An Hour with The Girl (mobile lunch)

It is good she called me. I could feel myself shutting down and getting defensive. Defensive in the way that you get when you decide you aren’t going to let yourself be hurt.

Still, I want to throw up and feel like pulling the blankets over my head and hiding.

She wants a day with me this weekend. I don’t think I’m working so I think I could do that. For now I have to go work and get my head back where it belongs.

You’re Tired of Reading About It?! (try living it, it’s twice as tiring)

When I started this blog, I had no idea how it would turn out. I had been at Yahoo 360 for SO long ranting about The Bush Cartel and the lack of logical anything that I assumed I would carry on in that vein. snee of course, nixed that with , “Less politics, MORE beer!”

Then The Girl happened, and then The Boy. Life started to mix up a bit for me and all my routines changed. They were actually blown out of the water, because the more I made little changes, the more I wanted BIG changes. Things started to feel good, and feeling became like a new high in it’s own weird way. Then it became tiring, even though so much of it was good, it was still draining actually feeling emotions. I continued and pledged to walk forward and feel even though it was getting uncomfortable.

With all the good, and under the surface though, lurks years of destruction and the left over collateral damage left from the carnage that became my marriage.

Never in a zillion years did I think I would get so in-depth with something I thought was so far behind me, for anyone to read. It was foolish to think The Girls re-entry would be easy. And yet, I never truly believed this, I just think I disconnected from the place that Jack operates from. It has become foreign to me again, even though it is all too familiar and I remember things almost forgotten again.

This morning my post was me, thinking back as far as I could go to the violence I have known in my life, and I too was struck by the length of my list. The hard part is that these are only the hardest ones. The ones I feel impacted me so much I was changed forever by it. Then I realized that even the “easy ones” were fucking hard and not normal and the amount of violence I have seen in my life is staggering.

The Canyon.

I was three years old and my older sister was 6. My parents had taken us to Arizona, we went to the Grand Canyon. (Excellent movie by the way, starring Danny Glover and Kevin Kline) I have a picture of my dad holding us, one in each arm. We are standing by the edge of the canyon clinging on to daddy. I don’t remember the picture being taken, but I remember that day and that trip. I also remember that after that picture was taken, my father took each of us by the feet and dangled us over the edge of The Grand Canyon. I remember looking at my older sister, pony tail hanging upside down, terror in her eyes, and tears streaming upside down her face. Her mouth was open and she was screaming for daddy to pull her in. I know that she had the same mirror image of me.

This one made the list, but “The Trunk” didn’t.

The Trunk, was the same trip. A cousin was with us and as kids will do, we were fighting. My father  got tired of listening to it and took the cousin and I out of the metallic lime green Olds 442, with white upholstery and white wall tires. He walked us to the back of the car, and opened the trunk and in climbed the cousin and I. The trunk closed, the heat was staggering. It was dark and I was alone with “him”. The car started and we drove away.

I don’t know how long I was in that trunk, but the sheer terror of it has never left me.

I was three fucking years old! Who the fuck does that to a three-year old child? Who does that to their OWN three-year old child? Oh that’s right, my daddy.

Closets, oh fuck, I had my run in with those too. Hours and hours at a time, with nothing but a coffee can to keep me company in case I had to pee. I hate what my father did to me, yet here I sit grateful he didn’t molest me. I have the divorce to thank for that because looking back with my adult eyes now, the grooming had started, he was moving away from my older sister and looking at me. It is sad that I do not know how to unconditionally love my father anymore. I can’t look at him and not feel sick even as I see he has aged, and looks like I could hurt him. I love the idea of having a father who values me, but I don’t love my father like a daughter should. That is his loss and due to his actions. I don’t feel guilt over not loving him enough to give a shit, I just feel sad.

I am the only one who went looking for my father. Probably because at 15 I was on my own. By the time I was 17, I was involved in my very first abusive relationship and never felt more alone in my life. I went looking for my dad because my mom and sisters shunned me, to them, I became disposable.

I found my dad and discovered I had a step-brother here in Seattle. He was gay and a hairdresser. He worked for Gene Juarez, a big name here. I loved him and we were very close. He helped me get away from the guy, got me shuttled off to Arizona and continued to buy drugs from my abuser till well into his illness.

This morning I realized that my life was violent from 1967 till 2000. The last guy who was ever violent to me was an electrician I met in 1999. He raised a hand to me once. I moved out. No man has manhandled me since him. More importantly, no man ever will again.

Well I’m sorry this post wasn’t about more beer or something. It’s just in the air. For a lot of people. I’m thankful that I’m removed enough from it to not be living that way any longer. I have made my physical break. I just need to get past this mental part of it as ten years later it still rears it’s ugly head.

COYS!

Flowers (the guy on the phone)

Hahahaha! I know that was you. Thanks. It was much appreciated. My office smells good now!

You’re right, everyone needs a little pick me up once in a while and knowing people appreciate the work I do is nice and sometimes needed. Especially when things have been so rocky lately.

Thanks for the flowers!

*Edit*

OK how weird is this, I got a second flower deliever today and this one I have NO clue who it came from. The card just says, “You should know.” and I would bet my someone else’s life on it, these did not come from The Boy. He just doesn’t strike me as the flower kind of guy.

Name That Trauma (and let them go?)

Do you name your traumas?

The Canyon.

The Wall.

Things not Understood.

The Bath.

F-U-C-K. Who taught her that?

The Devil in the Dark.

Signs of Violence.

Where’s my mom?

Those are the childhood ones.

*The Betrayal.

*The Breaking.

*The First One.

What have I done?

Plaster of Paris.

The Garbage.

The Steak/Freezer incident.

His Best Friend and his kindred wife.

Annihilation.

What are your names, or am I just crazy?

*non Jack, As in Ass related.

 

Random Moments of Peace (that are mine)

Two and a half hours on the phone with Mel this morning/afternoon.

Talk, talk, talk, talk, tears, talk, tears, talk , talk, talk, talk. Laugh, talk, snivel, laugh, talk, talk, talk, talk.

It was good, and grounded me a bit. My sick n sin. Everyone should have a Mel. it is good to have someone so clearly understand what I am feeling and saying. In part, because we have been through sick n sin together, no one knows me as she does. No matter how closed off I have been to the rest of the world, Mel was always in. Even when I didn’t want her in…

(Oh COME ON! You didn’t get that (insert injury here) from (Insert lame excuse here)!

…she was in.

Even when we didn’t talk about it, she was there with me and knew. She never left me and never shunned me, and when I finally told her, she never doubted me.

Process. I have a lot to process. Lots of decisions to make and things to get ready for.

A lesson I have learned? Be very careful when you shut yourself down. It is easy to get used to that nothingness and closing people out. It becomes a safe zone. It also becomes really hard to let people back in later, even if you want to.  If called upon to start feeling again, even if by choice, it is a far harder road to walk than that of simply shutting down and saying fuck this.

For the first time in my life, I truly understand that living is hard work and giving up is easy.

The Repercussions of Jack, as in Ass

I got an e-mail from The Girl last night. It was sweet, loving, apologetic and caring.

I am touched that she loves me as she does. When she told me she didn’t care if we just picked weeds together, she would do it just to be with me, I wept. When I replied later that I would walk through glass, barefoot to pick weeds with her, I wept harder.

She said sometimes she thinks people forgot who raised her. I assured her I didn’t forget that, and couldn’t forget that. She went on to describe an explosive temper that I recognize in both her father and myself. I understand that. My daughter has a lot of lessons yet to learn because of this gift her father and I have passed along to her.

One particular thing she said in her letter, is playing over and over in my head. I understand what she means, but the message I am getting is not the message she intended to leave me with and I can only see it as more collateral damage and repercussions from knowing Jack, as in Ass.

“…it just hit me that i still need to remember that you are human and you have feelings and worries and all that jazz as well…”

She has spent a decade being told otherwise. I have been portrayed as some sub-human bitch and the bond she has with her father, because he was there, is unfuckingfair! He was the only one there because he did everything he could to keep me away. I hate that motherfucker to my core sometimes and yet at others I am totally sad at what became of us.

Maybe I should learn how to climb mountains. I see plenty in my future.

Late Night Lounge | NBC Official Site

Who knew William Shatner would become a political thespian, and be the only one to make some things make sense.

more about “Late Night Lounge | NBC Official Site“, posted with vodpod

 

Cooking Relaxes Me

Tonight, I came home and cooked.

I make really good Chicken Cordon Bleu, if you are carnivore that is.

When I cook, I get in a groove. I am really good with the timing thing and pulling it all together at the right time. The bigger the meal, the more efficient I become and I rarely rely on having a prep cook. If prep is needed, I do it myself ahead of time.

When I came home, I was just plain tired. SEB was in my sister’s room using her computer. Catfish was sleeping with earplugs in as she has been sick. SEB and I talked for the first time. We have talked, but we have never tried in earnest to communicate. Whatever has happened the last 24 hours has changed us all. It has changed the dynamic of my family.

There is a large part of me that does want to leave and stop being so responsible. I said something horrible about my older sister today to my younger sister and I hope it doesn’t hurt her. I am sure the statement I actually said out loud (She doesn’t help mom at all and she can’t even wait till she is dead to rifle her things and steal them!) will be understood, but it was harsh and I was angry.

I was many things today.

As I cooked SEB and I talked about some things. I told him a few things, you know the nicer violent things. The “normal” and “light” violent things in my marriage. I want him to understand that with MY history, The Girl can’t compare her relationships to mine without me reacting like that.

I don’t know if it accomplished anything, but we needed to talk and the conversation was not uncomfortable. Don’t steal my moment and tell me I’m being suckered, because we were two people desperately trying to reach one another. We attempted something and it was better than hostility.

As I made my sauce, SEB was outside smoking and talking to The Girl. I was constantly whisking over low heat and suddenly my eyes swelled up, my heart became heavy, the emotion of everything began leaking out of my eyes. I watched my sauce blur and let a single, salty tear fall into my sauce.

I stirred it in and mixed it well.

I went out to smoke as SEB was inside now. I finished crying while I smoked, went inside, plated for the presentation picture, then took out two George Plates, plated mine, took a picture and tasted my Sorrowful Chicken Cordon Bleu.  It was delicious.

SEB came in and I told him to help himself to a plate. He asked if I was OK. I said, “Yes, I was just cooking.” I said it like cooking makes me cry all the time. He said he thought he heard me sniffling. I said, “Sauce.”

Yeah right.

He plated up and we went and sat next to one another on the couch in the living room. We ate our dinner together and talked a bit. He asked if I had an e-mail from The Girl and I checked and saw none. He said she sent me one , but nothing has come through. He said she wants to apologize to me.

All I want to do is go away, yet I can’t run away from this one.  I think I just have a lot of tears to deal with tonight. They don’t seem to want to stop. They need to get out. IT needs to get out of me, there is too much emotion in me of too many different varieties to boot.

My George plate, with my Sorrowful Chicken Cordon Bleu. I made it from my heart and poured myself into it.

Believe it or not, it made me feel better.

A little over a month and I get a breather.

Failure

I work 6 sometimes 7 days a week because I have a mother who can’t work and I have been taking care of her for 5 or six years.

I also am and have been paying child support and fell behind when I was in school fulltime, so I have arrears. They are still taking support because of this even though Jack owes me more than I owe him.

Jack, has held me financial captive for ten years, doing everything he can to stop me from seeing The Girl and get back into court to fight for what he owes me.

MY FUCKING LIFE HAS HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH TAKING CARE OF ME FOR OVER TEN YEARS!!!!

I fucking give up. YOU all continue to do what you want, but you’re going to have to figure out a new way to get along, because I’m fucking moving.

I’m sorry that all my effort hasn’t been enough, but I am drained and can’t give anymore. It’s not that I don’t want to, it is that I don’t have anymore left to give. I am an empty fucking shell ready to blow away in the slightest wind.

Freemont

It was raining leaves in reds and gold.

Driving back from Ballard today and I went through the Freemont area. I thought of The Boy as I passed the Redhook area.

The colors were gorgeous and I wished I could have made an early fall trip to the mountains to see all the color, but I never made the time to go road trip.

I confirmed my trip. I’m running away the weekend of December 11th. Please don’t let there be a snow storm as that would suck.

Maybe.

Depends on if I get snowed out, or snowed in!

We just told SEB. It sucked, but the at least I said what I had to say. The Girl can be mad at me and not forgive me. That is a chance I have to take. Life will give me what it gives me. I will deal with whatever comes my way, as I always have. The difference now is that I have to do what is best for ME. I have needs and I can’t ignore them another ten years. I can’t just continue to be bottom rung. I bitch about my family doing it, but I am even a worse offender because I just don’t DO for me.

Still, I don’t feel good. I don’t enjoy making people cry. I don’t enjoy feeling like I just kicked the shit out of someone even though I know that for me, I am doing the right thing.

I wish I could rub The Boys hands right now. Weird huh? But it would make me happy.