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.