"The Good Child" Syndrome

I've worked very hard this week on peeling the onion. It has been difficult. Having AZ back has helped this because now I can write to him again. (Its another story as to why I haven't been, but anyway.) The birth of my niece also facilitated this journey. The best way to explain what I have been feeling is best outlined by excerpts from first the 35 page handwritten letter and the 7 and 4 pages typewritten letters to AZ. The first he received on Tuesday, the next on Wednesday and I just dropped the last one in the mail not five minutes ago. Yeah, well, I started the 35 pager on Monday the 19th. Did I also mention the three e-mails? 7/27 I’ve spent my whole life saying, "I’ll do better, I’ll do better, I’ll do better." When my mom would put me down or bring my brother into conversations, like what I did wasn’t ever good enough, I got that mind set, I will do better, I will do better, I will make them proud, I will be the good child, I will love harder, I will try harder, I will make better grades (gee, where do you go from A’s? Oh, A+’s) It wasn’t ambition. It was trying to please them, my mom and dad. And I still have it. I’ll do better. I’ll make more money. I’ll be the good child. I’ll love harder. I will be the good child. I will be the good child. I will be the good child. I’m so fucking sick of being the good child. I don’t want to hurt my parents, especially my dad. But I’m so fucking sick of being the goddamn good child. I’m so fucking sick of listening to her and how she makes excuses for my brother. I hated the way they ganged up on me when I was a kid. He knew he could get by with more, so he did. My brother and I haven’t had a conversation in like 4 years. Most of the time he acts like I’m not even there. And why do I put up with it? Because I’M THE GOOD CHILD!! Work with me here. Its always been MY JOB to mend fences and soothe the scratches and all that shit. That’s MY JOB in the family. I put up with all the shit. That’s always been MY JOB. Well, not anymore. 7/29 butt-fucking early in the a.m. Anyway, I'm feeling much less evil than I was before. Mainly because I did pinpoint the axis of evil, the source of frustration and irritation which is the not necessarily this whole baby shit but the way my parents kiss my brother and sister-in-law's asses. Then it dawned on me, doh! that my brother and sil treat my parents like shit and make them wonder what they ever did so bad as to be so low of their totem pole of life. I forgot that karmic law thing. So, as the world turns, we're even. 7/29 late evening Okay, let me get this baby stuff off my mind and finish up what I figured out. I did a lot of deep thinking and realized that although my family may have treated me like shit, they’re the ones who missed out. I used to think I missed so much being single and with my family so estranged from me. But it really wasn’t me. I mean, I was there the whole time, every doctor visit, every ultrasound, every roll, bump, hiccup and kick. I was at my baby shower. No one from my family was. So who missed out? I have only two pictures of myself pregnant and one you can’t tell it because it was taken at Christmas. The other one is at a side angle with me sitting but I have no idea where it is. And that’s it... I’ve spent all this time being bogged down by what I felt I missed and now I’ve realized, it wasn’t me, it was them. They’re the ones who missed out and they have no one to blame for that but themselves. July 30, 2004 That has opened a gateway for me to look at other situations in my life differently. Instead of constantly questioning why things have been the way they are, I’m looking at the situation and saying, "look at what they’re missing by treating me this way." And look what I’m missing by not being able to fully be myself... So... that's what I have worked on this week. I wrote the above at work this afternoon and on the way I home I realized that my brother married a woman exactly like my mother. I remembered the death of my Grandma and how at the age of 16, when she died, I really had no idea who she was. It started with my Grandpa looking at me and saying, "You are a lot like your grandmother." This made me proud in one way and sad in another. My mother favored her family over my dad's and made it a point, because she did not like my grandmother, to hold us away from them. She talked about my grandparents poorly, especially my Grandma because she was messy and she swore and smoked and wasn't a warm and fuzzy person. My Grandma yelled a lot but she was still my Grandma. Frankly, my mom was a lot like her in personality. So, my dad married his mom and my brother married his mom. I'm lucky that I do have some good memories of her and that I was finally wising up to my mom and made it a point to have contact with my dad's parents. Unfortunately, right after I figured this out, my Grandma died of emphysema. As far as karmic law goes, paybacks are a bitch. My dad didn't stand up to my mom and insist that we spend as much time with his parents as we did hers. My memories of them are fleeting but still significant. That is another post entirely. Perhaps no one else sees the emergence of this pattern. I do. I can't change it. My mom and dad want me to play nice and be "the good child." I haven't done anything wrong. I have always been the one to try and made amends and put aside my thoughts and feelings to "keep peace" so we can pretend we have some sort of "normal" family. This is an illusion I refuse to feed anymore. I've tried in the past to faciliate relationships between myself and my brother and his family. I've been scorned and ignored. Just because my parents don't have the guts to stand up to my brother and tell him that his actions and those of his wife hurt them is not my fault. I miss not being able to participate fully in the lives of my brother and his progeny but it is not my doing. I have been ready and available. My brother and his wife choose to exclude people from their children's lives who are good, solid folks who will love and support their children. The saddest part is the wave of disgust I feel from my sister-in-law as her boys run to me and Hyper-Boy, yelling our names when they see us, happy and smiling. They know Aunt Inanna will pull them around the yard in the wagon, take them fishing and for walks in the woods. Aunt Inanna will kick the ball, show them the deer that hide in the shadows and point out the mushrooms and different kinds of trees and plants. J1, my oldest nephew, is the one I had spent the most effort seeing when he was a baby. I went to visit to spite my brother and his wife. With the birth of J2, 17 months later, that became more difficult. J2 hated me for the longest time. He wanted absolutely nothing to do with me. One day it was as though a switch was thrown and he realized who I was. Now, he's my buddy. I know things with Annie will probably be the same. I have faith that Annie, like her brothers, will eventually realize what her mother cannot. That we're a good sort and we love them and want to spend time with them and learn who they are. The effort I make will be made toward a relationship with my niece and nephews. I am done with making an effort towards their parents because it has not been reciprocated, ever. I'm not the one missing out.

This May Surprise You

I will not be going to see my new niece Annie anytime soon.  She will probably be 3 or 4 months old before I lay eyes on her.  There are many reasons for this and coming to the decision not to go to my brother's house has been a hard one. My brother and I are not close.  We were as children but then I grew boobs and he figured out he was mom's favorite and used it against me.  The last conversation we had entailed him recounting a conversation he had with our father in which he told my dad that as soon as he died he was going to sell the farm.  I told him I thought that was a cruel thing to say as my parents have worked their whole lives for what they have and it is their dream.  My dad was none to pleased either.  It made him angry but more so, it hurt his feelings.  I reminded my brother that he was not the single heir to the kingdom and any, and I do mean, any decisions that were made following our parents death would include me.  I also told him I thought he was rotten and insenstive.  I think that was 4 years ago, although I'm not sure. My sister-in-law is just a bitch.  Her family are assholes.  They look down upon us as though we are simple folk without brains and that we're not good enough to walk upon their lily-white land.  Fuck 'em. The decision to not travel north two hours to see this new flesh-of-my-flesh has been very, very difficult.  I love my nephews, even if they have been taught absolutely nothing their entire lives and wreak havoc everywhere they go, and, I love my niece.  It is not their fault they have been allowed to run amok and terrorize everyone and everything in their path, including each other.  They are both very cute, very smart little boys and I have no doubts that Annie will follow in their footsteps in all ways.  Here is why I will not being going.  I do not feel welcome and I do feel as though my son is welcome.  I am not invited to be a part of their lives unless it suits them for something they want.  Additionally, they treat my parents like shit.  I don't have much respect for my brother and the way he allows his wife to dictate to him that her family is more important that his.  The final straw for me was Hyper-Boy's birthday.  I do not have a party for him, his dad does that.  We have our own thing that we do.  However, since it is close to the 4th of July, I normally take him to my parents and invite my brother and family down.  That didn't happen this year for many reasons.  My brother and family sent him a card.  I could see the disappointment in his eyes as there was nothing inside.  I try to teach my son to accept what is given and not ask for more.  However, I cannot help that he sees a discrepancy in what we do for my nephews and what he received.  I always try to get my nephews a little something for their birthdays and make the two hour trek north for their parties.  Hyper-Boy would have been thrilled with a new state quarter taped to the inside, or one of the gold dollar coins.  He thinks things like that are kewl and neat.  That's all.  Now, I know some of you are thinking that it is wrong for me to expect my brother to send my son a gift of any kind.  Its the thought that counts, right?  Well, I know that my brother and his wife buy gifts for all of her nieces and nephews... and she has five.  I see a difference being made here and I don't like it.  Especially when my son sees it and realizes it.   My mom, in all of her wisdom, said that it was a good lesson in humility for Hyper-Boy.  I'm not sorry to say that I jumped her shit.  I shot back that my son will learn plenty of lessons in life and already has and that he didn't need his own family shoving it down his throat.  Whether you agree or disagree, I stand by what I said.  Further, my brother makes zero effort to get to know my son, his nephew.  What he likes, what kind of personality he has, nothing.  I was not allowed to hold Nephew #1 for the first 3 or 4 months of his life.  Nephew #2, I just walked in and picked him up but not for long.  I really don't feel like dealing with all that bullshit again and since AZ set me straight about how I was subjecting Hyper-Boy to this, he's not going either, with or without me.  Period.   The conversation with my mother today went something like this: Well you and Hyper-Boy can go up with me and your dad to see the baby No, we're not. Well, if you go up with us then they probably won't treat you like they did before. We're not going. Well, maybe you should just give it a little time for them to recuperate and then you can go up. I'm not going mother. Well, now Inanna.  (Silence) Did you just stop by the last time you were there?  Or did you call first? Mother, I don't make a 2 hour trip to just "stop by", of course I called them first.  (Now this is my fault?)  Inanna   Mo-ther   Needless to say, my mother believes I'm going to change my mind and be "the good child."  I'll talk more about the "good child" syndrome tomorrow and also some other things I figured out in relation to myself and my family.  Thanks to T-Bird, I made a major stride in letting go of some pretty rotten baggage. 

ITS A....

GIRL!!  8 lbs. 10 oz.  Born 2:47 p.m.  The funny thing is I had thought the entire time that it was a boy.  This morning after my mom called and I finally went back to sleep I had a dream that it was a girl and they named her Lawton Weirdass-Name-I-Wouldn't-Call-My-Dog.  They named her Annie Elizabeth.  My boss's dog's name is Annie.  I think I like Lawton better. 

4 a.m.

(Telephone ringing) (whispery throaty voice)  Hello Inanna. Yeah. (Who the fuck else would answer my phone at 4 a.m. with a female voice?) We still don't have a baby. (Then why the fuck are you calling me? At 4 fucking A.M.?) They checked her at 12:45 and she had only dilated to 2. Uh huh. I told you it would today before she had that baby.  Do you know you have to be at the homestead for closing at 9 a.m. (Why did I bring this up?) Yes! and I'm really upset about that. I'm calling the realtor at 6 a.m. and... (blah, blah, blah... snore) Inanna?  Yep. Well, I'm going to go (blah, blah) Yeah, call me when we have a baby. 7:30 a.m. (whilst I sleep through the alarm for 45 minutes) (Telephone ringing) (whispery throaty voice) Hello We still don't have a baby...blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah...6 cm....blah, blah, blah...epidural...passing out... blah, blah, blah... 11:00 a.m....blah, blah.. realtor... blah, blah... Mom, call me when we have a baby. (Click) If I gotta wait... so do you.  Saturday is the Blue Moon, maybe my little niece/nephew will wait until then to make his/her appearance... (evil laugh) 

As if there was any doubt....

You are the Devil card. The Devil is based on the
figure Pan, Lord of the Dance. The earthy
physicality of the devil breeds lust. The
devil's call to return to primal instincts
often creates conflict in a society in which
many of these instincts must be kept under
control. Challenges posed by our physical
bodies can be overcome by strength in the
mental, emotional, and spiritual realms. Pan is
also a symbol of enjoyment and rules our
material creativity. The devil knows physical
pleasure and how to manipulate the physical
world. Material creativity finds its output in
such things as dance, pottery, gardening, and
sex. The self-actualized person is able to
accept the sensuality and usefulness of the
devil's gifts while remaining in control of any
darker urges. Image from The Stone Tarot deck.
http://hometown.aol.com/newtarotdeck/

Which Tarot Card Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla Thanks to Esther, Vader and Seeker!!!

As if there was any doubt....

You are the Devil card. The Devil is based on the
figure Pan, Lord of the Dance. The earthy
physicality of the devil breeds lust. The
devil's call to return to primal instincts
often creates conflict in a society in which
many of these instincts must be kept under
control. Challenges posed by our physical
bodies can be overcome by strength in the
mental, emotional, and spiritual realms. Pan is
also a symbol of enjoyment and rules our
material creativity. The devil knows physical
pleasure and how to manipulate the physical
world. Material creativity finds its output in
such things as dance, pottery, gardening, and
sex. The self-actualized person is able to
accept the sensuality and usefulness of the
devil's gifts while remaining in control of any
darker urges. Image from The Stone Tarot deck.
http://hometown.aol.com/newtarotdeck/

Which Tarot Card Are You?
brought to you by posted by Traci Dolan at 7/28/2004 09:11:00 PM 0 comments

What I Hate About Mornings

1. I hate waking up at 4 a.m. because the temperature has crept one degree above my comfort level. 2. I hate tossing and turning trying to find a cool spot. 3. I hate having to actually get out of bed to turn the air conditioner on. 4. I hate it when I get up to the A/C on and my cats wake up and want love. 5. I hate playing "punt the kitty" at 4 a.m. 6. I hate oversleeping. What I Love About Mornings 1. Getting up and realizing my clock was set forward a half on an hour so I didn't really oversleep. 2. Coffee What I Hate About Mornings 2 1. Going back to bed after realizing I didn't oversleep so I can actually oversleep. 2. My 15 lb. cat laying on my head and chewing my hair because he wants to go outside. 3. Playing "punt the kitty" while attempting to oversleep. 4. Realizing "punting the kitty" is not working and having to get out of bed to throw said cat onto the porch. 5. Oversleeping an additional 15 minutes to make up for playing "punt the kitty." 6. Realizing it is so humid my hair will not dry until tomorrow. 7. Traffic 8. John Boy and Billy What I Love About Mornings 2 1. More coffee 2. 10 a.m.

Too Many Memories

Too Many Memories Take me back Too many memories Take me back So many memories Take me back (I can't remember all of the lyrics... this is the best I can do) Everywhere I go and every place I imagine I still see her face Oh there ain't a way I can erase Too many memories That make me cry Too many memories That never die No they won't ever die I will go on dying everday Oh baby if you don't come home to stay Oh there ain't a way I can erase Anyway, I can't remember any more, at least in any coherent form. That song is by Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons and was released along with Walk Like A Man, Sherry, and Big Girls Don't Cry sometime in the 70's. I know this because it was on 8-track and it was owned by my mother. It was a compilation of sorts but I don't remember the name of it. My mother may still have the 8-track and she probably has something to play it on. Anyway, as early as 1977 I can remember listening to and singing that song. I remember because our Chihuahua, Taffy, died on January 22, 1977. I remember that because it is my aunt's birthday. I remember crying to that song because it was sad. It spoke of loss and pain. Years later, while the 8-Track player still functioned, I sat down and transcribed the lyrics and put them in my writing folder. I know they are written on lined notebook paper and there is a sticker on the paper of a green dragon. It is written in neat 12-year old handwriting, as though it was very important. It was important and it still is because I gave it significance. As so I can say, there is the instant where my love affair with music began. It is where I began attaching significance to memories and reliving those memories encased in music. Just a small town girl Livin' in a lonely world She took the midnight train Goin' anywhere Just a city boy Born and raised in South Detroit He took the midnight train Goin' anywhere A singer in a smoky room The smell of wine and cheap perfume For a smile they can share the night It goes on and on and on and on That's Don't Stop Believin' by Journey. Those lyrics always bring my bud AZ to mind as he was raised in Detroit and I was raised in a small town and, well, it means something to me. To me, that song is us. It is the essence of us and will forever be the essence of us, if only in my mind, in my memories. Its soft like a pillow and I lay down on it frequently. A lot of people attach significance to songs because they were playing at a certain time in our lives, when something significant happened. I can remember a couple of instances of that happening. Everybody Wants You -- Billy Squire You see 'em comin' at you every night Strung on pretension, they fall for you at first sight You know their business, you think it's a bore They make you restless, it's nothin' you ain't seen before Get around town, spend your time on the run You never let down, say you do it for fun Never miss a play, though you make quite a few You give it all away - everybody wants you Thunderstruck - AC/DC (Thunder) I was caught In the middle of a railroad track (Thunder) [...of a lightning attack] I looked round And I knew there was no turning back (Thunder) My mind raced And I thought what could I do (Thunder) And I knew There was no help, no help from you (Thunder) Sound of the drums Beatin' in my heart The thunder of guns Tore me apart You've been - thunderstruck I used to dance to those two songs at the bar that AZ worked. He worked on the second floor which overlooked the dance floor if you stood at the far end of it and occasionally I would catch him watching me. Yes, I was an attention whore, not to mention, I really love to dance. I'm not much for today's dance music though unless you count "Dirrty" by Christina Aquilera and the Moulin Rouge song Lady Marmalade. Right now I'm listening to Skid Row's Slave to the Grind which includes such memorable tunes as Psycho Love, Get the Fuck Out, Quicksand Jesus and Wasted Time. I remember being in the mosh pit at the Skid Row/Pantera show sometime during the Slave tour and before Sebastian Bach made his exit. I remember watching Rachel Bolan's hair swinging along with his nose ring to earring via chain ensemble to Piece of Me. Caught a lonely lady Crying on a cigarette I got nasty, nasty habits And that's all she's gonna get from me One for the money, two for the show A 'round and 'round and 'round we go Take a look at what-a you might need You better hurry To get a piece of me I don't have looks, I don't have money But I know one thing's for sure One night ain't enough of my love She wanted more, more, more When I came home the other night I immediately started looking for Skid Row and found Slave to the Grind, which is cool but I also found Cinderella's Night Songs, which includes Push, Push, Somebody Save Me and Shake Me. She’s lookin’ fine Flashin’ like a neon sign She thinks it’s love I said that comes with time I’m gettin’ ready The love’s lookin’ steady It’s gettin’ sticky I thought she might miss me She looked at me and said I need a little Push, push Come and give a little Push, push If ya take a little Push, push Then you’ll get a little Push, push AZ and I were discussing the greatness of the late 80's, early 90's... the time before responsibility, a time of fun and parties, headbanging, air guitar. He spoke wistfully, however... I still know that Push, Push is great song to strip to. I think he needs reminding that although he now has three jobs, a house and all the trappings of being a "real" adult, as long as the music lives, the memories live and as long as the memories live we're still 21 and 28, I'm still drunk, sleeping in my car waiting for him to come home. He still owns a blue and green bathrobe and has long hair. I think its time to remind him.

What I Did Tonight

I'll try not to take anyone's blog ideas with this post.  (wink) I finally crawled out of bed at 4:00 p.m.  I had drank the night before with new medication and I was feeling very sluggy.  I vowed to answer everytime the phone rang. One, because the Caller ID is in the kitchen and I didn't want to get out of bed.  Two, I wanted to stop telemarketers from bothering me.  So, I fielded two calls from people looking for a towing company.  On the second call I ascertained they were calling from a state north of me.  They had used the wrong area code and got me.  Sorry, no towing here. I also pissed off the Troopers Association and some person trying to get me to take out a new Mastercard.  My mother called and talked at me for 45 minutes and I talked to my friend KC.  In between all of the phone calls I lounged with three or four of my eight cats.  The mistress sleeps, we all sleep. I trudged out of bed and checked the e-mail, chatted for a bit and decided, wow, I'm hungry.  So, off I went to get breakfast at 6:00.  I got to T-Bird's at 6:35 and caught the end of "When KISS Ruled the World," funny, I thought they still did.  Did you know the tongue is the strongest muscle in the body?  And Gene Simmons is one strong man!!  VH1 was running their "100 Best Moments of Metal" but they started at 80... dunno why, but I sat and watched the whole thing.  I love the 80's hair band, headbangers, metal gods... That's my kind of music.  So, then I got woke up finally at 11:00.  Then, what to do?  T-Bird and one of her friends had left me at her apartment watching TV and her ex-husband was puttering around but I knew I had that Winger CD in my car.  Off I go. First, I picked up two packs of cigs and secondly, went looking for my friend AZ.  I drove by one place of employment, not there that I could tell.  Went by his house, not home.  Swung back by the place of employment... ahhh, there he is, hiding in the back.  I buzzed up his cell phone.  He was happy to hear from me and invited me in.  (This is where we got caught by the fax machine, hee hee)  Now, I've mentioned AZ a few times.  He and I have been friends for 12 years.  Trust me, he is darkness, I am light.  However I am yin, he is yang.  Although the dark part of the yin-yang symbol is dark, due to the moon and yin is the light part due to the sun... Sun God = Ra, Moon = the Goddess, at least in my religion but otherwise... eh, male and female energies.  AZ is 6'0", maybe 6'1" and I'm 5'3". He's dark-headed and dark-eyed and I'm blond and blue-eyed.  I think Gene Simmons wrote the song "Charisma" about him.  (By the way, that song is on Gene Simmons' solo album, which was released about 1978)  And... hmmmmm... AZ reminds me Gene Simmons, just less make-up and the tongue thing.  Its something about the wickedness in the eyes. Anyway, I'll do a dissertation on my history with AZ another time.  I will say, he is my best friend.  When I was seeing Lex it was difficult for me to write or talk to him in some ways because he and Lex were friends or at least they work together and actually get along.  Now I know why AZ never fixed me up with any of his friends. It sucked.  I didn't feel like it was cool to diss one of his friends to him and I think he was a little jealous.  Now, I'm getting into this whole thing.  Sigh.  Okay, AZ and I have never dated.  Not that I think we didn't want to at times, it just was never the right time.  When the shit gets deep though, we call each other, not our significant other at the time.  Its telling me something but not sure if he's hearing it yet. I digress. So, I walk in and we go to the front office where he's on the computer.  I immediately just sacked out in the floor and he asked about my day.  I asked about his.  Then he got up and I knew he was tired because he works all. the. time.  But, he had me in front of him and was giving me directions.  It felt like "Spinal Tap" being in the bowels of this business  and having no idea where I was going, which ended up being a conference room.  We each grabbed a seat. If there is silence between us its companionable but tonight, since we hadn't had much of chance to talk lately, we caught up on everything.  He told me about taking his 91 year old grandmother to the casinos. How cool is that???  He said she had a cigarette in one hand, feeding the machine quarters with the other.  She won too.  Go Nana!  For the most part though, he worked on her house.  He's good that way.  I rubbed his back and his feet because I'm good that way.  Its amazing how many people are out and about at 1:00 in the morning.  Finally, a lady came in and began to talk our ears off and we inched, I mean inched our way to the door.  We gave the one-armed hug and I took off.  He buzzed my cell 3 minutes later.  We would have never gotten out of there if he hadn't done that.  Hahaha.  So, he's home with his dog and I'm home with my cats (told you we were yin and yang).  Luckily, I just put minutes on my phone because we used up 36 of them.  Then we talked 10 or so more minutes on my home phone.  He told me how glad he was to talk to me and I him.  I've missed him.  I told him I would see him Wednesday, hopefully.  Maybe next weekend we will get together and watch a movie and I'll massage his hands. That man loves a hand massage just about more than other things. (heh, I said almost) Anyway, now I'm wide fucking awake.  I get back up, get my CDs and get in the car and proceed to drive and drive and drive, listening to Winger and other 80's shit.  I almost hit two deer in the fog.  Got that damn shitter off my ass for sure when I slammed the brakes on.  He rode a little further back after that.  Fucker.  Then some ass monkey wants to race me in the fog on the Interstate at 3:00 a.m.  Motherfucker, I'm sober as a judge and I don't give a shit if the cops pull my ass over!!  He ate my dust in the fog.   I get off the Interstate and back on the secondary and see a whole shit load of blue lights.  I'm thinking its a DUI checkpoint, which is cool since I'm not drunk.  There is that little issue of my inspection sticker being expired... oops.  But no, thank goodness, it looked like a raid on a bar or something.  There were eight cop cars there, blocking most of the patrons in.  Oh well, there shittin' luck.  I came home, popped in some Cinderella and XYZ and I'm still awake at 5:13 a.m.  Will attempt sleep here shortly.  Wow, its been a great night.

12,296 1/4 days

That's how many days I have been alive. (and yes you anal retentives, I counted leap years...hence the 1/4th)  11,201 days is approximately how long I have been old enough to have memories.  That would make me three years old and that's the first memory I had... busting my eyebrow open on the window sash and having to have it sewn up.  So, give or take a thousand or so days, that's a lot of days. That's a lot of memories.  Not all of those memories are good ones.  For some reason, I have an unusually evolved, technicolor memory.  I can remember conversations practically down to the punctuation.  OY!  However, I needlessly torment myself by remembering shit better left forgotten.  Keep the lesson, drop the memory, drop the baggage. A way I have figured out to do this while "peeling the onion" is to know, not pretending anymore, to know I only have so many slots for memories.  I no longer have infinite memory slots, now they are finite.  With this finite number of slots I now have to decide how to fill them.  What moron would fill them with bad memories?  Not I!! For example:  My friend AZ and I have had some pretty wonderful times together, things we both remember.  They have significance if for nothing more than to think of something good rather than bad.  A time when life wasn't perfect but together, it made us forget that for a while.  Hee hee, one night AZ and I were messing around, not sure how we even got to his place of employment, I'm sure he would remember that part but we weren't alone so we went outside.  It was dark, thankfully, and we walked around the corner of the building where this big tree was.  Before long I was pressed up against the building with his mouth on my bare breasts (still have NO idea how that happened so fast) and suddenly a helicopter with a searchlight flew over.  SHIT!!  Figured we were busted but actually a train had hit a car at the crossing.  Whew!  Anyway, years later AZ called me and told me they had cut "our" tree down.  Whaaaaa!!!  No matter, the building is still there and I still feel the brick against my back.  Another time, we were in the middle of doing things we shouldn't be, again in his place of employment although not the same place as before and, well, frankly, it was late and deserted but we just shouldn't have been there doing what we were doing for a multitude of reasons, however, there we were.  We heard a click and more noise... shit!!  Gonna get busted and luckily with a few nips, tucks and zips we were decent.  AZ goes to head off whoever it is, comes back in, I believe he may have been laughing, but it was just the fax machine.  BUSTED BY THE FAX MACHINE!!! Ha! Well, it happens.  I have a lot more stories about AZ and none of them bad.  Not that we haven't fussed and shit happened between us but I have no capacity to see any of it as bad.  It happened for a reason that was later revealed and he's the one person I can say knows the most about me, the honest, insecure me, and still likes me anyway.  I know a lot about him too.  It took him a lot longer to come clean with me about some things but now that I know, I not only still like him, but I like him better.   I realize that folks believe when you open up you make yourself vulnerable.  If you do to the wrong people, you are vulnerable.  To the right people, it only makes you more human in their eyes.  It proves you are fallible and imperfect, just like they are. I digress.  The memory slots... getting there.  So, there's two memories of me and AZ, this most wonderful, important person in my life and I will fill Memory Slots 1 and 2 with these memories.  Now, this is the hard part.  I have to give up 3 bad memories for each slot.  I now am responsible for giving up 6 bad memories.  For Memory Slot 1, I give up anyone who has ever made fun of me for being messy and making me feel bad about myself because I am.  I give up the guilt I felt because I called my host mother a bitch when I lived in Germany and she found out about it.  She read my diary, I deserved privacy.  I give up the hatred I have felt towards my mother for writing that horrible letter right after I went to Germany.  Now, I have to write that down somewhere else.  If I ever think of those bad memories again, I have to think of AZ pressing me up against that building.  Those bad memories no longer exist in my memory slots.  Good bye!! And so, it will go on and I will bore you or excite you with further details as they become available.  For now, I have to write down my lost memories and fill them with something good.  And... I'm writing a letter to AZ and I just had an epiphany. 

Simple

I was going to post about something fun but decided not to. I can post about that great concert in Germany any time.   Thank you all for your comments and support.  That was a very cathartic thing, being able to rant and rave and let the hurt out.  Now, I'm at peace.  I know this was the best decision for me and for him.  He didn't have a say in the matter but... eh. Lex finally decided to talk to me today.  He did not ackowledge in any way anything I said in my messages to him over the weekend.  I'm surprised he got the balls up to talk to me.  No, I didn't let him have it again.  I had said all I was going to say about how he treated me.  I just told him that I knew he was unhappy living here and wondered why he stayed.  Money. Fair enough.  It was ackward and he's still closed and, well, rude, but either we'll make it as friends or we won't.  The most important thing about being with Lex is what I learned.  I learned, he's not my ONE. He's not the guy that will make me happy.  I tried very hard with him.  But, I learned, I shouldn't have to.  Love, is simple, so sayeth a friend of mine.  It really is.  Its as simple as sitting and watching a Disney movies until 4 a.m. and enjoying it, without saying a word, only holding hands, comfortable silence within the depths of cats and toys and enough clutter and junk to fill a landfill.  It is as simple as standing in front of a mirror with them behind you.  You can see you, you can see them, they can see you and they can see themselves.  That is beauty, that is whole, that is complete.  Its the merest touch of a hand, its a smile.  Its darkness and light, male and female, acceptance and understanding.  Simply though, its not them seeing what we see in ourselves, its them seeing who we truly are.  The core.  Its the puzzle piece that fits our piece, exactly.  The strengths meeting the weaknesses, the dawn and the dusk, the moon and the sun. But simply, its realizing that although we may be weak, we have faults, we've been beaten and scorned, hurt and betrayed... we see all that is wrong with ourselves but they see everything that is right.  And we see everything that is right with them. We match.  We're complete and whole.  It is really that simple.  (Thanks J. and C. for helping me see that.)

Show Me, Don't Tell Me

RUSH Show Don't Tell How many times do you hear it? It goes on all day long Everyone knows everything And no one's ever wrong Until later... Who can you believe? It's hard to play it safe But apart from a few good friends We don't take anything on faith Until later... Show...don't tell...(Show me, don't tell me) You've figured out the score(Show me, don't tell me) I've heard it all before(Show me, don't tell me) I don't care what you say(Show me, don't tell me)   So, I didn't post all of the lyrics... you get the point. I'd like to say that I want to be nice and sweet and kind as I believe I should be. However, I do not feel any of those things. I'm fucking pissed. Tomorrow I will sweet and good and kind and tell you all the things I like about Lex -- you don't know Lex?  Oh, he's the Beaufriend, or rather he was the Beaufriend.  Now, he's just Lex.  That's not his real name but I picked it for a specific purpose that I will not reveal here.   And while I'm being honest and pissy... Lex never was my boyfriend.  Yes, we hung out, we had sex, I love him dearly but he was never my boyfriend. My definition of boyfriend is someone that you spend time with, share your life with in hopes or to see if you may be compatable enough to spend your lives together.  When Lex and I started talking and seeing each other, that was all good, we hung together, watched movies, shared ourselves.  Now, that's not the way it is.    Over the past month, Lex has become increasingly distant and withdrawn.  We have spent less time together and conversations have consisted of me making conversation and him interjecting one word responses.  My attempts for us to spend time together (i.e. movies, walks, dinner, concerts etc.) have been rebuffed or simply not responded to.  He has disappeared for days at a time.  He did not thank me for his birthday gift.  He didn't even acknowledge it in any way.  He went to the fireworks without me.  He went to see Fahrenheit 9/11 without me, knowing how much I wanted to see it.  Sorry, but I don't give a shit if you want to call me a whiner or a bitch or I need help but fucking goddamn, that fucking hurts.  And can I tell ya what kind of confusion set in???   Now, he can tell my friends that he thinks I'm "awesome" but he's "scared" but he can't talk to me about his fears. Hello!!  I'm the one he needs to talk to about this. Oh, I'm sorry, that would make him vulnerable!!!  Now, get this... I've been very honest with him about what has been going on in my life and inside of ME... so he understands if I'm a little gooky or wierd, not that I'm not normally anyway, but if things go a little overboard.  He's one of the reasons I decided to peel the fucking onion!!!  Me, my son and him.  The three BIG REASONS why I'm tired of being sick and tired and why I want to be a better me.   Lex has not had a perfect life... he's been slammed and hurt the same way I have.  He's had his ass handed to him in relationships, he's lost his father, his brother is a fucking jerk and frankly he's probably felt as alone, lonely and freaky as I have most of the my life.  He's sensitive and incredibly intuitive.  He also hides.  I'm fucking sick of it. Yeah, I'm a strong bitch.  That is a good thing and its a bad thing because you know what?  Life hasn't been great to me either in a lot of ways or I wouldn't be peeling the fucking onion!!!  And it really FUCKING PISSES ME OFF WHEN OTHER PEOPLE DON'T FUCKING PEEL THEIR ONIONS!!!    This onion peeling thing is not new to me. I've been peeling the onion for 8 years.  Sometimes what I peel off reappears which means I haven't truly dealt with that issue.  I peel it again and again and again. I do not give up.  I'm not perfect, I never will be, but I don't quit.  I will not hide.  I will not allow fear of love and fear of loss to rule my life!!  Maybe its wrong to expect the people in my life to do the same.  Fuck that shit!!  My friend T-Bird has told me more than once, you know SO IT SINKS IN... if ya gonna bitch but not gonna do anything to change it then SHUT THE HELL UP!!    In other words, if you don't have the balls to face it and do something about it then quit whining and bitching about it and certainly quit using it as an excuse to hide your sorry ass or your sorry head in the sand.  I know what I've been through.  And shit it hurt!!!  I know what he's been through and shit, it had to hurt!!!   So here it is Lex. You hurt me.  You hurt me by rebuffing all of my attempts to bring us closer together, by ignoring my e-mails, my messages and my own pain.  I hate not being validated. That hurts worse than anything.  I felt hidden away as a dirty secret.  That hurt.  I am no one's dirty secret. I am no one's secret period.  I am beautiful and intelligent, loyal, faithful, loving and giving.  I'm strong but I'm also soft.    For whatever reason you decided to stick your head so far up your ass you won't see daylight for a couple of months or years, that's you're own fault and your own weakness that you refuse to face and deal with.  It is no longer a problem.  I REFUSE to allow you to treat me as though I'm nothing.  Why?  Because it fucking hurts ME!! It goes against everything I am trying to overcome and work through in my life. I explained that to you.  You know, I could say that's what I get for being honest but I'm not going to change how I run my life because of your issues.  I've compromised enough for long enough.  All I asked was that you meet me halfway and I'm the only one at the halfway mark.    You're self-centered to believe that your pain outweighs the rest of the pain in the world.  You're self-centered to use the past instances of pain in your life to rebuff a complete and total goddess, that would be me.  As a matter of fact, you're just a fucking idiot!!  No, I will not censor that because right now I can honestly say, you are the biggest idiot for letting me walk away and doing absolutely nothing to stop it.  You can crawl away in your fucking hole and feel sorry for yourself and whine about how I HURT you by leaving.  Honey, I love myself more than that. I love myself more than to stay with someone who can't express what they feel and who has turned their back on me for the very last time.    No one turns their back on me anymore.  To do so is sudden death.  I don't deserve it. I've attempted numerous times to open conversations between us which have been continually rebuffed.  I have to face that you do not want to have an open and loving relationship.  I have to face that you have continually hidden your "other" life from me and have excluded me.  I'm tired of being hurt by it and crying about it.  I choose not to be hurt anymore.  I was going to say, more importantly, but not more importantly, but importantly, I'm tired of watching you hurt yourself.  I'm tired of watching you scuttle away from love and intimacy and hide away in your cave to lick the wounds of your past instead of pulling the festering shit out.    Is that expecting too much?? No, its not because I would never ask you to do what I myself would not do.  I hate being so angry because I'm so hurt.  I hate giving up the dreams I had of our future.  But they were just that... dreams.  There was no reality in it.  That hurts too.  God, I love you so much but that just hurts too.  There is no comfort in that.  Its just a reminder of what is not and won't be.  You have hurt me.  I will not let it continue.  I will not allow it to layer and layer upon itself.  I will not offer myself up as a sacrifice.  I will squeeze you from my pores and wipe your sweat from my brow.  I will peel your thin layer and continue to work on the thicker layers that infect me worse.  I will not hurt anymore.

Sanctuary

This is a poem I wrote about the ex-drunk boyfriend after he left.    I wrote a poem on the bathroom wall, something I had never done in high school. It was our own wall. Where only a few friends would see it. It was where he hid from me, the only room in the house with a lock. I made it a point to spoil it for him, like he had spoiled Christmas and my birthday and Valentine’s Day. It was the only retribution I had. It was childish and weak, my inability to speak the words that flow freely from my hands. So I spoiled it for him. The only other sanctuary he had from me and our pathetic life was his room, the one he had taken from me. He would sit and stare at the antlers on the wall, his accomplishments. After a while, neither of us lived in this world. He receded to the woods of his mind, deep and cold with pines that pricked your steps with sharp, stabbing needles and prevented the maples and oaks and dogwoods from growing or blooming. I tried not to live there with him and I always wore shoes in that room, lest I spend hours picking needles out of my feet. I lived in a perpetual state of suspended hope, ignoring confusion and anger and the spitefulness that rose in me daily. I tried to walk a foot off the ground, but that place is only for ghosts. I assimilated and compromised. Missing, that the part of me that does not like to do such things was angry at me. And as one side of me grew angrier with the other, they fought each other more than I fought with him. The harder I tried the more he slipped through my fingers, like water finding cracks in the stones on the mountain, expanding them with each icy step, until they crumble and can no longer hold the burden on their own. My empire fell. He left gaping wounds where the fish tank stood and the chair used to be. The walls were pock-marked from his disease and escapism. I patched the walls and filled the empty spaces, but he lingers. He took things from me that did not belong to him, but little by little, I see their return. I feel a little of the old me, the one with hope and joy, but she will never fully return. Of that, I am certain. I do not mourn her passing as I used to. I only accept that I have been changed and to attempt to change back would only irritate that side of myself that does not like to assimilate or compromise. I have become harsh. Some people call it a wall, others, a sanctuary, where the pines grow tall and the forest lies deep and cold. I can walk without shoes here because the needles do not stab me, only those who attempt to enter. And to those I say, beware.              So, I wrote that about him, about me, about us.  That's it.  I'm no longer the person I was when I wrote that.  Here is another poem I wrote back when I saw the first Lord of the Rings and found that Viggo Mortensen was also a poet.  He inspired me greatly so I named a poem after his character that has nothing to do with his character.  One of my absolute fave parts of LOTR1 is when he's sitting in the inn, in the darkness, smoking his pipe and the fire illuminates his eyes...   Strider   Stride I do on thin ice spider web cracks I see bubbles beneath my feet Further away from shore I go I should fall through Ice is thinner in the middle Or is it? What if I don’t believe that? Away from the shore I go Stronger I become The bubbles rumble But don’t break Thin ice holds Even the heaviest of hearts

Dear Ex-Drunk Boyfriend

I really used to hate you. I hated you for being a drunk and a thief. I hated you when you stole the mortgage money and went to the strip clubs and pissed on me in the bed. I hated you for taking a room of my house and staying gone all hours of the night and making me worry. I hated you when I would cook a nice dinner and you would come home late and tell me you ate out. I hated you for cheating on me... I know you did. I hated you for turning your back on me in the bed. You knew just how to make me feel unwanted. I hated you because you stole my jewelry, my great-grandmother's ring, which meant so much to me. I hated you everytime the phone rang and it said "POLICE." I just hated you and you became so ugly to me. But I realize that I learned a lot from being with you. I learned about the kind of person I did not want to be. I did not want to be co-dependent anymore. What started out as love became another tentacle of dependency, of disease, both yours and mine. I hated facing this house when you moved out, leaving holes in the walls and where the fishtank used to sit. I filled those holes up though. Still within me remains the remnants of the past and what I feel to be stupidity but know in my own right is also just another bad thought that I seek to banish. I wanted to blame you for everything and then I wanted to blame myself for everything. I realize though we were both the puppet and the puppetmaster. I only hold myself 50% responsible for what happened. It happened. It cannot be changed, but I can. I always asked you to seek help and I will not ask more of you than I would ask of myself. I've been working steadily in the two years that you left in being a better me. In fighting and casting out the demons that haunt my steps and drag me into the shadows. The shadows of self-doubt, self-loathing and the ever present fear of abandonment, the number one reason to stay in horrible relationships and the reason behind your continued stay in my home. In some ways, I feel as though I am better than you are and then I find that to be incredibly self-serving. I always hoped that you would get your act together and be the real person that I saw on the inside. Yeah, work on yourself, like I'm working on me. You never wanted to. Maybe your demons are stronger than mine, more painful or your inner strength is not equal to your physical strength. If the following is true, then I know you have sunk as deep into the shadows as one can fall. I pray that the accusations against you are not in any way true but if they are then I hope you rot in jail. Excerpt from "The Roanoke Times" Saturday June 26, 2004 -- "BLACKSBURG - The man accused of brutally attacking a Blacksburg waitress was among the construction workers tearing up the sidewalks through downtown and often said hello and joked with other downtown employees. That image seemed in sharp contrast with the abduction and attempted rape charges Blacksburg police brought against Ex-Drunk Boyfriend, 26, of Covington this week. Substitute judge Doug Brinckman arraigned Ex-Drunk Boyfriend on the charges Friday morning in Montgomery County General District Court in Christiansburg... Ex-Drunk Boyfriend, sporting a black eye, kept his head bowed during most of the brief court appearance... The victim, a 23-year-old waitress and bartender at a downtown restaurant, walked into the alley in the 200 block of North Main Street about 2:30 a.m. Wednesday and was grabbed from behind. The assailant told the woman he was going to sexually assault her as he beat her face and choked her until she passed out in the stairwell leading to the former Ton 80 Club, police said. She was partially clothed when she regained consciousness but does not remember what occurred, police said. Investigators are waiting for lab results to determine if she was raped..." I found out the above information when your most current ex-girlfriend tracked me down to inform me and then to ask what had happened between us. $15,000 worth of unpaid debt and the loss of family heirlooms... life's lessons are hard learned. And yeah, I think you did it. I let you stay much longer than I ever should have. I made myself responsible for things I should not have. You took things from me that you should not have, mentally, emotionally and materially. You lied, you cheated and you stole. The price we have each paid is great... however, I'm sure now you would trade your freedom for the $15,000 indebtedness that you refused to pay back. Some debts are worth paying off, no matter what sacrifice has to be made. What goes around, comes around. I'm just sorry another human being had to be hurt for it to happen. I'm so glad you are gone from my life. I'm so glad I learned from you. And for whatever force watched over me and my son in your presence, I am forever thankful. Bite me you sorry son of a cocksucker. You reek worse than any onion I've ever peeled. It feels so good to shed your skin.

And Along Came a Spider...

I have a spider in my car. Its about the size, with legs, of a quarter, perhaps a bit smaller. Eustace, as I have named "him", builds a web every night, which I tear down in the morning. I am a spider fan. Spiders are given leeway in my home. Of course, I don't have Brown Recluses and Black Widows running around either. I just try to pitch them outside where they belong. This is a fairly young spider because I've seen larger versions of the same species on my porch. Eustace is an orb weaver. He makes the big, symmetrical web. Eustace came to live in my car because he chose the wrong place to sleep. I park my car under the 60 foot Ash tree in my front yard. He built a web between the tree and the side mirror on my car. Sunday when I took HB and TLC to see, what else, Spiderman 2, Eustace was asleep under the side mirror. I saw him but figured the wind would blow him off and he would scurry away. Wrong. Eustace held on all the way to the theater about 10 miles away. I was driving, at one point, 60 mph. Tough little dude. When we came out of the theater, Eustace is still under the mirror. Sigh. I thought maybe he was dead and had just wrapped himself up in the web as a casket or something. Imagine our surprise when Eustace releases his spinneret and swings into the car. HB hit the backseat. I'm telling the boys to calm down.. its just a spider. Yeah, I thought that until Eustace decided to scurry across my leg, at which point he was rudely brushed away. (shudder) When I got the car stopped he had disappeared into the bottomless black hole of the passenger side floor. I haven't attempted to find the floor on that side for about 3 or 4 months so... plenty of places for a spider to hide. Since then, I have had a new spiderweb in my car every morning yet Eustace has remained elusive. Until this morning. He made his appearance as I'm threading my way along in bumper to bumper traffic. I see him out of the corner of my eye as he dangles from the passenger side visor. Either a piece of web remained or he performed some spider acrobatics and ended up on the rearview mirror. He then scurried back to the visor and disappeared from sight. I suspect now he is hiding above the visor, waiting for dusk so he can rebuild his web. I've wanted to crack the window in hopes he will crawl away into the wilds of my front yard but the threat of rain has prevented this. Tonight though, Eustace and I will have a show down. He will die in my car, either from lack of food or the heat and as much as I admire him, I really don't want him dropping into my hair in rush hour traffic. I'm afraid I would have to smoosh him. Heeeere spidey, spidey, spidey....

Dear Mom

For so long, I have longed to tell you many things. Mainly, that part of me understands you and feels your pain in life. I feel your depression and your anxiety. I don't always understand why you do things... or why you did things, to hurt me. That, I will never understand. No matter the explanation, I will not understand why you did not do something for yourself and why you continue not to. Perhaps my memory is too long and sharp. Too technicolor. Perhaps it is the pain you inflicted, both mentally and physically, that has driven it so deeply into me that I am now forced through my own intelligence and longing for truth, to extract it from me like a festering thorn. You Mother, are the first layer of the onion. I remember you slept a lot, were cranky a lot and cried a lot. All signs of depression. They didn't know that much about depression then... but they do now. And yet, you still refuse help. So, am I to forgive the things you did because you were sick? No, because I know your sickness was not the only reason. It was only part of it, the other part remains hidden from me. I remember sitting in the floor of my bedroom as you tossed socks and underwear from my suitcase.. I was very little, maybe 6 or 7.. and you were very angry and you yelled very loud and slapped my legs and arms and pulled the little hairs at the nape of my neck. It was because I hadn't unpacked my suitcase when I got home from Ma-Ma's house.. but I had. I just couldn't tell you I had packed it again to run away. I remember you spanking me and Bubby with a paddle, hard and endlessly for making noise. We weren't fighting, we were playing. I was always slow and nothing I did was right. Nothing any of us did was right.. except Bubby. You told me he was your favorite. You told me more than once. You told me you didn't like me. "There is a difference between like and love Inanna, and I may love you because you're my daughter, but I DON'T LIKE YOU!" Me? You don't like ME? Perhaps I should have asked you to explain what it was exactly you didn't like. Fuck you bitch. Jealous mother? You've always been jealous. What was it? My uber-intelligence? My beauty, my friends...or was it I showed up your son, YOUR FAVORITE in everything. He was a wimp who succumbed to the demands of his friends while I still walked to the beat of a different drummer? Is that why at awards ceremonies as people would congratulate and talk to you, you always turned the conversation around to my brother? I remember the looks on their faces. Is that why you wrote me that nasty letter my second week in Germany that was so horrid I had a panic attack and had to be taken to the hospital? Is that why you tried to destroy my relationship with my father? Is that why you embarrassed me in front of my friends by being bitter and nasty? Is that why you monopolized the conversation and excluded me when I brought a boyfriend home to meet you? Or was it my talents? My literary efforts, which won me awards? Is it the fact that I can sing, dance and act and people like it? Or was it everytime you knocked me down I got right back up again? I never let you break me. Is it because of my preserverence? Is it my strength? What is it about this soul that you find so disagreeable? What? Oh, I know, I got pregnant out of wedlock to a married man. And yes, honey, I have paid through blood, sweat, tears and pain, unimaginable sorrow, but he didn't break me either. He was a piece of cake compared to you. I didn't come crawling did I? Why give you another reason to twist the knife any deeper? How many times did you need to tell me what a disappointment I was? Everytime you saw me obviously wasn't enough since you would call and tell me too. And why was it you cried Mother, when I pointed out that I could have had an abortion and you would have been none the wiser? Because you knew I had that power and chose not to exercise it? You refused to come to my baby shower because I had been so immoral and to show up meant that you condoned my behavior. Okay. You refused to take pictures of me during the holidays. I don't know why. That must have been immoral too. You showed such disregard when I told you I had gone into labor two months early but luckily they had stopped it. You didn't ask how I was or how the baby was. I was left to enjoy my pregnancy alone. You did not leech all of my happiness because I was alone everyday with my son. I saw his face on the ultrasound. I loved him regardless of how he came to be or what would happen. I LOVED HIM!! I loved him as he pitched and rolled in my stomach and kicked and hiccuped. I loved the show you put on for my future sister-in-law as he lay hiccuping in the womb and you rubbed my stomach and called him a girl. I thought, "kick her for that." HA! That's what you get for taking what T-Bird said incorrectly, and throwing your little fit and once again, telling me how disappointed you were that she told the sex of the baby. I almost didn't call you when I was at the hospital. Where I get my compassion I'll never know because it certainly wasn't from you. I know how desparately you wanted to stay and watch the birth. I saw the disappointment when the nurse asked you to leave. Hint: I asked her to do that. Number One: I didn't want you standing around yakking your mouth. Number Two: If its so immoral to come to my baby shower and so immoral to take photographs of me, then its obviously too immoral for you to be able to take part in something that you have degraded and besmirched for 6 months. Had you shown me a little compassion Mother, I may have let you stay. You didn't earn it. You thought only of yourself and how your friends and family felt or how they talked. But not me, flesh of your flesh, your own daugther, when I needed you most. When I was scared and afraid, you turned your back on me and kept it turned until it suited you to turn back around. As far as your compassion extended, so did mine. I don't take any pleasure in kicking you out because I know it hurt you. I may even feel a bit guilty. Just like the guilt I saw in your eyes when you asked me to stand beside my sister-in-law for a picture at HER baby shower. Something dawned on you then, didn't it? I'd like to say you've changed since the birth of your grandchildren and you have. I think you're a much better grandmother than you ever were a mother. Perhaps I'm not the only one who has learned lessons over the years. I'm glad I gave you the opportunity. It was a toss-up for a while as to whether I allowed my son to be with you. Its worked out. But, you're still my Mother. And in doing so, you've tried over the years to twist the knife. Like, when you told me you hoped I didn't resent my son due to the circumstances of his birth. I didn't respond until the second time you brought it up. I told you that since you kept talking about it that obviously you were the one who resented it. Case closed. How about when you asked if the b/f asked me to give my son up if I would? WTF? How can you ask your own daughter, who would give her LIFE for her child, and almost did, if she would give him up? What kind of person does she think I am? She either doesn't know me at all or welcomes any opportunity to throw the things I love and care about in the dark shadow of doubt. NO! YOU DUMB BITCH!! NO MAN IS WORTH MY CHILD! DICK IS NOT WORTH IT! MONEY IS NOT WORTH IT! NOTHING IS WORTH IT!! Case closed. You still take up for that worthless, spineless, emotionless piece of crap masquerading as my brother. You know, the one who only comes to see you when its convenient for him, when he wants something or so his wife can look down her nose at you but lust after your money, or you can watch their two heathen children while they talk about mine? But lets not show favortism okay? Because they would be wrong. Really wrong! Either my meds are working really good or I just don't give a shit anymore. Maybe its the fact that instead of taking your crap now, I stand up to you and tell you to your face that your attitude sucks. I know your actions when I was a child impacted how I saw myself, the types of relationships I gravitated toward as an adult and how I see myself now, which is why I'm writing this and working on myself, because if nothing else, you've taught me what kind of person I don't want to be. If I don't let go of the past, I will be you. I give you credit though. You've stuck up more for me in the past eight years than you ever did in the first 25. I suppose you feel, grudgingly, that I earned it by dusting myself off again and again and moving on. I earned it long ago Mother and I earned it in your shadow. Your blindness or contempt or jealousy or using me as an outlet for your own unhappiness is not my fault and I refuse to accept it as my responsibility. I have made mistakes and I have made my amends. I forgive you for what you did. I hope to forget and drop the baggage behind me as I move along the path to a better me. I love you Mom.

Poems

Driving They drive so close their auras seep into my car like hazy red stop lights, mixing with blue notes from the radio until the air pulses purple. I turn my blinker on and slow down, confusing them on this exitless highway. EWA - for Troy You called to ask if I knew what you did that day. The image of scaling palm trees came to mind, knowing your adventurous spirit. A ride on a mermaid through silken seas, past alligators lounging in shallows, bored with dragonflies. Instead, you spoke of the darkness of lost opportunity, your words confusing my feelings. I wanted to pluck your syllables as they flowed through the phone and rearrange them in a coherent, sensible order, so I might understand them better. You wanted me to know, you thought yourself a fool for hoping where hope should not lie, but without admitting that you hoped at all. I rearranged your words and sent them back in no reasonable order so you would know - there is no coherency, sensibility or reasonableness - when you are lost.

In the Closet

I hide in the closet and escape the thundering voices the lightning quick flashes of insanity In the closet I go unnoticed I cannot feel their thoughts their words cannot puncture me their anger cannot infect me I hide from yellowed skin forked tongues dripping fangs striking and hissing like cobras in duet I hide afterward I crawl peeking through the crack light on my face, careful the door doesn’t creak I quell the light dark and hushed then I notice the closet door is ajar Tiptoe, tiptoe so dark within green tentacles reaching I slam the door and run! I peep from beneath the covers you know there are monsters in the closet

The Onion

Look at your hands Now imagine you have no fingernails None the ends are smooth and round now imagine there is something slick on the end of your fingers Rub it around Before you is an onion Its very large Its white It is not sweet It will burn You must peel the onion It is trussed in its shell the decaying outer shell But you cannot harm the onion How will you peel it? You have no nails You have no knife Your fingers are slick How will you peel it? There is always a flaw a crack, a fissure and you will work your finger around it it will be difficult You must be patient For you may not harm the onion You must rub the shiny dead skin along the crack, the flaw until it opens And then you will cry Remember The onion is not sweet The onion will burn Every layer of the onion must be peeled. It is tedious It is time consuming It is frustrating It burns It makes you cry but you must not harm the onion You may not toss it the air You may not smash it on the table you may not use a knife Nor a nail Nor anything sharp for the onion is fragile Time is what the onion needs Every layer is thicker and harder every layer will burn every layer will make you cry but you must not harm the onion In the onion there is a core it is the most fragile It is the sweetest part of the onion it will not make you cry As you cup it in your hands you realize you’ve spent so much time peeling the onion the other pieces the outer shell are withering and dying And you are left with the sweet core Peel your onion but do not harm the onion for it contains your sweetest core

The Ins

Insincerity and insecurity, one caused by the other, neither realizing which starts first. We cloak ourselves behind and find the way around the insecurity, when we are together. The insincerity is dropped but as we part it is assumed the insincerity continues and it is shameful how we let that wall down. The kitten claws my lap, indifferent to my pleas. As indifferent as you. My voice must be infinitesimal although I hear myself speak, perhaps only in my mind. Indefinite time frames shrink my voice and my irritation is intense. Which is the infidel? The one that betrays their mate? The one who betrays themself? The pagan, the saint, the sinner? Intentional disregard of confusion, is that a sign or is it really just disregard? Are you really so inane or are you just really good at ignoring? Perhaps I’m like the inch-worm, interesting to watch but not something you want crawling on your skin nor under. Infatuation is fed, not smothered, as insane notions should be. Information has been passed on a one-way street and I make no further inquiries to obtain insight. Meandering along this path with no real destination, waiting only for the inevitable, wondering if our differences are too incongruent to be overcome. Indecisiveness at your insolence leaves me like the kitten on my lap, indolent, tired of clawing, and pacing and purring and narrowing my eyes against the sun. I put on my sunglasses and ponder the infinite.

Fifth Wheel -- Summer 2003

Even pressed between the bodies, I am alone. Heartbeats out of synch, its mine that cannot find the rhythm. My foot taps on the floor, bells on my fingers but my heart stays out of time. I feel them touching my body and she is eager but my soul turns and hides and yearns. I pluck at the edge of the mattress, I feel their heat, their murmurs and soft laughs vibrating through my nakedness, the long pauses and sighs of kisses and caresses. Soon...they will turn to me and she will join them, delighted in her wantonness. They touch the underside of her breast and suckle her excited nipples, their fingers buried inside her lushness, their mouths, tongues, teeth and I hear her moan from far away. She is pliant and eager, she burns and is unafraid and they catch her fever, smoldering to crescendo. Rumbles of laughter, smoke drifting with the scent of sex behind this closed door. They try to cuddle but she turns from them, in to me and I feel their withdrawal from the chill and I enjoy it. The scorpion poised to strike, to flood them with pain, to hide and sulk. She may give in to them but I am in control. I confuse them. I have to let them know. They may possess her but they will never have her, not all of her, she is only half without me. They have to know, I hate them. When they touch her hair and she may smile but inside she fights me. I want to scowl - I hate their touch, I hate how they touch and feel and I feel nothing. I hate the look of yearning and passion in their eyes. Fake! Its Not Real! A soul that burns with hate, with fear, with jealousy...with pain, is particular. THEY pretend, I will not. I wish she would tell them how it means NOTHING! to me. I want to see the pain in their eyes. I want to see confusion and hate. I want them to understand me by being me. But she is silent and leaves me to pout.