Dad died one year ago today, and if this were 2010, at this moment he'd have about another hour and forty-some minutes left in him.
I know what I will be doing in an hour; I will be calling absent students, trying to get them to come to school. (Who wants to pay $2,000 to sit on their own couch? You can do that for free!) At this time last year I was in this room, probably doing approximately what I'm doing now. The sun hasn't set yet. When the nurse called last year and asked how far I was from the hospital, it was dark out. I immediately began cleaning the lab, desperate for it not to be such a dire situation. Anything, anything... I could've spitshined the room and it would've gleamed. It was almost over.
I am thinking about Naomi tonight. She was already there when I arrived at the hospital. I wonder what she's doing tonight? I should call.
T and I went to the cemetary this morning and visited. Ironically there was a funeral going on at the end of the row, one up. I will never forget that -- feeling our wistfulness, but reflecting on exactly what they were doing. At first we thought they were doing it in the rows behind Dad and we wouldn't be able to go over there. But, alas.. we watched from a distance. They did everything we did last year, including looking around at other graves. They did not toss roses in like we did, though. That funeral was near its end and the entire party sat on benches under the trees watching the workers dump the dirt. Dirt dumping is very final but I found it cathartic. T said his rose stuck in the middle, also. Down the lawn today, apparently there were some children in their group, who ran around playing after the burial. I liked that. It was a reminder that life continues.
While we were talking, I told T that I was often comforted by the parachutists that used the nearby airport for their landings. My dad had wanted to be a paratrooper in the military, but was too short or something. T said he often looks at the sun hitting the mountains in the distance. I do the same. He said he'd never seen the jumpers, then about six of them appeared before long in the sky. It was neat to see them; I thought at least one was going to miss the airport and land in the cemetary. Then as we were watching that, a huge monarch butterfly fluttered right near us. I was amazed to see that. It was brown and black and utterly beautiful. The symbolism was not lost on me and I told T about it. He sat, musing. We talked about the probability of a butterfly in a cemetary in the middle of the desert. T said they were attracted to the lawn and the trees probably, but I said, "Look around you... we're surrounded by desert on all sides." BC does have more grass probably than our valley, but still it was timing. T also told me he comes out to the cemetary sometimes late at night, and one time the lights on the runway came on randomly and no plane came to land. (He waited fifteen minutes.) Streetlights frequently came on or shut off in my dad's presence. Funny little things. I felt he was there with us. We miss him so much.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Stop Me If You've Heard This One Before
Oddly enough, still... STILL! having trouble with T.
Last night we were discussing my employer, a for-profit vocational college, and its efforts to improve student retention and graduation rates. My sibling, the cynic, tried unsuccessfully several times to compare apples to peanuts between my employer and his alma mater. He then compared the university's blase approach to student retention to my school to his fitness gym. I had been telling him how the school had vastly improved its student absenteeism situation by text messaging students and instituting a so-called "first hour, first call" thing where they have someone actually call the absent student in the first hour of the missed class in order to get them into class before it's over. It's not always possible, but if they miss the first hour of a four hour class, they may be able to get over there with enough time left to make it. Contact works. It just DOES. My brother said he wouldn't have really cared for that approach at our school, and I agreed. But I also said that if they had bothered to do that, I would have gone to school even just to avoid that call. So then he said that if his GYM called him every time he missed a fitness class that he signed up for, he would be super-livid and would probably get rid of his membership. That would be his right. But why would you sign up for something that you have to pay for that you're not going to make an effort to see through? I have to hammer him again and again that the school wants to graduate students, not collect student loan money. They want asses in seats so that the students, yes, can pay back their loans, but also fulfill the doggone mission of the school, which is to GRADUATE STUDENTS and help them advance their LIVES. It's a little more involved than missing Bootcamp and being contacted about it.
Well today naturally he sent me an article he found about the school that was negative. I replied and said, "Listen -- this article is out of date." Basically, no cheap shot points for you. Then he sent another article that said their stock on the NY Stock Exchange has fallen 90% recently because they have reduced enrollment and increased some of their standards for enrollment -- basically, they have responded to all the government audits and made required changes. I fail to see how that makes them a big, bad, money-grubbing corporation with no care toward the student population it serves.
It makes me wonder why he seems so invested in "proving" to me that my employer is bad news. Nevermind that I have worked for them for 3 1/2 years without incident and have benefited in many ways by the association. The corporation does have very good benefits. I have seen who makes up the company and how hard they work to give the students the best experience possible. A large part of the experience students have is up to them, but we have all had crappy, uninteresting instructors or had to deal with other lazy, ineffectual administrators or God forbid moronic loan people. The school has had to clean house occasionally but they have worked really hard to improve transparency, accountability and to meet and exceed audit issues and government requirements for loans and ETC. This is a good company intentionally serving a sketchy student population to, God forbid, as I say, HELP THEM HELP THEMSELVES. IMPROVE THEIR LIVES. INCREASE THEIR INCOMES. FIND THEM MEANINGFUL EMPLOYMENT FOR WHICH THEY ARE ACTUALLY QUALIFIED.
I did question why he seems to be investing himself in asserting my company is bad news. It could be a continuing passive-agressive effort to avoid fixing what's wrong in his life, the most obvious being the alcoholism and the required emotional work. He has been auditing every aspect of my life for a year now. I am beyond tired of it. Every aspect is up for his observation and critique, and who appointed him? He did. He doesn't care for my job, my employer, my car, my banking habits, my boyfriend or my friends. Now I fully expect him to give me a hard time about the house I am getting ready to buy, ignoring all of the good aspects in favor of the rather stiff HOA fee. I plan to rent out one of the bedrooms to offset the ultility costs, and maybe even pay the HOA fee out of their rent. In any case, don't you think you could handle $90/mo for fake rent in exchange for a 1500 sq ft townhouse that's PAID FOR? Yeah. I think I can handle it. Mind you, if you go a half mile up the hill, the HOA fee for the nearest townhome community jumps to $168/mo. HE WAS THE ONE WHO WANTED ME TO BUY A TOWNHOUSE! Stand-alone houses, if they have HOAs, have much lower fees, usually $30-50 depending on basically the whim of the management company I think. I turned the area upside down several times looking for what I wanted in square footage, and I could not find it for what I wanted to pay. I got lucky with this townhouse; the day I put in my offer, they happened to drop the price by $6,000. Hey, I'll take it.
So, long story short, I am feeling frustrated. I don't think it will be useful in the short- or long-term to react emotionally or hostilely to his niggling. I understand this may be an intention vs. action vs. consequence problem again. He is the type to not get the middle part, going back in his mind from the consequence of whatever stupid thing he's done, all the way back to his intention. It's like, the other person has no clue what your intention was, they only know what you did -- your action. An intention is an incomplete action. It almost doesn't matter. Action begets consequence. If intention and action are out of synch, you're going to get static back as the consequence. It seems simple superficially but it really isn't. I think this is why there are so many little boy/men out there. They really don't get it and then eventually they do something stupid enough to bring them to the attention of the police, then they may end up in the penal system and they may never work it out. Hopefully T will work it out at some point.
Last night we were discussing my employer, a for-profit vocational college, and its efforts to improve student retention and graduation rates. My sibling, the cynic, tried unsuccessfully several times to compare apples to peanuts between my employer and his alma mater. He then compared the university's blase approach to student retention to my school to his fitness gym. I had been telling him how the school had vastly improved its student absenteeism situation by text messaging students and instituting a so-called "first hour, first call" thing where they have someone actually call the absent student in the first hour of the missed class in order to get them into class before it's over. It's not always possible, but if they miss the first hour of a four hour class, they may be able to get over there with enough time left to make it. Contact works. It just DOES. My brother said he wouldn't have really cared for that approach at our school, and I agreed. But I also said that if they had bothered to do that, I would have gone to school even just to avoid that call. So then he said that if his GYM called him every time he missed a fitness class that he signed up for, he would be super-livid and would probably get rid of his membership. That would be his right. But why would you sign up for something that you have to pay for that you're not going to make an effort to see through? I have to hammer him again and again that the school wants to graduate students, not collect student loan money. They want asses in seats so that the students, yes, can pay back their loans, but also fulfill the doggone mission of the school, which is to GRADUATE STUDENTS and help them advance their LIVES. It's a little more involved than missing Bootcamp and being contacted about it.
Well today naturally he sent me an article he found about the school that was negative. I replied and said, "Listen -- this article is out of date." Basically, no cheap shot points for you. Then he sent another article that said their stock on the NY Stock Exchange has fallen 90% recently because they have reduced enrollment and increased some of their standards for enrollment -- basically, they have responded to all the government audits and made required changes. I fail to see how that makes them a big, bad, money-grubbing corporation with no care toward the student population it serves.
It makes me wonder why he seems so invested in "proving" to me that my employer is bad news. Nevermind that I have worked for them for 3 1/2 years without incident and have benefited in many ways by the association. The corporation does have very good benefits. I have seen who makes up the company and how hard they work to give the students the best experience possible. A large part of the experience students have is up to them, but we have all had crappy, uninteresting instructors or had to deal with other lazy, ineffectual administrators or God forbid moronic loan people. The school has had to clean house occasionally but they have worked really hard to improve transparency, accountability and to meet and exceed audit issues and government requirements for loans and ETC. This is a good company intentionally serving a sketchy student population to, God forbid, as I say, HELP THEM HELP THEMSELVES. IMPROVE THEIR LIVES. INCREASE THEIR INCOMES. FIND THEM MEANINGFUL EMPLOYMENT FOR WHICH THEY ARE ACTUALLY QUALIFIED.
I did question why he seems to be investing himself in asserting my company is bad news. It could be a continuing passive-agressive effort to avoid fixing what's wrong in his life, the most obvious being the alcoholism and the required emotional work. He has been auditing every aspect of my life for a year now. I am beyond tired of it. Every aspect is up for his observation and critique, and who appointed him? He did. He doesn't care for my job, my employer, my car, my banking habits, my boyfriend or my friends. Now I fully expect him to give me a hard time about the house I am getting ready to buy, ignoring all of the good aspects in favor of the rather stiff HOA fee. I plan to rent out one of the bedrooms to offset the ultility costs, and maybe even pay the HOA fee out of their rent. In any case, don't you think you could handle $90/mo for fake rent in exchange for a 1500 sq ft townhouse that's PAID FOR? Yeah. I think I can handle it. Mind you, if you go a half mile up the hill, the HOA fee for the nearest townhome community jumps to $168/mo. HE WAS THE ONE WHO WANTED ME TO BUY A TOWNHOUSE! Stand-alone houses, if they have HOAs, have much lower fees, usually $30-50 depending on basically the whim of the management company I think. I turned the area upside down several times looking for what I wanted in square footage, and I could not find it for what I wanted to pay. I got lucky with this townhouse; the day I put in my offer, they happened to drop the price by $6,000. Hey, I'll take it.
So, long story short, I am feeling frustrated. I don't think it will be useful in the short- or long-term to react emotionally or hostilely to his niggling. I understand this may be an intention vs. action vs. consequence problem again. He is the type to not get the middle part, going back in his mind from the consequence of whatever stupid thing he's done, all the way back to his intention. It's like, the other person has no clue what your intention was, they only know what you did -- your action. An intention is an incomplete action. It almost doesn't matter. Action begets consequence. If intention and action are out of synch, you're going to get static back as the consequence. It seems simple superficially but it really isn't. I think this is why there are so many little boy/men out there. They really don't get it and then eventually they do something stupid enough to bring them to the attention of the police, then they may end up in the penal system and they may never work it out. Hopefully T will work it out at some point.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Friday, August 19, 2011
Considering Magnetic Poetry
So I'm cleaning everything out of my closet. Everything-everything. A salesman in my head whispers, "Everything must go!" Indeed. I am moving soon. Everything that's not critical to my long-term betterment is going into the trash.
One of the items in my closet is a book of "refridgerator poetry," a collection of submissions to a kind of magnetic poetry contest. I guess it was a contest. It became a book with magnetic word sets, and so I wrote a few things. For many years I had stuck to the bottom of my lamp, "May a teacher teach with the intensity that a bomb can burn." That's an intensity level that few instructors ever reach, I suspect.
Inside the magnetized front cover is a rather racy poem I wrote, sans punctuation (because they didn't provide any magnetic commas or periods, natch). I believe it was between 2004-2006. I think it's worth preserving:
love his tongue
all up on my skin
morning day and evening
use shower dry off and leave
stagger to work smelling
minutely like blossoms
people like these secrets
she pages him as you ask
what when how
why was ed over there
after dark
did he consume the wild sister
through her lace
I say go at er if you want
slice bruise
we are out of this
use
The "ed" was a verb ending I had nowhere to use, and I believe the "use" was a leftover word. Initially I switched the places of "ed" and "use," so use was more like youse. The last line changed to, "We are out of this, Ed." That darned Ed. But the original is something to behold from random words in a pouch.
One of the items in my closet is a book of "refridgerator poetry," a collection of submissions to a kind of magnetic poetry contest. I guess it was a contest. It became a book with magnetic word sets, and so I wrote a few things. For many years I had stuck to the bottom of my lamp, "May a teacher teach with the intensity that a bomb can burn." That's an intensity level that few instructors ever reach, I suspect.
Inside the magnetized front cover is a rather racy poem I wrote, sans punctuation (because they didn't provide any magnetic commas or periods, natch). I believe it was between 2004-2006. I think it's worth preserving:
love his tongue
all up on my skin
morning day and evening
use shower dry off and leave
stagger to work smelling
minutely like blossoms
people like these secrets
she pages him as you ask
what when how
why was ed over there
after dark
did he consume the wild sister
through her lace
I say go at er if you want
slice bruise
we are out of this
use
The "ed" was a verb ending I had nowhere to use, and I believe the "use" was a leftover word. Initially I switched the places of "ed" and "use," so use was more like youse. The last line changed to, "We are out of this, Ed." That darned Ed. But the original is something to behold from random words in a pouch.
Friday, August 12, 2011
A Pregnant Silence
(Post started in early July, finished in mid-Aug.)
I found out why I was having such a hard time reaching Joseph. He was locked up in the hospital after a suicide attempt.
Apparently he went over to his mother's and downed a handful of Vicodin. Vicodin!!! My how-the-fuck moment was answered by somebody the other day; apparently it was prescribed to him to deal with the physical pain of his muscle problem. Well, Joseph began exhibiting signs of paranoia and claimed the metal in his mother's house was malignantly affecting his muscle disorder. He was apparently going through the drawers in her house looking for metal I guess, I don't know what. Anyway, she questioned him and called the cops. He admitted he had taken something and needed an ambulance.
The hospital triage people told his mother he could only be held against his will for 72 hours. If he refused treatment after that, they were powerless to do anything about it. The best thing she could do was to go to court & get guardianship over him. That's exactly what she attempted to do. I am amazed to this day that Joseph went to court with her. Apparently he woke up from his haze around the time the judge was evaluating his competence. He did exactly what I expected he would do: He went outside, hailed a taxi and went straight to the airport. The one thing I didn't expect him to do was throw away his car keys "because they are made of metal." Nevermind that there's plenty of metal at the AIRPORT! My boyfriend said, "No -- the plane is made out of aluminum!" Humor is the lube of difficult experiences.
So basically he had his 80-something grandparents pick him up at the airport and holed up with them. They realized, quickly for once, that he was super wacked and needed to be seen by a doctor. Did they bother to tell his mother where the hell he was? She was about to call the police to have him listed as a missing person. He had abandoned his apartment, his car and all his stuff. No, they didn't.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Joseph had discovered that lotion had some kind of deflecting, soothing property and helped deflect the harmful wa-wa waves of all the metal around him. I got ahold of his grandmother and laid her out for not telling anyone where the hell he was. I explained to her that if she opted to ignore his obvious issues, she would NEVER UNLOAD HIM EVER AGAIN. He'd be with her until she died and frankly she's already 87. She tried to give me some rigamarole about his mother but I said, look. Is she around? No. Is he fine? Fuck no. If he doesn't go willingly to a doctor, you're going to have to have him committed against his will. Since we already know the bare minimum is a 72 hour hold, YOU are going to have to go to court HERE and do the exact same thing his mother was attempting up THERE. Wow, I could have knocked her over with a feather. 42-YR-OLD HEAD CASE + HIDING OUT IN GRANDMA'S HOUSE = ROAD TO NOWHERE. If you want to have to PAY for the privilege of becoming his temporary guardian, etc etc, think about it Grandma, harbor him and castigate his mother for perceived problems from 40 years ago. But pay you will, one way or the other. No sooner did the dawn of realization hit than I heard, "Uh, uh, I'm on Social Security.." Uh huh. Reality is sitting on your couch, slathering on lotion and changing the TV channel with gloves on so as to lessen the sting of the metal from the remote. SEND HIS ASS BACK TO HIS LAST CITY so his mother can finish what she started. She may not be the greatest option but between her and you & your spouse, who is the court going to choose? Someone in their 60s or two people in their mid to late 80s? Nigga please.
She thought about it and the next time I saw her, she knew I was right. How do we get him to the next destination/situation? He is still in their house. He has been to the dr. since then; he did go willingly. The dr. gave him some as-needed anti-anxiety prescriptions and they seem to have patched his mind back together. I had thought it was fucking hopeless. At least there's that. He really needs to go back to Portland and let somebody be his guardian. I know it's distasteful but he needs a minder. He has abandoned the last 3 apartments, he cannot work and he needs regular social contact. On his own he is failing miserably at maintaining stability.
I found out why I was having such a hard time reaching Joseph. He was locked up in the hospital after a suicide attempt.
Apparently he went over to his mother's and downed a handful of Vicodin. Vicodin!!! My how-the-fuck moment was answered by somebody the other day; apparently it was prescribed to him to deal with the physical pain of his muscle problem. Well, Joseph began exhibiting signs of paranoia and claimed the metal in his mother's house was malignantly affecting his muscle disorder. He was apparently going through the drawers in her house looking for metal I guess, I don't know what. Anyway, she questioned him and called the cops. He admitted he had taken something and needed an ambulance.
The hospital triage people told his mother he could only be held against his will for 72 hours. If he refused treatment after that, they were powerless to do anything about it. The best thing she could do was to go to court & get guardianship over him. That's exactly what she attempted to do. I am amazed to this day that Joseph went to court with her. Apparently he woke up from his haze around the time the judge was evaluating his competence. He did exactly what I expected he would do: He went outside, hailed a taxi and went straight to the airport. The one thing I didn't expect him to do was throw away his car keys "because they are made of metal." Nevermind that there's plenty of metal at the AIRPORT! My boyfriend said, "No -- the plane is made out of aluminum!" Humor is the lube of difficult experiences.
So basically he had his 80-something grandparents pick him up at the airport and holed up with them. They realized, quickly for once, that he was super wacked and needed to be seen by a doctor. Did they bother to tell his mother where the hell he was? She was about to call the police to have him listed as a missing person. He had abandoned his apartment, his car and all his stuff. No, they didn't.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Joseph had discovered that lotion had some kind of deflecting, soothing property and helped deflect the harmful wa-wa waves of all the metal around him. I got ahold of his grandmother and laid her out for not telling anyone where the hell he was. I explained to her that if she opted to ignore his obvious issues, she would NEVER UNLOAD HIM EVER AGAIN. He'd be with her until she died and frankly she's already 87. She tried to give me some rigamarole about his mother but I said, look. Is she around? No. Is he fine? Fuck no. If he doesn't go willingly to a doctor, you're going to have to have him committed against his will. Since we already know the bare minimum is a 72 hour hold, YOU are going to have to go to court HERE and do the exact same thing his mother was attempting up THERE. Wow, I could have knocked her over with a feather. 42-YR-OLD HEAD CASE + HIDING OUT IN GRANDMA'S HOUSE = ROAD TO NOWHERE. If you want to have to PAY for the privilege of becoming his temporary guardian, etc etc, think about it Grandma, harbor him and castigate his mother for perceived problems from 40 years ago. But pay you will, one way or the other. No sooner did the dawn of realization hit than I heard, "Uh, uh, I'm on Social Security.." Uh huh. Reality is sitting on your couch, slathering on lotion and changing the TV channel with gloves on so as to lessen the sting of the metal from the remote. SEND HIS ASS BACK TO HIS LAST CITY so his mother can finish what she started. She may not be the greatest option but between her and you & your spouse, who is the court going to choose? Someone in their 60s or two people in their mid to late 80s? Nigga please.
She thought about it and the next time I saw her, she knew I was right. How do we get him to the next destination/situation? He is still in their house. He has been to the dr. since then; he did go willingly. The dr. gave him some as-needed anti-anxiety prescriptions and they seem to have patched his mind back together. I had thought it was fucking hopeless. At least there's that. He really needs to go back to Portland and let somebody be his guardian. I know it's distasteful but he needs a minder. He has abandoned the last 3 apartments, he cannot work and he needs regular social contact. On his own he is failing miserably at maintaining stability.
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Moving Ahead
Things are happening.
The decision's been made on the house. Notice has been given; no response as expected. I have stopped the Lamaze-like breathing because whatever's happening is happening. T, who wanted to show me a house he was interested in on Friday, also put in a bid on another one and told me Saturday. He offered $100 more than they are asking. (The tail end of their asking price is 900.). $#$^$%%^%$%#$$#$ In this economy, in this city, they will be nuts not to take it.
Sooooo, exactly what I predicted and expected and didn't want is going to be. Soon.
We have an entire house full of stuff. We have a broken garage door. We have an entire garage full of stuff also. We have a very nice washer and dryer. We have a front door with a fake door right next to it. AND we have a back sliding door that has an issue also. I suppose if push comes to shove, we could get the furniture out through the back sliding door, but how annoying will it be to empty the entire house through the backyard and around the corner and through the front door? Annoying as fuck. Then there is the little matter of where all this stuff is going. The furniture can go to a consignment store. It is the most practical. T of course doesn't care for that since he likes to be annoying as all hell. What does he think we're going to do with it? Oh, I know. He wants to leave it in the house probably. NO THANK YOU. Does he want to sell it on Craigslist and have a bunch of people tromping around? .... Through the back opening I guess.... since they sure as hell won't be getting the couch out the front. Fucking annoying and I would like to get all this done early some morning. I don't want my neighbors to know anything.
I'm irritated as I don't want to have to put the utilities in my name. This is all going right up my ass. Everything will happen fast, despite claims to the contrary. He thinks I'm stupid. I guess I should spend the evening in the garage labeling boxes so when I suddenly have to move out, I'll at least know what the fuck (lol, I just wrote fox) is in what box in storage. That I will be paying for. Undoubtedly.
I don't want to really leave this house. It's comfortable, familiar and safe. Life is predictable here. I feel unsettled contemplating a move. I'm told this is normal.
The decision's been made on the house. Notice has been given; no response as expected. I have stopped the Lamaze-like breathing because whatever's happening is happening. T, who wanted to show me a house he was interested in on Friday, also put in a bid on another one and told me Saturday. He offered $100 more than they are asking. (The tail end of their asking price is 900.). $#$^$%%^%$%#$$#$ In this economy, in this city, they will be nuts not to take it.
Sooooo, exactly what I predicted and expected and didn't want is going to be. Soon.
We have an entire house full of stuff. We have a broken garage door. We have an entire garage full of stuff also. We have a very nice washer and dryer. We have a front door with a fake door right next to it. AND we have a back sliding door that has an issue also. I suppose if push comes to shove, we could get the furniture out through the back sliding door, but how annoying will it be to empty the entire house through the backyard and around the corner and through the front door? Annoying as fuck. Then there is the little matter of where all this stuff is going. The furniture can go to a consignment store. It is the most practical. T of course doesn't care for that since he likes to be annoying as all hell. What does he think we're going to do with it? Oh, I know. He wants to leave it in the house probably. NO THANK YOU. Does he want to sell it on Craigslist and have a bunch of people tromping around? .... Through the back opening I guess.... since they sure as hell won't be getting the couch out the front. Fucking annoying and I would like to get all this done early some morning. I don't want my neighbors to know anything.
I'm irritated as I don't want to have to put the utilities in my name. This is all going right up my ass. Everything will happen fast, despite claims to the contrary. He thinks I'm stupid. I guess I should spend the evening in the garage labeling boxes so when I suddenly have to move out, I'll at least know what the fuck (lol, I just wrote fox) is in what box in storage. That I will be paying for. Undoubtedly.
I don't want to really leave this house. It's comfortable, familiar and safe. Life is predictable here. I feel unsettled contemplating a move. I'm told this is normal.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Anthony verdict
Shocked as hell at the Anthony verdict. Never thought it would happen. Defendant is free to kill parents and future offspring. Yeehaw. Unreal.
Rise of the Machine .. Into a human being
He came to me unexpectedly to talk it out. We were both in the wrong at times. A little humility goes a long way. I am acknowledging progress.
Monday, July 4, 2011
Irish Standoff
T is really defensive about his weed habit.
I asked him today if he would refrain from smoking near the vent in his bathroom, as the vent connects directly with my bedroom and delivers quite a lot of smoke in the middle of the night. It's disconcerting. If he has a mystery lady joining him in his compartment (to be all Agatha Christie about it) and she smokes, I get double the dose wafting onto my head. I asked him if, when he has someone joining him in smoking up, please smoke either on the balcony or away from the vent, I got a variety of responses, one of which was a total disregard for my desire to sleep smoke-free. At this point he will not even acknowledge that if a non-smoker of any stripe enters a room where smoking of any type has occurred, the non-smoker will instantly pick up the scent of smoke in the bedding, the drapes, and etc. They will know that smoking occurs there. I have gotten into my own vehicle and have been confronted by the smell of weed. It's in my fucking clothes. If I get pulled over by a cop and he smells it, um.. I look suspicious. From that I heard, "Wow, who's paranoid now?" I got a lot of yammering about how he can't wait to wrap up the probate stuff and move on. Frankly? It's okay with me. He has no regard really for my request not to smell like a smokehouse because he doesn't respect me and he fully plans to continue doing whatever he wants once he leaves here. I said, "Why don't you just smoke on the balcony? All you have to do is slide the door open." Well, someone might see him. Really? In the middle of the night? Unlikely. And according to our neighbor over the wall, the house on the end on the other side is occupied by a drug dealer. The laws of physics ensure no one who gives a rat's ass will see a thing. The people on the exact flipside of the wall smoke up also! (He doesn't know this but I do.) It is an easily preventable situation but apparently he is unable to simply say, "Ok." He called me out on some horrendous thing I do (it is a little horrendous) and I said, "Ok." I did. I said ok. I will correct that and you can correct this. What says the jury about the likelihood of my waking up in a green cloud of smoke in the next 72 hours.
I asked him today if he would refrain from smoking near the vent in his bathroom, as the vent connects directly with my bedroom and delivers quite a lot of smoke in the middle of the night. It's disconcerting. If he has a mystery lady joining him in his compartment (to be all Agatha Christie about it) and she smokes, I get double the dose wafting onto my head. I asked him if, when he has someone joining him in smoking up, please smoke either on the balcony or away from the vent, I got a variety of responses, one of which was a total disregard for my desire to sleep smoke-free. At this point he will not even acknowledge that if a non-smoker of any stripe enters a room where smoking of any type has occurred, the non-smoker will instantly pick up the scent of smoke in the bedding, the drapes, and etc. They will know that smoking occurs there. I have gotten into my own vehicle and have been confronted by the smell of weed. It's in my fucking clothes. If I get pulled over by a cop and he smells it, um.. I look suspicious. From that I heard, "Wow, who's paranoid now?" I got a lot of yammering about how he can't wait to wrap up the probate stuff and move on. Frankly? It's okay with me. He has no regard really for my request not to smell like a smokehouse because he doesn't respect me and he fully plans to continue doing whatever he wants once he leaves here. I said, "Why don't you just smoke on the balcony? All you have to do is slide the door open." Well, someone might see him. Really? In the middle of the night? Unlikely. And according to our neighbor over the wall, the house on the end on the other side is occupied by a drug dealer. The laws of physics ensure no one who gives a rat's ass will see a thing. The people on the exact flipside of the wall smoke up also! (He doesn't know this but I do.) It is an easily preventable situation but apparently he is unable to simply say, "Ok." He called me out on some horrendous thing I do (it is a little horrendous) and I said, "Ok." I did. I said ok. I will correct that and you can correct this. What says the jury about the likelihood of my waking up in a green cloud of smoke in the next 72 hours.
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Note to Self: Save Self Improvement for the House
Last night, I was driving across town when I decided to listen to an audiobook. It's called Overcoming Self-Sabotage, and I got it from iTunes. Anyway, I had the window down when I turned it on. The open window drowned out the woman's British accent and I missed the first chunk of what was said. As I zoned in on her voice, I caught something like, "get in touch with your inner core." Get in touch with my core, got it, I was saying to myself. I looked in the rear-view and glanced in front of me. Just as I'm about to tune inward, the limo in the lane next to me starts angling toward my front passenger panel. Hu -- Hey! I said to myself. That's a foul. Can you imagine? A near-collision right after turning on this of all audiobooks.
So I go through the tunnel near the airport and end up on whatever street that is. About 300 yards in front of me is a single car straddling both lanes, seemingly parked. That's not good. What... is that a wreck? What is that? Another car situation.. Hm,.. I noticed an eery trend in my immediate vicinity. I was like, Ok, universe. I get it. Be alert and cautious on the roadway, and keep your eyes peeled.
This morning, I had another car situation. My car would not start. The universe says, cars, pay attention. Notice the car in the middle of the road. Remember your intuition. That particular righted itself and continued on. The next morning, my own was out of sorts. I may not always "get it" right off but I at least get the sense that the meaning will come.
Although I sometimes act self destructively, I err on the side of caution and still have faith in myself. That is worth something. Next time, I will explore that in my house. Off the roads and the driveway.
So I go through the tunnel near the airport and end up on whatever street that is. About 300 yards in front of me is a single car straddling both lanes, seemingly parked. That's not good. What... is that a wreck? What is that? Another car situation.. Hm,.. I noticed an eery trend in my immediate vicinity. I was like, Ok, universe. I get it. Be alert and cautious on the roadway, and keep your eyes peeled.
This morning, I had another car situation. My car would not start. The universe says, cars, pay attention. Notice the car in the middle of the road. Remember your intuition. That particular righted itself and continued on. The next morning, my own was out of sorts. I may not always "get it" right off but I at least get the sense that the meaning will come.
Although I sometimes act self destructively, I err on the side of caution and still have faith in myself. That is worth something. Next time, I will explore that in my house. Off the roads and the driveway.
Saturday, June 11, 2011
The Patient Relative
I talked to Kathy finally and it went as expected near the end. I am failing to impress upon this woman the extent of T's issues. Instead, I seem to be coming off a little iffy. My impression is that they still drink, therefore they don't really get it. Oh well, so everyone grieves differently and since she's far removed from the epicenter, is there really a problem? I'm distorting her a little bit -- I know.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
The Sting is duller
Because I have been fOllowing the Casey Anthony travails so closely, the 22nd of May came and slipped past my notice. I miss our dear Froggy very much. The feelings are just unpredictable sometimes. I cried in the car this morning. I have been recounting bits of Mem. Day 2010 and I miss him. Naomi has disappeared into the mist. I hope she is ok.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
More fits and starts
I started to write an email to Dad's cousin today and stopped twice. I wanted to write that T is acting more like himself, but how does one really tell one's middle aged cousin what the problem was without sounding like white trash? It won't do, I say. It simply won't do. "Good news, things are improving. T has decided that drinking and imbibing herbs aren't the path to good familial relations or true happiness..." No, no, no. Can't be said. Can't be UNSAID. And it reflects badly on the family and the old man. I'll have to keep my insight to myself.
T graduated from college on Saturday. Neither of us went to the ceremony. He didn't go because he only wants the paper, and I didn't go because I had to work. Both of us would have gone had I been able to go. If Dad were alive, all of us would have gone. Oh well. We went out to lunch and had something approximating a riproaring time. As riproaring as you can get on a Saturday afternoon with no booze (which is as riproaring as I care to get, having experienced all the "fun" lately).
I got the letter for the Bar Assoc. done. Isn't it amazing how you can sit around wringing your hands about something for six weeks, then get it done in two days and it sounds polished and stress-free? My recurring anxiety was that I had forgotten how to write and was going to make an ass of myself in writing. Like so much of life, I needn't have worried. It was fine.
I talked to the secretary about how sometimes I feel emotionally overwhelmed. I feel bereft of speech. That's why I never called Kathy back and I feel so bad about trying to report on T. It's not that I can't find the right words, it's that I feel bereft of my social manners.... it's so hard to explain. She said that she'd lost her husband in January and totally understood. It's like speech, thought, and social skills just utterly leave you. For me this is compounded by T's bizarre behavior that I have discovered is due to drugs and alcohol, not whatever BS he tried to spin. I remember coming to that realization, and being both relieved and horrified. I was relieved because I KNEW it was not spurred by the family, or even by grief. I was beginning to think he was a psychopath or was finally coming into some kind of mental illness. Well, if not the last reason, it was the effect of marijuana and alcohol, plus probably the organic herbs. I never smelled alcohol on him those times he was CLEARLY NOT WITH IT. But at least there is a reason, something tangible that can be pointed to. The new order of the day is to try to blame ME for his disjointed outlook. Sometimes I feel like I'm spinning a globe and each new bit of blame that comes along is like the next successive country I would see on the globe. I'm looking forward to the last swat of the globe, the last spin before he gives up and settles on himself as the cause.
We both do blame other people for our personalities, but the difference is... I can only point to people who are now dead, and he can just cast his finger at me! Nice.
T graduated from college on Saturday. Neither of us went to the ceremony. He didn't go because he only wants the paper, and I didn't go because I had to work. Both of us would have gone had I been able to go. If Dad were alive, all of us would have gone. Oh well. We went out to lunch and had something approximating a riproaring time. As riproaring as you can get on a Saturday afternoon with no booze (which is as riproaring as I care to get, having experienced all the "fun" lately).
I got the letter for the Bar Assoc. done. Isn't it amazing how you can sit around wringing your hands about something for six weeks, then get it done in two days and it sounds polished and stress-free? My recurring anxiety was that I had forgotten how to write and was going to make an ass of myself in writing. Like so much of life, I needn't have worried. It was fine.
I talked to the secretary about how sometimes I feel emotionally overwhelmed. I feel bereft of speech. That's why I never called Kathy back and I feel so bad about trying to report on T. It's not that I can't find the right words, it's that I feel bereft of my social manners.... it's so hard to explain. She said that she'd lost her husband in January and totally understood. It's like speech, thought, and social skills just utterly leave you. For me this is compounded by T's bizarre behavior that I have discovered is due to drugs and alcohol, not whatever BS he tried to spin. I remember coming to that realization, and being both relieved and horrified. I was relieved because I KNEW it was not spurred by the family, or even by grief. I was beginning to think he was a psychopath or was finally coming into some kind of mental illness. Well, if not the last reason, it was the effect of marijuana and alcohol, plus probably the organic herbs. I never smelled alcohol on him those times he was CLEARLY NOT WITH IT. But at least there is a reason, something tangible that can be pointed to. The new order of the day is to try to blame ME for his disjointed outlook. Sometimes I feel like I'm spinning a globe and each new bit of blame that comes along is like the next successive country I would see on the globe. I'm looking forward to the last swat of the globe, the last spin before he gives up and settles on himself as the cause.
We both do blame other people for our personalities, but the difference is... I can only point to people who are now dead, and he can just cast his finger at me! Nice.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Uh huh, uh huh.. I smell it
Had an enjoyable, somewhat lengthy convo with T about mom, the $1 for $25 story, his early life -- funny stories about him, family.... All over the place... Our individual memories about time with both parents, etc... It was enjoyable.. Then at some point i detected the emotional busy signal from him.. Not awful, but I detected a slight, slight wavering on his part toward cosmic shutoff. I stopped while I was ahead and let him go to bed. About 20ish minutes passed before I detected the skunkweed wafting through my bedroom vent. Uh huh... Unmistakable.
In other news I have not been back to Alanon. I.. should go again. It's good to have supports. I need to get all my supports in place already. Slipping into complacency.
In other news I have not been back to Alanon. I.. should go again. It's good to have supports. I need to get all my supports in place already. Slipping into complacency.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
New Lingo for King Kong
I went to Al-Anon this week (I've forgotten already which night it was), and picked up some new lingo. Apparently my afflicted associate is referred to as a Qualifier. The meeting was fine; the leader of the group was too talky and so I didn't get as much out of it as I'd hoped. I have a nagging suspicion I may know her from another time in my life, and just not remember now. It's all anonymous so whoopty doo if I do. If I cared more, I would give it more thought. I'm not sure I'll be able to attend that session again, so it really doesn't matter. She's not a librarian, she's not a lawyer's wife, she's... could be a teacher, but I doubt it. She is a middle aged mother, I assume her children are not far off of my age. Ohhhhhh for fuck's sake. Now I will be thinking about it on my bike ride. I recognize her teeth, I think. I will have to think harder because my 35-year-old brain is addled.
Anyway, nice tangent. I immediately lost the schedule of meetings when I got home. I was in two places! I cannot find it for the life of me and don't want T to find it, but he probably will. I've had conversations with him and my uncle and I just hope I haven't pushed too hard. Maybe AA Is The Way for this boy. It isn't my decision.
Can't find my cell phone. Very annoying. Reapplied to the University for summer and fall. I have to start somewhere. As soon as I got on campus, I lost my keys and had to spend 45 minutes looking for them. Just like old times. I also literally shat my pants. I ..... tried to pass wind..... and it was more than wind.... charming. I have issues with this school, clearly. It wasn't more than a Browning, a fierce liquidish spot undetectable to the human eye or nose. But Paul was with me, and bizarrely stuck his thumb and pointer finger up my crack as I mounted the stair, thereby MAKING CONTACT BETWEEN MY BUTT AND THE WET FABRIC OF MY PANTS. WHAT THE FUCKITY FUCK??? WHO DOES THAT? I was like, what are you doing? STOP THAT! Apparently he meant to do something else, but I moved. I was like, I just wet farted myself. Mortifying. It's very strange to be walking around the campus as a 35 year old resuming my studies. Right away I felt like an extra on a bad college movie set. It was bizarre. It was like visiting your elementary school when you're in junior high. My body is like 60 pounds heavier than the last time I was a student. That's a lot of girth to be dragging around. The campus is totally different as well. They've put up a bunch of new buildings, including an entirely new student union, and all the students look like 20 year olds. I feel I may get an automatic, unwarranted amount of respect from these twerps because I'm clearly O-L-D.
I'm glad my mind has changed as much as my body. I'm coming to conquer that place, like King Kong. Where's my banana.
Anyway, nice tangent. I immediately lost the schedule of meetings when I got home. I was in two places! I cannot find it for the life of me and don't want T to find it, but he probably will. I've had conversations with him and my uncle and I just hope I haven't pushed too hard. Maybe AA Is The Way for this boy. It isn't my decision.
Can't find my cell phone. Very annoying. Reapplied to the University for summer and fall. I have to start somewhere. As soon as I got on campus, I lost my keys and had to spend 45 minutes looking for them. Just like old times. I also literally shat my pants. I ..... tried to pass wind..... and it was more than wind.... charming. I have issues with this school, clearly. It wasn't more than a Browning, a fierce liquidish spot undetectable to the human eye or nose. But Paul was with me, and bizarrely stuck his thumb and pointer finger up my crack as I mounted the stair, thereby MAKING CONTACT BETWEEN MY BUTT AND THE WET FABRIC OF MY PANTS. WHAT THE FUCKITY FUCK??? WHO DOES THAT? I was like, what are you doing? STOP THAT! Apparently he meant to do something else, but I moved. I was like, I just wet farted myself. Mortifying. It's very strange to be walking around the campus as a 35 year old resuming my studies. Right away I felt like an extra on a bad college movie set. It was bizarre. It was like visiting your elementary school when you're in junior high. My body is like 60 pounds heavier than the last time I was a student. That's a lot of girth to be dragging around. The campus is totally different as well. They've put up a bunch of new buildings, including an entirely new student union, and all the students look like 20 year olds. I feel I may get an automatic, unwarranted amount of respect from these twerps because I'm clearly O-L-D.
I'm glad my mind has changed as much as my body. I'm coming to conquer that place, like King Kong. Where's my banana.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
I give up, I am going to find an Al-Anon
So our reconstituted family, comprised of 2 members, has one member who drinks and/or does drugs, who has emotional problems, and who is not ready to move on from them.
So the concerned other party wonders, just what do I do about this. Well I guess the answer is, find an Al-Anon stat and back off. I did have a talk with T about some of the outstanding issues and concerns, and before I could articulate the final concern, he said, "Aaand here comes the judgment." Wow. What the fuck? The general discussion was very good and beneficial. It eventually moved to the hallway, in the dark with only a computer for illumination.. or maybe a dim light in the other room. I was focused on his eyes and detected.. something.. wasn't sure what.. tears, maybe. As it shifted to the stairs, I decided to go down the stairs some and be physically closer. The light was on by that point and I noticed very bloodshot eyes. I said, "Hey, uh.. What are we dealing with here? .. Um.. Alcho.. Or something.. " and he said, "Yeahhhh..." shaking his head, acknowledging being caught either on something or drinking.. I assume smoking? I didn't detect any alcohol.
This whole talk was longer and more involved than I'm making it appear. But I was surprised at some point to discover that he was possibly high or drunk. I tried to tell him, again, that he is different when high or drunk. But he got irritated with me for alluding to what he calls "third-personhood." He doesn't understand.
I was talking to him earlier today and accidentally offended him by saying that I thought he was emotionally at the level of me at 13. I didn't say it in anger, I was just making an ill-received comment about where I perceive him to be. I should have kept it to myself. I think it hurt his feelings. But, I perceive him to be there, and I explained tonight more of the background and why. I hope it made sense. My brother, while using alcohol and/or weed, and/or mushrooms, lacks the ability to understand that it changes him and makes him into Tim on Booze, or Tim on Drugs. Tim on Anything is not the same GUY as just Tim. Tim isn't ready to give up booze or these low level drugs.
The problem is reconciling my perspective of him with Dad's perspective. Dad told him four times on his deathbed not to drink alcohol. Dad did not realize Tim was drinking and doing these stupid drugs. When Dad said, "I'm proud of you, fly right, keep your ducks in a row," blah blah blah, I'm certain Dad did not have a full fact sheet on Tim's habits as well as his academic/work life.
Tim thinks that if he's functional in his academic/work life, it's ok to be a hot mess in his private life.
We talked about the concept of an idealized person, someone who is able to reach their full potential. I said that families, plural, often want their members to be able to reach the full ideal despite what the individual is realistically capable of. I SAID THAT NOT EVERYONE CAN REACH THE FULL IDEAL, AND THAT THAT'S OKAY. You are who you are. The ultimate point I was driving at was being cognizant of the things that may prevent you from reaching your full potential, and making some effort to reconcile them before colliding with an innocent person who knows nothing of them.
I want my brother to reach his full happiness potential. He may not be able to because of his emotional baggage. THAT'S OKAY. I just want to keep him from harming others, and from abusing himself -- and me.
I have to maybe find a way to care less and still support him. Oh Alanon..
So the concerned other party wonders, just what do I do about this. Well I guess the answer is, find an Al-Anon stat and back off. I did have a talk with T about some of the outstanding issues and concerns, and before I could articulate the final concern, he said, "Aaand here comes the judgment." Wow. What the fuck? The general discussion was very good and beneficial. It eventually moved to the hallway, in the dark with only a computer for illumination.. or maybe a dim light in the other room. I was focused on his eyes and detected.. something.. wasn't sure what.. tears, maybe. As it shifted to the stairs, I decided to go down the stairs some and be physically closer. The light was on by that point and I noticed very bloodshot eyes. I said, "Hey, uh.. What are we dealing with here? .. Um.. Alcho.. Or something.. " and he said, "Yeahhhh..." shaking his head, acknowledging being caught either on something or drinking.. I assume smoking? I didn't detect any alcohol.
This whole talk was longer and more involved than I'm making it appear. But I was surprised at some point to discover that he was possibly high or drunk. I tried to tell him, again, that he is different when high or drunk. But he got irritated with me for alluding to what he calls "third-personhood." He doesn't understand.
I was talking to him earlier today and accidentally offended him by saying that I thought he was emotionally at the level of me at 13. I didn't say it in anger, I was just making an ill-received comment about where I perceive him to be. I should have kept it to myself. I think it hurt his feelings. But, I perceive him to be there, and I explained tonight more of the background and why. I hope it made sense. My brother, while using alcohol and/or weed, and/or mushrooms, lacks the ability to understand that it changes him and makes him into Tim on Booze, or Tim on Drugs. Tim on Anything is not the same GUY as just Tim. Tim isn't ready to give up booze or these low level drugs.
The problem is reconciling my perspective of him with Dad's perspective. Dad told him four times on his deathbed not to drink alcohol. Dad did not realize Tim was drinking and doing these stupid drugs. When Dad said, "I'm proud of you, fly right, keep your ducks in a row," blah blah blah, I'm certain Dad did not have a full fact sheet on Tim's habits as well as his academic/work life.
Tim thinks that if he's functional in his academic/work life, it's ok to be a hot mess in his private life.
We talked about the concept of an idealized person, someone who is able to reach their full potential. I said that families, plural, often want their members to be able to reach the full ideal despite what the individual is realistically capable of. I SAID THAT NOT EVERYONE CAN REACH THE FULL IDEAL, AND THAT THAT'S OKAY. You are who you are. The ultimate point I was driving at was being cognizant of the things that may prevent you from reaching your full potential, and making some effort to reconcile them before colliding with an innocent person who knows nothing of them.
I want my brother to reach his full happiness potential. He may not be able to because of his emotional baggage. THAT'S OKAY. I just want to keep him from harming others, and from abusing himself -- and me.
I have to maybe find a way to care less and still support him. Oh Alanon..
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Jittery jerkiness
I went to pick up my car this morning, and the guy is remarkably sensitive to my grief. Mechanics, hair dressers, who else... Sandwich makers... Or maybe people innocently fall down a long hole when they ask me certain questions, such as the usually innocuous "how are you?" well, please let me respond that i'm all right. It so happened that i had to go to the mechanic on October 5, the day after the funeral. I had gone to Paul's that night and was still in my mourning clothes the next day. I opted to Resume Normalcy and change the oil... Well the mechanic knew my dad, so i filled him in. So, he knows. I can't fool him even tho he only works on my car. What chance do i have of fooling anyone else or myself.
I don't want to see this house go. Whatever respite from anxiety i have is being here. I worry less. I shouldn't (Oh really? Says my inner voice. Shouldn't you be?) worrying, but now that i recognize what it is, it's so intrusive. I'm so sick of it. But it doesn't stop. The Known Unknowns. For example, did you know you can open a Roth IRA todayyyyy and stick ten grand in? 5000 for 2010, which is behind us, and 5000 for 2011? April 15 is the cutoff for the 2010 contribution. What i don't know can cost me money and compound interest. If i don't know enough to formulate the questions, how can i hope to find out nuggets like that? I know i don't know plenty. It's like i'm 18 again, overwhelmed by all i don't know.
I feel like a 1 year old learning to walk. I feel jittery all day. I seek reassurance from people i shouldn't. What's any counselor's phone number. I feel exposed and vulnerable.
I don't want to see this house go. Whatever respite from anxiety i have is being here. I worry less. I shouldn't (Oh really? Says my inner voice. Shouldn't you be?) worrying, but now that i recognize what it is, it's so intrusive. I'm so sick of it. But it doesn't stop. The Known Unknowns. For example, did you know you can open a Roth IRA todayyyyy and stick ten grand in? 5000 for 2010, which is behind us, and 5000 for 2011? April 15 is the cutoff for the 2010 contribution. What i don't know can cost me money and compound interest. If i don't know enough to formulate the questions, how can i hope to find out nuggets like that? I know i don't know plenty. It's like i'm 18 again, overwhelmed by all i don't know.
I feel like a 1 year old learning to walk. I feel jittery all day. I seek reassurance from people i shouldn't. What's any counselor's phone number. I feel exposed and vulnerable.
Saturday, April 2, 2011
The Pain of April
We are almost at a year since All The Trouble In the World began in earnest. I am feeling moody already, on schedule, on cue, as expected. I am heartbroken, both because we are now just into April and because soon enough, we will be dealing with the house issue, and none of it sits well. I feel unsettled, uncomfortable.. ish. I have been tracking how often I feel anxiety and about what, and I realize that I need a counselor. Like, now. Fuck trying to get T to go. He'll go, or he won't. I have to go regardless. I feel like spinning in circles, and too much spinning means... I am going to fall. I can't afford a fall.
I watched a movie tonight, Tarnation, ostensibly about a mother with schizophrenia. It was really more about her son and his feelings of alienation from her, emotional disturbance in youth. Precious little was about her. I was somewhat disappointed in how much was about him, with little connection to her. I understood his longing for her though, and his attempts to make sense of her life pre- and post-diagnosis. I did cry a lot, but it was more one-eye crying. He seems to have come out all right as an adult. The verdict is still out on us.
I will be going to the cemetary April 8 & 9. It beats hanging around Desert Springs, maybe the lobby. If I never have to go to DS ever again.... my heart is in that building. If I could talk to the me of one year ago, I'd say, Hang In There.. The Road is Very Bumpy, and This Road Trip Is No Fun At All, But Your Heart and Your Effort Are True and Good and All Will Be Tolerable Eventually.
We have to love ourselves through the darkest days and remember that God is here. I did write there, but there is here. Oh, how I miss my dad. .......
I watched a movie tonight, Tarnation, ostensibly about a mother with schizophrenia. It was really more about her son and his feelings of alienation from her, emotional disturbance in youth. Precious little was about her. I was somewhat disappointed in how much was about him, with little connection to her. I understood his longing for her though, and his attempts to make sense of her life pre- and post-diagnosis. I did cry a lot, but it was more one-eye crying. He seems to have come out all right as an adult. The verdict is still out on us.
I will be going to the cemetary April 8 & 9. It beats hanging around Desert Springs, maybe the lobby. If I never have to go to DS ever again.... my heart is in that building. If I could talk to the me of one year ago, I'd say, Hang In There.. The Road is Very Bumpy, and This Road Trip Is No Fun At All, But Your Heart and Your Effort Are True and Good and All Will Be Tolerable Eventually.
We have to love ourselves through the darkest days and remember that God is here. I did write there, but there is here. Oh, how I miss my dad. .......
Monday, March 7, 2011
Observance
I woke up this morning after dreaming of my father. It's funny that he came through on a day I would've expected to dream of Mom or Grandma H., his mother. I feel okay now, as I write this, mid-afternoon. This morning I did experience some sadness. I liked seeing my dad in the dream, in his old sleeping ensemble of sweatshirt and boxers. I think missing seeing him padding around the house in socks or this getup is the source.
I miss all three of them. March 7th is and isn't a day of sadness. Now it is more of a day of remembrance. I do remember with a slightly heavier heart, but I loved GH and my mom so dearly that I'm glad Mom went on a family day. March 7th was my grandmother's birthday, three days before my birthday. I never stopped remembering her birthday over these last ten years, and with mom dying on that day, I know I will never forget it.
Dad died on September 22nd, and Tim's birthday is September 25, so we share our sorrows. We maybe fulfill dad's vision that way, of being each other's life friend in remembering our parents before we celebrate our births.
Okay. I raise a Busch beer to my grandmother, and something sweet to my mother. You are both missed.
I miss all three of them. March 7th is and isn't a day of sadness. Now it is more of a day of remembrance. I do remember with a slightly heavier heart, but I loved GH and my mom so dearly that I'm glad Mom went on a family day. March 7th was my grandmother's birthday, three days before my birthday. I never stopped remembering her birthday over these last ten years, and with mom dying on that day, I know I will never forget it.
Dad died on September 22nd, and Tim's birthday is September 25, so we share our sorrows. We maybe fulfill dad's vision that way, of being each other's life friend in remembering our parents before we celebrate our births.
Okay. I raise a Busch beer to my grandmother, and something sweet to my mother. You are both missed.
Friday, March 4, 2011
I realize it's a bad week
Most of this week has passed uneventfully, although I have been moody.
Let's see. Today is the fourth of March, which means the funeral was five months ago today. The anniversary of my mom's death is March 7th, aaaand my 35th birthday is March 10th. I have cried this week. The birthday is not a big deal as I always round my age up three months ahead of time when a big one is coming. When I turned 30, I packed up my sociopath lovahboy and headed to Hawaii for the weekend. Five years later I'm staying home and hoping it passes kind of uneventfully. I'm going to California in April for a weekend of baseball; it will have to do. The WOB is falling the weekend after Coachella, so I am skipping Coachella. Next year, next year. I seem to be saying that every year now.
Holy shitsnacks, look at the time. Well, so, I figured out why I am so moody. The body knows even if the mind forgets.
Let's see. Today is the fourth of March, which means the funeral was five months ago today. The anniversary of my mom's death is March 7th, aaaand my 35th birthday is March 10th. I have cried this week. The birthday is not a big deal as I always round my age up three months ahead of time when a big one is coming. When I turned 30, I packed up my sociopath lovahboy and headed to Hawaii for the weekend. Five years later I'm staying home and hoping it passes kind of uneventfully. I'm going to California in April for a weekend of baseball; it will have to do. The WOB is falling the weekend after Coachella, so I am skipping Coachella. Next year, next year. I seem to be saying that every year now.
Holy shitsnacks, look at the time. Well, so, I figured out why I am so moody. The body knows even if the mind forgets.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
The Last Vmail
So, before going to Paul's this morning I sat down on my bed, put my phone on speaker and listened to the last voicemail.
It wasn't what I thought it would be. I hadn't listened to it previously because I'd expected it to be angry, or hostile, or ... something unpleasant. It was an ordinary message where he started off, "Erin... It's Tuesday at X time..." and on into the message. He sounded 99% normal, his normal speech pattern, I just didn't really know what he was referring to. He even said in it that it was no biggie and that we would talk about it at another time. I feel confident in saying that we didn't. (That week, last year, I had found a small bottle of hair spray in his refridgerator and was working very hard to get him to go to the doctor.) I believe that he was using an incorrect word although I really don't want to characterize it that way. In Alzheimers, people can substitute one word for another as though they are synonyms, but they may not be. In the message, he repeatedly advised me to watch for "debts" coming in the mail because the company they were coming from was doing things differently. I believe he meant bills. Whatevs. No judgment.
Dear Brother was not home for this so I sent him a text about it. When we get together to record it, I need to explain the context so he doesn't think it's about my debt from last year. Context is so important.
Anyway. I listened to it, felt satisfied when it was over, appreciate it, and after it's recorded I'm going to delete it. I don't feel stressed now. The last four days have been rough. I'm going to attempt to relax again.
It wasn't what I thought it would be. I hadn't listened to it previously because I'd expected it to be angry, or hostile, or ... something unpleasant. It was an ordinary message where he started off, "Erin... It's Tuesday at X time..." and on into the message. He sounded 99% normal, his normal speech pattern, I just didn't really know what he was referring to. He even said in it that it was no biggie and that we would talk about it at another time. I feel confident in saying that we didn't. (That week, last year, I had found a small bottle of hair spray in his refridgerator and was working very hard to get him to go to the doctor.) I believe that he was using an incorrect word although I really don't want to characterize it that way. In Alzheimers, people can substitute one word for another as though they are synonyms, but they may not be. In the message, he repeatedly advised me to watch for "debts" coming in the mail because the company they were coming from was doing things differently. I believe he meant bills. Whatevs. No judgment.
Dear Brother was not home for this so I sent him a text about it. When we get together to record it, I need to explain the context so he doesn't think it's about my debt from last year. Context is so important.
Anyway. I listened to it, felt satisfied when it was over, appreciate it, and after it's recorded I'm going to delete it. I don't feel stressed now. The last four days have been rough. I'm going to attempt to relax again.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
SuperBowl and Super Old Vmail
I have, just this moment, decided what to do with the voicemail still on my phone, unlistened to, from my dad on February 9, 2010. I'm going to listen to it on the 9th, let dear brother record it, and then.... let it go.
Today is the SuperBowl, and it too is an emotional day. My dad loved football and the SuperBowl. I like to think he would've rooted for the Packers, but he could have gone either way. I personally hate the Steelers, and am glad my reverse psychology mindtrick worked on them again this year. (Thank God.) I just felt sad that Dad wasn't here to see the game. When the horse races are held later in the year, I will feel the same way again. I really enjoyed our rituals on these occasions.
Paul noticed my moodiness. I'm always surprised when he notices; he catches these things more often that not. I guess, being 35 now, my face probably gives away my emotions more than I realize. I'm glad we have each other.
I'm glad I have this place to dump my emotions when reflection gives way to despair. I have employed some positive coping skills, and have recognized some fallacious thoughts at times, and I know I am doing okay. Sometimes I just really miss him.
I was thinking the other night about his clothes and shoes. At some point, will we box them up? Give them to Goodwill? Put them in boxes? If so I know we will keep the bear charm. I wonder when we will do this. I will be okay when we do. He is not his clothes. Maybe we will keep some things. G Moss kept her hubby's clothing for a VERY long time, and never actually disposed of his cologne or other toiletries.
Oh hey.. Masterpiece Theatre is running a biographical show on Alistaire Cooke. I remember riding in the car with dad, near the B Mall, when it was announced on the radio that Cooke had died. I'm going to watch this... I would watch it anyway, but it appeals particularly in light of my mood. Dad even made a reference to the Muppet, Alistaire Cookie. Dad loved biography and always encouraged us to read the histories of great people. Blah blah blah.... off to watch. For dad and for me. Seems like a fitting thing to do after the SuperBowl.
I love you, Dad. I miss you.
Today is the SuperBowl, and it too is an emotional day. My dad loved football and the SuperBowl. I like to think he would've rooted for the Packers, but he could have gone either way. I personally hate the Steelers, and am glad my reverse psychology mindtrick worked on them again this year. (Thank God.) I just felt sad that Dad wasn't here to see the game. When the horse races are held later in the year, I will feel the same way again. I really enjoyed our rituals on these occasions.
Paul noticed my moodiness. I'm always surprised when he notices; he catches these things more often that not. I guess, being 35 now, my face probably gives away my emotions more than I realize. I'm glad we have each other.
I'm glad I have this place to dump my emotions when reflection gives way to despair. I have employed some positive coping skills, and have recognized some fallacious thoughts at times, and I know I am doing okay. Sometimes I just really miss him.
I was thinking the other night about his clothes and shoes. At some point, will we box them up? Give them to Goodwill? Put them in boxes? If so I know we will keep the bear charm. I wonder when we will do this. I will be okay when we do. He is not his clothes. Maybe we will keep some things. G Moss kept her hubby's clothing for a VERY long time, and never actually disposed of his cologne or other toiletries.
Oh hey.. Masterpiece Theatre is running a biographical show on Alistaire Cooke. I remember riding in the car with dad, near the B Mall, when it was announced on the radio that Cooke had died. I'm going to watch this... I would watch it anyway, but it appeals particularly in light of my mood. Dad even made a reference to the Muppet, Alistaire Cookie. Dad loved biography and always encouraged us to read the histories of great people. Blah blah blah.... off to watch. For dad and for me. Seems like a fitting thing to do after the SuperBowl.
I love you, Dad. I miss you.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Sara..
I still have not been able to answer Sara's email. I just.. can't.
I cannot imagine what it would be like to see your parent waste away for over twenty years. Sara's dad has Parkinson's and has been in a nursing home for ages. Her mother's house has stairs and she cannot physically manage his needs. It must be breathtakingly painful for all of them. Whenever I think about it, it makes me so sad. I think about what we expected as a much-shortened life expectancy for my dad, maybe eight years tops. (He had been diagnosed with dementia, thought to be Alzh.) I can't imagine that dragged out over so many more years. It just about breaks me in two. Sara said her dad is a very different person now compared to when she was young. I believe it. She said he has no quality of life in the nursing home. I absolutely believe that also. I so desperately wanted to keep my dad out of a nursing home for that reason. Fate came along and made sure he stayed out. ... Grrrr, fate... separating us... grrrr. Enough of that. It just nauseates me to think of their family situation with him. A slow death is a cruel one. That's why we're almost glad our dad went so damn fast. It didn't have time to rob him of everything. We didn't have to watch it after all.
Now that we are in mid-January, I am as expected having to confront the issues of last year at this time. I feel my mind spinning, remembering how I was trying to get in front of the problem, my heart searching for alternative reasons for his fogginess. I had forgotten about the conversation at DS with the electrical heart doc/technician, who said emphatically that his fogginess had nothing whatsoever to do with the cardiac arrthymia (sp?). Irregular heartbeat + delirium would not not NOT warrant that kind of disorientation. Delirium causes all kinds of chaos in elderly patients, but not to the degree we saw with him. Dementia was underneath it.
Bottom line: we did the damned best we could with what we had. He died of kidney failure post op, not from the dementia. We HAD to do the surgery, otherwise he would have died most likely of the infection. We had no choice. We did the best for our patient that we could. His kidneys crapped out and that was the fact. Like Elizabeth Kubler Ross writes in On Grief and Grieving, getting him to the hospital sooner would not necessarily have changed the outcome.
Of course, I just miss him and wrestle with it.
I cannot imagine what it would be like to see your parent waste away for over twenty years. Sara's dad has Parkinson's and has been in a nursing home for ages. Her mother's house has stairs and she cannot physically manage his needs. It must be breathtakingly painful for all of them. Whenever I think about it, it makes me so sad. I think about what we expected as a much-shortened life expectancy for my dad, maybe eight years tops. (He had been diagnosed with dementia, thought to be Alzh.) I can't imagine that dragged out over so many more years. It just about breaks me in two. Sara said her dad is a very different person now compared to when she was young. I believe it. She said he has no quality of life in the nursing home. I absolutely believe that also. I so desperately wanted to keep my dad out of a nursing home for that reason. Fate came along and made sure he stayed out. ... Grrrr, fate... separating us... grrrr. Enough of that. It just nauseates me to think of their family situation with him. A slow death is a cruel one. That's why we're almost glad our dad went so damn fast. It didn't have time to rob him of everything. We didn't have to watch it after all.
Now that we are in mid-January, I am as expected having to confront the issues of last year at this time. I feel my mind spinning, remembering how I was trying to get in front of the problem, my heart searching for alternative reasons for his fogginess. I had forgotten about the conversation at DS with the electrical heart doc/technician, who said emphatically that his fogginess had nothing whatsoever to do with the cardiac arrthymia (sp?). Irregular heartbeat + delirium would not not NOT warrant that kind of disorientation. Delirium causes all kinds of chaos in elderly patients, but not to the degree we saw with him. Dementia was underneath it.
Bottom line: we did the damned best we could with what we had. He died of kidney failure post op, not from the dementia. We HAD to do the surgery, otherwise he would have died most likely of the infection. We had no choice. We did the best for our patient that we could. His kidneys crapped out and that was the fact. Like Elizabeth Kubler Ross writes in On Grief and Grieving, getting him to the hospital sooner would not necessarily have changed the outcome.
Of course, I just miss him and wrestle with it.
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