detours

I had a lunch date today. Not exactly a "date". Well, not a date by any means other than setting a specific time & place for two people to meet. There was nothing romantic or date quality about it. Just a nice, quick lunch. Trying to mend a friendship. Actually, trying to resume other friendships & this one is the key. So, I'm trying.

I am so chaotic. Thoughts scrambled. Jumping here & there. Randomly.

I'm scared to death. It has nothing to do with lunch & everything to do with life. Lunch was a detour.

sadness

I'm sorry. I've been unable to blog. I just can't get anything out. For awhile I was blogging like a madman, pouring out more than I could fit into two, sometimes even three blogs a day.

Now I'm saddened by life. Bottling up emotions that I can't seem to release. Full of anger & pain.

Thank you to those of you who are hanging in there for me. I know you will be there for me when I fall to pieces.

stop hurting

I am missing out. I found something that made me feel accepted & whole. A level I have always dreamed about but never found. It has been ripped away from me.

I can only sit on the outside & watch, catching scraps. Catching nothing of what is really going on inside.

My heart is aching. I am angry.

It is a quiet meeting place. A place of sharing. Acceptance. One-ness. And I am unacceptable.

ending the madness

One night I had two interesting men come into the bar. They were middle aged. Trailer park. Worn leather jackets. I'll fitting clothes. And drunk. After pitcher #5 they were starting to fight with each other.

Ugh.

I listen for a minute & then open my mouth. 'Cuz that's what I do.

One guy is loud, abnoxious, and going on and on about how he wants to leave his wife of 14 years but he thinks he can't because she has threatened suicide. The friend, amazingly also roomate to this mess, is obviously torn up because he so desperately wants his buddy to be happy, but buddy is a non-listener.

Loud mouth keeps going on and on, first telling me (like I asked for any of his input) the abc's of life. Take responsibility for your own Actions, Behaviors, and Choices.

Interesting.

Ten mins later he is all but crying about how he wants to leave his wife. Because they fight, they are just not compatible. He gloats about having "ten" police officers at his trailer last weekend to take his shot gun away from him. He pulls up his sleave and proudly displays angry red scars running up and down his right arm saying that he asked his wife to leave, threatening his own life if she did not.

I literally rolled my eyes & shook my head.

He left to use the rest room & I took the opportunity to talk to his friend for a few. Firstly, if he really intended to take his own life, cops would not have been there in time. It was all show. A pitiful cry for help. And his friend took it as a blow to their friendship that suicidal would attempt it in front of him.

I know this from personal experience, both sides of the fence. You cannot save everyone. You CANNOT save anyone that doesn't want to save themselves. You will destroy yourself trying to force the change. They have to be willing to take the step, even the smallest step, forward.

I'm sure karma will bite me in the ass for this. In fact, I'm 100% positive. In watching these two men quible, I wonder if this is what my own pitiful life looks like from the outside.

knowing too much

Just fyi: this blog should be properly started off with a long deep sigh that turns into a moan/groan complaint.

So, it's tuesday night. I should be off work but it's the grand opening of the Bourbon Street HideAway and my boss anticipates me having the overfly upstairs in C.Street. I hope she's right. I'm giving up book club this week for it. And it could possibly be a good night there as Jason is back in town. But, duty calls. Well, more specifically, my bank account and bill collectors call. So off I go.

I haven't blogged for a few days. I've hit a wall. Bit off more than I can chew. Played with fire. Whatever the chiche. Here I am. Sinking lower & lower.

My previous blog was about my ever fun relationship with my dad. He stood me up all week. I had to be the bigger person & call him on Sunday to demand an explanation. The agony was getting to me. Needless to say, we came to our boiling points right there on the phone. I was in tears. Pacing the floor with the phone pressed to my ear. Inside my head, I want to shut the phone, walk outside, and just forget he ever existed. I wanted to scream at him. I forced myself to remain calm & in a shaky, unsteady voice that didn't even sound like my own, I told him off. I told him what I was thinking in as much of a rational, non-accusational, non-judgemental as I could muster.

*silence*

He mutters that what I'm saying is untrue. That he always told everyone how proud he was of me & didn't understand how I managed to pull off such a worthy life.

Tells everyone else. NOT ME. What he tells me is how lousy I am. How rotten my choices have been. How I will regret my life when I am his age looking back at my past.

Can you believe he had the nerve to tell me this: "I know that you and Chris (my half brother who pretty much has the same relationship with dad) are nice to my face, but deep down you are calling me a bastard for not ever being there."

I was shocked. Like all I have to do in my life is sit and throw pity parties for what I didn't get. What I may think someone cheated me of. What kind of bullshit is that? Obviously, he doesn't know ME. And I told him exactly that.

So, long story short, he has to deal with his own demons. His own choices. He hasn't forgiven himself and in turn, assumes that I haven't either.

The next morning he shows up unannounced at my house. I clench my teeth but smile, wondering if anything I said actually got through to him. We did the usual: drive to pick up something to eat, sit in vehicle, eat & argue.

But this time it was different. My maturity combines with his new understanding, we argue in a chit-chatting getting-to-know each other way. It's quite nice actually. He's astounded at my astute clarity & directness (which he automatically takes credit for, go dad). Normally I'm rushing to get home (usually I end up leaving him wherever we are & just walk home, or ride home in complete & utter silence so mad that I could scratch the eyes off of a stone sphynx). This time, I wanted to stay & talk. It was revolutionary. Our epiphany. Together.

He wants to know why I made some of the choices I've made. How many times do I have to hear this from someone. "Make me understand why you would do this."

I CAN'T make you understand. If you don't get it, you just never will. We are different people. Just accept it.

Just accept me. As I accept you. For who you are. As you are. No judgements.

Please.

call me chip

So, once upon a time...

You can't go wrong with stories that start out "once upon a time" ~ it's fairy tale magic.

... there was this wild & crazy gal who was misdirected in life. She happened to find this wild & crazy guy, also misdirected. While the two seemed like a misdirected match at first, things soon went awry. What started out as two in this story soon became three (on the way).

Enter: me.

And then there were two.

13 years later, two are reunited with three.

Tradgic tale? Not really. Just my life.

What's the real story here? Today I had a phone conversation with my biological father, whom I speak to roughly once a year because his self righteous, demeaning ways drive me absolutely insane. Did he not notice the 13 years he was absent from my life? Does he not realize that it was because I wanted to find him that we were reunited?

Why do people feel the need to stomp all over someone in an unjustified attempt to right their own wrongs??

My decisions are just that: mine. I don't hold against him the decision making that kept us apart for so many years. Actually, I'm grateful for who I am today.

Open minded. Free. Strong. Accepting of people, mistakes included. In fact, mistakes expected. Who am I to judge. Furthermore, who is he?

Granted, 58 years of mistakes & learning does give him some credibility in this life. Yes, he has seen & done a LOT more than I. But, I'm still free to make my own mistakes. To create my own path. To be responsible for my own actions. I don't ask him for anything. Other than acceptance for who I am.

Tomorrow we are having lunch. He doesn't feel that his lecture is getting through to me over the phone. Ten years ago we "had lunch". It ended up him telling me what a worthless piece of crap I had grown into; that I should give my (yet unborn) baby up for adoption because, inevitably, she would grow up to be just like me.

Rewind ten years.
Me = 18 years old.
"A" student all through high school.
Graduated in the top 10% of my class.
National Honor Society.
Ten years of 4-H.
Multiple state & national awards in uncountable events & competitions.
Competed at State Track meets & Cross Country runs.
Drug free.
Working at a bank.
Living on my own & paying my own bills.
Open minded. Trusting. Accepting. Hard working. ALIVE.

Maybe I just don't get it, but where's the danger in my child being remotely like me? Because I work for what I want? Because I accept my decisions as mine & face life, head on??

He once referred to me as a mushroom that sprung from a pile of shit (referring to my mother) and that he was the sunshine (referring to himself) that pulled me forth from that said pile of shit. Can you only imagine??

Wish me luck. Chip off the old block has lunch with the old block.

**heavy hearted sigh**

candy hearts (and then some)

It's February 2nd. I'm not sure if the ground hog saw his shadow or not. I don't really buy into that gibberish. Yesterday was my youngest son's second birthday. Which I missed. I can't even begin to explain that. In due time.

February = the month of love. Romance. None of which I have in my life. My mom sent me eight boxes of candy hearts. The kind with sayings printed on them, but most of the sayings are faded or not stamped correctly so you don't really know what they say. I tore into a box. Crunch crunch crunch. The other people in the library are not so pleased as I walk around aimlessly crunching every few minutes.

Side note: I'm usually not predispossed to eating sugar. I've had the same bag of sugar in my house for at least the last six months. The only reason that half of it is gone is because Ben brought the boys up over New Years. Which is, by the way, the last that I saw them. Anyway, back to the crunching of candy hearts. These are Necco brand. Are all candy hearts Necco brand? I'm not sure, but these are extraordinarily good. That or I just haven't had any for a really long time. My daily diet consists of fresh fruit & veggies at home, and fried bar food at work. My stomache is not really happy with the fact that I'm on my third box. I'm not entirely sure what the addiction is at the current moment, but I'm going with it.

crunch crunch crunch

I've always been a day dreamer. Off in my own world. Completely & utterly oblivious to the real world. Dreaming of romantic moments. Being swept of my feet by prince charming. That didn't exactly happen. Ever. In my life. My most romantic moments were rolled up like a burrito in front of a wall heater during the middle of winter. Ten years of memories & that's all we have. The first two months rolled up in blankets, laying in each other's arms, talking. It was all down hill from there. And, being me, I rolled with it all the way to the bottom of the damn mountain. And here I stand. Looking upward.

Never in my life have I had a memorable Valentines Day. With bc (barn cat as he is known in the circle of exes) it was a lustful tragdic relationship that never had a chance, as barn cats never settle down. And then, B was just pure comfort. It was an easy relationship. I rode the wave way too long, ruined a life that could've been great.

I have all these fantasies (not the bedroom variety people!) about what will happen this year. A phone call. A txt. Flowers sent to my work. Any sort of pleasant surprise. Of course, in my heart of hearts I know nothing will happen. Just quiet aching. Yet, I know I'm not alone in this aching, this sense of loss on what other people seem to have found, soul mates.

I look down. Are these arms? Why yes. Yes they are. And I wrap them tightly around myself. Blocking out the world.

punching glass

I spent a majority of the morning at the library, where I am again. I groggily woke at 10 am this morning, after getting home from work around 2:30am-ish. The morning didn't go so well from there. A call from my employer wanting to know the intimate details of last night's bar scene drama. She fires one employee and asks me to cover for her tonight. She also adds that she's going to pull the prime section from the other waitress to give to me. I'm not overly thrilled with the idea. I don't want to work tonight, it's my ONE Saturday night off in I don't even know how long.

I really really (really) need the money. But I'm taking a shift from a girl that I partially am to blame for her being fired, and taking a section from another waitress because my boss is making me. Well, she's not holding a gun to my head, but If I don't, then I have issues with her, and she makes the schedule. She's one of those types, if I don't go along, I'm automatically against. I don't like this predicament. Especially since my ultimate solution is to go along with it, for the money. Now I'm driven by greed. I don't like this feeling. But I can't call the electric company and explain to them that morally I just couldn't take the shift & therefore can't pay the electric this month. They just won't get it.

So, to placate my blues, I spent the morning idly reading other blogs at the library. Until my time was up & I walked six blocks to my car & drove 10 blocks home. Why, you ask? Because. I don't want to feel like I'm wasting my life away being inactive. So I park in random parking lots & walk to my desired destination. I've walked from home to library on many occasions, but in 20 degree weather it doesn't work out so well. So I find middle ground and drive/walk to the library.

Upon arriving home, I grab the door knob only to find I have locked myself out. I packed my lil purse this morning, but decided not to carry it due to the walking plan. I picked out the important items upon walking out the door & obviously felt that house keys were unimportant. As I stood at the back door, knowing that I have securely locked each & every window now that I live alone, I am heavy. This is routine for me. Forgetting important things. Why do I always do this to myself?

I traipse to the front door, knowing it too will be firmly locked, but hoping that I boo-booed that as well. To no avail. It's locked. BUT, I find a package left at my front door by the post man that I may not have found for several days under normal circumstances. As it stands, I'm really not sure how long it was there. Since I'm out front I decided to check the mail box. A few random junk mail thingys, and one little yellow envelope marked Dept. Of Corrections. Great. I thought he had gotten the picture, but I was again mistaken.

I stand at the front door, waiting for the easy answer to fall from the blue sky. Which is very clear today, I notice as I gaze up at it longingly wishing for it to drop down and wrap around me. My next decision, which window to break... My windows are actually split into six little squares in what normally would be one large pane. I go to the side of the house that is least noticable & have two windows to choose from. The one beside my bed, and the one beside the stairs to the loft. I settle on choice two. One little pane has a crack which makes me decision that much easier.

Glancing around, I find nothing to break it with. Well, I find nothing because I don't really want to find anything. I want to punch it. I've never punched glass before. Now I have a legitimate reason to & I want to! I feel almost exhilirated by this revolution.

I want to punch the glass. To watch it break around my fist. To watch it fall to the ground in shattered pieces. So I do it! It was not that difficult to do either! I have a tiny little scratch on my right index finger, but I'm not sure if that was from punching the glass or trying to scurry through the window. Either way, I don't care. I did it!

Now I'm standing in the crisp snow, outside of my broken window, which doesn't want to stay up on it's own, pondering how to life my fat ass up into that window without cutting myself to pieces or dragging snow into the house. Ooompf. I make a half hearted jump and squiggle, flapping my legs like I used to when I was trying to scramble upon a horse bareback. Using the steps inside as leverage I pull myself through the window & feel triumphant at my thrilling accomplishment.

I now have a key tied to the shed outside so that I will not have to repeat my fiasco ever again. I also have a window pane to replace before the landlord comes for her spring review in March. :(

Now what. Oh, the package behind the front door. And the little yellow envelope that I don't want to open. The package is jeans that my mother decides doesn't fit her & that I should be able to wear. Nice. Some are white washed with black lace trim. I wouldn't be caught dead dreaming about a pair of jeans such as those. She tries.

The yellow envelope. One page. The I love you's, everything will be different, and the please write me; it drives me insane. I want to scream out loud. Everything that I have ever given him. Everything that I have done for him. Everything that I have given up for him. He has no concept. Ten years. Ten Years!

The letters are still the same. Nothing changed. Word for word. Why did I allow this to go on for so long. I want to scream at myself. To scream at the world. I want to cry. For all the moments I tried so hard. For all the believing, the trusting. Over and over. For lives that I have ruined because of him. Because I let him. Can I ever explain that to anyone? That I want to punch windows. That I want to scream. That I want to cry. That I just want to give up.

Love is a cruel trick.

In letting go, I have become him. Everything that I hate.

In writing this, I am showing you who I am, as I see myself. Cold & black. Darkened.