Sibling Vacation
My brother, sister-in-law, sister, niece, and my sister-in-law's brother (or Wayne, Cheryl, Megan, Rose, and Raymond) and I went to Rehoboth Beach, DE June 14th through the 19th for a long awaited vacation. This was my first vacation in two years and god did I ever need it!
Wayne, Cheryl, Megan, and I stopped in at Cheryl's parent's home in Preston County, WV for the night on Monday to breathe in the freshness of the country air and to take in the breathtaking view of the ancient hills from their front porch. The next morning we awoke and drove on to Baltimore to meet up with Rose and then continued onward to Rehoboth.
After seemingly endless hours of riding with my knees pressed against the dashboard of Cheryl's Suzuki, we arrived at our little castle on the sand on Tuesday, June 15th. It was a 2 story, 3 bedroom, 1 bath oceanfront condo complete with a deck overlooking the ocean. Once we completed shopping at Super G supermarket and ate our decadent dinner from Dairy Queen, we all returned to the condo to sit on the deck, cold beer in hand, (with the exception of Megan, of course) and watch the ocean. It was lovely. An endless gentle breeze blew in from the East as the water stretched itself tirelessly over the sand only to retract over and over again. The air smelled of salt, of sand, of sea. It was almost perfect.
One by one my family made their way to their beds until I was alone with the wind, the water, and my Bud Light on the deck in the dark. I sat there for I don't know how long just enjoying the peacefulness and slight melancholy that the environment stirred in me. As I listened to the waves, I occasionally heard the voices of other vacationers laughing, talking, and shouting out into the night. I thought of my sleeping family upstairs and smiled. And I thought of the single bed that I would find my way to and felt my smile become wry. At that moment I felt compelled to sing "No Need to Argue" to the ocean and so I did. It was so powerful and exhilarating. After a few minutes of silence following my aquatic serenade, I finally bid the ocean goodnight and crept upstairs to occupy the top bunk of the room that I shared with my sister.
The next morning (Wednesday, June 16th) I woke to Megan tugging at my covers and saying, "Get up, Aunt Twiss! We gonna build a sandcastle!" Very rested and excited, I hopped out of bed to join my family for a nice breakfast of bacon, eggs, and toast before squeezing my lilly-white ass into my old navy blue Old Navy tankini. Once suited up we all filed down to the beach with an umbrella to protect the little one and beach chairs for all. We played in the sand, built castles and mountains, and buried my brother from the waist down. On my first trip to fetch water for Megan in a pail I discovered that the ocean was quite cold...perhaps about 65 to 68 degrees. Since there was a constant breeze all day that day and the water was so frigid, I never even broke a sweat and chose not to brave the water. I did, however, get to finish reading Invisible Monsters by Chuck Palahniuk in between sand art. I also got to doze a good bit just lying in the sunlight with my family around me. It was so soothing and peaceful.
That night Rose volunteered to keep Megan while Wayne, Cheryl, Raymond, and I went to check out the local bar scene. We decided to stroll on over to the bar just down from our little slice of paradise, called The Starboard. The live band, Trip Fabulous, was headed by an adorable blonde female lead singer and an equally adorable (but in a different way) lead guitarist. They took turns singing lead vocals and were excellent at drawing in the crowd. They played mostly covers, but from what I remember, they were pretty damn good. Of course, by this point I was nicely buzzed, having had 3 cranberry and vodkas before leaving the condo, each with a shot and a half of liquor in them. Wayne and Cheryl also had a few drinks before going out and considering their current low alcohol tolerance from not imbibing alcohol within the last 5 years, they were pretty much toasted as well. :) We danced, sang, laughed, and had a general good time. Who knew partying with your family could be so much fun?
While at the bar I got hit on by an adorable little college dude. I was wearing my "Talk Nerdy To Me" t-shirt which for some reason inspired him with the ever clever pick up line of, "Hey! Nice shirt! Umm...What's your major?" To which I replied, "Ummm...I graduated already." What made this all the more amusing is that Wayne was standing right there when this guy dropped the line. Wayne's right eyebrow arched up as did mine and we exchanged a look before we both burst into laughter. The poor little college dude didn't know what to think for a moment.
After the bar closed at 1-fucking-AM, much to my dismay and disgruntlement, we walked back to the condo to drink a couple more drinks on the porch. That last cranberry and vodka that I made was probably 50% alcohol but I couldn't taste it. I drank half of it and gave Cheryl the rest. She claims that it was that drink which pushed her over the edge and bestowed upon her the first ever hang over she's ever had the next morning. :)
More alcohol was consumed and about 2AM we decided to take a walk out on the beach. Well...we walked for a few minutes and then noticed lights coming toward us. It was a little dune buggy carrying two city cops. "Everybody chill out! It's the cops!", said I. The vehicle stopped and one officer walked toward us and asked if we were aware of the beach curfew and the $287 fine per person for violation. My brother was the most sober and therefore became our spokesperson. He explained that we were not aware of the curfew and would return to our rental property promptly. The officers watched and waited as we walked, trying not to stagger and further reveal our inebriated conditions, back to the beach house. Once we reached our porch, the cops drove by and I decided to flash a picture of their little dune buggy with Wayne's digital camera. I don't remember much of the rest of the night except for a lot of hilarity on the little oceanfront deck, my brother's slurred speech, and Cheryl's endless declarations that she was not drunk. :)
Cheryl had her first hangover the next morning. Megan kept asking, "Why is Mommy sick?" so Rose and I took her out on the beach. Once the whole clan was outside and I was sweltering under the heat of the sun, I decided to test out the chill waters. Rose followed and we made our way up to our thighs and stopped to chat, letting the waves break against our bodies. The water had been pretty tame all day but from out of nowhere came one big wave which hit me hard, causing me to stagger a bit. I laughed and looked up at Rose who started screaming, "You're out! You're out!" I gave her a puzzled look and saw that she was pointing at my chest. I looked down and found my bossoms totally exposed as the force of the wave had ripped down my top. I pulled it back up hurriedly and looked around to see who had seen the twins peeking out. I looked back toward where Wayne, Cheryl, and Meg were situated and found Wayne pointing the video camera right at me and Rose. Upon viewing the tape later, we discovered that he had just missed the exposed breasts, and for that we were all thankful.
I left the cool caress of the water for the warmth and dry of my black beach towel and I managed to fall asleep in the sun. An hour later I awoke to find my ass, back, and the back of my legs a nice roasted red color. Rose helped me rub some aloe on my burns a few hours later after I had showered. Now we all know that sunburned skin is very sensitive and those of you that know me well know that the skin on the back of my legs is always terribly ticklish. Well...when she began applying aloe to the back of my knees and the lower part of the back of my thighs I started screaming and laughing in an uncontrolable and insane fashion. I'm not sure I should even attempt to describe the noise that came from my mouth. It was a sound such as an insane and demented clown would make just after murdering 20 or so school children. Hmmm...yeah...maybe I shoulda left that one alone. At any rate, my brother came running upsairs and called through the bedroom door, also laughing, "What the hell are you doing in there?" Rose was giggling a low and goofy giggle already and Wayne's inquiry worked to send us both over the edge into a wild fit of laughter. Rose managed to drool on the back of my legs and I'm pretty sure I got the pillows. :)
That night Raymond and I decided to go out again and get swept away in the beach party atmosphere. I got all hoochied up, prepared for another fun night on the town. I was sadly disappointed. The club across the way was absolutely dead and so we walked about 2 miles, checking out each little bar that we came upon. We stopped at the Rusty Rudder for a bit and watched an old and somewhat boring band perform and a bunch of old people dance. We got depressed, seeing our possible futures in their strange and twisted movements, and decided to head back to the Starboard. After drinking a few beers and watching a few semi-attractive bonehead looking college guys play a ping pong ball bounce drinking game, (during which the ping pong ball often bounced off of the table and onto the floor...and they only brushed it off and commenced trying to bounce it into the beer that they were going to drink) we strolled back to the house and went to our respective beds.
Friday the Garris and Cummings kin hung out at the beach one last time and then began packing and cleaning up. I said my final goodbye to the ocean as we departed on Saturday morning at 9am. She waved back and told me that she had tasted me once before...when I was not so bitter. :) We arrived in West Virginia at about 8pm Saturday evening. I slept on and off during the drive and found myself tired but strangely wired upon my return to my little lonely apartment. And so the vacation ended.
If at first you don't succeed...
I returned the phone calls I had received while away and Mr. Perry invited me to join him down at the Sound Factory for a couple of beers. I accepted the offer, being too tired to sleep, lonely, and somewhat depressed about the end of my trip. We hung out a bit, he tried to get me to go home with him, I refused. Same old, same old. He looked at my breasts at one point and said, "What? You mean I never get to see the twins again?" Yeah. That's what I mean. I've got to give it to him. He's persistent.
To ease the pain of my rejection of him, I encouraged him to hit on two blonde chicas that were perched at the end of the bar and he did indeed build up the courage to try his luck. However, his offer for conversation and possibly more was graciously declined by the one and he found that the other was there for/with one of the band members. Oh well...can't be a winner every time.
He disappeared after that and I was able to enjoy Split Nixon in peace. I started chatting with Matt Wolfe, drummer for the band Byzantine, and managed to enjoy the rest of the evening. Poor Wolfe got terribly drunk because people kept buying him shots (it must be nice to be locally famous) and seeing as how he lives right down the street from me, I offered to take him home. We had a nice little chat on the ride home, some of which consisted of him pouring out his inner-most secrets upon finding out that I was a counselor. I gave him some advice, which I'm sure he didn't remember because of his drunken state, dropped him at his driveway, and watched him stagger up to the door.
I want somebody who sees the pointlessness and still keeps their purpose in mind;
I want somebody who has a tortured soul...some of the time;
I want somebody who will either put out for me
or put me out of misery;
Or maybe just put it all to words and make me say, "You know, I never heard it put that way".
Make me say, "What did you just say?"
~Ani Difranco "Asking Too Much"
Friday, June 25, 2004
Saturday, June 12, 2004
The Outlaw, Capitol City Gold, and an evening with Split Nixon
So tonight I finally got to try Sitar of India and man was it yummy! I went there with Vander Outlaw tonight. He's leaving town tomorrow morning for sunny Florida so we decided to have one last Hurrah and do dinner and see a band.
Dinner was excellent! I had Chicken Takki Something that started with an M...and it was delicious! After we stuffed out tummys full of Indian treats, we headed over to Mulligan's to check who was playing and found that it was Split Nixon, so we decided to stay. The problem was that we arrived at like 9:30pm and they were just setting up and it was as exciting as picking fuzz out from between my toes.
As I sat there watching the drummer assemble his drum kit, Vander came up with the brilliant suggestion that we go over to Capitol City Gold. So we did. There were only a handful of strippers, and though they were thin and pretty, most of them looked drugged out of their minds. We sat watching the girls work all of the poor Joe Schmoes for their singles.
Just as I had decided I'd had enough of anorexic bimbos parading around naked in front of me, the feature entertainer came out. She was all dressed in a black suit type thing from head to toe and had a gangsta hat on with a phantom of the opera mask. Her performance was very theatrical and spirited. She actually danced and danced well at that. And she didn't even start undressing until the second song began. I was quite impressed. She was very well built, but nothing excessive or unrealistic. Her routine involved fire batons which she used quite creatively, setting herself on fire in various locations for just a few seconds. The most memorable for me was when she put alcohol on her breasts and set them on fire. They caught and glowed blue for a moment! Now that is entertainment, my friends!
After we tired of naked women we went back over to Mulligan's. After about an hour Mr. Outlaw departed and we said our final goodbyes. Here's to you Mr. Vander Outlaw! May you find happiness in your sunny new home!
I watched Split Nixon play for the rest of the night and met and talked to various people in the bar. My sis's friends were there (as usual) so I wasn't alone. I was hit on by several men, but I "gracefully" declined their advances. I have no desire to meet anyone at a bar. Honestly, I don't know that I have any desire to meet anyone right now. I don't think I have the energy for that sort of thing. It's so hard. And so disappointing.
If only I were a two-bit whore and my standards were much, much lower. *sigh* Yes, then life would be easier. :)
So tonight I finally got to try Sitar of India and man was it yummy! I went there with Vander Outlaw tonight. He's leaving town tomorrow morning for sunny Florida so we decided to have one last Hurrah and do dinner and see a band.
Dinner was excellent! I had Chicken Takki Something that started with an M...and it was delicious! After we stuffed out tummys full of Indian treats, we headed over to Mulligan's to check who was playing and found that it was Split Nixon, so we decided to stay. The problem was that we arrived at like 9:30pm and they were just setting up and it was as exciting as picking fuzz out from between my toes.
As I sat there watching the drummer assemble his drum kit, Vander came up with the brilliant suggestion that we go over to Capitol City Gold. So we did. There were only a handful of strippers, and though they were thin and pretty, most of them looked drugged out of their minds. We sat watching the girls work all of the poor Joe Schmoes for their singles.
Just as I had decided I'd had enough of anorexic bimbos parading around naked in front of me, the feature entertainer came out. She was all dressed in a black suit type thing from head to toe and had a gangsta hat on with a phantom of the opera mask. Her performance was very theatrical and spirited. She actually danced and danced well at that. And she didn't even start undressing until the second song began. I was quite impressed. She was very well built, but nothing excessive or unrealistic. Her routine involved fire batons which she used quite creatively, setting herself on fire in various locations for just a few seconds. The most memorable for me was when she put alcohol on her breasts and set them on fire. They caught and glowed blue for a moment! Now that is entertainment, my friends!
After we tired of naked women we went back over to Mulligan's. After about an hour Mr. Outlaw departed and we said our final goodbyes. Here's to you Mr. Vander Outlaw! May you find happiness in your sunny new home!
I watched Split Nixon play for the rest of the night and met and talked to various people in the bar. My sis's friends were there (as usual) so I wasn't alone. I was hit on by several men, but I "gracefully" declined their advances. I have no desire to meet anyone at a bar. Honestly, I don't know that I have any desire to meet anyone right now. I don't think I have the energy for that sort of thing. It's so hard. And so disappointing.
If only I were a two-bit whore and my standards were much, much lower. *sigh* Yes, then life would be easier. :)
Thursday, June 03, 2004
I worked almost 12 hours again today. After which I went to visit my brother and his family.
I wound up going for a bicycle ride with Wayne and Megan this afternoon. Megan is too little to ride, of course, being only nearly 3, so she sat in one of those child seats on the back of her father's bike.
It had been at least 4 years since I sat my ass on a bicycle seat and I remembered how. Isn't it amazing, the things that our mind and body chooses to store memory of for long periods of time? Hmmm...who knows. Maybe bicycling will be the salvation of the world one day.
At any rate, it was really fun. I almost felt like a kid again riding along side my brother, racing a bit. :) I say almost because after about 20 minutes, my wrists began aching and my ass was sore from the seat. Yeah...I don't remember that sort of pain from bicycling when I was a kid. I just suppose that I'm just getting fucking old and my body can't take what it used to. Yes, friends. Another happy thought to close another happy blog. :)
Well, actually, I do have a bit of a somber note to add. One of my father's brother's, Harvey Elmer Garris, passed away this Tuesday night. Mom just told me tonight. It looks like the funeral is going to be Saturday and my Daddy needs me, so it looks like I'm going to pass up the weekend of Happy Magic Land fun I had planned. It was about time for another funeral anyway.
I wound up going for a bicycle ride with Wayne and Megan this afternoon. Megan is too little to ride, of course, being only nearly 3, so she sat in one of those child seats on the back of her father's bike.
It had been at least 4 years since I sat my ass on a bicycle seat and I remembered how. Isn't it amazing, the things that our mind and body chooses to store memory of for long periods of time? Hmmm...who knows. Maybe bicycling will be the salvation of the world one day.
At any rate, it was really fun. I almost felt like a kid again riding along side my brother, racing a bit. :) I say almost because after about 20 minutes, my wrists began aching and my ass was sore from the seat. Yeah...I don't remember that sort of pain from bicycling when I was a kid. I just suppose that I'm just getting fucking old and my body can't take what it used to. Yes, friends. Another happy thought to close another happy blog. :)
Well, actually, I do have a bit of a somber note to add. One of my father's brother's, Harvey Elmer Garris, passed away this Tuesday night. Mom just told me tonight. It looks like the funeral is going to be Saturday and my Daddy needs me, so it looks like I'm going to pass up the weekend of Happy Magic Land fun I had planned. It was about time for another funeral anyway.
Steve and I reconciled at the Pistol Whippers show (www.pistolwhippers.com) this past Saturday night. He apologized, I apologized, and it's all good.
I had an excellent weekend with my sister, mom & dad, brother, sister-in-law, and niece. We had two days of cooking out and eating ridiculously wonderful food and just enjoying each other's company. I have such a wonderful family! :)
I'm supposed to start guitar lessons (again) next Tuesday with the guitarist who plays with Split Nixon, a local rock band. (www.splitnixon.com) He told me that he wouldn't make fun of me or show off like the last guy did, but who knows. I'm terribly defensive when it comes to learning something new. I threatened that I'd quit and he promised he wouldn't let me. We'll see.
It's raining tonight.
It reminds me of a Tori song lyric..."Girls you've got to know when it's time to turn the page. When you're only wet because of the rain."
Yeah, I feel like that today.
It was a beautiful evening. Sunny and warm in the sunlight, but in the shade the air was crisp and fresh. I went down to the little river front park in Saint Albans after work today. I just and sat watching the lazing sun turn the river into a wide ribbon of sparkling gold as it moved on it's journey behind the lush, green hills. It was so beautiful. The sky was a brilliant blue and the clouds were so white and contrasted against the sky that they seemed close enough to touch.
There I was surrounded in all of that beauty, but I felt painfully alone. I heard a rustling in the grass behind me and turned to find two ducks walking side by side. I was the only one alone at the park. Even the ducks kept companions. :)
So tonight I'm only wet because of the rain. And I'm really tired of being this lonely.
I suppose I fear that I'll never make the type of connection for which I am longing. Yeah, that scares me. And my fear is exacerbated by that feeling of lonely. And vice versa. Hmmm...what a nasty little place the human mind can be. The things we do to ourselves.
I had an excellent weekend with my sister, mom & dad, brother, sister-in-law, and niece. We had two days of cooking out and eating ridiculously wonderful food and just enjoying each other's company. I have such a wonderful family! :)
I'm supposed to start guitar lessons (again) next Tuesday with the guitarist who plays with Split Nixon, a local rock band. (www.splitnixon.com) He told me that he wouldn't make fun of me or show off like the last guy did, but who knows. I'm terribly defensive when it comes to learning something new. I threatened that I'd quit and he promised he wouldn't let me. We'll see.
It's raining tonight.
It reminds me of a Tori song lyric..."Girls you've got to know when it's time to turn the page. When you're only wet because of the rain."
Yeah, I feel like that today.
It was a beautiful evening. Sunny and warm in the sunlight, but in the shade the air was crisp and fresh. I went down to the little river front park in Saint Albans after work today. I just and sat watching the lazing sun turn the river into a wide ribbon of sparkling gold as it moved on it's journey behind the lush, green hills. It was so beautiful. The sky was a brilliant blue and the clouds were so white and contrasted against the sky that they seemed close enough to touch.
There I was surrounded in all of that beauty, but I felt painfully alone. I heard a rustling in the grass behind me and turned to find two ducks walking side by side. I was the only one alone at the park. Even the ducks kept companions. :)
So tonight I'm only wet because of the rain. And I'm really tired of being this lonely.
I suppose I fear that I'll never make the type of connection for which I am longing. Yeah, that scares me. And my fear is exacerbated by that feeling of lonely. And vice versa. Hmmm...what a nasty little place the human mind can be. The things we do to ourselves.
Thursday, May 27, 2004
Lifestyles of the Poor and Famous
I don't know if my regulars noticed or not, but there is a new addition to my website. Look to your right...see that counter thingie? Yup...that one. That's new. I added it because it seems that I'm suddenly, and likely, temporarily famous.
According to a chica that my sis used to work with, Steve has been discussing the phenomenon of online journals on his radio show due to his anger at me! :) She said she thinks he actually gave out my web address! :)
I find this whole situation terribly amusing. So I really haven't been writing simply for myself for these three years! Nope. Now it seems that Mr. Steve has turned my web log into entertainment for the greater Charleston area! :) Fabulous! I already knew that I had a small readership in Seattle...a few hundred more from Charleston certainly won't hurt. Perhaps someone will find some nugget of truth here...or at least an amusing story or two. :)
I do regret the way in which this all transpired, however. I don't like saying goodbye to people, really. I don't like the end of things. It's truly unfortunate that Steve simply couldn't ask instead of demand and compromise instead of ending our friendship.
*sigh* Poor Stevie...but it's his choice. We could still patch it up a bit...but it's in his hands now. I do feel a bit bad about bitching him out on here. But I was angry and needed to vent. But that's no excuse.
Oh well, what am I worried about? He'll probably never read it. He never read it while we were dating...why should he bother now?
Tonight, where ever you are, whatever you're doing, raise your glass to Steven Perry. May he find whatever it is that he's looking for. And may you all find whatever it is you're looking for.
I don't know if my regulars noticed or not, but there is a new addition to my website. Look to your right...see that counter thingie? Yup...that one. That's new. I added it because it seems that I'm suddenly, and likely, temporarily famous.
According to a chica that my sis used to work with, Steve has been discussing the phenomenon of online journals on his radio show due to his anger at me! :) She said she thinks he actually gave out my web address! :)
I find this whole situation terribly amusing. So I really haven't been writing simply for myself for these three years! Nope. Now it seems that Mr. Steve has turned my web log into entertainment for the greater Charleston area! :) Fabulous! I already knew that I had a small readership in Seattle...a few hundred more from Charleston certainly won't hurt. Perhaps someone will find some nugget of truth here...or at least an amusing story or two. :)
I do regret the way in which this all transpired, however. I don't like saying goodbye to people, really. I don't like the end of things. It's truly unfortunate that Steve simply couldn't ask instead of demand and compromise instead of ending our friendship.
*sigh* Poor Stevie...but it's his choice. We could still patch it up a bit...but it's in his hands now. I do feel a bit bad about bitching him out on here. But I was angry and needed to vent. But that's no excuse.
Oh well, what am I worried about? He'll probably never read it. He never read it while we were dating...why should he bother now?
Tonight, where ever you are, whatever you're doing, raise your glass to Steven Perry. May he find whatever it is that he's looking for. And may you all find whatever it is you're looking for.
Thursday, May 20, 2004
Immortal Fish
I just watched BIG FISH and I can’t stop crying. The whole thing with the son not knowing his father as well as he would’ve liked and his father dying in the hospital…well that just hit way too close to what I went through with Ben and Dallas.
Often we barely know those that are supposed to be so close to us. Why is that? Why do we allow that to happen?
Maybe it’s because we are so short sighted. We can’t see beyond tomorrow and convenience. And we’re so busy with “living” that we forget that living is more than simply breathing and walking around looking busy! Living is communicating! Living is loving! And we fail to do that so often.
We have to listen, to pay attention to the ones that we love so that we make sure we get their story while they’re still here to tell it! So we don’t miss anything. I’ll try to remember that. I’m sadly sure that I’ll forget it when life gets so damned busy that I can’t slow down and appreciate it.
God! It’s so frustrating!
Our lives are spent so quickly and all we are left with of those moments that slip by are our memories and the stories that we can create out of those memories. Most of us don’t think of ourselves as storytellers…but we are. We each are storytellers, daily weaving the story of our lives, in our minds, if not anywhere else. And we share excerpts, chapters, sometimes only paragraphs, of our experiences with other people in every day interaction.
Our stories give our lives meaning. They give a sense of coherence to the otherwise chaotic and random process of living. Without those stories, we might as well never have existed.
A lot of people have told me that I’m crazy to want to keep an online journal. But they don’t understand. This is my way of reflecting on my thoughts and attempting to better understand myself. It’s a way for me to record my image of me here and now…so that not I or anyone else will forget me as I am now.
I’m writing my story. I’m making myself immortal.
I just watched BIG FISH and I can’t stop crying. The whole thing with the son not knowing his father as well as he would’ve liked and his father dying in the hospital…well that just hit way too close to what I went through with Ben and Dallas.
Often we barely know those that are supposed to be so close to us. Why is that? Why do we allow that to happen?
Maybe it’s because we are so short sighted. We can’t see beyond tomorrow and convenience. And we’re so busy with “living” that we forget that living is more than simply breathing and walking around looking busy! Living is communicating! Living is loving! And we fail to do that so often.
We have to listen, to pay attention to the ones that we love so that we make sure we get their story while they’re still here to tell it! So we don’t miss anything. I’ll try to remember that. I’m sadly sure that I’ll forget it when life gets so damned busy that I can’t slow down and appreciate it.
God! It’s so frustrating!
Our lives are spent so quickly and all we are left with of those moments that slip by are our memories and the stories that we can create out of those memories. Most of us don’t think of ourselves as storytellers…but we are. We each are storytellers, daily weaving the story of our lives, in our minds, if not anywhere else. And we share excerpts, chapters, sometimes only paragraphs, of our experiences with other people in every day interaction.
Our stories give our lives meaning. They give a sense of coherence to the otherwise chaotic and random process of living. Without those stories, we might as well never have existed.
A lot of people have told me that I’m crazy to want to keep an online journal. But they don’t understand. This is my way of reflecting on my thoughts and attempting to better understand myself. It’s a way for me to record my image of me here and now…so that not I or anyone else will forget me as I am now.
I’m writing my story. I’m making myself immortal.
Monday, May 17, 2004
I recently rediscovered a song that I adored about 4 years ago by a Seattle based artist named Marit Peters. It's a rich, bluesy, very tortured song...I love it!!! I wanted to share the lyrics with you guys...
Angels Hovering
in this godless time
i hold you up to my angels
every one of them pales at your feet
our bridge is waterlogged
time does nothing but continue to rain
and just because i'm on my knees
that does not mean that i believe
i'm only doing everything
that everyone expects of me
i guess it could be that angels hover over me
but i prefer the view from under you
i'm too smart to make a deity of you but
i have settled for a morsel word
Nothing kills me
i can live through anything that you can dish
so why not one more dagger, darling
Don't I look like I can take it?
i have a nasty habit of waiting for a moment
like your latest news
when you lay her down to sleep
i beg my God my soul to keep from
my own noose
well nothing kills me i can live
through anything i've angels hovering
yeah nothing kills me i can live
through anything i've angels hovering
Angels Hovering
in this godless time
i hold you up to my angels
every one of them pales at your feet
our bridge is waterlogged
time does nothing but continue to rain
and just because i'm on my knees
that does not mean that i believe
i'm only doing everything
that everyone expects of me
i guess it could be that angels hover over me
but i prefer the view from under you
i'm too smart to make a deity of you but
i have settled for a morsel word
Nothing kills me
i can live through anything that you can dish
so why not one more dagger, darling
Don't I look like I can take it?
i have a nasty habit of waiting for a moment
like your latest news
when you lay her down to sleep
i beg my God my soul to keep from
my own noose
well nothing kills me i can live
through anything i've angels hovering
yeah nothing kills me i can live
through anything i've angels hovering
A Hole
Well the tooth...or the hole that pulling the tooth left behind healed within a week or so. I successfully avoided getting a dry socket and I didn't have to take even one of the painkillers that Dr. Beaver gave me! :)
Yeah...my dentist’s name is Dr. Beaver, David Beaver. I told him he should be an OB-GYN, but he didn't think that a change of careers was in order simply due to his name. Plus, beaver and teeth...it sort of goes together as well.
A Friend Rediscovered
In other news, Nikki (my best friend from high school) and I got in touch again a couple of weeks ago which has made me very happy. I gave up trying to contact her a few years ago. I figured she had her own life and didn't want me around because she never called me back! It turns out that she was in a relationship w/ this abusive, controlling guy. So she was off the radar for a while but now she's back and I'm terribly pleased.
The Unfortunate Demise of a Friendship
Steve is pissed at me. He called here a little more than a week ago upset. I asked him what was wrong and he told me that a couple of listeners and a friend of his found my blog and read stuff I had written about him when we were dating. The unfortunate thing is that these people proceeded to tease him about it.
He then told me that he didn't want anything about his personal life out there for people to read and said, "You're gonna have to take down what you've written about me. I can't have my personal stuff out there for people to read. You can just remove it from there and put it in a private file on your computer somewhere." He was very demanding and I was automatically angered. I asked him if he had read it himself to which he replied that he had not.
I told him that, first of all, he should never attempt to tell me what to do. I angrily explained that the details written in my journal were the details of MY life, MY information as well, and that I most certainly have a right to write whatever the fuck I want to about my life. I stated that there is nothing slanderous written about him within the "pages" of this online journal. I then pointed out that I informed him of my website when we first met and the danger that he might be mentioned in it. I gave him the web address and urged him to check it often. However, he never fucking bothered! And now he comes to me upset that I wrote about him months ago!
I told him that he needed to read the journal and then we would sit down and come to a compromise about what should be altered to protect his identity, but that I was not deleting anything totally simply for his sake. I apologized that he was a character in my story, but stated that in the end it’s MY story about MY life…he just happened to be part of my life for a while.
Yeah…he didn’t like that too well. The bastard hung up on me. The fucking gall that this guy has! I mean, I just recently helped him move!!! No one else was there! None of his “good party buddies” or the guys in the local bands were there to help. Nope. Not even his roommate came to help. But I was there!
I’m not sure if he realizes it or not but I’ve always been available to him when he needed something. I’ve been a compassionate and supportive listener when he needed to bitch about his job or his life in general, a body when he needed to move, and a friend who had no expectations of him and who never required him to be anything other than himself. I’ve been a better friend to him than he ever was to me. And this is how it ends.
Well, Stevie…all you had to do was read the fucking website and discuss it. I would’ve gladly altered it and compromised with you. Instead, this is what you chose. Go get ‘em you cock-eyed jackal you!
Well the tooth...or the hole that pulling the tooth left behind healed within a week or so. I successfully avoided getting a dry socket and I didn't have to take even one of the painkillers that Dr. Beaver gave me! :)
Yeah...my dentist’s name is Dr. Beaver, David Beaver. I told him he should be an OB-GYN, but he didn't think that a change of careers was in order simply due to his name. Plus, beaver and teeth...it sort of goes together as well.
A Friend Rediscovered
In other news, Nikki (my best friend from high school) and I got in touch again a couple of weeks ago which has made me very happy. I gave up trying to contact her a few years ago. I figured she had her own life and didn't want me around because she never called me back! It turns out that she was in a relationship w/ this abusive, controlling guy. So she was off the radar for a while but now she's back and I'm terribly pleased.
The Unfortunate Demise of a Friendship
Steve is pissed at me. He called here a little more than a week ago upset. I asked him what was wrong and he told me that a couple of listeners and a friend of his found my blog and read stuff I had written about him when we were dating. The unfortunate thing is that these people proceeded to tease him about it.
He then told me that he didn't want anything about his personal life out there for people to read and said, "You're gonna have to take down what you've written about me. I can't have my personal stuff out there for people to read. You can just remove it from there and put it in a private file on your computer somewhere." He was very demanding and I was automatically angered. I asked him if he had read it himself to which he replied that he had not.
I told him that, first of all, he should never attempt to tell me what to do. I angrily explained that the details written in my journal were the details of MY life, MY information as well, and that I most certainly have a right to write whatever the fuck I want to about my life. I stated that there is nothing slanderous written about him within the "pages" of this online journal. I then pointed out that I informed him of my website when we first met and the danger that he might be mentioned in it. I gave him the web address and urged him to check it often. However, he never fucking bothered! And now he comes to me upset that I wrote about him months ago!
I told him that he needed to read the journal and then we would sit down and come to a compromise about what should be altered to protect his identity, but that I was not deleting anything totally simply for his sake. I apologized that he was a character in my story, but stated that in the end it’s MY story about MY life…he just happened to be part of my life for a while.
Yeah…he didn’t like that too well. The bastard hung up on me. The fucking gall that this guy has! I mean, I just recently helped him move!!! No one else was there! None of his “good party buddies” or the guys in the local bands were there to help. Nope. Not even his roommate came to help. But I was there!
I’m not sure if he realizes it or not but I’ve always been available to him when he needed something. I’ve been a compassionate and supportive listener when he needed to bitch about his job or his life in general, a body when he needed to move, and a friend who had no expectations of him and who never required him to be anything other than himself. I’ve been a better friend to him than he ever was to me. And this is how it ends.
Well, Stevie…all you had to do was read the fucking website and discuss it. I would’ve gladly altered it and compromised with you. Instead, this is what you chose. Go get ‘em you cock-eyed jackal you!
Saturday, April 24, 2004
So the tooth is still a bit bothersome. I turned in last night at midnight, woke up at 8:30 this morning, popped another pill, and then slept until 1:00 PM. I am the queen of unmotivation today!
I actually did step outside the door of my apartment today. And I showered. :)
Good ol' crazy Steve Perry invited me over to watch The Godfather Part I through III today. I made it through half of a Husson's Pizza and Part I, but then decided to call it a night. There's only so much of each other we can take in one day.
About halfway through the movie, right before Sonny gets shot down, Steve leaned forward with a sudden intake of breath, screamed, looked all around screaming, then looked over at me, screamed, and then jumped back screaming. I thought for sure he had finally snapped and was going to go for a knife from the kitchen and plant it deep within my skull. But no. He had simply fallen asleep and had a bad dream. Jesus, he scared me though. Crazy ass motherfucker. He had that wild look in his eye and he told me that for a second there he didn't know who I was. Scary shit.
On the drive home to my apartment I was overcome by a sudden wave of lonliness and aloneness and I started crying. I was depressed by the fact that I have no friends in this city anymore. I have no friends that are not alredy affiliated with a unit. Cyndi is married and has kids, Sally is married, Eric, Patrick, and Kevin are married, Kelly has a kid. My brother lives here but he has a family and other commitments. And visiting all of these people who belong with other people just drives home the fact and feeling that I'm alone. I have no one else in my unit. I am alone.
It's not about being in a relationship. That's not it. I'm content with being single. I am not content, however in feeling isolated and detached...having no one to be my partner in crime.
Chris and Shawn have each other, Ben and Pat have each other, Ken and Leslie have each other, Burnsy has his girl in Tampa...who do I have? My family, yes, but they are units seperate from me. Mom has Dad, Wayne has Cheryl and Megan.
The only people that aren't part of a unit are Rose, Nora, and Steve. Rose lives in Maryland, Nora in Parkersburg, and Steve is fucking crazy.
I guess that's why the idea of moving to Baltimore seems so appealing. I'm tired of being lonely!
I actually did step outside the door of my apartment today. And I showered. :)
Good ol' crazy Steve Perry invited me over to watch The Godfather Part I through III today. I made it through half of a Husson's Pizza and Part I, but then decided to call it a night. There's only so much of each other we can take in one day.
About halfway through the movie, right before Sonny gets shot down, Steve leaned forward with a sudden intake of breath, screamed, looked all around screaming, then looked over at me, screamed, and then jumped back screaming. I thought for sure he had finally snapped and was going to go for a knife from the kitchen and plant it deep within my skull. But no. He had simply fallen asleep and had a bad dream. Jesus, he scared me though. Crazy ass motherfucker. He had that wild look in his eye and he told me that for a second there he didn't know who I was. Scary shit.
On the drive home to my apartment I was overcome by a sudden wave of lonliness and aloneness and I started crying. I was depressed by the fact that I have no friends in this city anymore. I have no friends that are not alredy affiliated with a unit. Cyndi is married and has kids, Sally is married, Eric, Patrick, and Kevin are married, Kelly has a kid. My brother lives here but he has a family and other commitments. And visiting all of these people who belong with other people just drives home the fact and feeling that I'm alone. I have no one else in my unit. I am alone.
It's not about being in a relationship. That's not it. I'm content with being single. I am not content, however in feeling isolated and detached...having no one to be my partner in crime.
Chris and Shawn have each other, Ben and Pat have each other, Ken and Leslie have each other, Burnsy has his girl in Tampa...who do I have? My family, yes, but they are units seperate from me. Mom has Dad, Wayne has Cheryl and Megan.
The only people that aren't part of a unit are Rose, Nora, and Steve. Rose lives in Maryland, Nora in Parkersburg, and Steve is fucking crazy.
I guess that's why the idea of moving to Baltimore seems so appealing. I'm tired of being lonely!
Thursday, April 22, 2004
An Ending & A Beginning
The Memo
It's final...it's official...I have quit the methadone clinic.
My last day at Charleston Treatment Center was on Thursday, April 1, 2004. On Wednesday night I wrote a heartfelt, but quirky letter to the staff, ribbing my (former) coworkers one last time and saying "goodbye". I also decided to type up some loose notes to take with me in my exit interview. The notes turned into a very direct and honest four page memo on why I was leaving the clinic, what was wrong with morale, and how it could be repaired. I gave a copy of my goodbye letter and the memo to every staff member. I also faxed a copy of the memo to the HR coordinator who in turn faxed it to the regional manager. I then presented it to my (former) program director during my nerve-wracking exit interview. My former coworkers are now referring to me as Jerry McGuire, I hear. :)
A Pirate Ship, a Privy, and a Perfect Moment
That weekend I packed my parents up in my car and drove to Baltimore, MD to visit my sister for the weekend. We all went to the Inner Harbor one day to see some sights and enjoy the day. It had been cold and rainy all weekend, but the sun had decided to come out and warm up the air for a brief period of time.
While at the Harbor I got to tour this fucking awesome naval vessel built in the last 1700s called the U.S.S. Constellation. It looked like more like a pirate ship than a naval vessel, but that’s only because I’ve watched way too many movies. ;) The upper deck was fascinating, with massive masts, and sails, and coils of rope lying all about. I was half tempted to try and climb up to the crow’s nest, but decided against it. Because I’m a pussy.
Anyway, the second deck down was made up of the captain’s quarters and the gunnery. I had to bend down from time to time to keep from hitting my head, but nothing too annoying. Cannons were lined up all along either side of this deck, poking their menacing heads out, ready to fire at enemy ships. The captain’s quarters were nice, considering, and consisted of a large dining/meeting area, a small bedroom, a sitting room, and a very small, private privy. I posed for a picture sitting in the captain's privy, but that roll of film didn't turn out! Damn piece of shit camera!
Anyway, the third deck down held the officer’s quarters, which were basic wooden cells with beds built in the walls. Fancy, eh? This deck was also where the crew prepared and ate their meals (the galley) and where the lower ranking crewmen slept in hammocks hanging from the ceiling or on the deck itself. At the far end, away from the officer’s quarters, was the sickbay and doctor’s quarters. It was pretty cramped and I had to stay continuously ducked down to keep from knocking my noggin. I had a hard time imagining a crew of a 100 men or so sharing such a tiny space for months and months! It would’ve drove me fucking insane!
The fourth deck down was the cargo hold and it was made more for crawling than for walking. The boards/planks at the very bottom of the ship were the original, ancient wooden planks that were cut out of trees that were felled about 200 years ago to build this fantastic ship. Those pieces of wood had seen 200 years of sailing and were still in fairly decent condition! Pretty cool stuff, man!
After the pirate ship, Dad and I walked to the end of the pier, while Rose and Mom window-shopped. I listened while he pointed out buildings and landmarks like he had visited there 20 times before. I enjoyed the sound of youthful excitement in his voice, the warm of the sun, the sound of the water, and the gentle coolness of the breeze against my skin. A small group of Mexican street musicians set up and began playing; one guy with a panpipe and two guitar accompanists. Words cannot capture the beautiful and haunting quality of the music that they produced that day. It had been a while since I had heard anything that inspired such an awe and stillness in my soul. Walking & laughing with my family, the sun, the smell of the clean air, the people, the crisp breeze, and that music. It tied everything together and made the moment perfect.
A Challenge
I drove back that Sunday and on Monday, April 5, 2004, I started my new job at Prestera Center for Mental Health. I now work for Prestera's Putnam County Innerchange Program, which is an intensive outpatient day treatment program for behavior-disordered kids, ages 5 to 18.
The “day treatment” part means that the kids attend from 8:30am to 2:30pm. They receive 1 and ½ hours of school, 4 hours of group therapy, and at least 30 minutes of individual therapy per day. You’re probably thinking, “That’s a hell of a lot of therapy in one day.” Yup. It is. That’s the “intensive outpatient” part. The kids attend the program from anywhere between 30 to 60 days, depending on the severity of their issue.
These kids have been kicked out of the school system for repeated and/or extreme behavioral problems. The problems/diagnoses include separation anxiety, social anxiety, depression, ADHD, oppositional-defiant disorder, anger management issues, self-mutilation, bipolarity, personality disorders, and substance abuse problems.
Let me tell ya…the position is proving to be quite challenging. I've had to almost totally rethink my approach to counseling. In dealing with kids, I’m more like a teacher. It's very strange for me, really. I'm actually coming home every night and creating "lesson plans" for the next days group sessions.
Working with these guys for the little time that I have has already proven rewarding. I learn so much every single day and I know that the skills I'm picking up now are going to prove invaluable to me in the future.
One thing I've learned this week is that I'm "old". The 12 year old girl in my adolescent group said yesterday, "I've never heard an old person say 'dude' before!" Old person? What the fuck?
Yeah…I think I'm going to like it. :)
The Memo
It's final...it's official...I have quit the methadone clinic.
My last day at Charleston Treatment Center was on Thursday, April 1, 2004. On Wednesday night I wrote a heartfelt, but quirky letter to the staff, ribbing my (former) coworkers one last time and saying "goodbye". I also decided to type up some loose notes to take with me in my exit interview. The notes turned into a very direct and honest four page memo on why I was leaving the clinic, what was wrong with morale, and how it could be repaired. I gave a copy of my goodbye letter and the memo to every staff member. I also faxed a copy of the memo to the HR coordinator who in turn faxed it to the regional manager. I then presented it to my (former) program director during my nerve-wracking exit interview. My former coworkers are now referring to me as Jerry McGuire, I hear. :)
A Pirate Ship, a Privy, and a Perfect Moment
That weekend I packed my parents up in my car and drove to Baltimore, MD to visit my sister for the weekend. We all went to the Inner Harbor one day to see some sights and enjoy the day. It had been cold and rainy all weekend, but the sun had decided to come out and warm up the air for a brief period of time.
While at the Harbor I got to tour this fucking awesome naval vessel built in the last 1700s called the U.S.S. Constellation. It looked like more like a pirate ship than a naval vessel, but that’s only because I’ve watched way too many movies. ;) The upper deck was fascinating, with massive masts, and sails, and coils of rope lying all about. I was half tempted to try and climb up to the crow’s nest, but decided against it. Because I’m a pussy.
Anyway, the second deck down was made up of the captain’s quarters and the gunnery. I had to bend down from time to time to keep from hitting my head, but nothing too annoying. Cannons were lined up all along either side of this deck, poking their menacing heads out, ready to fire at enemy ships. The captain’s quarters were nice, considering, and consisted of a large dining/meeting area, a small bedroom, a sitting room, and a very small, private privy. I posed for a picture sitting in the captain's privy, but that roll of film didn't turn out! Damn piece of shit camera!
Anyway, the third deck down held the officer’s quarters, which were basic wooden cells with beds built in the walls. Fancy, eh? This deck was also where the crew prepared and ate their meals (the galley) and where the lower ranking crewmen slept in hammocks hanging from the ceiling or on the deck itself. At the far end, away from the officer’s quarters, was the sickbay and doctor’s quarters. It was pretty cramped and I had to stay continuously ducked down to keep from knocking my noggin. I had a hard time imagining a crew of a 100 men or so sharing such a tiny space for months and months! It would’ve drove me fucking insane!
The fourth deck down was the cargo hold and it was made more for crawling than for walking. The boards/planks at the very bottom of the ship were the original, ancient wooden planks that were cut out of trees that were felled about 200 years ago to build this fantastic ship. Those pieces of wood had seen 200 years of sailing and were still in fairly decent condition! Pretty cool stuff, man!
After the pirate ship, Dad and I walked to the end of the pier, while Rose and Mom window-shopped. I listened while he pointed out buildings and landmarks like he had visited there 20 times before. I enjoyed the sound of youthful excitement in his voice, the warm of the sun, the sound of the water, and the gentle coolness of the breeze against my skin. A small group of Mexican street musicians set up and began playing; one guy with a panpipe and two guitar accompanists. Words cannot capture the beautiful and haunting quality of the music that they produced that day. It had been a while since I had heard anything that inspired such an awe and stillness in my soul. Walking & laughing with my family, the sun, the smell of the clean air, the people, the crisp breeze, and that music. It tied everything together and made the moment perfect.
A Challenge
I drove back that Sunday and on Monday, April 5, 2004, I started my new job at Prestera Center for Mental Health. I now work for Prestera's Putnam County Innerchange Program, which is an intensive outpatient day treatment program for behavior-disordered kids, ages 5 to 18.
The “day treatment” part means that the kids attend from 8:30am to 2:30pm. They receive 1 and ½ hours of school, 4 hours of group therapy, and at least 30 minutes of individual therapy per day. You’re probably thinking, “That’s a hell of a lot of therapy in one day.” Yup. It is. That’s the “intensive outpatient” part. The kids attend the program from anywhere between 30 to 60 days, depending on the severity of their issue.
These kids have been kicked out of the school system for repeated and/or extreme behavioral problems. The problems/diagnoses include separation anxiety, social anxiety, depression, ADHD, oppositional-defiant disorder, anger management issues, self-mutilation, bipolarity, personality disorders, and substance abuse problems.
Let me tell ya…the position is proving to be quite challenging. I've had to almost totally rethink my approach to counseling. In dealing with kids, I’m more like a teacher. It's very strange for me, really. I'm actually coming home every night and creating "lesson plans" for the next days group sessions.
Working with these guys for the little time that I have has already proven rewarding. I learn so much every single day and I know that the skills I'm picking up now are going to prove invaluable to me in the future.
One thing I've learned this week is that I'm "old". The 12 year old girl in my adolescent group said yesterday, "I've never heard an old person say 'dude' before!" Old person? What the fuck?
Yeah…I think I'm going to like it. :)
Monday, March 29, 2004
As I was leaving the clinic this afternoon, walking to the back parking lot toward my car, when I was met by the sounds of a car stereo blaring some sort of country music. I walked up the steps to the back lot and found the elderly janitor, long-handled dust pan in one hand and a broom in the other, sweeping the asphalt. His grey hair shone like silver in the afternoon sunlight as he gazed downward at the ground, intent upon his task. I recognized the music as Johnny Cash and smiled to myself as the old man danced a step or two to the side. I kept walking toward my car. He apparently heard the sound of my boots on the pavement as he abrubtly spun around to face me. I noticed for the first time that his face was very lined, with years of stress, smoking, sun, and life. He held a lit cigar in his mouth, pinched between his teeth. He looked at me for a second, I smiled, he smiled, and then looked down and began sweeping again. I opened my car door, threw in my purse, and waited for him to look my way once more. He did. I waved and smiled again, got in, and drove away.
It's moments like these...when we see another creature enjoying a moment and being alive in that moment...that make us smile and can help us understand what life is about. It's about being. It's about living. It's about being alive in the moment.
And why is it that we are so afraid to let others see us living, loving, and being alive in that moment? We're so afraid to make ourselves vulnerable. We're so afraid to be as we naturally are...unless we're sure the door is locked, the curtains are closed, and no one is watching.
I'm tired of hiding my joy because you're looking at me. I'm tired of wondering what you think about me...because I know you rarely ever do.
It's moments like these...when we see another creature enjoying a moment and being alive in that moment...that make us smile and can help us understand what life is about. It's about being. It's about living. It's about being alive in the moment.
And why is it that we are so afraid to let others see us living, loving, and being alive in that moment? We're so afraid to make ourselves vulnerable. We're so afraid to be as we naturally are...unless we're sure the door is locked, the curtains are closed, and no one is watching.
I'm tired of hiding my joy because you're looking at me. I'm tired of wondering what you think about me...because I know you rarely ever do.
Thursday, March 25, 2004
My ass hurts.
I woke this morning in bed with a bleeding rectum, a empty wine bottle by my side, and a pair of my panties on my head. There was a mysterious trail of a single hoof print leading from my kitchen sink to my bed and back again.
What I think is that a one-legged evil demon goat climed out of my sewage system through my kitchen sink, drank my wine, hopped over to the bed and fucked me up the ass. Damn demon goats!
At least he didn't steal my panties.
I woke this morning in bed with a bleeding rectum, a empty wine bottle by my side, and a pair of my panties on my head. There was a mysterious trail of a single hoof print leading from my kitchen sink to my bed and back again.
What I think is that a one-legged evil demon goat climed out of my sewage system through my kitchen sink, drank my wine, hopped over to the bed and fucked me up the ass. Damn demon goats!
At least he didn't steal my panties.
My Nora, Happy Magic Land, and The Methadone Phone
A couple of weekends ago my friend Nora and I went to visit Shawn and Chris in, what Nora called, Happy Magic Land or Columbus. It was an excellent and therapeutic weekend for both Nora and myself thanks to those two crazy, lovable, latently homosexual men of mine. :)
We arrived on a Saturday and went to BW3 to play trivia and eat the chicken wing. We then went Krogering and purchased le alcohol to drink that night. Chris called my voice mail at work and acted like he was jonesing for methadone, making semi-sexual noises and screaming, "I need a fix! Gimme a fix! I need some goddamn methadone!" I forwarded it to all the counselors the following week and they all thought it was one of their patients flipping out. :)
Once back at the apartment we decided to play drinking games. Shawn was drinking Kamakazies, Chris had some creamy beer that kept creaming all over the table and his pants, and my Nora and I were drinking something like a Koolaid that we dubbed The Methadone. Of course it only took a few rounds of Fuck the Dealer to get me, Nora, and Shawn...um...fucked. Chris says he wasn't even buzzed. Who knows? I've learned never to question the tolerance level of a man who has had an intimate, long-term relationship with Jack Daniels.
Nora is supervisor at Parkersburg Tx Center and she carries the emergency/after hours cell phone for that clinic. Basically, if a patient is in crisis they can call that number and receive after hours/emergency counseling. Sometimes it rings like mad, sometimes it doesn't ring at all. So...Nora had it with her in Columbus...and we were all trashed. Shawn and Chris kept threatening to answer the Methadone Phone and telling the patient calling to "get a fucking life you damned junkie"! Hearts of gold, those boys have. It's probably a really good thing that it didn't ring all weekend.
Shawn used Nora's cell phone to call my home voice mail and left this message in his best Hogwarts School of Wizardry voice: "Hello!!! This is Harry Potter! Harry Potter!!!! Hermione!!! What are you doing with that broomstick?!?!? Oh my! Blimey and bugger! Oh my!" I played that one for some other counselors as well. :)
We started playing euchre and trying to teach Nora while we were all drunk. We ran out of some alcohol that Chris needed to make mine and Nora's drinks...he made her something he called Nora's Suicide...it was basically a pink Kamakazie. She didn't drink it. Shawn went upstairs and passed out when the neighbors came over to join in the playing of the cards. Nora and I went to attempt to wake him at one point. We hopped on the bed and began humping him...well...Nora sort of bounced around in the corner of the bed with her mouth hanging open, making noises like a low functioning mentally challenged individual. Shawn lifted his head and said, "I'm up! I'm up!" and then passed out again.
Joe, the neighbor, started to touch me at one point and I provided unintentional entertainment for all by saying, "No! Don't touch me! Didn't we discuss this before?" Finally, the neighbors left and we all passed out. No one was molested or hurt. I slept safely and soundly next to my own personal cuddly bald man, Shawn
On Sunday we awoke and we all piled downstairs on the couch for an all day Nightmare on Elm Street movie marathon!!!! The boys had watched Nightmare on Elm Street, Nightmare on Elm Street: Freddy's Revenge, and part of Nightmare on Elm Street: Dream Warriors on Saturday. So we finished Dream Warriors and Nightmare on Elm Street 4: The Dream Master and then broke for an excellent pasta dinner, cooked by our very own Chef Berry. We then watched Nightmare on Elm Street: The Dream Child through Wes Craven's New Nightmare. At moments we found ourselves reliving our childhood fears of Freddy Krueger, but mostly we mocked the films Mystery Science Theatre 3000 style. I mean...so all Nancy would've had to do in the first one is absorb people's "powers" when they die (like Alice in #4) so she could've become a super bitch and kicked his ass with a nursery rhyme? Or maybe she should've went down to the local mental hospital/former convent where Freddy's nun mother's body was bricked in a wall and released her spirit (like Alice's friend in #5)? Or maybe she could've donned some 3D glasses prior to going to sleep and would've been able to see differently in the dream (like Katherine/Maggie in #6)? And the things that gave Freddy his terrifying powers were simply sperm-like demons with skeletal faces (#6)? And dogs piss fire in dreams (#4)? What the hell?
Monday, Nora and I had the day off, so we spent the morning window shopping at the Easton shopping center in Columbus. After walking around all day and oggling expensive clothing, handbags, jewels, and homefurnishings in such fine stores as Bebe, Guess, Coach, Steve Madden, Diamond Cellar, Z Gallerie, and Pottery Barn, we stopped at the Cheesecake Factory for a slice of...cheesecake. It's a rare thing, I think, when two women will spend all day at a mall and walk away with nothing but a satisfied sweet tooth and a sense that all of the pretty things that they had looked at all day long were just pretty things that neither one of them needed to be happy. :)
So we left Happy Magic Land, and headed back across the disturbingly flat and open farmland of Ohio as night was falling. And we ran into the consoling embrace of the dark, whispering West Virginia hills. Hills speckled with light here and there...like the night sky turned upside down...where we could hear the trees dreaming of spring...and where we could see Orion blazing proudly above our heads.
A couple of weekends ago my friend Nora and I went to visit Shawn and Chris in, what Nora called, Happy Magic Land or Columbus. It was an excellent and therapeutic weekend for both Nora and myself thanks to those two crazy, lovable, latently homosexual men of mine. :)
We arrived on a Saturday and went to BW3 to play trivia and eat the chicken wing. We then went Krogering and purchased le alcohol to drink that night. Chris called my voice mail at work and acted like he was jonesing for methadone, making semi-sexual noises and screaming, "I need a fix! Gimme a fix! I need some goddamn methadone!" I forwarded it to all the counselors the following week and they all thought it was one of their patients flipping out. :)
Once back at the apartment we decided to play drinking games. Shawn was drinking Kamakazies, Chris had some creamy beer that kept creaming all over the table and his pants, and my Nora and I were drinking something like a Koolaid that we dubbed The Methadone. Of course it only took a few rounds of Fuck the Dealer to get me, Nora, and Shawn...um...fucked. Chris says he wasn't even buzzed. Who knows? I've learned never to question the tolerance level of a man who has had an intimate, long-term relationship with Jack Daniels.
Nora is supervisor at Parkersburg Tx Center and she carries the emergency/after hours cell phone for that clinic. Basically, if a patient is in crisis they can call that number and receive after hours/emergency counseling. Sometimes it rings like mad, sometimes it doesn't ring at all. So...Nora had it with her in Columbus...and we were all trashed. Shawn and Chris kept threatening to answer the Methadone Phone and telling the patient calling to "get a fucking life you damned junkie"! Hearts of gold, those boys have. It's probably a really good thing that it didn't ring all weekend.
Shawn used Nora's cell phone to call my home voice mail and left this message in his best Hogwarts School of Wizardry voice: "Hello!!! This is Harry Potter! Harry Potter!!!! Hermione!!! What are you doing with that broomstick?!?!? Oh my! Blimey and bugger! Oh my!" I played that one for some other counselors as well. :)
We started playing euchre and trying to teach Nora while we were all drunk. We ran out of some alcohol that Chris needed to make mine and Nora's drinks...he made her something he called Nora's Suicide...it was basically a pink Kamakazie. She didn't drink it. Shawn went upstairs and passed out when the neighbors came over to join in the playing of the cards. Nora and I went to attempt to wake him at one point. We hopped on the bed and began humping him...well...Nora sort of bounced around in the corner of the bed with her mouth hanging open, making noises like a low functioning mentally challenged individual. Shawn lifted his head and said, "I'm up! I'm up!" and then passed out again.
Joe, the neighbor, started to touch me at one point and I provided unintentional entertainment for all by saying, "No! Don't touch me! Didn't we discuss this before?" Finally, the neighbors left and we all passed out. No one was molested or hurt. I slept safely and soundly next to my own personal cuddly bald man, Shawn
On Sunday we awoke and we all piled downstairs on the couch for an all day Nightmare on Elm Street movie marathon!!!! The boys had watched Nightmare on Elm Street, Nightmare on Elm Street: Freddy's Revenge, and part of Nightmare on Elm Street: Dream Warriors on Saturday. So we finished Dream Warriors and Nightmare on Elm Street 4: The Dream Master and then broke for an excellent pasta dinner, cooked by our very own Chef Berry. We then watched Nightmare on Elm Street: The Dream Child through Wes Craven's New Nightmare. At moments we found ourselves reliving our childhood fears of Freddy Krueger, but mostly we mocked the films Mystery Science Theatre 3000 style. I mean...so all Nancy would've had to do in the first one is absorb people's "powers" when they die (like Alice in #4) so she could've become a super bitch and kicked his ass with a nursery rhyme? Or maybe she should've went down to the local mental hospital/former convent where Freddy's nun mother's body was bricked in a wall and released her spirit (like Alice's friend in #5)? Or maybe she could've donned some 3D glasses prior to going to sleep and would've been able to see differently in the dream (like Katherine/Maggie in #6)? And the things that gave Freddy his terrifying powers were simply sperm-like demons with skeletal faces (#6)? And dogs piss fire in dreams (#4)? What the hell?
Monday, Nora and I had the day off, so we spent the morning window shopping at the Easton shopping center in Columbus. After walking around all day and oggling expensive clothing, handbags, jewels, and homefurnishings in such fine stores as Bebe, Guess, Coach, Steve Madden, Diamond Cellar, Z Gallerie, and Pottery Barn, we stopped at the Cheesecake Factory for a slice of...cheesecake. It's a rare thing, I think, when two women will spend all day at a mall and walk away with nothing but a satisfied sweet tooth and a sense that all of the pretty things that they had looked at all day long were just pretty things that neither one of them needed to be happy. :)
So we left Happy Magic Land, and headed back across the disturbingly flat and open farmland of Ohio as night was falling. And we ran into the consoling embrace of the dark, whispering West Virginia hills. Hills speckled with light here and there...like the night sky turned upside down...where we could hear the trees dreaming of spring...and where we could see Orion blazing proudly above our heads.
Sunday, March 21, 2004
This weekend has been quite peaceful and restful. I hung with the family and cleaned up my little apartment.
I bought some red Martha Stewart sheets this morning. (Who knows? They could be collecter's items one day!) They look quite nice on my little bed.
Dad fixed Granny's lamp and hung it over my bed. It casts the perfect amount of soft light over the room. Very cozy.
It feels nice to have a clean home. It's just me exercising what little control I have over my environment. :) Recognizing it doesn't make it any less comforting.
I wish I had someone to cuddle up with in my new, red, Martha Stweart sheets.
I bought some red Martha Stewart sheets this morning. (Who knows? They could be collecter's items one day!) They look quite nice on my little bed.
Dad fixed Granny's lamp and hung it over my bed. It casts the perfect amount of soft light over the room. Very cozy.
It feels nice to have a clean home. It's just me exercising what little control I have over my environment. :) Recognizing it doesn't make it any less comforting.
I wish I had someone to cuddle up with in my new, red, Martha Stweart sheets.
Friday, March 19, 2004
I'm doing it! I'm really doing it, man!
In spite of my evil Marshall website, Prestera decided to hire me! Huzzah!
As of April 5th, I'll be a Case Manager/Counselor for Prestera Center for Mental Health's Advantage Valley Interchange program. As I previously stated, I'll be working with 12 kids, ages 4-18, doing group counseling, one on one counseling, treatment planning, referrals, etc. The kids in the program are there due to being kicked out of school for a variety of behavioral problems. They must successfully complete Prestera's Interchange program before being allowed back into the school system. I'm looking forward to working with a more impressionable population. I guess I'm thinking that I'd like to get to these kids before they have the chance to become addicts and dysfunctional adults. It should prove to be exciting!
I'll be making $20,000 per year, so I took a $3000 pay cut...but not really. There are incentive programs and I should be able to make $900 extra dollars every quarter, so $3600 extra a year. Also the insurance is cheaper. In the long run, I actually might be making about $300 less annually than I could make if I stayed at CTC. But it will be more than I took home this past year, so I'm not really worried about it. :)
Other good stuff about my new job:
Prestera actually wants their employees to better themselves and they're willing to reimburse me for school, which means I'll be able to go back to grad school this fall!
I'll be working with M.A. and PhD level psychologists, so I'm sure to learn a lot if I keep my eyes and ears open.
I get to wear jeans!
I'll have "normal people" hours again!!!!!
The Resignation
I turned my resignation letter in to Tanya this morning. My last day will be April 1, April Fool's Day. I've entertained the thought of running into her office on that day and saying, "April Fool's! I'm not quitting! Gotcha!" And then saying, "Um...no...that was the April Fool's joke. I'm really quitting. Goodbye!" But no...I won't burn any bridges. Even if they are rickety old foot bridges.
Anyway, Patrick gave his notice on Tuesday, so there is a Counseling Supervisor position open. Cyndi and Sally are applying for it, and had I not been totally done with CTC, I too would have applied. Tanya mentioned it to me on Wednesday evening and said that I should submit a letter of interest. I told her that I'd probably end up shooting myself if I got it. She just laughed. I wasn't joking.
When I handed her my resignation letter this morning, I'm most certain that she thought it was a letter of interrest for the supervisor job. She was all smiles when she first took it from my hand...and then she abrubtly stopped smiling. She asked where I would be working. She responded that she had learned a lot at Prestera during her time there and felt it would be a good career move for me. Then she asked if there was anything she could get for me to make me stay. I just smiled a wry smile, shook my head, laughed a little, and said, "No, Tanya. No, there's nothing".
I'll miss...
My co-workers. I've met some FANTASTIC people during my stint at CTC and made some good friends. I'm determined not to loose touch with Patrick, Kevin, Sally, Vander, and Cyndi at least. I hope I can keep contact with more, but that's unlikely. I'll miss my office. I'll miss early morning conversations in Kevin's office. I'll miss lunch with Cyndi. I'll miss Nancy's stuttering when she's flustered. I'll miss Cheryl's crazy booty dance, Cindy's oversexed persona, and Mike's friendly/fatherly advice. I'll miss Vander Outlaw's harmless sexual innuendos. I'll miss Patrick's personal space invasions. I'll miss Joey's paddling, Sally's princessiness, Malena's defensiveness, and Jenny's evil little anime girl looks. I'll miss all the faker, the shit-pisser, Whizinator, and "my dog ate my methadone" stories.
My patients. I told about 10 of them today that I was leaving. I was met with a range of emotions from tears (from a great young man with whom I've built an excellent rapport and who has come very far) to anger to blank stares. :) It's been more difficult than I thought it would be. In a way, I feel like I'm letting down 45 people who've stuck out the program. I've taken the time and worked very hard to build up trusting and safe relationship where my patients can come and unload...and now I'm walking away from that. But I guess this is the last lesson that I'll get to teach them. That they trusted once and it worked...so now they must have the courage to trust again with a new counselor. Several people thanked me today for "everything I've done for them". I HATE hearing that! I just redirect it and make them realize that they're responsible for every change in their lives...I'm just their sounding board, support, and guidance.
Well...I hope I haven't fucked anybody up too much. There's always the next two weeks, though!!! :)
In spite of my evil Marshall website, Prestera decided to hire me! Huzzah!
As of April 5th, I'll be a Case Manager/Counselor for Prestera Center for Mental Health's Advantage Valley Interchange program. As I previously stated, I'll be working with 12 kids, ages 4-18, doing group counseling, one on one counseling, treatment planning, referrals, etc. The kids in the program are there due to being kicked out of school for a variety of behavioral problems. They must successfully complete Prestera's Interchange program before being allowed back into the school system. I'm looking forward to working with a more impressionable population. I guess I'm thinking that I'd like to get to these kids before they have the chance to become addicts and dysfunctional adults. It should prove to be exciting!
I'll be making $20,000 per year, so I took a $3000 pay cut...but not really. There are incentive programs and I should be able to make $900 extra dollars every quarter, so $3600 extra a year. Also the insurance is cheaper. In the long run, I actually might be making about $300 less annually than I could make if I stayed at CTC. But it will be more than I took home this past year, so I'm not really worried about it. :)
Other good stuff about my new job:
Prestera actually wants their employees to better themselves and they're willing to reimburse me for school, which means I'll be able to go back to grad school this fall!
I'll be working with M.A. and PhD level psychologists, so I'm sure to learn a lot if I keep my eyes and ears open.
I get to wear jeans!
I'll have "normal people" hours again!!!!!
The Resignation
I turned my resignation letter in to Tanya this morning. My last day will be April 1, April Fool's Day. I've entertained the thought of running into her office on that day and saying, "April Fool's! I'm not quitting! Gotcha!" And then saying, "Um...no...that was the April Fool's joke. I'm really quitting. Goodbye!" But no...I won't burn any bridges. Even if they are rickety old foot bridges.
Anyway, Patrick gave his notice on Tuesday, so there is a Counseling Supervisor position open. Cyndi and Sally are applying for it, and had I not been totally done with CTC, I too would have applied. Tanya mentioned it to me on Wednesday evening and said that I should submit a letter of interest. I told her that I'd probably end up shooting myself if I got it. She just laughed. I wasn't joking.
When I handed her my resignation letter this morning, I'm most certain that she thought it was a letter of interrest for the supervisor job. She was all smiles when she first took it from my hand...and then she abrubtly stopped smiling. She asked where I would be working. She responded that she had learned a lot at Prestera during her time there and felt it would be a good career move for me. Then she asked if there was anything she could get for me to make me stay. I just smiled a wry smile, shook my head, laughed a little, and said, "No, Tanya. No, there's nothing".
I'll miss...
My co-workers. I've met some FANTASTIC people during my stint at CTC and made some good friends. I'm determined not to loose touch with Patrick, Kevin, Sally, Vander, and Cyndi at least. I hope I can keep contact with more, but that's unlikely. I'll miss my office. I'll miss early morning conversations in Kevin's office. I'll miss lunch with Cyndi. I'll miss Nancy's stuttering when she's flustered. I'll miss Cheryl's crazy booty dance, Cindy's oversexed persona, and Mike's friendly/fatherly advice. I'll miss Vander Outlaw's harmless sexual innuendos. I'll miss Patrick's personal space invasions. I'll miss Joey's paddling, Sally's princessiness, Malena's defensiveness, and Jenny's evil little anime girl looks. I'll miss all the faker, the shit-pisser, Whizinator, and "my dog ate my methadone" stories.
My patients. I told about 10 of them today that I was leaving. I was met with a range of emotions from tears (from a great young man with whom I've built an excellent rapport and who has come very far) to anger to blank stares. :) It's been more difficult than I thought it would be. In a way, I feel like I'm letting down 45 people who've stuck out the program. I've taken the time and worked very hard to build up trusting and safe relationship where my patients can come and unload...and now I'm walking away from that. But I guess this is the last lesson that I'll get to teach them. That they trusted once and it worked...so now they must have the courage to trust again with a new counselor. Several people thanked me today for "everything I've done for them". I HATE hearing that! I just redirect it and make them realize that they're responsible for every change in their lives...I'm just their sounding board, support, and guidance.
Well...I hope I haven't fucked anybody up too much. There's always the next two weeks, though!!! :)
Friday, March 05, 2004
I didn't cough up any more blood so I'm assuming I'm not dying. Sorry to disappoint you all.
The van, the van, the van is on fire!!!
Anyway...interesting happening at the clinic this afternoon. (Imagine...something exciting happening at the methadone clinic. That NEVER happens.)
So, there was this patient who's van had broken down on him this morning and he was out there all day trying to fix it. At 1:30 the clinic was officially closed and this patient was told that he either needed to remove himself from the property and leave his van until tomorrow or remove the van from the property.
He and some friends managed to push it to a point where it could coast down the hill in neutral. They went down the hill and pulled the van into the warehouse parking lot below us. I watched this all from the big picture window at the end of the hall and then went back to my office to do some work.
About 15 minutes later I heard one of the other counselors say, "A fire! A van is on fire!" I ran down the hallway to the window and looking down the hill I saw, to my amazement, the patient's van totally engulfed in flames!!! The vehicle's windows had been shattered by the heat. Orange and yellow flame was licking through and around every open space as thick black smoked cascaded skyward.
I stood for a moment in slack-jawed wonder, feeling like I had just stepped onto the set of a John Woo film. I thought, "How the hell does someone manage to roll his car down a fucking hill...and end up setting it on fire?"
Someone ran to call the fire department while the rest of the staff and I stood watching, giddily contemplating the chances of the van actually blowing up. Fortunately, our lust for disaster was never satisfied as the fire department shortly put the blaze out.
I swear, I will miss some things about CTC (when I finally do get the fuck out of there!). Like some of the staff (Patrick, Kevin, Sally, Cyndi, Nancy), the morning pow-wows in Kevin's office, and all of the crazy fucking shit that our patients do and get themselves into!!!
A glimmer of hope in the long, dark night
Good news! I have a job interview with Prestera Center for Mental Health on Monday! It's for a position as a counselor working in an outpatient setting with behavior disordered children, ranging from ages 4-18. The hours are 8am to 4pm (normal hours!!!) Monday through Friday. No Saturday work ever!!!! The only problem is that I know it will be less money than what I make at the clinic. (And I'm poor as hell as it is.) But that really doesn't matter. As long as I can still pay all of my bills, I'm there.
It's turned into a struggle to get out of the bed in the mornings because I'm so damned tired! And then it's a struggle to do anything else all day long...because I'm so tired! If I keep this up for much longer, I'm totally going to crack. I've already gone a little Office Space at work, pointing out in team and entire staff meetings when things are bullshit and useless wastes of time. My program director ordered me to call a patient a week or so ago. I stopped, looked at her, signed heavily and said, "God, I don't want to. I've got too much to do. But I guess I have to, right?" She just rewarded me with a confused and slightly wide-eyed stare.
I've got to get out of there, but I'm sure I'll miss it when I go. I'll miss Kevin, Patrick, Sally, and a few other co-workers. I'll miss a few of my patients, even...the ones who are trying to help themselves...and a few of the ones who aren't. :) I'll miss the tales of the shit-pissers, the Whizinator drug screen faking devices, the "my dog ate my methadone" stories from the patients, and the late doser freak-outs. But I won't miss the ambivalence and incompetence of management or the early hours.
But I haven't even had the interview yet! And if they ever find this website at Marshall, I'm sure they'll never hire me!!!! Yeah...I'm going to contact Marshall's help desk to have them remove this shit A.S.A.P. Cross your fingers for me!
The van, the van, the van is on fire!!!
Anyway...interesting happening at the clinic this afternoon. (Imagine...something exciting happening at the methadone clinic. That NEVER happens.)
So, there was this patient who's van had broken down on him this morning and he was out there all day trying to fix it. At 1:30 the clinic was officially closed and this patient was told that he either needed to remove himself from the property and leave his van until tomorrow or remove the van from the property.
He and some friends managed to push it to a point where it could coast down the hill in neutral. They went down the hill and pulled the van into the warehouse parking lot below us. I watched this all from the big picture window at the end of the hall and then went back to my office to do some work.
About 15 minutes later I heard one of the other counselors say, "A fire! A van is on fire!" I ran down the hallway to the window and looking down the hill I saw, to my amazement, the patient's van totally engulfed in flames!!! The vehicle's windows had been shattered by the heat. Orange and yellow flame was licking through and around every open space as thick black smoked cascaded skyward.
I stood for a moment in slack-jawed wonder, feeling like I had just stepped onto the set of a John Woo film. I thought, "How the hell does someone manage to roll his car down a fucking hill...and end up setting it on fire?"
Someone ran to call the fire department while the rest of the staff and I stood watching, giddily contemplating the chances of the van actually blowing up. Fortunately, our lust for disaster was never satisfied as the fire department shortly put the blaze out.
I swear, I will miss some things about CTC (when I finally do get the fuck out of there!). Like some of the staff (Patrick, Kevin, Sally, Cyndi, Nancy), the morning pow-wows in Kevin's office, and all of the crazy fucking shit that our patients do and get themselves into!!!
A glimmer of hope in the long, dark night
Good news! I have a job interview with Prestera Center for Mental Health on Monday! It's for a position as a counselor working in an outpatient setting with behavior disordered children, ranging from ages 4-18. The hours are 8am to 4pm (normal hours!!!) Monday through Friday. No Saturday work ever!!!! The only problem is that I know it will be less money than what I make at the clinic. (And I'm poor as hell as it is.) But that really doesn't matter. As long as I can still pay all of my bills, I'm there.
It's turned into a struggle to get out of the bed in the mornings because I'm so damned tired! And then it's a struggle to do anything else all day long...because I'm so tired! If I keep this up for much longer, I'm totally going to crack. I've already gone a little Office Space at work, pointing out in team and entire staff meetings when things are bullshit and useless wastes of time. My program director ordered me to call a patient a week or so ago. I stopped, looked at her, signed heavily and said, "God, I don't want to. I've got too much to do. But I guess I have to, right?" She just rewarded me with a confused and slightly wide-eyed stare.
I've got to get out of there, but I'm sure I'll miss it when I go. I'll miss Kevin, Patrick, Sally, and a few other co-workers. I'll miss a few of my patients, even...the ones who are trying to help themselves...and a few of the ones who aren't. :) I'll miss the tales of the shit-pissers, the Whizinator drug screen faking devices, the "my dog ate my methadone" stories from the patients, and the late doser freak-outs. But I won't miss the ambivalence and incompetence of management or the early hours.
But I haven't even had the interview yet! And if they ever find this website at Marshall, I'm sure they'll never hire me!!!! Yeah...I'm going to contact Marshall's help desk to have them remove this shit A.S.A.P. Cross your fingers for me!
Thursday, February 26, 2004
I feel really alone right now.
My depression has kicked into high gear and I find myself not wanting to do much of anything. I'm trying to stay focused. Thus far I've been able to work out every day...except for today. I decided just to come home and sleep a little today...because my heart hurts so bad. It will get better, I know. I have hope. I just keep waiting.
I burned my leg. I had my little lamp sitting on the bed and it toppled over and the shade fell off and (OUCH!!!) burnt a nasty place on my left inner thigh. If my thighs were skinnier, they wouldn't rub together when I walk, and it wouldn't hurt so bad. Working out probably hasn't helped it.
Steve made a plea for me this past weekend. He showed up outside my door at an ungodly hour and told me that he had grown up a lot and learned a lot and that he wanted me back. He said that he had been in a dark place, having a hard time when we dated...that I should have seen that and made allowances for that. He feels that I let go of our relationship too easily.
I told him that I grew tired of his wishy-washyness and that I am not psychic nor perfect and could not be held responsible for him having a hard time. He started ranting about not having a perfect life like me (that's so fucking laughable) and a perfect family, etc. That he couldn't help it that life had handed him shit.
I tried to explain to him that life hands us dirt (mediocrity) and seeds (hope). Then it gives us a nice slathering of shit and rain (our lows) and a nice bit of sunshine (our highs). If we're lucky we'll wind up with daisies or roses or something beautiful to call our own. But beware! It will die. And that's life.
But he didn't listen to me.
He called me last night very upset because the girl he's been infatuated with, Leigh, blew him off...again. He was ranting about how he always gets shit on and how life is so horrible. I referred him for counseling. He refuses to take responsibility for making his life better...he subconsciously thinks that life owes him something. But life doesn't owe us anything. We don't get anything we don't earn. Period.
He started ranting about how if he had a gun he wouldn't think twice about using it. I asked him if he was seriously suicidal...he ranted more about the gun. Then he said he wished he had money enough to buy drugs to overdose. I got pissed. I told him that there were cheaper ways of suicide...like slitting his wrists. He already owns a knife, after all. I asked him if he was suicidal. He mentioned the gun again. I told him I was calling 911 and hung up. He called me back 2 seconds later saying, "Don't! You'll make me look stupid if they come here and I'm not dying or dead!"
My depression has kicked into high gear and I find myself not wanting to do much of anything. I'm trying to stay focused. Thus far I've been able to work out every day...except for today. I decided just to come home and sleep a little today...because my heart hurts so bad. It will get better, I know. I have hope. I just keep waiting.
I burned my leg. I had my little lamp sitting on the bed and it toppled over and the shade fell off and (OUCH!!!) burnt a nasty place on my left inner thigh. If my thighs were skinnier, they wouldn't rub together when I walk, and it wouldn't hurt so bad. Working out probably hasn't helped it.
Steve made a plea for me this past weekend. He showed up outside my door at an ungodly hour and told me that he had grown up a lot and learned a lot and that he wanted me back. He said that he had been in a dark place, having a hard time when we dated...that I should have seen that and made allowances for that. He feels that I let go of our relationship too easily.
I told him that I grew tired of his wishy-washyness and that I am not psychic nor perfect and could not be held responsible for him having a hard time. He started ranting about not having a perfect life like me (that's so fucking laughable) and a perfect family, etc. That he couldn't help it that life had handed him shit.
I tried to explain to him that life hands us dirt (mediocrity) and seeds (hope). Then it gives us a nice slathering of shit and rain (our lows) and a nice bit of sunshine (our highs). If we're lucky we'll wind up with daisies or roses or something beautiful to call our own. But beware! It will die. And that's life.
But he didn't listen to me.
He called me last night very upset because the girl he's been infatuated with, Leigh, blew him off...again. He was ranting about how he always gets shit on and how life is so horrible. I referred him for counseling. He refuses to take responsibility for making his life better...he subconsciously thinks that life owes him something. But life doesn't owe us anything. We don't get anything we don't earn. Period.
He started ranting about how if he had a gun he wouldn't think twice about using it. I asked him if he was seriously suicidal...he ranted more about the gun. Then he said he wished he had money enough to buy drugs to overdose. I got pissed. I told him that there were cheaper ways of suicide...like slitting his wrists. He already owns a knife, after all. I asked him if he was suicidal. He mentioned the gun again. I told him I was calling 911 and hung up. He called me back 2 seconds later saying, "Don't! You'll make me look stupid if they come here and I'm not dying or dead!"
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