Dear Roger:For What It Was Worth, I Was Here

https://www.createspace.com/3859423    My book.
I'm not a very outgoing person. I tend to stand back and watch things happen, observe goings on, pay attention to what is said, listen to the subtext and just try to be prepared to duck and dodge when things go wrong. I never sought fame or even fortune, never wanted to be the top dog in anything. I just wanted to do my thing and be happy. It would have been nice to have been loved the way my grandparents loved each other, but I am not a very lovable person. I am stand-offish and cold and I live a lot in my own head. Its a big part of the reason that when my sisters best friend killed herself, that my sis called me for an explanation, she knew of all the people around, I would have an understanding of why she did it, because I have lived with the reasons to do it for years, but I have the reasons not to nagging me for cookies or Koolaid and reminding me I am needed, so I keep plugging along.
My writing is my solace, my only outlet and my driving force. I write every damn day and it burns out of me like a fire from a volcano some days. Its not earth-shattering, life changing, great, philosophical literature, but its whats in my head and it has got to come out or it makes me crazy(er). I didn't write for years and years when I was living in darkness, mainly because I was so busy surviving and ducking and dodging, I just didn't have the time or the energy. I had lost my muse and my will.
It came back a couple of years ago, in fits and starts, at first with a blog where I started railing against the misery I had allowed myself to fall into, and then low and behold my true muse found me again and he was a bit pissed to have been neglected for so long.
My muse is a visual creature and he has a pretty consistent appearance and persona that drives me and inspires me to write.I have pictures that help remind me of the face of my muse when he wanders off and the inspiration leaves for a bit, and those help, but I have found that I understand why most people find writers to be a bit insane, because I know I am.
I wander around with bits of scrap paper stuffed in my pockets with odd notes on them, my computer desktop is a disaster area of pictures of random people and things that have inspired stories as well as bits and pieces of starts of new story ideas. My son has fits when he looks at it because it looks like I imagine my desk would look if I were sitting with pen and paper again.
My son knows that I write a wide variety of things, from short stories that have people writing me to tell me that I," Ripped their hearts out and left them sobbing," to rollicking, awkward sex filled humorous, tales that my son wont even hazard to try and read, to flat out gay erotica that has prompted more than a couple gay men to write me and offer praise at a," Job well done"(pun fully intended), I kill people in my stories, beat them up, give them hardship, leave them hurting, make them poor and flawed and give them packs of kids that wreck havoc on their lives, in other words, I write what I know, (except for the gay erotica, I have no idea where the hell that comes from, my muse is a bit of a odd ball), I don't write graphic sex, but I get the point across without smacking you in the face with it, and I write like I talk, Texan/Southern. 
People have commented on my writing style, calling it,"Reality writing for Southern speak", but I don't know if I would go that far. I use colloquialisms and I use slang, and I chop the ends off words. Like my characters economic status, their way of speaking reflects where they are and where they come from;me.
I self-published a short story of mine that has never seen the light of day anywhere else. It was written over a few days and I sat on it for quite a while because it was so damn dark, and until my muse would cooperate and lighten it up, I just wasn't happy with it.
I don't know if it will do any good or if many people will buy or read it, Its sold 7 copies as of the writing of this blog, but its something tangible of what I was and what I did. My next novel is almost done with editing and its my pride and joy because its months and months of work that took a lot of blood, sweat and tears to come to life. I don't have an editor or an agent or anyone other than a long-suffering friend who pre-reads and looks for glaring mistakes and then reassures me I am not out of my mind to trying.
My dedication page is about the only thing I am sure of so far, and its to the men who gave me my light so my muse found his way home ,so that when I am gone there will be something that even if its half-assed with grammar to have my English teacher spinning in her grave, that says:I was here, I lived my dream even if it was small, it meant the world to me.

Stevie Rae's Commentary On The 100 Monkeys

 This is my 8 year old daughters feelings about the 100 Monkeys and her experiences at the concert that she attended at the Wonder ballroom this last year. She wanted to apologize for her handwriting, this was for a school assignment she rushed through so she could get her monkey out of jail,(long story, but her Jackson spends a lot of time in jail on school days), so in her words, you have how she feels about things:

Dear Roger: A Low High

What a month! Im not going to say a word about wondering if anything else is looming, after all, we all know that just incites the greater being to wind up on me again, or actually never on ME directly for some reason, that I would be fine with, he delights in picking on those I hold near and dear.
Right now he seems to be focusing on my sister. Tomorrow she is headed into Dallas Presbyterian hospital to meet with her team of doctors to fight the battle yet again. (To my anonymous commentator, Thank you for your kind comments last night, it was like a pat on the shoulder that was really needed), they are going to be doing a bunch of tests to find out how big and bad the mass is, and if it is all wound up into her gut and intestine. I wish it was me instead of her. I was supposed to have a biopsy of a mass two years ago and I chose to ignore it because I believe that no news is good news. I'm still walking around. I pretty much spit in his eye and dare him to take me out and I'm still walking around. I'm skinny as a crackhead and pale as a ghost, but I get by. She takes care of herself, she does what she is supposed to do and this is what she gets in return? She is a good person and I'm obstinate and misanthropic, prone to fits of pique and temperamental, devoted to my kids and a very limited amount of people that pretty much are found on the confines of my Facebook page or twitter feed. My sis has friends, shes got a business and all kinds of reasons to be the lucky one, but she cant seem to catch a damn break.
Yesterday should have been so happy for me because I finally took the step and published my first book. Its not one of my major stories, its actually a short story I wrote after hearing an interview and getting a case of the what if the greater being was asleep at the switch and not watching over drunks and fools for a moment? I have a very dark imagination at times.  I sat down and wrote the story out and then let it sit in a file on my desk top for a few months. I played with it from time to time, adding to it and changing things to suit what I thought would work best and then I made myself stop tinkering with it. I let a friend pre-read it to see what she thought and to my shock, she loved it best of all my stories and encouraged me to publish it so I decided to make it may sacrificial lamb of sorts. I threw it out into the water to let the sharks taste it, and if they eat it, then I will throw my pride and joy in next.
I am editing one of my major stories for publication. Its one that is near and dear to my heart and I wrote my heart and soul into it, so I have been really reticent about putting into the common market, but now, I think its time because I have hope that maybe if the folks who gave me the nerve to finally write it, see what they inspired.I am even putting a special dedication page dedicating my most prized work to the 100 Monkeys, Jackson, Jerad, Ben G. Ben J. Larry and especially Spencer Bell for providing the light and hope in the darkness.
 Working on it and trying to get all my grammar fubars has been a trial and a bit frustrating, but its also good for keeping me distracted from all the stress of what is going on around me that I cant fix.
That is the entire crux of my problem, I am a fixer. I was an Emt because I wanted to save people when they needed help and were hurt. I was a firefighter because I wanted to save peoples homes and lives. I became a cop because I wanted to save people and make the world a better place. I studied law and mediation so I could help people, but now? Now I just have to sit here, sit on my hands and watch and the world blows up around me and things fall apart and there is nothing I can do to stop it. Its probably the most frustrating place to be in the entire world.
As my book gets promoted tomorrow on Facebook and Amazon, I will be celebrating finally living my dream, and hoping that as my dream comes to life, I am not going to have to watch everyone else's die, because I would gladly trade places.

Dear Roger: Shock the Monkey

This past week was the week from fucking hell. Pardon the crass language, but let me tell you what, they say that swearing supposedly reduces stress and if that is the case, then I should throw in an expletive about every other word to keep things almost level.
Where do I start? Should I begin with where I turned 43? Missed my 25th high school reunion that I really wanted to attend because my ex cost us soo damn much money I really just could not pull together that amount of cash for that level of plane ticket.
Or perhaps I should mention the fact it rained for almost 2 weeks straight up until yesterday, and then, when it finally clears up, I have a rotten cold from hell, complete with fever and headache and sick stomach and the works? Yeah...that was great, laying inside on the couch feeling like my head was going to explode every time the sun shone through the blinds while the kids looked sad that it was yet another day they missed being out in a park somewhere.
Maybe its because yet another boss has been fired and I am going to have to deal with yet another management change where I not only work, but where I live. I had grown to like my last boss, so I not only lost a decent boss, I lost another friend with no rhyme or reason to it and now I have to try and figure out what the hell the new person is going to be like and what their motivations are. Yeah...good times.
Or shall we consider the fact that some scrote keeps raping my bank account? Thats a real fun one. They managed to get the account and routing information and they hit it pretty good, not that there is ever a lot of money in there, but its all we have, so to have some scumbag taking it and forcing me to have to spend time on the phone with the bank sorting it all out and changing bank account information is not a lot of fun for me. Speaking of scumbags and money, the ex still just cannot seem to come up with a dime for the kids or any of the money he owes me, so of course that makes life even more fun and he has the audacity to complain that I turned his daughter against him. I told him that he did that himself, and when I asked her what she felt about the matter, she said,"Hes never been around. He doesn't call me, he didn't get me anything for my birthday and he always lies to us. Hes mean. I don't like Ed every much." Harsh, but shes 8 and she tends to speak her true mind and say what she is thinking.
More kid related fun is trying to get the eldest to understand that his nerd game is not the most important thing in the world and he needs to be doing his schoolwork. The constant having to remind him to get off the damn game and do his work was over the top this past week and the bickering was fierce so I just put parental controls in place that let me shut the damn thing down completely and that is what I do. I need a nearly 6ft tall nerdraging walking hormone pissed off at me to add to the fun.
Lets then add in the fact that the little band I love so much lost the rest of their damn minds. They seem to be operating under the "Lets totally self-destruct and go out in the most memorable way possible" method of rock star excess, so they changed the name of the band to "Pink Fuzzy Animals" which immediately brought to the mind of most fans over the age of 15, "Furries" and no one I know wants to be anywhere near associated with that little bit of strangeness, but most of us just think that they are trying to see how far they can push the fans before we say,"Yeah, nooo....im out" I reached that point. I refused and dug in my heels and called "Bullshit Shenanigans" and while I love the music and the kids and I will support the hell out of their other band, I wont go within a mile of that mess, and my new background is evidence of that protest.
Of course when you dare to protest something that involves youngsters though, you get controversy because they expect everyone to be good little sheeple and fall into lockstep and just lap it up, and like chickens when there is one with an odd spot on it, the rest of the flock will try to attack and peck you to death for being different. I caught some crap for taking a stand and saying ,"Nope, not gonna take it." But I have found a growing group of folk who are starting to say the same. We love the music, love the kids, we love our memories and we will live in them until the boys find the minds they lost somewhere along the way.
But you know, none of this shit matters one iota compared to the biggest news that has had me stressed out and worried and full of dread. I am one of those frustrating people that will tell you that there is nothing you have that I want or need, nothing you can take from me because I have nothing. Im poor and I make no bones about it. I am buried in student loan debt, I have a dead beat ex and 4 kids I support on a shoestring, and I walked away from everything to escape my ex so I dont even have a car or retirement of anything. If someone sues me, they just would end up frustrated and in debt themselves. I dont care about anything except...my people, my little flock of family, friends and others that I live and die for. My children are first among them, my sister is next. My sis has been through a hell of a lot, including facing breast cancer 3 times. She wants to live. She has a great life with a husband who loves her and kids who love her and the storybook family. She is my partner in crime and when we get to see each other, its like my best friend in the whole world is by my side.
My sis called me the day before my birthday to tell me that she has a mass in her uterus, its looking like its infiltrated into her gut. Shes going to have surgery around the first of the month. For the first time since she started dealing with all the cancer bullshit, my sis sounded rattled.
I dont think there are enough cuss words to take away this kind of stress.

Dear Roger:Plausible Deniability

Today I turned 29 for the 14th time. Or in common folk speak, 43. All in all it was a pretty damn good day. It rained on me and I spent the day roaming all over the downtown area with my friend Chelsea. I got a replacement copy of my favorite book to go along with a few others, I got a vintage leather jacket that looks pretty damn good and that actually has pockets I can stick my frozen hands in, and I roamed through a sex shop and had a fit of the giggles when I saw plasti-peckers that made me step back and consider the fact that there can be too much of a good thing.
We ate lunch at a really nice place and for once I didn't get sick! Watched some doofy guy in flip flops fall on his ass and laughed like a mean heifer that I am, and then i stared inappropriately long at the butts of all the cute guys wandering around. I got recognized by some random chick for my brief acting stint on Portlandia and that actually made my damn day!
My phone was going crazy all day long with the birthday wishes from my kith and kin and friends from back home and it made me smile more than I have smiled in a long time. My kids behaved themselves and I came home to a clean house and no fighting for once.
I didn't come home to a cute lil fella duct taped and waiting for me on my bed, but I did come home to a clean, freshly made bed in a clean house that I didn't have to clean, so I guess its a halfway win.
I heard from the buzzsaw, and of course he had forgotten, but it wasn't a shock. The ex texted to tell me I" looked old as shit" and that's fine, I expected as much from him, but its all good.
The thing is, I may be lonely. I may not have gotten a birthday hug or kiss from a guy, and I may have bought my own birthday presents, but I am here. I am alive . I have slide into 43 like a dinged up and rattling old hot rod that has a couple of gears slipping, but I damn sure made it and I still am more than capable of spinning the tires and outrunning most of the new crap on the streets.
I will reread my favorite book and geek out to it, happy and content, feeling loved from all my friends that  took a minute or two from their day to make mine brighter and make me feel like someone knows I am here and alive, it really means a lot to me. Thank you all. Hope to see you for the 15th time.
I also hope to be a published author this time next year. I have finally, definitively, begun the steps to get there as of today. Its a scary and bumpy ride and I am sure to be freaking out most of the way, but knowing I am not really alone has really helped to encourage me to finally step out there.

Dear Roger:Owning My Nerdiness

My son scoffs at me, he considers me hopelessly socially inept, introverted to the point of misanthropy,(true), lacking in a fashion sense,(debatable), and overly passionate and devoted to the most unlikely and odd of pursuits. I embarrass him, and frankly there are times I am a bit embarrassing to myself, but I am a recluse so its not like I am in public often enough to endure the stares and questions very often.
Thirty years ago I was given a book that changed my life. Its a book that I can quote the beginning line of from memory. I've had the faces of the characters in my mind for years and I have read every single book of the author, looking for clues and tie ins to the story. In one week, he will be publishing another part of the series and that has made an otherwise crappy week about a million times better for me. My only regret is that I really wish I had someone to sit in a coffee shop with and rant about the book for hours on end, but I don't. I will buy it alone, read it alone, and then sit and contemplate its ramifications for the characters on my own.
Finding someone to "geek out" with would be so nice, but I'm used to just reveling in my little pleasures on my own at this point. Ill try talking to my son about it, but like he does with most of my passions, he will listen politely for a few minutes and then he will fidget, roll his eyes and then find some reason to be elsewhere. He doesn't understand the excitement over a book.
My youngest son sort of gets it, but hes too young to really discuss the nuances of all the plot twists and tie ins with. I am going to buy him the first book and let him start the series, but I don't know if hes even old enough to grasp the whole journey. I hope someday he will and then much like me, he will look back with fondness and remember the person who gave him that first book and think about how wonderful of a journey they were set upon.
My daughter fuels my passion and devotion to the music I follow, and its her love and devotion to that little band that drives me. We mourned the break up and remained stalwart in our belief that there was something,"Not right" in what we were being fed and we refused to believe that the smiling little fella was the bad guy. We were right and we have joyfully watched him slowly re-emerge along with his partner in crime over the past few days and there is hope on the horizon that music might live again. My daughter even heard from Jerad, and her shrieks of happiness brought me running, thinking that something bad had happened. She was ecstatic, and quickly responded and watches each day to see if her Jackson will ever talk to her again, but that fact that he is talking again, to her is reason to celebrate and geek out.
We wear the t-shirts, the hoodies, the bracelets, we speak the language, we unabashedly proclaim our love of them and the side bands and we promote them, even when our hearts are aching from the break up. When people look at us with a blank stare when we try to explain to them who they were or where they might have heard of them, we out ourselves as views of a movie that gets us teased and categorized with overly hormonal tweens or mid-life crisis, sexually deprived housewives in need of a hobby,(im no housewife), but when that tie in works and we see the lights of recognition flicker on in the eyes of the person we are talking to, we then break out the music on the Iphone.
Enthusiasm...daughter has it in spades. I do to in the right setting. I can talk about the books I love with a passion that leaves my voice shaking and that brings tears to my eyes. Maybe its because Stephen King inspired me to write. Hes someone who, in spite of whatever political leanings he may have,(don't know, don't care, know he tends to piss people off), all those years ago, he created a world that pulled me in and inspired me. He has always inspired me because he has struggled and come from nothing and he made it. He also lets the dark side roam and it serves him well. I wish I had his nerve because I look at the things I write and I long to set them free in better places than they languish, and my eldest son harangues me daily about,"Doing something" with them, but I lack his nerve, but his nerve is what fired me years and years ago. I didn't write for such a very long time and then two years ago that odd little band lit the fire in me again and almost 480thousand words later, I have over 10 novel length stories that have been set free.
Things have been changing very rapidly this past week, and in a couple of days I turn 43, and shortly after that, "The Wind Through The Keyhole" comes out. Maybe its time I start trying to get serious about turning my hobby into something.

Challenge Accepted- For One Brief Shining Moment, Lives Were Saved

Her hero's headband at her last show

Her first show 

There are many of you who know my story, and there are many of you who dont. I dont talk about it as much as I used to because for almost 2 years now, we have been moving forward, but there was a time I expected to die in a pretty brutal way or I expected to have to kill someone to keep my children safe and happy. Its a horrible place to be. I lived in darkness and misery for a long time and it changed who I am as a person, and my struggles still go on, but my life and the lives of my children were changed soo vastly a couple of years ago by the strangest of things, in fact, if you really know me, it would have left you scratching your head wondering just what the hell had happened to finally make me find the strength to get up and say,"Im not going to wait to die, or to keep taking it, we are going! I am re-posting my contribution to a charitable fundraiser that explains some of the situation, but the rest of the story... well, that involves 100 Monkeys and an odd little sorta Texan named Jackson Rathbone that has somehow convinced my daughter that he hung the moon and lit the stars.
Almost Two Years Ago...

Three mismatched duffels, one red, one camouflage that used to carry my parents camping equipment, and one blue that was actually supposed to be a laundry bag. My carry on is a Makita tool bag that I rescued from the back of the closet because it was sturdy and fairly clean and would hopefully keep my meager electronics safe and useable. They were nothing remarkable, much like what they contained, the sum contents of my 41 years of life on this earth, my clothes, my boots, some documents proving achievement of a college degree at a second rate college, pictures of my children and family, memorabilia of my glory days, and a few books and my electronic lifeline and leashes. The rest of what most people consider their identity, had been signed over to my ex-husband just a few hours earlier as part of a deal we had hashed out that was to allow me and my eldest son and youngest daughter to escape the hell that had been life in Flagstaff over the last 10 years.
The arguments had been epic, loud and close to bloody and ashamedly, I tried to incite him to violence because I needed to prove to myself that the monster I knew lurked in him was either dead or hiding in fear of going back to prison. Much to my surprise he hadn’t risen to the bait, though I had seen the familiar signs of his desire to inflict on me the lessons in pain that he had previously taught me for such disobediences. Prison and time had worn him down, and my jibes and challenges to his abilities to manage the demands of running a household, went unanswered. He claims he could do it, and hopefully he can, but doubts remain, he has never, “manned up” in the past and the thought of my younger sons being left to their own devices while he either naps of stares at personal ads on Craigslist, leaves me sick with fear, but I have to go, and he has, “Rights”.
My oldest son is weary of the entire situation. He has been shuffled between grandparents, aunt, home and now we are moving to Portland in the hope of establishing a foothold in a new land and building a new life while he is still young enough to enjoy it, but all he wants is some stability, a room to himself, some good acne medication, reliable internet and driving lessons, for me to finally get over the anger and the rage. He is a very easy going kid for a former punching bag. He has forgiven him, and hell, he even jokes with him and shares music and jokes with him about girls, but that’s something I cannot do. That day is forever imprinted in my mind and when I look at him, I see that day when he was being beaten and punched in front of me and I did nothing. Though no, “Long Term” physical damage was done, and my ex was arrested and supposedly, “did his time”, there is time still being served, right here, in my mind, and until my sentence is up, and my son has the life he deserves, the sentence will continue to run.
The decision to leave was made a long time ago, but the ability to enact the plan always met one snag or another; lack of funds, no place to go, lack of understanding of the rights that were afforded by the child custody decree, fear of inciting him to violence beyond what he had been capable of before when he realized that it was being considered. As a former law enforcement officer and with a degree in Criminal Justice, I knew the stats and the risks that came with making the final break, so when the time came, it had to be decisive and sudden, so that he would not have time to contemplate all the implications, there would be no going back, no changing of the mind, no hesitation, it had to be something that was done with finality and with no room for negotiation, but as we all know, the best laid plans of mice and men.
I should have never been one of the statistics. I was never seen as the stereotypical ‘battered woman”. My father may have been a Veteran with a case of PTSD so bad that it made the stuff seen on tv look like Saturday morning cartoon fare, but he was mostly just a drunk that thrived on emotionally abusing me, he never laid a hand on me or my mom. My mom was a manic depressive that seemed stuck forever in the “Depressive” end of things, so we lived in squalor and it was a relief to finally escape when I turned 18 and left for college.
My life was always an adventure with bad men, and I seemed to gravitate towards the ones that thrived on inflicting pain, perhaps it was that was the masochist in me or some deeply repressed death wish, but who the hell knew, but by the time I met my final ex, I had scars of many sorts and I should have known my now ex-husband was trouble walking. He was everything that women are warned about, a biker, never been in a long relationship, no stability, and he had a record. But I was a cop and I guess I thought I could “fix him”? I was cocky, arrogant and figured that I had achieved everything else I had set out to do with my career and education, fixing a problem man should be no big deal.
He started off by throwing a plate against a wall one night when dinner wasn’t to his liking. Then it escalated to shoves, punching walls, insults, and emotional blackmail. I should add that by this time we had a child in common, a little boy that was born with a genetic disability that created a huge amount of stress upon me and that had also impacted my health a significant amount. I almost died having him, and it took months to recover, months that I didn’t have because I was expected to be providing for the family as well as keeping house. He became angrier and more stressed and the amount of tension in the house grew. The son I had from a previous relationship learned how to live like he was a shadow, trying to never make noise or get in his way. My ex lived in his recliner in the living room, watching tv and yelling at anyone who disturbed him. He was forceful and cruel and in spite of everything we ended up pregnant again. I told him I wanted to leave and he took a .357 magnum pistol and first put it to his head and said, “I am just going to shoot myself if you leave me! Will you do that to our kids?” I was so terrified because my sons were right there, and then he pointed the gun at us and he said, “Maybe I should just shoot all of us?” I begged him to stop and he slammed the butt of the pistol into the wall and walked down the hall and left. I didn’t call the cops I didn’t call until the time he took a straight razor to me. He grabbed me by the throat and slammed me into a dresser and held me with my toes barely touching the floor as he told me how he wanted to slit my throat, and take a picture of it and send it to all my friends after he dumped my body down a well on the Rez. When my kids started crying he let me go and I escaped. I called the police and he was arrested. He was given probation, but while he was in jail I divorced him even though we had 3 kids in common by this point as well as my son by a previous relationship.
When he was released he came back. We lived 10 miles from town in the country where it took the sheriff’s department 19 minutes to respond when I called. I endured the next few years, living in the hell thinking that I had no hope. His drug habit had increased to the point that we were always broke financially and I began baiting him in the hope he would leave to just chase his drug habit. It backfired on me and He just got more mean and angry at me, and my eldest son decided to step in and try to divert some of the abuse and my ex, who was a 6ft tall, 290lb biker beat my then 12 year old son, who barely stood 5ft tall and weighed maybe 130, in the front yard like he was a dog. It was then that I decided I was going to kill my exhusband.
I knew I could. I am an ex cop and criminalist and I knew I could probably even get away with it, but after being let down by the legal system in Arizona so many times, I just didn’t give a damn anymore. He was hurting my kids and I was done. I made my plans, wrote up a will and contacted a friend in Portland telling her that I was going to be giving her guardianship of my kids, so she was going to be getting a packet of papers with all their info as well as my financial records and such, but she should expect to have to come and get them pretty soon. Lucky for me, my friend is a pretty damn nosy and persistent person. She asked what was going on. She called me, emailed me and harassed me until I told her. The she gathered up everything and spent a few hours tracking down my exhusbands probation officer and she told him, “Unless you want to be short a probationer, you better get him quick, I know her and she is not messing around.” By 0900 on October 1st of 2007 my exhusband was back in jail and I was talking to investigators.
It was terrifying. I thought I was going to jail or that I was going to lose my kids, but for once the system sort of worked and he actually had to sort of answer for what he did. He got 20months in prison. I used that time to get my act together and to try and figure out what to hell to do with our lives. We couldn’t stay where we were, I wasn’t going to end up back in the same situation because I knew this time someone would die. I was worn out physically and mentally and I just didn’t know where to turn.. A black depression ate me up for quite a while and my kids and I struggled to even have enough to eat, and to get though my bout of H1N1 and a winter with 12 feet of snow. As time approached for him to get out, we realized we had to make a decision, and it was my small daughter’s love of a funky little rock band that finally gave us the strength to go.
I tell folks that we were drug to Portland by a pack of ragtag monkeys, but the truth of the matter is, I had promised my daughter we would see the 100 Monkeys in concert some day because they had been our sunshine in the dark times. Our happy when all was sad and they meant a lot to us. So we saved up our nickels and dimes, sold anything we had of value, and raised enough money to buy tickets to a show they were putting on in Portland, OR and then Amtrak tickets. We knew it was going to be a rough departure for us, the judge in our case had said that even though he had been in prison for,’Aggravated Assault with a Deadly Weapon per Domestic x’2 and Aggravated Battery on a child as well as Unlawful Imprisonment with intent to injure”, and a wide variety of other things, he still had “Rights” to his children.
I had to make a deal with the devil to be able to leave to save our lives. I signed away my rights to the house, my van, all possessions in the house and I gave him temporary custody of our two sons because the judge said if I took them out of state without his permission he would, “Throw my ass in jail”. I was hoping that once we got settled in out of state and got established, I would be able to seek full custody of the boys and get them out of there, but I was able to get him to agree to let me take my daughter without any problems because she was so young.
He was released the end of June, we left the state July 5th, and though it’s always a delicate dance to appease him long distance, I have managed to at least be able to speak to my sons from time to time and they tell me how they are doing. It breaks my heart daily, to be away from them, and I often consider caving in and going back, but then my ex will get on the phone and I am given a reminder of just what a deadly decision that would be to make. My sons are well, I have friends who see them who also work in the schools with them so I know that at least he has not transferred his hate of me onto them, and once I can afford to fight him, he never will.
Life is not easy. We never have enough money, we have no car or many of the other things that people take for granted, and this was the saddest Christmas we have ever known, because we were apart from my two boys, but we are hopeful that the New Year will bring better things for us, we are healing and the weird little band that brought us sunshine in the darkness, still is lighting up our days and making us smile when the pain wants to pull us under.
 Almost Present day...
We got to see that concert in Portland. In fact, we got to see them twice that day and the first show was in a Parking lot at VooDoo Donuts. It was blistering hot, we had walked over 5 miles with less that $2.38 cents to our names and the little bit of money we had we spent to buy Stevie a can of Dr. Pepper and a bottle of water that we split 3 ways, but you know what? It was glorious! When those boys pulled up in that parking lot, I thought it was a bunch of lost college kids. They were kinda scroungy looking and they were friendly and the cars all looked like something wouldn't look twice at on the city streets. Stevie spotted Jackson right away and it was like she had been struck by lightening. This is a child who was quiet, withdrawn and pretty scared of most men. I had keep a hold of her hand to keep her from running over!
We sat on a curb with a bunch of other girls and watched them set up and joke around with everyone. I was just gobsmacked, this was not the "Rockstar" kind of behavior I was expecting at all. They played their songs and my daughter just beamed with joy. It was as if the sun came out all over the place and I felt a load of pain lift off of us. As we were getting ready to walk over to the Doug Fir to watch the regularly scheduled concert, my little girl looked at him with such longing that I knew I had to find my nerve for once and do something I never thought i would be able to do, I walked up to a strange man,with my child and I asked ,(stuttering and shaking and in a whisper almost), if he would take a picture with her. His attention was all on her and his face lit up and he just beamed at her. He knelt down and hugged her and I had never seen such pure and utter love and joy on my child's face as I did in that moment. He spent time being kind to her, talking to her and then when he stood back up, he smiled at me and patted my shoulder. My son gasped in shock because he knew I was already on overload for the day, but it was a good thing. He saw me smile. It was like a high hit us all and pulled us out of all the stress and fear and pain.
The next year was just as good, and when she saw him at the Best Buy table, it was like she was seeing her old friend and when he handed her his sweaty headband at the Wonder ballroom show she was delighted until she realized it was dripping with sweat, and then she had the typical 7 y/o reaction and went,"EWWW!"
 No doubts, never has had any. She loves all the guys and the band and as  survivor of situation where there was fighting and pain, she hates to see it spread to those she loves and she has the pure heart and innocence of a child when it comes to all things like that and I love her attitude about the whole situation which is ,"Its none of my business who is mad at who, I didn't see it or hear it and I don't know the whole story. I know I love them all and they have been good to me. Jackson has always been nice to me, Jerad has always been nice to me. People should be nice to each other, because there aren't enough nice people in the world sometimes."
Shes 8 and she gets it.
Our lives were changed by that little band, maybe its a crazy reason to finally leave your abuser because your kid wants to see a rock concert, but for 10 years I had just taken it when nothing else had done it. I now have all my kids and we are slowly but surely making progress even though its a struggle to support 4 kids on my own, but thanks to some monkey fans, I was able to rescue my boys when the ex lost the house I had to sign over to him, and at least we are together and safe for once.
A band of 100 Monkeys made  differences in a lot of lives, and I, for one, will never forget that.

Dear Roger: Religious or Not?

I finally found my stray yesterday, he had gone to ground for a a bit for some reason or another but yesterday he was back, huddled in his regular spot on the sidewalk, dozing slightly. I took him some stamps and envelopes as well as some paper and a pen so that if he wanted to write someone, he could. I don't know that many people who write letters anymore, but you never know, he might be one of them. I also gave him some more food, and as is his way, he was grateful and thanked me too much. I offered to buy him a hamburger, but he politely declined saying that he had enough and that I shouldn't spend my money on him. I fussed at him a bit, wanting him to have a hot meal, but he demurred, saying he might have some family coming through town in a couple weeks. That is great news! Hopefully they will take him someplace warm and safe. I gave him my cell phone number and told him if he gets into a bind, maybe I could help him out. I just want to know hes safe. 

My son was shaking his head and laughing at me as we were eating our sandwiches later, he said, " You say you aren't religious! You are the most Christian person I know! You call yourself a sinner who is dammed to hell, but yet you are the one is out actually DOING what those people I go to church with are supposed to be doing! They sit around and talk about it, you actually get out and do it. You are a Christian, quit kidding yourself."  That started a bit of an argument/discussion over my motivations for doing what I do and my beliefs and I don't think I managed to convince him of anything. He was on a rant yesterday, wanting to tweet to people about how they had "Lost their way and forgotten that music and friends are the only things worth having because the love of money is that path to hell." and he was determined to prove to me that I was religious even though he knows damn good and well I am not, I just believe in doing what is right. Maybe not what is always easy, but always what is right. It took me a lot of years to learn that. I was not always that way, in fact there was a long time I was all about me and getting what I could, but then I started losing people I cared about, then I nearly died a few times, then I had a life changing event and everything I thought was important was stripped away from me and I had to start over with the things that really were important. I've been down so low I had to climb a ladder to find the bottom and I realized that nothing matters except being a good person and doing good things so that when you are gone, people will say,"They were kind and thoughtful and they made a difference with their deeds." I remember people who were kind to me through the worst of it all and I remember those especially who were kind to my children. They helped to push the pain and misery back and helped us to climb that ladder to the bottom so we could begin our journey back to "Up". I have a debt to repay, and its a debt of kindness that is not even acknowledged anywhere except in my heart and head, but paying it back makes a difference to people. Its made a difference to my stray, and to the women who I helped to find shelter from their abusers, and to the family who I helped to find clothes and furnishings when they needed them, and then to the people they help, because one of the women went on to start babysitting children for other women in bad situations so they could begin the journey out. 

I explained to my son, who claimed he wanted to get rich and famous so he could use his fame to make a difference in the world, that every person has the power to make a difference. Every time you smile and show kindness to your neighbor, or better yet, you step out off your comfort zone and you ask that dirty kid huddled on the sidewalk,"Are you okay?" instead of walking past like the hundreds of other people, you make a difference. Every time you don't tolerate hate speech or behavior or bullying, you make a difference, every time you take a stand for what you know is right in your heart, you make a difference. I told him that I chose to go into public service, Law Enforcement, EMS and FireFighting, because I wanted to make a difference and for a long time I did. It led into things like teaching CPR and First Aid, and giving speeches to young people about why its a good thing to serve your community and your fellow man. I may not have helped tens of thousands of people like some rich celebrity might do by showing up and raising money, but by showing up at a car accident on the side of the road in the wee hours of the morning and crawling in amongst the glass and the blood and the dirt and reassuring the injured person inside that it was going to be,"Okay", I made a difference to them,  and their loved ones and their friends, and to me, that was just as important and a little more concrete.

He and I argued and debated back and forth for quite awhile about this topic and my reasons and motivations for what I do and why I teach my kids the things I teach them, such as the manners and respect and values, but also why I send them to church when I dont go myself. He knows I am somewhat spiritual, but he considers my beliefs a weird amalgamation of Buddhism, Secular Humanism, Catholic faith, and Native American religion, but to me, its just a way of being and a code of values. I don't put a name on it, I don't even try. I am working to balance the scales, atone for my sins, pay forward the kindness, honor the sacrifices of my elders, and just be a damn good person who eases the burdens of those around me. I think I pretty much covered it, but I don't know if that is religion, its just doing my best to be a decent human being, and about half the time its questionable if I succeeded or not.  

Dear Roger: Weak

I had been doing good, in fact I had made it almost a full month without going back to any of the old haunts or  looking him up or even sending him an email. I wasn't listening to too many sad songs, and in fact I was busily pissing people off by questioning things that they thought I should not question because the things I had learned from him had taught me to be aware that things were not adding up and I should be asking questions.
Life was going on. I was sitting on the couch, talking to my son and a couple of people online, arguing with my dog who was trying to shove me off the couch, and considering canceling my trip to Las Vegas, when my phone rang. My son grabbed the phone because I was trying to keep my computer from falling off the couch and he looked at the number and said,"Who would be calling you from Arizona?" My heart began pounding. I knew right away. I guess the look on my face said it all and my son got angry and wanted to cancel the call but I grabbed the phone. I caved. I talked to him. God...it was so good to hear his voice. Ive missed him like a junkie misses a fix. He had missed me too. We talked about a lot of things, mainly about the fact we have been friends too long to stop. I felt better after I talked to him, in fact, I felt empowered, like some of the old me had crept back in and I took that the next morning and I didn't just tweet my questions about the issues that were concerning me, oh noooo! I posted a question, very publicly on Facebook, asking the people in the know, what the hell was going on and why no one was communicating with the fans about the lack of announcements regarding the band and such for the concert I was supposed to be going to at the end of the month, the concert that I had a chunk of change invested in because I have a non-refundable ticket that I cant even give to anyone else and that to even change the date on costs more than the ticket is worth,so when my gut instinct started telling me that something is not right, I was pre-law when I dropped out of Grad-school, I have been around the block a time or two and I know how things get, so when the went radio silence on the fans, I knew the feces had impacted the fan and it was getting ugly. I asked a very respectful and for me, tame question, and I actually got a fuckton of people messaging me and thanking me for having the balls to ask it, and I was met with  a bit o hostility and snarkiness and then BOOM! my post was erased and my ass was booted from the club. Fuck you very much. Its fine with me, I was quitting the same time I was getting booted so I think we crossed each other in cyberspace. I didn't follow the chick on twitter so I had no idea she was being snotty about it on there, which is fine, and probably a good thing, because as it was, my son made me go take a walk outside so I would quit pacing and ranting. I guess I said,"Bitches be crazy" a few times and ranted about how women fuck up bands and such, but hes heard all that from me before. I cant believe I made it that long being polite as I did.If you cant ask a question without people freaking the fuck out, that tells me a hell of a lot, and it told a few other people what they needed to know, so thank GOD I manged to save a few other folks the hassle of getting plane tickets that are worthless to them now. So I wont be celebrating my birthday again this year? Big freaking deal, its the same as the past decade or so. I've decided Ill just be 29 for the 14th time and rewind my life to that point, but keep the kids.
My stray was missing yesterday. I worried about him too. I want to help him soo damn bad. I don't know what to do other than to keep feeding him, try to make sure hes okay when I see him and offer what help I can. Hes usually dozing when I see him. I don't know if he doesn't sleep well at night or if its horse. I hope its just because hes not sleeping well at night. I'm taking him a notebook, pen, envelopes and stamps, today if I can find him, along with the food, that way if hes got some other family he can write, maybe they can take him in. I tried to find out if the airline ticket I have would transfer to him in case he wanted to go someplace warmer, but its not transferable at all. I would just worry about who was watching over him down there anyway.

Dear Roger: Feeding Strays

My homeless boy was back in his spot yesterday, huddled on the sidewalk looking exhausted and starved. I asked him how he was doing as people walked by and looked at me like I was crazy for talking to a homeless kid while I had two of my kids with me. He grinned up at me and said,"hey! Its the 100 Monkeys lady! Its good to see you again. Thank you again for those donuts, they were great." I asked him if he was hungry again, and he said,"Yes, ma'am." looking ashamed. I nodded at him and told him I would be back. He smiled and put his head back down and huddled back up.
My eldest son, who was with me, was shocked that I knew the kid. He was even more shocked that I had obviously fed him and communicated with him beyond a simple nod. I told him that the boy was someones baby, hes young, hes not asking for money or anything and he looked like he needed help. When I was walking along that day with my ear buds in listening to my music, the Mechanical Peoples "Faith in the Will" and such, it just reminded me that I had been down before and hundreds of thousands of people had walked past my bruises and never truly asked if I was okay. They had never taken a moment to see what they could do and then acted, until one person did and it changed everything. It was that first rung on the ladder. When I had asked him if he was okay, he didn't sound convincing with his ,"Yes" that was why I asked if he was hungry. If I had had extra cash, I would have taken him to a restaurant and bough him a hot meal.
Yesterday my son loaded up a hand basket with bread, peanut butter, jelly in a squeeze bottle, chips, cookies, and some fruit in a snack pack. He looked at me like he expected me to object, and I just added another box of donuts. We walked back to where he was and I thought the boy was going to cry. His eyes lit up and he must have thanked me a dozen times and then he stood up. Hes very, very tall, and heartrendingly thin. He asked, "May I hug you?" I told him I dont typically hug people, but I made and exception and I hugged the boy.
Yeah, call me a sucker. I don't care. Hes a kid, hes on the streets and hes skinny and pretty and alone and this is a bad place to be those things. Meeting him upset my son quite a bit and I think he realized a few things, including how damn lucky he is. We walked down to another store and my son bought him a coke and asked me to take it back to him. I said I would but I told my son, "You do realize he is probably a drug addict?" My son said, "I don't care. Hes not that much older than me! His situation is not that different than mine!" And there we had it, my son realized that,'There but for the grace of God go I" moment. I've had a few of them. My son took my daughter and went home and I went back to take the boy his coke. He was gone from his spot but a store clerk was there. I asked her about him and she told me he was legitimately homeless, often very hungry, and didn't go to the shelters too much because he was scared of them because of a bad experience. That crunched my heart. I saw him walking back up the sidewalk and he sat down on a bench a little further down, so I walked up to him and handed him the coke. He said,"Ma'am, this is too much. You don't have to keep doing this." I asked him, "Did you have something to drink with your food?" he said, "No ma'am" so I said, "Well then." He thanked me again and I told him not to worry about it.
I told him that I wasn't going to pry into in business because that is not my business, but I wanted to know if he was safe and if he needed anything else.
He told me his name finally and that he had been on the streets over a year after leaving Spokane due to abuse and problems at home, he had come here to live with his grandmother, things had been good with her until she died, then the house had been sold and he was told he couldn't come home.
I don't know if its true or not. I know hes very young, Most of the homeless around this area are hardcore older drunks and heroin addicts, and most are mentally ill. He seems sane and able to carry on a polite conversation and he has impeccable manners. He knows im not rich. He fussed at me for spending my limited resources feeding him, but he is a kid and hes hungry, how could I not? He told me that hundreds of people had walked past him for days and days and never spoken to him, and he wondered why I had? I told him that I had been reminded that paying it forward is what keeps the love going.
We don't have a lot, but ill be watching out for my stray while hes around and making sure he got some food in his belly. He was open to hearing about some resources to help him get off the street, and maybe that will work, maybe not. To him Im "Jen, the 100 Monkeys lady" and hes my Lost Boy.
Id like to find his parents and find out,'Why? What is so bad about what he is to make you subject him to huddling on the sidewalk in a strange city so far way?'

Dear Roger: Its All About Sex

Today was grocery shopping day, so I got the younger boys headed off to school, went and did my job a for a bit and then I came home, gathered up my eldest son and youngest daughter and we began walking to the grocery store. Its a good 2 mile walk, but considering it was a rare sunshiney day, we didn't mind, in fact we really enjoyed being out in the sun and fresh air for the first time in months and months.
We took a quick break and stopped at McRaes for french fries with gravy and lots of katsup as well as some iced tea, and while we were there my son noticed I was looking at a cute guy that was sitting in the corner of the restaurant. We had actually been making fairly regular eye contact and occasionally smiling at each other, and it really seemed to disturb my son. He got irritated at me for not paying attention to his talk about the lack of adequate sports teams in Portland and the constant rain, in order to stare at the cute man.
"Mom! Pay attention! I swear to God all you think about is sex anymore!" He was referring to the fact he had caught me writing a sex scene last night for one my stories. I don't usually write very graphic scenes, but it was very R  almost NC-17 rated and its actually pretty hard to write that kind of stuff with kids wandering around talking to you.
He started complaining that everything seemed to be wrapped up in sex. I explained to him that next to money, it was the most powerful driving force in the world. People make life changing decisions over sex, destroy friendships, business partnerships, lives and marriages, even themselves for it. A few moments ecstasy can cost a lifetime of misery or it can be a "For the Win" gain, it all depends on how you play the game. My daughter was not paying attention to our conversation, as she was jogging ahead and talking to her monkey  after we left the restaurant, so we weren't scarring her ears with our topic of discussion, but it is something she is well aware of, as it is all around her. Sex is everywhere in our culture, even aimed at young kids, and she is remarkably adept at picking up on the subtle cues and even the double entendres that I thought went over her head. She has even commented a few times about certain songs or singers that she knows they are for,"Adults" and that she has to cover her ears and leave the room when she hears the opening chords of certain songs because she knows what is coming is not approved for her to hear.
I do try to shield my kids from some of it, but I am also very much into making sure they understand the reality of what its all about. My eldest son has had the,'Safe Sex" talk in both the straight and gay version and maybe that is why he says he is waiting for marriage or that he may never? I talk to my daughter about the fact that she doesn't need a man to be a strong and powerful woman. She has seen that a man can be more of a burden than an asset, and she knows in spades that men can be unreliable, untrustworthy and will forget you in a heartbeat, so she is learning to do the same. Maybe its harsh, but I don't want her to have to count on anyone, so I brutally honest with her about everything and I am preparing her to be a leader. She is already worked more than two weeks ahead in her schoolwork, is pushing to get her French lessons going faster and is writing her own story and she is teaching herself,"Smoke on The Water" on the piano by ear. She is fierce and brave and tough and she is also learning to watch other women so she knows how to walk and act like a lady. At this point, she sees boys as pretty useless and helpless and I dont mind if she continues to have that attitude for the rest of her life if it makes her powerful.
Her brother is not thrilled with that but he has not been the best at proving to her any different, especially when he does things like abandon the family all day on a holiday to be with his girlfriend. Its okay, I understand, but his little sister doesn't and to her it was just another example of a man who is unreliable and only following his pecker.
My son and I talked about a lot of things on our walk, including why some women make the decisions they do to date the men they do, and that on really drove him crazy. I told him about how when I was in college I had dated a really nice guy, a Dallas, rich boy, prep school kid who was headed into the family business and who was steady, reliable, sane, (as a rich kid could be), and he had a lot to offer me. We had a great time together and we dated for over a year, and I really liked him and he really liked me, my parents really liked him too. I dumped him.  I dumped him for a mercurial, temperamental, good-looking, jock who barely had two dimes to rub together and who my parents couldn't stand. It was a horrible break-up and I wasn't even nice about it, I broke his heart and it one of my biggest regrets. My son was shocked because he knows I always do my best to not hurt anyone, but as I told him the rest of the story I explained I was 19, stupid and shallow and not even thinking of what life would be like in the future. Now I am one who believes that no one should make life altering decisions until they are 30, but then hindsight is 20/20 and I hope that by giving him a view of what I had done in the past, I can help his future and prepare him for the insanity that is dealing with young adult women.

Dear Roger :Battle Weary

Yesterday was a stressful day around here. I realized that I have been the last line of defense between a small child and an angry man for the last 10 years and it has had a dramatic effect on me. I don't know how to deal with normal sibling rivalry, and I am afraid my kids don't even know how to have it. All 3 of my boys are older than my daughter, and all three of them are jealous of her. She is the baby, she does get a lot of attention because she is very outgoing and vivacious most of the time now, and she is friendly. She is also smart and cute. My boys are also smart and cute, but they tend to be reserved and more withdrawn. Its not their faults, they had to be that way to stay out of trouble at home before we escaped. My eldest son learned to be a ghost so we didn't get in trouble because if he disturbed the ex, then he would evoke his wrath, and I would jump in to protect him and then I would face the brunt of the anger for whatever transgression had taken place, such as awakening him from his nap in the middle of the living room or disturbing whatever tv program he had blaring. We learned to be quiet and out of sight and not,"Silly or ridiculous." 

My two other boys are the same way, they were raised in it their whole lives so that is all they know is being reserved and quiet, though I have been working very hard to bring them out of it with all kinds of random silliness and things like,"random dancing" and singing for no reason, but their older brother rarely joins in and cuts loose and its sad. 

My daughter is the rare exception to all of this, she was somewhat lucky in that I got her out in time. She was just a little thing of 4 when I got him sent to prison and while she remembers the straight razor and all that, she has been recovering and her natural exuberance has survived, especially with her love of her little band and all that accompanying silliness. 

She has made a lot of friends in the virtual world and she tries to reach out and make friends everywhere, because she knows the danger of being isolated and what that can lead to, but her brothers are not as eager to make new friends or reach out and often they resent her for her friendships and the attention she gets.

Her oldest brother sometimes seems to feel like he has to compete with her for attention and that she should be less outgoing and friendly and more like everyone else in the family, reclusive and reserved, but she resists that and it makes him angry. 

Yesterday he became upset with her and it was like my ex husband was standing in my living room, yelling at my daughter. He said things that my ex had said. His posture and attitude were the same and it was like a switch was thrown in my brain. I love my son with all my heart, but I will not see this cycle continued. My daughter will not grow up to be me. I stepped between them and sent her to her room to play with her brothers and I sat him down on the couch and we had a talk unlike any talk we have ever had. It went on for a couple of hours and I used every tool at my disposal, including guilt. 

I told him that like it or not, he is her male role model since everyone else has abandoned her. He is her example of how men act and how they treat women. He is it, a formerly abused child himself who has never had a male role model that didn't denigrate him or abuse him, is her only example of how a man is supposed to act. He was horrified and terrified. I asked him if he wanted her to grow up thinking that its acceptable for men to call her a,"Stupid Bitch" and shove her around or worse. I asked him if he wanted her to have low self esteem so that she would end up either thinking she deserved to be used and abused or that she should abuse her body with drugs and alcohol. I told him stories from my own past, and I made him cry. Maybe it was the wrong thing to do, but by the time I was done talking, my ex was gone from his eyes and I didn't hear him in is voice anymore. 

I told him that I had been the last line of defense between a small child and an angry ogre for over 10 years and it was time I got to stand down and have some peace in my life. We are finally together and free. The pain and anger and horror that was our lives is gone and it needs to stay that way. 

I think he finally grasped it, I hope so. Its been a long war and its taken a toll on me, Im weary of the battle.

Dear Roger: Explain Yourself, Weirdo!

I'm homeschooling two of my kids. What the hell was I thinking? The youngest one was a fairly easy decision, shes gifted out the wazoo and the school systems idea of Gifted curriculum was to have her help teach the slower kids. She was getting held back, stifled and slowed down and because she is a bit of an dramatic and odd child, she was beginning to get bullied, and shes not one to take it passively, she was fighting back. I saw the writing on the wall when her monkey,"Jackson", got knocked out of her hands and into a puddle by an older kid, and she went for blood. I didn't need her getting suspended or arrested, so I did what was best for her and found an online program that would help support us and now she does her work at home where she doesn't have to deal with anyone doing foul things to her monkey other than her brothers, and if she does things to them...oh well, its all part of the education process.She already been jumped up two grade levels and she taking things that she never would have gotten in the public schools.
My other home schooler is my oldest son and that is the one that is the biggest trial to my sanity. He over-thinks everything, procrastinates, and questions every damn thing there is to question. He screwed around until he was almost 100 lessons behind and now he has been racing though them to catch up with everything. Hes doing good on stuff, when he actually works on it, but he tends to distract himself from the task at hand with a myriad of things like his guitar or his computer.
The one thing he is really battling with lately is having to write. I don't get that, just like I don't get how math comes soo easily for him. I love to write, it flows out of me at times and if I cant write, I get anxious and my skin feels tight. He likens it to torture for himself. He also is not too fond of reading, though he will. I don't understand that one, I read to him all the time when he was a baby, and he was surrounded by books growing up. My youngest daughter and youngest son Stubby, are prolific readers, to the point that both of them are reading waay above grade level and devouring books at speeds that some adults only dream of. Stub has special permission from his school to check out more books than most kids his age because he reads so much and so fast, and daughter is wading through the Harry Potter series like there is no tomorrow. I give my eldest books to read that I think will make a mark on him, teach him things about our culture and society, and he looks at them, sets them aside and forgets about them until he finds the movie or what not. I've tried to explain to him that quite often the movies do not do the books justice and even change things about them, citing the Clive Barker,"Dread" incident which still irritates me to no end. Not just for the fact I don't like seeing a pretty boy die,(though he did  it quite convincingly), its just that Clive Barker is one of my favorite authors and taking poetic license with one of his stories is akin to taking a crayon to the Mona Lisa.
Explaining this to him was as effective as him falling asleep with his head on the book. He watches me write each and every day and it seems to irritate him at times. In fact he makes fun of my typing style because he says I seem to be enraged at the keyboard, too harsh and aggressive. I do wear keyboards out pretty quickly, often wearing the letters off the keys within a year and I have odd places on my hands and wrists where the rest on the computer, but it is my one thing...my hobby, my passion and my solace. I write everything and anything just about and that seems to bug him as well. He needed an example of a descriptive narrative, I read him one of mine and asked him if he could picture the person and the place and he said that it was like he was standing there with them. He needed an example of humor, I had it, tragedy, I had it. I write everything. My grammar and mechanics may not be perfect and I need an editor so badly for some of my stories that the thought of the butchery and laughter alone is what keeps me from handing them over for an attempt at publishing, but I get it out of me, and I don't understand how he finds it to be such a struggle .
Last night I was writing a chapter of my latest story and the banter between two of the characters was of a sexual nature. Its a little difficult at times to go from writing the joking conversation of two 20 something year old men who are talking about sex, to answering questions from my teen son about MLA style, but I was doing my best. I caught him looking over at my computer screen and he asked me, "What the hell are you writing?!" So I gave him an abridged version of the story. I was struggling with what the two men would consider a reasonable wager over a contest and he surprised me by saying, "Well, if the younger guy likes the other guy, then he would  want something to do with sex, don't you think? They are young, healthy dudes, its obvious they kinda like each other and if it was a dude and a chick, that would be what was up."  I told him I thought it was too soon in the relationship and he looked at me like I was old. "Mom, get with the program. These are modern times. I'm a weird guy because I believe in waiting for marriage. Most of my friends hook up with a couple dates." Point taken, and for future reference, I think I aged 20 years during that conversation.
He still hassles me about my writing a little, but its not because I do it, now its because I wont try to publish it yet. Hes pushing me, especially over one of my stories I wrote that he read and loved. Its a fictionalized account of  growing up in East Texas. Ive been editing it and correcting some things and mulling it over, so maybe...just maybe.

Dear Roger: Monkey On My Back

I have an addictive personality. I've known it my whole life and I have really worked hard to steer myself away from the more truly destructive passions, but there are a few things that I have allowed myself because they are, for the most part, harmless. The longest addiction I have had is to coffee. My West Texas granny gave me my first cup of it at her table when I was 8 years old and I drank it from then on. Its the one constant in my life. I tried to quit it once and those around me suffered as if I was a heroin addict trying to go cold turkey. I was irritable, mean, sick to my stomach, and outright hostile until I finally gave in and began drinking it again. When I was a cop I averaged 6-8 cups a day, and not the weak, Folgers dessicated stuff, I bought the expresso beans and ground my own and made it strong enough to stand a horse shoe up in.
This morning I was out of coffee. We tend to run out of groceries from time to time due to transportation issues or too damn much rain, and with me being sick with whatever crud it was that I had this past week, I hadn't been anywhere and consequently, we had run out pretty much everything, including my coffee. I am at the tail end of a horrible cold that had left me feeling like hell, weak as a cat and barely fit to be around by human or dog, and then you add in no coffee and I was not fit company for man nor beast. I tried re-running the grounds that were left, but that was less than pleasant, though I did drink a cup or two to try and soothe the caffeine beast that was rearing its ugly head. It didn't work and my irritation with with the world at large soon was evident.
My eldest son was soon shoving me out the door and telling me to go find a coffee shop and my civility. It took awhile. I ended up going to work and listening to music, and then walking over to a small coffee and donut shop and buying my morning fix.
As I was walking back home with my bag of coffee beans and a couple boxes of donuts as peace offering for the kids to make up for my crappy attitude, I came upon a young man huddled on the sidewalk. He looked up at me and smiled and said,"Hey, I like your hoodie. My little brother liked the 100 Monkeys." He was obviously homeless, dirty, thin and they type of drawn up that speaks of having saddled the horse, but he had a beautiful smile and I stopped and talked to him a moment. I asked if he was hungry, and he said he was. I gave him one of the boxes of donuts and talked to him about good music and hopes for good weather. He thanked me and because it was all I could do, I asked if he needed any other help, and he said he was okay, so I told him to take care and I went on towards my home.
I have never had much patience for drug addicts. Maybe because I was able to resist them and I have a holier than thou attitude? I don't know. I know that they junkies do a fuckton of damage to all those around them and I hate to even have passing contact with them , but it hurt my heart to walk off and leave him sitting there huddled on the sidewalk. Thats not how I am cut. I was a cop and an Emt for a reason, not to hard ass people, but to help and because I was an adrenaline junkie. I still am an adrenalin junkie. I crave that rush of the sudden burst of it racing though my veins, making me feel ten foot tall and bullet proof, either because I was facing down a psycho with a knife, racing code three to an unknown scene balls to the wall, or standing in front of over 300 people about to give a speech or perform one of my poems from back in the day. The rush was amazing and I often miss it, so I get the desire to keep the feeling going, but I never could grasp the weakness that drove people to fall into taking drugs to find it. I did enough drinking in my day, in fact I could out drink more than a few of my male friends in my heyday, but all it got me was alcohol poisoning  that left me with the tolerance of a one beer drunk and the regret of knowing that I wasted a lot of potential good times by being blitzed out of my mind, and I also took a hell of a lot of risks that I was lucky to not end up regretting.
April is looking like the beginning of a good month for me. I got another of my damn wisdom teeth pulled, and it was like immediate relief! It was in such a bad place, the dentist who worked on me was amazed I had lived with it for over a year, impacted and infected, impinging into the hinge of my jaw! She commented it should be a surgical extraction, but times being what they are;hard, she just shot me up with extra numbing stuff, which was quite the experience in itself, because apparently there was an abscess that got punctured by the needle and it drained, not only tasting but smelling horrible. The relief once it was pulled was immediate and I think I smiled the entire walk home I was so happy and relieved.
I turn 43 this month and I've got a lot going on. Im rather philosophical about it and hopeful that it will be the start of an amazing year, its starting off with a bang as is my style.