deceit

I sometimes have a hard time understanding family dynamics, as mine is fully dysfunctional. In October of 1997 I started dating the father of my oldest two children. It soon became the messiest relationship I have ever been thru. Only to get extremely worse. I am a trusting & forgiving person. He fed off of this. I often became plagued that his family would stick up for his actions, would cover for him, would even encourage him.

These people took me in immediately. Nicknamed me “Skippy” (come on, I was 17!!). Treated me like part of the family. I was sooo hungry for a family. I bought into every last word, each fake smile, and every emotional hug. I couldn’t have been more wrong. It took 11 years to figure that out, and even then, only with the help of a new “family”.

It took 11 years to figure out that some families, no matter how severely dysfunctional, will still always be family. No outsiders allowed. That’s ok by me, finally, because I’d rather NOT be included in the dysfunction, since I have so much of it naturally on my own!

I could never figure out why it was so easy for each of them to lie to me. They KNEW the truth; I was not a complete fool. Only partial. Because I wanted so desperately for the life that him & I had to be different from what he was making it. I was a fool for thinking it would be. But I am not a fool for stopping it now.

Over these 11 years, I have grown wiser (I’d like to think, but most likely will look back @ myself and laugh hysterically). It’s a bond that most sisters & brothers, mothers & fathers, sons & daughters have with each other; the ability to accept each member as they are, without judgment. Without hypocrisy.

While I still feel obliged NOT to be a part of that family, I do understand the family love that would allow each member to commit such deceit & dishonesty. Someday, I will look back at them & smile.

Because somewhere there is a true family, one that doesn’t HAVE to allow lying, stealing, cheating & all that comes with those things, as normal behavior.

As acceptable.

Somewhere, there is something better.

simple

“Simple, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder. It is dependent on what an individual can or can’t understand, accept, and/or handle as a part of their life’s story.”
-April Gerard, Whitley County Habitat for Humanity, best friend for more than half my life. Quoted on 8-31-08

This is the response I get when I question life. That some days it is so very difficult to pick my head up & take another mere step; yet other days seem to float by in fairy dreamland. My wistful ponderings, hoping & wishing that each day could be so easy, so ‘simple,’ lead to this discussion. The conversation then turns to being able to take one’s own advice & finally, into “Life’s happiness is followed by life’s misery – hand in hand. Take the bad with the good. But what to do if the bad outweighs the good? And who is in charge of the measuring? HOW do we measure?”

Who has these answers? Why even ask the questions?? Instead, we each swallow the doubt and go on to face another uncertain day. Is it really all that bad? How many times have I thought to myself, “I can NOT live another day like this; there is NO point”. Yet here I am – mostly thanks to some very supportive, very watchful BEST friends. As I sit here, I look back at what I have ‘suffered’ through & now simply wonder what it was at that moment that made it seem like the end.

I am cursed by my own nature. My own strength & my own stupidity combined. It is the balance of the universe, of life. Opposites must come together to make a whole.

On occasion I haphazardly walk thru the library picking up books, flip thru to the mid-section of the book & start reading. If that particular paragraph can hold my attention onto the next paragraph, I’ll check it out & read it at home. Often in one night. Once something catches my attention I have a very difficult time putting it down. Last week I picked up a book titled “Tethered” by Amy MacKinnon. It turned out to be a very grotesque book; a suspense/thriller/mystery revolving around a mortician that graphically detailed death & it’s ‘after components’. I had no idea, when I read a random chapter, that this book detailed what I have been so carelessly struggling with recently. The last line in the book is merely “I chose to breathe.”

Do I? Do I choose to breathe? Am I tethered to life?

Aimlessly.

my bike fed me to a box truck

I took my car home today. I despise having my car when it's a b-e-a-utiful day and I should be cruising on my bike. I guess my bike decided I need to repent for driving my car yesterday; it tried to feed me to a box truck. Specifically what happened was this: I wanted to ride my bike the approx ten miles to my brother's house. Five blocks away from my house, the side walk is tore up. It's a bridge over an old rail road track, right next to a nice lil pub tucked into the hill side. There's a sign at the beginning of the bridge that has a picture of a bicycle & says, "share the road" so I aptly pedal off the sidewalk and down on the road to cross the bridge seeing as how the side walk is tore the fuck up with big chunks of concrete everywhere.

I make it across the bridge and am now set to cruise d...o...w...n the hill. Some of those massive chunks of concrete where strewn alongside the edge of the road where I was attempting to travel. I'm keeping an eye on traffic & on the horrendous chunks of killer concrete when the sewer drain that I'm biking by grabs my front tire. So two seconds into my cruise down the hill, my bike pitches me INTO traffic, which to my fucking fortune is a damn BOX TRUCK.

Let me repeat this: MY BIKE THREW ME ONTO THE ROAD WHERE A BOX TRUCK WAS SET TO RUN ME OVER, sans 1000 pound armor that I would've enjoyed at the moment. I have asphalt stuck under my fingers nails; it was like s-l--o---w motion. The bike pitching me sideways, the box truck brakes screeching, my nails digging into pavement to keep my fat ass from sliding/rolling under a miniature semi.

My efforts prevailed as I was able to stop sliding in time to roll the other direction, narrowly missing the tires of previous mentioned BOX TRUCK. My bike twitches as the truck runs over the rear tire. I grabbed the bike, THREW it to the sidewalk and did this awful hands/knees scuffle in the same direction that I tossed my bike.

Long story short (yeah right!), my right leg is scuffed up, bruised, I have pavement embedded into my thigh, and welts down my calf muscle. My bike suffered a few nicks to the paint, a tear in the seat, and the handle bars were turn about 30 degrees. The rear wheel has a funky wobble to it.

But fuck all that 'cuz I'M STILL IN ONE PIECE! Do you count that?? ONE piece. Not multiple. Not broken. Just bumped and bruised and shaken to hell. Every muscle in my body feels like I just received ten hours of electroshock therapy but at least I can FEEL my body!


The first person I called while sitting alongside the sidewalk willing my heart to stop pounding and fighting back tears just from extreme shock, was Jeremiah. He was immediately angry at the truck driver for not "sharing the road". But hon, he did share the road, he just didn't expect me to be flung into the middle of it. As soon as the conversation got to the point where he was satisfied that I wasn't maimed, he gave a stiff "fine" and then *click* ~ we were back to our old fighting selves.


Knowing me, I'm a firm believer of "if you fall off the horse, get your ass back on" philosophy. I'm stubborn and pigheaded. So when I'm scraped up, five blocks away from home & on my way to my brother's house almost 10 miles away, I get on my bike & continue in the direction of my goal.

My bike chirped at me for several miles. The front tire rubbed because the brake was smooshed against it from "the incident" and the back tire was ever so slightly bent due to the sheer weight of a BOX TRUCK running over it (I could only hope that such would have been my fate if I had been actually run over by the truck).


I am sore as crap and it's only been a few hours. I can only imagine what i'm going to feel like in the morning!!

starting over new

Ok, it's been awhile. traumatic things have been happening. Ehhh, what's new? Every time I sit down to write, the numerous comments roll through my head about "how negative & cranky" I've been. In an attempt to not sound grouchy, I just didn't write. I've come to the conclusion that this is my life. Cranky, grouchy, tired, absolutely insane: it's MINE. So I'm going to write about it, mostly 'cuz it makes me feel better to get my thoughts out.

My oldest two kids have been in KY with their Aunt Candi since June 14th. While I don't see eye to eye with Candi on almost anything anymore, the kids have a great time with her & she takes good care of them.

Thursday morning I get a phone call from the owner of the bar that I was working at, to tell me that I was no longer "needed". It's summer and there are young, hot college girls wanting to make some easy money before going back to school for the fall. Therefore, my nine months of hard work, being the only waitress that stuck it out for the winter, working open to close six days a week, counts for abso-fucking-lutely NADA. I'm discarded for my age and over weight status. N.I.C.E.

My living arrangement with the kid's father was only tolerable because I was gone at night, when he was home, and he was gone during the day, while I was home. Granted, I love this man, against every common sense fiber in my body, I always will. But he has the innate ability to make me want to become the worst of people. The things I contemplate doing to myself when I'm forced to tolerate his almighty-pity-me-because-I-am-trying-so-hard-but-life-is-overwhelmingly-complicated whining and attitude, well, I can't even explain here without having every friend I've ever met come scoop me up and deposit me in the Parkview Behavioral Health Department ASAP.

I've spent Thursday, Friday, & Saturday with this man at work during the day and only home with me for a short time in the evening before I manage to scoot out of the house for a small bit of time lest I pull my hair out in raging fits. Sunday we both slept until noon. He left the house right after he awoke to run some errands and arrived back home a lil after 1:30. We had planned a bike ride together for some fresh air and exercise. Within ten minutes of him arriving home, I was reading to strangle, it didn't matter if it was going to be him or I, one of us had to shut the hell up. I gave in, shut the bedroom door and laid on the bed for 30 minutes. Finally I emerged and sat on the couch while he played video games.

Within an hour he decided it was time to start the petty lil arguments and see just how far he could push me. I tolerated it for as long as possible, rotating between blatantly ignoring him & snapping back comments when I couldn't resist. That last all of two nano seconds before I packed an overnight bag and headed out leaving him with strict instructions to LEAVE ME ALONE.

I haven't driven my car in weeks. Not only does it save me money, I'm trying to get this fat ass into shape by walking & biking everywhere I go. Today it's raining, so I head for the car.

My tags are expired by twenty-something days. I gave Jere $90 last month to get tags on his truck, which he has yet to repay. I realized, as I'm mulling the situation over in my head, that the bureau is closed on Mondays. And, I'll need my insurance card to take along which I casually noticed a CANCELLATION notice for our policy in Jere's papers last week. It was his month to pay, I should've KNOWN better than to rely on him.

:(

As usual, I have to dip into my savings to cover the insurance & tags. If he would've held up his end of our deal I would have my $90 to get my own car plates and I would have insurance!! And he wonders why I'd rather chew my own leg off than sit in a shoe box house for an evening with him.

I haven't put gas in my car since June 4th, the day I drove home from our KY visit. Of course now that it's raining & I want to get across town to my brother's house for the night, my car gas tank registers E.M.P.T.Y.

Inside the gas station where I have to prepay, there are two lines, both with two customers. I randomly choose the line on the right. I was sooooo wrong. As soon as I solidify my decision, the cashier politely says, "I'll be right back" and leaves her post. Great-O. The woman in front of me is scratching lottery tickets in line. Weird.

The first guy in the left lane apparently cannot speak a normal sentence; he is so fricken jolly that he sings everything. And he doesn't shut up. I want to stab him with a spoon. The guy behind him is looking pretty hot. But he's gay. Rats. Finally my cashier comes back - I'm ready to go postal. The lottery ticket shithead in line in front of me ... she is the type that spends her entire paycheck on lottery tickets by buying $50 worth, going directly to the end of the line & scratching tickets as she works her way back up to the cashier to cash in winning tickets for more tickets. She will NOT get out of the way as she's mentally counting how many tickets she's had from each variety and which one's she wants to get next. I feel my breathe getting shallow & it's increasingly harder to control the urge to start screaming all the insane antics that were rolling through my already overwhelmed & emotional head.

I finally get my turn & ask for $20 on pump #3. The clerk cheerfully asks for my Speedy card. I have no card. I've been in this Speedway eleven thousand trillion times & always answer that I have no Speedy card. It is at this exact moment that she feels she needs to offer me a Speedy card ~ like she doesn't see the lasers getting ready to shoot from my eyes or the whisps of smoke that are puffing up from my hair as I attempt to keep from spontanious combustion.

Me: No thanks. (forced smile)

Clerk: But it...

Me (cutting her off): I don't care, I'm in a hurry (wildly flashy my eyes like I might whip out my great kung fu skills and forever maime everyone around me).

I turned and bolted for the door. I wanted to go from laser eyeballs to a sobbing lump of baby watching the gas pump. $20 and I don't even get 5 gallons. LESS THAN FIVE GALLONS!! This is why I ride my bike daily.

I know at my brother's house they are always trying to stuff me with food, but I find it insanely rude to expect a meal when I get there so I stop for a light snack at wonderful world of McD's. As I pull from the order stand to the payment window, my brain starts ticking... the price just didn't seem quite right. I know that the tax rate has risen from the 5% that I remember just a few years back, but I don't know exactly what it's up to now. I get out my handy dandy phone, use the calculator on it, and WHAM-O ~~ a whopping EIGHT percent!! I'm fervently hopping that the McD's employees are just idiots. 8%???? *sobbing*

I have a ghetto-white-trash car. The radio is hard wired to the battery. Lucky me. I turn it on to drown out the chaos that is my current state of mind. I hear Drew Cage talking about Bear on the Square. He mistakenly says, "Wednesdays from 11:30 to 1:00 AM. I'm a dork and yes, I catch these things. In my twisted head I think it would be funny to call in and correct him, just to have a lil fun at someone else's expense. It's harmless. Pathetic? Maybe. But at this moment anything is entertaining to me, so fuck you.

Busy signal. Busy signal. Busy signal. A dozen times, I got a busy signal. My husband can call a dozen times a day to win monsterous prizes off of every radio station known to man when a gorzillion other listeners are calling in. If someone says be the 15th caller, he will be caller #1, #4, #8, #11 & #15. I can't even get through during a non-busy calling time just to make fun of the show host.

Grumpy or not, I'm writing about whatever. Everything possible. If you happen to read something in here that is nameless, but you know it's about you, shut up. At least I didn't call you out on your stupid ass shit by name :)~

Much love to all!

family trees (or flow charts)

Answering questions about my family can be complicated at times. I may introduce someone as my cousin & get "oh, I can see the family resemblance!" Well, you're wrong. There really is no family connection. But that's not any of your business & I don't want to explain it. Not at that moment anyway. My cousin might actually be my brother & sister's cousin, and not technically mine. Personally I'm not a big fan of technicalities.

Families are complicated. Not like how they used to be.

Technically, I am the only off spring from the exact combination of my biological mother & father. But to say that I have no full brothers or sisters, as the politically correct term, is just bull shit. Family is what you make of it. If you go around calling everyone one your half, step, in-law, former, or whatever correct term may be, that's all your going to end up with. A bunch of half, almost, kind-of-sort-of crap.

All of my brothers & sisters have other brothers & sisters that I'm not biologically related to. Some of whom I grew up with as brothers/sisters, and some I have only met in recent years as adults.

The family I grew up with as a child is not the same family that I have now. My mother & adopted father divorced when I was 13 & I have not spoken to the adopted side of the family until this year - almost 15 years later. We'll call this side family A. I met my biological dad & older brother when I was 13, the same year I was emancipated. We'll call this family B. I consider everyone in both family groups to be my family. Well, mostly. I guess I could make a few exceptions :)

Then there's the complication of me being in the middle. Solo. My mom had five children. Two by her first husband. Me (never married my dad). And then two more by her last husband. There are 10 & 11 years between me & my oldest siblings and 5 & 6 years between me & the youngest siblings. That's a whopping 17 years between the two sets. And me in the middle.

The oldest set have younger brothers & sisters through their dad's side of the family. And it's the same with the youngest set. The older set & the younger set don't really communicate much. I do a lot of running back and forth, relaying information about how each "side" is. But really I just want everyone to be one big unit. Is that too much to ask??

Now, my children are going through the same exact issues. They have brothers & sisters everywhere. In several different states. Some older. Some younger. Some in pairs. Some solo. Some that know & some that don't.

I speak from experience: Reproduction should be limited :)~

As I struggle to keep my wits about me with family A, family B, older set & younger set, I can see that it will be the same for my own children as they now have extended, split, complicated family trees.

I hope that it doesn't take them long to figure out that family is family & love is love - regardless of the ties and stigmas that may come along. Enjoy what you have, every sweet moment, and every hard trial. Family is not only what you allow it to be, but also what you encourage it to be.

selfish and insecure

That's me. Selfish. Insecure. Spoiled even. Ok, maybe not so much "spoiled" - but more of a "I've been through too much to really give a shit about anything, so I'm easily pleased" spoiled sorta way.

I want to say fuck it. I want to give up everything. I want to stop hurting. I want to let go. All these "I wants" and yet they're not getting me anywhere. I'm still here. Right here. In the same hell. Only hell doesn't exist. So now what?

Constantly lost.

It doesn't matter what job you have. What city you live in. Who your friends are. Or how many you have. In the end, all you have is yourself. Alone.

But not alone. Because everyone else is exactly the same as you. In moments. In lifetimes. In reality.

Maybe... ok, so not everyone lives in reality, completely. But the big picture is still the same.

The problem is, I hate my life. And I am the only one that can change that. I haven't. Sometimes I think it's because I am just too lazy. Too complacent. Too afraid, maybe? Hold on! ME? AFRAID of change??

I really think I'm just too lazy. Fooled by my own self esteem. Thinking that I'm in control when I'm really just letting go of the wheel. Careening downstream with no direction. Yet not really even moving. Cause here I am. Still HERE.

I'm such an oxymoron. A complete conudrum of idiocracy.

Do I have reasons to be morose & moody? Ehh. I could argue a few points. But the real answer is no. N - O . Everyone deals with the same world. It is what you make of it.

.... Right? .....

Look at what I've let it become.

love and reality

*sigh*

Love. What kind of bullshit is that anyway? Games. Two people never on the same page. Never on the same level. I love you more. No, I love you more. Never ending. Yet always the same. Bullshit. Some magic spell. A feeling. For a moment. No more. Fairy dust.

I'm not special. I may not always be typical, but I'm not really any different. Really. It's a complicated thing to explain.

Guys think that women are so complex. So difficult. What's the big deal? It's really cut and dried, if you just look at it from the right angle. It's not so complicated. Really.

Ok, so my point is this: the temporary emotional lust, or even the strong initial connection between two poeple is not love. "Love" is just a joke. A cruel trick of reality.

So I'm on a rant. I'm sick of being treated as some "treasure" that every random idiot believes he discovered. I didn't fall from the sky. I wasn't hiding in a cave for 28 years. I wasn't locked up in a convent. I've been here. Living a problematic life. All along.

Guys even have the nerve to talk about me while I'm sitting right next to them. With their guy friends. With their family. On the phone. It doesn't matter. Each thinking he's found some "diamond in the rough". "Oh, I met this great girl. She's so AWESOME." I'm never going to meet your friends. Definitely not your family. Nor will I probably ever talk to you again.

And then there's the talking to me like he's going to "save" me. "I know you've had some troubles. I can see it in your eyes. Into your soul." Puh-lease! I can't even contain an eye roll at that line.

And what does this poor idiot really know about me? NADA. Two minutes and you think you know me?? A few months seeing me at work and you've got me figured out? HA! Good luck with that. You're not even worth wasting my breathe to tell you to fuck off. Each one of you.

Here's the reality: I work in a bar. As a waitress. It's my JOB to charm you. To smile pretty. To bat my eyes. To laugh at your RETARDED jokes. To feign interest in whatever monstorous subject you happen to allow your pea-sized-penis-ruled brain to twist out at a moments notice.

So don't try to make flirtatious eye contact when your girl isn't looking. I'll do it, when she's looking. And it won't mean a damn thing. Don't ask for my number. I'll laugh at your face. Then turn and saunter away. Don't try to brush past me; like making contact with any part of my body is suddenly going to make me fall madly for you in one night. I'm so over that. I'll shove your sorry ass out of my way. And I will smile sweetly as I mockingly appologize.

I'm very good at my job. I play a great game.

:)~