01.15.18

…and I apologize that now, I only write when something troubles me.

“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never harm me.”  Christian Recorder 1862. 

The above statement (adage) may need revision, because we all know that words do hurt and can cause countless unseen wounds.  Today, I would like to revisit some words and statements.  Please be aware that foul language will ensue, so if you’re not okay with that, DO NOT CONTINUE! 

Some things are better left unsaid.

• Chill out.  Leave me alone and go to bed.
• I need a week away from your psychotic, lunatic self.
• I sacrifice my Saturday’s for you.
• I brought wood for your fire pit party.  OH!  Which 6 people were at. 
• Stop talking, I don’t want to hear anymore.
• That was a deliberate sigh.  Just reserve your judgements
• If we weren’t together would you be able to handle it?
• You’re a dick.  You’re a bitch.  You’re an asshole.
• It was good for a minute and then she got her fucking period.
• You’re so fucking toxic.
• Jesus Christ.  Stop whimpering and get a hold of yourself.
• You don’t understand.  I can do this alone.  Fuck you.  I see that you’re completely vacant now.  Thanks.
• What’s wrong?!  Huh.  If I were you I’d stay away from me for the next…oh…12 hours or so.
• NO!  HA!  I’m talking to my supportive imaginary girlfriend.
• Should we set your house on fire so you can feel how I feel?!!!
• Asshole.
• Shut up.  I don’t want to talk anymore.
• You can go to fucking hell.  Fucking with a capital FUCKING.  You’re a fucking dick.
• Stop talking at me.  You are the naggiest person I’ve ever met.  You’re fucking crazy.
• I can’t deal with you being manic.  You have the face of “I’m going to fight.”  Oh.  Great.  Now you’re crying.  
• What the fuck is wrong with you??!?!
• BLAH BLAH BLAH!!!!  
• You’re fucking crazy, psycho, psychotic.  Jesus CHRIST stop your sobbing.
• Please try and figure out your stories.  They're too long.  
• I don’t want to eat cold food.  Stop dancing.
• We’re just going in circles with this conversation.  (gets up and walks away)
• I don’t care about what you’re saying.  I don’t want to know.
• You have nothing.
• Don’t cry.  There’s no crying.  No fucking crying.
• Fuck you, you fucking piece of shit.
• I’m not going to share anything anymore.  I’m not giving anything.  I don’t need to know you and you don’t need to know me.
• You should burn all of those.  You know, for clarity.  (my photos)
• You can suck it.
• Go to hell.
• Seriously!!  FUCK OFF.

• I wish you didn’t even exist.  

These are excerpts from 2014-2018.  This is more than four years of my life.  There are bits and pieces that are not written out.  These are words that were said to my face.  This is something that no human should endure no matter how many times the other says, “I love you.”.

Ps.  I'm sorry it takes me so long to write stuff and things.  I'll get better at it (because I KNOW you're at the edge of your seat err'day waiting for soooooommmmething!)  ;)

11/10/16

Things I hate:

1. Your piss bottles
2. You.  Stealing from my change jar
3. You.  Stealing my cigarettes
4. You.  Eating my food
5. You.  Taking advantage of a free place to live.
6. You.  Not flushing the toilet after pissing or…….4 wads of toilet paper.
7. You.  Making my house stink.
8. You.  Not respecting anything.
9. You.  Needing to be treated as an adult, yet acting like your 14.
10. You.  Never offering to help with anything.
11. You.  Needing to be “reminded” to wash your sheets.
12. You.  Not even trying to get a job.
13. You.  Right now.

And……she needs help.  A little back up.  A little “I got your 6, love”.  A little…bit…of passion and care.  Because this isn’t her responsibility.  She just opened her house up.  Offered all of this…to be taken advantage of.  It.  Stops.  Now.  

Things I love:

1. Notes and/or flowers on my truck!!!!!!!
2. Cheese sticks…although, I seem to be out right now.  ACK!
3. So many [CRUSH](es)…forEVER!
4. Alone time.  (shhhhhhhh)…because she’s actually writing.
5. Snuggles.
6. Intelligent conversations in which you respect my opinions and actually listen to them and then respond accordingly without calling me names or completely ignore me.  
7. My pup…who may eat you, but loves me to the moon and back.
8. How humans light up when you smile at them.
9. How humans completely relax when you [CRUSH] them.
10. Trust.
11. Life.
12. New country music (alt-so……shhhhh!!!)

10/31/16

Hallows Eve.  Here are some talking points:

1. I’m sorry I couldn’t carry on the genes.  It’s just not in my blood (sic).  Not in my nature (nurture?).  The child would have been amazing and awesome and loving and kind and would have been able to destroy nations with it’s [CRUSH](es).  But, twas not meant to be.  Whoever has my child……..treat them well and make sure they understand love.
2. You taught me all of the things and I grew up to love working with my hands and not the cooking/cleaning/shopping/hum drum of an existence.  I don’t know how you did that or if you even love it.  Imma girl.  On the outside.  Human on the inside.  So, she loves Tonka trucks and gardening and wearing jeans and boots (f’ them heals)!!!  And cuddles and getting dinner made for her and flowers.  And getting dirty and hurting herself with tools and being…..her.
3. Your yarn is being auctioned off in the trees as homes for the squirrels and crows…I can’t knit.  You know(knew) this the minute you tore out 10 rows that I had meticulously knitted, because I had dropped a stitch.  So it’s………in the trees.  And they love you for it.  As do I.  Happy Hallows Eve.  I miss you.
   
   
   Our lineage dies with me.  And there’s no one to take my shit when I go, so that’s my (their) punishment.  All of this amazingness dies with me.  I would say (pictures to follow)—of the stuff, creepos, not my death!!!!  But…ain’t no one got time for that!
   
   
   I love you Margaret and Rene
   Blessed Be.
   
   
   ps.  This should have been WAY longer, but you get the gist…     

8/13/16

He gave me everything.  Everything that a father could give.  And of course, it was rocky at times.  Moments when you think as a small human, “Is this right?  Is this what family is?”  Moments when you realize that you’re the boy that he always wanted to teach.  Moments when you have Tonka trucks and a dirt pile and that makes you soooooooooo happy.  Moments when yes, you know what dad needs when he says, “gun”, “driver”, put your earmuffs on…and you hand them over and get in his way because you desperately need to see and learn about what he’s doing.  And then he looks at you and smiles and then explains (in SO MUCH detail) what’s happening.  You learn all the words (kind of, because your 10) Plate, joist, decking, sill, carrying beam, neutral, hot, ground, vent, chop saw, circulating saw, jig saw, sawz allllllllll…and for a time you take it for granted.  Until that day that you go to college and get a degree in Architecture and realize that he gave you that from the start.

And the hugs.  CRUSHING RIB breaking hugs.  That meant:  Even if I don’t say much or talk about emotions or know what the hell is going on in your life, I love you more than this hug will EVER express.  Because that nurse over there ———->  she will one day see you walk in to radiology before I go into a 2 hour surgery, and she will know that you are the one that I’ve been speaking of.  The one that I’m so proud of.  The one that I’m rather frightened of.  The one that I brought up to be strong and independent and loving and (sometimes) forgiving and who she needs to be.  Because that nurse knew me the moment I walked through those stupid couple 6’  wide doors. 

And to all the boys, ever.  Those guys that had a gun brandished before them, those guys who were told to go home and take a shower, those guys who were informed that they were no longer allowed in my parent’s house, those guys that my dad said weren't worth it/couldn’t understand me/wouldn’t let me be…….me.  I stand before you.  In front of my dad.  Because I am the stronger one (in body), because I NEVER imagined my father to be weak in human muscle form.  Because you can never envision that until that one day.  When it happens.  And you stand up and become all that you need to be.  To be that human who will reach over and cock that shotgun, sneer and reprimand you, tell you that you don’t respect me.  Step up, in front of my father and realize he taught me all that I know and that every moment he acted upon something, I cataloged it.  Because it would become me.  I am the one now.  I am the one that you should feel apprehensive about approaching, simply because I don’t have a daughter, but because I was a daughter.  And I am every daughter.

He taught me love.  There is history and it could be hours upon hours of my brothers and I discussing history, but I saw the transition.  The time when my mother made him who he is today.  And it’s been 41 years…because that’s how old I am(????)…and there is, “I’m scared, but I’m supposed to be this strong human who doesn't need anyone to help…so I can never.  Ever.  Ask for help.”  

My love of trucks.

My love of guns.

My love of the smell of cut wood.

My love of fighting.

My love of hugs.

My love of bedtime stories.

My love of the quiet.

My love of being with someone and just sitting.

My love of being tucked in.

My love of people who can't sing.

My love of hugging.

My love of humans saying, “I love you.”

My love.  of.  Love.  

—this is unedited and I have sweat in my eyeballs, so…….real life.``

8/2/16

Today:  Sport DOCTOR (again), because my knee hurts sometimes and swells up to three times it’s normal knee size, and just randomly gives out, which hurts like hell, but is HILARIOUS to witness!!

I saw him the other week and he f’d with my knee SO MUCH that it was swollen by the time I got home.  He ordered an MRI…I brought home a pamphlet of exercises to do.  

I had my MRI four days ago, which is an amazing and terrifying experience!!  AMAZING because frackin’ MAGNETS man!!  Basically scanning your body and making multiple images of the things!!!!!  WHA?!?!  Terrifying because I work in construction and…….no(???), I don’t have any metal shards in my body that may be ripped out while I’m in this loud throbbing machine.  Sorry, can you turn up Blake and Eva because [THROMMMMM THROMMMMM THROMMMM].  …WAIT, why can I fell a vibration in my foot shooting up to my leg?!?!?

Fast forward to today when I went for a follow up.  It’s not strained or swollen or stretched or anything that those stupid exercises (that I couldn't even do) will fix.  My meniscus be torn.  That cushioning between the femur an tibia…yea, that’s rather important.  It’s a horizontal tear on the interior of my right knee.  And you know what the first thing that went through my mind was?  How am I supposed to keep up the Panda awesome walk with a FUCKED UP KNEE?!?!  SRSLY!  My walk is signature…and I can’t do it anymore…or work.

No ladders.

No carrying extreme loads.

Avoid stairs.

No crouching.

Wear this brace everyday.

Don’t live.

Waste away into nothingness.

And I know it’s just a knee and whatever, but it feels weird.  I’m the only female.  I have to prove myself every second.  This.  This is not HALPING!  She doesn’t want an office job.  She wants to make shit happen.  Yes, she’s 41 and working in a job that may be detrimental, but it’s what she loves; so please.  Please don’t take this away from me.  Please.  

The are two procedures.  One to remove the tear, one to repair it.  “Recuperation times vary greatly.  And then there is the matter of crutches.”  NO NO NO NO NO NO!!!!!!  How am I supposed to jump in every amazing rain puddle that happens while I’m on stupid crutches???  NO.  My parents need me right now.  Without crutches.  I need to work.  Without crutches.  I need to be able to get into my amazing truck.  Without crutches.  I need to drive my Jeep.  Without crutches.  I’ve never had crutches in my life and……..PANDA says, “this is not happening!!!”  

Venting.  I know what’s best.   

7/31/16........AGAIN?!?!

7/31/16

Can we talk about teenagers?  Just for a hot second?

Here’s some information on me:

AF Brat.  Went to 7 schools starting from Kindergarten to Senior.  I now have the most amazing friends EVER!!!  Father, as you know, was super protective:  guns shown (actual shotguns), insults made (go home and take a shower), bouncer like at the front door, etc.  I had a car at 16 which was a present from Deutschland (1973 convertible super beetle—Tabitha).  I learned how to drive her in Shippensburg, PA.  My first job was when I was 17.  At the Log Cabin on Bailey’s Island in Maine, when I was living in an efficiency apartment with my dad.  I was a dishwasher (and a full blown vegetarian) working in a fish restaurant.  I REEKED of fish when I came home.  after a few months I got “promoted” to server…and then that duchebag complained about me “forcing my views on him”…so back to dishwasher and prep-cook (err’one LOVES peeling those intestinal tracks from the shramps!!!).  Then on to working at McDonald’s where I got to use the card of “tell me who your Commanding Officer (CO) is” time and time again.  And trying to get through Senior year in a school where on the first day some dude said, “Jesus, you must be so hot in those clothes!”.  I didn’t realize that Bath, ME was just the same as Shippensburg, PA.  Here’s your gershdern frenchfries jerk face.  Then…Porches.  Brunswick Maine.  

Because at 18 (which I could not WAIT for), I moved out of the house that was loving and caring and meant the word to me, but I needed to “rebel”.  So I did.  And lost RSDI.  And lost EVERY scholarship I gained with that 3.8 (almost kicked out, almost didn’t graduate, said f’you to all the free monies).  I didn’t ask for anything from them.  I got sick.  And thought Menthol cigarettes would heal me.  My rat died because the garage we were living wasn’t warm enough.  My favorite cat (vampire reference, blah blah BLAH) ran away……..and I should have followed him into the woods.  

Become me.  BA in Architecture, living alone, making shit happen.  Because…No one wants to disappoint their parents(?).  Because you never want to disappoint yourself.  EVER.  And at 18 I was making my way to $65,000/yr by placing stickers on CDs and tapes and an efficient manner!  …I had no idea.  

That’s all you need to know about me.

Here’s the other story:

18.  Didn't graduate because there was “too much pressure” from outside forces.  Got kicked out of one home.  Choices of….shelter……..or Panda’s home.  Haven't met the dog, so everything should be ohhhhhhkay!  I gave you a room and space to store your clothes (and a dog bite).  And towels. And said it was okay to “vape” OUTSIDE my house, even though you said you were 18 and you could do WHAT YOU WANT!!  I gave you everything and turned a blind eye.  You don’t have a job.  You don’t have any groceries (stop eating our food!!!).  You’re almost out of toiletries, and then there are the rules that were explained to you before you randomly moved into my guest room.

So here are the rules again:

You will make your bed.

You will buy your own groceries. (ADDENDUM: stop eating our food!!!!!!!!)

You will do your own dishes. 

You will wash your sheets every week.

You will do your own laundry.

Don’t touch my shit.  Ever.

Lock the doors when you leave.

And here’s my question.  Should I have been a part of this decision?  Should someone have sat down with me and said, “I know you never wanted kids, and there was a time that you wanted to foster a 15 yr. old boy, but is this what you really want….right now………..right.  now…..Now.  

And I’m alone tonight with Chris Isaak Pandora and writing stuff, so it seems ok right now.  Maybe.  If you eat ANY of my cheese sticks, Imma punch you in the throat neck.  SRSLY.  You’ve already gotten after my mayonnaise………..Girl got trained by mom who was possibly…nothing (tra-la-la)!!!!!!!!!    

I see you.  Get a job.  Live.  Life.  NOW!!!!!!

7/31/16

This is a venting post.  And you’ve heard it before from me, but SRSLY I need to do it again. 

I.  Am.  So.  Sick.  And.  Tired.  Of.  Your.  Phone.  All y’all.  (I’m included in this too, just in case you thought I was getting up on some horse that was way too tall for it’s own good).  I am tired of hanging out with you and realizing that the device in your hand is more important than the words that are coming out of my face.  I like to tell stories, just as EVERY SINGLE human being since the beginning of time did, and when I’m in the middle of one…you pick up your phone.  When I’m starting one, you pick up your phone.  Just as the story is about to end…f’ you, phone!!!  So, what is it?  What happened to actual human interaction?  Is there truly something so much more important on the other end of that interstellar bandwidth that takes you away from me every time?  Why is it when I explain a scenario that just happened, you have this massive, uncontrollable desire to look at that black rectangular magic maker?  Why is it that at the end of said narrative there is no reaction…because you haven’t honestly heard what I’ve said.  Silence.  And one is left alone in the parking lot, loading groceries, thinking, "Crap.  I was totes just talking to myself this whole time.”  And then you want to reach out and poke the other human in the gut just to make sure they’re real.  Because silence.  And nothingness.  And then frustration.  

No, I don’t need you to drop everything when I walk in the room (JK.  Give me a frackin’ hug, dammit).  No, I don’t need you to stop your business transactions.  No, I don’t need you to halt your life just for me.  But…….guys…..what happened?  Do you remember the website I told you about?  I thought you would really enjoy it…hehloo?  Do you remember the dresses I bought for summer the other day?  I thought you would be excited…hehloo?  Do you remember my tears when I was telling you a story about a child I met, because I thought it was inspirational…hehloo?  Do you remember…me?

Hello?

Irrelevant/Invisible Residence.  I’m sorry, she’s not available right now, may I take a message? 

…(Ps.  she’s prolly writing on a piece of PAPER right now!!!  WHA?!?!?).  Just leave a message.  (eye roll).

Perhaps it’s the fact that I’m 41 and I remember the times of the actual phone.  That one where you couldn’t stalk, stare at, fight with, debate with, “like”, “share”, flirt with, etc. from a box of “anonymity”.  Those times when you were taught that the most important number to know was -911-…BUT!!  Don’t ever dial it until the absolute disaster happens…yea.  Ok, mom.  You know I dialed that just to hear what happened on the other end, right???  …and then profusely apologized to the woman and explained (in a 7 year old way) exactly why I had dialed the emergency number: total mystery on the other side of this mustard colored pushbutton phone hanging on the wall that I can barely reach.  Side note:  first time I was called “hun”.  <3  

Regression.

Ah, shit.  Is THIS why you don’t listen anymore?!?!

Stupid bogs and my rules of not deleting anything that’s not relevant…[HRMPH].

What were we talking about???  Here.  Let me toss in some joke about how stupid I am in order to make you laugh…

Hehloo?

Oh.  That’s right.

The things and stuff happen where plans fall through, people go their separate ways, others get “tired”, dinner fails, drinks out-fizzle, movie dates become single dates, talking…subsides.  Conversation ceases. 

…and I spoke with someone once, in a restaurant and said, “I never want to be that couple over there, not speaking to each other, so thank you!!”  

Life has a weird way of punching you in the face.  Because YOU’RE NOT SPEAKING TO EACH OTHER ANYMORE!!!!!  

Guys!  WTF.  HAPPENED?!?!