Dear Roger, Insomnia is a sadistic master but he makes me get shit done

So, I am still not sleeping and its beginning to make me a little on the weirder side,(as if that was possible!) I have probably slept a grand total of less than 15 hours in the last 7 days and I am beginning to feel like I am walking around in just a bit of a fog, and I am reaching the point of being so tired that I CANT sleep anymore, but on the bright side, I am getting a buttload,(yes, that is popular slang now) of work done around the house and if it would EVER stop snowing up here in Flagstaff or if the fucking wind would ever stop, I would probably have the worlds cleanest property. As it is, we had over 70 mile and hour wind gusts this last week and I spent a large part of the week trapped in the house trying not to want to rip my face off and pull my brain out due to my migraines. The constant switches in the barometric pressure and the sun playing hide and seek behind the clouds is brutal on me and its really like God has a sick sense of humor trapping me here in freaking ARIZONA for the last 13 years in a place where I never know if I can wear my sunglasses or not, and its either too dark for me to see properly or all the sudden I get blasted and my eyes are killing me, having light blue eyes and photofobia and living in Arizona is a true marker for insanity if you ask me and I am pretty sure my neighbors are starting to believe I am at least part vampire due to the hats, glasses, heavy curtains, dark tinted windows and such, if I didnt come out and grace them with the occasional wife-beater and flash them my milky white belly from time to time, they would probably be building bon fires and sharpening stakes.The kids luckily got enough of their fathers influence that their eyes are fine, but damn the Scot/Irish blood bred true and the poor monkeys blister at the mere thought of the sunshine at 7500 ft in elevation, so the few times we have been able to venture out, it has felt like prepping for an expedition across the Serengheti, why couldnt the native blood have shown true a little better in this crew like they did in my sisters? Her kids are soo damn dark that they get eyeballed by La Migra and if it wasnt for the green eyes, im willing to bet her hubby would get harassed more often.LOL! Maybe thats what I get for choosing a damn ginger for the kids father, but the women in this family did have a weakeness for those bandy legged little Britains.He has been around when its conveniant for him, but still not as much as the kids would like and still no job, but I figure hes just sticking true to form, after all, hes over 52 years old, why the hell should he change now? He seems to enjoy trying to make me feel like I have to act my 41 years and I finally told him that I may be 41, but I REFUSE to act like a geriatric and if I need to chase a 25 year old college boy to keep me young,I will do it, and if I need to play soccer and go to metal concerts and return to a campus based program for my Masters to keep my young, I will do it, and I REFUSE to let him age me! There is a reason he is my EX, he has a geezer soul and my kids love a young mom that plays with them.
I have actually written one whole chapter! Holy hell, can you believe it? I am freeing the beast that is my novel and when I work on it, I feel a rush and the words have started pouring out of me so I am hoping that I may finally have a submitable work in a year, and the other 4 I am working on are in different stages and I make the typical tempermental artist mistake of going back and flogging them into submission and re-working them when I am in the wrong mood, but "Half-life" is singing to me and its always in my mind and my antagonist has finally appeared to me after all these years, and I am hoping that now that I know what he looks like, he will continue to drive me but what is weird is where I had always thought he would be tall and straight haired, he is short and curly haired and he resembles an actor that I hadnt really heard of up until a few months ago, but when I saw his picture I KNEW and it was like a fire had been lit, so when I need inspiration, I just pop in a movie and observe him for a few and in no time I am off and running again! I guess if my book sells I should probably cut the fellow a check! Music is also helping quite a bit as well, and I am listening to a wide variety of styles and artists, and depending on who is around volume levels.I have been listening to Rammestein in the evenings after the kids have gone to bed and sometimes even archaic French love songs,Opera, Mozarts Requiem Lacrimosa, some Billie Holliday, and loads of new stuff, but when the kids are around we listen to 100 Monkeys pretty much the entire ride to school, and the entire ride home.Its like a non-negotiable thing with them and if I deviate from it, they are bummed and I am sure I get judged by other parets for it, but I figure they are too young to understand what the hell the lyrics are about, the songs SOUND innoucous and fun and are easy to follow and they LOVE them, and to tell the truth, I do to, and its better than a lot of the other stuff out there, so I only pretend to complain for a little bit and then I am singing right along with them, and its really kinda sad just how many of the songs I know by heart and focusing on the singing helps keep me focused on my driving and awake even at my most weary and its pretty much impossible to be grouchy when listening to most of their stuff.
My program will start back up at school in August, and I am planning on going to school full-time, working on campus and letting the ex rent the house back from me and have physical custody of the three younger kids during the week so I can write.I am also going to apply for a study abroad program and I am going to see if I can finally get my butt overseas like I have always dreamed of doing. It just feels so wrong that I never got to follow my dream and travel Europe and do a semester abroad, and I especially want to go to England and spend some time visiting the places that Grandpa served at during WW2, and I need to go to the British Isles and wander about because I just feel pulled for some reason and I think that I might be able to get more of my writing done if I can get there, and as pale as most of my Mick friends are, I know the sun would have to be easier on my migraines!

Dear Roger, Masochist? Me? No, I just like pain for the hell of it.

Sorry its been a while since I have written, I had to take a week or two spend some time wallowing in self-pity, allowing my fingers to heal after a marathon episode of nail biting left them chewed bloody and sore and I finally jumped into the abyss and started smoking again after I turned 21 for the 20th time. I realize that my ex is having a negative influence on me, and we did have a rather heated discussion when he accused me of having a masochistic martyr complex and that I was committing passive suicide by not eating properly and getting my damn biopsy done. I DO eat enough,and just because I am the same weight I was in high school, does not mean I am anorexic, I am just careful about my weight and health and truely there is not much I can eat that does not make me ill, so its just a catch 22. As for the biopsy, its not something that I relish getting done, though I fully intend to address it this summer, once the children are out of school and I am not having to shoulder all the weight of the house and family.
My ex is still not working and I am still the only support of myself and the kids, and still to the great extent, HIM. GOD!! Rog, I want to fucking run so far away from here that I fell like I want to jump out of my skin. I loathe every single day of my life and I hate it. My kids and I bicker and fight like caged rats, and somedays I just long to lock myself in my room and allow them to live like feral dogs, and often there are days I could just scream in frustration. I listen to a song called,"My Body IS A CAGE" and I FEEL EVERY WORD OF IT. The hightlights of my days are the 20-30 minutes when I get to be around the few friends that I have made at the school, but I feel the sharp disconnect as they leave to go do things like martial arts and sports with their kids like normal people and I just return to the misery that is my house, because we have neither the funds nor the resources to do those things.
I went to the college today and I am reapplying to go back and finish my Masters there as an English major with an emphasis on Creative Writing or Literature.I am going to go with a site based program, just so I have a fucking excuse to get out of the damn house every day, and I am going to try and get a job as a Graduate Teaching Assistant. I WANT THE FUCK OUT, I want to run, I am even considering applying for housing so that I can have a second residence and I will allow my ex to rent the house so I can have time to concentrate on my school and my oldest son can have some peace as well. I also want to apply for a semester abroad, if there is some way I can bring my oldest son.
Pain has been bubbling to the surface for some time now, and the PTSD counselor I have been seeing is somewhat of an expert at dredging up things that hurt the most and making me say things out loud that I have swallowed down and held back for years. I would have never expected a counselor to say,"What a bunch of cop out bull-shit!" but she did, when I told here I had been warned not to fall in love and give my heart in the way that I did. She actually got angry, and it was not what I expected and we have spent a bit of time working through all the anguish that I have carried, all the feelings of self-doubt that have haunted me and kept me reticent through every attempt at any relationship and that ultimately destroyed my faith in myself to have any kind of love for anyone. I am numb inside of any feeling other than pain and rage and I am not sure where to direct all of that the feelings, so I have been trying to contain them and manage them in my normal self-destructive manner,not eating properly, not sleeping, chewing my nails, smoking, wanting to drink but so far resisting,(thank God),and on occasion punching walls and turning my knuckles in hamburger. My counselor suggest a formal aknowledgement of shutting the door on the past and realizing that the past is done and I need to shut the door on it to save myself, so I am going to do just that, and after my son returns home in June, we are going to gather all tokens of that time of my life and we are going to take a trip and we are going to burn all those tokens and writings of the past and let them go, and then I am going to get my final tattoo, the one that I have been working on desiging for a few months and it will be my largest, On my left chest,(over the bear and covering it, will be a realistic heart, the size of my hand, it will be red and black and damaged looking, and it will be torn with a ribbon binding it together and written on the ribbon is the saying," Atoning for my Affliction is my Salvation" and coming off the left side of the heart will be a black angel wing that will extend up my left shoulder and drop down to touch my other feather as if to protect it,coming off the right side and extending all the way across my right chest will be a white angel wing, but it will be ripped and broken and grey at the tip, as if damaged beyond repair. It will be big, visible and dark and it will be me.Im soo angry, im soo hurt and I have never understood why I couldnt fall in love and have it reciprocated honestly.

Dear Roger, Remembering Things Past and my ,"Issue" with Turning 21 for the 20th Time

Well, the inevitble happens Monday and though it is showing promise of passing by most everyone unnoticed, it promises to be one that will be particularly gut-wrenching for me. If ever I needed you to be here as my calm before the storm, my slightly sarcastic but always understanding voice of reason, it is for this one.This birthday falls on the 15th anniversary of the Murrah building, and for soo many reasons that is fucking ripping my heart and mind apart. Everytime I close my eyes I dream about her, and I see her in his arms.She would be around 16 now, and I wonder what her life would have been like, would she have been a typical Okie? Was the fact that my life changed so dramatically that day the reason I feel such a link to her, after all, that was the day it all changed for me, there was no more running,no more easy go of it,no more easy way out,I had to stand and fight, because the words of an unlikely named ,(Randolph Scott)doctor brought me to my knees,"Young lady,you are pregnant", and as I stood in the waiting room, watching the news feed on CNN with the rest of the patients, I needed you more than ever, but you were gone.When I found out I was pregnant that year,I thought about all that I was going to lose...I was promptly kicked out of paramedic school because the child would be due during clinical rotation,the father of the child did not want children and made that crystal clear in no uncertain terms on evening when I was alone in the ambulance station out in Welton.It was during this conversation with him that I learned the potassium, when injected in the vitreous humor of the eye, can stop a heart and leave no evidence of wrong doing, so after he made his opinion known in both my mind and body, I made sure that I hid from him for the next 14 years. Its hard to believe, when I look back at the pictures taken on the trip to LA with him, which were some of the times in my life when I looked so completely happy, that I would end up so completely scarred by him.I dont regret my son,he has kept me grounded and sane, and in many ways he reminds me of you,(when he is not being such and emo, skinny jean wearing modern man), but life has not been easy for either of us and I often wonder if I have made the right choices for him.
Seeing the image of Baylee Almon in that firefighters arms has haunted me, partly because of the day, the fact that I had found out I was going to be come a mother, and realization that as an EMT/Firefighter at the time, I felt the pain and helplessness he was feeling.
My birthday is a series of flashes of horror stories; the Branch Davidian Compound went up on that day, the explosion on the Iowa, and its just been surrounded by bad stuff like Colombine and other horrors for as long as I can remember,so for many years I refused to celebrate, and this year is feeling like another that will pass by in a particularly somber mood because my son isnt here, I am alone and as usual the wind is supposed to blow and its supposed to be cold.
I wish you were here to hang out with me on Monday, I was thinking I would go and have a beer and a smoke and just pay a silent tribute to the memory of a child that never got to grow up, and say a prayer of thanks for my son that is my angel that helps me to get past seeing all those horrors and count down the days until he is home.

Dear Roger, Its Hard to Sit and Watch Cage Fighting,I would Really Rather Be Doing It

Dear Roger, Well, one thing I can say about today, at least the damn wind didnt blow too hard, but it kinda rain/sleet/snowed last night, so it was a a sunny/cold typical Flagstaff spring day. I cannot believe how much I miss the color green and the smell of grass and moisture in the air. This place is as dry as the Saharah, and though I lived in Yuma for over 5 years, it never seemed as dry or as desolate as Flagstaff does, and I really cannot figure out why it seems this way to me. I am surrounded by mountains and trees, and at 7500 feet in elevation with the San Fransisco Peaks in my fron yard, you would think that I would be happy, but after growing up in the subtropical swampland of East Texas, I miss moisture. I was hoping to spend some time in California this summer, just laying on a beach somewhere, letting the ocean lap at my feet and listening to the sound of the waves, watching the good looking guys wander by just out of my middle-aged reach, but I have a feeling that my financial and family obligations are going to make that impossible,as usual. I have not had a real vacation or break in over 12 years, so why should anything change now? I have come to the conclusion that I NEED some kind of physical outlet though. I dont get enough exercise, and I miss sports and watching things like Ultimate Fighting and things like that get me tensed up to the point that I want to tackle some poor fool to the ground and just wrestle them for the hell of it, but that is frowned upon in polite society, so I am just a walking bundle of TENSE about 90% of the time. One of the gals at the store I stop at all the time, took pity on me this morning and gave me a ciggarette because I have just been walking about feeling like I am ready to jump out of my own skin with some kind of need. I didnt smoke it, I mean HELL, I havent smoked in soo long, but it was comforting to have it in my hand and to be able to go through the motions and to have it with me,and I dont know if I will end up smoking it, but I need the distraction or something in my hand or something to chew on, and that seems to fulfill the need , my frenetic burst of writing and reading that I have been engaged in has really helped as well, and I have written more in the last few weeks than I have written in the last 10 years. If I can flesh out my ideas a little better, I actually have 5 really good, original ideas that I intend to pitch to Hyperion/Disney and several potential fan fictions that I am going to throw out in the next few weeks. I have been reading like its going out of style and I currently have no less than 6 books going right now, and sometimes its hard to keep the characters straight, but its also more interesting that way. I have also been considering returning to my roots as a English/Literature major and just slamming the door on my past in Criminal Justice/Law Enforcement and burning that part of past, kinda like I did all my art and photography all those years ago, it made it so much easier to walk away from Texas and home, maybe it would make it easier for me to walk away from Arizona and find where I want to be in the green and in the trees at a good college where I could get a Masters and then a Phd. in some obscure literature study that only I could love, and I could teach writing to people who are capable of understanding and appreciating the things that I love as well. Im working on my French again, and occasionally I wander through my Latin just for the hell of it, and I love the sound of Italian, and I long to hear them spoken by native speakers, so I am going to finally get my passport and perhaps look towards a semester abroad as well. I long to travel and see what is out there and there are times I have thought about just letting the ex take the house and the kids for a few months so the can get the feel of what a pressure cooker it was for me to live in for the last 2 years on my own with all the responsibility and the stress and the hassels, so that maybe he wont find it quite so funny when he seens that I am a frenetic,strssed out, rambling, wound up, mess that hasnt slept more than 4 hours in 3 days, at more than one meal in 3 days and is scribbling odd notes that seem to make no sense on random bits of paper and drywall. I need to get some time where I can just focus and write, and I need my little writers hidey-hole, a special kinda cafe or writing place that is imbued with the kinda vibe I need to be able to write all the sutff that is rolling about in my brain, and that is not going to be found here.

Dear Roger, Picking the Scabs of My Hearts Implosion

Well its another fucked up windy day and I want a damn smoke so bad that I stood in Silver Saddle talking to the gals for 15 minutes just debating buying a pack hoping that one of them would need a smoke break so I could bum one off of them and kill the beast that is gnawing at me and trying to get me to break down and just give in. I have smoked in over 15 years, but I WANT to, of course I also want to get laid and have a beer, but none of that is going to happen, so I am trying to reason with myself that if one is not going to happen, why should I let any of the rest it? I have a very weird mind, and I really blame you for much of that, but if I was a linear thinker and everything had stayed black and white,I would be pretty freaking boring wouldn't I?
I went to bed at a reasonable hour last night, reasonable being 1240, vs my normal 2-3 or even 4 am, and I do not get why the HELL I am so much more tired today! Insomnia is a very cruel master and what really stinks, is that it chooses not to show up on nights when there is someone or something that I want to watch on late night tv. A good looking hottie like Kellan Lutz gonna be on Craig Ferguson? On well hell, lets put her ass out right as he walks onstage! DAMMIT!! My nights are complicated affairs, I have some dreams, and the kids tell me that I have started talking in my sleep,NOT GOOD! I talk to people from my past, people I miss and Stubby tells me that I have woken him up clear down the hall, crying in my sleep, and that weirds me out because I am not a crier, I am more of a yeller and a rager, but he said that he turned the tv up and I quit and turned over and went back to sleep. I always have music or a tv or something on at night, its just too depressing to listen to nothing but the wind or the creaking of the house at night, though I have had to get more selective what I fall asleep listening to, otherwise I wake up in a funk or a weird mood the next day.
My hair is finally growing back out. I am hoping like hell that no one else dies anytime soon so that I can get it long again because my face has gotten too damn thin to have short hair, and it just sends the wrong message to be a middle-aged, skinny assed chick wearing black and boots and such in this town. I have never been a delicate flower of feminity, more like a woman that runs with wolves and knows what she wants, but up here in the land of San Fransisco east, that just sends the wrong message and guys seem to think that I bat for the other team, I wouldnt care so much but I really would like to find a ,'Friend", though I think the East side of Flag is probably the wrong place to be looking, just because its full of marrieds, OLD, or just yech! I keep looking at the young uns, meaning the 20 somethings, and while that is the popular thing with women my age, the one I dated for awhile was a bit tiresome, so I would have to be kinda picky I guess. I need a job, a hobby and a life, but I wish all of it were away from here, but I am going to have to settle for the slim pickings that I can glean from the surrounding area, so I am thinking that I will take my big ole slobber dog with me next time I go out on my own and I will try my best to play the semi-helpless female with the too big dog that needs help. The gals at the store assured me that the boys downtown or at the dog park would eat that up and I might actually find something worth dragging home other than poo on my boot, as long as Fergus doesnt try to eat him. My only problem is, I am about as capable at playing helpless as I am playing Barbie, so that attempt may be doomed to failure.

Dear Roger, Lomawywesa says ,'Ya'Tah Hey"

Well, I drug my ass out of the house today. It wasn't easy, but the ex was being really good at reminding me why I divorced his ass and then sent him to prison, so I reminded him what he was missing by dressing in my new D&G jeans that look like they were painted on my butt, a nice form fitting black wife beater that accents all my assets and a really cool short-waisted jacket that looks like the one the little chick that plays Rose in the Twilight movie wore, and I accented it with my black boots and studded belt with my hair all "Freshly F'D" looking as the gals at the store I always stop at for a soda described it. I was told by them I was,"Fuckhot" and it was nice to see that my ex actually stared, but it did me no good with anyone else for the rest of the day because all I seemed to reun across were the geriatric set or those that were already banded.
I drove into town and jammed along with some new tunes on my Ipod, and its kinda weird, but I guess I am at a point in my life where I really dont give a damn what people think about me,though I never really worried much about it in the past,(thanks to you), I sang along to a weird little band called "100 Monkeys" and songs like "Ugly Girl". They are kinda hard to describe, but the grow on you and I like the humor that they have, because after all the morose, emo, whiney stuff that I have listened to for the past few months, they are like a ray of light that forces me to smile just because they are a bunch of goofy kids living the dream that I wish I had been able to live and probably still consider running off to try.
I went out to the West side of town to just shake things up, and I ended up going by the house I helped to build up in the Rockridge area.It was nice to see it finally finished, I left before the landscaping was done and it was kinda a letdown to hve not been there for the finish, but finally done, it was beautiful and I was proud to have worked on it.I have helped to build not only a huge addition to the Fray Marcos Hotel over in Williams,but a 2.5 million dollar Craftsman home that was truly a work of art and I am proud that there is concrete evidence of my existence. Since I was out there, I decided to just take a drive, but it was kinda weird, I felt pulled to the museum, even though in the nearly 13 years I have lived here, I have only been there twice. The overcast day made doing anything else kinda out of the question, but I thought if nothing else, I would walk the hiking trail and just clear my head.
When I got there, it was like I was being pulled inside and so I decided to go with it. I paid the fee and walked in, and just started wandering. I went to the gallery shop, because I have such a weakness for the Zuni fetishes, and there was one that made me think of Grandma so much that it brought a burning lump to my throat to realize how much I would have liked to have bought it for her.I admired the jewelry and the rugs, and was glad that I had left my debit card out of my immediate acquisition. The museum was fairly empty and I was free to wander in peace for the most part, and I went through the geology exhibit remembering all that grandpa taught me about ,'leaverites" and the rocks and lichen with his lame but endearing song about,'You Lichen me and I lichen you"and the geology of the area and then I went into the special exhibits where I got to see the paintings of Gunnar Windforss. I enjoyed the lanscapes of the Grand Canyon, but not for the artistry, I enjoyed them for the memories that they brought back of my trips with grandma and granpa, especially the painting of Hermits Rest and the stone fireplace, because it felt like I was back there with them and I could remember that whole trip and the fun we had. I sat for awhile in that room, just reminicing, until a herd of tourons came wandering in to make their inane comments and block the view of what I was looking at. I really hate dealing with old people in art museums, and perhaps I get a bit of that snobbery from you? The gallery had a special exhibit of a local artist that had recently died, and that is what I drawn me into the museum in the first place.When I walked into the gallery and beheld the murals that graced the gallery walls, I KNEW that he was a kindred spirit of yours, before I even read his resume and realized that he had gone to school with you at the UofA. The humor and pain in is paintings was evident and the way he told a story through ironic humor just reminded me of you so strongly that I had to stop and catch my breath as I walked around the corner and saw the paintings that blended Hopi clowining and Celtic Mythology. I stayed in the museum for over 3 hours, just burying myself in the art and the ethnology and the culture, and I realized that I had no one to gush to about all that I had seen and felt and experienced, and I walked out into the grey Flagstaff afternoon.I miss you so much.

Dear Roger, Missing Pieces

Dear Roger,
Its really hard to believe I made it through this last winter, we got over 12 feet of snow in total and I think I was sick more than I was well.I ended up getting the Mexican Pig Flu or the Swine Flu or H1N1 or whatever politically correct bullshit they are calling it this week, and I thought I was going to freaking die.It took a lot out of me, but on the bright side, I managed to finally get back into those size 1 jeans that have been hanging in the back of my closet for the last 20 years.I dont think I have been warm in the last 5 months, and some days I think that if I dont get off this Goddammed mountain, I will end up getting buried here, and that would piss me off so bad I would have to haunt somebody.
I miss the hell out of you. There doesnt seem to be a soul alive that really gets me on the level that you did, and it really hurts to see an art piece or a movie or hear some music that I know you would catch the same vibe off of and have no one around that even fanthoms what the hell you are so caught up in.Its like being a splash of red paint in a tan world and I hate it.I miss going to art exhibits and galleries and listening to weird opera and music and discussing cultural things.Most of the culture around here revolves around quads,kids and the wind. There are a few bright spots, and I have made a few friends, but its hard to reach out, and I am not good at maintaining relationships, God knows I cannot seem to pick a man worth a damn. You were supposed to help me pick out the next one and I think that is why I have had such a problem! You left me such a fucking emotional wreck when you died that I ended up grabbing onto whatever solace I could find, and though I loved him, he didnt love me back and that ended up being an emotional mind-fuck that lasted 12 years,up until,ironically, this past Valentines Day! How is that for a fine Fuck it ALL?! I get sick, we get a huge blizzard, and a real prick emerges, all in one fell swoop...I cannot win Rog., and I guess I was never ment to, but dammit I would at least like to come in a close second once in a while, and with him I always felt that I was a slow 3rd, but at least it was something. I dont feel like I have ever been loved, though I have damn sure done my fair share of loving, and I have tried, but I think as I have gotten older, I have realized that my true love died in my youth in a pick up truck on a country road in East Texas. I know that seems weird, but what else would a boys death have haunted me so strongly for so long? Why else would I have felt the world sucked away when my father so casually told us as he walked in that evening? And why, whenever I passed that spot in the road, would it have hurt so much so many years later? I can still picture him in my dreams, we had a couple of classes together and I remember him being such an athlete that it was pure joy to watch him move. He threw himself down next to me one day in gym and he smiled at me and asked,"Why are you sitting out? You throw harder than any other girl in here and some of the guys!" I thought my heart would bust! He was out of my league, but he never acted like it, and if he had lived, he probably wouldnt have given me the time of day as we got older, but then I might have been able to get past that and learn to move forward, but it feels like for almost 30 years my heart has felt like a giant piece is missing and will never be replaced and those that have come after a like puzzle pieces that you try to force by bashing in with the side of your hand, close but either so tight the edges fray, or just too small and misshapen and never ment to be there in the first place.
Being stuck here in Flagstaff has been difficult for me, I never wanted to settle down in one place and I damn sure never expected to have so many kids, and while I dont regret them, I often wonder if I am doing a decent job as a parent.
I will close for now, the wind is picking back up,AGAIN, and that makes me as morose as Nordic noir, so its best I quit for the day.

A New Tactic

Yes, I am still alive.No, I haven't felt much like talking lately and thus I really haven't felt much like writing, in fact, mostly what I have been doing is sitting on my ass in my room or in my recliner in the living room, staring out the window at the fucking grey and tan world around my while the wind blows 100 miles an hour and ignoring everything and everyone except when they reach the point of pissing me the fuck off.I have been on auto-pilot, just doing the things that have to be done to keep the kids from living in filth and squalor and from eating their own boogers more than usual, and mostly I have just sat in the wee hours reading vaguely pornographic ,"Twilight" fan fiction and contemplating why things are soo screwed up in my life.
My ex got out, hes not being a pain in the ass, he doesnt want to kill me,(so far), and the kids are really glad that he is around and allowed to see them. Him being pretty sane about the whole situation was a bit of a relief, but that whole situation came about around the same time my oldest son let slip that my folks were now selling off more of my grandparents property to keep their asses out of the poor house, and when I heard that, on top of the fact that my folks have just pretty much taken to ignoring my son alltogether, I just kinda folded up inside and rather than venting my rage and frustration at them, I started doing what essentially killed my uncle, I have been internalizing it, and its not going well for me. I have never been a overly happy person, and dysfunction is my families middle name, but when you add up all the shit that has gone on over the last few years in my life, it really starts to make me want to go just a little crazy, and that is why I just shut off and withdrew.
My grandparents and my uncle are how I survived to become an adult.They were love and stability and kindness and they took the time to know ME.I was never told by my granparents that I was the ,"smart one" and my sister was the ,'Pretty" one", my grandparents never discussed doubts about my sexual orientation over the phone with their friends when I was within earshot mearly because I had pictures of some older female Hollywood stars on the walls of my room when I was 11, my grandparents never sang,'Fatty,Fatty 2x4" at me when I went through the akward pudgy stage or sang the Coke-Cola song and made fun of me for my chest size when I developed breasts at 12 that were larger than most 18 year olds,I never smelled like dog piss or cat piss or cigarette smoke or filth when I was at my grandparents house,my uncle TALKED to me and listened to me about my ideas on art and my dreams of going to UCLA, he didnt bully me into a low rent college that I was then guilt tripped into wanting to leave because even though I was always told I was to go to college, no one had ever bothered to inform me that no one had prepared for it. I married at 19 so I could qualify for federal finacial aid so I could stay in college, and it was not a great marriage resulting in a broken hand a couple of times and an intimate knowledge of Arabic curse words and death threats, and I now have loan debt of epic proportions.
I have always been told that I was,"difficult", "not easy to love", and ,"stubborn", but my grandparents never made me feel that way, and they spent their summers with me, often teaching me life lessons that sustained me for the rest of the year. I adored them,they were everything to me and its their voices that I can hear when I most need that calm, sane influence in my life to keep me from taking that final step over the brink. The smell of my grandmas house,the sound of the clocks as they ticked in the kitchen, the heavy front door as it opened and closed and the clang of the metal outer door, the smell of the front yard after the rain, our walks up to the shopping center in the afternoons where we talked about pretty much everything, all those memories sustaine me. I have pretty much every card, letter, note, picture and postcard they ever sent me,trinkets that are tiny links to who they were.
I hated when my parents moved into my grandmas house, it was like a desecration of a sacred place.I hated that my grandpa was gone and I was never allowed to say goodbye, I was robbed of my right to grieve him and I never got over that and it has fucked me up my entire life.I hate that when my uncle died,I was not allowed to attend his service either, I always believed that HE was more my father than anyone else and when I lost him, it tore my soul and I still cannot speak of him without sobbing like I am broken, and I feel broken. I hate that my grandma was pulled out of the rehab facility and taken back home to languish and feel like a burden, she should have been made to stay in therapy, she would have gotten better and then the shit would have been ON.I hate that she was taken clear back to East Texas and stuffed into a nursing home away from her family until the flu killed her because she hadnt gotten the shot that she got EVERY YEAR. I hate that everything that my grandparents saved and scrimped and worked so hard to save and collect over the decades, is being sold off to strangers to support worthless horses, bad habits and things that would crush them if they knew. I hate that some strangers have been pawing over my grandpas medals and my uncles things, and that things that MEAN something to me, are being sold for nothing and that I do not have the strength to stand up against it. I hate that I put children in that dysfunction to become twisted and hurt and as fucked up emotionally as I am.
I wish I had the guts to do something about it, my sister wishes she had the guts to do something about it, but we dont and we just cry to each other on the phone until we both decide we cannot speak of it anymore for fear of the pain becoming too much.
I want my son home, and once he is home, I am going to shut a door for my sanity, but until then, I am going to write letters to my uncle, and that is what this blog is going to be, "letters to Roger", because he was the best of us and WWRD? pulled me back more than once. I know that its normal to lose people you love, that death is part of life,lots of people have fucked up families, and lots of people get over it and drive on, but I have developed a problem shifting gears and I seem to be stuck in neutral. I dont have a job, or a boyfriend, I quit school and when I saw my ex the other day to let the kids see him, he was shocked at my appearence and told me that frankly he was suprised I was able to get around and he wasnt just being a dick, I know I look scary and that my clothes hang on me, some of that shit comes from not eating or sleeping, and dark circles under the eyes, pale skin and wearing black are supposed to be the,'Cool" thing now, Right?
Im a hurt and angry thing right now, tis best those who only want to hear kind hearted platitudes stay away, because the jaw that has been clinched to keep me from screaming is really starting to hurt.