Dear Roger: Middle Management

My ex is like an albatross, perpetually hung around my neck like a harbinger of doom. He had the audacity to call me the other day whining about the fact that he was running out of meat. I had already spent the day before getting the power turned back on in his house. The utilities are still in my name so he didn't have to pay a deposit and try to re-establish service, because, since he never seems to have a steady, on the books job, he has no decent credit history and he would not have been able to do. Anyhow, he had neglected to pay the bill and so for $56, the company had shut him off, and since he is brilliant, he had called and tried to get the power put into his name and they had found an old bill from 12 years ago that he had neglected to pay, so they not only wanted the past due on the bill in my name, they wanted that old bill, a deposit and a bunch of fees in order to turn the power back on. So my sons were facing being in Arizona in July, with no electricity because Mr. Rocket Scientist had manged to turn a $56 bill into a $435 bill with one phone call.

Because I volunteered in Community Action and advocating for the poor of Arizona before I left, I have some connections back there. I made a few phone calls and I sent him to meet with a couple of people and voila! His electric bill was paid, his gas bill was paid and he even had a box of food, but that wasn't enough, he was bitching at me because he didn't have any meat. This is a man who currently weighs about 270lbs at 6ft tall. He spends $15 per week on a can of Topps loose tobacco because he rolls his own and smokes like a chimney. When he buys groceries, he buys soda and ice cream and crap. He got fired from his last job and because it was an off the books job, he doesn't qualify for unemployment. He walked into a house that was fully furnished, stocked up with everything anyone could need for MONTHS. I had taken every spare dime I had and I had gone to Sams club and I had bought tolite paper, paper towels, laundry soap, food, clothes for my boys. I had paid up the car insurance for several months, the tags were paid for the year and I let him leave it in my name. Not for him. No, fuck him. I did this for my boys. I tried to get my boys out. I talked to the judge. I talked to a lawyer and because I didn't have the money for a long protracted legal battle in a state that says even a wife and child abusing man has legal rights to his kids, I had to bargain with him and he wouldn't let my boys go.I gave him the house to get my daughter out. I take care of things back there for my boys and he know that. He has me by my heart and he knows it. So when he called to bitch about not having any meat, I began working on it, but it really pissed me off. I mean, How dare he?

When I first moved up here with my daughter and son, we were on a shoe-string budget. Being fubar means that finding gainful employment is not easy and with the economy as it is, that makes it even more difficult, then factor in no car. We were behind the 8 ball from the get go, but we hit the ground fighting. I found us an apartment in a good area that we could afford, even though it took most of our money and then we hit second had stores and garage sales to furnish it. Almost nothing in my apartment is new. We came up here with 7 bags that held mostly clothes and things like our laptops and a few pictures. I had to leave my art, my books and pretty much everything I had ever acquired in my life.

Our first month in this apartment was tough. We had pretty much nothing, knew almost no one and it was pretty scary. I was still getting used to being around people again, missing my boys and my Fergus and my kids were afraid we were going to fail. The bright spot for us wads the 100 Monkeys concert.

We almost didn't go. I agonized over it. I was afraid of crowds, of riding the train and being around people and the noise and protecting my kids. We had almost no money for anything, in fact we had just $2.27 to our names, it was a fecking hot as hell day and we had no idea where we were really going. We left extra early and arrived downtown and started walking and bickering. Poor daughter ended up walking around 5 miles all told that day and by the time we arrived at Voodoo Donuts, she was exhausted and near tears. We spent our money getting her a Dr. Pepper, a bottle of water and a donut.

Sitting on that bench outside, sweaty , tired and stressed out, I realized that we were making progress. Even though my friend hadn't wanted us to go to the concert and had refused to let us use her car even though she had allowed it for all kinds of other things, I had not allowed someone to control me...I had made it anyway.Watching those funky little cars roll into the parking lot and those beautiful boys tumble out of them, I couldn't help but to smile and believe that things were looking up.

Things did get better after that, the sunshine had come into our lives with the discovery that we were truly independent, but life was still tough. With no money often meant no food. I will not allow my children to go hungry, but I am quite capable of missing meals myself and I did just that. I shopped very carefully for staples and I made meals for my children that were healthy and filling, but were not fancy and often I did not eat. I got away with it for a few weeks before my son caught onto the fact I wasn't eating much and we had a huge fight. He worries too much. My son is a good kid, but hes a teen and teen boys are endless eating machines, so I made sure he was well fed. I was glad when school started up though because that meant that they had lunch at school and I could stretch the food budget even further. I am lucky that grandma taught me to cook with staples and avoid the junk food, because without buying all the junk, we actually eat pretty good now, but we dont eat a lot of meat. That is what really griped me about the ex's call. He has complained about my boys not liking the steak he cooked one night on the grill I left and I had to bite my tongue...not only do we not have a grill here, but I have had exactly one steak in the last year. Beef is so rare in this house, that when I do buy it, my son acts as if its Christmas. We eat chicken, lots and lots of chicken or we have no meat at all and we do just fine. Out meals have gotten creative and interesting and I cook things that the kids brag about. I make, "Bangers and mash" with a homemade gravy that has my son calling his friend with a "heads up" when I get out the pans for it, so I end up having to make a double batch to feed two teen boys. Its cheap, filling and its something different. I make chicken spaghetti as well as all kinds of Thai food and even just plain noodles with veggis, but when I told the ex that he could forego the meat and maybe lose a few pounds, his response was,"How can you call yourself a Texan anymore?" I call myself a Texan because I am tough, resourceful and because I can burn the candle a both ends with a blowtorch going on the middle and still keep my pride that im doing it myself.

Dear Roger: Its Not You, Its Me

I got the results of all the testing and interviewing I went through a month or so ago in order to see what kind of employment I would be best suited for and what would make allowances for my little glitches. I thought I was doing good, that I had made substantial progress towards getting out and meeting people and trying to not be so aloof and cold and stand offish, but the results of the testing indicate very strongly otherwise. In fact to quote the results I got,I would be best suited to employment in a field that,"does not involve significant interpersonal contact."

Words like,"Hyper vigilant, Hyperarousal,(not near as fun as it sounds), inflexibility, perfectionism, irritability, and on every single page and they cited my anger. They confirmed my diagnoses of Severe PTSD, and a heaping helping of depression along with a laundry list of related fun that makes me the equivalent of the female version of Severus Snape. They even commented on my attire and my, "Solemn demeanor".

I take issue with some of the comments because, I mean seriously! If you take a look at my past, I have a damn good reason to be a bit on the pissed off side. I have had people try to kill me. That is well documented and my ex did time in prison for it. Others didn't go to prison, but I have not made the best choices in companionship.

Yeah, I am a perfectionist. I am also a huge fuck up. If I didn't try harder to get it right, I would have just given up and become a total bum a decade ago. I am a creature of habit and ritual, So the fuck what? What is wrong with that? That means I know where stuff is, I remember obscure things and that can really come in handy at times. Hyper vigilance keeps my kids and my loved ones alive, it also is habit after living in a war zone for most of my life. I am a pro at reading people and knowing when to duck and when to get my loved ones the hell out of the way. Because I said I would lay down my life for my kids or my loved ones with no regrets, they consider my high risk for suicide. Honestly, I only live for my kids. I dont have anything else right now. So, yeah...maybe they have me there, but that doesn't mean I wouldn't be capable of being functional in a job.

Im supposed to attend a workshop this next month, they want me to jump through this hoop which essentially is supposed to help me find a sense of direction. I am looking into going into nursing still, I have known quite a few anti-social nurses, so that is not off the table.

I do not intend to change the way I dress. I am a grown woman and if I choose to wear boots and black, that is my choice. The report said that there really isn't much to be done for me. I am very distrustful of people,(duh), have no close relationships outside of my children, and I am intimidating,(me? I 5 fucking feet tall, weigh 105 lbs and I have wonky knees and shoulders!), but whatever, I guess my "Presence" scares the snot out of people. My temper is rigidly controlled and I maintain it that way for a reason. I dont lay a hand on anyone in anger, and the way things have been, I haven't laid hands on anyone for any other purpose either. A friend of mine suggested that I needed a good solid trouncing, and while I whole-heartedly agree, I do not foresee it happening anytime soon because apparently I am destined to just seethe alone.

Dear Roger: Ex's, Texas, Finding My Way Home

Rog, I miss the hell out of you. Of all the times for you to be dead, this time in my life is probably the most difficult to be without you. Yeah, you would be a 65 year old man at this point, but I know you would be one of those ageless bastards, probably like Alan Rickman, charming the hell out of all the artsy women and making everyone wonder just what the hell its is that you did to leave them so gobsmacked. But, son of a bitch, that heart of yours. I used to blame to doctors in Houston for your death. even though I KNEW that the survival rate for aneurysms was practically nil, I just always believed you were invincible. Anyway...I need your advice. I dont know what to do. I want to go back to work, I want to get out in the world and do something, but I cannot seem to get off the blocks. I dont know if I am lacking a swift kick in the ass to ignite my fire or if I am just weary through and through. I dont even get truly enraged at my ex anymore, it feels like I have just surrendered and become passive, or maybe perpetually stoned from all the weed smoke from my hippy neighbors, but regardless, I seem to go days without accomplishing anything tangible.

I dont even seriously hunt for men anymore. I look, but as for genuinely making an effort to meet and then follow up with? yeah...not so much. I dont even get away from the house very much. Now in my defense for that, I dont have a car and we actually have a grand total of 7.00 to see us through the end of this month. Being that completely poverty stricken tends to eliminate any kind of socialization or getting out.

I am considering nursing school. I had wanted to go back into Paramedicine so I could go back to work on an ambulance and thusly into the adrenaline filled world of Emergency Services, in fact I was leaning towards Tactical Medic school, buuuuut, the problem with that is the crazy hours and the reality of my age and physical status. I have had one shoulder rebuilt, need the other one done, need my knee rebuilt...Fuck! Im OLD too! Soo, more sane voices have been whispering, (and even yelling) in my ear about nursing school. I have been interested in it off and on, but I just worry about the politics and working around a bunch of women. I dont play well with others, especially women. I could go into Forensic or Industrial nursing and work for either law enforcement (Oh GOD, PLEASE?!) or companies, but in all honesty, I really enjoyed working in the Emergency Room when I was a tech and I dont get grossed out or freaked out, so trauma nursing would be something I might lean towards. I dont know. I will have to see what my voc rehab person says tomorrow. She may throw a monkey wrench in the whole works by saying that my PTSD has me too screwed up to deal with regular humanity, but I dont think so, I do try to talk to people on a daily basis, even if it is on the 'net, and my issues with my mom and dad are just that, MY issues and MY business, so we will have to see.

If I got my RN it would make it easier to eventually move back to Texas, and I know that is what my son really wants. Hes been mopey for the past few days because he wants to go back for at least a vacation and I just dont know how to make it happen. It would be wonderful to finally be able to move his young butt to Austin just in time to send him to college, and I know my daughter would thrive in the art community there. Its been a bit Californicated, but its still Texas and its still Austin and dammit...its where I was happy, once upon a time.

My first ex has resurfaced and has been talking to my oldest daughter for some reason. Its weird that after nearly 20 years he pops up out of the woodwork. I was a bit concerned at first, but hes married with 4 kids and living overseas. I guess he just was curious about what was going on in our lives. I wonder if he is still as good looking as he was when we were married? Well, thats neither here nor there, he is yet another past chapter of a closed book.

I am still working on figuring out where I fit in this world Rog. Having no purpose other than child raising never was where I saw myself. My hands ache to hold a camera and to capture the things I see, but I put that away from me when the world went digital and 6 year olds became 'Photographers" with the aid of Photoshop. I miss the thrill of the stalk and the drive and frustration to capture just the right moment at just the right time, battling time and elements and people, circumstances. Its not the same. My visions for my sculpture are too big to be constructed in my apartment, so I sketch them in my notebook and miss my yard and wish for a welder and chainsaw. Maybe frustration has turned into apathy? I haven't even written too much lately, but that is because I have been greedily reading everything I come across.

Rog, I miss you. I wish you would send a giant kick in the ass from wherever you are, some sign that I still have someone listening. I found myself listening to Pink Floyd last night and thinking of you, after all you introduced me to them, but instead of,"Learning to Fly", it was "Wish You Were Here" followed by the ever cheerful query of,"Is There Anybody Out There?"

I guess its the time of year, after all, this month you left us 17 years ago. Ironically, Fergus died the same week as you did, and while those who cleave tightly to the belief that the great one is a compassionate being and that you are with my big, slobbery best friend and solace to my crippled soul, you know I look at it as just another sign that I am forever his favorite whipping boy. I miss both of you more than anyone will ever understand.

Dear Roger: Monkey Training With A Rolled Up Newspaper

Rog, I think I may have had more of an influence on my daughter than I should have had. I would like to take full credit for her being a genius, but hell, that came from out of left field and hit me like a freight train. She is still revealing bits and pieces of the depths of her brilliance, such as walking out into the living room with her Irish Penny Whistle that she has been messing around with in her spare time and telling me, "Listen to this!" She put a piece of sheet music up on the wall in front of her and very intently looking at it, she stood there and played,"When the Saints Go Marching In". Apparently she can read music. Chance just looked at her, picked up his guitar, went to his room and slammed the door. He fights battles with bar chords on a daily basis, but claims reading music is not something that comes easy to him, and for his baby sister to have it as a natural talent seems to be a slap in the face. She also walks around plinking on her ukulele and playing the songs from,"Avatar" the cartoon. Its enough to give her brother a complex. But when it comes to relating to others, that is her weakness.

My daughter is very direct and a little blunt about her opinion on things and I am trying to teach her the fine Southern art of the gentle put down or scold without being rude. I think she needs to learn this pretty damn quick because last night when we were watching a concert her favorite boy put on to celebrate the upcoming release of his new album, she said something that I was shocked to hear her say. He does this thing with his lip, I dont know why he does it other than hes a boy, hes young and some dumbass girl or person probably told him he needed to to something to stand out. It doesn't look very good, in fact it messes up what is normally a stunning smile, but I tend to overlook it, kinda like to overlook a pimple or a bit of unshaven beard, but she didn't. He did that face a few times when pictures were being taken and she got really annoyed. "Why does he do that with his face?" she asked me looking like ever the annoyed young fangirl. I told her that I didn't know other than the fact he is a boy and boys often do odd and incomprehensible things. " Well, I dont like it and he needs to stop it. I want to tweet him to stop it before he messes up his face or something. Someone should whack him with a rolled up newspaper when he does it to stop him." I reminded her that he is not a cat scratching up the furniture and that he is probably getting thousands of tweets and she is not the boss of him so he probably wouldn't listen. She got annoyed with me then. "Why do boys have to be so ridiculous?" I was trying really hard not to laugh at this point. She was talking about ridiculous and silly in regards to a young man who she had seen in a pink dress. She is very forgiving of his silliness and I do not know what set her off last night other than she doesn't like that lip thing and I created a monster when I let her compose my 20k tweet.

She comes to me at least once a day with an idea for a tweet or a composition she wants on the internet. She in inordinately proud of her videos that I have put on youtube and she came to me today and asked about having her own webpage. I asked her what she would put on it and she told me that she would of course put her writing and songs and such on it. Most of her songs are about her favorite boy, his band, the songs and such and she is quite the fan, but she is not one of those screaming, chase after them, they can do no wrong, kind of fan girls. She watches and evaluates and judges and has very clear opinions about what she likes and doesn't like. Its pretty amusing.

The rolled up newspaper threat is not an empty one, she wields it quite often around here and her brother and I are quite often the recipients of it. Just today she came storming out of my room, curls flying all about, face alight with indignation as she stomped her foot at us and said,"DO YOU MIND NOT BICKERING CONSTANTLY?! I AM SICK AND YOU ARE DISTURBING JACKSON!" she shook her paper at us and turned back into my room and slammed the door. I blamed her brother. But she is quite the scary handful and her brother and I kept our bickering down to a minimum after that. I am taking her to see her boy in August, and she is very excited about it, in fact she is looking forward to talking to him again and that is what worries me. She WILL say something. She will throw out some $5 words and freak everyone out and then she will flat tell him to cut it out with the snarly thing with his lip in her oddly blunt way unless I can get her trained before then. I have to teach her Southernisms like,"Honey, you are as darlin as a speckled pup in a lil red wagon, bless your heart" and all those other things that are backhanded end runs around something you know is gonna sting, but maybe just a little less than a rolled up newspaper wielded by a 3ft tall fangirl.I am guarding my twitter from her because she already has proven she knows how to compose a tweet, and she is computer literate and very adept at figuring things out, so better safe then sorry and I will work on her training in manners and civility before August rolls around.

Dear Roger: Father of Mine

Its Fathers day. Another one of those socially constructed, fucked up, revenue driven ventures that leaves me and many others sitting around feeling a little left out of all the celebratory mood. My relationship with my father was not the greatest. I was not wanted. I was a disappointment to him because I was not a son, and I was constantly reminded of that. My earliest memory of him is of a lit cigarette being dropped down my back. Other memories are of him singing,"Fatty Fatty two by four" to me because I was chubby as a pre-teen. I remember him teaching me how to shoot a gun, and some of him teaching me horsemanship, but he was a taciturn man, not given to shows of affection. Neither of my parents were. I was talking to a friend of mine the other day, recalling some of my mothers stories of what a,"Difficult baby" I was and how I had destroyed a crib by literally shaking it to pieces. She had related to me that I cried a lot and that a pediatrician had told her to put me in my crib and allow me to,"Scream it out", she had commented that I was an,"Early headbanger" because I would sit and rock and bang my head into the wall or the sides of my crib. I was neglected. As someone who has studied psychology, I recognize all those things she was telling me as signs of a sorely neglected child and I have to wonder how long I was left alone in that room to ,"Scream it out." I know my father never rescued me. He was in Viet Nam for 3 tours of duty and then when he returned, he wasnt around. He was a angry man who worked all the time. My father figure was John Wayne, Grandpa and you.

I guess I could have done worse. Being raised by John Wayne gave me a hero who was also taciturn, but who cared and was brave and good hearted deep down. I have always doubted whether or not my father cared for me deep down or if he simply saw me as the lost hope. Grandpa and you were everything I needed and I am so thankful I had you. The fact that I have any moral compass at all is largely due to you and grandpa and grandma. I miss you every single day and I mourn for the fact that my children will never have that kind of relationship with people.

My parents are out of my life. My children have no grandparents and that breaks my heart, but my parents are soo far away from what my grandparents and you were, that I know they have nothing to offer my children except rejection and pain.

My son has no father, and I have often mourned that loss in his life, but he has sought at male role models to guide his path, some good, some I question, but all have helped to form him into a decent young man. He struggles at times, but he has a good moral compass and his faith seems to hold him to being a good person.

My small daughter has a father, but he scares her when he is close by, after all,she has seen him with a straight razor to her mothers throat and she knows he can be a monster that is capable of terrifying things, even towards her. The young man she looks up to as the archetype for what a man is supposed to be like, her John Wayne, her hero, and her hope that there are good men in the world that aren't scary and angry, is young Jackson Rathbone. So far, that has been a good thing. He has been a fairly consistent, relatively calm and sane young man that isn't whoring himself around every bar and party to be found or splashed across the cover of whatever trashy rag happens to be trolling the,"scene". Whatever he does in his personal life, he is very good at keeping it just that,"Personal" and that is refreshing. He does what he does, doesn't curse constantly, looks relatively normal except for that sneery thing he does, and he genuinely seems like a decent person. When she met him, he was kind and she needed that.

I cant recall that many significant memories of my father that are positive. We had a difficult relationship and it left a lot of scars on me, but I can recall memory after memory of John Wayne that influenced me. I learned how to ride a horse, shoot properly, how to be a good American, cook a steak and just how to be from him. Think what you want about him and his politics, but to a lonely kid that was left to their own devices day in and day out, he was a calming influence and a hero that was there when no one else could be and he raised me. I am here for my kids, but sometimes they need that,"Guys" influence to just let them know that there is another way of doing things, and their guys are having as profound an impact on them, as John Wayne had on me, and I thanks them for that.

Dear Roger: Im Lost

Death has once again taken one of mine. This time my best friend has been stolen from me and I feel so lost and empty inside that I just dont know where to begin finding my way. I keep forging ahead because my kids demand that I do so, but the fact I am the one that gave the go ahead that sent my beloved Fergus to his death, will torture me for forever. I know it was the,"Right thing to do", and that it,"Stopped his suffering", but I wasn't there for him in those last moments. I wasn't there to comfort him and let him know how much I loved him and how much he meant to me. He may have only been a dog to most people, but to me and my little family, he was a much loved and valuable part of our family that had protected us, loved us and in the end, probably died much younger than he should have. If he had belonged to a rich family, the cancer might have gotten caught sooner and he might have been saved, but we were his family and like the rest of this band of refugees and misfits, his lot was set with struggle and strife and doing without.

He was devoted to me and my children. He used to wake me up each morning by putting his huge, cold, wet, nose up against my nose and rubbing his slobbery mug on my face until I got up to let him out so he could go take care of his business and run his morning patrol of the yard to make sure nothing had been insane enough to enter the yard. He was a fierce soccer player that loved to chase up and down the yard with my eldest son, often cheating by picking up a #5 soccer ball in his giant maw and popping it like it was a balloon, thus winning the game by default. I still have a scar on my ankle where his enthusiasm got the best of him and he mistook it for the ball. The look of chagrin on his face and his efforts to apologize more than made up for the mark. He was the best behaved dog I ever had. He responded to hand signals and tone of voice as well as anything, and he knew that if I shouted,'OI!" at him, he was in trouble, often for trying to take an extra cookie that one of my little boys were trying to smuggle to him.

He seemed to know my son,'Sticky" was different. He was very tolerant of him, laying still and calm, even when Sticky fell on him or pulled his ears. The only time he ever reacted was just before I had him neutered and Sticky grabbed the dangly bits, but even then Fergs eyes got really big and he jumped, but he did not ever snap or growl.

He adored my daughter. He slept on the floor beside her bed, often abandoning me to go be with her in the dead of night, keeping a careful eye on the tiny girl. She dressed him in her ballerina clothes and tried to paint in huge toenails, and she even put her monkeys on him for rides around the yard.

His relationship with my eldest son was like that of a big brother. They chased around the yard together, playing ball and insane games of gladiator tag that had the neighbors watching in rapt amusement.

I have never had a dog like him before. He was content to just be near me, but he seemed to know when I was suffering. He would sit next to me on the porch, leaning his bulk against my side so that his warmth soaked through me and I didnt feel so alone. I cried many a tear onto his shoulders, told him many a secret.

When we left, the tears we shed were as much over leaving him as they were for my sons. That may be hard for some to understand, but if you know me, you know that I do not have many people I get close to or care about. I am a person who keeps my distances and who does not love easy. My children are the only unconditional love that I allow, Fergus was the other. He was coming up here next month along with my boys. Our long time apart was almost over. The school year was finally over and the ex had just lost his job, so he was finally relenting and bringing me my sons and my Fergus, but then he called and tells me that the vomiting was worse and that Ferg had stopped eating.

People tell me I am not cursed, but I find it hard to not believe that. Its hard to explain to my kids about loss and death. They are church going children of God and I am a bitter, angry, person who believes that if their is a deity, that it has some vendetta against them for past sins that it is satisfying by taking everyone that they love or care for. I figure my children are safe because my ex got right with Jesus in prison, so he has some influence there, but as for those unfortunate enough to be close to only me? You are screwed.

I struggled at trying to explain to my daughter about why things and people we love die or get taken away. I cant really offer any words of comfort because I have no comfort myself. I have no peace of mind, nothing to offer her that her special fella will be safe and sound forever, or that there is some reason for Fergus being gone. Her brother told her something, and I hugged her and put on videos of her favorite boy so she would feel comforted that he was alive and well, but hell...hes a damned rock star and an actor, they live the life of an alley cat. So hopefully he will stay sane and reasonably sober until she is old enough to understand. Dogs and monkeys dont live forever,and mom cant make it better because she is broken herself.

Dear Roger: Burn

Arizona is burning again. It reminded me that this time last year I was sitting in Arizona, tense, nervous, and wary. My ex was out of prison and I wasnt sure if he was going to kill me in revenge for putting him there or if he was broken. Living under that kind of tension made me a little crazy. We had found the guide to our new path, the tickets had been purchased for the concert and we were trying to figure out how to get there. I was selling off things to raise the money for the trip and for starting our new life. I was also preparing documents to give up everything that I had thought was so important. Giving up the house was a fairly easy decision. I was tired of being a prisoner to a piece of property. When the fire started up on the Peaks I kinda felt it was a sign that it really was time to go. It hurt my soul to watch them burn though. The peace I found from sitting out on my front porch each morning, drinking my coffee, listening to the wind through the trees was gone and all that was left was a blackened disaster zone.

Packing was painful. When I thought I was bringing my van, we were loading our instruments and art and things we would need for a new life, but when the ex started hinting that a fight was looming over me getting out with my kids, I ended up having to surrender the van. Then the negotiations over my boys. I loathe the courts in AZ, but that is a whole nother story. I gave up my house for my daughter and my van for train tickets and no fights on our way out.

The fire that raged in front of the house before we left was symbolic to me. I was like a memorial of my entire time in Arizona. It burned up a decade of my life. The current fire is much bigger, and it has consumed an entire town. Coming a full year after the fire that burned the Peaks it reminds me of how far we have come. Life is much better. My kids are doing better. Its sounding more and more like I will have my sons soon. We talk often and they are eager to be here. My ex is on the verge of losing the house I gave him because he has found that the struggle to survive as a single parent back there is grim and never-ending. He has not made a house payment since I gave it to him. The fact they have not foreclosed on him amazes the hell out of me.

I have had a few nightmares about the fire over the past week and I have been a little out of sorts, but I guess that is to be expected, it was a hell of a thing to live through, having hell come to your front door. Now, we have an abundance of rain and everyone bitches about that except me. I love the rain. I still hate the cold, but I dont mind the rain.

I got to go see Flogging Molly in concert! I have to say it was probably the closest to a religious experience I have had in decades. I ended up front row, center, right in front of Dave King and in the heart of the mosh pit against the crash barrier. It was exactly where I hoped I would be. Yes, I got crushed and I got the hell beat out of me, but it was fantastic. I moshed, I sang the words to every damn song I knew and I got choked up singing along with the classics in moments that felt so special that I know they will remain with me forever. It felt so wonderful to hear a band recognize that they know its difficult to come up with the money for tickets, and that they sincerely appreciate those who spend their hard earned cash on them. It felt genuine and it was taken to heart, because the money I spent on them was money that probably should have been spent on something else, but it was my one luxury. I dont drink or smoke or do drugs or even date or have a car or anything else that takes up my money that could be considered a waste, so seeing an occasional concert is my thing. I wish I could have gotten a t-shirt, but its not like I would have been able to keep it, Chance would have swiped it from me right off. He has decided he likes them as well and has even started learning some of their music on his guitar.

Things are going okay. The job hunt is not going great, but I dont think it is for anyone.