Where to begin

:: 2011 4 March :: 2.28pm

WINNING

rayray

:: 2011 3 March :: 11.44pm

They say time heals all wounds..
... I am having a hard time believing that time heals all wounds, at least in this situation.

I may seem dramatic, petty, or immature. Some may think I over analyze every situation, just to find the bad in something. But honestly, in this situation, I don't have to look for the negative. It seems to present itself just fine. I didn't ask to be part of this. I didn't ask for an alcohol dependent mother, who uses her addictions to alcohol, cigarettes, weed, and sex, as excuses for how she "copes" with her miserable life. I didn't ask for a mother who chooses favorites when it comes to not only her children, but her grandchildren. Or a mother who stops talking to me when I mention her coming to visit me and my daughter at my house. A mother who blames everyone but herself for her miserable life.

Whether she realizes it or not, she treats me like shit. Like a mistake she'd rather sweep under the rug. I know she loves me, and that she does care, but she has a shitty way of showing it to me.

For years I blamed myself, lost sleep, shed way too many tears, and worried way too much. Blamed myself for her addiction. Even though I now know it wasn't my fault. Never was. Never will be. I lost sleep waiting up at night, constantly looking out my bedroom window just to make sure she made it home safe from the bar. Shed way too many tears because that is the only way I knew how to deal with the stress I put myself under worrying about her. And I worried way too much wondering where she was, or who she was with, or when she'd finally make it home. Those are not things a teenager should have to deal with or worry about.

I saw a different guy after another come into my home, and leave. There were only a couple that stuck around. When she was on again with Jim, the guys weren't so frequent. In fact, they had even stopped... 'til Joe came along. Then for awhile it was just Joe, then it was Joe and Jim, and then it was just Jim. And unfortunately, it was just Jim for awhile. She didn't come to school functions because she had to go to the BAR to watch him perform in his BAND. Seriously? You ditched your daughters school function, something that you can't get back, to watch your alcoholic boyfriend pretend to be a rockstar? Fucking perfect. Sadly, that was the story of my life through high school. In fact, I remember begging her to come to a spring concert, and I even tried to bribe her. Didn't work. Her response was, "Why do I have to go? I've already heard you guys play." That was also her same response to me asking her to go to band competitions, or home football games to watch the halftime shows. Except she'd throw in, "I can sit on the porch and listen to you guys play. And I don't even have to get out of my pj's and I can smoke and drink my beer." Again, seriously?

I knew disappointment all too well.

I am very grateful for my dad. He missed 1 volleyball game (because he was called into work), and missed one, maybe 2 band performances. He didn't care if it was all the same. He wasn't there for the music, or the sport. He was there to support ME, his daughter. Who he loves unconditionally. It wasn't because I was daddy's little girl, or because I begged and pleaded for him to go. I will admit, that him and I do not have the most perfect relationship. It's almost awkward, and he was way too easy on me. I could have gotten away with murder, and I'd still be an angel in his eyes.

Anyway, back to the point.

After graduation, I was extremely unhappy. But I was too scared to do anything about it. I didn't know how to change my life for ME. I was still being controlled by my mother. I was constantly fighting with Jim. And after having anxiety attacks after fights we would have, I knew something had to change. In the meantime, I got mixed up with a guy I met at work. He was 17 years older than me. Not attractive, but he showed interest in me. He said all the right things, and I thought I was in love. When I was with him, I didn't think about my mom, Jim, or any of that mess. Even though that relationship wasn't healthy on so many levels, and he controlled me, he gave me the strength and courage to stand up for myself. I needed to do something, not in a couple of days, weeks or months, but right NOW. While I was at his house one day, I was bombarded by phone calls by my mother, telling me I HAD to get home right NOW, and do dishes before she got home from work, I had to earn my keep. Even though I had not been home in close to a week. On the way home, I made arrangements to move out... 2 days later. I was excited for this change in my life. I didn't want to hurt my moms feelings, so I sent her an e-mail. Telling her that I was done fighting, and I wasn't going to make her choose between Jim or I. I had made that decision for her, because I already knew what her decision was going to be. I was done being hurt, disappointed, and being shoved out of my own house by someone I would NEVER consider family. And I needed a different environment. One where I felt safe, and had called home for the last couple of years, even though I didn't live there. She hadn't said anything to me about the e-mail, so I sent it again, and she still hadn't responded, so I printed it, put it in an envelope, and put it on the shelf in the bathroom before I left for work. I wanted to make sure she had gotten it. She was furious. She tried to talk me out of moving. But I wasn't going to change my mind. She called me on my cell phone, from the house phone, WHEN WE WERE IN THE SAME HOUSE, begging me to stay. She told me she was going to kick Jim out so I would stay. I knew that if I had told her I would stay, she wouldn't make him leave. She'd just tell me things would be different. Needless to say, after work the next morning, I came home to load up all my things, and she was still there. She packed the majority of Jim's things, and was kicking him out. But, I was still not going to change my mind. I didn't just need him out of the house. I needed him out of our lives, if I wanted any kind of relationship with my mom. Or so I thought. Since then, things have only worsened.

She REFUSES to come to my house. She's ALWAYS asking me to come to her house. When I tell her I am busy, she stops talking to me. When I mention her coming to my house, she doesn't respond, and won't talk to me until she asks me to come over again.

I am sick and tired of being the only one to make the effort. She has been to my house so many times that I can count them on 1 hand. I haven't lived with her in 5 and a half years.

Onto what hurts the most..

March 7, 2010.. A day that was one of the happiest days of my life. I found out I was pregnant. I was happy to tell my sister, my dad, and my brother. I knew I would get judgement from my brother, and I knew my sister would ask a million questions. Face it, thats her nature. She's extremely inquisitive. I was scared to tell my mom, and I had every right to be scared. If it weren't for my sister, I probably wouldn't have told her at all. I would have just let her figure it out, or hear it from someone else. Would have been easier that way. Instead, I heard every ounce of disappointment, and judgement she had to offer. There is nothing worse than telling your mother you are pregnant, and getting a giant sigh of disappointment followed by a hesitated "I still love you." Never in my life, have I felt so hurt, or betrayed in my life. I felt like my heart had just been ripped from my chest.

I'd be lying if that was the end of it..

A couple days after her processing the thought of me creating life, and being a mother, she decides to call me. And tell me that she's worried about me, and that I should have been using protection, so that I didn't have an unplanned child. Wait, it gets better.. She follows that up with, "I just have this feeling that Mike is going to leave you, or force you into an abortion." Are you fucking kidding me? Right then, I lost all hope that she'd ever come to terms with me being a mother, and be happy with me.

Unfortunately, she continues to bombard me with hurt..

By the end of that week, my sister announces she is pregnant. And my mother was so unbelievably happy for my sister and her husband. She couldn't wait to tell the world. And she did a great job of telling everyone she was so excited to have 2 grandbabies at the same time. She had so much excitement for my sister, that she let it overflow in to excitement for me, when really she still had judgement.

It was going great for awhile..

She showed up at the hospital when I was about to deliver. I didn't want her in the room, and she knew it. I knew that she was going to start in on me the moment she got there.. And I should have placed bets on Facebook, because I'd be fucking LOADED! As soon as she walked in the room, she started nagging me telling me I was going to hyperventilate if I didn't calm down. Really? I thought I was doing just fine for being in LABOR for the first time in my entire life. She only stayed at the hospital for maybe 2 hours after Reagan was born.

And she continues to find ways to hurt me, and get under my skin..

I sent her a picture text of Reagan. I was hoping for a response, at least saying "give her kisses from Grandma. Tell her I love her." But I got NOTHING. A day later, and still NOTHING. But she posts two links to 2 pictures of my nephews, that my sister had posted.. I don't even feel disappointed anymore. I feel like she is punishing Reagan for being mad at me. And that is not right at all. I am hurt that she doesn't say anything about Reagan. It's always about her Grandsons. I have always tried to fight for attention over my sister, because she is my moms favorite. I shouldn't have to fight for my daughter to get equal attention as well.

I wish things were different. I worry about what I am going to tell Reagan when she's older and wonders why Grandma doesn't come to visit. I want my daughter to have a Grandma in her life, and my mom is the only one she has. I don't want to lie to my daughter about why her Grandma doesn't come to visit, or make up excuses for her. But I also don't want my daughter to feel an ounce of disappointment from my mom the way she has let me down.

So, I have made a promise to myself, and my daughter. I will be the best mother I can be. I will use my mom as inspiration. I won't miss an important moment in my daughters life, unless there is nothing I can do about it. I will always be there for her, and I will NOT treat her the way I was treated. She is the best thing that has EVER happened to me, and nothing will EVER change that. I am so thankful for every moment I spend with Reagan, and I will cherish every single moment I have with her.

...To be continued...

4 comments | leave a comment

:: 2011 23 February :: 11.08am

I'm a grown ass man.

spud

:: 2011 18 February :: 2.12am
:: Mood: relaxed

i'm making 'omnanimously' a word, and that's the end of it.
So, i'm on vacation with my family. We go to the k-mart in Petoskey. Not my decision, but in the interest of caving to the more forceful individuals involved, that's where I wound up.

My dad gives me spending money (it would've been much better spent on the slopes, but that wasn't in the cards, apparently. So, I still haven't spent it.), which in and of itself is both sad and cool. With what money I brought up with me, I buy a soda. A 20-ounce bottle of pop. The lady at the register asks me if I have a k-mart rewards card. I have to sound all stupid, and ask her to repeat herself because she's one of those soft talkers. You know the ones. I'm half deaf, because i'm getting over a sinus infection, and i've spent several sessions in the last 24 hours submerged in either a hot tub or a pool. Since I can't fucking be skiing. would you like to sign up for a rewards card? I'm sorry, what was that? Do you want to sign up for one? No, thanks. And in my head, there's a battle raging between the logical part of me that's thinking 'she doesn't know that I never go to k-mart, probably won't again for a long long time, and the only reason i'm here in the first place is because i'm from out of town,' and the other part that's saying 'lady, I don't have one already, and i'm just buying a fucking soda!'. Alright, that'll be a dollar sixty-nine. I didn't actually hear what she said, but I knew it was more than a dollar, but less than two, and deduced the rest from the change.
-----------------------------------------------------------
Just a fun fact (or an FF. See what I did there? I shortened it. Which is automatically more cool. Or cooler. See? Shortened again! Damn, i'm cool), this stems from a game of phone tag that i'm currently in.

I am fascinated, at least for the moment, with the phenomenon of being 'it'. Like, how would you describe being it? (again, short=cool) Defining 'it' is easy, but describing it is nigh on impossible. You're in a position of some singular importance, but at the same time it's something you try to avoid. I guess it all stems from the simplicity of the game. It is competition in its most sublime, simplified form. Still, the human mind needs some context; some rules. Granted, they're basic: if the person who's it touches you, you become the person who's it - The game begins with whoever initiates contact and calls someone else it - Anyone who chooses to join in is potentially it. Them's the rules. Then why is that sensation so difficult to pin down? We all know it (at least, anyone who has ever played tag. Which I omnanimously declare to be everyone), and yet it remains so difficult to put to words. You're either chasing, or being chased, and taking it in turns. And the game is pretty much over when the person who's it gives up, and nobody else in the game decides to take up the mantle.

In some ways, I wish phone tag were more like the game of my youth. Regardless, I still hate being 'it'.

:: 2011 28 January :: 10.49am

Kyuss and early Queens of the Stone Age

spud

:: 2011 18 January :: 2.08am
:: Music: SuperLibrary - it continues to grow

so.... you hit it and then it works?
yes. yes it does.

so, i live on a cul-de-sac (which is a word i despise, but there really is no other word for it...). at the very end is a path that leads to the school behind the house. by the path are a fire hydrant and a streetlamp. now, for the past year or so, the light wouldn't always turn on automatically. sometimes you'd have to kick it, nudge it, whatever you felt like doing in order to jostle the thing to life. now, at first it was just every once in awhile. then it got to be once a month. still a novelty at this point, as i spend a lot of time visiting with the neighbors across the path, and he would usually beat me to it. but eventually it got to be once a week.... then every fucking day. that got old for him (i was excited to have a fighting chance to be the first one to kick it), so he called up the township or whoever is in charge of maintaining the lights (yay 'burb life) and asked them to come fix it. they say yeah, sure, first thing.

about a month later he calls them back, reminding them of their promise to fix the damn thing... he even has the file number they gave him from the first call he made so she could look it up. she said the number didn't really matter. okay, whatever. "but yeah, someone needs to get out here to fix this soon. i'm getting sick of kicking it."
"i'm sorry? what seems to be the problem with it?"
"well, it doesn't turn on when it gets dark, so you have to hit the pole so it turns on."
"so, you hit it, and it comes on."
"yes ma'am, i'm not pulling your leg. it really turns on when i kick it."
"huh. you sure?"
"yup."
"alrighty, well i'll send someone out within the week. your file number is 1928340987-"
"-i thought you said the number didn't matter."
"oh. well, yeah, right. you have a good day then."
"thanks, you too."

i'm only semi-bullshitting the conversation there. it's not verbatim but that's the gist of what he described to me.

i just didn't realize that hitting things to make them work could be so foreign to somebody. it's like, the first thing i do. not violently. just to see if there's a bad connection or something. i guess maybe she was just surprised that hitting it actually worked. she must have a bad track record of hitting things and having them remain woefully unmended or something. guess i've got the magic touch.

all i know is, about a month ago they finally fixed the blasted thing, and now it's brighter than blazes all effing night long out there. it seriously hurts my eyes to look out the window. and it's got this weird pinkish hue to it. i almost liked the broken one better.

see what i mean? bright.

-----------------------------

in other news, i'm still a sagittarius, pluto's still a fucking planet, and triceratops is still the most badass herbivore this side of the big bang. the bce/ce from bc/ad didn't bother me as much. i mean, change typically comes slowly for me, if at all, so i still use the old ones, but i don't mind seeing the new ones because of the unholy ruckus the bible-bangers made about it. if you're too shortsighted to see that changing the name of something doesn't change the thing itself, then i really don't care about whatever got your panties in a bunch. we need some way to measure time. the modern world is too fast paced for people to say "year of our lord twenty-hundred and eleven." and the documentation on christ's life and when exactly that was is a little ... spotty. science demanded a more precise measurement, for whatever sciency things it is there doing in there. as long as they don't burn the place down i guess i'll let them stay. until i get pissed about whatever they pry from my unwilling fingers next week. fuckers.

--------------------------

so i've been tutoring this kid for the past couple of months. he's mildly autistic, which means he's in normal classes, and social enough, but it makes my job difficult. it's not that he can't focus. he can focus plenty, if it's something that interests him. it's that he can't focus on algebra 2 when he doesn't feel like it. which is most of the time. so, instead he's always telling me about all this different stuff that does interest him. like some cartoon he was watching with his brother, or this video game he's designing. tonight he was regaling me with how there are different types of fruit. shit you not. he's got this bowl of fruit, and he comments on how the strawberries are making him pucker. i sample one and concede that it's a little tart, for a strawberry, at which point he launches into this thing about how there are different types of fruits within the same species. well, not species, but that's the word he'll use (i'm not entirely convinced he was wrong on that count). "like, apples. there are all sorts of different kinds of apples. macintosh. jonathan. that one's named after me."
"alright, so, the opposite of b, plus or minus the square root of b squared minus 4ac, all over 2a." he stops to pet the dog. and play with the 2 remaining chunks of strawberry.
"but it's all food, i guess. i mean, it's not alive, like animals, but it still provides sustenance." i kindly explain that fruit is indeed a living organism until we kill it, much the same as animals, though admittedly less mobile.
"well, it's still food."
"okay, so in this function b is 4, a is negative one, and c is 8, so...."

and that's pretty much how it goes. he talks about his girlfriend a lot too. apparently she wasn't at school today because her mother felt she needed to be home to celebrate martin luther king day (she's black, after all). seemed justifiable to me. i'm just trying to figure out how she can do that, when it's exam week. whatever. you know, i want a white person holiday. you know, one where we celebrate how our ancestors took advantage of all the minorities to their own personal gain. and all of them (our ancestors) are dead now! one ethnic dead person holiday deserves another!

oh, god, when the shit happened with the birds and fish in arkansas, he was telling me about how she thought there was a volcano in arkansas that was going to erupt and destroy the world. her particular brand of autism apparently has a penchant for the doom and gloom, so it doesn't take much to get her going. but this was a very real concern in her mind, and so it becomes that much more real for those in her life. the unerring font of knowledge i doubtless am in his mind, i felt obligated to elucidate. and honestly, i tend to figure i might as well, since i'm not convinced i've actually taught him anything about math at all. i know his folks are paying me to help with school, but i figure any seed i can get to germinate, whatever the topic, is a mini-success and makes my time worthwhile. so i told him about how there was some speculation that yellowstone - decidedly not arkansas - may erupt "soon". in geologic terms, soon is probably not in our lifetime. but it's a possibility. even if that does happen, it's not going to be the apocalypse. it'll do a dandy number on most of the US, michigan included, but i doubt it would completely kill off all the humans on the planet. he seemed reassured by that; mission accomplished.

---------------------------

so this book i'm reading right now is basically robin hood, as this guy thinks it should be, or might have been. he's based it in the 11th century in what is modern day wales. he's changed things completely, but it's well written and actually seems far more realistic than most of the romanticized robin hood crap we're used to seeing at the movies. if you're genuinely interested, you should start with the first book in the trilogy, though. anyway, the language tends to have this overly formal archaic type of style to it. most of the books i've read by him are that way, at least at times. but once i start to get into the swing of it, i think i could really run rampant and emulate that voice fairly well. i think it would be a fun experiment to try. maybe not as accessible to readers, but fun. and i could be verbose without it seeming like as much of a stretch. condescension and overly flowery language are pretty much expected from that dialect. i couple probably pull it off. i'm halfway there already, right?

right.

4 comments | leave a comment

skife

:: 2011 2 January :: 5.09am

Dear beave,

Keep your stick on the ice

Love,
-beave

spud

:: 2010 27 December :: 4.33pm
:: Mood: apologetic

Me, delinquent? Never!

so, obviously the goal of one post per week was achieved for approximately one week.

part if it was simply the hustle and bustle of the holidays. and the other part was me trying to get my life in some semblance of order, failing, and burying myself in fantasy fiction instead. i'm indulgent like that.

so, i'm still here, and i'd still like to keep posting more relevant/interesting stuff, but it's going to take me time to gather the material and compose the entries. i've got plenty of fodder, so it's just a matter of taking the time to assemble it.

sure i could post some bullshit once a week and stick to my deadline, but i'd rather go for quality than quantity, so i'll post whenever i damn well feel like it, and you fuckers will just have to deal with that. just know that when i DO post, it will be what i consider to be at least passable, since i rarely think any of my writing is particularly excellent, and never perfect.

in the meantime, i hope everyone is making the most of their holidays! eat, drink, and be merry! god knows i am.

:: 2010 24 December :: 8.05pm

Downtown Browntown

:: 2010 21 December :: 7.33am

USA #1

2 comments | leave a comment

:: 2010 15 December :: 10.26pm

If this deal goes through I will be a member of the land owning community.