I don’t hold with a few of Facebook’s privacy policies. I have that profile locked down completely, but my blog is open. You will probably know more about me from this place than from Facebook. I know it seems contradictory, but I want my address and cell number hidden, thank you very much. Also, it’s no one’s business who I am connected with. I look at this blog like a mirrored room. I’m in here, doing my thing, making an ass out of myself but the windows are mirrored so I can’t see who looks in. In all honesty, I don’t care. I know that my family has read this, friends, perhaps old acquaintances. I hope no possible jobby jobby people reads this, but I’ve locked down most of the posts that dealt with jobs. Except that “I got laid off twice in one year” thing. No, everyone can read that.

It sucked.

I share the suck.

Back to facebook. So I’ve found:

• my first boyfriend when I moved to Miami in 94 (he is happily married now and has a ridiculously adorable dog)
• the guy who inadvertently started the breakup between me and the bastard that almost ruined my life (we went to see Bauhaus together and the ex had nautical hissy fit – thank god for Bauhaus)
• the only man who was ever able to call me a princess with a straight face and I didn’t punch him (he actually meant it, perhaps that is why I loved him so…he saw something in me I still don’t see)
• a friend I used to bite because I thought it was funny (yes, I acted like a toddler back then) and a few people who knew me by a completely different name (the interwebs and chat rooms were newish back then, so I was Q for a long time… long story).

It’s been amazing catching up with many of them, and it makes me wonder where the rest of them wandered off to. Where is my ex-roommate who danced with me and kissed me on the sidewalks of Ybor City, or the friends who danced with me to DJ Icey until the sun rose that FIRST time (I ditched a date to hang out with them),  or the former coworker I had a terrible crush on but with who ended up being one of the nicest people I’ve ever known. I wonder about the people I’ve hurt – the former best friend who had a thing for me but who I abused (never take people for granted), or the other friend who got caught between my destructive relationship and my need to move on. Maybe they will find me on facebook too. Maybe not. I’m just happier knowing where some of these characters ended up, many of them happy and settled. Oh, but the wild nights we used to have…. there are stories I could tell.

I will admit to keeping one out. It’s about my birthdaughter and was intended on being a private post. And it was from last summer. Some know the details, but I have no right to write about her in such a public setting if I am sharing such things.

But here are the rest. They are in a random order. The bold parts were the blog titles. Enjoy.

Day 4 – Leslie B. - I still think that painting had cows coming out of a gold sky, not more fucking angels. Pretzels, barefoot, and the same questions every semester. You make me miss school.

Little intrusions into our life – I am still quite annoyed that IE doesn’t have spell check. I sound like a moron, with all these typos (and apparently I spell lightning – lightening…. I dunno. It made sense).

My soul is whole – He’s home. We got a call from a nice guy who lives a few blocks away from us.

Tearing my hair out and sweating – I’ve been silent because I’ve been writing. It’s slow going, honestly. I spent many nights just sitting in front of my computer, trying to figure out what I needed the story to do. Then I lost my mentor’s e-mail address. It’s just been a fucking mess. The good thing is that I’ve got 30 pages due on August 10th, and I am starting a writing schedule. No more dicking around, god damnit (I’m in a cursing mood…. feh).Before you ask, no I’m not working. We will discuss that later. I would like to talk about my birthday. It fucking rocked. Alexis came down from Tacoma, C came over, and Amanda got to Portland that very day, so we all bounced downtown for some dinner. It was a good meal.

I’m awake before noon - I don’t know if WordPress (and my site for that matter) has changed the time when I blog, although its been so infrequent lately. But, ladies and gentle-dorks, I would like to talk about sleep. It’s three, sometimes four in the morning before I hit the hay. It’s weird to think that many of my Florida friends are already at work, or getting ready by the time I get to sleep. The sunset/sunrise times have also thrown me off. When we moved here, it wasn’t getting dark until after 9:45, and then the sun would rise super early

Privacy - There are some things that I think I need to hash out, mostly with myself. That being said, I’ve noticed an increase in traffic from “unknowns” and I know who, at least some of them, are. So, in order to protect those I love, I am going to lock a few things down for a while. There’s a lot of trauma in my family right now, strife between the members and things that shouldn’t be said out loud. I’m not closing my mouth at all, but I won’t allow my opinions to become ammunition against those I love. If there’s a locked post, it will have its usual password (if you don’t l know it — e-mail me).

The trip is almost over. Lex and I are in a hotel room in Idaho.

Running out - It’s official. I am out of meds. What to do? I’ve spoken with D about it and we agreed that I could go to walgreens and get raped for my lamictal, but the healthier (heheh… interesting how that works out eh?) option is to try to control my manic depression on my own. How? Diet, exercise, honest observation of triggers, making myself sleep and …and just trying to pay attention. I won’t go batshit immediately because I do have a decent buildup in my system, but the chemical protection will erode with time, and in about a month, I will be without any kind of chemical help. This wasn’t a choice I wanted to make. My insurance ran out with my last job, and I fluffed the system enough to give me a little leeway until we got to Portland. But, I still don’t have a job. So, no help with the meds. It would cost more than our car payment for my medications…. how fucking insane is that ?

I’ve not talked about grad school much here. I’m setting up a seperate (see: proper) blog for my book reviews and such. But I really feel lost sometimes.

Cutout - First day – I had first day of work jitters last night. Would they like me? Can I do the job? Do they have good coffee (my prior place of employment had shite coffee)? D called at 8:10, but by that time my two alarms had already interrupted my sad attempts to fall back to sleep. I stayed up too late, worrying. And so when the morning came, I wanted to go back to sleep, like I have been doing for months. But that was a no-go.

When I got to the office, coffee and water in hand, I was greeted by my boss, who we will call P, and the GM named A. I met everyone else, smiled, waved, and then almost fell out of my seat when P began dictating the list of things I had to accomplish. Then he left, and I realized, with shame, that I didn’t know how to do anythign on the list, so I started small and arranged my desk. It’s not that the job will be hard, because it won’t, but getting the hang of a new system of protocols, rules and regulations will take time.

Links - * The Ironman trailer — D’s excited. I’m less than thrilled. The flying scene does look really nice, but I don’t know about the rest of it.
* We watched the trailer for the Bionic Woman. I had high hopes (I still love Battlestar), but it looked like crap. The story was poorly executed and the characters felt super flat. I think that they should take their time developing the characters, because then it makes for a deeper connection. Perhaps these issues had something to do with the problems with the show. Then again — it could just be crap.

When it rains…. - Jeezus. So, it’s been a busy little trek through the life of me. On top of family issues, tension in the home, and conflicts/issues with extended family connection — welll I feel like I’m drowning.

I need valium - Or a stiff cocktail.

It’s snowing!! - I am cooking lunch, wearing my purple fuzzy socks and a smile. Oh, and clothes too. Perverts.

for me – I’m fucking angry, and I don’t think that I need to submit the rest of you to this, but there’s a lot that’s pissing me off right now, so this will be protected.

my family is pissing me off… specifically my stepfather. For the first timein my life I realized that I’ve never really had a father.

Ketchup… – Or catch-up. which ever you prefer.

The halloween party was a hit. I dressed up as a white trash preggers person, with curlers in my hair and all.

Do we still need animal testing? – And does it really work?

I don’t know, and am scared to ask, what kind of trails were used for my meds. There have been several cases recently where drugs

Is this fair? – I know that you still speak with the one that slighted me. And I thought that I was a grown-up about it, but I’m not. How can you even think to associate with someone who hurt a person you care about? Anne had it right — you should choose. I’ve tried to be the bigger person here, but I’m immature when it comes to this kind of thing. You are going to keep her in your life, keep contacting her although she took you for granted and used you. And it pisses me off to no end. Where is the loyalty? Why is this such a problem for me? And I know you will keep talking to her, no matter how fucked up that situation was. And I know that you will keep her around, and I know that it will effect our relationship because I don’t believe in supporting someone or being friends with someone who is such a cunt.

I told you how I felt about it. and perhaps I should be clear about things. Perhaps I should stop bullshitting you, but I’ve tried to be the bigger person and its not working.

Where you sleep – My sister wanted to sleep between D and I. I told her that the dogs already had that position — chastity beagles. She said she would “woof” if we wanted. My sister is twisted and she always makes me giggle. There was lots of family conversation last night, but the most important thing was the solidification of the plans for May. I am graduating in a few months. I am scared. But my family is going to stay at mi casa for the 5 days they are going to be in town. Cat’s trip is shorter than she first thought, but we are going to drag her and Jewlie to dinner at Babbos. (there will be no argument Cat!). I was very proud of myself yesterday. I bought a queen sized mattress for someone to stay on. I am planning ahead. Go me!

I accidentally put too much sugar in my coffee. Gah!

I have my first midterm today. These years, this point, so close to completion, I am fucking terrified.

Dark to Light:

On an introspective note – We are coming up on the 3 month mark until the move. The plans for homes and jobs and such are coming together. But I realized yesterday, I won’t see summer with Seemore. The other students at Rollins are talking about summer classes and bitching about the lack of Humanities cores available in the fall.

I thought about it while I drove – Do Conservatives write poetry? Does the Christian Right (wrong) find inspiration from writing verse or essays that are reflective or creative versus bombastic condemnation with poorly chosen metaphors?

Changes to come – I am learning a lot more about the abilities and possibilities with WordPress,

Walking on Sunshine – I called my mother, my daughter’s family, my sister, my brother, and a few friends and told them all about my good news. My birthdaughter seemed only slightly impressed. I was happy to hear that she’s no longer failing Science, and that she got an A in PE. Did I ever tell you how I used to get bad grades in PE because I wouldn’t dress out ? Seems the apple and the tree have something in common. The Birthdaughter and her mother are going to Australia on Saturday. I’m jealous. She offered to take me along.

Boogers and fleas - Good god. My head is killing me. K i l l i n g …. meeeeeee. I would like to crawl into a hole and die right now. It’s making my eyes tired. I’m nauseous. Does anyone have a drill so I can relieve the pressure? An axe? An exacto knife? please?

I’ve had this headache for two days now. It started before I left work yesterday, and although I love my Composite Novel class, I had to squint through the pain. I thought sushi would cure my ailment. It didn’t. I pouted for the rest of the night. It doesn’t help that the beasties has fleas.

So, I am going to whine now. Ready? You sure?

What you won’t hear - Mom called last night, just to tell me she was calling not to bitch. I talked to her the other night, and she did bitch. I don’t mind those conversations. I enjoy them, actually. Although she’s my parental unit, she’s also one of my closest friends, so it feels good when she calls to bitch. But you won’t hear me relay the details of those conversations. I wouldn’t know what to tell you. Our family, like so many others, has bumps and bruises and scars and imperfections and all those other nasties that no one likes to talk about. Through the addictions, denials, abuse and fear – we came to love each other, building around the scars, and coming up with something amazingly flawed but clean. Our conversations often analyze the bits of our family that don’t work.

She’s always questioning my meds. When I told her that I was taking myself off the Seroquel, she balked. But she doesn’t have to watch me tear through the fog every morning. She knows I’m not a morning person, but that shit adds a level of fuzziness that’s almost too hard to overcome. I think she fears for my sanity, but often forgets that I have D to remind me to eat and sleep and breathe and relax. Not that I am completly incapable, but it’s good to have that voice and embrace to stabalize things. But, you won’t hear us talk about her depression or her drinking.

Untitled - Search back, deep in those memories blurred by time. Think of ice cream and running barefoot in the street. What did the sun feel like when you were a child? When you carried little and understood even less.

*snicker* - So, they are trying to lock down the internets at work. First, they finagled with my Windows Media Player downloads, then they started blocking radio sites altogether. I find this amusing for two reasons. One: if you have any kind of creativity and you know how to use Google, then you can usually bypass this kind of crap.

Recap – I spent Friday on the couch. Why? Jager. Jager is evil and we are still not sure how many actual shots I had. But I had a lot of Blackthorn, and I laughed and cried a lot. The afternoon started off with a bang. I went to ABC and bought some wine, and then met the class at the Woolson House for the last class. We were supposed to have a read-around, and we did, but I pulled blog posts and cried because one was about my birthdaughter. I heard lots of wonderful stories, and one of my compadres, Kyle, read poetry. His words amazed me. You can’t buy talent like his. So, class started to end, and I felt the tears and emotion well up. I was okay until I hugged Dr. Dunn. She made me cry.

Full time veggie – It’s not hard being a vegetarian in Portland. Most restaurants don’t just accommodate, they take pride in their vegetarian options. If they don’t have something specifically for vegetarians, most are willing to rework a dish or two to satisfy us. I am a full time vegetarian. I had been for many years, a part time vegetarian. I would like to say it was a moral choice, and admittedly, it was to some degree.  But most of what kept me from eating meat was the amount of cash it took to make such dinners. And cleaning flesh, be it deboning chicken thighs, or cutting the gristle off a steak, grossed me the fuck out. The only thing I loved to cook and eat meat wise was bacon. Yes, I know it’s the french fries of the meat world – little (or no) nutritional value, full of fat and cholesterol.

But it tasted so damn good.

Coffee - Some rituals beg for a re-try. Julie, Cat and I used to have weekly coffee at the Barnies (now a Starbucks) in the plaza on Bumby and Colonial. We’d talk about relationships, school, etc. You know, the nice bs that makes friendships run. But Cat moved and that tradition died. Julie and I always intended to meet for coffee again, but we ended meeting at school, as that was the easiest place since we were both there so much. Last night Julie and I met back at the old Barnies and talked about the next 6 weeks. She’s due when we leave.

D would like this chocolate figure more than any other. I wonder if I can do this with dark chocolate? Hmmm..

the boxes build - My hand has hurt all week, and I don’t know why. I was hesitant to go back to the doc, because I know they would just say it is carpal tunnel, but there’s something really wrong this time. My grip is weak. My fingers are shooting with pain, not constantly, but its there. It is hard to type. I hate this.

With the futon gone, the front room is quickly becoming the center of the move. Boxes of books tower over boxes yet to be filled and it si all starting to scare me now. Things seem kind of uncertain. Did I mention that we have too many books? I haven’t been able to touch the other stuff, the knick knacks and whatnots, but there will not be enough boxes to contain it all. Dumpster diving is in my future…unless…. you know where I can find boxes. Do you?

We found more stuff to get rid of. I’ll post a list here.

Overheard - You gotta watch out for Jamaicans. They’ll shoot you. They ain’t got no remorse.

—

What was your GPA?

3.5 something

That’s crap!

Good morning headache - I feel all whiney. Gah!

D and I watched Pan’s Labyrinth last night. There’s a silly litte story about getting the movie (and I want the soundtrack!!). D, because he is the greatest husband ever, bought the movie for me last week when it came out. He thought he bought the two disk edition. The packaging was misleading and we found that he bought the normal versions.

Sore sore sore – I’m walking funny from Tuesday’s class, and tonight I am going to hop around like a monkey and try to stretch these aching legs of mine out.

Day 44 – 54 -  Regarding Families – I’m way behind with this, because of Grannie’s death and my inability to put fingertip to keyboard. This is the Meow playing catch up again. Deal with it

Day 44 -Dude from Jet Blue

I wrote down your name so I could tell Jet Blue how much you rocked. Your unusual name has been lost with a discarded boarding pass. Lex and I meant well.

Day 45 -Meredith

What a woman you are about to become. I see the bitchy tomboy in you, and understand why the fights with your brothers. Someday, everyone will grow up, and you’ll be friends.

Day 46 – Tommy

You remind me of my brother, gargantuan smartass. I see you trying to struggle outside the shadow of your brother. The Air Force will give you wings. Use them well.

Day 47 – Michael

Oldest, like me, so I’m allowed to say this. It’s time for you to grow up and show our family what you are capable of. You still need to earn “Bartz.”

Day 48 – Martha

I didn’t expect what I got. I admit I was wrong about you. While we are vastly different, there’s commonality. I’ve grown up and you’ve grown more tolerant. Isn’t’ it interesting?

Day 49 – Charlie

Aloof, but so proud of your wife. I cried when I watched you and Mom dance. Distant, but eager to share love and memories. And you have great taste in wine.

Day 50 – Riley

The little DJ, the sensitive, understanding, loving one. You have the best of our family in your heart. It’s going to be hard growing up, but remember your family loves you.

Day 51 – Zach

The big brother, smartass like the rest of us, tall, wicked grins, full of mischief and energy. You were a great host, and too entertained by the Garcia kids’ bad language.

Day 52 – Claire

Day 53 – Gramps

Day 54 – Marybeth

the outfit – The interview went really well. I’m not tooting my own horn, but interviews are my forete. It’s the resume shit that takes me forever to work out. But the company is teensy, and piggybacked on a larger company based in Canada. I would be working with a subcontractor

Bringing you up to date – Lots of things to talk about, but I’m focusing on the good stuff. I spent so much time bitchign about things that I (and others) can forget what grace is given to us.

Welcome to the beaglehouse – We got the house. We move on Friday. This is the bigger of the two houses, the one I was talking about on Friday. It’s very exciting, the whole moving thing. What isn’t so exicting is that the landlady decided she was going to try to pull her ass out of the fire and sell the house before the bank siezes it. Nice thing to do, but she sent over a realtor on Saturday with a prospective buyer. I thought she was comng.

Worried – I moved from Florida for a lot of reasons that don’t really need to be reiterated. The weather in Portland is gentle, nurturing, and rarely violent. And sometimes I forget how spectacular thunder is. But I won’t ever forget Hurricane Charley, ever.

Now Hurricane Gustav is roaring in the Gulf, heading for Cuba, and some of his rain bands are effecting Central Florida – where I still have friends and family. There won’t be a direct hit on our old stomping grounds, but the bastards is headed for a direct confrontation with Louisana, and especially New Orleans.

Close the door - And in the final throes of insincerity and lack of compassion, I listen to people in my office talk about how Spanish is an offensive language, and that the inclusion of foreign languages in American society is a result of lazy immigrants. Of course, they didn’t say such with any word more than two syllables and in a dictionary for lazy American speakers with little education and narrow minds.

Today, I am glad that I am leaving. Friday can’t come fast enough. In a panic, although I gave my notice a full month ago, the office is swirling around because there’s a shit load of work on my desk and not enough time to do it in. I tried to care, I really did. But the nazi, who gave me a card some months ago telling me how proud she was of me, pushed herself into my peripheral vision and refused to say anything to me until I pulled the headphone out of my ear. I’m not classically organized. I know where most of my stacks are and what they mean. I don’t have labeled folders and tabbed files. Piles work for me. She’s always been horrified by my lack of “organization.” Well have fun, lady. You can hire whomever tickles your pickle. But I would love to be a fly on the wall when I go. They will talk the most heinous shit. I’m not going to be here to intimidate, bully and protect. It’s easy to kill the memory of me. It’s harder to do it to the person. But I’m not concerned. I did my best to be a good person. It didn’t work all the time, but I tried.

What I won’t miss

• The continual comments about the inferior nature of the immigrant populous and how they are polluting our society — you know what, motherfucker? Go work on a roof in Baldwin Park, send most of your money back to your family, and work every day from sunup until sunset, and then bitch. Add insecurity of being in a foreign culture, of being looked down upon, and then tell me your attitude is justified.
• Defending my vegetarianism and belief in animal rights —- I don’t care if you hunt animals.

One more nail in the coffin – Talked to the overlord/property manager last night. I swear to god, baby jeezus and all those fun-loving saints that this woman only likes to talk to me and hates D. Which is strange. I’m the bitchy one in the family. Anway, our conversation went well. She needed an end date for our lease, and in a surprising move of generosity, never made us sign an addendum for the extension. I guess living there for three years, paying our rent on time, not freaking out when the roof got shorn to shit in Hurricane Charley, fixing things without bothering them and not pissing off the neighbors has payed off. I also asked her for a recommendation, because as much as it chaps my ass, we are going to have to rent when we get to Portland. Logistally, it makes the most sense. But she has an end date now, and I’ve promised smiles and cooperation. It’s not smart to leave things on bad terms, even when she did show up that one time, unannounced. That visit cost us 350 bucks! It’s hard to hide a second beagle. My parental units are overlords property owners, so I should know better. Oh well. I just hope they don’t try to bleed the rock dry when we move. We can’t afford it.

Snips of an update – This is going to be in bullet form because I’m  still working my assy off and trying to get everything done while working full time. What a pain in the ass! (but a good one)

• Wool Coats – I thought we were headed for the heart of autumn, D and I hunted for winter coats. We bought some half assed coats last fall and froze through most of the cooler weather. This time I found a great wool coat that complements my womanly figure. I love it. It’s heavy, black, military inspired, but more fashionable. I think all that time off watching “What Not to Wear” really rubbed off on me.
• I Heart my iPhone – D and I did what irresponsible people do and finally switched phone companies with that 2k check I received from Rollins. I have wanted an iPhone since they came out, and by George, we got em. And it is as spiffy and groovy as I thought it would be. The funny part, in a not so funny kind of way, is that the functionality that I ached for – being able to check e-mail, facebook, websites, without detection, is an unnecessary thing now. My current employers don’t give a shit where I go to, as long as I get the job done. But it’s good to have the capabilities with GPS. I’ve already used it once …..while on my bike…. and no, you are not allowed to laugh.
• The Job – so I think I already stated that I took the job with the laid-back solar company. If you got creative, you could figure out which one it is, suffice to say, I love it. It’s so fucking busy that I get there  and I get to 11 or 12 and realize I haven’t finished my coffee, my apple or all the phone calls I need to make. Laid back is not EVEN close to the truth there, but for all their laid back ways, they are very serious about the business. There is also a shop dog – Brutus, who is a springer spaniel. He’s my work boyfriend. Overall it’s really unorganized (which is why I got hired), laid back, bike friendly, and the easiest commute of my life. And the people, I love the people so far. I think a few of them could become good friends.
• Biking – I have biked to work, and got lost trying to come home. Yes, only me. Suck it. I can’t bike this week due to the monthly rebellion of my uterus, but I will get back in the saddle shortly.
• I’m on Googlemaps – if you google my address, go down my side street, you will see me sitting on the porch, smoking. It’s from last summer. Just to make sure, I had Streetview slide down the street a little further, and sure as shit, there was our car. I don’t know why, but it amused me.
• The Green Microgym - I joined a gym, but one with a special twist. Go to the link, and you will see what I mean. It’s about 20 blocks from the house, an easy bike ride, and I plan on taking advantage of their REALLY killer hours. The Owner, Adam, was super nice and very excited about the battery systems on the bikes. When I told him I worked for a solar company, we kind of geeked out about watts and whatnot. I’m a total dork, but I thought it was right to support a local business trying to make a difference. Besides, I got in on the introductory deal and my membership is less than 30 bucks a month for the life of the membership. How can I go wrong?

I didn’t do it.. – I didn’t watch the debate. I should have. Then I could participate in all the great conversations everyone is having today. D and I went to the Blue Moose on Fremont and had our normal Wednesday dinner. We were the only ones in the place. I think most people watched the debate. But I didn’t have to! I have Twitter! I watched everyone’s reaction while I munched on my dinner and drank my wine. Honestly, I meant to record it, but what’s done is done.

My BIL is leaving for an overseas tour a lot sooner than expected. He’s not a front-lines kind of guy, but he will be in danger. The whole fucking region is a war zone and scares me. She’s being the stoic air force wife, knowing she will have to rally without him. We joke, because D and I have a hard time being apart. when I go away for school, it’s difficult. We are joined at the forehead. But Lex and G are fine, moving through the relationship wiht all the bumps and bruises that come with deployment.

Keeping it positive - My job – I am a part of something bigger. The standards by which most people measure success would not apply with this job. The pay hasn’t pissed me off yet, but I haven’t gotten my first paycheck. I know, soon, I will get moved into more responsibility. Right now, I’m treading water, but it feels good. My coworkers are all very different from places I’ve worked before – they are cynical but hopeful, funny but dark, and always prone to blaming something on “your mother.” There are very few people in the office most of the day, but those people make me laugh. And I found out the woman they hired before me bailed after day 2. I kind of understand. The place isn’t organized. And I lost sleep the first few days. The rhythm of chaos feels strange to me. There are no protocols on how to do things, no lists, no set of parameters. While on one end, it’s freeing, I realize I like structure, which is weird to admit. I started today less filled with panic, and took a risk by taking charge. It’s working for me, and the office. At least, no one’s bitching to my face yet.

Biking to work – Today, I biked to work. And it took me ten minutes to get there. It took me almost a half hour to get home though. I was carrying a bag, riding with wind, and going up a big frackin’ hill. D told me I will get faster, and I know I will. Start small. It’s the best place to start.

Cold Toes… – It’s lovely today.

**** Okay so this is going to take a couple days to finish. But that’s the start of the housecleaning. More to follow later. I hope you had a lovely new year

• Money is the marriage-killer. D and I went through a really rough time in the beginning and I think part of it was due to my obsession about having “enough” money. Then with the uncertainty of both of our job situations, well it made for tense times. I hate money. I love toys and presents. But I would rather not have 1 more gadget if it meant that D and I didn’t fight about money. We don’t fight now, thank goodness. We both have good jobs, but man, that was tough.
• Things happen the way they should. Being a scattered planner, I wanted things to work out a particular way. But life just doesn’t cooperate like that and I had to accept being wrong, and understand that going with the flow doesn’t mean giving up.
• Giving too much is worse than not giving enough.
• Distance doesn’t make the heart grow fonder, it makes you forget.
• I, the MoodyMeow, am not a superhero. I wish I was. I think my power would be to make flowers bloom and smell pretty, or to smite people without killing them.
• After 30, my skin has gone to hell. I’m a blemish factory. It’s disgusting.
• There’s no place better to eat, drink, and be merry than Portland.
• Thunderstorms are miraculous, and worth paying attention to.
• Death has made me fully realize that life’s too short to waste your time.
• Bookstores are heaven.
• How to get from my house to pretty much anywhere in Portland proper. Now, if I need to go outside the city limits, I’m screwed.
• Speaking of which, I need a GPS device rammed into my temple, and have a constant link to my sister who can guide me through Vancouver to Battle Ground when I need to go. It would just be easier if we were telepathically linked so I didn’t have to worry about my phone dying on me.
• No matter what the financial or emotional cost, family is incredibly important.
• My hair is a lot heavier than I remembered.
• I miss my shaved head.
• Pip is allergic to grass….we think. He was allergic to everything in Florida, but his allergies calmed down when we moved. Now they are acting up again. He’s getting bald spots, poor beast. At least we don’t have fleas.
• I don’t miss fleas, palmetto bugs, roaches, black widows, spiderwebs under the house, that scary-ass shed in the back yard of Nebraska Street, monsoons, being under trees and getting wetter than you would if you just stood in the storm, heat, humidity, and hurricanes.
• I do miss the thwap/whusssh sound of the sprinklers hitting the palms in Leu Gardens, red-bellied woodpeckers, bats, purple sunsets, thunderstorms at dusk, the sound of the rain on the chimney-cap, low-hanging eaves and windows that opened, the Nebraska Street front porch, the Rollins Campus.

I need to do something while I eat. When I was young, my sister and brother and I read the cereal boxes, or what ever else we could while we ate. When one finished reading, we passed the box to the next person. Sometimes, I snatched before they finished reading. I read fast and they were too slow. So, snatch!! (insert cartoon sound here) I continue to read while doing other things. I am a big proponent of bathroom reading. I also like to read while listening to music, or when I am supposed to be working on my homework. Now, when I eat, I watch TV. I get it in where I can.

My stomach hurts.

Amanda made me realize that we only have a month left at Rollins. Holy shit.

But these aren’t in order, and if you think something specifically applies to you, it probably doesn’t.

Enjoy.
What Monday Looks Like
I don’t know if that little dig was towards me. Kind of vain if I assume it was, but if it was directed towards me, we need to have a little chat you and I. Shit. We should chat anyway. See, things seem to have changed. Priorities shifted. Where there was once a bridge rests a gap of such magnitude that I believe there isn’t a discourse in the world that can gap it.

You do this often, this silent thing. While I understood it for a while, being that I have the same flaw I think it’s time to grow up. Either I am welcome in your home or I’m not. There really isn’t any other way. I’m very black and white.

And I will say one more thing. The world doesn’t owe you anything. The best advice I ever received was that the world didn’t revolve around me. You should take a look at that phrase. I thought I could find decency and understanding in you and all I get is the silent treatment and “I’ll make it if I can” crap. Don’t do me any favors hon.

Moodswing 
I rode the giggly high of mania last night, and crashed as I stood in front of Bravissimo’s.

The limits of my sanity stretch themselves to the breaking point at times. Yesterday I laughed. Today I want to punch someone. No reason, beyond annoyance. It’s so frustrating getting this way. The urge to violate someone’s safety rushes through me and if someone were to invade the sanctity of my desk-space I would be liable to hit them.

This is not sane, people. This does not feel good. It is scary.

Illumination 
I work in a pretty building.

My building doesn’t instill wonder from the outside. Encased in shiny, mirrored windows, the front is a rolling slide turned on its side.

Consecration Isolation

My desk, hell my life, sometimes feels off the beaten path.
But how far is too far? Never doubt that D fills most of the niches that need busy clutter, but there are those spots not even he can’t fill. When they grow empty, dusty with long neglect, I feel isolated.

This is not a plea for an endless stream of visitors to the porch, or invitations offered in the hand of pity. It’s just a statement like many more I shall make. Perhaps it is being out of school for a few weeks that sets me into this tailspin. Or maybe I am still suffering the ill effects of a shitty holiday season. What ever the case, my need for social interaction, some kind of fucking attention

Scene
The door closed, but I expected that. Collecting the shards of his shattered wine glass, I contemplated the moments slowly. Dinner for two, alone. I could feel myself warming in his presence, warming steadily. Eyes scattered about the room. Silence, for the first time uncomfortable. Warmth cools. Dinner abandoned on shiny plates, he gulps the wine between blows in the form of stuttered comments, rolling the liquid around the bowl’s flushing my feelings down the toilet. Moments later, it all breaks apart.

A week later, he brings the reason for our demise to my house. I lived there with his best friend, his best friend who introduced the two of them. She smiled prettily. I refused to come out of my room after the introductions. I wanted to pull him into the darkness with me, hypnotize him with promises and compromises. Instead, I did lines and smoked in silence.

Just Pile it On
Seems I am everyone’s shitcan today.

First, the finances decide to take a big bounce.
Then I come into work to find out that I apparently know nothing about computers, but people who can’t use the “save-as” function understand the inner workings of a network.
And the icing on the fucking cake was an accusation from someone who should have known better. But, I digress, let me address this in the order it was received.

Bouncy. Well, we celebrated too much. Didn’t take into account bills that like to show up randomly. We are going to use quick books and budget our funds. Together, our household salary is impressive. Almost more impressive are the bills we pay. But this is the kind of life we choose to lead, so that’s what comes with it.

Morons. “But I can save to the K drive in the field”
“No, you can’t. You aren’t connected to the network in the field.”
“I do it all the time” Accusatory glance.
“I have no idea what you are doing but you are not saving directly to the K drive.”
“Yeah, what ever.”

What was he doing? He had a folder named “K Drive” on his desktop which would sync with the drive when he got back into the office. But you try to explain that to obstinate rednecks with just enough knowledge to be argumentative.

Hung Up.
I think this was just the cake topper, for me at least. But you officially chapped my ass with your little obtuse commentary. First, the phone works both ways. I have tried to call you numerous times, got the machine, and no return call. That is a subtle hint if I ever got one. But it continued with being blown off time after time. And when I did see you, it was because you were already out, and hammered with one your “best friend”. Beyond that? Nadda. I understand the new job thing.

Stories from the other side
We love Babbo’s at dusk. The Ravioli Formaggi and a good bottle of wine allows for a peaceful evening. Last Friday’s visit was no different. Dusk settled and the sky glowed with puffy pink clouds and streaks of stubborn lavender. Our server (I wish I remembered his name) welcomed us like and old friend and as we sat, I noticed the diverse diners. The well-to-do sat next to a couple of older women talking about their grandkids (yes, I eavesdrop!). I smiled as a couple sat at the table next to us. They shared an appetizer and long, loving looks.

One Year Ago – Today 
We prepared for the unkown. After the power went out at 9:30, I spent the evening huddled in the hallway with the creatures. A storm blew furiously. I felt the ground rumble as great oaks fell. I listened with great fear to the wind tearing my neighborhood apart. Darkness fell. It fell hard. And just after midnight D and I, accompanied by our trusty canines (who had to pee) ventured out to see the damage. It was year ago today that Hurricane Charley blew through our lives.

I have to thank that damnable storm for a lot of things. I learned to fully appreciate air conditioning. I didn’t care much about the lights, as candlelight is quite becoming. But the infernal, sticky, overbearing heat of a summer night brought love for blessed cool air. I also came to appreciate how old homes are built. The idea of covering 27 windows (I counted them all) in preperation scared the shit out of me. But those windows brought such comfort when they were opened to their fullest, allowing the sticky, but clean air to move through the house for a time. The best thing about the storm was a whole and complete understanding of how much I loved my man. It’s strange to think that a storm can clean the cobwebs in a mind such as mine, but as the ferocious wind tore through the brances, it also tore through my heart. I didn’t honestly think that we would die. But I did think that we had a chance of losing this home we loved so. And when the winds quieted, a thought came to me. I loved D. I didn’t want to be without him. And so from the storm came the full understanding that we should marry. I know it seems odd, or off, to think that a hurricane can bring completion, but it did for me.

I still miss the canopies that sheltered some of my favorite streets. And it was not the lives lost that I mourned, it was the corpses of fallen trees and torn vegitation. If you know me at all, you know that the natural cost would hit me hardest. I felt for those that lost loved ones, homes, and whole lives. But I also mourned the destruction of the land I love. I do love it here. I admit that much. For the natural chaos that blossoms from every garden, from every cobblestone street (you’ve seen the grass that grows between them, I know you have), from every sidewalk, it fills me with green.

So, the hurricane allowed some to rebuild with a clean, if painful slate. For me, it clarified what was important. I hope that you don’t have to hear the winds tearing at your door to realize what means most to you. Today, I kiss my husband, and tell all of you who bore witness to that brutal night to remember what you lost, and all that you’ve gained since.

Buying Wine at the Edge of a Circle 
D and I often go to Taste. I am addicted to their grilled asparagus and decor. D fondness for their mashed potatoes and tater tots cannot be ignored. Yes, I said tater tots, but it’s okay. They serve them with a little pot of horseradish ketchup and another pot of Dijon mustard. Good stuff.

Stomach at 95%
I’ve been kind of under the weather for most of the week. It’s a stomach thing. You don’t need the details, but I am glad to say that it’s almost over. I feel better today. I’m tired, but better.
I ended up with a C on my Editing Essentials midterm. At first I was horrified, then, grateful. Many people failed, and some ended up with A’s. I panicked when I took the test. Instead of moving through the answers I knew were 100% correct, I ran around in circles, doubting every answer. We went over the test on Wednesday, and I felt like such a fool. I didn’t answer three questions. Three! No answer, just a blank line. How could I have missed that? And then there were errors that just defied reason. But it’s done. I have the final in 4 weeks. 4 weeks. Oh god.
I have a class called Cuisine/in/art (sound it out) and near the end of the semester, we put on this little party called Art Feast. Everyone in class picks a topic about food and sets up a presentation. I am doing a presentation on my missed opportunity to eat my wedding cupcakes. “The Wedding Cupcakes – the Sequel” will include a better version of my cupcakes, and a little re-enactment of the cake exchange that never happened. It should be fun. I will take lots of pictures.

So, I finally pushed my luck too far. On Wednesday, I got a parking ticket at Rollins

Picknick Killer 
I had this whole romantic picknick thing planned for tonight. A date! A romantic date! And god hates me and is going to wash out my date. I fucking hate Florida and it’s fucking rain. I’m going to go off and pout, then I will have a temper tantrum. And then I think I shall pout some more.

**Edit**

The reason this pisses me off so much is that I am the most unromantic woman on the face of the planet. So, this whole date thing was a big deal. I was even going to bake. I bought a picknick basket just for the occasion. And for the record…I still hate Florida. It’s thundering. @$%#(&%#&%($%$(#&!!!!!!!!!!!!

You can’t feed them in the park! 
This is a heated issue, I guess. It seems that everyone who lives near a shelter or where the homeless congregate want them to do it elsewhere. There are a lot of sympathetic people who claim to want to help and to allow these groups to do what they can to help those in need. But people generally want them to be helped elsewhere. What’s wrong with the homeless at Lake Eola? It’s shaded, with nice bathrooms and has a tacky, illuminated fountain. Is it their body odor that offends? Or the hungry look in their eye

1. 
I want to hurt you all, to rake your face with ragged nails, and then to rip my arms up with razorblades and glass. I don’t want anyone to die, you least of all. But I want you all to hurt, like I hurt. Like this.

What do you do when the meds don’t work? When you get a bill from the shrink you can’t afford. When it’s all wrong? I want to destroy, that’s what this is about. I want to destroy, rip it all down like a 5’3″ Godzilla. Stomping, smashing, killing the pain.

My family hasn’t spoken to me in a month. I’ve pushed them all away, and I am left struggling with what to do next. If it was that easy, then all of the relationships I’ve built with them are bullshit. So easily disposed of. So easy.

David’s feelings are hurt from things I can’t help from saying. I think I’m making sense when the cruel things come to pass, but it’s not nice sense. Not nice at all. I don’t want to hurt him, him most of all. But I do it every time I cut (which I did again this morning), every time I give up, every time I speak it seems.

I’ve cried at some point every day for the past week. It’s the hormones, I keep telling myself. It’s just the hormones. I don’t want my uterus anymore. I’ll keep my phone off to save you all from this. Keep my blog down to keep you all from this. It’s the fifth of May, and I will keep this hidden. Because right now I hate you all. All of you. But I know it won’t last, and I will have to rebuild with the rubble I’ve created. And eventually people won’t come in anymore for fear of violence, and the rooms will be empty. I know it will happen. It always does.

Always.

Sheer Will
Given footsteps and
the beat of a hidden tune
she willed her feet to listen
and tread across the room
But her heart be began to falter
And her body seemed to stop her.

**unfinished?**

Going on a Date
I don’t think people (at least people in long term relationships) understand how important “dates” are. My house endlessly spins with things to do… laundry, poop-patrol, dishes (well, D does those!), dusting, and endless mounds of homework. These dates put a stop to the spinning, the endless motion, so we can enjoy the moment. Watching my parents stumble through relationship problems scares me. Will I repeat their mistakes? Will it ever get to the point where healing is impossible because the distance is too vast? I don’t think they have dated in years. I know that she was overwhelmingly in love with him, but my parents are not friends. Not like D and I are.

Soggy Gray 
This gray reminds me of hematite. Shiny. Dark. Wild. Storms keep us rooted to our dryness, bathed in butterscotch light. My couch called to me, singing sweet songs of peace. But homework, and procrastination compelled me to remain in my office. I tried to focus. She who is dead to me distracted me. I called her and the banner installation began.

I love this weather, though it makes me sleepy at this hour. I want nothing more than to crawl into bed with my creatures. They are resting at home right now, probably squishing the couch pillows in ways that irritate me.

Hidden Dragons

You don’t see her, unless I want you to.
She is gray, swirling on my ribcage in a sea of white flesh.

From Something to Nothing and back again.—- this is the last and most recent remnant

The holidays went from nothing to almost too many engagements. D and I don’t celebrate Christmas, don’t buy gifts, and it’s only recently that I’ve sent cards. Okay, I’ve intended to the send cards, which are buried beneath paperwork, Tokidoki and Kid Robot toys, and pens…lots of pens. Every year we hang out with D’s family for Christmas. Four brothers, with spouses and children, and his mother and grandmother. Sometimes his father comes with his four daughters, but they are all growing up and moving on. So, if you are counting, David has four full-blood brothers and I think three sisters? Maybe four. I feel like an asshole. I should know this, but D’s close to his brothers and pretty much as no relationship with his sisters and his Dad. Such is divorce. His parents divorced when he was still in the womb. All of the Christmas plans for this holidaze season fell through, or so we thought. His mother and grandmother are coming over on Christmas day for some dinner. I am trying to resist the urge to serve tofurkey. Perhaps enchiladas will work. And then we were invited to his brother’s house on Saturday. It’s at 6:00. I wish it was earlier. They will serve dinner, I’m sure, and there won’t be a damn thing we can eat except potatoes. One cannot exist on mashed potatoes alone, although David would try. Then Sunday, it’s Al’s house. Albert is kind of an adopted brother, a close family friend, and surrogate son. He’s funny and I like him a lot. Then on Monday, I make the Xxxxx-mas dinner. So………… shit. Lots of stuff to do. And there’s also a dessert thingy @ Amanda’s on Flyday, and Anne’s momma’s house on Thursday (but I have to work late…so that’s iffy).

All I want…is a nap.

——–

And now, all is clean. My bits posted, I feel relieved. Think of it as I do, Winter Cleaning or making space for the mistakes that the new calender year will bring. Regardless, I feel lighter.

Have spiffy Friday.

As of right now, my Grandfather is in the hospital in Miami with double pneumonia, and is still recovering from surgery to remove the cancer from his lungs. He had his operation on the 12th. My Grannie will stay with friends during the move so that my uncle and his family can transport the house unencumbered. That being said, my Grandfather will remain in the hospital until they release him, at which time my other uncle will fly to Miami and drive him to his new home. I don’t really know how the surgery went. I do know the double-pneumonia and heart issues are locking Gramps in a hospital. The world, his world, spins without him. Eventually he will all make it back up to the Carolinas….eventually.

When my mother and I spoke of this the other night, I grew sad. I’ve bad-mouthed Florida for years. I’ve tried to get out of this state by slowly moving northward. But my Grandparents and Uncle always lived in Florida. Their homes remain intrinsically linked to my childhood memories. The visits to Mickey’s bars. The trips to various homes of family friends. All punctuated by palm trees and bright polyester. Forever linked in my memory are the musical tinkling of ice on the sides of sweaty glasses and the sounds of a pool erupting as giddy, screaming children plunged into its cool depths. But that was a long time ago. I’m no longer that child. They are no longer the people in those memories. All of that has faded like the paint on Grandpa’s old stationwagon.

I also found out that Uncle Al died. He was the husband of Grannie’s best friend, Jonie. Aunt Jonie (because you never called people by their first names – all Grannies friends were family to us) died of breast cancer when I was eighteen. After her death, he lost touch with the family, abandoning their relationship because of the painful memories it brought him. I hadn’t seen him in over ten years. When I was about four I visited Aunt Jonie and Uncle Al one summer with Grannie. I dressed everyone up in my garish plastic jewelry. Even staid Uncle Al, deeply catholic and severe, cracked a smile when I attacked him with my sky-blue clip-on earrings.
And they always had mint candies.

No one thought to tell Mom or me or anyone else that Al died. Too wrapped up in their own madness, my Uncle and Aunt just can’t see anyone outside their small, loud world. As a result, I still don’t really know how my Grandfather fares, and I didn’t even get the information about Al’s funeral. The disconnect is painful.

So, I am imbued with melancholy. The ties that bind me to Florida erode with each moon rise. I don’t know why it was such a comfort to me that my Grandparents remained in Miami, but somehow, it was a reason to head south. I doubt that I will return to south Florida for any reason now. My friends still throughout the area, but even they are not enough of a pull for my return. Before we move north, I may make one more journey, just to put to rest some of the ghosts that still haunt me. Then again, maybe I won’t.

The path before us seems set with purpose. There’s promise in the West. And in the East there are possibilities where trees could surround me while I surfed the net in a blanket. I’ve this image of my later years, hair silvery and short. D’s eyes will still glimmer with mischief, and perhaps we will have a pack of beagles rather than a pair. But the sun will set, and I will probably still be smoking in the summer sunset in the Spanish countryside. It’s an image that appeals. It stirs. It makes me long for tomorrow like I’ve never longed for the past. And hand in hand I know D and I will do it someday.

All that rushed over me in one moment upon my porch. I sat back, my foot warmed by an affectionate beagle, and inhaled deeply of this reality of mine. It felt good.

One of my old “roomies” from AOL contacted me last night. He and I last saw each other about three months before I moved here. It’s been a long, long time. But he’s going to be in Orlando this week, so I am going to try to meet him somewhere, at least for coffee. It’s funny to think of the girl he once knew, who craved attention (okay, I still do…shut up) almost more than drugs. Who needed sex not because it brought pleasure, but because for a moment, when the bodies ceased their shaking, she could find what peace felt like. He and I have traveled through the rooms in AOL’s perfect little world for a long time. He still visits the Florida room. My old roommate, who I also met through AOL was in that room last night. He thought of me and dropped me a line. There are moments where I miss that digital social scene. But I wouldn’t give up coffee and cigarettes for anything. The tangibles upon my porch fulfills me now. I think aol was comfortable for a while because I didn’t have to fully live in my own skin. I live there completely now. The imperfections I feared once, I almost embrace now. I wonder if he will still see Q (my handle) in Erica McEachern. I hope he finds a little of her in me…. but if he can’t, maybe he will like Erica more. Personally, I think she’s more interesting.

David and I walked through a Borders. I don’t know why I knew it was that particular store, because it didn’t physically resemble any Borders I had been in. But in the cafe (which was a waiting area for the restaraunt attached to it) Darryl sat, dressed in a black button down shirt, and black trousers, with longer hair than I remembered him having. Both of his ears were pierced and he wore thick rimmed black glasses. He looked dashing. Men sat in front of him on computers and I realized he was in a meeting. He waved, smiling that smile that I remember and asked me to wait a moment.

I moved to a counter where Wolfgang Puck was serving up little nests of pan-seared noodles covered in a creamy parmasean sauce and topped with broccoli (I know all this because I watched him make the dish for me). David excused himself, he was going to the art section and Darryl joined me, taking a plate and a glass of wine. “It’s so good to see you,” he said to me. I smiled up at him and realized I was really happy to see him too.

Then the alarm went off.

In my youthful years, I trod heavily through the world. I stomped and clomped and didn’t watch where I stepped. My travels took be to many doorsteps. Sometimes I was invited in. Sometimes I invited myself in. Most times I stood long enough to let the light of possibility bathe my face, and then I skulked into the shadows again. I liked less light. I am getting over that now. That comes with being honest with yourself. But I digress. Skulking and stomping, yes.

I know in that time in my life I searched out the intangible called love. But it could not be found in the places I looked; in a swinger’s club in West Palm, beneath a vivid canopy while immersed in ecstasy, in the arms of my roommate (whose girlfriend slept soundly in the other room), or in the arms of a couple. I found myself in strange relationships, some lasting for just a momentary breath. Others stuck around; stains in a white sheet, until time and my persistence washed them away.
I trod loudly, meeting all kinds of people. I remember many of them. My drug-tainted brain retains visions and the sounds of voices; those memories are sporadic at best. But, I always remember eyes.

The eyes at the dinner table reminded me of eyes that stared at me shyly when I lived in Miami. I wondered as I watched them from behind my wine glass, if those eyes recollected a girl less than twenty. But recognition did not flash, so I immersed myself warm dinner and the conversation between two couples celebrating our marriage.

I may be wrong, but I think my past came to dinner.

FYI – in order to make comments on my site you are going to have to register. I have been getting bombarded by people spamming the comments and I don’t see any other options. I am going to get to that sometime this weekend…meanwhile….yap away!

She didn’t look at me, not that I was aware of. But she looked the same. Small eyes ringed in dark liner. Her hair, tamed into a rough low, ponytail, its color – the hue of rich, carrot cake, remained. I didn’t see any gray. I don’t know why I expected to. She was only a few years older than me. But I expected something to have changed. But she was still small, freckled shoulders and small breasts. She wore an orange top (to complement her hair) and a pair of loose, white slacks. She looked fashionable. She looked sad, or angry perhaps. But she didn’t look at me as she walked by, surrounded by the intrusive sounds of the mall, she didn’t look, and I didn’t look back as I passed her.

Did I just see my best friend from high school?

I should have stopped her. But what do you say with the passing of 10 years? I turned into something else, so did she (I’m assuming) and the world moved on. I remember when she called me a dyke, moments after I revealed my feelings for her (she was drunk and didn’t remember the entire evening when she woke up late the following afternoon, still hung over). She took me to prom with her and her army boyfriend (my date stood me up) and when he was nice and drunk, and she was passed out, he thought it fun to come after me. I kicked the bathroom door in his face, and went home alone, again. She stayed with him for a few more months. She had a thing for Army guys. I just had a thing for guys in general (and girls too, but I didn’t admit that to myself back then). But when I moved down South we parted ways. It’s sad. I trusted her, told her first about being pregnant. She encouraged me to tell my family. So, after being out REALLY late, which was really sitting up till REALLY late in front of her house discussing the possibility of a pregnancy, I went home and found myself confronted by an irate mother and the pain of the truth. When I walked, green cap and gown glowing, it was time to head to Miami. That move was a clean break from the trauma of graduation and Nicole’s birth. What would follow would be four years of non-stop partying and carousing. But the best friend was gone by then, the hills of North Carolina abandoned. I visited once or twice, driving past her house, hoping to find her sunning herself out front. But the yard was always empty, and I didn’t go back.

So, my contemplation comes in the truth of her memory. Did I really love her at all? Were we really friends? I don’t trust much about myself sometimes. But I remember what her lips tasted like (cigarettes and cherry lip gloss) and her glittery, green VW Rabbit. I remember her laugh. There is truth in all of that.

I should have stopped her.

And a gelati (mint chocolate chip flavored!)

I’m not asking much, am I?

I wonder what happened to her sparkly green VW Rabbit. We had many adventures in that car.