Is it really better to have loved and lost?

It's a quarter after three and I just received a call from Diego. I figured it was one of his late night drunk calls, which I was right. Luckily I was still awake. However, I wasn't prepared for what he had to tell me. Since Queenie stopped talking to me, he and I carried on a close friendship - tell each other that we miss each other and love each other, and sometimes more...and he told me she's been reading our emails this whole time. That blew me away. No wonder he was drunk. What we did was wrong....but because she turned a cold shoulder to me she thought we'd stop loving each other? I was surprised that she could turn her feelings for me off so quickly. I guess it shows that they really weren't there to begin with. Just her little toy. I did talk to her for a minute, and asked her why she read through all of our emails. "I didn't think you would have anything to hide." Of course you and I know that's a bunch of bullshit. Then she added "Because he's my husband." I'd like to think that even if I suspected my husband was up to no good, that I would never invade his privacy like that. What did she think would happen? All three of us were in a romantic relationship, and she ends it on a dime. I take responsibility for half of that. I didn't want the relationship to end, but I had a major meltdown, causing all sorts of drama that she detests, and it wasn't my first or second, or even third one. She had enough. Maybe I'm being selfish, but I would hope that this woman that I love and was in love with, and who loved me (and I think at one point she was in love), would be more understanding. But maybe I'm asking too much. She "understood" too many times. If she really loved me, then how could she just turn it off like that? I was still mad at her for treating me the way she did, but I loved her and if she wanted me she could have me. I thought I didn't love her anymore, but since I'm crying I guess I do. I know she'll never forgive me. I'm also crying because I know I brought so much havoc into their lives. I got her a sweatshirt from SU, where she also went, that I guess I can take back on Monday.

Just when you think you've hit bottom, someone throws you a shovel.

Study Women

I just finished reading all of the assigned readings for my women's studies class...that I was supposed to have done Tuesday....now I need to write a 2 page paper, and I don't know what to write. I feel that it has to be especially good since it's almost 3 days late, and I want to take a perhaps more unique point-of-view and actually write something interesting than what's blatantly obvious. It's true I didn't attend class the whole past week, but there is the wonderful invention of email which eliminates that excuse. The Doctor said, "Anything worth doing, is worth doing poorly." It's more important to just turn it in than obsess over its perfection and delay its submission any longer. I wonder if I'm too soft on myself, or if I'm too hard on myself, or if I put the right amount of pressure on myself (Goldilocks syndrome?). This is something I've always wondered about me. I've always procrastinated. You put so much stress and pressure on yourself. Why does one fall into this habit? My mother is a big procrastinator, so perhaps I inherited it from her. I could've started this earlier, although my illness would've delayed it somewhat regardless. I'm finally on my way to recovery. I feel more human-like and less zombie-like. I want to do well in this class, in all my classes, but I seem to find ways to sabotage myself. I care about my teachers' opinion of me, especially if I like the teacher. I want them to think well of me instead of a lazy, irresponsible girl. Right now I'm procrastinating by writing in my blog obsessing over it instead of just writing the damn paper and emailing it to her. I over-analyze myself constantly, try to look at myself as if this girl is someone I know and I'm evaluating her. For years I tried to work on my negative habits and faults, but I seem to not make much headway. Part of becoming the woman I want to be is to actually take care of things as they arise instead of putting off dealing with it for as long as possible. It doesn't matter what it is. Become a responsible and efficient woman.

The two rules of procrastination: 1) Do it today. 2) Tomorrow will be today tomorrow. ~Author Unknown

In Sickness and In Health

A long day of mostly fog with a few sunbreaks finally falls to night. What I thought (or more hoped) was the common cold turns out to be the flu. Carmen told me first thing this morning that she talked with her sister's friend, trying to track Cecilia down, presumably to talk to her about Gramma. The friend spoke to Cecilia a couple months ago when she told her that her boyfriend hit her and she gave him all of her money (before he hit her). She hasn't heard from Cecilia since. Sounds like the set-up for a murder. I just said, "It sounds like something Cecilia would do." Mom also told me that she spoke with Gramma's case worker, and that because Gramma was lucid, understood the questions and gave sensical answers (if molesting a 90 year old woman makes sense), that it's very possible that someone molested my grandmother. I want to see her, but on the same hand I don't. Isn't that awful? I feel like I can't look at her the same way. It's not like she did anything - she's the victim. Even if this is part of her dementia, it's real to her.

I was able to study, and watched a few recorded episodes of Dr. Maddow interrupted by throbbing headaches. I read the news; Dow was up (when I last looked), and so is the death toll of American soldiers in Afghanistan. A while back I read a book written shortly after the Civil War in 1910 about how the ruling class effectually exploited the working class to do their dirty deeds for them. Most wars are based on territory, authority, and religion - they're really wars between the ruling classes, but most aristocrats found they could easily persuade the working class to go to war for them with the empty promises of glory and honor, offering them meager benefits when many of the young working class could choose that, or a dreary career working in a factory or mine, or today Walmart or Starbucks.

When reading about different cultures, and I live in an individualist culture, but it's mostly understood that individuals still conform to their surroundings or the group they identify themselves with, even though many people move from group to group where those in a collectivist culture stay in one group. So it seems that it would stand that most members of an individualist culture are still somewhat collectivist. The same cannot be said vice versa.

I found an old friend who always filled me with new information and insight. An interesting character to say the least. We talked of philosophy mostly, which I always enjoy. I understood Plato much more in the period of an hour than in the past six weeks.

I had an interesting dream the other night. I had to have open lung surgery, that was performed while I was still concious. The surgeon used an electric saw to cut down the middle of my breast plate and remove my left rib cage. That's the part I remember most vividly. I thought why I dreamed about needing surgery on my lung was because I was worried that I was smoking too much, even though very low compared to some people. I thought the removal of the rib cage was very symbolical of Adam & Eve, and that pertained to my women's studies class. But maybe I'm wrong. Now maybe some reading before I "ride the wooden shoe."

"Someone said, 'The dead writers are remote from us because we know so much more than they did.' Precisely, and they are that which we know." ~T.S. Eliot

Pain

Does all of this pain mean something in the end? Do we go through this for a reason? Yes, there are pleasures in life, but it seems that the bad outweighs the good. Almost everyone I know has had a horrendous year. As it comes to an end, hope renews for the next year, but just because it's another year really doesn't mean anything. It doesn't mean the bad will stop, the pain will stop. At times like these it's important to stop.......and reflect. What do I have to be thankful for? I have a roof over my head, and clothes to wear. I live with my parents, and as trying as that is (sometimes plain intolerable), I don't have to pay rent. I attend a university, thanks to my women ancestors. I've met new people, some I hope will stay in my life for a long time. If there's so much good, then why doesn't it feel like it? Why are some of the people closest to me going through so much pain and heartache? Because their lives were good for a while? Now it's paybacks for the years of comfort and security they enjoyed? Because they had so many years with their mother, that now it's time to watch her slip away before she slips away? Because they had so many years of good health, they have to nearly die? It would be nice if I knew that it would end, but it won't until I end. That's just part of life.

The Women

It's been an chaotic week, hence why I haven't posted a blog in four days. My mother told me that she wanted to kill herself, my grandmother might have been raped, I got a speeding ticket and my body is trying to come down with a cold, and as usual I have a ton of homework. This drawing is one of my favorite works by my favorite artist, Vincent van Gogh.

Wednesday morning I walked out to the patio to have a cigarette where my parents were already having one. I could see that Carmen was very upset and looked very worn down. She told me she woke up, saw the piles of paperwork that needed to be done, thought of everything else that needed to be done, tired of living in a house that looks the way it is, and felt the only way to escape it all is if she was no longer alive. She couldn't think of any reason why to not take the pills she set out that she knew would kill her. By that time she was crying and I was fighting back tears myself. I've thought in the past of what a relief it will be when she does die, but I didn't want it to happen like this. I know I sound like a horrible daughter, and maybe I am. I feel like I'll never be able to get out from under her until she herself is six feet under. But right then and there, I didn't want her to die, I didn't want her to kill herself. She said she really didn't think I would care if she did. I said things in the past that I know hurt her - some things she was never supposed to hear, like when I told a friend that I didn't think she would live another five years and I told Momma that she was my natural mother and Carmen is just my biological mother. I don't want to believe that this crazy person who never accomplished anything or did anything with her life, except raise me, is my real mother. She's illogical, irrational, and has no common sense. But since I was born, her life was about me and only me. She's done everything she can to give me every opportunity and was always there, usually when I didn't ask her to be, but there were a lot of times I'm glad she was. She kept repeating that she wasn't telling dad and me this to make us feel guilty, that she just needed to talk. I believe her. I felt guilty anyway, because I know I contributed to her depression. When I said those things, I was coming from an angry and resentful place. That's more of an excuse than a reason, isn't it? I told Diego what Carmen said and that I felt guilty for at least some of her depression, and he told me to not feel guilty. It's not my fault. "Your mother is a little nuts."

Wednesday night I studied and finished my assignment for women's studies (wmst), and was so proud of myself. I stayed up until 3 or so. I found it impossible to concentrate. Every time I sat down to read, my mind went in 100 different directions. I actually didn't get all that much studying done for my psychology exam. I thought about telling my wmst professor that I chose to study for that over doing her assignment, but I wanted to do it all, and I didn't want to turn in yet another late assignment. It's not her problem I can't concentrate, or that I had an exam that day. Then I totally misunderstood the article I wrote on and ended up not turning it in anyway. Thursday morning, after almost five hours of sleep, I hurried to my physical therapy appointment, and got a speeding ticket on the way of course. While the officer was writing my ticket, I burst into tears. I was still crying when I got to PT. My therapist, Rick, sat me down and asked me the problem. I told him about Carmen and the speeding ticket (I still haven't told my parents about that). He had me lay down on the table while he gave me a nice massage. I could see snot oozing out of my nose, dripping onto the support bar beneath my face. When he was done, I used the cloth I rest my face on to wipe my nose and the bar, and threw it in the hamper. I went into one of the rooms where I found some tissue to blow my nose. I looked in the mirror and I looked like I've been punched in both eyes, without the bruising. They were totally swollen. He didn't make me do exercises. I just had heat and electrical stimulation on my back. I did some studying on the bus on my way to school. After wmst, Dr. Mower and I walked out together. When I tried to tell her about Carmen, I started crying again, and told her about my speeding ticket, my lack of sleep and the exam I had after her class. She encouraged me to ask my psych teacher if I could take it at a later time. I knew I would do horribly on it, for lack of studying and I was completely exhausted. I didn't want to ask that of my teacher, but I want to get a good grade too. "It's ok to ask for help." She gave me a big hug, giving me strength, and I hugged her back. She has her own devils she's dealing with. My psych teacher told me that I could take the test on Tuesday with no penalty. "We're here to help you, not to beat you up." I wonder if it had anything to do with me crying so hard I could barely talk? I'm grateful that I have the teachers I do.

So now we come to yesterday, my deceased grandmother's birthday. Carmen gets a call early in the morning from one of the nurses where my gramma stays. She said Gramma said she was raped the night before. Wow! I had a doctor's appointment and I woke up with a sore throat (coincidentally one had nothing to do with the other), so I stayed home. I don't want to make my grandmother sick after she's been raped, especially since she's prone to pneumonia. Would that be double matricide? Driving my mother to suicide and killing her mother with a sore throat? My mother and I share the same doctor, so I tell her about mom's depression. She told me to call her psychiatrist and psychologist. Dr. Mower encouraged me to do the same. I get there a little late because I forgot to give myself time to take the back route. I'm on foot. The sidewalks are all torn up on the main street. It takes me 15 minutes instead of under 10. I'm so glad my doctor is so close. Because I'm late, my doctor sees another patient first. I end up waiting over an hour in the exam room. I wear a mask in case I have something contagious. Rachel is pregnant and I would feel horrible if I gave her anything. My back really hurts and I'm so tired I decide to dim the lights and lay down on the table. She walks in and says, "My chart says you're here for a follow up on your depression, but you're wearing a mask and laying on the table." My depression seems to be under control. This week was especially hard, so I feel run down, but not particularly sad or in despair.

I walk home, and feel totally exhausted. Dee calls, Carmen's best friend, probably wanting to know why Gramma is in the hospital, but I don't feel like talking to her. I decide to go to bed and wake up around 4. I eat a whole pint of tomato bisque with two breadsticks from Olive Garden. I keep telling myself I need to start on homework, but I'm just too tired. I go back to my room around 7 and check facebook. I hear my parents come in around 8, but I don't go out at first. I don't want to know. I eventually go to the living room and ask mom what happened. She said there was no bruising or signs of rape, but Gramma said he didn't actually penetrate her, that he laid on top of her and fondled her breasts and genitals. We don't know whether to believe it or not. We don't think she's lying, but she's talked stories before, like she and a Seahawks football player were lovers, and she and one of the male aides (who's younger than me) were going to get married. She fully believed in them. We don't know if they were dreams or what. But what if this did happen? Who would do this? Why didn't the aides see someone? Why didn't Gramma call for someone? The whole thing is very disturbing. Life is very disturbing.

"I didn't want my picture taken because I was going to cry. I didn't know why I was going to cry, but I knew that if anybody spoke to me or looked at me too closely the tears would fly out of my eyes and the sobs would fly out of my throat and I'd cry for a week. I could feel the tears brimming and sloshing in me like water in a glass that is unsteady and too full." ~Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

Loser

I'm so tired, all I want to do is sleep. My back is very sore and achy. I have a paper due in philosophy tomorrow. I also have an orthodontist appointment at 9. After class I will make my way over to Jackson and 23rd, wherever that is, for an orientation for the chore volunteer thing. I was going to go to Jesse's show tomorrow, but decided against it. I have no one to go with, and all of his other shows I've gone to, I've gone by myself. It makes me feel pathetic. I try to tell myself it's ok to go out alone and be alone, but I can't rid the feeling of being a loser when I do. I have an exam on Thursday in psychology that I really need to study for, otherwise I would consider going...alone...again. I worry how well I'm doing in women's studies. I thought it would be my easiest class, and I'm having the hardest time with it. Well, we'll see on Thursday.

The neuro-psych had nothing to tell me really. He just said to go forward with the outpatient eeg monitoring, and if nothing shows up on that, he gave me the name of another neuro-psych at Harborview. He works in the neurological vocational department, so since I'm not trying to find a job maybe that's why he referred me to a different doctor. I just hope that I can get on top of my school work this weekend so I can start fresh next week without all the stress. Right now I'm barely keeping up. I rarely remember what I read, which makes it difficult (more like impossible) to write about. I just realized that I have a paper I needed to turn into my phil. teacher. Different from the aforementioned one. AND we have a second paper, a "one-pager" due tomorrow. They're both one-pagers and then an essay I mentioned previously. Good times. I refuse to believe that I'm not cut out for this, partly because I don't seem to be cut out for anything else, but I'm feeling overwhelmed. A little defeated, like before. I just want to start this quarter over again. The happy Amanda says, "Everything will be fine. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. You don't have anything to complain about. It's not like your life is any harder than anyone else's. Just buckle down and do it! Think happy thoughts!" The tired Amanda says, "Shove it, sunshine."

"I try to take one day at a time, but sometimes several days attack me at once." ~Jennifer Yane

Sunday

My day started about 5:30 this morning. I woke up around 3:30 and couldn't go back to sleep. I got a lot done in my room - putting things away and organizing. I just returned home from a long studying binge. I spent most of my time at The Loft, a new restaurant in downtown Edmonds. It was my first visit. It has warm ambience to it. The food looks scrumptious. They're open late every night, so it will probably become a favorite studying spot. Many restaurants in Edmonds aren't very conducive to studying and a lot aren't open late, especially on a Sunday. Even Tully's closes early. I refuse to go to Starbucks. I think it's an abomination for such a commercialized business to sit in the heart of my little hometown, that more and more resembles the eastside with office buildings and condos.

I've thought about running for city council. When I was a teenager, and voiced the changes I didn't like the changes happening then, my friend Dixie said she would vote for me if I ran for mayor. Unfortunately, it's much more difficult to undo what's already been done. I also went to the Red Twig for the first time, a pleasant little coffee house (with good tea).

I joined a Yahoo group called WOWS, Women of West Seattle, recommended to me by a woman I teamed with for our canvassing Seattle neighborhoods. It's a lesbian group, but not like a personals type of thing. Women post events or even ask if other women want to get together for lunch. Not entirely sure about my sexuality, I thought it would be a good way to become more involved in the LGBT community. I feel like I have to choose between one or the other, which I know isn't true. I tell myself that I have the right to enjoy the company of both sexes, even at the same time if I want (; . I thought about telling her I'm straight, but I wouldn't be entirely truthful. I've had more sexual experiences with men than women, "Queenie" (or Momma I call her) the only woman I've been with. Speaking of which, she still isn't speaking to me. Diego and I reconnected. They're going through an excruciating time right now trying to hold onto their business, and their house, and not making any money. Even tho Momma isn't talking to me, I'd still give them the money if I had it. I wonder what my parents think since I haven't been down there in so many months. They haven't asked and I really don't want to talk about it. I don't think they do either. I wonder if that's a reason why she's keeping her distance, even tho she seemed a bit relieved when I told them - that they know now about the three of us.

I know this sounds very selfdeprecating and like self-pity, however, I wonder if there's anything about me that deters "friends." Momma I know why, although this is the longest I think we've gone without talking to each other since our relationship began. I reconnected with this family I grew up with, and at first we did a bunch of things together, and now no one will return calls or emails. I suggest we go out and never hear from them. My "mom" from that family is also Carmen. They are all very busy though, my younger "sisters" are all young, working mothers and Carmen goes to school and I think works full time. There is Dee, my mom's best friend. I used to call her mainly to talk about my mother. She helped me understand some things about her, and gave me insight, and I don't think anyone knows her as well. Then Dee wrote me an email that she didn't want me to call her anymore and to find someplace else to print any papers I needed to (now we have a printer). I only asked her twice to print a paper. So, she's pretty much a dick in my book. And I get to see her this Friday! My parents and I ran into her granddaughter at the casino I walked home from, and my mom thought it would be a great idea for us to get together. Of course Carmen has no idea what Dee said to me. I want mom to have a friend. She's so bad about not keeping in contact with people. She says she's too busy, but that's a load of crap. There will always be something that needs to be done, and it's not like she hardly spends every waking hour doing something. I called another friend, Michele, a couple times and never hear back from her. I texted another friend, Aaron, who hasn't responded. The only time I ever talk to Ginny is if I call her, and regardless of how many messages I leave her, I never get a call back. Then there's Jesse. We reconnected almost two years ago after no contact for four years or so, and he always promised me we would get together, but that hasn't happened yet. I think I was too eager at first and that turned him off. I had a huge crush on him way back and all those feelings came surging forth when I saw him again. He did invite me to a show he's doing (he's a musician) this Wednesday, however. All of his other friends will be there too, and his girlfriend I'm sure. I feel like I'm diseased. I'm very self-concious about my body and don't go out all that much, so other people may pick up on low self-esteem. Or maybe it's happening to make room for new friends.

"Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art.... It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things that give value to survival." ~C.S. Lewis

Rain drops keep falling on my head...

The rain was too irresistable. It beckoned me to come out and play. I walked to a nearby park that's heavily wooded and there's a pond in the middle. It was beautiful and serene. As I walked down to the pond a great blue heron flew from its perch and across the pond. I had the park to myself, along with the ducks. I eventually took my coat off and left it on a bench as I watched for more herons, standing in the rain. I walked down a path I don't remember being there before. I hadn't been to that part of the park for quite a few years. I've only walked through it a couple times since I moved in with my parents, and it's been years since I've been there before that. It took me to Main Street, which is good to know. When I walked back, I decided to climb up this hill. It was all so beautiful. I don't know what else to call it. The rain felt so cleansing and refreshing. I stepped over logs and branches, looking at toadstools. I carried my coat in my arm the whole time. I wanted to take off my socks and shoes to feel the moist earth beneath my feet. I would go barefoot all the time if I could. I felt the strings of societal norm pulling at my conscience so I left them on. I went to the very top of the hill where I ran into fences and the backs of houses. I turned to walk down and noticed to my side a condom. Gross, yes, but reminded me of times that I had sex in the woods. I really wanted to make love in the woods, all wet and muddy.

Kind of like sex. Wet and muddy and dirty, and wonderful!

The feel of the rain is very sensual. I at least wanted to get naked and run through the woods! but I was afraid someone would be walking by or someone would see me from their house. That might be a little embarrassing. I finally returned to the main trail and strolled out of the park. I came to the street to turn on to take me home, but by that time it was really raining and I couldn't leave just yet, so I kept walking straight to go in the opposite entrance. I still had my coat in my hand and felt a little silly, but the rain felt so good and I didn't want to care what anybody else thought.

"Who is that strange girl walking in this horrible, wet weather carrying her coat in her arm?"

A bunch of cars passed me and I quickly ducked into the safety of the trees. This trail had lots of puddles. The first one I came across I took a running jump and landed right in the middle! Water shot up everywhere. My jeans were thoroughly soaked from my knees down. I did the same on the next one, and the next one, and the one after that. I don't even remember the last time I splashed in a puddle, or even if I ever splashed in a puddle. I was the girly girl type - dresses and patent leather shoes. Carmen didn't let me play, or even walk in the rain. I feel sorry for kids who never get to play in the rain.

What a pleasure of life!

I left the park and was really walking home this time. My soaked shirt clung to my body. I was thanking Mother Nature for Her tears that showered on me, but then I thought maybe it's not Her tears at all. Maybe it's Her sweat. If I had Her job, I'd be sweating too. I wished I thought to take off my bra. One piece of bondage I could relieve myself from that's unnoticeable from a distance. I think bras definitely have their purpose, but can feel like, well, bondage. As I approached the house, I zipped up my coat and pulled the hood over my head to avoid questions of why I was soaked to the bone. Once in my room, I peeled off layers of wet clothing and slipped into comfy pajamas, regardless that it wasn't even one. Only I know about my special walk in the rain.

"Rain showers my spirit and waters my soul." ~Emily Logan Decens

Rain

Today is probably the fifth time in a row Diego cancelled on me. I didn't expect much else. Now I would admit that I'm in a funk. I went to bed early last night. Sleep felt nice. I don't feel all that rested though. My head feels heavy and like it's full of sand. It's one of those rare times that I have the house to myself. For the time being I've given up on Paige's baby blanket. I bought her an outfit from Kinder Britches. It's precious.

I saw the Doctor yesterday. Not my medical doctor, a college professor I had at EdCC who works full time at SU now. He helped me do psychology on myself. He's one of the few great men I know. I made him late for class. Whoops. I think he forgave me though. The presentation yesterday could have went better, but I think we did fairly well. My women's studies professor gave me a 4 on my journal assignment. I don't know if that's the highest grade she gives. I noticed that one of the really smart guys got a 4, so I assume it is. I hope I do well in my classes, but right now I really don't know how I'm doing. I don't think I'm doing horribly, but I could probably do better. I had this idea when the quarter started that I was going to do a bunch of my assignments ahead of time and be so far ahead, and get A's in all my classes. Then I would get my books for next quarter really early and read through those so I would start out ahead in those classes, and just be the little model student. It's a nice idea.

People talked about how miserable it was yesterday, but I like the rain. It's soul cleansing. I want to go for a walk, but I don't want to procrastinate on studying. If I wasn't volunteering for Equal Rights Washington tomorrow, I probably would. That's going to take up at least half the day. That reminds me I need to contact that woman about volunteering for chore something-or-other. I should do that now so I don't forget again. I'm supposed to volunteer 18 hours by the end of the quarter.

"If love is shelter, I'd rather walk in the rain."

Oh, so it's my fault...

I'm exhausted. Carmen is driving me mad. She had an appointment today at noon with her therapist, and was going to see her mother afterwards (she hasn't seen her in a good week). I called at 2:30 asking if my dad would pick me up so I didn't have to take the bus since it was raining cats and dogs, and I have a lot of homework to do so I wanted to get home early. Dad was at a bar close to her therapist, and she was in a store next to it. Now it's my fault she didn't get to see her mother. And it's my fault that she feels too sick now to go see her. And it's my fault that it rained and traffic was a mess coming home so their round trip was two hours. I told them they didn't have to pick me up if they didn't want to. Have you ever been so tired you feel sick to your stomach? I don't have the flu. I just stayed up really (really) late night before last to work on this paper so I got less than 4 hours of sleep. Last night I didn't get home from school until after 7, and was so exhausted that I only had enough energy to eat and then went straight to bed. I feel more and more defeated. It makes it hard to motivate myself, and I feel like a failure. I have so much to do for my women's studies class. We're presenting tomorrow. Carmen's mad at me for some reason. I suppose the "reasons" I listed above. She's stomping around slamming doors. I guess I won't ask them for a ride again. When we got home I fixed myself a burrito, and she said in her bitchy tone, "Maybe your dad would like one.", and then went out to the porch and slammed the door. If he would, then he can fix it himself. I have things that I need to do. I'm surprised that she made her drink herself. If she can drink, then I suppose she's not that sick. After all this time and that woman can still drive me to tears. I'm not actually crying, but filled to the brim. I have a headache and I'm very tired, too tired to think or concentrate. I'm going to lay down for a while and hope I feel refreshed and motivated when I get up. After I try to help Carmen with her damn computer.....

Anywhere but here, here I come

I was researching ratings for Maddow and Beck, and Beck actually has higher ratings than Maddow. Has this country gone absolutely nuts??? Well, yes it has. It seriously made me want to vomit. Idiots proclaim how Beck researches his "facts" and tells the truth, and hail to the Beck (that part I made up). After the wingnuts started surfacing, I thought about moving to another country just to get away from this one. It's sad. It really is. I'm open to other people's opinions and beliefs, but not when they're so far out there not even Marvin the Martian can see them, and their only goal is to promote violence and hate and intolerance. Maybe I'll go live in the woods somewhere, far, far away, and live with dwarves or fairies.

I watched Changeling tonight. It was excellent, and heavier than Plymouth Rock (assuming that Plymouth Rock is really big and heavy). Then I watched clips on youtube about Brandon Teena. After that, as you already know, I learned that Glenn Beck is actually more popular than Rachel Maddow, which totally deflated me. So, all in all, it's been a fun-filled, light-hearted night. Blah. Back to philosophy.

"Philosophy is to the real world as masturbation is to sex." ~Karl Marx

(I actually really like philosophy - I just thought the quote was funny.)

This morning feels like a good morning. The house is already buzzing with activity at this early hour. My 6 yr old niece spent the night. My parents had to run some errands in the evening so we had a couple hours to ourselves. We sat in the living room where I read Plato for Philosophy and she played with Pearl & Presley, and listened to classical music on tv. After a while she told me she liked that kind of music. Now I eat my English muffin and drink lavender tea. My sister just came to pick her up - they're going to a pumpkin patch today after a traditional Sunday breakfast. I slept almost all night! It felt wonderful! I did wake up for a little while sometime during the wee hours of the morning, but not for the usual 2-3 hours. Yesterday I bought something to help me sleep from the herb store downtown Edmonds, and the first night I have it I don't need it. It seems to usually work out that way. I still feel tired, but I need to read Book I of The Republic before I meet my group to discuss our presentation for Women's Studies.

This is a picture of my niece, Ellie, and my nephew, Isaac.

"One hundred years from now, it will not matter what my bank account was, how big my house was, or what kind of car I drove. But the world may be a little better, because I was important in the life of a child." ~Forest Witcraft

Is it my mother's fault?

I wonder how much our genes determines our character and behavior and how much our environment does. How do I know how much of my habits and beliefs are genetically inherited from my parents and how much because I learned from them? Would I be who I am if I were raised by someone else? There are so many characteristics I see of theirs that I possess, and many I hope I never do. I have a tendency to be lazy, irresponsible, and procrastinate. That sounds like both of them. My mother received a notice from her home insurance that they will no longer insure the house because of some rather minor faults. Faults I don't think is reasonable to cease insurance, but they are an insurance company. She submitted a claim to replace part of an outside wall thats frame was rotted because of an old leak. Of course they denied it because it was "pre-existing" before she bought the house from my grandmother (sound familiar?). The inspector felt that he needed to relay that the paint was peeling on the outside, the gutters needed cleaning and probably replacing, and there was moss on the roof, thus they stopped coverage. I think to stop coverage over those small issues is unwarranted. My parents are trying to take care of those problems now, and have finished 1 1/2.

That's a picture Gramma and me. One of my favorite pictures. I really used to be thin! I was probably about a size 4. Now I can't fit into a 14. Getting old sucks.

However, I also blame my mother for all of the decay the house fell into. My grandfather died 19 years ago, this month actually...in the middle of my Halloween party...I regress. My grandmother didn't have a clue as to how to take care of a house or finances. She could clean a house, and cook in it, and read in it (always was a big reader), but knew nothing of making claims to the insurance companies, knowing when things needed to be replaced, how dangerous some faulty wiring can be. I wouldn't say the wiring is faulty, but it is over 50 years old. According to Carmen, she didn't even know how to pay bills. My mother never owned a house before, but she was really the only one around to help Gramma. There had to be things that she knew needed fixing, but she was always too busy (I admit I probably had a lot to do with that) and didn't want to deal with it and never got around to it until it became her house. Not wanting to deal with things is another fault of mine that I also find in both of my parents. My grandmother needs to be held accountable too: she could have taken initiative and made some calls, but she was already over 70 when Grampa died and I don't think was ever one to really take care of herself. Even with the rotted framing, Carmen swears she didn't think it was that bad, but it didn't surprise me at all. The paint inside the room, my room, my grandmother's former room, was bubbling out and created a large crack. I knew that something was very wrong and told my (at the time) fiance's mother about it, who's quite savvy when it comes to these things. The first words out of her mouth were, "Call the insurance company." My grandparents used Safeco (who's my mother's insurance until 11/26) for years and never filed a claim. I told Carmen the next day, and do you think she did a damn thing about it? That's a rhetorical question. That was five years ago! Maybe six. There's a good possibility that Safeco would've paid since Gramma owned the house for 35 years! The gutters were originally made of wood, so of course over the years they completely rotted. My dad replaced some of them, but there's still a lot that needs to be done. The oven is probably as old as the house. I'm afraid to turn that thing on. We have no dishwasher. There's not even a hook-up for the dishwasher because the house was built in the mid-fifties. These are all things that should be obvious to anyone, even Sarah Palin, that need to be taken care of. Perhaps not to a 70+ (who's now 90) year old, old-school grandma that never had to deal wtih anything like that and didn't know any better, but Carmen should've been a little wiser.

That damn crap coconut rum she bought gave me a headache, and I only had one drink. But maybe it's not that. It feels like someone took a dowel, poked it in my forehead, a little right of center, and it's going out the back of my skull.

I took a Vicodin and hope that will help. My back also gave me grief all day, so hopefully the Vicodin will help that as well. Enough complaining. It's not good for anything, except to vent some steam once in a while.

Maybe I'm being too harsh on her. Of course she was very upset when she read the letter and called her insurance agent, who can't find another company to cover her because of course they all know that Safeco cut her off. At first I said nothing and kept my eyes glued to Chris Matthews, solely and silently blaming her for her own misfortune. I eventually felt a little bad and told her that I was sorry Safeco did that to her. And I am. But she still shares some of the responsibilities in my eyes. I vowed to myself a while ago that I will always take care of my property, whether it's real estate, or a car, or a pet (tho I don't really consider pets as property, but you get the gist), and to not have it if I can't afford it. A mistake I made myself that cost me dearly, and a mistake both of my parents, and my grandmother made. Now we have an old house almost in disrepair (from my pov), three people who don't have jobs (although my seizures required me to quit my job and I go to school full time now), way too much stuff, and seven cats. Aye, aye, aye.

As closing comments, I want to express my congratulations to Obama, happy birthday to Bo, and my cat, Ligeia.

"Not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed until it is faced." ~James Baldwin

Poe

Today is Edgar Allan Poe's deathday. He died 160 years ago on this day. Doesn't seem like he lived so long ago. I visited my grandmother, Gramma, today after class. I was on my way to my favorite Thai restaurant to pick up dinner, and decided to swing by and visit for a while. I picked her up a decaf mocha and yogurt parfait from Starbucks. She introduced mochas to me when I was 12. She looked good and was fully alert. I know I need to spend as much time with her as I can, before it's too late. She has four children, but only one comes to see her. Two are in Cali and the youngest, Damien I like to call him, is hopefully burning somewhere in the core of hell, but he's probably right here in Seattle. She actually had five children, but my mom's older brother died five years ago, three years after his son committed suicide. I miss both of them, especially Curt, my cousin. We'd instant message every single night for two to four hours, sometimes more. We talked about everything, from poetry to perfume. He wrote poetry. I have some of his poems tucked away in a folder.

Every day I seem to realize something more about myself, even if it seems perfectly obvious but never thought about it before. I started acting kind of crazy after the first time Queen broke up with me. I lived with them for a while, and felt happy and safe. Then when I had to move back home, that security was stripped away. I'm also positive I suffered a traumatic brain injury (tbi) from my accident, because I'm not the same person I used to be. I would fly off the handle at things that shouldn't seem like that big of a deal. I'm much more irritable and short-tempered. I can also be obsessive-compulsive about some things. These are all symptoms of people who've suffered from tbi's. Unfortunately, Queen and Diego would see the worst side of me, but that was also my most vulnerable side. I was always very emotionally even - no real highs and lows, even during my period. Then I became this other person I don't like. I want to get back to who I was, but don't want to depend on drugs to do it. However, if that's what I need to do, then I'll do it. Hopefully, it won't be a lifelong requirement.

Take this kiss upon the brow!

And, in parting from you now,

Thus much let me avow-

You are not wrong, who deem

That my days have been a dream;

Yet if hope has flown away

In a night, or in a day,

In a vision, or in none,

Is it therefore the less gone?

All that we see or seem

Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar

Of a surf-tormented shore,

And I hold within my hand

Grains of the golden sand-

How few! yet how they creep

Through my fingers to the deep,

While I weep- while I weep!

O God! can I not grasp

Them with a tighter clasp?

O God! can I not save

One from the pitiless wave?

Is all that we see or seem

But a dream within a dream?

~Edgar Allan Poe

Ranting and Raving

My day started off well enough. I went to physical therapy, which felt wonderful. Then I rushed home, changed, and my parents and I darted off to my neurology appointment at Valley Medical in Renton. We walked up to the information desk inside the main building, where we had to spell out neurology for the old gentleman there (well, at least part of it). He directed us to admissions where the lady told us it was in the building on the other side of the parking lot, where we just came from (the parking lot, not the building). The receptionist told us to arrive at 12:30 to give enough time to fill out paperwork for a 1:00 appointment. Yesterday a different receptionist told me I didn't need to be there until 12:45. We arrive at 12:44, and they're out to lunch until 12:45. I step into the bathroom to finish my face, and Carmen comes in, "Come on. They're waiting for you." I think, "Are you kidding me? They told me to arrive 15 minutes before they got back from lunch, and now they want to be bitchy about time???" (the office was also locked so we had to stand in the hall) I met Dr. Vossler, supposedly the best neurologist in Washington. He was arrogant and a jerk. I've been to three neurologists, who all told me nothing. The tests didn't tell them anything, so there's nothing to say or any advice, except to take this medication. Vossler pretty much blew me off right from the start. He told me he didn't understand why I was coming to him and what I expected him to do. Maybe I want some fucking answers! Some type of closure! I've been dealing with this for three years and these "doctors" won't tell me anything. I understand that if nothing shows on the test, then nothing shows, but it doesn't fucking mean that there's nothing there. Maybe I should be grateful that I got to live longer than my aunt, who died when she was 20 from a seizure. But they've proved that I don't have epilepsy like she did. But they don't want to really entertain the possibility that it just might be from the accident that I was in that predated the first seizure by three months. I'm just frustrated. I'm not angry or mad, just frustrated, tired, and bitchy. I had to fight back tears before I went into my women's studies class today. Dr. Mower automatically knew that something was going on. Funny how women can do that. What is it called? Intuition? Shit. Now I am crying. I'm just so tired of feeling so old and sick and helpless. I'm doing what I can. I've done what I can. Ok. I'm better now. I hate being this emotional. The alcohol probably didn't help. My parents wanted me to join them at a nearby casino where they have a good happy hour. We all drank too much. Carmen couldn't even stand the last time I saw her. I eventually just walked home; most of the way in my fishnet stockinged feet. It's been a long time since I wore 3 inch heels. I still have more rantings and ravings about today, but this is enough negativity for now. This blog has gone on long enough and I need to try to get some sleep. I'll read a bit more about the French Revolution in my historical novel.

"A pessimist sees only the dark side of the clouds, and mopes; a philosopher sees both sides, and shrugs; an optimist doesn't see the clouds at all - he's walking on them." ~Leonard Louis Levinson

Sittin' Up In My Room

I sit and watch my disheveled room, wondering if I should try to do something about it or try to get more sleep before I have to get up...again. I need to go to the herb store to get Melatonin. I hope that will help, rather than taking seroquel, which still hasn't apparently been approved by DSHS anyway. That drug scares me. My doctor said it can cause involuntary movement. I'm very interested in trying alternative "medicine", such as hypnosis, acupuncture, massage therapy, yoga, meditation...I don't think I can be still enough to meditate, at least mentally. I've even heard that shock therapy can alleviate depression (no, I wasn't reading a 1950's article), so I'd even be willing to give that a try, as long as it's just a few sessions and not a long-term process. I imagine that would damage the brain, tho I know Rachel wouldn't put me in any kind of danger. Speaking of which, I haven't even started her baby blanket and she's due in two months. It may seem like quite a while yet, but I'm about a quarter of the way done with the one I'm working on now, and I've worked on it for six months! It's more difficult with my shoulder problems, but still. I promised Kimi I'd have it done for Paige by the time it got cold. Maybe I'll work on that now, since I woke up about 2 and haven't felt like sleeping yet. I'm determined to get it done though, even if I give it to Paige as a high school graduation present. I often wonder when I look around me, regardless of my surroundings, if it's all real, or, referring to my "random question" on my profile, if all we see or seem is but a dream, maybe even within a dream? When I think of the 100 year question and what anything anyone does or says, everything seems so insignificant. To answer the 100 year question, I believe my education is important. That is something I will have for the rest of my life that no one can take away from me, and something for me to pass on to my grandchildren to hopefully pass on to theirs (assuming that someday I'll have grandchildren). Not literally my education of course, since the only tangible thing would be my brain, and that would be gross, but to pass on that their grandma and great-great grandma was the first person on her mother's side to go to a university. I guess I feel that's important because of what my great grandmother, Emma Amanda, means to me though she died years before I was born. I always heard great things about her and she seemed larger than life. She had an immaculate garden, she was a fabulous cook, she crocheted, knitted, painted, and made pottery. My great grandpa, Otto, built a little shed for her in the backyard that housed a pottery wheel and a kiln. She was truly an artist. She made sachets out of lavender my grandmother still has (the picture was taken in Sequim, but not by me). She canned everything and filled her pantry throughout the summer in preparation for winter. Of course in those days, everyone did that. I did help my parents make pickles this year. I want to be much more like Gramma Emma. I'm guessing that she would be around 115 if she were still alive. But I also want to serve other people in my life. However, not necessarily that my whole life be one of service, but I want to help people who need it. I do volunteer for Equal Rights Washington (tho I havent much since I started school), I called today about volunteering for Volunteer Chore Services, which you are assigned an elderly person who still lives in their house but has trouble doing all their chores. If they can't keep up their house then it will probably be taken away from them. I found out about it through my psych class, where I have to do some type of volunteer service to fill a requirement and the students have to pick from a list. This is something I really want to do anyway. I would like to spend more time at Richmond Beach Rehab, where my grandma is, to one, see my grandma more often, and two, to spend a little more time with the other people there. Some of them hardly ever or never have visitors. My parents and I want to spend Thanksgiving at a food bank or soup kitchen this year; somewhere where they serve dinner to the poor and homeless. We can always record the football games ( ; A life of service and art sounds like a good life to me.

"Principles for the Development of a Complete Mind: Study the science of art. Study the art of science. Develop your senses - especially learn how to see. Realise that everything connects to everything else." Leonardo DaVinci

A queen among Kings...

“We have a lot more work to do in our common struggle against bigotry and discrimination. I say 'common struggle' because I believe very strongly that all forms of bigotry and discrimination are equally wrong and should be opposed by right-thinking Americans everywhere. Freedom from discrimination based on sexual orientation is surely a fundamental human right in any great democracy, as much as freedom from racial, religious, gender, or ethnic discrimination.” Coretta Scott King

Pearl

October 4th. Janis Joplin died 39 years ago today. She would be 66. My favorite musician. A woman I find highly erotic. My mother got her two kittens today. She named them Pearl and Presley (Elvis being her idol), by my suggestion. I almost never feel any compassion for my mother, despite her sufferings and health problems. Most of the time I despise her. Sometimes I wish I was a better daughter. I'm all she really has. My dad will always be there for her, but they haven't been "together" for years. Right now is one of those rare times that I do feel compassion for her, and wish she would get better. I feel sorry for her. Then other times I resent her because of how she turned out, who she is, all that she hasn't done, and see so much of her in me. I'm terrified of turning out like her, but already have so many of the same problems she does: clinical depression, high anxiety, easily overwhelmed, back problems, unable to get done what I say I'll get done, or what I mean to get done. For years we both have been working on "paperwork." All the mail that piles up that we want to go through and file away, but forget about it for a while and then have so much to do. I'm determined not to turn out like her, or my father. I want to actually do something with my life, but I think she did too. I sit here thinking about another woman I find highly erotic that I used to be romantically involved with (and her husband), knowing deep down she really doesn't want anything to do with me ever again. I'm not all that sure her husband does either. I seem to bring so much drama into their lives, and not just about the three of us being together. I was never a drama queen until I fell in love with "Queen." There is a good reason why I call her that, that has nothing to do with drama, and she's not a drag queen, but I'm not going to explain it right now. I guess it was so hard because with "Diego"and Queen I felt total security, until shit hit the fan and she felt she couldn't do it anymore. Or he felt he couldn't do it anymore. Then they always had each other while I was left in the cold. I knew that I was taking that risk, and that it would eventually probably come to that. Our relationship has been on and off for three years. The last time I saw her I had a complete breakdown, and she sent me a "dear johnny" email a few days later. She didn't want to deal with any drama. I can't blame her for that. But she could also be very cold and unfeeling. She refuses to believe that I'm not the person I used to be; that my breakdown wasn't because I was so hung up on them. I almost felt more like a prostitute, except I wasn't getting paid. She would take me out of her toy box to play with me while she wanted, and when she was tired of me, she would just put me away and shut the lid. Now her husband, whom I was originally involved with (weird, I know), I think has done the same thing - shut the lid. He'll still email me, but he definitely doesn't feel the way about me he did before. He says he does but I know he's full of crap. I kept preparing myself for this and for the most part I'm fine. I guess I thought they wouldn't completely cut off contact tho. He hasn't totally, but I think it's coming to that. Not only were they both my lovers, but they were truly my best friends and we always promised each other that we would stay friends. I still have stuff at their house that I need to pick up, when I can find the time. It just really hurts when you know that someone(s) you love so much don't really care anymore. I'm not talking about romantic love, just friendship love. My head hurts and I should go to bed if I want to get up tomorrow. BTW, my doctor is weening me off of my current anti-depressant to start me on a new one. Thank god I only have two days left.

Grandpa

Today seems like an appropriate day to start my first blog. It's my grandfather's birthday (happy birthday, grandpa). He passed away four years ago next month. I couldn't find any pix of him so his boat will have to do, his pride and joy. I miss my grandparents a lot. They were always two solid unbreakable rocks in the family, and what kept the family together. But I suppose the matriarchs and patriarchs in most families serve that purpose. I was mostly unproductive day yesterday, at least much more than I wanted to be. I did get to see a friend I haven't seen in years for about half an hour, so that was nice, and walked two times around the golf course. I also had physical therapy before that, which felt wonderful for the most part. My therapist can get a little rough sometimes. I keep reminding him that my body parts are attached, but he's still amazing. My mother is bent on getting TWO kittens now (it was one 2 days ago). I know at some point the roles of parents and children often reverse, but I'm 26 for god sakes and shouldn't have to tell her that we can't get any more damn cats, no matter how cute they are. We already have five. I confess that four are mine and the other is my aunt's that she left here when she visited some years ago, and I can understand (sorta) why she would want her own cats even tho 3 of my cats have lived with her longer than they lived with me. They all need check-ups and right now I can't contribute financially. I feel guilty about that. I can't give any of them up tho. There are already too many homeless pets out there. But it still stands the last thing(s) we need are more cats! We're three people living in a house and not one has a job. My dad threatens to leave every now and then (my parents aren't really together but kinda are. that's a whole other blog), but I know he never will. I wish I ran as far and as fast from here as I could like the rest of my mother's family did, so I didn't get left behind cleaning up the mess that will eventually fall on me, but I have somewhat cleared a path before me that nothing will deviate me from.