letting my guard down, not yet. It's still way too easy for me to feel badly when I run into certain situations and people, and I'm not counting myself out of the woods, so to speak. But I'm starting to get a better realization of just what types of sitches and people will cause that - basically, who's toxic and who isn't. I need to keep as much toxicity out of my life as possible, and so far I think I'm winning that fight. All well and good.

So much that I think I'm ready to explain what happened last night with the family. Are you ready for this? Basically... my mother told me that my brother got all pissed off when she told him "how well I was doing". Isn't that just wonderful? He's pissed off because I'm doing well in my job, because I'm going back to school for my degree, because I'm thinking about traveling later in the year, because I'm finally starting to get better. He's pissed off. How about that for brotherly love? So naturally when I got mad at that, my mother as per usual makes excuses for him. "He's stuck down in the islands, he can't sell his house because of the economy, your sister-in-law's not doing well health-wise, he's having problems, etc. etc. etc. ad nauseum, blah blah..."

Okay. Before anyone accuses me of being a heartless bitch, I want to explain my position here. Some of you might already know what it is, because I've said, but I'll say it again - and make it nice and clear. Hell, I'll even take it point by point!

Point 1: My brother has a degree from a local culinary school. When I brought this up, the excuse was, "He's too old to do that anymore, it requires a lot of bending and stooping and walking back and forth and lifting things."

Umm... and what the fuck does she think I do at my job, sit at my desk all day and play solitaire? My brother is only 44 years old. Since when did his legs break?

Point 2: My sister-in-law has a terminal illness that prevents her from walking or doing much with her hands. She needs nursing care around the clock, 24/7. That point is justified. I'll give him that one.

Point 3: My brother is currently unable to sell his house due to the economy. Basically the story is that they want to move back to "the mainland" (they live in the Caribbean at present) so that my sister-in-law can get the medical care she needs - right now they have to fly out to an outlying territory so that she can keep her appointments.

First of all... whose bright fucking idea was it to move there in the first place? They knew going in that medical care was pretty much non-existent down there. See, the situation is that they spent so much money fixing this house of theirs that they don't have it anymore - so now times are hard and they're struggling like the rest of us. Fine, I'd say - but he can work. Even if it's from home, selling on eBay or doing something. He does nothing. Not one...fucking... thing.

Now, I'm sure that everyone's about to say, "poor old brother of Carrie's, woe is him". As the guy pushing the Ginsu knives on TV says, though... "Wait! There's more!"

What people don't know is that (at least in my mind, anyway) my brother was "the favorite child". My father left our family when he was 8 and I was 1, and ever since everyone's been trying to "make it up to him" in one way or another. I feel that it's been at my expense. A case in point is that his girlfriend (at the time) moved in with us because her white-trash family neglected her or whatever - I didn't like her and she didn't like me. But I had to give up my bedroom and let her move into it, didn't I. Fine, okay, that could be just a brat speaking... but when this interloper starts beating the shit out of you, digging her fingernails into your scalp, into your arms, into your hands, flinging you against walls... well.

My family claims that they didn't know any of this had happened. Uh, right. I tried to show them, either no one ever believed me, or they just shrugged it off as "sisters fight". Only the bitch wasn't my sister, never was, never will be - ever.

I put up with this shit for almost six years. From the age of nine to almost fifteen. Six years of her beating the shit out of me. Six years of nails in my scalp, of being slammed into the bedroom wall, of screaming at me in the middle of the night. And no one ever did one fucking thing about it.

Why? Because, as my mother put it, "I was scared that your brother would run away from home".

Thanks, Mom. Thanks a lot. (end bitterness here)

And my brother is pissed off because I'm finally making strides toward healing? Well, as far as I'm concerned, fuck him with a rusty chainsaw. He will never fucking know OR understand the hell I've been through, all to make HIS life better. Fuck him, fuck him, fuck him.

Heh. Do you now see why I was upset after that conversation?

Anyway. I'm sorry to ramble on and I know this was one long fucking post tonight, but... this is like a cancer growth. You have to cut it out of you in order to begin healing from it, or to keep it from doing more damage to you than it already has.

Thanks for listening... if you've read this far, heh. I sure have been saying a lot of that recently, huh?

And please.. keep your comments coming. I may not respond to them a lot, but trust me - they're read and appreciated so much, and I take them to heart. I really do.

I may have shit for family... but I sure do have the best friends on the planet. :)

<3

Highly emotional post, you've been warned.

Meh. It seems that as good as I felt a few days ago, that's how much it can turn around in the space of an instant. I've not been well since... I know at least Thursday night, when I had the attack - and perhaps before that. Physically, I'm just fine. Mentally, it's the same old shit.

I've been trying to lose myself in work and in my music, staying away from people because I'm not willing to subject them to my rotten mood - why should they suffer right along with me?

The hell of this is that I can't even put my finger on why I'm like this right now. There's nothing really wrong - I'm starting school in a few weeks, my job performance is going well (though the people I work with get on my nerves, but that's not the source of my discontent), the financial picture isn't great but it's a fuck of a lot better than most peoples' right now... so what the fuck is making me feel this way?

Maybe it's because I've been dwelling a bit too much on the past as of late. I've noticed that the last few entries in here have dealt with some quite painful subjects, and I guess that I'm trying too hard to heal too fast. Maybe it's because I'm finally starting to learn how to let go - of people, places, things, situations. It hurts... God, it hurts so much. I've always been so afraid of change, disruption, things never staying the same.

I've moved all of my life, ever since I was a child. I've never stayed in the same place for more than a few years, and the pattern continues into adulthood. That's always been one of my dreams.. to just stay in one place. Seems that I've been looking and searching for a place to be and belong ever since I was old enough to hold my head up. And I'm so tired. I'm a couple of years shy of 40 years old, and I've never stopped moving, moving, moving. I want stability. I want a place to lie my head and know that I'll never leave it again. I want friends that I can count on, that'll never leave me, that understand me. I want a family, though at this point in my life it won't come from me in the 'natural' sense. I want to be social, yet I hate people. I want to be happy, yet I'm too scared. I want to stop moving and just... be still.

Great, now I'm crying. I cannot believe how damaged I feel. Has my life ever been normal or even approaching normal?

My doctors have told me that blogging my thoughts and feelings would be therapeutic, but right now all I feel is a sense of rawness.

I don't even know my own mind anymore. Maybe I never have.

Sleep will cure my sense of disconnection tonight; at the very least, it'll allow me to blissfully forget again.

Better.

I'm feeling a little better this morning, though I have a headache that's the intensity of a 18 Richter-scale earthquake, which is a common symptom after an 'attack'. I'm grateful that the duration was very short - it does mean that I'm getting better. It's also Friday, which means very little work and not much stress. I'm grateful for that, too.

I was in the shower and going through my usual mind-process (see here for the details, and I got to thinking about friendship. I was ruminating over my last post, how awful I truly sounded, and thinking to myself that I just sounded like a whiny little bitch. Then my thoughts turned to my ex-best friend April, whom I've occasionally talked about before, but never in great detail.

April was my childhood best friend - we met in nursery school when we were 3 years old, and the friendship lasted until we were both 20. What broke that up? As usual, a man - go figure (and that man, Stephen, wasn't even worth it - he was an abusive son-of-a-bitch but that's another story for another time). That was really the final break, though - April had done a lot to hurt me before that. She was instrumental in the torment that I went through in middle school, with all of the bullying and the physical abuse (again, another story for another time, but I'll just say it happened and move on). To me, our friendship ended then, not later.

I used to ask my mother and brother (and later my brother's bitch of an ex-girlfriend that lived with us) to tell April that I wasn't home when she called. "I'm not home, tell her I'm not here!" My mother would say, "No, you tell her that, you're being cruel, you should talk to the girl, what did she ever do to you?" Thing is... I never told her what she did to me, because by that time my mother had proven that I couldn't tell her anything without my either not being believed, or that she didn't have time to hear it - that was a favorite excuse of hers, she never had time to hear it.

Plenty of time for my brother, though.

Anyway, I'm not sure what the point of this originally was - maybe I'm asking for feedback, were my actions cruel? What would you do if it was proven that a "friend" deliberately hurt you? On top of all the other hurt you were getting as well?

Meh. It was just on my mind, that's all. Sometimes the shower is better than therapy any day, heh.

No worries, for those who have asked, though. I'm okay today. And will be closer to fine by 7pm tonight - when I'm done with work for the week.

Lots on my mind, with nowhere to put it.

As usual, I had a bunch of stuff to write about today, but I have no energy to actually do so. Perhaps if I just ramble a bit, it might come to me...

Ah, yes. I do remember thinking today while at work that not all is rosy in the land of D.C. drug testing. Apparently I'm not the only one that's been expressing dislike of my coworkers as of late - just this week, I've heard back-biting and sniping from at least three other people, two of which apparently have a snit with each other. The only difference between them and me, however, is that I keep my sniping to myself (and share it with you all when I get home, hah).

I swear to God, working down there is like working in a daycare center - full of 40 year olds. Fucking sad, I'm telling you.

I'm losing a hellish amount of weight, though. I've lost at least 35 pounds since September, and heading full steam for more. I've not been so light on my feet for quite a while now - it feels really strange sometimes. In some ways I'm really afraid, though.. because I guess I've used my excess weight for a long time as an excuse to keep people away from me, to deflect attention from me. I've never wanted attention, never have craved it, because it's never been a positive thing for me - whether I was "skinny" or not. I wasn't always like this - I have a photograph of me when I was 8 years old, just before the molestation started... and I was not overweight. I was actually quite thin, really. It was only after I was molested... that my troubles began for me. That's how I remember it, anyway.

I was on the phone with my mother this evening, and she said something, I can't remember what, but it was in the vein of reminiscence... and all of a sudden I just started to cry. I don't really know what she said to make it happen, except that it actually sounded like an apology for treating me like she did, and for focusing almost solely on my brother all of these years. But I did. I cried like a baby on that train coming home tonight. I just didn't let her hear it, that's all. Because I know deep down inside that things won't change. She'll still think that my brother is the be-all and end-all of the world.

For once, though.. it was nice to hear that I do matter. Even a little bit.

Heh, for someone that didn't quite know what to talk about tonight, I'm saying plenty, aren't I?

It's all a part of my healing. I'm trying, really hard. Whether it's doing me any good, I don't know... I don't feel any differently. But maybe the people who know me well can see it. I hope they'd tell me if they do.

Just a quick update - it looks like I can transfer 19 credits from my old college to UMUC. That's a lot better than I thought, and I don't have to suffer through English 101 again - thank Christ for that. But I'm still stuck with the fucking math course. Bleargh. More later about that as it develops, heh.

Oh, well. Thursday at the drug unit tomorrow, let the idiocy begin. I hope I can get through it all.

Thanks for listening, if you've gotten this far.

It's another "Senseless Sunday meme"! :p

Actually, I've seen this type of thing floating about Facebook and various blogs as of late, so why not be mainstream for once and get in on the act! Most people have 15, 25, 50 questions. I'm only going to do ten, simply because I'm wordy and verbose, and I don't want to bore you to death, heh.

This silly, pointless questionnaire is brought to you by General Electric. :p

10 Facts You Might Not Have Known About Me (And Quite Honestly May Not Want To)

1.) My heritage is mainly Irish on my paternal side, British and German on my maternal side. I used to be into finding out who I was and all of that, but I've tired of it since - but before I did, I managed to trace some of it back so that there's interesting tidbits about myself. My father's ancestors came from Northwest Ireland - specifically Sligo County (my maiden surname is very uncommon and it's traceable) - the black marshes. Mysteeeerious! My maternal ancestors were traced back to the early 16th century to the Devon area of the U.K., but before that the trail goes cold. Still, it's interesting stuff.

2.) Connected to #1 above, I've discovered that I'm very distantly related on my father's side - by a million intermarriages - to Thomas Jefferson, third President of the U.S. It's not a direct line, I can't and won't claim it, but it's still quite a tree.

3.) I cannot abide any material or clothing that circles my neck, throat or wrists - I have a very specific aversion to it. For some reason, I feel like I'm being choked and I have to rip it off or go crazy. That goes for jewelry, too. Unless a necklace or pendant hangs six inches below my neck, I can't wear it. Wristwatches? Forget that, heh.

4.) I have a very clear and sharp liking for bitter or sour-tasting foods. Sauerkraut is absolutely delicious. Pickles? You bet! I like almost anything pickled - even foods that I normally can't stand like cabbage and beets are instantly better when pickled. And red-beet eggs? Now you're talking about heaven in a jar.

5.) I hated the taste of coffee until I was 30 years old - no lie. When I lived in Atlanta in the late 90s, I used to visit a store called QuikTrip with my then-husband, who would buy their coffee in these huge-assed mugs. He convinced me to give it a try, and I instantly fell in love with it - possibly because it tasted like Southern Butter Pecan - which is probably the most delicious creamer ever. But before that? I wouldn't touch the stuff.

6.) My first cat was a declawed Manx female that went by the the unusual name of Fur Person. She absolutely hated me and I her, heh. Every time I'd walk by her she'd try to bite me, mainly because of the fact that she was declawed and it did something to her tiny little head, heh. It's one of the many reasons that I do not advocate declawing cats. Fur Person was a "rumpy riser" - basically had a tiny little stub on her behind and that was about all. I'm sure it didn't help that I kept trying to grab it when I was a baby, heh. -_-

7.) I used to be a habitual chewer. I'd chew anything I could get my hands on - my own fingernails, paper bits, pencils. I was terrible when it came to paper - I actually used to chew and swallow it as well. It never did anything to me, so I guess that it's not that harmful, but...the pencils are worrisome. All that lead. But then there's mercury in my teeth, too, so if I'm going to die...

8.) I used to have a pretty good collection of Hustler Magazine going when I was in my late teens - I'd say from about 18 to 23 or so. I'm not really sure of why it was Hustler in particular - it wasn't about the pictorials or the articles, because the pictorials weren't all that (I'm bisexual but I don't necessarily like the explicitness of the layouts, and I don't need an obstetricians' perspective of the female anatomy, thanks)... and the articles border(ed) on just plain frightening. I think it was because Hustler epitomized the hedonistic 70s, which I've always had an interest in. I lived during that time but I was very young and didn't really have a chance to partake in said hedonism, heh. It fascinates me.

9.) I wrote an entire book between the ages of 16 and 20, though it wasn't very good. It was about a talking cat that toured the country Jack Kerouac style, like in "On The Road". I never showed it to anyone, and it was destroyed by an ex-boyfriend during an argument before I could "polish it up", so to speak. To this day, I cannot remember much more of the details to re-write it - which is a shame, because I would do just that.

10.) I admit it. French fries with mayonnaise are good, just like the Dutch say. Fuck 'Pulp Fiction'. It's the truth. :D

Contemplation. Hmmm.

I'm currently "cat-sitting" for my mother over at her house. Daisy was my grandmother's cat and really the last link we have to her, so I of course love her to death (my grandmother was very special to me, one of the few family members I have that I can truly say I loved very much), so when my mother said she was going to go down to the Virgin Islands to see my brother, I said I'd be happy to watch her. Anyway, I noticed this morning that the house... is getting rather junky and things are starting to fall apart. The toilet seat in the bathroom literally split in half before she left, so... guess who's attempting bathroom visits without a seat? -_- Ugh.

What I've noticed, though, is the general disrepair of the house. This is not something my mother ever did - she kept that house like a hospital most of our lives, and to see things starting to quietly deteriorate... for me, that's a very bad sign. It means that she's losing strength and energy enough to keep the place the way she used to, and it means that she's starting to get to the point where maybe she won't be able to be so independent for much longer. This is extremely worrisome for me, because in a few years, I might be in the position where I have to live with her again... only now, it'll be as a caretaker and not the other way around.

Now, my mother and I don't get along - as anyone familiar with me and my situation knows well. But I promised myself, after they put my grandmother in a nursing home, that I would never let another of my family members be committed to one of those hellholes. My grandmother suffered from the day she went into that place until the day she died - and that was sadly one of the better regarded nursing homes here. I will never let another family member suffer in that way, ever. So if that means that I have to take care of her until the day she dies... if I have to squander my entire life savings to make sure she stays in her house, or with me... well, I guess that's what I'll have to do, won't it. A nursing home is not an option.

I guess that I'm just starting to face the fact that my mother - and eventually, my brother... and I... won't live forever. We're mortal. We die. Life ends. It's a hard fact to face, and I've always run away from it, I know this. I've refused to talk about my mother dying for the last 5 years, but I'm almost 37 years old now. She's going on 68. It's time to really sit down and start making some decisions and plans on what's going to happen in the next ten years. This isn't something I want to do, believe me. Despite all of the problems we've had over the years, I think about when I was 3 years old and cuddled up in my mother's arms listening to Helen Reddy's "You And Me Against The World" (a song that to this day makes me cry like a baby - I'm tearing up now just thinking about it, it always reminds me of me at 3 and my mother telling me she loves me), and somehow, everything that she's ever done to me to hurt me in my life just melts away. Stupid, maybe. But she's my mother. She's the only parent I've ever had. I can't leave her to rot in some institution - it's not right, no matter what she's done to me.

Augh, I'm crying at work, lol. Not good. They're going to ask me stupid questions now about "am I all right" and "why are you crying" and blah blah. I'm not going to tell them that I'm crying over a distant memory - they wouldn't understand. Most wouldn't, heh.

No big deal, I go back on duty in 20 minutes and if anything will get me to laughing, it's dealing with drug addicts, hahaha. (/sour voice)

Thanks for listening to me ramble, heh. Maybe a flashback later if I'm up to it.

TMI Tuesday - Week #2

What the hell, I'll play along...



1. Who and when was your first crush?
Oh, gawd almighty... do I have to go back this far? Seriously? Okay, it was 1975 and I had a crush (as much of a crush as you can have at 3 years of age) on Matthew Horowitz. He used to lay in the cot next to mine and I'd stare into his eyes, I remember them being the bluest eyes I'd ever seen up to that point.

I know, you people expected something dirty. Shame on all of you. :D

2. Who and when was your first date?
Hmmm... I never really had what could be called a "traditional" style date. You know, the movie and the sock hop and the cheeseburger and fries afterward, ad nauseum. That shit's for white suburban kids, haha. I guess that if we want to be technical about it, I didn't really have a true 'date' date until well into my senior year in high school, and even then it was just a side trip to a neighborhood carnival with a bunch of other people. That's how we do shit in the inner city, heh.

3. Who and when was your first kiss?
Y'know, I'm starting to wonder just who's writing these questions. I mean, it sounds like it's straight out of a bad "Patty Duke Show" episode.

I can't answer this question, as it was a.) so long ago and b.) I've probably forgotten his name by now. This all happened during some very painful years for me and it's best not remembered in any way or fashion, not if I want to stay semi-sane.

4. Who and when was your first partner while "fooling around" in a car?
Hrm. Honestly, it was probably Matt - all the way back when I was 17 and naive. And when I adored him something awful, until he hurt me the first time.

5. Who and when was your first partner while "fooling around" in a house?
The answer to #3 applies to this question as well. Too long ago, can't remember, painful if I try. Thanks for playing.

6. Who and when was your first love?
Heh... Dave Pallister. I was 14 at the time. I actually still talk to Dave on occasion, though he's moved on to other people and opportunities. Just as well, as we've grown apart in several fundamental ways - but hey, what can you expect after 22 years?

Bonus: Whose blog did you first comment on?
I don't remember that, as I comment anonymously on several places - usually to display my massive wit and sarcastic charm. :p

So... that's your Tuesday information for the week. Now, kids, what have we learned today? Has said information enriched your lives?

.... Thought not. :p