Dear Roger: Treading the Shy Waters

I am a lifelong music fan as are my children. Music is the one constant in our lives that we would choose over every other form of entertainment if we had to pick one to be left as our sole choice. We listen to it, play it and even write it and my eldest son and daughter sing it.
My eldest son has been trying to get me and my daughter to listen to new and different music in order to get us to stop mourning the loss of our favorite band. Some of it just annoys me and I often just walk away from him saying that either one of the guys is coming out with a new solo song or ill just listen to my old concert recordings, but he keeps trying because he thinks we are stuck in a rut.
I came to a realization the other day when he was playing a song for me I actually did sort of like the other day, other than the name of the band so I could find the song again, I didn't want to know anything about them. I didn't want to know their names or what they looked like and I didn't even want to know if they toured or not. I just don't want to get invested in another band emotionally ever again. I don't want to have my heart broken when they dissolve or have a hard time. I don't want to give a damn enough about them to drain my bank account so they can fund their side projects or tour. I don't want to see a recording of them performing in some bar somewhere and have my heart ache because the pain in their eyes and voice just rips my soul. I don't want to know their backstories or their families or how we have these weird little connections. I don't want my daughter to cry because she is worried about them being sad and so thin they look like they don't get enough to eat.
We have that, in spades and I just don't have it in me to go through it with anyone else and neither does my daughter. We are painfully loyal to our broken little band and its bits and pieces that are scattered about and those other fans out there reading this know what I am talking about. You try and move on, but then just when you think you are doing well, you get a little rip in your hoodie or you break your coffee cup and it feels like the world is ending. There are more than a few of us out here still wandering around and we know what it really means to be,"Lost".
I will listen to some of these new bands off and on, but the flavors just arent as sweet, the sounds not as rich and I have no idea who the players are, so I guess Im just going to sit on that porch and wait.

Dear Roger: Second Verse, Same As The First

Well, I finally let the kids nagging wear me down and I went to see a doctor. I went to a new one because I prefer a doctor that actually will talk to me instead of at me, but DAMN! I didn't expect a doctor that would take a bite out of my ass and then give me a talking to like she was twice my age instead of half of it. By the time I managed to escape I was shy about half a gallon of blood and had another damn MRI scheduled to be followed with all kinds of other unpleasant tests and then a follow up appointment all happening within a couple weeks instead of a couple of months like I am used to! I didn't even get to try to use the excuse of no transportation or poor scheduling, they had the appointments scheduled on my days off and transport arranged if I needed it.
Im not looking forward to go starting up all this crap again, but  guess I have to figure something out about why some of the things have gotten worse and why I am not writing. My vision has gone to hell. When I had my eyes checked, the optometrist said that while my eyes looked healthy, my left eye was profoundly weaker than my right, and my vision had significantly weakened since my last appointment. That is seriously NO BUENO for a writer. The left side weakness goes along with my left hand not being as strong and the fact that I limp a bit on my left side. But I get right sided cluster migraines, so that actually makes sense.
They are doing the MRI looking for changes and growth or any weirdness since the last studies and then depending on what that shows, they will proceed with the rest of the bullshit that I hate so much and dread. For someone with as many tattoos as I have you would think I would be okay with needles, but when they are going into your spine and your nerves and then have electrical impulses shot through them, well...that just kinda takes the suck fest to a whole nuther level.
It would be nice to find out why I cant gain weight and why I have no appetite or desire to write or why my tinnitus is out of control lately, but I don't expect Ill get any answers any better than I got the last go round. They give me the,'Well, we THINK it might be... or it could be..." and then they throw a ton a pills at me and tell me to come back over and over for more tests until I snap and decide life is tolerable as it was.  The reason I am going now is because I haven't been writing or eating and I cant see for shit and  that's not a good thing, its had my son worried, so I went for him, and to get him off my case and because I cant really tell an 8 from a 0 anymore or a period from a comma unless I have my screen blown up to grandma level.
I have new glasses coming in a week or so and that should help. I'm trying to get out a little to see if I can find some motivation to get me writing, but so far nada.
We got a new pup and he seems to be the one thing that keeps me busy and makes me laugh.
Benny is quite a character and for some reason he took to me and as I write this hes doing his level best to get between the keyboard and my lap so he can shove my computer off my lap. Hes already spoiled rotten and he spends most of his awake time stuffed in my jacket getting carried around like an extra kid.
Its not too cold up here yet so I have been enjoying getting out and walking around in the rain some, but there are days I long for a car so I could just get in it and drive to the coast or somewhere out of the city for just an hour or two to see if I could find my muse...its been so damn long since I have escaped.

Dear Roger: Chapter Two?

This past week fucking sucked. There is really no other classy way to put it, I sat and just dreaded what I knew was coming like a paralyzed deer watching the approach of a semi-trucks headlights. I couldnt do anything to stop it, I was powerless, the second or third best, not worth the effort, the secret that shall always remain so, and I just sat here and mourned the slow immolation of what was left of my heart. I soothed some of the pain by acquiring a puppy.
I guess I am at that age. I haven't had close physical contact,(read:SEX) in so damn long that I find myself perusing Craigslist personal ads with half a thought towards insanity.
The kids had wanted a smaller dog they could actually play with without getting bowled over or flattened completely, and the choice came between a Pug or Boston terrier and since I have always wanted a Boston, that is what we ended up with. Benny is almost exactly like having an infant. Hes up most of the night raising hell, demanding of being fed immediately and he will jump in your face and go for whatever you are eating if you don't make with the food for him fast enough. Hes completely and totally adorable and probably thinks he cant walk due to all the time he spends in peoples arms, but hes just what I needed. I don't really have time to sit around and be bummed out in the morning when I have him in his crate yelling at me to let him out and feed him as well as hurry up and take him right out to potty, all the while trying to get Spencers needs met as he follows me through the house like a giant shadow, whining and tangling himself around my legs and getting in the way of my coffee, while Benny wiggles and tries his best to either launch himself at my throat in an attempt to help me drink my coffee, or knock it down the front of my shirt in the hopes it will speed me up. Its pure insanity in the mornings now, but im not complaining, I don't have much time to sit around and feel sorry for myself or miss what I will never have again,
Work is going good and its also helping to keep me busy as hell. I find it to be a blessing and a curse. I love that it gets me out of the house and forces me to interact with people on a daily basis, I hate that it forces me to interact with people that I would rather not know existed. It has provided some interesting opportunities to observe some examples of pure psychopathy in action, the effects of long term alcoholism, and various other forms of mental illness and cultures that I would not have observed in other ways. I figure that if nothing else, I have some material for my writing when my muse finally comes back.
I hope that is soon, I actually bought a real typewriter yesterday and it was delivered last night. Its a real beauty that I still cant believe I got so cheap! Its a 1920's Royal and its in museum quality condition, with no cracks rust or missing pieces at all and it functions perfectly! Its from a local shop and even has the original dust cover from the shop. It is gorgeous and I am thrilled to have it to work with, I saw a few exactly like it but not in NEAR as good as condition as mine going for nearly $700 on Ebay, so I guess for once in my life I got a hell of a deal.
Its all about distractions and keeping busy from now on, and just never looking back. Ive always been good at giving advice to people about this kind of thing, so now I have to try it on my own, and its the hardest damn thing I have ever done.

Dear Roger: Monkey's Getting Bullied

The signs have been increasing over the past few weeks, the offhand comment about not wanting to go to school from a child who used to pop up every morning like a spring, literally vibrating and eager for the bus to arrive. The change in wardrobe from her typical flashy, punky style or her fancy dresses to a more subdued almost bland, pre-middle school camouflage of plain t-shirts, jeans and tennis shoes. Her temper has been shorter and I've gotten reports of her being in trouble for shoving another child or yelling at another child, and when I ask about it, she tells me that either they shoved her first or had been picking at her calling her,"Weird" and "Freak" among other things or they had try to take her Jackson on days when the kids are allowed to bring lovies for some reading event.
Today was such a day. She thought it was pj day so she had worn a pair of leggings along with her boots and a very funky cool long sleeved t-shirt that you couldn't even tell was a pj top unless someone told you, and of course she took Jackson. I was at work around 930 when I got a call from her begging me to come get her. She said it was because her clothes were wrong, but I should have known it was more, her voice sounded tense and upset, and I could hear the principal rushing her in the background. I was swamped at work and it was pouring rain so I told her she would be fine in what she had on, that it was raining too hard to walk to the school to get her and then walk home. It bothered me to do it, but I did.
When she got home in the afternoon, I got the whole story, it wasn't just her clothes that were the problem. They had a substitute who essentially allowed the little pack of girls who harass her, to have free reign in the classroom, and when my daughter left the room to use the bathroom, one of the more hateful of the girls kidnapped Jackson and was swinging him around by his tail and calling my daughter names when she got back and demanded his return. Apparently the hysterics and threats were pretty ugly and dire.
She doesn't understand why they hate her, and yes, they tell her they "hate her". They tell her she is a,"Freak" and "Weird" and all kinds of things and I really cant figure out why she has become a target unless its the whole Gifted thing and that she stands out from the crowd. I told her that she is weird. We are all weird in this family and we relish our weirdness. Where they are plain and boring and easily forgettable, she obviously sticks in their minds enough to bother them and that makes her interesting and uncommon and someone who is headed places better than them.  I try to be supportive, but it is wearing on her. She told me today, "They said no one wants to play with me or be my friend and they told "B" not to play with me either or they wouldn't play with her."
I told her about what it was like for me growing up and that I was bullied and ostracized and while there were reasons for some of it,(I usually was dirty, smelled like cigarette smoke or a dirty house and I was a horribly arrogant smart ass), she doesn't have those reasons  except for maybe the smart ass thing, and that it is survivable and sometimes those people grow up and years later look back at how horrible they were to you, and then they become better people and apologize and raise their children to be better people.I told her to consider that maybe she was being tested and that her suffering was part of her path to becoming a good person and helping them to become better people in the end.
Its not easy to tell her that stuff, the old me wants to teach her some really stealthy ju jitsu moves that will have those little shits crying on the ground without and mark on them and no idea what happened except for the smile on my daughters face, but then again, I am trying really hard to be a better person so my kid will win out in the end, but I swear by all that is holy, if that candy ass of a principal does not get this crap in hand by this next week, we will be having a talk and he will not like what I am going to be telling him.  

Dear Roger: Monkey Is A Bitch?

Bitch. Its a word I have had directed at me so many times I simply scoff and blow it off and quite often say," Yes, you figured out my middle name, so what?" But for the life of me, I cannot abide or understand what compels my son to call my 8 year old daughter by that name. She really doesn't deserve it. Shes not a bad kid at all. Yes, I quite often joke about her being,"Evil" or the ringleader of chaos, but quite honestly, she is a very loving, very sweet little girl who adores her big brother and cant quite understand why he gets so mad at her.
She thinks he hates her. She is on the fast track to believing all men are mean and will either yell at her to,"Go Away", ignore her, call her names like,"Bitch" or worse, destroy things she loves or take them away.
Its been a powder keg around my home again and I am sick and tired of it. My little girl does not deserve it, and I don't know what I am going to do about it. I regret soo many things with my elder son, I should have gotten him in counseling when everything first happened to us. I should have demanded he get help for all his anger, but instead I let him try to handle it himself, and unfortunately he has done a terrible job of it.
I have found myself reverting to some of my old behaviors, telling the younger kids to be quiet and not bother him, trying to stay out of his way and appease him because he is so much bigger than me, and when he is angry and I have to go to work I tell my daughter to stay out of his way and quietly message me via private message if hes,"Getting too mean." My stress has been through the roof and my migraines have been back in force, just like they were when I was living in the worst of it. At times he is relentless in his verbal abuse of me, calling me to task for every single shortfall he feels I have, every failing and mistake he feels I have made, he makes fun of my stutters or stress and then sarcastically belittles me when I get upset. It feels like sometimes my ex is standing there in front of me just trying to push me into a heart attack. Today he was so relentless my 10 year old son began screaming at him to stop.
He will be cruel and hateful and then a little while later he will attempt to be kind and helpful, (honeymoon period), to get what he wants, usually money or some treat or control of the tv.
He needs help. I am trying to get it for him, but I worry about my daughter and what she is going to think about men as she grows up, at times it feels like there is just no hope and that I have failed all the way around in protecting my children from not only monsters, but from themselves.
I've told her that the very next time he calls her,"Bitch" or any other horrible name, she is to post on her Facebook page, "I wonder if my brother calls his girlfriend,"Bitch" like he calls me, because if he does, that's not very nice." At least then I know our secret will be right in his pastors lap and maybe some man  somewhere, will have some advice?

Dear Roger:The Monkey Struggles

Writers block sucks. Its probably the most depressing thing I have had to deal with in the past few years. I don't know what brought it on, but its starting to really wear on me. I've had occasional flashes and ideas but the flow I had has stopped cold and even the drive I had to edit my work has dried up. I don't have a clue as to what it would take to spark it back up again, not even the appearance of the boys who used to inspire me fairly often has helped. My tinnitus and migraines are back full force and my vision is horrible and with the Feebs,(FDA) holding up my glasses in Customs in Memphis for the past two weeks, its not been a happy fun time. I know what a large part of things are, and it is part in parcel tied into the torch I have carried for over a decade.
Things will be finally done soon, the dream achieved and I will be watching from afar. It has always been inevitable and I knew that, but I had kidded myself for a few years, that maybe the knight on the white horse would come riding up Burnside to tell me he wanted to be with me.
Heartbreak is the kind of mechanism that can either spur you to greatness with songs that move peoples souls and stories that change lives, or it can leave you a quivering mess that is not fit for human company. I am hovering somewhere in between. I have moments when I feel like I am going to be okay and life will roll along just fine, and then other moments when the enormity of the fact that I have been alone for over 3 years and that I will most likely continue to be alone, hits me and it takes me to my knees. I don't even try anymore and most of the time I am just numb inside so maybe its best I just keep trying to cope as I am, but I want to be able to write again. I don't know what I am going to do in order to coax my muse back around,
My life is getting better in many other ways, my job is going great, I have friends and I am building a social life so I can complain too much, but I do spend a lot of my time alone and I miss having straight, male company! I have all the gay male company I want, and while I adore them and would cuddle all they allow, its really not the same.
My kids try to encourage me to get out, but I don't see myself as having much to offer any potentials. I am an a control freak, I have odd habits and I really don't enjoy the bar scene though I like the music scene. I tend to not mingle well with my own age group and frankly, even I know I am strange and a bit judgmental. I have absolutely no tolerance for drunks, and find them to be pathetic so when I discovered that the last man I even remotely found interesting was into his cups before noon during the weekday, I was soo put off, that I just basically ignored him ever after, (see? Judgmental)  I try not to be, but I guess when you don't NEED a companion, only WANT a companion, you get a hell of a lot more picky and less willing to put up with things you see as weakness.
I think I am in the wrong place to be this eccentric and desirous of male company.

Dear Roger: Trigger

Life is still progressing in leaps and bounds. My job is really pushing me far out of my old comfort zone and forcing me to deal with things that sometimes bring back my old issues to the surface in ways that leave me struggling to not react in my old ways, but I have not retreated to my apartment to lurk behind my windows, hiding from the world, wrapped up in anger and stress over seeing a woman so badly beaten by an ex that her face is shattered and she is facing reconstructive surgery to rebuild it, instead I grimly went about putting measures in place to ensure she would be safe when she returned. I got a picture of the bastard off his mug shot and I made sure we had it handy if he ever gets released, but that doesn't seem likely because one thing I discovered about Oregon is they actually have a really great law here where there is NO BAIL for the type violence her and I have faced and the charges carry a MANDATORY 5 YEARS! Holy cow! A state where people have to actually answer for the things they do? I will believe it when I see it, but I hope for her sake it holds true. The amount of anger I felt after seeing her shocked me and I am probably lucky I didn't hear the assault go down because it would have been bad. I know in my heart I am capable of violence in defense of another, and I know that there are others here who would have gladly assisted me in her defense. We will help her rebuild herself, much like I have done over the past couple of years and hopefully she will start forward again, on to bigger and better things and she will have people who have been there, done that who are willing and able to help, even if its just to listen because sometimes that is all that is needed.
I am enrolling in classes in November. I guess that part is not too shocking, but what is the weird part for me is that they are business and management classes. I have never seen myself as much of a business type person, but this seems to be working for me and it also allows me some time to write and a little bit of freedom to still have a life with my kids.
My daughter is trying to grow up on me. That is the part that is really stressing me out lately. She has beautiful butt length, blonde, curly hair that I have helped her to nurture and care for her entire life. It has never been really cut, only the ends trimmed and its never been dyed or had anything done to it, but lately she has been asking quite often to try some coloring in it. It coincides with her home tattooing and other little body modifications that she has been experimenting with lately. After much thought and negotiation, I have finally decided she can have get her hair cut and she can try a color in it. I am not thrilled about it, but as a friend of mine so aptly pointed out, I have always encouraged her creativity and artistry in all kinds of ways, and she is growing up with a tattooed mother and influences who are not exactly Ozzie and Harriet, in fact nothing in her life has or probably ever will be anything less than slightly left of carnival life, so having colored hair at 8 is par for the course, but I am drawing the line at tattoos or piercing beyond the ears,(even she isn't sure she is ready for her ears to be done yet), so maybe this phase will pass and we will be back in pretty dresses and patent leather Mary Janes by spring, but considering she was totally okay with coloring Jackson's tail... I'm not going to hold my breath.