My mother has had a run of bad luck lately. She was in a minor fender bender with a taxi cab driver no less. I was appointed the task of handling all the details of this drama for her because she is incapable of taking care of them herself.

Under normal circumstances the steps you walk through in such times are a tad stressful but for the most part simple and basic. You call your insurance. You call your collision repair specialist. You call the rental car place. You handle the ticket by either paying money and going to defensive driving classes or paying more money and hiring a traffic attorney.

Which is what I chose to do for my mother: Pay someone else to handle her problems for me. After all it’s the American way.

The most difficult task when dealing with my mother is her lack of intelligence. She was never a smart woman and now I find myself watching what little brain she had melting away into nothingness.

My sisters empathize with her. I, on the other hand, feel nothing but anger and contempt. This is just one more thing, one more reason why, it is our job to take care of her. She is our mother. We are supposed to take care of her therefore we do.

Just like she took care of us?

Her personality is changing and it’s not for the better. She doesn’t understand, she is no longer able to comprehend certain things, so no matter how many time they are repeated, no matter how many ways they are described, no matter how many languages we speak to her in, she just doesn’t get it.

For the past 11 days she has been driving a new rental car. Once she returned to the drivers’ seat of her old piece of shit, she knew something was different, she knew something was wrong, she just couldn’t quite recall what a complete and utter piece her old ford was.

“Are you sure they fixed my car?”

“Yes mom, remember the big huge dent on the front passengers side with all the red and blue paint from the taxi cab? That’s all gone. See… It’s all shiny and new.”

“But it sounds funny”

“Yeah, well sorry mom, but your car is a fucking piece of shit!”

a paradox perhaps, this life of mine. i have often wondered how anyone has the courage to go out into the world and just go and do without thoughts or worries of the effects and consequences of their deeds on those around. than i realize that this is just how i was programed to think and believe by my parents. that this is my perception, my viewpoint and mine alone, not even my sisters share this. yet even though this is different it is not necessarily right or wrong, it simply is mine.

what scales of measure balance my conscious life? strength and weakness are woven so tightly together they are sometimes difficult to distinguish; deeds done or deed left undone, action taken or actions resisted, words spoken or words left unsaid. temptations indulged in and those resisted.



sinners and saints are fictional beings. humans are neither of thoses and everything inbetween.

Nothing at all…
No matter how many times you think it
No matter how many times you say it
No matter how many times you hear it
Nothing will change,
Nothing will resolve,
Nothing will heal
Nothing at all…
Unless you feel the words to be truth
Unless you believe the words to be truth
Unless you know the words to be truth
Nothing at all…
Absolutely nothing at all…

Obviously I’m in a morbid mood,
I just finished reading a book, a new author for me, which is one reason why I rarely venture out to explore the imaginations of new storytellers. Sometimes instead of taking you away from, they dump you right in the mist of the very thing you were reading so diligently to avoid popping into your conscious thoughts. I thought I was safe with this author. It wasn’t even the first story of hers that I read. She waited till the last two chapters before she knocked me on my emotional ass.

This is what Patricia Briggs wrote: “just like it is rape when an adult coerces or cajoles a child. No matter if the child cooperates or not. Whether it feels good or not. Because that child is not able to do anything else.”

beer fairy

today has been a spectacular day! first off, i began the day by writing. it felt really great to write again. other than blogging i haven't written much in the last few months. i realized that it doesn't matter what i write, writing just lifts my spirits and puts me in a jolly mood. and that is definitely what i am after, many delightfully jolly days.

i went to work at 4pm this evening only to find out that i was scheduled from 6:30am to 3pm. OMG! and of course the new big boss (as my mom likes to say, 'not my boss but the big boss! can't remember what you call him, everyone has a frigging title now!) was standing right there when i walked in some 8 1/2 hours late. fuck me, you know. shit what could i say? 'sorry my gray hairs are really showing today' i thought i was suppose to work 4pm till midnight. hell, they were swamped, they didn't even blink, they just smiled and said "we can always use you, 4pm to midnight?, that sounds great. go to 10."

high-hoe high-hoe, it's off to work i go..
i couldn't believe their response.

than i get home from work and notice that the beer fairy came to visit. i opened up my fridge and there is a 30 pack of beer inside. wow! my mind starts roaming. my hubby must have bought it, still wants to get me drunk and take advantage of me after 20 plus years together! so i walk into our bedroom to thank him and he said "I didn't buy you any beer. i thought you bought it. it was in there when i got home...."
wtf?
hope it wasn't the yard guys! no they come on Thursdays....
it's not spring break yet, so i know it wasn't my son...
thanks beer fairy, who ever you are!

finders keepers, losers weepers
i'm thirsty.

today was a golf day for me and i'm really starting to get into the swing of things. my husband and i went to our city golf course today. it has a really nice driving range plus a mini three hole practice course that kinda horse shoes around the driving range. it's perfect for wild ball whackers like myself.

last week we took my young nephew to play with us. he looked like a pro compared to me, but that's okay. i really enjoy it. today my husband was in an odd mood. he seemed rushed and flustered yet at the same time acting as if nothing was wrong. i wasn't suppose to notice he was in a hurry? i thought we were going to spend several hours when we only stayed at the golf course for about one. (and no, it doesn't take me an hour to play 3 holes of golf! once we pay the fee we can repeat them as many times as we like.)

needless to say that after one round he was ready to go.

"but only if you want to leave.... dear. what do you want to do?"
"i want to hit a bucket of balls. "

so i did. i whacked a small bucket of balls while he sat on the tailgate of the truck. was he embarrassed because i was such a poor player? i couldn't figure out why he was so impatient.
i was in a good mood and i couldn't figure out why he was not in a good mood yet pretending to be in a good mood...

"just do it like this..... dear...."
"keep your head down and your arms straight.... dear.."
" you're only hitting the top of the ball... dear.."

i think that my husband likes to play golf but with men equal to his skill level.
i am not that.
once i learn how to play maybe....

but for now, i think i'll clock most of my practice hours alone or with my young nephew. besides he thinks it's hilarious that instead of soaring through the sky my ball just rolls two feet in front of me. reminds me of a song "like an old meatball, all covered in cheese...."
is it possible for golf balls to have phobias?
opps i whacked again, let me slice and dice that for you...
birdie birdie in the sky, how come my ball won't fly...

A long, long time ago,

My best friend spent the night at my house. She recently returned home from orchestra camp. We talked for hours locked away in my room. she was telling me all the exciting details of her summer. she shared one escapade after another about this boy and the great romance, the bold and daring meeting, that lead to the perfect first kiss.

When she finally came to the end of those long tales of camp, i was silent for a second or two before we both burst into laughter. my childhood girlfriend was a gt (gifted and talented) kid. She was even more spectacular in person than all the stories she made up for my entertainment.

As usual, she managed to bring excitement, thrills and adventure to my ordinarily dark and gloomy childhood. sunshine on a cloudy day. That is just one reason, out of millions more, why she is still today and always will be, my dearest friend.

not enough

surviving is not enough.
not really.
what is that bullshit line of the century, ‘that which does not kill you shall make you stronger..’
really? Sound like nothing but a load of crap to me because if it were true I would be miss fucking universe or something but instead I am a nobody from nowhere hiding in the dark.

that is how life is. or should I say, that is how my life is. you can feel it really. when you are born into the pit of hell and you have to fight every day for your soul and your sanity and someway you manage to survive, with a few missing parts and a few broken pieces, plaster and putty, hiding the empty holes..
hiding..
but that was not enough....

no....
not nearly enough, for your childhood is just the beginning.
you must move on, continue forward
you must apply what you learned in the real world. you must go outside, kill the demons , make a comfortable place in the world.
u go girl.
the little family home is not big enough.
money money money money.
i’ve done all I can do at home, now I must learn how to make money.
no problemo...


I remember how I felt when my father died in 1995. I had been waiting for years, thinking and believing that when it happened, when he finally died, that I would be free. that this tremendous burden would be lifted off my soul and I would be free to live my life with carefree abandonment. happy ever after were just lies and bullshit. Needless to say it didn’t work out like I had visualized it. Instead of my burdens vanishing into nothingness, my mind was flooded with horrible memories and flashbacks.
i knew my kinks and my quirks. I knew why I carefully chose to do almost everything that I did. I knew why I reacted and responded to certain thing in certain ways. I knew most of my triggers.
but that was not enough....
no...

where was the freedom? where was my power to overcome? it never failed me when I was a small child and the events were actually happening. so why were the memories so disabling? it was all in my head. why couldn’t I just blink and change the thoughts floating around inside my brain. why couldn’t I just not think about something I didn’t want to think about? For years I use books, cable tv, movies, music, video games, and the computer as my mind altering drugs.
But that was not enough…
no...

Avoiding unresolved issues only lengthens the time it takes to heal. I was trying to fix my adult problems by using my old childhood tools. perhaps because i never allowed myself to feel the reality of the moment the first time around it caused the flashbacks to become a wicked bitch-slap in the face.

happiness is a state of mind. scars are a statement of reality. I am strong. I know I have the ability to survive. Yet from the moment I was born I have been waiting to die. To leave and move on, go back to where I came from, to that better place in the sky, that heavenly place my mother told me stories about...

the truth is i’ve never been afraid to die, i'm afraid to live.

But that is not enough….
no....

I want more than the happy ending.
I want my life,
my whole life,
and nothing but my life
so help me God